"WE ARE ALREADY IN FULL POSSESSION OF ALL WHICH THAT LETTER REVEALS"
MARY WAS NOWHERE TO BE SEEN, BUT MRS. RANGER CHANCED TO BE STANDING AT
THE DOOR
*RALPH SINCLAIR'S ATONEMENT*
*CHAPTER I.*
*A BOLT FROM THE BLUE.*
"Better men fared thus before thee."--MATTHEW ARNOLD.
"Is Mr. Houghton in?"
"Yes, sir. Who shall I say has called?"
"Please say that Mr. Johnson, with a letter of introduction from your
works at Broadstone, would like to see him."
The clerk addressed hastened away to an inner office to convey the
message to his principal, returning shortly with a request, "Will you
please to walk this way."
The office into which he was conducted was a portion of a large and very
handsome showroom in the West End of London, screened from general
observation by a wood-and-glass erection, which formed a separate room,
in which was seated the manager of the firm of H. & E. Quinion, so well
known for their famous Metal Works in the Midlands, but whose chief
transactions were carried on by means of their London and Sydney houses.
Mr. Houghton, who rose on the entry of his visitor, was a tall portly
specimen of the English gentleman. The kindly expression of his
countenance, and general affable manners, were in marked contrast to the
little man who proceeded to introduce himself by presenting the letter
already referred to. Apparently about thirty-five years of age; dark
complexion; with deep-set ferret-like eyes, partially concealed by a
pair of pince-nez; dark-brown short-cropped hair, thin on the top; clean
shaven cheeks, but a heavy cavalry moustache; and a stooping gait,--he
had all the appearance of one who had lived "fast," and missed his mark
in life's struggle for existence.
After a second perusal of the letter presented,--which, to judge by the
expression of his countenance, had come upon him as a surprise, and did
not seem to please him,--he turned to his interviewer and remarked,
somewhat absently, as if he scarcely knew what to say, "I think the best
thing I can do is to introduce you to the clerks and staff generally,
for which purpose, if you will excuse me for a few moments, I will go
and prepare them."
"Very well," was all the reply the other made, as Mr. Houghton, without
another word, left the office.
Calling a clerk named Kenway, who happened to be passing, and who was
distantly related to him, he hastily directed him to summon the other
clerks to meet him at once in his office. Full of curiosity, and
a-tiptoe with expectation as to what was impending, there was soon
assembled an anxious and eager group of men, quietly canvassing the
possibilities and probabilities of the situation.
On the entrance of Mr. Houghton it was at once seen that something
unusual had occurred, as he appeared to be very much agitated, and to
have lost command of that calmness and ease which it was his general
habit to assume. With manifest anxiety to get through an unpleasant
task with the least possible delay he advanced, and, leaning heavily
upon his desk, said--
"Gentlemen, I have had you called together thus hurriedly, because I
thought it only right that you should hear the fact from my own lips
that I am intending shortly to resign my position here as manager."
A half-suppressed murmur of regret went round the assembled clerks,
which was, however, allowed to pass unnoticed, as, scarcely able to
restrain the tears which filled his eyes, and in an all but inaudible
voice, he continued--
"Yes; after serving the firm for upwards of fifty years, it is with
their approval that I shall in six months retire, and endeavour to take
life a little easier. I have to thank you all for the assistance you
have always rendered me; and, in bidding you farewell, I propose to
introduce you to my successor, who is now here with a letter of
introduction from Broadstone."
Only half realising what they had just heard, one or two managed to give
expression to their sincere regret at the intelligence so abruptly
conveyed, together with the earnest hope that he would long live to
enjoy the rest and ease he was looking forward to, and had so well
earned, when they were again left alone to separate, and speculate upon
what had been so suddenly communicated.
On returning to the office in which he had left his visitor, all traces
of the emotion so recently evinced had disappeared from Mr. Houghton's
face, and he proceeded to discuss the situation, and to unfold the
working of the business with his usual calmness and clearness.
But the contemplated interview with the employes of the establishment
was for the present declined by his visitor, under the pretence that,
being so new to everything and everybody, he was not quite prepared for
such an ordeal as that would seem to involve. On taking his leave, soon
after, it was with the promise that he would pay a further visit very
shortly.
The news, which spread throughout the "house," created no little
consternation; whilst everywhere and by everyone it was received with
the most unqualified expressions of regret, Mr. Houghton being a man
held in universal esteem by all who knew him.
As opportunity offered, throughout the remainder of the day, little
groups were to be observed in the various departments, discussing the
_pros_ and _cons_ of an event which might mean so much to all in the
employ of the firm.
Roberts, who had been a servant for a long series of years, and occupied
a position second only to that held by Mr. Houghton, was very decided in
the expression of his views in a conversation subsequently held with
Arnold, who regarded himself as an expert in his own particular
department.
"I don't believe," said Roberts, "that this so-called retirement is the
voluntary act of Mr. Houghton."
"How then," said Arnold, "do you consider it has come about?"
"It appears to me to have been forced upon him."
"Don't you think he knew that Mr. Johnson was coming?"
"No, I do not; that, I think, was as much a surprise to himself as it
was to us."
"Well," added Arnold, "if the emotion he manifested may be taken as
evidence, he seemed to be quite unmanned, and very ill-prepared for what
he wished to say."
"Yes; and to my thinking," said Roberts, "no clearer proof is needed
than the fact of his resignation being only made known to us when his
successor was in the house. Had he been aware of what was impending, I
have no hesitation in saying he would have prepared himself for the
issue, and informed us of it in a more leisurely and self-possessed
manner."
"Rather rough treatment of a man who has been a trusted and respected
servant for over fifty years!"
"No doubt of it," continued Roberts. "Of course, I do not say but what
it is quite possible that the heads of the firm at Broadstone may have
suggested to him the desirability of thinking of retiring, after such a
lengthy innings, in order that some younger man should be introduced,
who might be expected to impart a little fresh life and infuse more
energy into the business; but, as he did not readily take the hint, I
presume they have 'taken the bull by the horns,' which causes their act
to have the appearance of somewhat unceremonious treatment."
