glass, continued with slight professional precision:--
“You see, the Chinese know nothing of anatomy from personal observation.
Autopsies and dissection are against their superstitions, which declare
the human body sacred, and are consequently never practiced.”
There was a slight movement of inquiring interest among the party,
and Cy Parker, after a meaning glance at the others, went on half
aggressively, half apologetically:--
“In course, they ain't surgeons like you, Doc, but that don't keep them
from having their own little medicines, just as dogs eat grass, you
know. Now I want to put it to you, as a fa'r-minded man, if you mean ter
say that, jest because those old women who sarve out yarbs and spring
medicines in families don't know anything of anatomy, they ain't fit to
give us their simple and nat'ral medicines?”
“But the Chinese medicines are not simple or natural,” said the doctor
coolly.
“Not simple?” echoed the party, closing round him.
“I don't mean to say,” continued the doctor, glancing around at their
eager, excited faces with an appearance of wonder, “that they are
positively noxious, unless taken in large quantities, for they are not
drugs at all, but I certainly should not call them 'simple.' Do YOU know
what they principally are?”
“Well, no,” said Parker cautiously, “perhaps not EXACTLY.”
“Come a little closer, and I'll tell you.”
Not only Parker's head but the others were bent over the counter. Dr.
Duchesne uttered a few words in a tone inaudible to the rest of the
company. There was a profound silence, broken at last by Abe Wynford's
voice:--
“Ye kin pour me out about three fingers o' whiskey, Barkeep. I'll take
it straight.”
“Same to me,” said the others.
The men gulped down their liquor; two of them quietly passed out. The
doctor wiped his lips, buttoned his coat, and began to draw on his
riding-gloves.
“I've heerd,” said Poker Jack of Shasta, with a faint smile on his white
face, as he toyed with the last drops of liquor in his glass, “that the
darned fools sometimes smell punk as a medicine, eh?”
“Yes, THAT'S comparatively decent,” said the doctor reflectively. “It's
only sawdust mixed with a little gum and formic acid.”
“Formic acid? Wot's that?”
“A very peculiar acid secreted by ants. It is supposed to be used by
them offensively in warfare--just as the skunk, eh?”
But Poker Jack of Shasta had hurriedly declared that he wanted to speak
to a man who was passing, and had disappeared. The doctor walked to the
door, mounted his horse, and rode away. I noticed, however, that there
was a slight smile on his bronzed, impassive face. This led me to
wonder if he was entirely ignorant of the purpose for which he had been
questioned, and the effect of his information. I was confirmed in the
belief by the remarkable circumstances that nothing more was said of it;
the incident seemed to have terminated there, and the victims made no
attempt to revenge themselves on See Yup. That they had one and all,
secretly and unknown to one another, patronized him, there was no doubt;
but, at the same time, as they evidently were not sure that Dr. Duchesne
had not hoaxed them in regard to the quality of See Yup's medicines,
they knew that an attack on the unfortunate Chinaman would in either
case reveal their secret and expose them to the ridicule of their
brother miners. So the matter dropped, and See Yup remained master of
the situation.
Meantime he was prospering. The coolie gang he worked on the river, when
not engaged in washing clothes, were “picking over” the “tailings,”
or refuse of gravel, left on abandoned claims by successful miners.
As there was no more expense attending this than in stone-breaking or
rag-picking, and the feeding of the coolies, which was ridiculously
cheap, there was no doubt that See Yup was reaping a fair weekly return
from it; but, as he sent his receipts to San Francisco through coolie
managers, after the Chinese custom, and did not use the regular Express
Company, there was no way of ascertaining the amount. Again, neither
See Yup nor his fellow countrymen ever appeared to have any money about
them. In ruder times and more reckless camps, raids were often made by
ruffians on their cabins or their traveling gangs, but never with any
pecuniary result. This condition, however, it seemed was destined to
change.
One Saturday See Yup walked into Wells, Fargo & Co.'s Express office
with a package of gold-dust, which, when duly weighed, was valued at
five hundred dollars. It was consigned to a Chinese company in San
Francisco. When the clerk handed See Yup a receipt, he remarked
casually:--
“Washing seems to pay, See Yup.”
