After much consideration and consultation, it was agreed that, in the
meantime, the party should remain where they were, and, when their
claims began to fail, go off to Grizzly Bear Gulch.
This being decided, Jacob Buckley rose, saying that he was going to
visit his friends at Higgins' store. Jack followed him. When they were
alone he said--
"Now, Jacob, don't go, there's a good fellow. You saved my life, I may
say, and that gives me a claim on you." Buckley frowned, but said
nothing. "If you get among your old mates," continued Jack, "and begin
to _taste_, you're a gone man. God has been very good to us. He has
made us rich. We may live to be useful, Jacob. Think of it."
A half sarcastic smile flitted over Buckley's face as he said, "You
didn't use to be a preacher, Jack; what makes you now so keen to save
me, as you call it?"
"I'm not sure what it is that makes me anxious now," replied Jack, "but
I know what made me anxious at first. It was your poor brother Daniel.
That night he died, when he whispered in my ear, it was to make me
promise to save you from drink and gambling if I could."
"Did he?" exclaimed the miner vehemently, as he clenched his hands. "O
Dan! dear Dan, did you say that at such an hour? Look you, Jack," he
added, turning sharply round, "I'll not go near the store, and if I _am_
saved it is Dan who has done it, mind that--not you."
And Buckley held to his word. For months after that he worked with the
Samson party--as it was styled--and never once tasted a drop of anything
stronger than tea.
During all that time success continued, but Philosopher Jack felt in his
heart that no success in digging up gold was at all comparable to that
of working with the Lord in helping a brother-sinner to turn from the
error of his ways.
As their wealth accumulated, the different members of the party
converted it into cash, sent some of it home to the assistance of
friends or relatives, and the rest for safe and remunerative investment.
For the latter purpose they committed it to the care of Mr Wilkins
senior, who, being a trusty and well-known man of business, was left to
his own discretion in the selection of investments. Simon O'Rook,
however, did not follow the example of his friends. He preferred to
keep his gold in his own hands, and, as its bulk increased, stowed it
away in a small chest, which, for further security, he buried in a hole
in the tent directly under his own sleeping corner.
In addition to his remittances to Mr Wilkins for investment, Edwin Jack
sent large sums regularly to his father, for the purpose not only of
getting him out of his difficulties, but of enabling him to extend his
farming operations. The wheel of fortune, however, had turned upwards
with Jack senior, and he did not require these sums, as we shall see.
While things were going on thus prosperously at the other side of the
world, a wonderful change--intimately connected with gold--took place in
the "Old Country", which materially altered the circumstances of some of
those personages whose names have figured in our tale.
CHAPTER NINE.
TREATS OF A CATASTROPHE AND RUIN.
We return once again to the cottage on the Scottish Border. It is not
quite so lowly as it was when first introduced to our readers. Although
not extensively changed, there is a certain air of comfort and
prosperity about it which gives it much the appearance of a dirty boy
who has had his face washed and a suit of new clothes put on. It has
been whitewashed and partially re-roofed. A trellis-work porch with
creepers has been added. The garden bears marks of improvement, and in
one part there are four little plots of flower-beds, so conspicuously
different in culture and general treatment as to suggest the idea of
four different gardens. Inside of Mr Jack's abode there are also many
changes for the better. The rooms are better furnished than they used
to be. Several cheap oleograph copies of beautiful pictures adorn the
walls, and the best parlour, which used to be kept in a condition of
deadly propriety for state occasions only, is evidently used in the
course of daily life. A brand-new piano, with a pretty little girl
seated before it, suggests advancing refinement, and the expression of
the child's face, while she attempts the impossible task of stretching
an octave, indicates despair. There is another little girl seated at a
table darning with all the energy of a Martha-like character. She is
engaged upon a pair of juvenile socks, which have apparently been worn
last by a cart-horse. Books and drawing materials and mathematical
instruments on the table betoken progressive education, and, in short,
everything without and within the cottage tells, as we have said, of
prosperity.
