'Hey, Juliana, Juli-he-hi-holy!
An' my soul's done sicken fer de Hallelujah horn,
Hey, Juliana, Juli-he-hi-ho!
Was it weary there,
In de wilderness?
Was it weary-y-y, 'way down in Goshen?
'O, de children shibber by de Jordan's flow--
Hey, Juliana, Juli-he-hi-holy!
An' it's time fer Gaberl to shake hisself an' blow,
Hey, Juliana, Juli-he-hi-ho!
For it's weary here
In de wilderness;
Oh, it's weary-y-y, 'way down in Goshen!'
That was the sort of stuff, and it had any number of verses.
I never heard the end of them. Also there were variants--most of
them unfit for publication. The tune had swept up the valley like an
epidemic disease: and, after a while, it astonished no dweller in
Eucalyptus to find his waking thoughts and his whole daily converse
jigging to it. But the new-comer was naturally a bit startled to
hear the same strain put up from a score of houses as he walked down
the street.
"I found the house, No. 67, easily; and knocked. It looked neat
enough, with a fence in front and some pots of flowers in a little
balcony over the porch, and clean muslin curtains to the windows.
The fence and house-front were painted a bright blue, but not
entirely; for here and there appeared patches of green daubed over
the blue, much as if a child had been around experimenting with a
paint-pot.
"'Open the door and come upstairs, please,' said an English voice
right overhead. And, looking up, I saw a slim young man in a
minister's black suit standing among the flower-pots and smiling down
at me. I saw, of course, that this must be my patient; and I knew
his complaint too. Even at that distance anyone could see he was
pretty far gone in consumption.
"As I climbed the stairs he came in from the porch and met me on
the landing, at the door of Miss Montmorency's best parlour--
a spick-and-span apartment containing a cottage piano, some gilded
furniture of the Second Empire fashion, a gaudy lithograph or two,
and a carpet that had to be seen to be believed.
"'I had better explain,' said I, 'that this is a professional visit.
I met Miss Montmorency just outside the town, and have her orders to
call. I am a medical man.'
"Still smiling pleasantly, he took my hand and shook it.
"'Miss Montmorency is so very thoughtful,' he said; then, touching
his chest lightly, 'It's true I have some trouble here--
constitutional, I'm afraid; but I have suffered from it, more or
less, ever since I was fourteen, and it doesn't frighten me.
There is really no call for your kind offices; nothing beyond a
general weakness, which has detained me here in Eucalyptus longer
than I intended. But Miss Montmorency, seeing my impatience, has
jumped to the belief that I am seriously ill.' Here he smiled again.
'She is the soul of kindness,' he added.
"I looked into his prominent and rather nervous eyes. They were as
innocent as a child's. Of course there was nothing unusual in his
hopefulness, which is common enough in cases of phthisis--
symptomatic, in fact; and, of course, I did not discourage him.
"'You have work waiting for you? Some definite post?' I asked.
"He answered with remarkable dignity; he looked a mere boy too.
"'I am a minister of the gospel, as you guess by my coat: to be
precise, a Congregational minister. At least, I passed through a
Congregational training college in England. But nice distinctions of
doctrine will be of little moment in the work before me. No, I have
no definite post awaiting me--that is, I have not received a call
from any particular congregation, nor do I expect one. The harvest
is over there, across the mountains; and the labourers are never too
many.'
"It was singular in my experience; but this young man contrived to
speak like a book without being at all offensive.
"'I was sent out to America,' he went on, 'mainly for my health's
sake; and the voyage did wonders for me. Of course I picked up a lot
of information on the way and in New York. It was there I first
heard of the awful wickedness of the Pacific Slope, the utter,
abandoned godlessness of the mining camps throughout the golden and
silver states. I had letters of introduction to one or two New
England families--sober, religious people--and the stories they told
of the Far West were simply appalling. It was then that my call came
to me. It came one night--But all this has nothing to do with my
health.'
"'It interests me,' said I.
"'It does one good to talk, if you're sure you mean that,' he went
on, with a happy laugh. Then, with sudden gravity: 'It came one
night--the clear voice of God calling me. I was asleep; but it woke
me, and I sat up in bed with the voice still ringing in my ears like
a bugle calling. I knew from that moment that my work lay out West.