“Washee velly good pay. You wantee washee, John?” said See Yup eagerly.
“No, no,” said the clerk, with a laugh. “I was only thinking five
hundred dollars would represent the washing of a good many shirts.”
“No leplesent washee shirts at all! Catchee gold-dust when washee
tailings. Shabbee?”
The clerk DID “shabbee,” and lifted his eyebrows. The next Saturday See
Yup appeared with another package, worth about four hundred dollars,
directed to the same consignee.
“Didn't pan out quite so rich this week, eh?” said the clerk engagingly.
“No,” returned See Yup impassively; “next time he payee more.”
When the third Saturday came, with the appearance of See Yup and four
hundred and fifty dollars' worth of gold-dust, the clerk felt he was no
longer bound to keep the secret. He communicated it to others, and
in twenty-four hours the whole settlement knew that See Yup's coolie
company were taking out an average of four hundred dollars per week from
the refuse and tailings of the old abandoned Palmetto claim!
The astonishment of the settlement was profound. In earlier days
jealousy and indignation at the success of these degraded heathens might
have taken a more active and aggressive shape, and it would have fared
ill with See Yup and his companions. But the settlement had become more
prosperous and law-abiding; there were one or two Eastern families and
some foreign capital already there, and its jealousy and indignation
were restricted to severe investigation and legal criticism. Fortunately
for See Yup, it was an old-established mining law that an abandoned
claim and its tailings became the property of whoever chose to work
it. But it was alleged that See Yup's company had in reality “struck a
lead,”--discovered a hitherto unknown vein or original deposit of gold,
not worked by the previous company, and having failed legally to declare
it by preemption and public registry, in their foolish desire for
secrecy, had thus forfeited their right to the property. A surveillance
of their working, however, did not establish this theory; the gold that
See Yup had sent away was of the kind that might have been found in the
tailings overlooked by the late Palmetto owners. Yet it was a very large
yield for mere refuse.
“Them Palmetto boys were mighty keerless after they'd made their big
'strike' and got to work on the vein, and I reckon they threw a lot
of gold away,” said Cy Parker, who remembered their large-handed
recklessness in the “flush days.” “On'y that WE didn't think it was
white man's work to rake over another man's leavin's, we might hev had
what them derned Chinamen hev dropped into. Tell ye what, boys, we've
been a little too 'high and mighty,' and we'll hev to climb down.”
At last the excitement reached its climax, and diplomacy was employed to
effect what neither intimidation nor espionage could secure. Under the
pretense of desiring to buy out See Yup's company, a select committee of
the miners was permitted to examine the property and its workings. They
found the great bank of stones and gravel, representing the cast-out
debris of the old claim, occupied by See Yup and four or five plodding
automatic coolies. At the end of two hours the committee returned to
the saloon bursting with excitement. They spoke under their breath, but
enough was gathered to satisfy the curious crowd that See Yup's pile of
tailings was rich beyond their expectations. The committee had seen with
their own eyes gold taken out of the sand and gravel to the amount of
twenty dollars in the two short hours of their examination. And the work
had been performed in the stupidest, clumsiest, yet PATIENT Chinese way.
What might not white men do with better appointed machinery! A syndicate
was at once formed. See Yup was offered twenty thousand dollars if
he would sell out and put the syndicate in possession of the claim
in twenty-four hours. The Chinaman received the offer stolidly. As he
seemed inclined to hesitate, I am grieved to say that it was intimated
to him that if he declined he might be subject to embarrassing and
expensive legal proceedings to prove his property, and that companies
would be formed to “prospect” the ground on either side of his heap of
tailings. See Yup at last consented, with the proviso that the money
should be paid in gold into the hands of a Chinese agent in San
Francisco on the day of the delivery of the claim. The syndicate made
no opposition to this characteristic precaution of the Chinaman. It
was like them not to travel with money, and the implied uncomplimentary
suspicion of danger from the community was overlooked. See Yup departed
the day that the syndicate took possession. He came to see me before he
went. I congratulated him upon his good fortune; at the same time, I was
embarrassed by the conviction that he was unfairly forced into a sale of
his property at a figure far below its real value.