In the warehouse, where the matter was very keenly discussed, similar
views prevailed; and it was generally considered that Mr. Houghton was
not retiring willingly, that the so-called retirement was too patent a
sham to deceive anyone; and the verdict was that it was a very shabby
way of treating an old and faithful servant; and that if the firm could
behave in such an inconsiderate way to one who had devoted his life to
the best interests of his employers' business, the prospect was not a
very encouraging one for those who remained.
"The end justified the means" is much too frequently, and too generally,
the rule of conduct with many large and wealthy firms, as it is with
public companies, who have not a soul to be _cursed_ (another word is
more often used) or a body to be kicked.
*CHAPTER II.*
*BROADSTONE.*
"Preferment goes by letter and affection,
Not by the old gradation, when each second
Stood heir to the first."--_Othello_, Act I. sc. i.
Politically, as well as commercially, the town of Broadstone is "no mean
city," and for light and leading has long been running our metropolitan
capital very close. Its members loom large on the political horizon;
whilst its industries are not only marketable commodities in the
remotest regions of the world, but by their quality give the name of the
place to the trade it does, although not often is it in most
complimentary terms.
Its leading thoroughfares are broad and spacious, while its streets
appear to have been laid out on no well-defined or pre-arranged plan,
but to have developed as circumstances seemed to render desirable.
The buildings have a twofold character; those which are modern are
handsome, and in many cases have an imposing appearance. This is
especially the case with its public buildings. The more ancient, as
well as the poorer quarters of the city, are, for the most part, plain
brick-and-tile compounds, without ornament or anything to recommend them
save their utility, and not even this always.
In the centre of one of its leading thoroughfares stands the factory of
H. & E. Quinion, a lofty and rectangular pile of buildings of
comparatively modern construction, with little to attract the eye from
an architectural point of view; but, within, the fittings and
appointments are handsome, and, in some instances, of a costly nature,
yet strictly in keeping with the character of the work to be seen.
On the day succeeding the events narrated in the previous chapter, soon
after the dinner-bell had been rung,--which was the signal for all work
to cease, as well as for those who lived near enough to hasten home to
the midday meal, whilst others who elected to do so could assemble in a
common room set apart for their special use,--a note was handed to the
senior partner, Mr. H. Quinion, as he was seated in a small office in
the centre of the works, informing him that Arnold from the London
office was below, and would like to see him.
Surprised, and just a little annoyed at so unexpected a visit, he gave
orders for him to be shown upstairs.
Arnold was a man of a quiet and reserved disposition, not regarded with
much favour by his fellow-clerks, nor made a confidant of by any one in
particular. It was generally felt--perhaps without sufficient
reason--that he had long had his eyes upon the manager's position in
London as a post he might one day be called upon to occupy. But
whenever the subject was canvassed by the rest of the staff, it was
invariably with a considerable amount of scoffing and ridicule at the
idea of so unsuitable a man, in everyone's estimation but that of
himself, aspiring to so responsible an appointment; and it was agreed
the firm would never be so blind to their own interest as to cherish
such an idea. He had, however, schemed for years to keep himself a
prominent figure before the heads of the firm. He had "toadied" to
little weaknesses, and, in some few smaller and minor matters, had
succeeded in placing himself in front of others who had been his
seniors. It may be imagined, therefore, with what keen and bitter
feelings of chagrin and disappointment he regarded the events of the
previous day. To find, from the appointment which had been made, that
all his plans and designs had miscarried, was a collapse to his
castle-building which he little expected, and was scarcely prepared to
sit down quietly under; yet how to change the apparent current of events
was not so clear. In this perplexity, as a last resort, he resolved to
interview the members of the firm at Broadstone; and a brief note to Mr.
Houghton in London, informing him of his visit to the works on a matter
of importance, was the only intimation given to account for his absence
from business.
"Good-morning, Arnold,--an unexpected visit. Anything wrong in London?"
asked Mr. Quinion, a little nervously, readjusting his spectacles, which
really needed no attention.
"No, sir; nothing," replied Arnold, who was slightly flushed, probably
on account of the nature of his errand as much as the walk from the
railway-station.
Taking a chair indicated to him, he at once plunged into the subject of
his visit by saying, "No doubt, sir, you are surprised to see me down
here, and I feel it would have been more becoming had I written first to
inform you of my intention; but the circumstances of yesterday came upon
all of us so sudden and unexpectedly, that it was not until late last
evening I formed the decision to make this hasty and impromptu visit."
"Well, now that you have come, let me hear what it is you have to say."
"I must confess, sir," said Arnold, "that the fact of Mr. Houghton being
allowed to retire is not to me so much a matter of surprise as the
person who has been appointed to succeed him. If I am rightly informed,
he is a man of no experience in your business, and with no record to
distinguish him as one entitled to such a position. Several of us in
London have been so many years in your employ, that hopes were freely
entertained that, whenever the course of events should render a change
necessary, an opportunity would be afforded to one of us to supply the
vacancy. I, for one, cherished the hope that the experience and
knowledge gained during my period of service with you might have induced
you to offer me the position conferred upon Mr. Johnson."
"I am rather sorry to hear what you tell me," said Mr. Quinion; "as I
may candidly inform you that the firm never had any intention of putting
a member of the present staff into the position you refer to; and in
asking you to regard this matter as now closed, we shall be glad if you
will take any opportunity which may present itself to disabuse the minds
of your colleagues, as well as that of your own, that a slight was
intended to anyone by this appointment. On the other hand, it was
feared that to promote any member of the London staff would probably
give rise to more dissatisfaction, and create a greater amount of
friction, than the installation of a perfect stranger is likely to do.
It is not intended as a reflection upon anyone, but simply a matter of
expediency, and which, in the interest of all concerned, we thought it
wisest to adopt."
"I much regret to learn that that is your decision, sir, as I did hope
it might not yet be too late to induce you to make some other
arrangement."
"That is quite out of the question," replied Mr. Quinion; "and I hope
you will not only give Mr. Johnson a hearty welcome, but at the same
time render him all the assistance which he will, of course, very much
need."
"So far as I am concerned you may certainly reckon upon that, although I
should like to have seen a different state of things prevailing."
"I regret," added Mr. Quinion, "you should have felt it needful to come
down here on such an errand, as it was scarcely likely we should have
taken so important a step without first giving it very careful
consideration."
"I trust you will forgive me if you think I have acted indiscreetly,"
rejoined Arnold.