I saw that my very illness had been, in God's hands, a means to lead
me nearer to it. As soon as ever I was strong enough, I started; and
you may think me fanciful, sir, but I can tell you that, as sure as I
sit here, every step of the way has been smoothed for me by the
Divine hand. The people have been so kind all the way (for I am a
poor man); and I have other signs--other assurances--'
"He broke off, hesitated, and resumed his sentence at the beginning:
"'The people have been so kind. I think the Americans must be the
kindest people in the world; and good too. I cannot believe that all
the wickedness they talk of out yonder can come from anything but
ignorance of the Word. I am certain it cannot. And that encourages
me mightily. Why, down in Bellefont they told me that Eucalyptus
here was a little nest of iniquity; they spoke of it as of some City
of the Plain. And what have I found? Well, the people are indeed as
sheep without a shepherd; and who can wonder, seeing that there is
not a single House of Prayer kept open in the municipality? There is
a great deal of coarse levity, and even profanity of speech, and, I
fear, much immoderate drinking; but these are the effects of
blindness rather than of wickedness. From the heavier sins--from
what I may call actual, conscious vice--Eucalyptus is singularly
free. Miss Montmorency, indeed, tells me that in her experience
(which, of course, is that of a single lady, and therefore
restricted) the moral tone of the town is surprisingly healthy.
You understand that I give her judgment no more than its due weight.
Still, Miss Montmorency has lived here three years; and for a single
lady (and, I may add, the only lady in the place) to pass three years
in it entirely unmolested--'
"This was too much; and I interrupted him almost at random--
"'You remind me of the purpose of my call. I hope, if only to
satisfy Miss Montmorency, you won't mind my sounding your chest and
putting a few questions to you.'
"Seeing that I had already pulled out my stethoscope, he gave way,
feebly protesting that it was not worth my trouble. The examination
merely assured me of that which I knew already--that this young man's
days were numbered, and the numbers growing small. I need not say I
kept this to myself.
"'You must let me call again to-morrow,' said I. 'I've a small
medicine chest up at the Cornice House, and you want a tonic badly.'
"Upon this he began, with a confused look and a slight stammer:
'Do you know--I'm afraid you will think it rude, but I didn't mean it
for rudeness--really. Your visit has given me great pleasure--'
"It flashed on me that he had called himself 'a poor man.'
"'I wasn't proposing to doctor you,' I put in; and it was a shameless
lie. 'You may take the tonic or not; it won't do much harm, anyway.
But a gentle walk every day among the pines here--the very gentlest,
nothing to overtax your strength--will do more for you than any
drugs. But if you will let me call, pretty often, and have a talk--
I'm an Englishman, you know, and an English voice is good to hear--'
"His face lit up at once. 'Ah, if you would!' said he; and we shook
hands."
"As I closed the front door and stepped out upon the sidewalk, a tall
man lounged across to me from the doorway of a saloon across the
road--a lumberer, by his dress. He wore a large soft hat, a striped
flannel shirt open at the neck, a broad leathern belt, and muddy
trousers tucked into muddy wading-boots. His appearance was
picturesque enough without help from his dress. He had a mighty
length of arm and breadth of shoulders; a handsome, but thin and
almost delicately fair, face, with blue eyes, and a surprisingly
well-kept beard. The colour of this beard and of his hair--which he
wore pretty long--was a light auburn. Just now the folds of his
raiment were full of moist sawdust; and as he came he brought the
scent of the pine-woods with him.
"'How's the Bishop?' asked this giant, jerking his head towards the
little balcony of No. 67.
"Before I could hit on a discreet answer, he followed the question up
with another:
"'What'll you take?'
"I saw that he had something to say, and allowed him to lead the way
to a saloon a little way down the road. 'Simpson's Pioneers'
Symposium' was the legend above the door. A small, pimply-faced man
in seedy black--whom I guessed at once, and correctly, to be
'Huz-and-Buz'--lounged by the bar inside; and across the counter the
bar-keeper had his banjo slung, and was gently strumming the
accompaniment of 'Hey, Juliana!'
"'Put that down,' commanded my new acquaintance; and then, turning to
Huz-and-Buz, 'Git!'
"The architect raised the brim of his hat to me, bowed servilely, and
left.
"'Short or long?'