It must not be supposed, however, that all this is due to Philosopher
Jack's good fortune and liberality. When the first letter came from
California, telling of the safety of our hero and his friends, Mr Jack
was indeed in great material distress, but there was no money in that
letter. It was despatched from San Francisco at the time of the arrival
of the party, along with letters from the other members, informing their
various relations of their deliverance. But if the letter had contained
tons of the finest gold it could not have added a feather's weight to
the joy of the old couple, who, like the widow of Nain or the sisters of
Bethany, had received their dear lost one direct from the Lord, and, as
it were, back from the dead. Then, after an interval, came Captain
Samson's letter enclosing the bill for 1000 pounds, and explaining why
Philosopher Jack himself did not write with it. Mr Jack senior
thankfully used two hundred of the amount, which was quite sufficient to
extricate him from all his difficulties. The balance he put into the
nearest bank, to be kept for "the dear boy" on his return.
From that date God sent prosperity to the cottage on the Border. Flocks
increased, seasons were no longer bad, grey mares no longer broke their
legs, turnips throve, and, in short, everything went well, so that,
instead of using the large sums of money which his son frequently sent
him, Mr Jack placed them all to "dear Teddie's" credit in the bank.
In one of these letters, his son mentioned that he had sent still larger
sums to the care of Mr Wilkins senior, to be invested for himself. Mr
Jack, having consulted with his faithful spouse, drew his son's gifts
from the local bank, went to the city of Blankow, called on Mr Wilkins,
and desired him to invest the money in the same concern with the rest.
Mr Wilkins purchased shares with it in the Blankow Bank, telling Mr
Jack that he considered it one of the best and safest investments in
Scotland, that he had invested in it all the funds sent home by his own
son and his comrades, and that he himself was a large shareholder. Thus
did Mr Jack senior act with all the gifts that Jack junior sent him,
saying to Mr Wilkins on each occasion, that, though the dear boy meant
him to use the money, he had no occasion to do so, as the Lord had
prospered him of late, and given him enough and to spare.
We re-introduce the Jack family to the reader at breakfast-time, not
because that was the only noteworthy period of their day, but because it
was the time when the parents of the family were wont to talk over the
daily plans.
Mr Jack went to the door and shouted, "Breakfast!" in a sonorous tone.
Instantly the octave was abandoned and the socks were dropped. Next
moment there was a sound like the charge of a squadron of cavalry. It
was the boys coming from the farm-yard. The extreme noise of the
family's entry was rendered fully apparent by the appalling calm which
ensued when Mr Jack opened the family Bible, and cleared his throat to
begin worship. At breakfast the noise began again, but it was more
subdued, appetite being too strong for it. In five minutes Dobbin was
up to the eyes in a treacle-piece. This was a good opportunity for
conversation.
"Maggie," said Mr Jack, looking up from his plate, "the last bill sent
us from the diggin's by the dear boy makes the sum in my hands up to two
thousand pounds. I'll go to town to-day and give it to Mr Wilkins to
invest as usual."
"Very weel, John," replied Mrs Jack, "but it's been runnin' in my mind
that it's no that safe to pit a' yer eggs in the same basket. Maybe ye
might invest it in somethin' else."
"That's true, Maggie, we shall see," said Mr Jack, who was at all times
a man of few words. As Dobbin became at the moment clamorous for more
food, nothing further was said on the subject.
Arrived in the city, John Jack made his way to the office of Mr
Wilkins. He found that gentleman with an expression of unwonted
resignation on his countenance.
"I've brought you more money to invest, Mr Wilkins," said John Jack,
sitting down after wiping his forehead, and producing a fat pocketbook;
"I thought of doin' it in the old way, but my wife and I have been
thinkin' that perhaps it might be wise to put some of the eggs in
another basket."
A very sad and peculiar smile flitted for a moment across Mr Wilkins's
face. "It is plain that you have not heard of the disastrous failure,"
he said. "Only last week the Blankow Bank suspended payment, and if the
reports as to its liabilities be true, the result will be widespread
ruin throughout the country."
"Do you mean to say that the Bank has failed?" asked Mr Jack,
anxiously.
"Yes, and it is feared that most of the shareholders will be ruined. I
am one, you know."
"Will _you_ be ruined, Mr Wilkins?"
"I fear that the first call will be more than I can meet. I trust that
you are not personally involved."
"No, thank God, I'm not," said Mr Jack, with an increasingly anxious
look. "But tell me, Mr Wilkins--for I don't understand banking matters
very well--is my son's money all gone?"
"All," returned Mr Wilkins sadly, "and all that my own son has
invested, as well as that of his friends!"
"How was it, sir," asked Mr Jack, in a reproachful tone, "that you were
so confident in recommending the investment?"