"Oh, say no more about it," was Mr. Quinion's reply. "When do you
return to town?"
"By the next train, sir; at three-ten p.m."
"In that case you have no time to lose, so I will not detain you any
longer. Good day."
And in less than half an hour Arnold was speeding back to London, with
no very comfortable feelings. He had failed to produce the impression
expected, or to change the situation of affairs; and his future course
did not yet clearly shape itself to his mind.
Of course, the fact of his visit to Broadstone was known in London, but
every attempt to extract from him the object of his journey failed. To
all and sundry of his inquirers the uniform answer was--"Only a little
private business."
*CHAPTER III.*
*THE QUAY AT ANTWERP.*
"Blow, wind; swell, billow; and swim bark!
The storm is up, and all is on the hazard."
_Julius Caesar_, Act V. sc. i.
A midsummer sun was already shining upon the lazily flowing waters of
the Scheldt, as the Cathedral clock rang out the hour of six; and the
sweet-toned carillons, for which its tower is almost world renowned, had
not yet ceased their chimes as the good ship _Kestrel_, which lay moored
at the quay-side, began to sound her most unmusical whistle, preparatory
to moving into midstream, outward bound for the English coast.
The quaint old market-place,--close to the river, and lying beneath the
shadow of the Cathedral walls,--surrounded with lofty houses of a style
peculiar to Flemish architecture, was at this hour a scene of busy life.
From early dawn the peasants and small farmers from the neighbouring
villages continued to flow in, bringing such marketable commodities as
were likely to find a ready sale. Butter and cheese, with pails of
cream and masses of cheap vegetables, rapidly changed hands, and were
carried home in baskets, or in small carts to which dogs were harnessed,
and which latter seemed in no way to dislike the task they were put to,
judging from the apparent cheerful and eager way in which they went at
the work.
On the quay-side nearly as much life and activity prevailed as in the
market-place. Porters were hurrying to and fro across the gangways;
final additions were being hastily made to the cargo; the passengers
were crowding in; and, as the _Kestrel's_ warning bell rang, those who
had come to see the last of departing friends or relatives were hurried
ashore.
It is not a little peculiar that no matter what may be the hour fixed
for the departure of a train or vessel, someone is sure to arrive at the
last moment, when the time is up for starting; and, on the occasion we
are describing, the proverbial late-comer was not wanting, in the person
of a man about thirty, who just succeeded in reaching the last of the
gangways, which crew and landsmen had already commenced to cast off, and
made his way on board.
Freed from her moorings, with steam up, the _Kestrel_ gradually
proceeded into midstream, where, with tide and current in her favour,
she soon began to run rapidly down the broad brown Scheldt, giving
opportunity for but a passing glimpse of the magnificent lines of quays
which once engrossed most of the commerce of the earth.
On leaving the city itself, the river scenery for miles is dull and
uninteresting to a degree. Most of the land on either shore, lying
below high-water mark, presents few features to attract the attention of
the observer. Beyond an occasional house-top or a church-steeple, there
is nothing to relieve the miles of flat lowlands which stretch away to
the horizon line, if we except the never-ending windmills perched on the
highest point of the banks to catch the breeze. When the broad
lagoon-like piece of water was reached, which marks the entry to the
river, and is carefully buoyed to indicate the course of vessels
entering or leaving port, the welcome sound was heard of the steward's
bell, announcing that breakfast was ready; and in a few minutes no one
was to be seen upon deck save such of the crew as were required for the
working and safety of the vessel.
A more than usual orderly company was seated at the tables, which were
soon being well served for the apparently eagerly-anticipated morning
meal; and whilst conversation flowed freely, there was less of that
tendency to boisterous mirth which is often so marked and objectionable
a feature during short sea-trips.
"A pleasant journey so far," remarked a lady to the male companion at
her side.
"Yes," was his reply; "and let us hope it will continue."
"Have you any reason to doubt it?" was the inquiry which followed.
"No; but the captain will perhaps be able to tell us presently."
At the upper end of the same table, he who had been the last to arrive
on board was holding an animated conversation with a fellow-passenger on
certain historical reminiscences of the city of Antwerp.
"I must confess that it is with feelings of considerable satisfaction
and pride that I learned from Motley, and others, the brave stand which
the doughty burghers made, three centuries ago, against the violent
persecutions of the Holy Inquisition which had been set up by Charles
V."
"Is it a fact that the Prince of Orange led what was, for distinction,
called an insurrection?"
"Yes; and I suppose rightly so-called, since, without troubling to
inquire into the mode by which its subjugation had been brought about,
the Netherlands, which then included both Holland and Belgium, was under
the tender rule of Philip II. of Spain."
"The husband of our own Queen Mary, was he not?"
"The same," responded the previous speaker. "And by him the government
had been placed in the hands of the Duchess of Parma. The Prince, who
had been sent to represent Philip, unable any longer to sustain that
role, threw off his allegiance to Spain; and, with what has been
described as 'the true spirit of a Christian hero,' declared for the
people who had been confided to his care. It would be too long a story
to recount all the events which led up to it, but it is well worth your
study when you have leisure, as you will find how, by his wisdom and
courage, he succeeded in obtaining for them freedom from foreign
invasion, and the right of worship according to the dictates of their
own conscience, without the loss of a single life."
"I say, skipper," called out a rosy-faced little man, seated close
beside the two who had been thus conversing, "what sort of weather do
you anticipate we shall have in crossing the German Ocean?"
"I am afraid we shall have what you will, most of you, consider a rough
journey. The glass has fallen considerably within the last few hours;
there is a stiffish breeze from the north, which is blowing against the
tide, so that our course is not likely to be one of the smoothest."
A few exchanged ominous glances; whilst others, as soon as the meal was
over, betook themselves to the cabins or bunks, and made preparations
for bestowing themselves in such manner as seemed most likely to
minimise the sufferings in prospect. Breakfast had not long been
finished, when the bar was crossed, and the pitch and roll of the vessel
began to make their influence felt.
It was high noon, and eight bells had just struck. Black clouds hid the
sun from view. The wind was blowing in gusts from the north, whilst the
white-crested waves were dashing and breaking over the vessel as she
laboured through the trough of the billows, or mounted the crests of the
foaming waves. The deck was continually being swept by the rolling seas,
so that, with but few exceptions, all the passengers were closely
confined below; but the exceptions seemed to be, like those stormy
petrels sailors tell us are to be met with in mid-ocean, enjoying what
they pleasantly described as "the fun."