"I said I would take a short drink.
"'A brandy sour?'
"'A 'brandy sour' will suit me.'
"He kept his eye for a moment on the bar-tender, who began to bustle
around with the bottles and glasses; then turned upon me.
"'Now, then.'
"'About the Bishop, as you call him?'
"He nodded.
"'Well, you're not to tell him so; but he's going to die.'
"'Quick?'
"'I think so.'
"He nodded. 'I knew that,' he said, and was silent for a minute;
then resumed, 'No; he won't be told. We take an interest in that
young man.'
"'Meaning by 'we'?'
"'The citizens of Eucalyptus as a body. My name's William Anderson:
Captain Bill they call me. I was one of the first settlers in
Eucalyptus. I've seen it high, and I've seen it low. And I'm going
to be the last man to quit; that's the captain's place. And when I
say this or that is public opinion in Eucalyptus, it's got to be.
I drink to your health, Doctor.'
"'Thank you,' said I. 'Then I may count on your silence? The poor
chap is so powerfully set on crossing the Rockies and getting to
close quarters with some real wickedness, that to tell him the truth
might shorten the few days he has left.'
"Captain Bill smiled grimly.
"'Wickedness? Lord love you! _He_ couldn't see any. He'd go through
'Frisco, and out at the far end, without so much as guessing the
place had a seamy side to it. His innocence,' pursued the captain,
'is unusual. I guess that's why we're taking so much care of him.
But I must say you've been spry.'
"'Upon my word, I can't at this moment make head or tail of the
business. I met Miss Montmorency on the road--'
"'I guess she was looking like a Montmorency, too. Flyheel Flo is
her name hereabouts; alluding to her former profession of
circus-rider. Perhaps I'd better put the facts straight for you.'
"'I wish you would.'
"'Well, it'll be about two months back that the Bishop came to
Eucalyptus. We were most of us here in Simpson's bar when the coach
drove up at nine o'clock--same time as it dropped you last night--and
we loafed out to have a look. There was only one passenger got down;
and he seemed of no account--a weedy-looking youngster with a small
valise--looked like he might have come to be bartender to one of the
small saloons. It was dark out there, you understand: nothing to see
by but the lamps of the coach and the light of the doorway; besides
which the fellow was pretty well muffled up in a heavy coat and
wraps. Anyway he didn't seem worth a second look; so when the coach
moved on we just sauntered back here, and I don't reckon there was a
man in the room knew he'd followed us till he lifted up that reedy
voice of his. 'Gentlemen,' he piped out, 'would some one of you be
kind enough to direct me to a nice, comfortable lodging?'
Old Huz-and-Buz was drinking here with his back to the door.
'Great Caesar's ghost!' he called out, dropping his glass, 'what 'n
thunder's that?' 'Gentlemen,' pipes up the young man again, 'I am a
stranger, this moment arrived by the coach; and it would be a real
kindness to direct me to a comfortable lodging." By this time he'd
unwound the muffler about his neck and unbuttoned his outer wraps
generally, and we saw he was rigged out in genuine sky-pilot's
uniform. We hadn't seen one of that profession in Eucalyptus for
more'n two years. 'I'm afraid, your reverence,' says one of the
boys, mimicking the poor lad's talk, 'I'm afraid the accommodation of
this camp will hardly reach up to your style. I guess what _you_
want is a cosy little nook with a brass knocker and a nice motherly
woman to look after you. You oughter have sent the municipality word
you was coming.' 'Thank you,' answers the poor boy, as serious as
can be; 'of course I shall be glad of such comforts, but I assure you
they are not indispensable. I'm an old campaigner,' he says, drawing
himself up to his poor little height and smiling proud-like. I tell
you, that knocked the wind out of our sails. It was too big to laugh
at. We just stuck for half a minute and looked at him, till the
mischief put it into old Huz-and-Buz's head to cackle out,
'Better send him right along to Flyheel Flo!' This put up a laugh,
and I saw in half a minute that the proposition had caught on.