"Because I thoroughly believed in the soundness of the bank and in the
character of its directors. Investing my own funds so largely in its
stock proves how I trusted it. But I was mistaken. It is a mystery
which I cannot solve. Perhaps, when the examination of its affairs is
completed, light may be thrown on the subject. I hope that no more of
your relations or friends have stock in it?"
"None that I know of, except indeed my poor friend Mrs Niven, who was
my son's landlady when he was at college. I'll go and inquire about
her."
Mr Jack thrust the fat pocket-book into a breast pocket, and buttoned
up his coat with the determined air of a man who means to keep hold of
what he has got.
Bidding Mr Wilkins good-bye, he walked rapidly to Mrs Niven's house
and pulled the bell rather violently. The summons was promptly answered
by Peggy, who ushered him into a little parlour, where he was quickly
joined by Mrs Niven.
"I'm very sorry to hear the bad news," said Mr Jack, pressing the good
woman's hand in sympathy.
"What bad news?" asked Mrs Niven, in alarm.
"The bank, you know," said Mr Jack. "It's very hard, and to think that
you're in the same boat with my dear boy, whose fortune is wrecked--"
A little scream stopped him, for the word "wrecked" struck a chill to
the poor woman's heart.
"What! wrecked again?" she cried, "on a bank, in a boat? Oh! don't tell
me, don't tell me that he's drownded."
"No, no," cried Mr Jack, hastening to relieve her mind, while he
supported her to a chair; "no, no; my dear boy's all right. It's the
Blankow Bank I mean that's gone to wreck, you know, and all his money
with it, and yours too, I suppose, for you told me you had shares in
that bank."
"Oh! as to that," said Mrs Niven, greatly relieved, "you may mak' yer
mind easy. I've got nae shares intilt noo. I selt them through Mr
Black lang syne. He's a douce, clever, honest felly--a relation o'
mine, and a first-rate business man; but for him I'd hae lost my siller,
nae doot. He warned me that the bank was nae a right ane, and advised
me to sell."
Mr Jack thought that such a clever, disinterested man-of-business, and
a relation of Mrs Niven, might be just the person to give him sound
advice at this crisis; he therefore obtained his address, and, after a
long chat with the good woman, who would have listened for hours to the
adventures of her "bonny lodger," took his departure, and in due time
stood at the door of the dirty little office.
The dirty clerk ushered the visitor into the presence of Mr Black,
whose presence was more repulsive than it used to be. He received Mr
Jack rather gruffly, and asked his business.
"Oho! an eccentric character, gruff but honest," thought Mr Jack, who
began by saying that he had just come from visiting his friend Mrs
Niven.
Mr Black's face grew almost green at the name, and his brows scowled
fiercely.
"Strange look for an honest, kindly man," thought Mr Jack, "but we must
never judge from the outward appearance;" then he said aloud, "I went to
see her about that bank failure--"
"Ha!" growled Mr Black, interrupting, "but for that woman, and that--"
he checked himself and said, "but you came here on some matter of
business, I suppose. Will you state it?"
"A very eccentric man indeed, remarkably so, for a kindly, honest man,"
thought Mr Jack; but he only said, "I came here to consult you about
the investment of two thousand pounds--"
"Oh! indeed," said Mr Black, in quite an altered tone, as he rose and
politely offered his visitor a chair.
"But," continued Mr Jack, rebuttoning his greatcoat which he had partly
opened, "but, sir, I have changed my mind, and bid you good-day."
So saying, he went out, leaving Mr Black standing at the door in stupid
amazement and his dirty clerk agonising with suppressed laughter behind
his desk. Mr Black had been groaning and growling all the day at the
thoughts of the ruin which had overtaken him--thoughts which were
embittered by the knowledge that he had drawn it on himself through the
instrumentality of Mrs Niven. The climax of Mr Jack's visit did not
tend to restore him. Recovering from his amazement, and observing the
condition of the clerk, he suddenly hurled the cash-book at him.
Cleverly dodging it, the dirty little creature bolted from the office,
and banged the door behind him.
Meanwhile Mr Jack cashed his last bill of exchange, returned home, and
presented his wife with a bag of gold, which she deposited in the
darkest recesses of the great family chest.
"That bank gives no interest," said John Jack, with a quiet chuckle, as
he superintended the deposit, "but we shall always have the interest of
knowing that it is there."