The good ship was just succeeding in again making headway through the
troubled waters, after clearing herself of a huge wave which had seemed
as if it would engulf her, when a cry was heard from the stern of the
vessel, "Man overboard!" The engines were at once stopped, the vessel's
head brought round to windward, and, notwithstanding the nature of the
sea prevailing, everything got ready for lowering a boat when the order
should be given.
"Lower away, men!" came from the captain. And the next moment the
ship's lifeboat was tossing on the crest of the waves, but pulled by
strong arms, with a skilled hand at the helm. The crew, and those on
deck who witnessed this scene, were full of eagerness and anxiety as to
the result. It was, however, felt from the first to be an almost
hopeless quest; and so in the end it proved, for after half an hour's
vain search, during which time it was with difficulty the rowers kept
their boat from being swamped, it was hoisted in with its living
freight, and the vessel again headed for the English coast.
The intelligence of the disaster had rapidly spread through the ship,
and now the question on the lips of everyone capable of attending to
anything but their own condition was, "Who is it?" But this no one
seemed able at present to give a reliable answer to.
After a careful inquiry had been instituted amongst the passengers,
attention became concentrated upon the last arrival on board. The
captain remembered to have seen him in conversation with one of the
passengers during breakfast, and to have caught occasional snatches of
the topics under discussion; but since then neither captain nor any of
the passengers remembered to have seen him, nor could a careful
examination of all on board succeed in bringing him to light. No one
appeared to have noticed him on deck, and yet his absence seemed
undoubtedly to point to the fact that he must be the missing man; but
who he was, and whether his death was to be attributed to accident or
design, none were able to say.
Later in the day an overcoat was discovered stowed away in one of the
bunks, which none of the passengers could identify as belonging to them.
On a careful scrutiny of the pockets, papers were found which seemed to
point more definitely to the identity of the lost man. When, therefore,
the _Kestrel_ at length reached her moorings in the Thames, and made her
report to the proper authorities, it was taken charge of by the local
police, and the matter was left with them to investigate.
*CHAPTER IV.*
*RAILTON HALL.*
"Time shall unfold what plaited cunning hides:
Who cover faults, at last shame them derides."
_King Lear_, Act I. sc. i.
"Come, Jennie, it's time you began to think about retiring."
"Yes, mother; in a minute," responded the young girl thus addressed.
"But do you know, child, that it is ten o'clock? an hour that is quite
too late for more minutes to be allowed."
"I know, mother, but I do so want to finish what I am reading."
"You have been intent on that book for the last two hours," replied the
mother,--"so intent, that you have scarcely spoken a word since you
commenced; and if you sit at it much longer you will be ill to-morrow,
and unable to get up when the time comes. So put it away, and go at
once."
Thus fairly admonished, the girl addressed closed her book, not without
evident reluctance, and prepared to obey her mother's injunction.
Mrs. Sinclair had been a widow about five years, her husband having
died, after a painful and lingering illness, just as he had reached what
is generally looked upon as the prime of life. Being well provided for,
as soon as affairs could be settled, and her house and belongings
disposed of, she left the neighbourhood in which they had for years
resided,--and, with her two children, a girl and boy, now her sole
charge,--to take up her abode amidst her native hills, a few miles
outside the city of Aberdeen.
Her son Ralph had been given a position of some promise in the firm of
H. & E. Quinion, Broadstone,--where his father had long held a high and
honourable post,--with the prospect of a junior partnership in the
course of a few years, in the event of all things going on
satisfactorily.
Jennie, who had not yet reached her sixteenth year, was tall for her
age, well proportioned, and, although not what would generally be called
handsome, was an attractive girl. And the bright, clear grey eyes,
beneath a more than usually broad and expansive brow, indicated a degree
of intelligence which was not slow in displaying itself.
The house in which they dwelt was one of those old-fashioned ones so
often to be met with outside our large towns and cities, possessing no
apparent design in its construction, through the numerous additions and
alterations from time to time made, to suit the convenience or taste of
successive tenants, without any regard for harmony or unity.
Spacious and convenient, it was also rambling and not handsome.
Surrounded by extensive grounds, and well wooded, it was hidden from
view of the ordinary traveller, but well known to the residents
around,--who were frequent visitors at Railton Hall,--as well as to
cottars and villagers, with whom Mrs. Sinclair kept up a close
acquaintance.
"What time do you expect Ralph in the morning, mother?" asked Jennie, as
she prepared to retire for the night.
"The train is due at Aberdeen at nine-forty-five, and if it keeps time
we may expect him here about ten-fifteen," said her mother. "I have
ordered Donald to have the trap ready to drive me to the station to meet
him at that hour; so we breakfast at eight-thirty."
"Very well, mother; then I will tell Alice to call me at eight"; and
with a good-night kiss the young girl left the room.
Before following her daughter's example, Mrs. Sinclair drew a letter
from her pocket bearing a foreign postmark, to read--not for the first
time--the intelligence which was already well impressed upon her
memory--
"DEAR MOTHER,--I leave Antwerp to-morrow morning at six o'clock, and
hope to return by the night mail, due in Aberdeen at nine-forty-five the
next morning. Your loving son, RALPH."
With fond anticipations of the morning, the anxious mother retired to
rest.
* * * * *
The morning broke in the midst of a proverbial Scotch mist, and
everything presented a damp and uncanny appearance, calculated to
produce a depressing influence upon minds expectant and anxious.
Mrs. Sinclair had spent a restless and uneasy night, thinking of him she
hoped so soon to clasp in a motherly embrace. Her son had been absent
now some months, travelling on the Continent, on business for the firm
by whom he was employed, and the nearer the time of his return, the
greater was the mother's agitation and anxiety; so that it was only by a
supreme effort she was enabled to control her feelings and maintain an
outwardly calm appearance. Breakfast was all too rapidly despatched for
full justice to have been done to it, and mother and daughter mounted
the trap, which Donald drove with all needful speed to the station,
where they found they had still some time to wait.
