near the open skylight, "how's her head?"
"Sou'-sou'-west, sir."
"Put her about and lay your course west and by north. Now," said the
captain, turning again to Watty, with a look of satisfaction, "we'll
soon rescue Captain Samson and his crew. I'm sorry I won't be able to
take you all back to England, because we are bound for San Francisco,
but a trip to California is preferable to life on a coral island. Now,
boy, I've talked enough to you. The steward will bring you some dinner.
If you feel disposed, you may get up after that. Here are dry clothes
for you. We ripped up your own to save time after hauling you out of
the sea."
It was not usual for the gentle Polly Samson to alarm the camp with a
shriek that would have done credit to a mad cockatoo, nevertheless, she
did commit this outrage on the feelings of her companions on the
afternoon of the day on which Watty was run down and rescued.
Her father and all the others were seated around the camp fire among the
bushes at the time. Polly had left them, intending to pay a visit to
one of her beautiful water-gardens on the beach, and had just emerged
from the bushes and cast her eyes upon the sea, when she beheld the
sight that drew from her the shriek referred to. She gave it forth in
an ascending scale.
"Oh! Oh!! Oh!!! father! come here! quick! quick! oh!"
Never since he was a boy had the captain jumped so sharply from a
sitting posture to his legs. Every man followed suit like a
Jack-in-the-box. There was a rush as if of a tempest through the
bushes, and next moment the whole party burst upon the scene, to find
Polly--not as they had feared in some deadly peril, but--with flashing
eyes and glowing cheeks waving her arms like a windmill, and shrieking
with joy at a ship which was making straight for the island under full
sail.
The captain greeted the sight with a bass roar, Philosopher Jack with a
stentorian shout. Ben Trench did his best to follow Jack's example.
Simon O'Rook uttered an Irish howl, threw his cap into the air, and
forthwith began an impromptu hornpipe, in which he was joined by Bob
Corkey. Baldwin Burr and his comrades vented their feelings in
prolonged British cheers, and Mr Luke, uttering a squeak like a wounded
rabbit, went about wanting to embrace everybody, but nobody would let
him. In short every one went more or less mad with joy at this sudden
realisation of "hope long deferred." Only then did they become fully
aware of the depth of anxiety which had oppressed them at the thought of
being left, perhaps for years, it might be to the end of their days, on
that unknown island.
As the vessel approached, it became apparent that there was some one on
board whose temporary insanity was as demonstrative as their own, so
wild were his gesticulations.
"It's too fur off," said Baldwin, "to make out the crittur's phisog; but
if it warn't for his size, I'd say he was a monkey."
"P'r'aps it's an ourang-outang," suggested Corkey.
"Or a gorilla," said O'Rook.
"Oh!" exclaimed Polly, in a low, eager voice of surprise, "I do believe
it is Watty Wilkins!"
"Polly is right," said Philosopher Jack; "I'd know Watty's action among
a thousand."
As he spoke, the vessel rounded-to outside the reef, backed her
top-sails, and lowered a boat. At the same time the excited figure
disappeared from her bow, and reappeared, wilder than ever, in the stern
of the boat. As it crossed the lagoon, the voice of Watty became
audible, and was responded to by a succession of hearty cheers, in the
midst of which the boat was run ashore. The excited lad sprang on the
beach, and was almost annihilated by the species of miscellaneous
embracing that he immediately underwent.
Need we say that Captain Samson and his men were only too thankful to
have such an opportunity of deliverance? They at once accepted the
offer of the American captain, embarked in his ship the following
morning, passed Cape Horn not long after, sailed up the coast of South
America, and, in course of time, cast anchor in the renowned harbour of
San Francisco.
At the time of which we write, the excitement about the gold-fields of
California was at its highest pitch. Men were flocking to that region
from all parts of the earth. Fortunes were being made by some in a few
months, and lost by others, at the gaming-tables, in a few days, or even
hours. While a few gained a competence, many gained only a bare
subsistence; thousands lost their health, and not a few their lives. It
was a strange play that men enacted there, embracing all the confusion,
glitter, rapid change of scene, burlesque, and comedy of a pantomime,
with many a dash of darkest tragedy intermingled. Tents were pitched in
all directions, houses were hastily run up, restaurants of all kinds
were opened, boats were turned keel up and converted into cottages,
while ships were stranded or lying idle at their anchors for want of
crews, who had made off to that mighty centre of attraction, the
diggings.