I think differently now.
At the end of the week it was said that the new company cleared up
about three hundred dollars. This was not so much as the community
had expected, but the syndicate was apparently satisfied, and the new
machinery was put up. At the end of the next week the syndicate were
silent as to their returns. One of them made a hurried visit to San
Francisco. It was said that he was unable to see either See Yup or the
agent to whom the money was paid. It was also noticed that there was no
Chinaman remaining in the settlement. Then the fatal secret was out.
The heap of tailings had probably never yielded the See Yup company more
than twenty dollars a week, the ordinary wage of such a company. See Yup
had conceived the brilliant idea of “booming” it on a borrowed capital
of five hundred dollars in gold-dust, which he OPENLY transmitted by
express to his confederate and creditor in San Francisco, who in turn
SECRETLY sent it back to See Yup by coolie messengers, to be again
openly transmitted to San Francisco. The package of gold-dust was thus
passed backwards and forwards between debtor and creditor, to the
grave edification of the Express Company and the fatal curiosity of the
settlement. When the syndicate had gorged the bait thus thrown out, See
Yup, on the day the self-invited committee inspected the claim, promptly
“salted” the tailings by CONSCIENTIOUSLY DISTRIBUTING THE GOLD-DUST OVER
IT so deftly that it appeared to be its natural composition and yield.
I have only to bid farewell to See Yup, and close this reminiscence of
a misunderstood man, by adding the opinion of an eminent jurist in San
Francisco, to whom the facts were submitted: “So clever was this alleged
fraud, that it is extremely doubtful if an action would lie against See
Yup in the premises, there being no legal evidence of the 'salting,'
and none whatever of his actual allegation that the gold-dust was the
ORDINARY yield of the tailings, that implication resting entirely with
the committee who examined it under false pretense, and who subsequently
forced the sale by intimidation.”
THE DESBOROUGH CONNECTIONS
“Then it isn't a question of property or next of kin?” said the consul.
“Lord! no,” said the lady vivaciously. “Why, goodness me! I reckon
old Desborough could, at any time before he died, have 'bought up' or
'bought out' the whole lot of his relatives on this side of the
big pond, no matter what they were worth. No, it's only a matter of
curiosity and just sociableness.”
The American consul at St. Kentigorn felt much relieved. He had feared
it was only the old story of delusive quests for imaginary estates and
impossible inheritances which he had confronted so often in nervous
wan-eyed enthusiasts and obstreperous claimants from his own land.
Certainly there was no suggestion of this in the richly dressed and
be-diamonded matron before him, nor in her pretty daughter, charming in
a Paris frock, alive with the consciousness of beauty and admiration,
and yet a little ennuye from gratified indulgence. He knew the mother to
be the wealthy widow of a New York millionaire, that she was traveling
for pleasure in Europe, and a chance meeting with her at dinner a
few nights before had led to this half-capricious, half-confidential
appointment at the consulate.
“No,” continued Mrs. Desborough; “Mr. Desborough came to America, when
a small boy, with an uncle who died some years ago. Mr. Desborough never
seemed to hanker much after his English relatives as long as I knew him,
but now that I and Sadie are over here, why we guessed we might look 'em
up and sort of sample 'em! 'Desborough' 's rather a good name,” added
the lady, with a complacency that, however, had a suggestion of query in
it.
“Yes,” said the consul; “from the French, I fancy.”
“Mr. Desborough was English--very English,” corrected the lady.
“I mean it may be an old Norman name,” said the consul.
“Norman's good enough for ME,” said the daughter, reflecting. “We'll
just settle it as Norman. I never thought about that DES.”
“Only you may find it called 'Debborough' here, and spelt so,” said the
consul, smiling.
Miss Desborough lifted her pretty shoulders and made a charming grimace.
“Then we won't acknowledge 'em. No Debborough for me!”
“You might put an advertisement in the papers, like the 'next of
kin' notice, intimating, in the regular way, that they would 'hear of
something to their advantage'--as they certainly would,” continued the
consul, with a bow. “It would be such a refreshing change to the kind
of thing I'm accustomed to, don't you know--this idea of one of my
countrywomen coming over just to benefit English relatives! By Jove! I
wouldn't mind undertaking the whole thing for you--it's such a novelty.”