The train was late in arriving, but when it drew up at the platform
eager and anxious glances were directed on each passenger as he
alighted. They failed, however, to discover the one they were in search
of; and when at length the platform was deserted, they had reluctantly
to admit that Ralph had not travelled by that train, but what could have
prevented his doing so they were utterly at a loss to conjecture.
*CHAPTER V.*
*VISIONS OF THE KLONDYKE.*
"Much have I travelled in the realms of gold."--KEATS.
When Arnold reached home in the evening, from Broadstone, he felt
anything but pleased on learning that visitors had arrived and were
awaiting his return. Tired and disappointed, he would have preferred
being left to his own thoughts; but this was a privilege which for the
present, at least, he found he had to forego. The first greetings over,
his little wife informed him that his cousins from Jersey had arrived
about an hour before him.
"They are on their way to Liverpool, bound for the Klondyke," she added.
"Where are they staying?" asked Arnold.
"I have not asked them that," she replied, "as I wanted to hear what you
thought about our trying to accommodate them here for three nights, so
as to save them the expense of going to an hotel."
"But you know how very limited is the space at our disposal, my dear!"
"True," said Mrs. Arnold; "but it is not for long, and no doubt they
will be much better pleased."
"Well, if you feel that you can manage it, and they are willing to
accept what accommodation we have to offer, I shall be quite prepared to
fall in with whatever arrangement you like to make."
"Very well; then I have no doubt we shall be able to settle matters to
their satisfaction. And now, dear, you had better go and change your
things, and make yourself look spruce, and then join us in the
drawing-room, which will leave me at liberty to see to the supper."
Later in the evening, when the proposals of Mrs. Arnold for the disposal
and accommodation of the cousins were laid before them, they were only
too pleased to avail themselves of the offered hospitality.
John and Charles Barton, whose ages were respectively twenty-three and
twenty-seven years, had worked on a small farm which their father rented
until the old man died, which event happened three or four years prior
to the present period. For the past three years they had continued it
on their own account, but, failing to make it pay, they had sold
everything off and resolved to emigrate. It was just about this time
that the Klondyke successes began to be all the talk, and so taken were
they with the marvellous stories related of that region that they
determined to try their fortune on its inhospitable shores. Their
purses were not too well lined, nor their prospects sufficiently
promising, to render them independent of any little help or assistance
they might meet with from friends on their way.
"What port are you bound for, Jack?" inquired Arnold.
"We go to Montreal, and thence by Canadian and Pacific line across the
American Continent to San Francisco."
"Isn't that the longest way there?" asked Arnold.
"That is so; but then it is by far the easier. All accounts are pretty
unanimous in depicting not only the danger but the difficulties of the
so-called Chilcoot Pass."
"But what about the White Pass?"
"That appears to be the worst of the three, since it leads through a
very rough country, over steep hills, through swift streams, and over a
pass which, although said to be one thousand feet lower than the
Chilcoot, is declared by surveyors to be two hundred feet higher. And
as it is longer and more difficult we have thought it best to take the
river route."
"What is the difference in the matter of time over--say the Chilcoot
route?"
"The time of starting may be somewhat later, as we shall have to wait
until it is known that the navigation of the Yukon River is opened."
"What distance have you to travel on the Yukon?"
"To Dawson City is one thousand seven hundred and fifty miles; and from
San Francisco to Dawson City, which is altogether about four thousand
five hundred and nine miles, the Steamship Companies estimate the time
needed for this journey at thirty days, whilst through or over the
passes it varies from fifty to seventy days."
"Probably more often seventy than fifty days?"
"No doubt of it."
"And I suppose the river route has other advantages besides?"
"Oh, decidedly! Our luggage, for example, has not to be carried, or
packed, as it would have to be if we went to Skagway, Dyea, or some one
of the ports leading to the passes."
"That, of course, is a consideration, as well as a great saving in
comfort and convenience."
"Exactly; for you must remember that with several hundred pounds weight
of goods on the beach, it would be no very easy matter arranging and
carrying out all the details necessary for transferring them over the
mountains to the head-waters of the Yukon."
"No; I daresay you are right," added Arnold.
"Well, we have studied the matter, and, after careful thought, have no
doubt whatever that although it may mean some delay at San Francisco or
St. Michael's, waiting for the opening of navigation, and the
possibility of arriving a little later at the 'diggings,' we shall not
be worn out and fagged as we should be if we risked our goods and lives
over the Chilcoot Pass."
"And you think you can stand the climate?" asked Arnold.
"We intend to try," was Jack's response. "Mr. Ogilvie, who was
commissioned by the Canadian Government to make certain explorations on
their behalf in that region, and who spent some eleven years off and on
there, says, 'I know many Englishmen from all parts of England who have
been in it, five, six, and even twelve years, without being injured by
the cold. No one that I know of, taking proper care of himself, has
ever been hurt by the rigour of the climate.'"
"All I can say is," wound up Arnold, "that I sincerely hope you may find
it to be the El Dorado you are anticipating, and return home
millionaires."
Three days later the cousins took their departure for Liverpool, and in
due course embarked on board the outward-bound steamer for Montreal,
full of hopeful anticipations of that future in a new land which
imagination seldom fails to surround with a halo of romance.
*CHAPTER VI.*
*THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS.*
"Things outward
Do draw the inward quality after them,
To suffer all alike."
_Antony and Cleopatra_, Act III. sc. xi.
To the outward observer the London business of H. & E. Quinion was
unchanged. The carriages of its wealthy patrons stood outside, as for
years had been the custom, whilst their titled occupants paraded round
the palatial show-rooms, frequently with a desire to gratify the eye by
a sight of the many objects of artistic beauty to be seen, rather than
for the purpose of purchasing the wares exhibited. City men called on
their way to business, gave their orders, and, without unnecessary
delay, departed. Ladies entered later in the day, with little to do and
plenty of time at their disposal, taking up the time of the patient
salesmen, wearying them with needless questions, and compelling them to
pander to their little whims and fads. But the undercurrent of
dissatisfaction and annoyance which prevailed, together with the feeling
of uncertainty and unrest which had been created, were not matters of
concern for the general public, and therefore remained
"Unrevealed to mortal sense."
Yet they were influences which were working, and working prejudicially,
for all concerned.