It struck me as sort of funny, too, at the time. So I steps forward
and says, 'I know a lady who'd likely take you in and fix you up
comfortable. This kind of thing ain't exactly in her line; but no
doubt she'll put herself out to oblige a minister, specially if you
take her a letter of introduction from me. Miss Florence
Montmorency's her name, and she lives at No. 67 along the street
here. Here, pass along the ink-bottle and a pen,' I says (for,
barring Huz-and-Buz, I was about the only sinner present that hadn't
forgotten how to spell); and inside of five minutes I'd fixed up the
letter to Flo, and a dandy document it was! He took it and thanked
me like as if it was a school prize; and I guess 'twas then it began
to break in on me that we'd been playing it pretty low on the
innocent. However, Pete caught up his valise, and two or three of us
saw him along to Flo's door, and waited out on the sidewalk while he
knocked. At the second knock Flo came down and let him in. I saw
him lift his hat, and heard him begin with 'I believe I am addressing
Miss Montmorency'; and what Flo was making ready to say in answer I'd
give a dollar at this moment to know. But she looked over his
shoulder, and with the tail of her eye glimpsed us outside, and
wasn't going to show her hand before the boys. So quick as thought
she pulls the youngster in, with his valise, and shuts the door.
"'Well, _sir_, we cooled our heels outside there for a spell, but
nothing occurred. So at last we made tracks back here to the saloon,
owning to ourselves that Flo didn't need to be taught how to receive
a surprise party. 'But,' says I, 'you'll have the minister back here
before long; and I anticipate he'll ask questions.' I'd hardly said
the words before the door flung open behind me. It wasn't the
youngster, though, but Flo herself; and a flaming rage she was in.
'See here, boys,' she begins, 'this is a dirty game, and you'd better
be ashamed of yourselves! I'm ashamed of you, Bill, anyway,' she
says, tossing me back my letter; and then, turning short round on
Huz-and-Buz, 'If old Iniquity, here, started the racket, it's nateral
to him: he had a decent woman once for his wife, _and beat her_.
But there's others of you oughter know that your same reasons for
thinking light of a woman are reasons against driving the joke too
hard.' 'You're right, Flo,' says I, 'and I beg your pardon.'
'I dunno that I'll grant it,' she says. 'Lord knows,' she says,
'It ain't for any of us here to be heaving dirt at each other; but I
will say you oughter be feeling mean, the way you've served that
young man. Why, boys,' she says, opening her eyes wide, like as if
'twas a thing unheard of, 'he's _good_! And oh, boys, he's sick,
too!' 'Is he so?' I says; 'I feel cheap.' 'You oughter,' says she.
'What's to be done?' says I. 'Well, the first thing,' she says,
'that you've got to do is to come right along and paint my fence';
then, seeing I looked a bit puzzled--'Some of you boys have taken the
liberty to write up some pretty free compliments about my premises;
and as the most of you was born before spelling-bees came in fashion,
I don't want my new boarder to come down to-morrow and form his own
opinion about your education.' Well, sir, we went off in a party and
knocked up old Peter, and got a pot of paint, and titivated No. 67 by
the light of a couple of lanterns; and the Bishop--as we came to call
him--sleeping the sleep of the just upstairs all the time.
_Un_fortunately, Peter had made a mistake and given us green paint
instead of blue, and by that light none of us could tell the
difference; so I guess the Bishop next morning allowed that Miss
Montmorency had ideas of her own on 'mural decoration,' as
Huz-and-Buz calls it. When we got the job fixed, Flo steps inside
the gate, and says she, looking over it, 'Boys, I'm grateful.
And now I'm going to play a lone hand, and I look to you not to
interfere. Good night.' From that day to this, sir, she's kept
straight, and held off the drink in a manner you wouldn't credit.
The Bishop, he thinks her an angel on earth; and to see them
promenading down the sidewalk arm-in-arm of an afternoon is as good
as a dime exhibition. I'm bound to own the boys act up. You wait
till you see her pass, and the way the hats fly off. Old Huz-and-Buz
came pretty near to getting lynched the first week, for playing the
smarty and drawling out as they went by, 'Miss Montmorency, I
believe?' to imitate the way in which the Bishop introduced himself.
I guess he won't be humorous again for a considerable spell.
And now, Doctor, I hope I've put the facts straight for you?'
"'You have,' I answered, draining my glass; 'and they do several
people credit.'
"'Wait a bit. You haven't heard what I'm coming to. That young man
is poor.'
"'So I gather.'