Long afterwards Mr Wilkins sought to combat Mr Jack's objection to
invest in another Scotch bank. "This disaster," he said, "ought not to
be called a bank _failure_; it is a bank _robbery_ committed by its own
directors, as has been clearly proved, and no more touches the credit of
Scotch banks in general than the failure of a commercial house, through
the dishonesty of its principals, affects the other commercial houses of
the kingdom."
"It may be as you say, sir," replied John Jack, gravely, "an' if it was
my own money I might act on your advice. But I intend to take care of
what's left of the dear boy's money myself."
So saying, the stout farmer threw his shepherd's plaid over his
shoulder, and went off to his cottage on the Border.
But we must pass from this subject. Space forbids our going deeper into
it, or touching on the terrible consequences of dishonesty coupled with
unlimited liability. Fortunes were wrecked; the rich and the poor, the
innocent and guilty, the confiding and the ignorant as well as the
knowing and wise, fell in the general crash. Many homes were desolated,
and many hearts were broken. May we not believe, also, that many hearts
were purified in passing through the furnace of affliction!
"All is not evil that brings sorrow," may be quite as true as the
proverb, "All is not gold that glitters." Some have been glad to say
with the Psalmist, "It was good for me that I was afflicted." This
truth, however, while it might strengthen some hearts to bear, did not
lighten the load to be borne. The great Bank failure produced
heart-rending and widespread distress. It also called forth deep and
general sympathy.
Out among the mountain gorges of California the gold-hunters knew
nothing of all this for many a day, and our adventurers continued to
dig, and wash, and pile up the superstructure of their fortunes, all
ignorant of the event which had crumbled away the entire foundations.
At last there came a day when these fortunate gold-miners cried, "Hold!
enough!" an unwonted cry--not often uttered by human beings.
Standing beside the camp fire one evening, while some of the party were
cooking and others were arranging things inside the tent Captain Samson
looked around him with an unusually heavy sigh.
"It's a grand country, and I'll be sorry to leave it," he said.
"Troth, and so will meself," responded O'Rook.
It was indeed a grand country. They had lately changed the position of
their tent to an elevated plateau near a huge mass of rock where a
little mountain stream fell conveniently into a small basin. From this
spot they could see the valley where it widened into a plain, and again
narrowed as it entered the gloomy defile of the mountains, whose tops
mingled magnificently with the clouds.
"You see, my lads," continued the captain, "it's of no use goin' on
wastin' our lives here, diggin' away like navvies, when we've got more
gold than we know what to do with. Besides, I'm not sure that we ain't
gettin' into a covetous frame of mind, and if we go on devotin' our
lives to the gettin' of gold that we don't need, it's not unlikely that
it may be taken away from us. Moreover, many a man has dug his grave in
California and bin buried, so to speak, in gold-dust, which is a fate
that no sensible man ought to court--a fate, let me add, that seems to
await Ben Trench if he continues at this sort o' thing much longer.
And, lastly, it's not fair that my Polly should spend her prime in
acting the part of cook and mender of old clothes to a set of rough
miners. For all of which reasons I vote that we now break up our
partnership, pack up the gold-dust that we've got, and return home."
To this speech Polly Samson replied, promptly, that nothing pleased her
more than to be a cook and mender of old clothes to rough miners, and
that she was willing to continue in that capacity as long as her father
chose. Philosopher Jack also declared himself willing to remain, but
added that he was equally willing to leave if the rest of the firm
should decide to do so, as he was quite content with the fortune that
had been sent him. Simon O'Rook, however, did not at first agree to the
proposal.
"It's rich enough that I am already, no doubt," he said, "but sure,
there's no harm in bein' richer. I may be able to kape me carriage an'
pair at present, but why shudn't I kape me town house an' country house
an' me carriage an four, if I can?"
"Because we won't stay to keep you company," answered Watty Wilkins,
"and surely you wouldn't have the heart to remain here digging holes by
yourself? Besides, my friend Ben is bound to go home. The work is
evidently too hard for him, and he's so fond of gold that he won't give
up digging."
"Ah! Watty," returned Ben with a sad smile, "you know it is not my
fondness for gold that makes me dig. But I can't bear to be a burden on
you, and you know well enough that what I do accomplish does little more
than enable me to pay my expenses. Besides, a little digging does me
good. It occupies my mind and exercises my muscles, an' prevents
moping. Doesn't it, Polly?"
