"THE MOTHER OF GOLD."
From Victoria to the mouth of the Frazer river is about seventy miles,
and thence to New Westminster is at least another sixteen. As the
steamers which used to ply between the two young cities in '62 were by
no means ocean racers, none of the passengers on board the S.S.
_Umatilla_ were in the least degree disappointed, although the shadows
of evening were beginning to fall before they passed the Sandheads, and
ran into the yellow waters of the Frazer.
Very few of those on board had eyes for scenery. A rich-looking bar or
a wavy riband of quartz high up on a mountain-side would have attracted
more attention from that crowd than all the beauties of the Yosemite,
and even had they been as keen about scenery as Cook's tourists, there
was but little food for their raptures in the delta they were entering.
The end of a river, like the end of a life, is apt to be ugly and dull,
and the Frazer exhibits no exception to this rule. Child as she is of
the winter's snows and the summer's sun, she loses all the purity of the
one and the gleam of the other long before she attains her middle
course, and at her mouth this "mother of gold" is but a tired, dull, old
river, sordid and rich with golden sands, glad, so it seems, to slip by
her monotonous mud-banks and lose herself and her yellow dross in the
purifying waters of the salt sea.
As Corbett gazed upon the wide expanse of dun-coloured flood, he saw no
sign even of that savage strength of which he had heard so much, except
one. Far out, and looking small in the great waste of waters, was a
stranded tree--a great pine, uprooted and now stranded on a sunken bank,
its roots upturned, its boughs twisted off, and its very bark torn from
its side by the fury of the riffles and whirlpools of the upper canyons.
To Corbett there was something infinitely sad in this lonely wreck,
though it was but the wreck of a forest tree. Had he known the great
sullen river better he would have known that she brought down many
sadder wrecks in those early days--human wrecks, whose wounds were not
all of her making, though the river got the evil credit of them.
As it was, the first sight of the Frazer depressed him, and his
depression was not dispelled by the sight of New Westminster. The idea
of a new city hewed by man out of the virgin forest is noble enough, and
whilst the sun is shining and the axes are ringing, the life and energy
of the workers makes some compensation for the ugliness of their work.
But it is otherwise when the sun is low and labour has ceased. Then
"Stump-town" seems a more appropriate title than New Westminster, and a
new-comer may be forgiven for shuddering at the ugliness of the new
frame-houses, at the charred stumps still left standing in the main
streets, at the little desolate forest swamps still left undrained
within a stone's-throw of the Grand Hotel, and at all the baldness and
beggarliness of the new town's surroundings. To Ned Corbett it looked as
if Nature had been murdered, and civilization had not had time to throw
a decent pall over her victim's body. Certainly in 1862 New Westminster
might be, as its citizens alleged, an infant prodigy, but it was not a
picturesque city.
However, as the S.S. _Umatilla_ ran alongside her wharf, a voice roused
Corbett from his musings, and turning he found Cruickshank beside him.
"What do you think about camping to-night, Corbett?" asked the colonel.
"It will be rather dark for pitching our tent, won't it?"
Now, since the poker-playing incident Corbett had not spoken to
Cruickshank. Indeed he had not seen him, and he had hardly made up his
mind how to treat him when they met. That Cruickshank had a good many
objectionable acquaintances was clear, but on the other hand there was
nothing definite which could be alleged against him. Moreover, for the
next month Ned and the estate-agent were bound to be a good deal
together, and taking this into consideration, Ned decided on the spur
of the moment to let all that had gone before pass without comment.
Cruickshank had evidently calculated upon Corbett taking this course,
for though there had been a shade of indecision in his manner when he
came up, he spoke quietly, and as one who had no explanations to make or
apologies to offer.
"Yes, it is too dark to make a comfortable camp to-night," assented
Corbett. "What does Chance want to do?"
"Oh, I vote for an hotel," cried Steve, coming up at the moment. "Let us
be happy whilst we may, we'll be down to bed-rock soon enough."
"All right, 'the hotel goes,' as you would say, Steve;" and together the
young men followed the crowd which streamed across the gangway to the
wharf.
There the arrival of the S.S. _Umatilla_ was evidently looked upon as
the event of the day, and a great crowd of idlers stood waiting for the
disembarkation of her passengers; and yet one man only seemed to be
there on business, the rest were merely loafing, and would as soon have
thought of lending a hand to carry a big portmanteau to the hotel as
they would have thought of touching their hats.
This one worker in the crowd was an old man in his shirt sleeves, who
caught Ned by the arm, as he had caught each of his predecessors, as
soon as his foot touched the wharf, and in a tone of fatherly command
bade him "Go up to the Mansion House. Best hotel in the city. It's the
miners' house," he added. "Three square meals a day every time, and
don't you forget it."
Ned laughed. The last recommendation was certainly worthy of
consideration, and as no one else seemed anxious for his patronage he
turned to Cruickshank with, "Is it to be the Mansion House?"
"Oh yes," replied the latter, "all the hard-fists stay with Mike."