He was quite carried away with the idea.
But the two ladies were far from participating in this joyous outlook.
“No,” said Mrs. Desborough promptly, “that wouldn't do. You see,” she
went on with superb frankness, “that would be just giving ourselves
away, and saying who WE were before we found out what THEY were like.
Mr. Desborough was all right in HIS way, but we don't know anything
about his FOLKS! We ain't here on a mission to improve the Desboroughs,
nor to gather in any 'lost tribes.'”
It was evident that, in spite of the humor of the situation and the
levity of the ladies, there was a characteristic national practicalness
about them, and the consul, with a sigh, at last gave the address of one
or two responsible experts in genealogical inquiry, as he had often
done before. He felt it was impossible to offer any advice to ladies
as thoroughly capable of managing their own affairs as his fair
countrywomen, yet he was not without some curiosity to know the result
of their practical sentimental quest. That he should ever hear of them
again he doubted. He knew that after their first loneliness had worn off
in their gregarious gathering at a London hotel they were not likely to
consort with their own country people, who indeed were apt to fight
shy of one another, and even to indulge in invidious criticism of one
another when admitted in that society to which they were all equally
strangers. So he took leave of them on their way back to London with the
belief that their acquaintance terminated with that brief incident. But
he was mistaken.
In the year following he was spending his autumn vacation at a
country house. It was an historic house, and had always struck him as
being--even in that country of historic seats--a singular example of the
vicissitudes of English manorial estates and the mutations of its
lords. His host in his prime had been recalled from foreign service
to unexpectedly succeed to an uncle's title and estate. That estate,
however, had come into the possession of the uncle only through his
marriage with the daughter of an old family whose portraits still looked
down from the walls upon the youngest and alien branch. There were
likenesses, effigies, memorials, and reminiscences of still older
families who had occupied it through forfeiture by war or the favoritism
of kings, and in its stately cloisters and ruined chapel was still felt
the dead hand of its evicted religious founders, which could not be
shaken off.
It was this strange individuality that affected all who saw it. For,
however changed were those within its walls, whoever were its inheritors
or inhabiters, Scrooby Priory never changed nor altered its own
character. However incongruous or ill-assorted the portraits that looked
from its walls,--so ill met that they might have flown at one another's
throats in the long nights when the family were away,--the great
house itself was independent of them all. The be-wigged, be-laced, and
be-furbelowed of one day's gathering, the round-headed, steel-fronted,
and prim-kerchiefed congregation of another day, and even the
black-coated, bare-armed, and bare-shouldered assemblage of to-day had
no effect on the austerities of the Priory. Modern houses might show
the tastes and prepossessions of their dwellers, might have caught some
passing trick of the hour, or have recorded the augmented fortunes or
luxuriousness of the owner, but Scrooby Priory never! No one had dared
even to disturb its outer rigid integrity; the breaches of time and
siege were left untouched. It held its calm indifferent sway over all
who passed its low-arched portals, and the consul was fain to believe
that he--a foreign visitor--was no more alien to the house than its
present owner.
“I'm expecting a very charming compatriot of yours to-morrow,” said Lord
Beverdale as they drove from the station together. “You must tell me
what to show her.”
“I should think any countrywoman of mine would be quite satisfied with
the Priory,” said the consul, glancing thoughtfully towards the pile
dimly seen through the park.
“I shouldn't like her to be bored here,” continued Beverdale. “Algy met
her at Rome, where she was occupying a palace with her mother--they're
very rich, you know. He found she was staying with Lady Minever at
Hedham Towers, and I went over and invited her with a little party.
She's a Miss Desborough.”
The consul gave a slight start, and was aware that Beverdale was looking
at him.
“Perhaps you know her?” said Beverdale.
“Just enough to agree with you that she is charming,” said the consul.
“I dined with them, and saw them at the consulate.”
“Oh yes; I always forget you are a consul. Then, of course, you know
all about them. I suppose they're very rich, and in society over there?”
said Beverdale in a voice that was quite animated.