"'And I'm speaking now in the name of the boys. There was a meeting
held just now, while you were dropping your card on the Bishop; and
I'm to tell you, as deputy, that trouble ain't to be spared over him.
It's a hopeless case; but you hear--trouble ain't to be spared; and
the municipality foots the--'
"'Hold hard, there,' I broke in; and told him how the land lay.
When I'd done he held out a huge but well-shaped hand, palm upwards.
"'Put it there,' he said.
"We shook hands, and walked together (still to the strain of
'Juliana') as far as the Necropolis gate. I observed that several
citizens appeared at the doors of the saloons along our route, and
looked inquiringly at Captain Bill, who answered in each case with a
wink.
"'That passes you,' he explained, 'for the freedom of Eucalyptus
City, as you'd say at home. When you want it, you've only to come
and fetch it--in a pail. You're among friends.'
"He backed up this assurance by shaking my hand a second time, and
with great fervour. And so we parted.
"As I neared the spring on my homeward road I saw Miss Montmorency
standing beside the track, awaiting me. She looked decidedly better,
and handed me back my handkerchief, almost dry and neatly folded.
"'And how did you find him?' she asked.
"I told her.
"'We allowed it was that--the boys and I. We allowed he wouldn't
last out the fall. Did you meet any of the boys?'
"'I've been having a short drink and a long talk with Captain Bill.'
"She nodded her head, breaking off to clap both palms to her temples.
"'My! It does ache! I'm powerful glad you seen Bill. Now you know
the worst o' me and we can start fair. I allowed, first along, that
I play this hand alone; but now you've got to help. Now and then I
catch myself weakening. It's dreadful choky, sitting by the hour and
filling up that poor innocent with lies. And the eyes of him!'
(she stamped her foot): 'I could whip his father and mother for
having no more sense than to let him start. Doctor, you'll have to
help.'"
"I rode down to Eucalyptus again next morning and found the Bishop
seated and talking with Miss Montmorency in the gaudy little parlour.
"'We were just going out for a walk together,' he explained, as we
shook hands.
"'And now you'll just have to walk out with the Doctor instead; and
serve you right for talking foolishness.' She moved towards the
door.
"'Doctor,' he said, 'I wish you would make her listen. I feel much
better to-day--altogether a different man. If this improvement
continues, I shall start in a week at the farthest. And I was trying
to tell her--Doctor, you can have no notion of her goodness.
'I was a stranger and she took me in'--'
"Miss Montmorency, with her hand on the door, turned sharply round at
this, and shot a queer sort of look at me. I thought she was going
to speak; but she didn't.
"'Excuse me,' I said to the Bishop, as the door closed, 'but that's
your Bible, I take it, on the table yonder. May I have it for a
moment?'
"I picked it up and followed Miss Montmorency, whom I found just
outside on the landing.
"'What's the meaning of it?' she demanded, very low and fierce.
"'I guessed that text had jerked you a bit. No, I haven't given you
away. He was talking out of the Bible.' I found the place for her.
'You'd better take it to your room and read the whole passage,' said
I, and went back to the parlour.
"'I have lent your Bible to Miss Montmorency,' I said.
"The Bishop seemed lost in thought, but made no remark until we were
outside the house and starting for our short walk. Then he laid a
hand on my arm. 'Forgive me,' he said; 'I had no idea you were
earnest in these matters.'
"I was for putting in a disclaimer, but he went on:
"'She has a soul to save--a very precious soul. Mark you, if works
could save a soul, hers would be secure. And I have thought
sometimes God cannot judge her harshly; for consider of how much
value the life of one such woman must be in such a community as this!
You should observe how the men respect her. And yet we have the
divine assurance that works without grace are naught; and her
carelessness on sacred matters is appalling. If, when I am gone'--
and it struck me sharply that not only the western mountains but the
cemetery gate lay in the direction of his nod, and that the gate lay
nearer--'if you could speak to her now and then--ah, you can hardly
guess how it would rejoice me some day when I return, bearing'--and
his voice sank here--'bearing, please God, my sheaves with me!'
"'But why,' I urged, 'go farther, when work like this lies at your
hand?'
"'I have thought of that; but only for a moment. It may sound
presumptuous to you; I am very young; but there is bigger work for me
ahead, and I am called. I cannot argue about this. I _know_.