Arrived at San Francisco, Captain Samson and his crew were landed one
fine morning at an early hour, and went up to a modest-looking hotel,
without any definite idea as to what was best to be done in their
peculiar circumstances. Feeling a strange sensation of helplessness in
the midst of so much turmoil and human energy, after their quiet sojourn
on the Coral Island, they kept together like a flock of sheep, and
wandered about the town. Then they returned to their hotel and had
luncheon, for which so large a sum was demanded, that they resolved to
return on board at once, and ask the American captain's advice.
They found their deliverer pacing his quarterdeck, with his hands in his
pockets, and a stern frown on his countenance. He was quite alone, and
the vessel wore an unusually quiet air.
"Nothing wrong, I hope," said Captain Samson, as he stepped over the
gangway.
"Everything wrong," replied the American; "crew skedaddled."
"What! bolted?"
"Ay, every man, to the diggin's."
"What will you do?" asked Captain Samson, in a sympathetic tone.
"Sell off the ship and cargo for what they'll fetch, and go to the
diggin's too," replied the other. "Moreover, I'd strongly recommend you
to do the same."
"What say you to that advice, Philosopher Jack?" asked Captain Samson,
turning to our hero, with a peculiar smile.
"I say," answered the philosopher, returning the smile, "that the advice
requires consideration."
"Cautiously replied; and what says my Polly?" continued the captain.
"I say whatever you say, father."
"Ah! Poll, Poll, that sort of answer don't help one much. However,
we'll call a council of war, and discuss the matter seriously; but,
first of all, let's see how the wind blows. How do _you_ feel inclined,
Ben Trench? Bein' the invalid of our party, so to speak, you're
entitled, I think, to speak first."
"I say, Go," replied Ben.
"And I say ditto," burst from Watty Wilkins with powerful emphasis.
"You wasn't axed yet," observed Bob Corkey. "Besides, stowaways have no
right to speak at all."
"What says Mr Luke!" continued the captain.
"Don't go," answered Mr Luke feebly.
"Now, lads," said the captain, after putting the question to the others,
"we'll go in for the pros and cons."
They went in for the pros and cons accordingly, and after an animated
debate, resolved that the path of duty, as well as that of interest and
propriety, lay in the direction of the diggings.
Having settled the matter, and gathered together into a common fund the
small amount of cash and property which each had saved from the wreck,
they went ashore, purchased the articles necessary for their expedition,
and followed the great stream of Californian gold-diggers.
We shall join them, but let not the reader suppose that we intend to
bore him or her with the statistics and details of Californian
gold-digging. It is our purpose only to touch lightly on those salient
points in the adventures of our wanderers which had a more or less
direct bearing on the great issues of their lives.
CHAPTER SEVEN.
FAILURE.
There are times, probably, in the life of all when everything seems to
go against one,--when plans and efforts turn out ill, or go wrong, and
prospects look utterly black and hopeless. Such a time fell upon
Philosopher Jack and his friends some months after their arrival at the
gold-diggings.
At first they were moderately successful, and at that time what
amazingly golden visions they did indulge!
"A carriage and pair," soliloquised Watty Wilkins, one evening at
supper, while his eyes rested complacently on the proceeds of the day's
labour--a little heap of nuggets and gold-dust, which lay on a sheet of
paper beside him; "a carriage and pair, a town house in London, a
country house near Bath or Tunbridge Wells, and a shooting-box in the
Scotch Highlands. Such is my reasonable ambition."
"Not bad," said Philosopher Jack, "if you throw in a salmon river near
the shooting-box, and the right to wear the bonnet, plaid, and kilt at
pleasure."
"Not to mention bare legs an' rheumatiz," remarked Simon O'Rook, who was
busy with the frying-pan. "Sure, if the good Queen herself was to order
me to putt on such things, I'd take off me bonnet an' plaid in excuse
that I'd be kilt entirely if she held me to it. All the same I'd obey
her, for I'm a loyal subject."
"You're a bad cook, anyhow," said Baldwin Burr, "to burn the bacon like
that."
"Burn it!" retorted O'Rook with an air of annoyance, "man alive, how can
I help it? It hasn't fat enough to slide in, much less to swim. It's
my belief that the pig as owned it was fed on mahogany-sawdust and steel
filin's. There, ait it, an' howld yer tongue. It's good enough for a
goold-digger, anyhow."