It was on the consul's lips to say that the late Mr. Desborough was an
Englishman, and even to speak playfully of their proposed quest, but a
sudden instinct withheld him. After all, perhaps it was only a caprice,
or idea, they had forgotten,--perhaps, who knows?--that they were
already ashamed of. They had evidently “got on” in English society, if
that was their real intent, and doubtless Miss Desborough, by this time,
was quite as content with the chance of becoming related to the Earl of
Beverdale, through his son and heir, Algernon, as if they had found a
real Lord Desborough among their own relatives. The consul knew that
Lord Beverdale was not a rich man, that like most men of old family he
was not a slave to class prejudice; indeed, the consul had seen very few
noblemen off the stage or out of the pages of a novel who were. So he
said, with a slight affectation of authority, that there was as
little doubt of the young lady's wealth as there was of her personal
attractions.
They were nearing the house through a long avenue of chestnuts whose
variegated leaves were already beginning to strew the ground beneath,
and they could see the vista open upon the mullioned windows of the
Priory, lighted up by the yellow October sunshine. In that sunshine
stood a tall, clean-limbed young fellow, dressed in a shooting-suit,
whom the consul recognized at once as Lord Algernon, the son of his
companion. As if to accent the graces of this vision of youth and vigor,
near him, in the shadow, an old man had halted, hat in hand, still
holding the rake with which he had been gathering the dead leaves in the
avenue; his back bent, partly with years, partly with the obeisance of
a servitor. There was something so marked in this contrast, in this
old man standing in the shadow of the fading year, himself as dried and
withered as the leaves he was raking, yet pausing to make his reverence
to this passing sunshine of youth and prosperity in the presence of his
coming master, that the consul, as they swept by, looked after him with
a stirring of pain.
“Rather an old man to be still at work,” said the consul.
Beverdale laughed. “You must not let him hear you say so; he considers
himself quite as fit as any younger man in the place, and, by Jove!
though he's nearly eighty, I'm inclined to believe it. He's not one of
our people, however; he comes from the village, and is taken on at odd
times, partly to please himself. His great aim is to be independent of
his children,--he has a granddaughter who is one of the maids at the
Priory,--and to keep himself out of the workhouse. He does not come from
these parts--somewhere farther north, I fancy. But he's a tough lot, and
has a deal of work in him yet.”
“Seems to be going a bit stale lately,” said Lord Algernon, “and I think
is getting a little queer in his head. He has a trick of stopping and
staring straight ahead, at times, when he seems to go off for a minute
or two. There!” continued the young man, with a light laugh. “I say!
he's doing it now!” They both turned quickly and gazed at the bent
figure--not fifty yards away--standing in exactly the same attitude as
before. But, even as they gazed, he slowly lifted his rake and began his
monotonous work again.
At Scrooby Priory, the consul found that the fame of his fair
countrywoman had indeed preceded her, and that the other guests were
quite as anxious to see Miss Desborough as he was. One of them had
already met her in London; another knew her as one of the house party at
the Duke of Northforeland's, where she had been a central figure. Some
of her naive sallies and frank criticisms were repeated with great
unction by the gentlemen, and with some slight trepidation and a
“fearful joy” by the ladies. He was more than ever convinced that mother
and daughter had forgotten their lineal Desboroughs, and he resolved to
leave any allusion to it to the young lady herself.
She, however, availed herself of that privilege the evening after her
arrival. “Who'd have thought of meeting YOU here?” she said, sweeping
her skirts away to make room for him on a sofa. “It's a coon's age
since I saw you--not since you gave us that letter to those genealogical
gentlemen in London.”
The consul hoped that it had proved successful.
“Yes, but maw guessed we didn't care to go back to Hengist and Horsa,
and when they let loose a lot of 'Debboroughs' and 'Daybrooks' upon us,
maw kicked! We've got a drawing ten yards long, that looks like a sour
apple tree, with lots of Desboroughs hanging up on the branches like
last year's pippins, and I guess about as worm-eaten. We took that well
enough, but when it came to giving us a map of straight lines and dashes
with names written under them like an old Morse telegraph slip, struck
by lightning, then maw and I guessed that it made us tired.