I have a sign. Look up at the mountain, yonder--high up, above the
quicksilver mines. Do you see those bright lights flashing?'
"Sure enough, above the disused works a line of sparkling lights led
the eye upwards to the snow-fields, as if traced in diamonds.
The phenomenon was certainly astonishing, and I couldn't account for
it.
"'You see it? Ah! but you didn't observe it till I spoke. Nobody
does. Miss Montmorency, when I pointed it out, declared that in all
the time she has lived here she never once noticed it. Yet the first
night I came here I saw it. My window looks westward, and I pulled
the curtain aside for a moment before getting into bed. It had been
dark as pitch when the coach dropped me; but now the moon was up,
over opposite; and the first thing my eyes lit on was this line of
lights reaching up the mountain. When I woke, next morning, it was
still there, flashing in the sun. I think it was at breakfast, when
I asked Miss Montmorency about it, and found she'd never remarked it,
that it first came into my head 'twas meant for me. Anyhow, the
idea's fixed there now, and I can't get away from it. I've asked
many people, and there's not one can explain it, or has ever remarked
it till I pointed it out.'
"His hand trembled on his stick, and a fit of coughing shook him.
While we stood still I heard a banjo in a saloon across the road
tinkle its long descent into the chorus of 'Juliana'--"
'Was it weary there
In the wilderness?
Was it weary-y-y, 'way down in Goshen?'
The chorus came roaring out and across the street; ceased; and the
banjo slid into the next verse.
"'I wish they wouldn't,' said the Bishop, taking the handkerchief
from his lips and speaking (as I thought) rather peevishly.
"'It's a weariful tune.'
"'Is it? Now I don't know anything about music. It's the words that
make me feel wisht.'
"'And now,' said I, 'you've eased my soul of the curiosity that has
been vexing it for twenty-four hours. Your voice told you were
English; but there was something in it besides--something almost
rubbed out, if I may say so, by your training for the ministry.
I was wondering what part of England you hailed from, and I meant to
find out without asking. You'll observe that as yet I don't even
know your name. But Cornwall's your birthplace.'
"'I suppose,' he answered, smiling, 'you've only heard me called
'the Bishop.' Yes, you're quite right. I come from the north of
Cornwall--from Port Isaac; and my name's Penno--John Penno.
I used to be laughed at for it at the Training College, and for my
Cornish talk. They said it would be a hindrance to me in the
ministry, so I worked hard to overcome it.'
"'I know Port Isaac. At least, I once spent a couple of days there.'
"'Ah?' He turned on me eagerly--with a sob, almost. 'You will have
seen my folks, maybe? My father's a fisherman there--Hezekiah
Penno--Old Ki, he's always called: everyone knows him.'
"I shook my head. 'The only fisherman I knew at all was called
Tregay. He took me out after the pollack one day in his boat, the
_Little Mercy_.'
"'That will be my mother's brother Israel. He named the boat after a
sister of mine. She's grown up now and married, and settled at St.
Columb. This is wonderful! And how was Israel wearing when you saw
him?'
"'You have later news of him than I can give. I am speaking of ten
years ago.'
"His face fell pathetically; but he contrived a rueful little laugh
as he answered: 'And I must have been a boy of nine at the time, and
playing about Portissick Street, no doubt! Never mind. It's good,
anyway, to speak of home to you; for you've _seen_ it, you know!'
"He said this with his eyes fixed on the flashing mountain; and, as
he finished, he sighed."
"During the next three or four days--for a relapse followed his
rally, and he had to give up all thought of departing immediately--I
talked much with the Bishop; and I think that each talk added to my
respect and wonder. In the first place, though I had read in a good
many poetry books of maidens who walked through all manner of
deadliness unhurt--Una and the lion, you know, and the rest of them--
I hadn't imagined that kind or amount of innocence in a young man.
But what startled me even more was the size of his ambitions.
'Bishop'--_in partibus infidelium_ with a vengeance--was too small a
title for him. 'Twas a Peter the Hermit's part, or a Savonarola's,
or Whitefield's at least, he was going to play all along the Pacific
Slope; and his outfit no more than a small Bible and the strength of
a mouse. And with all this the poor boy was just wearying for home,
and every small fibre in his sick heart pulling him back while he
fixed his eyes on the lights up the mountain and stiffened his back
and talked about putting a hand to the plough and not turning back.