Scarcely a month had elapsed since the announcement of Mr. Houghton's
retirement, when Roberts was called into the manager's office, and
informed that the firm had resolved to dispense with his services, and
that the notice was to take effect in a month from that day. It was not
without much hesitancy, and a display of no little emotion, that the
venerable manager communicated this very unwelcome piece of
intelligence. Its effect on Roberts may be better imagined than
described. It was a crisis which he had never for one moment
anticipated; and it filled him with astonishment and dismay. As soon as
he had somewhat recovered from the shock which it naturally gave him,
his first inquiry was for the reason of this; when he was informed that
the firm desired to make certain changes, in order to reduce the
expenses of the London establishment, and that Gregory had also received
a similar notice.
"But, sir," said Roberts, "what does the firm expect I am going to do?"
"They don't say," was the reply of Mr. Houghton, in a tone of
helplessness.
"Well," added Roberts, "I should never have expected such treatment from
a firm standing so high as this does in the opinion of all who have any
knowledge of it."
"And a few months ago I should have expressed a similar opinion," said
the manager; "but circumstances have changed."
"Changed! I should think they have!" exclaimed Roberts. "When a
wealthy firm such as this is can say to a man who has been in their
employ upwards of a quarter of a century--with whom they find no fault,
but simply to enable them to reduce expenses--you are to leave us in a
month! it is anything but a fair or honourable way of treating a man at
my time of life."
"I deeply regret to be the bearer of such a message to you," said Mr.
Houghton, "and can only advise you to write the firm, and fully express
your views and feelings on the subject."
Acting upon this advice, Roberts at once wrote a long but respectful
letter to the firm at Broadstone, setting forth the hardship of the
position in which he was thus suddenly placed; the difficulty which a
man of his years would experience in obtaining another situation; and
suggesting that he be allowed an interview with the firm at Broadstone
before such a drastic measure was put into force.
In course of post a reply was received declining the suggested
interview, on the ground that it would be useless, since before arriving
at their decision to act as they had done every circumstance had been
fully considered; and whilst they recognised the value of the services
which had been rendered, and had no fault to find with him, they must
decline to reconsider an act the consequences of which had been well
thought over before being made known.
This was cold comfort for a man in Roberts' position.
The day his notice expired a cheque arrived, which the manager handed
him, with expressions of regret that such a course had been found
necessary. The cheque was equivalent to two months' salary.
Thus at the age of fifty, after spending the best years of his life in
the service of the firm, Roberts found himself thrown upon the world,
with no stain upon his reputation, compelled to commence again the
battle of life, and to join the ranks of the large army of the
unemployed.
Such treatment is an evil of long standing, and is a tyranny which the
poor and defenceless have to suffer from the wealthy.
"In the interest of the firm" was the only plea which could be urged for
the course pursued. But the happiness, the future, the health, nay the
very life, of the man concerned, were all nothing, and might well be
sacrificed to the grasping capitalist "_in the interest of the firm_."
*CHAPTER VII.*
*FAR WEST.*
"To the West, to the West, to the land of the free."--HENRY RUSSELL.
Some thirty miles or more from the banks of the Qu'Appelle River, the
scenery is wild and romantic. Winding creeks abound, into which are
projected rocky promontories; deep ravines, formed by enormous boulders
of red and grey granite, the beds bestrewn with the bones and relics of
the former inhabitants of this vast country; stunted poplars, or weedy
willows, with a varied undergrowth of wild fruit-bushes, contribute to
form an impenetrable undergrowth and an almost pathless bush.
Still farther inland, the "rolling prairie" meets the traveller's
view--a waving grassy expanse, which, when set in motion by the wind, is
like nothing so much as the boundless ocean, of which nearly all writers
agree it most vividly reminds them.
Towards the close of a Canadian summer's day, a solitary horseman might
have been seen pursuing his weary way along the banks of a winding creek
some few miles from the Qu'Appelle. An Englishman, not more than thirty
years of age, well mounted; his cord breeches and hunting-boots, and a
rifle slung across the shoulder, gave him an appearance of having some
acquaintance with a settler's wild life.
Human habitations were only to be met with at long intervals, when
occasionally a hunter's shanty made itself visible amongst the trees.
Out on the prairie were to be seen log-houses and shanties here and
there; and some twenty or thirty miles distant, eastward, the
indications of a little town, only just faintly visible on the far
horizon.
The jaded condition of both man and steed were unmistakable signs of the
many weary miles which had been passed in the saddle, and it was with a
feeling of relief that he espied a substantial-looking range of log
buildings, marking out their owner as a man of some means, who must have
made his way, and succeeded in overcoming the initial difficulties of a
settler's life.
The deserted look of the place was not, at first sight, encouraging.
As, however, he drew in rein at the door of the house, its owner--a man
apparently in the prime of life--advanced to meet him. Dressed in a
suit of homespun garments, remarkable for their ease and convenience
rather than their elegance, his good-humoured and good-tempered looking
face gave every indication of a hearty welcome awaiting those who
happened to be in need of it.
"Good evening, friend," said the settler, as the rider jumped from his
horse, retaining hold of the reins with a loose hand. "Here, Tom," he
added, calling to a stalwart-looking youth who had made his appearance
from a row of wooden shanties which formed the stabling of the
settlement, "take and put up this gentleman's horse. See that he has a
good rub down before feeding, for he looks pretty well done up."
"And so I should think he was," said his owner, "since it is about seven
hours since our last halt for rest or refreshment of any kind."
"Come in, come in, my friend; and we will soon see what the larder has
to put before you."
"Well, if I may so far trespass upon Canadian hospitality, I shall only
be too glad to accept anything you may be able to offer me."
"Rely upon it that Canadian hospitality will never be backward in giving
a right good hearty welcome to travellers from the Old Country, whom
fortune or misfortune may bring to our shores."
"Your words," said the tired horseman, as he followed his guide into the
house, "have a true British ring in them, which makes one feel at home
at once."
"Well, I don't want it ever to be said that James Ranger was the man to
turn away the stranger needing help from his door."