"How long do you mean to stay here anyway?" asked Chance.
"Four or five days,--perhaps a week," replied Cruickshank. "There is a
boat for Douglas to-night, but we could not buy the horses and the
stores so as to be ready in less than a couple of days."
"That is so. We shall have to stay a week then?" asked Steve.
"Unless you like to intrust me with the purchase of your train. I could
hire a man to help me and come on by the next boat if you want
particularly to catch this one--"
The eyes of Corbett and Chance met, and unluckily Cruickshank saw the
glance, and interpreted it as correctly as if the words had been spoken.
Corbett noticed the flush on the man's face and the ugly glitter in his
eye, and hastened to soothe him.
"Oh no, colonel, it is deuced good of you," he said; "but we would
rather wait and all go together. We are looking to you to show us a good
deal besides the mere road in the next six weeks. But what are we to do
with our packs now?"
"We can't leave them here, can we?" asked Chance, pointing to where
their goods lay in a heap on the wharf.
"I don't see why not," growled Cruickshank; and then added
significantly, "Murder or manslaughter are no great crimes in the eyes
of some folk around here, but miners are a bit above petty larceny;" and
so saying he turned on his heel and left Chance and Corbett to shift
for themselves.
"Better take care what you say to that fellow," remarked Corbett,
looking after the retreating figure; "although I like him better in that
mood than in his oily one."
"Oh, I think he is all right; at any rate you won't want my help to
crush him, Ned, if he means to cut up rough."
"Not if he fights fair, Steve; but I don't trust the brute--I never
did."
"Just because he plays cards and calls himself a colonel? Why, everyone
is a colonel out here. But to blazes with Cruickshank anyway. Come and
get some grub."
And so saying Steve Chance entered the principal hotel of New
Westminster, down the plank walls of which the tears of oozing resin
still ran, while the smell of the pine-forest pervaded the whole house.
The "newness" of these young cities of the West is perhaps beyond the
imagination of dwellers in the old settled countries of Europe. It is
hard for men from the East to realize that the hotel, which welcomes
them to all the comforts and luxuries of the nineteenth century, was
standing timber a month before, that the walls covered with paper in
some pretty French design, and hung with mirrors and gilt-framed
engravings, were the homes of the jay and the squirrel, and that the
former tenants have hardly had time yet to settle in a new abode.
And yet so it is: we do our scene-shifting pretty rapidly out West, and
though there may not be time to perfect anything, the general effect is
wonderful in the extreme.
The Westminster hotel was a gem of its class, and even Ned and Steve,
who had become fairly used to Western ways, were a little aghast at the
contrast between the magnificence of some of the new furniture and the
simplicity of the sleeping accommodation, as illustrated by the rows of
miners' blankets neatly laid out along the floor. Luckily Cruickshank
had cautioned them to take their bedding with them, or they might have
been obliged to pass a cheerless night in one of the highly-gilded
arm-chairs, which looked as comfortless as they were gaudy.
The old tout upon the wharf, who owned what he advertised, had not
misrepresented his house. As he had said, the meals were square enough
even for the hungry miners who swarmed around his board, and though it
was dull to lie upon their oars and wait, Steve and Ned might have found
worst places to wait in than the Mansion House. For at Westminster a
delay arose, as delays will the moment a man begins packing or touches
cayuses out West. Of course there were a few horses to be bought, but
equally, of course, everyone in the city and its suburbs seemed to know
by instinct that Corbett & Co. were cornered, and must buy, however bad
the beasts and however high the prices.
An old Indian, one Captain Jim, who with the assistance of all his
female relatives used to pack liquor and other necessaries to the mines,
had part of an old train to sell, horses, saddles, and all complete, and
for the first three days of their stay at Westminster Corbett & Co.
expected every minute to become owners of this outfit. But the business
dragged on, until the noble savage upon whom they had looked as the type
of genial simplicity had become an abomination in their eyes, and they
had decided to leave the management of him to Cruickshank, resolving
that if the train was not bought and ready to be shipped on the next
boat to Douglas that they would go without a pack-train altogether. In
the meanwhile they had to get through the time as best they could,
assisted by the Cariboo poet, who had stayed on like themselves at
Westminster.
To Chance this was no hardship; what with a little sketching, a little
poker, and a great deal of smoking, he managed to get through the days
with a good deal of satisfaction to himself. As to Ned, the delay and
inaction disgusted him and spoilt his temper, which may account in some
measure for an unfortunate incident which occurred on the second day of
his stay at the Mansion House.
As the day was hot and he had nothing to do, the big fellow had laid out
his blankets in a shady corner and prepared to lie down and sleep the
weary hours away. Before doing so he turned for a minute or two to watch
a game of piquet, in which Roberts appeared to be invariably "piqued,
repiqued, pooped, and capoted," as his adversary, a red-headed Irishman,
announced at the top of his voice.