"'Hewson,' I said one morning, as we were breakfasting at the Cornice
House, 'what's the cause of those curious lights up by the cinnabar
mines, over Eucalyptus?'
"'Lights?' said he, 'what lights? I never heard of any.'
"'Well, it's something that flashes, anyway--a regular line of it.'
"'I'll tell you what it's _not_; and that's quicksilver,' Hewson
answered.
"On my way down to Eucalyptus early that morning, I hitched my horse
up to the Necropolis gate and determined to explore the secret of the
lights before visiting the Bishop. The track towards the cinnabar
works was pretty easy to follow, first along; but when I had climbed
some four or five hundred feet it grew fainter, and was lost at
length under the pine-needles. Luckily some hand had notched a tree
here and there, and these guided me to the dry bed of a torrent, on
the far side of which the track reappeared, and continued pretty
plain for the rest of the journey, though broken in several places by
the rains. I had missed my way three times at the most; but it took
me three-quarters of an hour to reach the lowest of the works, and
another twenty minutes to get into anything like clear country.
At length, on the edge of a steep depression that widened and
shallowed as it neared the valley, I got a fair look up the slope.
So far I had met nothing to account for the lights--nothing at all,
in fact, but the broken spade-handles, old boots, empty meat-cans,
and other refuse of the miners' camps; but every now and then I would
catch a glimpse of the hillside high overhead: and always those
lights were flashing there, though in varying numbers. Now, having a
clear view, I found to my dismay that they had shrunk to one. It was
like a story in the _Arabian Nights_. I swore, though, that I would
not be cheated of this last chance. The flashing object, whatever it
was, lay some two hundred yards above me on the slope; and I
approached cautiously, with my eyes fixed on it, much like a child
hunting grasshoppers in a hay-field. I was less than ten paces from
it when the light suddenly vanished, and five paces more knocked the
bottom out of the mystery. The object was a battered and empty
meat-can.
"I had passed a hundred such, at least, on my way. The camps had
lain pretty close to the track, and the rains descending upon their
refuse heaps had washed the labels off these cans, that now, as sun
and moon rose and passed over the mountain side, flashed moving
signals down to Eucalyptus in the valley--signals of failure and
desolation. And these had been the Bishop's pillar of fire in the
wilderness!"
'Was it weary, then,
In the wilderness?' . . .
"I turned and went down the track.
"At the Necropolis gate I found Captain Bill standing, with a heavy
and puzzled face, beside my horse.
"'I was stepping up to Cornice House; but found your nag here, and
concluded to wait. I've been waiting the best part of an hour.
What in thunder have you been doing with yourself?'
"'Prospecting,' said I. 'What's the news? Anything wrong with the
Bishop?'
"'There's nothing wrong with him; and won't be, any more. He broke a
blood-vessel in the night. Flo looked in early this morning, and
found him sleeping, as she thought. An hour later she took him a cup
of tea, and was putting it down on the table by the bed, when she saw
blood on the pillow. She's powerful upset.'
"Two days later--the morning of the funeral--I met Captain Bill at
the entrance of the town. He held the Bishop's small morocco-bound
Bible in his hand; but for excellent reasons had made no change in
his work-day attire.
"'You're attending, of course?' was his greeting. 'Say, would you
like to conduct? It lay between me and Huz-'n-Buz, and he was for
tossing up; but I allowed he was altogether too hoary a sinner.
So we made him chief mourner instead, along with Flo--the more by
token that he's the only citizen with a black coat to his back.
As for Flo, she's got to attend in colours, having cut up her only
black gown to nail on the casket for a covering. Foolishness, of
course; but she was set on it. But see here, you've only to say the
word, and I'll resign to you.'
"I declined, and suggested that for two reasons he was the man to
conduct the service: first, as the most prominent inhabitant of
Eucalyptus; and secondly, as having made himself in a way responsible
for the Bishop from the first.
"'As you like,' said he.' I told him, that first night, that I'd see
him through; and I will.'
"He eyed the Bible dubiously. 'It's pretty small print,' he added.
'I suppose it's all good, now?'