Rough and unfinished in appearance as most of the appointments about the
place seemed, there was yet that air of comfort and cleanliness which is
the marked characteristic of nearly all Canadian houses. A living-room
with a kitchen attached--the walls of which had been rendered smooth
with endless coats of whitewash--formed the downstairs apartments. In
the centre of the room was a rough deal table, on which a tidy white
cloth was being spread by a comely-looking, matronly woman well past
forty. A couple of cushioned rocking-chairs stood one on each side of a
capacious fireplace, and two or three ordinary chairs, neatly cushioned,
against the wall. In one corner was a serviceable chest of drawers, with
a few books on the top; whilst in front of the window was a small but
substantial-looking table, having all the appearance of being home-made,
on which a pot with a flower in it was standing. The floor was painted
yellow, and partly covered with rag carpets and rugs.
Seating himself, without waiting for any further invitation, our
traveller at once proceeded to divest himself of his boots, preliminary
to that rest and ease so necessary after a hard day's ride.
Full justice having been done to the ample provisions spread out before
her tired guest, the two men lighted their pipes, and, seating
themselves in the rear of the house, on a wooden bench running along the
full length of the wall, and commanding an extensive view of the
magnificent open country beyond, after a few general observations, the
old settler, whose curiosity had been aroused by a few casual remarks
which had fallen from his guest, inquired--
"Well, my friend, I do not want to pry into your secrets, but may I ask
where you are bound for, and what are your intentions in wandering so
far away out of the beaten track of ordinary civilised life?"
"Well, the fact is, I am a wanderer, with little more to call my own
than Jacob had when, with a stone for his pillow, he slept peacefully in
the open, dreaming of the future and a land beyond. Who I am is of
little consequence, since I have disgraced my lineage, sullied a good
name, and am now seeking to hide my head somewhere--anywhere--so that I
may escape recognition, and if possible live out a life which, opening
with promise, is destined to close, as that of all wastrels do, in
sorrow and disgust!"
"Come, come, young man,--for you are yet young,--it is neither good nor
right that you should talk in such a hopeless or despairing tone;
whatever may have been your past--and I do not seek to know it beyond
what you may be disposed willingly to reveal--there is time yet before
you in which wrong-doing may perhaps be atoned for, and some effort made
to redeem the past."
"Ah, if you knew all, I am afraid you would be less disposed to say so."
"Well, let's see now," said Ranger. "What are your plans?--if you have
formed any."
"Plans I can scarcely be said to have made, unless to wander aimlessly
on until chance puts me on the track of doing something for somebody,
which will bring me bread-and-cheese, can be called such. Since landing
at Montreal, where I bought my horse and the few things you see I
possess, and started off into the interior, I have subsisted
occasionally by a few purchases, but mainly on the hospitality which has
been freely dispensed at the various farmhouses or settlements I have
passed through. I shall continue to pursue this course until chance
throws me into the way of some employment which I shall be able to enter
into."
"Not a very startling or encouraging prospect," was Ranger's comment;
"but since time is not an important object with you under such
circumstances, you may as well make a short stay here and have a look
round."
"With all my heart," replied the traveller, "if you do not think I shall
be in the way."
"No fear of that. There is plenty of room out here. We are not
overburdened with inhabitants, and can very well spare the trifle you
will cost for living; so we will consider that point settled, and we can
return to the subject after you have had a good night's rest."
As the evening closed in, the weary traveller was glad to be shown to a
comfortable bed, which the kind-hearted hostess had been busily
preparing for him, and in less than ten minutes the sounds which issued
from his sleeping apartment proclaimed most unmistakably that he was
soundly sleeping.
*CHAPTER VIII.*
*MONTREAL.*
"I hold the world but as the world...;
A stage, where every man must play a part."
_Merchant of Venice_, Act I. sc. i.
The Bartons in due course reached Montreal. The passage across was
uneventful, and has been so often described that it needs no record
here. On landing, they proceeded at once to the ship's agent to whom
they had been recommended, and sought from him instructions and
information as to their future course. This was readily given. And as
they felt they could spare two or three days to gaze upon the sights of
this wonderful city, after securing a lodging they took advantage of the
opportunity for doing so.
A traveller who visited the city fifty years ago described it as being
"one of the oldest settlements on the North American Continent." It
stands upon the site of an ancient Indian settlement, all traces of
which were soon obliterated by the progressive action of the pale-faces.
At first named Mount Royal, in honour of the King of France, after sixty
or seventy years' usage it appears to have been corrupted, or changed,
to Montreal, but by whom and under what circumstances is not apparent.
The town extends along the border of the St. Lawrence for some miles,
nearly midway between Quebec and Ottawa, and the principal streets run
almost parallel with the river. The older parts of the town forcibly
remind one of some of the oldest cities in France, and are as
ill-conceived and badly arranged as many of the worst streets of old
London. The more modern parts are designed and built in the best of
style, justifying its being described as "a noble city of stone
edifices, rising from a crowded harbour to its mountain park." This
mountain park is an adjunct such as no other city on the Continent can
boast of, "whilst its shipping and business quarters give evidence of
wealth and commercial activity, which invest it with more than a passing
interest."
The two Bartons spent a good deal of time inspecting the chief
attractions of the city, until, tired with their wanderings, as they
passed through Notre Dame Street they came to a narrow turning, down
which they were induced to venture on seeing a small crowd about the
centre. On making their way through, they found it to be one of those
brawls common enough in their own land, and which they soon learned was
not regarded as a strange thing in these parts. It was a fight between
two men, with an excited crowd of partisans egging them on. Presently
the police arrived on the scene, when an end was quickly put to the
combative feelings of the crowd, which was dispersed in very much the
fashion that similar crowds are dispersed in the Old Country.
Retracing their steps, their attention was arrested by an ordinary but
respectable-looking refreshment bar, which they entered.
A seafaring man was seated at one of the tables, drinking whisky, and
loudly declaiming against some injustice--real or imaginary--he wanted
his hearers to believe he had suffered at the hands of the Customs'
authorities. A group of interested listeners was gathered about him,
which our friends joined; but after a while, not feeling interested in
the subject he was dilating upon, they separated themselves from the
group, and, selecting a table which was unoccupied, ordered a modest
meal, such as they believed their means would admit of.
When the time to settle up arrived, what was their dismay and horror to
find that their pockets had been emptied of all the money they
possessed.
Calling the proprietor, they made known to him their dilemma; but he
refused to admit that they had been robbed in his house, and as they
could not declare with any certainty that this was the case, they were
required to pay; but how to do this was not so easy to determine.