"In regard to that little bit of ambition o' your'n," said Bob Corkey,
as the party continued their meal, "seems to me, Watty, that you might
go in for a carriage an' four, or six, when you're at it."
"No, Corkey, no," returned the other, "that would be imitating the
foibles of the great, which I scorn. What is _your_ particular
ambition, now, Mr Luke? What will you buy when you've dug up your
fortune?"
The cadaverous individual addressed, who had become thinner and more
cadaverous than ever, looked up from his pewter plate, and, with a
sickly smile, replied that he would give all the gold in the mines to
purchase peace of mind.
This was received with a look of surprise, which was followed by a burst
of laughter.
"Why, you ain't an escaped convict, are you?" exclaimed Baldwin Burr.
"No, I'm only an escaped man of business, escaped from the toils, and
worries, and confinements of city life," returned Mr Luke, with another
sickly smile, as he returned to his tough bacon.
"Well, Mr Luke, if contrast brings any blessing with it," said Edwin
Jack, "you ought to revive here, for you have splendid fresh country
air--by night as well as by day--a fine laborious occupation with pick
and shovel, a healthy appetite, wet feet continually, mud up to the
eyes, and gold to your heart's content. What more can you desire?"
"Nothing," replied the cadaverous man with a sigh.
The state of prosperity to which Jack referred did not last. Their
first "claim," though rich, was soon worked out, and they were obliged
to seek another. This turned out to be a poor one, yielding barely
enough of the precious metal to enable them to pay their way, every
article of clothing, tools, and food being excessively dear at the
mines. Nevertheless, they worked on in hope, but what was termed their
"luck" became worse and worse every day, so that at last they were
obliged to run into debt.
This was not difficult to do, for the principal store-keeper, Higgins by
name, saw that they were respectable, trustworthy men, and felt pretty
safe in giving them supplies on credit. One bad result of the debt thus
incurred was that the whole tone and spirit of the party was lowered.
"It's too bad," growled Philosopher Jack one evening, as he strode into
the tent and flung down his tools; "got barely enough to keep the pot
boiling."
"Better that than nothing," remarked Watty Wilkins, who was in the act
of taking off his wet boots. "_I_ haven't got as much dust as would
gild the end of a bumbee's nose. Hope some of the others have been more
successful. None of them have come in yet except O'Rook, who is as
unlucky as myself. He's off to the store for something for supper."
Watty sat down before the fire which burned in front of the tent, and
sadly toasted his toes.
"I'll tell you what," said Jack, sitting down beside him, "I fear we
were fools to come here."
"Not so sure of that" returned Wilkins, with a dubious shake of the
head. "Every one, you know, cannot be lucky. Some succeed and some
don't. We are down just now, that's all. The wheel of fortune is going
round, and something will be sure to turn up soon."
"Nothing will turn up unless we turn it up for ourselves, you may depend
upon that" said Philosopher Jack.
"The captain seemed to preach a different doctrine from that last
Sunday, didn't he, when he remarked that God sometimes sends prosperity
and riches to those who neither ask, work for, nor deserve them?"
"True, Watty, but these, he told us, were exceptional cases; the rule
being, that those who labour with body or mind acquire possessions,
while those who don't labour fall into poverty. The simple truth of
that rule is partially veiled by the fact that thousands of laborious
men labour unwisely, on the one hand, while, on the other hand,
thousands of idle men live on the product of their forefathers' labours.
Besides, didn't the captain also impress upon us that success is not
success when it leads to evil, and failure is not failure when it
results in good?"
"From all which," retorted Watty, "you bring forward strong proof that
your present growling at bad luck is most unphilosophic, you
cross-grained philosopher."
"Not at all," returned Jack. "The captain's principles may, or may not
be correct. The mere statement of them does not prove that my ill luck
just now is going to result in good. But the worst of it is, that
during the time of our good fortune, I had been hoarding up in order to
be able to send money to my poor father, and now it has all melted
away."
"I'm sorry for you, Jack," said Watty, "but that is not the worst of it
to my mind, bad though it be. What grieves me most is, that my dear
friend and chum, Ben Trench, is surely losing his health under the
strain of anxiety and hard work. You see, he is not gifted with the
gutta-percha feelings and cast-iron frame of Philosopher Jack, neither
has he the happy-go-lucky spirit and tough little corpus of Watty
Wilkins, so that it tells on him heavily--very heavily."