"'If you mean that you're going to open the book and read away from
the first full-stop you happen to light on--'
"'That's what I'd planned. You don't suppose, do you, I've had time
since Tuesday to read all this through and skim off the cream?'
"'Then you'd better let me pick out a chapter for you.'
"As I took the Bible something fluttered from it to the ground.
Captain Bill stooped and picked it up.
"'That's pretty, too,' he said, handing it to me.
"It was a little bookmarker, worked in silk, with one pink rose, the
initials M. P. (for Mercy Penno, no doubt), and under these the
favourite lines that small West-country children in England embroider
on their samplers:"
'Rose leaves smell
When roses thrive:
Here's my work
When I'm alive.
Rose leaves smell
When shrunk and shred:
Here's my work
When I'm dead.'
I turned to the fifteenth chapter of the first Epistle to the
Corinthians: showed the captain where to begin; and laid the
bookmarker opposite the place.
"We walked a few paces together as far as the green knoll that
I have described as overhanging Eucalyptus, and there I halted to
wait for the funeral, while Captain Bill went on to the Necropolis
to make sure that the grave was ready and all arrangements complete.
The procession was not due to start for another quarter of an hour,
so I found a comfortable boulder and sat down to smoke a pipe.
Right under me stretched the deserted main street, and in the
hush of the morning--it was just the middle of the Indian summer,
and the air all sunny and soft--I could hear the billiard balls
click-click-clicking as usual, and the players' voices breaking in at
intervals, and the banjoes tinkling away down the street from saloon
to saloon. These and the distant chatter of the river were all the
sounds; and the river's chatter seemed hardly so persistent and
monotonous as the voices of the saloons and the unceasing question--"
'Was it weary there
In the wilderness?
Was it weary-y-y, 'way down in Goshen?'
"Suddenly, far down the street, there was a stir, and from the door
of No. 67 half a dozen men came staggering out into the sunshine
under a black coffin, which they carried shoulder high; and behind
came two figures only--those of Miss Montmorency and the architect--
arm in arm. The bearers wheeled round, got into step after one or
two attempts, and the procession advanced.
"And I observed, as it advanced, that a hush came slowly with it,
closing on the click of the balls and the strumming of the banjoes,
as from saloon after saloon the players stepped out and fell in at
the tail of the procession. Gradually these noises were penned into
the three or four saloons immediately beneath me; and then these,
too, were silenced, and the mourners began to climb the hill.
"I did not attend the funeral after all. I rose and stood hat in
hand as it climbed past--the coffin, the one woman, and the many men.
It was grotesque enough. Flo had on the same outrageous costume she
had worn at our first meeting; but a look at the black drapery of the
coffin sanctified _that_. One mourner, in pure absence of mind, had
brought along his billiard-cue as a walking-stick; and every now and
then would step out of the ranks and distribute whacks among the five
or six dogs that frisked alongside the procession. But I read on
every face the consciousness that Eucalyptus was doing its duty.
"So they climbed past and up to the Necropolis, and filed in between
its two pillars. I could see among the pines a group or two
standing, with bent heads, and Captain Bill towering beside the
grave; at times I heard his voice lifted, but could not catch the
words. Down in the town for a while all was silent as death.
Then in a saloon below some boy--left behind, no doubt, to look after
the house--took up a banjo and began to pick out slowly and with one
finger the tune of ''Way down upon the Suwanee River,' and as it went
I fitted the words to it:"
'All the world is sad and dreary
Everywhere I roam,
Oh, brudders, how my heart grows weary . . .'
"The tune ceased. The only sound now came from a robin, hunting
about the turf and now and then breaking out into an impatient
twitter.
"The silence was broken at length by the footsteps of the mourners
returning. They went down the hill almost as decorously as they had
gone up. Flo stepped aside and came towards me.
"'Let me stay beside you for a bit. I can't go back there--yet.'
"This was all she said; and we stood there side by side for minutes.
Soon the tinkle of a banjo came up to us, and a pair of billiard
balls clicked; then a second banjo joined in; and gradually, as the
stream of citizens trickled back and spread, so like a stream the
sound of clicking billiard balls and tinkling banjoes trickled back
and spread along the main street of Eucalyptus City."
'Was it weary there,
In de wilderness? . . .'
"Flo looked at me and put out a hand; but drew it back before I could
take it. And so, without another word, she went down the hill."