A grinning crowd soon surrounded them, expressing considerable doubts
about the _bona fides_ of their representations. They, however,
succeeded in convincing the landlord that they were what they
represented themselves to be by producing the railway tickets, which
they had fortunately taken for their forward journey; and he, relying
upon their promise to forward the sum due out of the first money they
made, allowed them to depart after some little haggling.
Their difficulties, however, were not yet over. It had been their
intention to stay a few days longer in Montreal, and they had
accordingly engaged their lodgings with that object in view. This was
now rendered impossible. They had left a deposit with the lodging-house
keeper, so that the only plan they could think of was to interview her,
make a clean breast of their position, and, in the event of finding her
incredulous, forfeit the money in hand and start at once to the West.
The day being well advanced, they returned to the lodging-house where
they had intended staying, which was situate in one of the streets
contiguous to the harbour.
The landlady, a sharp-looking little woman, incredulous at first as to
the truth of their story, explained that she had so frequently been done
by similar representations that they must not feel surprised at her
hesitating to accept their statement as true. Convinced at length, she
agreed to allow them to remain the night in return for the deposit, so
that they might be able to depart by the morning train, outward bound at
nine-five a.m. This difficulty overcome, it was not so clear to our two
friends how they were to subsist during the long journey which lay
before them.
From the police they obtained very little that could be considered
satisfactory. The street they described had an indifferent reputation,
and the restaurant at which they had stopped was frequently being
brought under their notice. But the fact of their having mingled in the
row in the street rendered it so extremely probable that the robbery
took place there, that they held out no hopes of their loss being
recovered. Acting upon police advice, they resolved to call upon the
British Consul and acquaint him with the destitute position in which
this event had placed them, in the hope that he might be willing to
render them a little assistance.
They had not far to go to reach that useful official, into whose
presence they were readily admitted.
He was a tall, handsome-looking man, with a fine military bearing, who
had well passed the meridian of life. His face was a study which
Lavater would have revelled over; it had all the expression of
good-humour and a kindly disposition, so delightful to meet with, yet
accompanied with a pair of expressive blue eyes which seemed to pierce
the person they were looking at. He was certainly not the man to be
imposed upon, yet he was quite prepared to listen and weigh a fairly
good tale of trouble.
The story of the Bartons was very simple. After taking their tickets at
Liverpool, they had the balance out of one hundred pounds left. They
had not spent much since reaching Montreal beyond the price of their
railway tickets, which had been taken to San Francisco. They had
therefore more than half the money they had begun with intact, when so
unfortunately deprived of the balance.
Their papers and railway tickets tended to confirm these statements,
whilst their manners and appearance were sufficient to convince His
Majesty's representative their story was a true one.
"I believe all you tell me," said his Excellency, "and am afraid the
treatment you have received from our countrymen will not lead you to
form a too favourable impression of them."
"On the contrary," spoke up the elder of the two men, "we feel that
there was a great want of thought on our part in the matter, and the
kindness we have already met with convinces us that in this country, as
in England, the bad are always to be found mixed up with the good."
"I am glad you take that sensible view of the affair; and at the same
time, whilst regretting that I cannot make up your loss, which it would
perhaps not be wise for me to do, yet to convince you that, as a people,
we are not indisposed to extend a helping hand to those who stand in
need of it, I shall be quite willing to make you a present of ten
pounds, trusting you will guard it with more care than that which has
gone."
"Your Excellency's offer is far more than we had any right to
anticipate, and overwhelms us with gratitude. It is a noble and
generous act, for which we cannot find words adequately to express our
feelings."
"Good day," added the Consul, as they were leaving; "in the land you are
going to I hope you will find what you are in search of."
"And be assured, sir, you will have no reason to regret your confidence
in us, for the very first moneys we succeed in making will be devoted to
the return of what we prefer to regard as a loan."
And it was with a feeling of proud satisfaction that, in less than six
months, the elder Barton found himself in a position to remit the amount
to his Excellency, in a letter which expressed the gratitude felt for
the timely help so kindly and generously afforded.
*CHAPTER IX*
*RANGER'S RANCH.*
"Thou, like a kind fellow, gave thyself away; and I thank thee."
_Henry IV._, Part II. Act IV. sc. iii.
Guide-books tell us that "the Dominion of Canada is the largest of the
British possessions," and it is difficult to form a true conception of
the vast area comprised within the limits of our North American
Provinces.
No country has such grand possibilities before it, and its progress of
recent years has been remarkable. All Canadians are proud of their
country, and believe in it.
But we are not at present concerned so much about Canada in general, or
as a whole, as we are with that section which lies some few hundred
miles west of Winnipeg, in the district of Assiniboia.
It was here, in the lovely valley of the Qu'Appelle River, that we left
our weary traveller at Ranger's Ranch, with a prospect of provisional
entertainment, until something suitable could be decided upon for his
future.
Having, as he explained, no definite plan of action before him, he very
readily fell in with a proposal Ranger made, in the course of a few
days, to stay and assist on the farm, so as to ascertain to what extent
he was adapted for agricultural pursuits, and whether it was a life he
would be willing to settle down to.
"What sort of climate have you here?" was one of the earliest questions
asked by Fellows, the name he had expressed a wish to be known by.
"Much the same as prevails in the neighbouring province of Manitoba,"
was Ranger's reply. "The summer months usually bright, clear, and very
warm, but nights cool."
"How is it later on?"
"The autumn months are the finest of the year."
"No rain?"
"Frequently the atmosphere is dry and free from moisture for several
weeks."
"Is your winter exceptionally hard?"
"For the matter of that," replied Ranger, "much depends upon
constitution. Without doubt it is cold, but there is usually very
little wind, and almost constant sunshine; there is no snowfall to any
great depth, and traffic is but slightly impeded. In fact, the general
dryness of the air causes it to be exceedingly bracing and healthy."
"I suppose you consider it superior to that of the Old Country?"
"Decidedly I do! Experience would tell me that, but the testimony of
our Officer of Health goes to confirm it. Listen to what he says,"
added Ranger, as he took down a little book from the slender stock on
the shelf by his side: "'We are absolutely protected by our climatic
conditions from several of the most dangerous and fatal diseases, whilst
others, which are common to all peoples on the face of the earth, are
comparatively rare.'"
"Your favourable description, added to my own brief experience, so
charms me, that I feel very much like staying where I am," said Fellows.