|IT has been justly observed that one half of the world does not know
how the other half lives. The statement is a very safe one, and might
have been made a great deal more comprehensive by the philosopher who
uttered it without risking his reputation for sagacity. We do not know
how our next-door neighbour lives, except in the sense of what he has
for dinner, which may indeed be discovered by the curious; nay, we
often know not how our own household lives, how our very sons conduct
themselves when not at meal-times and under our very eyes, what pursuits
they really follow, what hopes, what fears, what ambitions they
in secret entertain. It is well, indeed, and should be a matter of
congratulation, if we are quite cognizant of the “goings on” of our
wives and daughters. It is strange to think what a world in little lies
under the roof of any great mansion, such as Mirk Abbey. How interesting
would the genuine individual biographies--if one could only get
at them--of such a household be, from that of the mistress of the
establishment (whose troubles we are endeavouring to portray) down
to that of the under kitchen-maid, concerning whom we have “no
information,” but who has doubtless her own temptations, wrongs, and
troubles also, which concern her with equal nearness, although they may
not be so genteel! It is probable that the true history of the second
gravedigger in _Hamlet_ would be to the full as interesting as what we
know of that philosophic Prince himself, though _his_ father had not
been murdered by his uncle, albeit even that may have been the case,
for aught we know. But, alas! the novelist has not the power which the
_Devil on Two Sticks_ possessed of lifting the tiles off the attics;
but has generally to content himself with such glimpses as he can obtain
through the keyholes of the first and second floors.
Taking advantage of even this moderate privilege, we are sometimes
rewarded with phenomena. Thus, it is little less than a portent to see
Captain Walter Lisgard, who is not generally addicted to early rising,
up and dressed upon a certain May morning before the clock on the great
stairs has sounded three. True, he has been out of bed once or twice
at such an hour on other occasions, but then it was because he had not
retired to rest the night before. He has done that, however, this time,
or, at all events, has exchanged his evening-dress for morning-costume.
Some people do get up at the most premature hours, even in winter, and
light their own fires, and retrim the midnight lamp to pursue literary
or scientific labours; but if Captain Lisgard has got up to study, we
will eat him. What _can_ he be about? He gropes his way down the
great staircase, where darkness is made visible by streaks of grayish
light--which is not yet dawn--struggling through cracks and crannies;
and he stumbles over the heavy rug beneath the bottom step, and swears
with involuntary emphasis. Then he listens a while, to see what will
come of that. The great clock on the hall-table ticks reprovingly:
“Don't, don't--shame, shame!” as he never heard it tick before;
and hear and there breaks forth an expostulatory creaking, as though
from moral furniture, which has no such scruples in the daytime; but his
ejaculation has aroused no living being.
Softly he turns the key of the frontdoor, softly withdraws the bolts,
and would as softly have slipped out, but that there is suddenly a
jar and a whir, and the opening door is held fast by an iron hand.
“Confound the chain!” exclaims the captain. “It is as difficult
to get out of this house as out of Newgate.” Then, when all is still
quiet, he emerges upon the stone steps with an “I wonder, for my
part, how burglars are ever discovered,” and takes his way towards the
village. The gates are locked at the end of the avenue, and the
porter and his wife are doubtless fast asleep, as well as fair-haired
Polly--dreaming perhaps of himself, thinks the captain with, a
half-contemptuous, half-complacent smile--but Master Walter, who is as
active as a cat, climbs the stone pillar by help of the iron hinge, and
“drops” noiselessly on to the road. He passes up the humble street,
where each cottage is quiet as the grave--two blessed hours intervening
yet between its inmates and their toil, and makes for the _Lisgard
Arms_. The inn stands on a slight elevation, so that he sees it some
time before he nears it. “Why, the place is on fire!” mutters the
captain; and certainly there is some extraordinary illumination taking
place in one of the apartments. A flood of light pours from it as from
some Pharos, as though to beckon benighted folks whither good ale is to
be found; and yet the house is always shut at eleven, in conformity with
the squire's orders.