Poor Watty said this half jestingly, yet with such a look of genuine
feeling that Jack forgot his own troubles for the moment.
"Something _must_ be done," he said, gazing with a concerned look at the
fire. "Did you observe that man Conway last night up at the store?"
"Yes; what of him?"
"He staked largely at the gaming-table last night--and won."
Little Wilkins glanced quickly in his friend's face. "Jack," he said,
with a look and tone of earnestness quite unusual to him, "we must not
think of _that_. Whatever straits we are reduced to, we must not
gamble--I repeat, we _must_ not!"
"Why not, little man?" asked Jack, with an amused smile at what he
considered an uncalled-for burst of seriousness.
"Because it is dishonourable," said Wilkins, promptly.
"I don't see it to be so," returned Jack. "If I am willing to stake my
money on a chance of black or red turning up, and the banker is willing
to take his chance, why should we not do it? the chances are equal; both
willing to win or to lose, nothing dishonourable in that! Or, if I bet
with you and you bet with me, we both agree to accept the consequences,
having a right, of course, to do what we please with our own."
"Now, Jack," said Wilkins, "I'm not going to set up for a little
preacher, or attempt to argue with a big philosopher, but I'll tell you
what my father has impressed on me about this matter. One day, when we
were passing some ragged boys playing pitch-and-toss on the street, he
said to me, `Watty, my boy, no man should gamble, because it is
dishonourable. To want money that does not belong to you is greedy. To
try to get it from your neighbour without working for it is mean. To
risk your money in the hope of increasing it by trade, or other fair
means, and so benefit yourself and others, is right; but to risk it for
nothing, with the certainty of impoverishing some one else if you win,
or injuring yourself if you lose, is foolish and unfeeling. The fact
that some one else is willing to bet with you, only proves that you have
met with one as foolish and unfeeling as yourself, and the agreement of
two unfeeling fools does not result in wisdom. You will hear it said,
my boy, that a man has a right to do what he will with his own. That is
not true. As far as the world at large is concerned, it is, indeed,
partially true, but a man may only do what God allows with what He has
lent him. He is strictly accountable to God for the spending of every
penny. He is accountable, also, to his wife and his children, in a
certain degree, ay, and to his tradesmen, if he owes them anything.
Yes, Watty, gambling for money is dishonourable, believe me!' Now,
Jack, I did, and I do believe him, from the bottom of my heart."
What Jack would have replied we cannot tell, for the conversation was
interrupted at that moment by the abrupt appearance of Captain Samson.
He led Polly by the hand. The child had an unwonted expression of
sadness on her face.
"Come into the tent. Now then, darling," said the captain; "sit on my
knee, and tell me all about it. Polly has seen something in her rambles
that has made her cry," he explained to Jack, Wilkins, and the rest of
the party who chanced to come in while he was speaking. "Let us hear
about it."
"Oh! it is _so_ sad," said Polly, whimpering. "You know that good kind
man Jacob Buckley, who lives up in Redman's Gap with his sick brother
Daniel, who is so fond of me; well, I went up to the Gap this afternoon,
when I had done cleaning up, to sit with the sick brother for a little.
I found him in great anxiety and very ill. He told me that Jacob, who
had always been such a good nurse to him, is much cast down by his bad
luck, and has taken to drink, and that he has lost or spent all his
money, and can't get credit at the store. He went out quite drunk last
night, and has not returned since. Of course poor Daniel has had
nothing to eat, for he can't leave his bed without help, and even if he
could, there isn't a morsel of food in the house."
This story created much sympathy in the hearts of Polly's hearers.
"Well now, messmates, what's to be done in this case?" asked Captain
Samson, looking round.
"Make a c'lection," said O'Rook.
"Here you are," said Watty, taking up his cap and dropping several small
nuggets into it as he handed it to Jack.
The philosopher contributed a pretty large nugget, which, in his heart,
he had intended to stake at the gaming-table. "Well," said he, "we are
reduced to low enough circumstances just now, but we are rich compared
with poor Buckley."
The entire party at that time numbered only nine, including Polly,
Bounce, and Badger, the other members of the crew of the _Lively Poll_
having separated soon after leaving San Francisco. But as all of them
were men of generous spirit, Watty's cap soon contained a very
creditable "c'lection," which was made up forthwith into a bag, and
carried with some cooked provisions by Polly to Redman's Gap, under the
safe escort of her father and Baldwin Burr.