In this estimate of his case Ben Trench was wrong. The labour which he
undertook and the exposure to damp, despite the remonstrances of his
companions, were too much for a constitution already weakened by
disease. It was plain to every one--even to himself--that a change was
necessary. He therefore gladly agreed to the captain's proposal.
Baldwin Burr, however, dissented. He did not, indeed, object to the
dissolution of the partnership of Samson and Company, but he refused to
quit the gold-fields, saying that he had no one in the Old Country whom
he cared for, and that he meant to settle in California.
It was finally agreed that the captain, Philosopher Jack, Watty Wilkins,
Ben Trench, Simon O'Rook, and Polly should return home, while Baldwin
Burr and Jacob Buckley should enter into a new partnership and remain at
the fields.
Although, as we have said, most of our adventurers had sent their gold
home in the form of bills of exchange for investment, they all had
goodly sums on hand in dust and nuggets--the result of their more recent
labours--for which strong boxes were made at Higgins's store. Simon
O'Rook, in particular,--who, as we have said, did not send home any of
his gold,--had made such a huge "pile" that several strong boxes were
required to hold all his wealth. The packing of these treasure-chests
occupied but a short time. Each man cut his name on the lid of his box
inside, and printed it outside, and nailed and roped it tight, and took
every means to make it secure. Then, mounting their mules and
travelling in company with a trader and a considerable party of miners,
they returned to San Francisco, having previously secured berths in a
ship which was about to sail for England _via_ Cape Horn.
Baldwin Burr and Buckley convoyed them a day's journey on the way.
"I'm sorry you're goin', Miss Polly," said Baldwin, riding up alongside
of our little heroine, who ambled along on a glossy black mule.
"I am _not_ sorry that we're going," replied Polly, "but I'm sorry--very
sorry--that we are leaving you behind us, Baldwin. You're such a dear
old goose, and I'm so fond of teaching you. I don't know how I shall be
able to get on without you."
"Yes, that's it, Miss Polly," returned the bluff seaman, with a look of
perplexity. "You're so cram full of knowledge, an' I'm sitch an empty
cask, that it's bin quite a pleasure to let you run over into me, so to
speak."
"Come, Baldwin, don't joke," said Polly, with a quick glance.
"I'm far from jokin', Miss Polly," returned the seaman; "I'm in
downright earnest. An' then, to lose Philosopher Jack on the selfsame
day. It comes hard on an old salt. The way that young man has strove
to drive jogriffy, an' 'rithmetic, an navigation into my head is
wonderful; an' all in vain too! It's a'most broke his heart--to say
nothin' of my own. It's quite clear that I'll never make a good seaman.
Howsever, it's a comfort to know that I've got edication enough for a
landsman--ain't it, Miss Polly?"
Polly laughed, and admitted that that was indeed a consoling reflection.
While these two were conversing thus, Jack and Jacob Buckley were riding
together in the rear of the party. They had been talking as if under
some sort of restraint. At last Jack turned to his companion with a
kind, straightforward look.
"It's of no use, Buckley, my beating about the bush longer. This is
likely to be the last time that you and I shall meet on earth, and I
can't part without saying how anxious I am that you should persevere in
the course of temperance which you have begun."
"Thank you, Jack, thank you," said the miner heartily, "for the interest
you take in me. I do intend to persevere."
"I know that, Jacob, I know it; but I want you to believe that you have
no chance of success unless you first become a follower of Jesus Christ.
He is the _only_ Saviour from sin. Your resolutions, without Him,
cannot succeed. I have found that out, and I want you to believe it,
Jacob."
"I _do_ believe it," said the miner earnestly. "Dear Dan used to tell
me that--often--often. Dear Dan!"
"Now," added Jack, "we shall have to part soon. There is another thing
I want to mention. There is a bag of gold with my name on it, worth
some few hundred pounds, more or less. I want you to accept it, for I
know that you have not been so successful as we have during our short--"
"But I won't take it, Jack," interrupted Buckley.
"Yes you will, Jacob, from an old friend and comrade. It may tide you
over a difficulty, who knows? Luck does not always last, as the saying
goes."
Still Buckley shook his head.
"Well, then," continued Jack, "you can't help yourself, for I've left
the bag under your own pillow in the tent!"