“It's that infernal idiot Derrick himself who has done it,”
continues the captain. “That's his room, I know. Just as if he could
not have got up in the dark, as I did: a fellow that probably never had
more than a farthing-dip to light him any morning, before he went to
Cariboo. I wonder, for my part, he can dress without a valet. What a
stuck-up, vulgar dog it is! How I hate his pinchbeck ostentation, and
still worse, his dreadful familiarity! If it could only be found out
immediately after this Derby that he was a returned transport, with
five-and-twenty years or so of his sentence still unexpired, how
delightful it would be! I really think that he is least objectionable
in the evenings, when he is drunk. There is something original in his
brute-manner of swilling; a sort of over-driven-ox style about his
stagger, which would make his fortune upon any stage--where there was
room enough for the magnitude of the exhibition. Certainly, one has to
pay for the society of this sort of gentry, and still more for their
friendship. Alas, that I should have made this fortunate savage fond of
me! I wish I could feel as Valentine did with Orson, instead of being
much more like the too ingenious Frankenstein, whose monster became his
master. However, that has not come about yet--notwithstanding meddling
Mr Arthur Haldane's warnings.--Let me see, it was arranged, I think,
that I was to whistle to this animal.” Master Walter drew a silver
cab-call from his pocket, and executed upon it the disconsolate cry of
one who in London streets between the closing of the night-houses and
the rising of the sun desires a Hansom. Instantly the light from the
inn began to diminish--once, twice, thrice; and then the casement
became blind and rayless like the other windows. “That beggar had
four candles lit!” ejaculated the captain with irritation. “It was
a mercy that he did not bring out the village fire-engine! Here he comes
with his eternal pipe, too. I daresay he had the imprudence to light
_that_ before he left the house, and Steve's red nose will smell
it.” There are some men who always look the same no matter at what
hour you come upon them: fresh, and hearty, and strong, they have but to
duck their heads in cold water, and straightway the fatigues of a weary
day or a sleepless night are utterly obliterated. They rejoice like
giants to run their courses without any sort of preparation in the way
of food and sleep, such as the rest of mankind require. Against this
healthy animalism we protest, by calling it rude health; and to those
who are of a less powerful constitution, it is naturally an offensive
spectacle. Walter Lisgard had himself by no means a delicate
organisation; his complexion, though pale, was far from sickly; his
limbs, though models of grace rather than of strength, were of good
proportions and well knit. But he was conscious of looking heavy-eyed
and haggard, and he secretly resented the robust and florid appearance
of the unconscious individual who now joined him--a man at least
twenty-five years his senior.
“I suppose you have been accustomed to get up at these unearthly
hours at the gold-diggings, that you look so disagreeably wide-awake, Mr
Derrick,” grumbled he. “You would very much oblige me if you would
but yawn.”
“Get up! Master Walter; why, I've never been to bed,” answered the
bearded man with a great guffaw. “The fact is, that I took a little
more than was good for me last night, and I did not dare lie down,
knowing that we had this business on hand so early.”
“Why, one would think, by the amount of light, that you had been lying
in state, like some deceased king of the Cannibal Islands,” returned
the other peevishly. “Was it your habit to use two pair of candles in
your bedroom in Cariboo?”
“Well, I never had a bedroom there, that you would call such, as I
have told you again and again, Master Walter; but I have burned twenty
candles at a time when they were selling at Antler Creek at five dollars
a pound. You imagine, I suppose, that it is only you gentlemen who live
at home at ease who have money to spend; but let me tell you that is not
the case. I will go bail for my part, for example, that I have paid more
sovereigns away in twenty-four hours than your brother, Sir Richard,
ever did in a week.”
“My dear Mr Derrick, you are boastful this morning,” said the
captain quietly: “it is my belief that you have taken a hair of the
dog that bit you overnight.”
“Maybe I have, and maybe I haven't, Master Walter; but I shall burn
just as many candles as I like. I have worked hard enough for my money,
and, dam'me, but I'll enjoy it. Why, when I was at New Westminster,
I had my horse shod with gold, sir; and if I choose, I'll do it
here.”
“You would have a perfect right so to do, Mr Derrick,” returned the
other gravely; “and for my part, if your horse should cast a shoe in
my neighbourhood, I should warmly applaud your expensive tastes. But you
must have been really very rich, to do such things. Now, how much do you
think you were worth when you were at New Westminster?”
“That's tellings, captain,” responded the other with a cunning
chuckle; “but when I was on Fraser River, me and my mate Blanquette,
we made”------
“Well, now, what _did_ you make?” urged the young man, as the other
hesitated.
“Well, we made nothing for the first five days,” answered Derrick
drily--“nothing at all.--How far have we got to go to reach the
Measured Mile by this road?”
The two men had left the village, and were pursuing a winding chalk-road
that led, but not directly, to the Downlands at the back of Mr
Chifney's stables.
“It is a very circuitous route,” returned Master Walter frankly;
“and I was in hopes it might be shortened to the fancy by hearing
you tell something of your own story. But, of course, I have no wish to
press you to tell it against your will. You have conferred obligations
upon me enough already, I am quite aware.”