Tired of the game, Ned turned and sought his couch, upon which two
strangers had taken a seat. Going up to them, Ned asked them to move,
and as they did not appear to hear him he repeated his request in a
louder tone. Perhaps the heat and the flies had made him irritable, and
a tone of angry impatience had got into his voice which nettled the men,
one of whom, turning towards him, but not attempting to make room,
coolly told him "to go to blazes."
As the man turned, Ned recognized him as Bub Cruickshank, the brother
or cousin of the Colonel; but it needed neither the recognition nor the
laugh that ran round the room to put Ned's hackles up.
Without stopping to think, he picked up the fellow by the scruff of his
neck and the slack of his breeches and deposited him with the least
possible tenderness upon an untenanted piece of the floor.
Before he had time to straighten himself, the dislodged Bub aimed a
furious kick at Ned, and in another minute our hero was in the thick of
as merry a mill as any honest young Englishman could desire. Time after
time Ned floored his man, for though Bub knew very little of the use of
his hands he was a determined brute, and kept rushing in and trying to
get a grip of his man at close quarters, and, moreover, it was a case of
one down the other come on, for as soon as Ned had floored one fellow
and put him _hors de combat_ for a short time, his companion took up the
battle.
"Take care, Corbett,--take care of his teeth!" shouted Roberts all at
once; and Ned felt a horrible faint feeling come over him, robbing him
for the moment of all his strength, as Bub fastened on his thumb.
For a moment the Shropshireman almost gave up the battle. Those only
who have suffered from this dastardly trick of the lowest of Yankee
roughs, can have any idea of the effect it has upon a man's strength.
But Corbett was almost as mad with rage at what he considered
unsportsman-like treatment as he was with pain, so that he managed to
wrench himself free and send his man to earth again with another
straight left-hander.
Meanwhile the red-haired Irishman, who had been playing piquet with
Roberts, had lost all interest in his game since the fight began, and
was fairly writhing in his seat with suppressed emotion.
At last flesh and blood (or at least _Irish_ flesh and blood) could
endure it no longer, so that, jumping up from his seat, he took Ned just
by the shoulders and lifted him clean out of the way as if he had been a
baby, remarking as he did so--
"You stay there, sonny, and let me knock 'em down awhile."
But the poor simple Celt was doomed to disappointment. The truth was
that Ned had been greedy, and taken more than his share of this innocent
game of skittles, so that, as Mr. O'Halloran remarked sorrowfully at
supper, he did but get in "one from the shoulther, and thin them two
murtherin' haythens lit right out."
When the scrimmage was over Roberts took Ned on one side, and after
looking at the bitten thumb and bandaging it up for his friend, he gave
Ned a little advice.
"Fighting is all very well, Mr. Corbett, where people fight according to
rules, but you had better drop it here. If you don't, some fellow will
get level on you with the leg of a table or a little cold lead. If you
must fight, you had better learn to shoot like old Rampike."
"Where is old Rampike now?" asked Ned, anxious to turn the conversation,
and feeling a little ashamed of his escapade.
"Rampike went right on by the boat that met the _Umatilla_. He got a job
up at Williams Creek, and will be there ahead of us."
"Then you mean to come up too, Roberts, that's right," said Corbett
genially.
"Yes, I am coming up with your crowd. I met the count in town last night
and borrowed the chips from him. I am thinking that if you make a
practice of quarrelling with Cruickshank and all his friends you will
need someone along to look after you."
"But who is the count, and why could you not have borrowed the money
from us?" asked Corbett in a tone of considerable pique.
"The count! Oh, the count is an old friend, and lends to most anyone who
is broke. It's his business in a way. You see, he is the biggest gambler
in the upper country. Skins a chap one day and lends him a handful of
gold pieces the next. He'll get it back with interest from one of us
even if I don't pay him, so that's all right;" and honest Roberts
dismissed all thought of the loan from his mind, as if it was the most
natural thing in the world for a professional gambler to lend an
impecunious victim a hundred dollars on no security whatever.
Luckily for Ned his fellow countryman took him in hand after this, and
what with singing and working managed to keep him out of mischief. For
Roberts found Corbett work in Westminster which just suited his young
muscles, though it was as quaint in its way as Roberts' own financial
arrangements in their way.
It seemed that in the young city there was no church and no funds to
build one, but there was a sturdy, energetic parson, and a mob of noisy,
careless miners, who rather liked the parson; not, perhaps, _because_ he
was a parson, but because he had in some way or other proved to them
that he was a "man."
Had they been on the way down with their pockets full of "dust" the
boys would soon have built him anything he wanted, whether it had been a
church or a gin-shop. I am afraid it would have mattered little. As it
was they were unluckily on their way up, and their pockets were empty.
But as the will was there the parson found the way, and all through that
week of waiting Ned and a gang of other strong hardy fellows like
himself made their axes glitter and ring on the great pines, clearing a
site, and preparing the lumber for the first house of God erected in New
Westminster.
Who shall say that their contribution had not as much intrinsic value as
the thousand-dollar cheque which Croesus sends for a similar object. A
good deal more labour goes to the felling of a pine ten feet through
than to the signing of a cheque, anyway.