The following evening, after supper, Philosopher Jack quietly put his
last bag of gold into his pocket and went off with it to Higgins' store.
On the way up he entered into a debate with himself as to the rectitude
of gambling. He seemed to himself to be composed of two persons, one of
whom condemned, while the other defended gambling. But Jack had a
strong will of his own. He was not to be lightly turned from a purpose,
either by the disputants within him or by the arguments of his friend
Wilkins. Being a good reasoner, our philosopher found that the
condemner of gambling within him was rapidly getting the best of the
argument; he therefore brought the matter to a point by suddenly
exclaiming aloud, "Now, the question is, shall I do it?"
"Don't?" said his old, brusque, but faithful friend Conscience, with a
promptitude that made him quite uncomfortable.
"Or," continued Jack slowly, "shall I go back and wait to see whether
things will turn and mend?"
"Do!" answered his friend at once.
If Jack had put more questions, he would have received clear and
emphatic replies, but he merely said, "Pooh!" and when a man says
"pooh!" to conscience, he is in a very bad way indeed.
At Higgins' store gold-miners assembled to buy and sell, to talk and
drink and gamble. As the necessaries of life were procured there,
miners of all sorts, from the steady to the disreputable, were to be
found assembled at times, but it was chiefly the latter who "hung about"
the place. No notice was taken of Jack as he mingled with the crowd,
except by one or two acquaintances, who gave him a passing nod of
recognition.
At the bar there was assembled a boisterous group, who were laughing
heartily at something. Jack joined it, and found a tall, half-tipsy man
offering to bet with another. When men are smitten with the gambling
spirit anything that affords a "chance" will serve their turn.
"See here, now," said the tall man, looking round, "I repeat, that I'll
bet any man ten dollars--all I have in the world--that there's not any
four of the men in this store can prevent my lifting this tumbler of
water to my lips."
He held out a tumbler in his right hand as he spoke, and straightened
his long sinewy arm.
Some of those present laughed, but one, a short, thick-set, powerful
fellow, said "Done!" at once, and stepped forward.
"Well, stranger," said the tall man, with a smile, "lay hold. You ought
to be strong enough to prevent me by yourself, but come on some more of
you."
Three strong fellows rose and laughingly grasped the man's arm, while
several of the lookers-on began to bet on the event.
"Now, hold fast," said the tall man, giving his arm a slight but
vigorous shake, which had the effect of causing those who held it to
tighten their grip powerfully.
"Oh! you're not strong enough," he added; "come, another of you!"
Hereupon a fifth man rose, and laid hold of the arm amid much laughter.
At that moment a big, rough miner pushed his way through the crowd and
demanded to know "what was up." On being told, he drew a bag from his
pocket and exclaimed, "I'll bet you this bag of dust if you can match
it, that these five men will prevent you easily. They are strong enough
to hold Goliath himself, if he were here."
"Sorry that I can't match your bag, stranger," replied the tall man;
"I'm only game for ten dollars, and that's already staked."
"But _I_ can match it," exclaimed Philosopher Jack, suddenly producing
his bag, which was much the same size as that of the big miner.
"Now, then, hold fast, but don't break the bone if you can help it,"
said the tall man, giving his arm another shake.
The laugh with which this was received was changed into a roar of
delight, when the tall man passed his left arm over the heads of those
who held him, and with his left hand conveyed the tumbler to his lips.
There was a good deal of disputation immediately, as to the justice of
paying up bets on what was obviously a "sell," but it was ruled that in
this case they had been fairly lost and won, so that the big miner
turned his back on his bag of gold, and, with a deep curse, left the
store.
Never before had Edwin Jack felt so thoroughly ashamed of himself as
when he went forward and took up the two bags of gold. He did it, how
ever, and, hurriedly quitting the store, returned to his tent.
There was a small portion of the tent curtained off at the farther
extremity, as a chamber for Polly Samson. Jack was relieved, on
arriving, to find that she had retired to it for the night. He was also
glad to observe that all his tired companions were asleep, with the
exception of O'Rook. That worthy was busy clearing up his pots and pans
for the night.
"It's late you are to-night," remarked O'Rook with a yawn.
"Yes, I've been to the store," said Jack; "hand me that candle; thanks."