This was the first sentence of conciliation, not to say of civility,
that the young man had spoken, and heretofore his air had been cross or
cynical; yet no sooner did he evince this little of good-will, than
the manner of the other softened at once to a degree that was very
remarkable in so rough a man.
“Don't talk of obligations, lad, for I like you--ay, so well, that I
wish you were son of mine; not that I am fit to be the father of such as
you either; I _know_ that well.”
“If I were your son, I am afraid you would have a good deal of trouble
with me, Mr Derrick,” replied the young man laughing: “I am not a
good boy.”
“That is true, Walter Lisgard; and yet I never saw a face that took
my liking as yours does--save once. I could not tell what drew me so
towards you, when I first met you up at the Farm yonder; but now I know
very well.”
“Then it is to the similarity between myself and some other favoured
individual that I am indebted for your regard? That rather robs the
compliment of its flavour.”
“Ay, my lad; but you are dear to me for your own sake also, although,
indeed, I scarce know why.”
“Thank you, Mr Derrick.”
“True,” continued the other thoughtfully, without noticing his
companion's flippant tone, “you are like--ah, Heaven, how like you
are to one that's dead and gone! Indeed, I can refuse you nothing
while I think upon it. It is not everybody, however, lad, to whom I
would humour by telling exactly what I'm worth. While a man is merely
known as rich, he may have any sum, and be looked up to accordingly;
but when his wealth can be reckoned to a pound, he loses credit. If
_Manylaws_ wins at Epsom, I shall be worth--ay, near a hundred thousand
pounds.”
“I suppose no one in Cariboo ever made a sum like that by
gold-digging, eh?”
“I think no one, Master Walter. There was no claim so rich as my
mate's and mine at Snowy Creek, and it did not yield that sum. But, by
Heaven, how well I remember what it did yield. It seemed to me then that
I should never run risks any more, but live on what I had in content and
plenty; and yet here I am, this very morning”----
“My dear sir,” interrupted his companion gaily, “it appears to me
that you are taking gloomy views. What is life without excitement?”
“Ay, that is very well for _you_, lad, who have something to fall back
upon, if your little schemes should miscarry. Excitement in your case is
only another name for amusement; but in mine”----
“Well, in yours, Mr Derrick?”
“Do not call me Mister; call me Ralph, lad--that is, if you are
not ashamed of me altogether.--You _are_ ashamed, I see. Well, never
mind.--Let me see, I was speaking of Cariboo, was I not? Well, success
or failure there was a question of life and death. One might be a
beggar, or one might be the king of the colony. I had known what poverty
was--and that is not merely being without money, mind. I have
lived among a savage people for months who had neither gold nor
silver--nothing to hoard and nothing to spend save shells picked up on
the sea-shore, and strung on sea-weed for a purse; and I was as poor as
they; but yet it was not poverty. But I had felt the sting of that
in many a crowded city, and I came to Cariboo to escape from it. If I
should make my thousand pounds or so, I would buy a farm, or a share in
a ship, and live a quiet respectable life to the end of my days. While
making these good resolutions, my ready money--which was also all I had
in the world--was melting fast. With the last ten pounds of it, I bought
the half of a small claim at Snowy Creek. Blanquette and I sawed our own
lumber and made our own sluices. It was no light work even for me, who
had been used to rough it. There was twelve feet of top-stripping to be
removed before we could hope to reach the pay-dirt. For the first five
days, we made nothing. I would have sold my share in the whole concern
for a couple of pounds, and begun life with that afresh; but on the
sixth day we found fourteen ounces of gold, and I was worth fifty
pounds. Then I would not have sold my chance for scarcely any sum that
you could name. I would have shot any man that had jumped into our
pit, spade in hand, just as I would have shot a dog. Your brother, Sir
Richard, may talk about the rights of property, but he never appreciated
them as I did then. On the seventh day, we found forty-five ounces; on
the eighth, sixty. The find kept on increasing, till it rose to four
hundred ounces daily, when we employed eight hands to clear away the
tailings. The whole area of the place out of which I scooped my fortune
was not eighty feet by twenty. I found for my share twelve thousand
pounds in it.”
“And you brought that safe to England, did you?”
“No, lad, I did not. I spent five hundred pounds of it in
champagne--we drank it out of buckets--for one item.”
“And in candles, Ralph,” asked Master Walter smiling--“how much in
candles?”
“In one thing and another, dear lad, I spent four thousand pounds
before we landed in England. Even what was left would have seemed
affluence six months before----But there, what's the good of talking?
There's the rubbing-down house, is it not? and I shall soon know
whether I am going to get a second fortune, or to lose what I have.”