THE NEW DIGGINGS--BRIGHT PROSPECTS--GREAT RESULTS SPRING FROM GREAT
EXERTIONS, EVEN IN CALIFORNIA--CAPTAIN BUNTING IS SEIZED WITH A GREAT
PASSION FOR SOLITARY RAMBLING, AND HAS TWO DESPERATE ENCOUNTERS; ONE
WITH A MAN, THE OTHER WITH A REAR.
The part of the Little Creek diggings to which the gold-hunters
transported their camp, was a wild, secluded spot, not much visited by
the miners, partly on account of its gloomy appearance, and partly in
consequence of a belief that the Celestials located there were getting
little or no gold. In this supposition they were correct. Ah-wow and
Ko-sing being inveterately lazy, contented themselves with digging just
enough gold to enable them to purchase a sufficiency of the necessaries
of life. But the region was extremely rich, as our adventurers found
out very soon after their arrival. One of the ravines, in particular,
gave indications of being full of gold, and several panfuls of earth
that were washed out shewed so promising a return, that the captain and
Larry were anxious to begin at once. They were overruled, however, by
the others, who wished to make trial of the bed of the stream.
Six days of severe labour were undergone by the whole party ere their
task was accomplished, during which period they did not make an ounce of
gold, while, at the same time, their little store was rapidly melting
away. Nevertheless, they worked heartily, knowing that a few days of
successful digging would amply replenish their coffers. At grey dawn
they set to work; some, with trousers tucked up, paddling about in the
water all day, carrying mud and stones, while others felled trees and
cut them into logs wherewith to form the dam required to turn the stream
from its course. This was a matter of no small difficulty. A new bed
had to be cut to the extent of eight or ten yards, but for a long time
the free and jovial little mountain stream scorned to make such a
pitiful twist in its course, preferring to burst its way headlong
through the almost completed barricade, by which it was pent-up.
Twice did it accomplish this feat, and twice, in so doing, did it sweep
Captain Bunting off his legs and roll him along bodily, in a turmoil of
mud and stones and dirty water, roaring, as it gushed forth, as if in
savage triumph. On the second occasion, Bill Jones shared the captain's
ducking, and all who chanced to be working about the dam at the time
were completely drenched. But, however much their bodies might be
moistened, no untoward accident could damp the ardour of their spirits.
They resumed work again; repaired the breach, and, finally, turned the
obstinate stream out of the course which, probably, it had occupied
since creation. It rushed hissing, as if spitefully, along its new bed
for a few yards, and then darted, at a right angle, back into its former
channel, along which it leaped exultingly as before.
But the object for which all this trouble had been undertaken was
attained. About eight yards of the old bed of the torrent were laid
bare, and the water was drained away, whereat each of the party
exhibited his satisfaction after his own peculiar manner--Larry O'Neil,
as usual, giving vent to his joy in a hearty cheer.
The result was even more successful than had been anticipated. During
the next few days the party conversed little; their whole energies being
devoted to eating, sleeping, and digging. The bed of the stream was
filled with stones, among which they picked up numerous nuggets of
various sizes--from a pea to a walnut--some being almost pure gold,
while others were, more or less, mixed with quartz. A large quantity of
the heavy black sand was also found at the bottom of a hole, which once
had been an eddy--it literally sparkled with gold-dust, and afforded a
rich return for the labour previously expended in order to bring it to
light. The produce of the first two days' work was no less than
fourteen pounds weight of gold!
The third day was the Sabbath, and they rested from their work. It is,
however, impossible for those who have never been in similar
circumstances to conceive how difficult it was for our party of
gold-hunters to refrain from resuming work as usual on that morning.
Some of them had never been trained to love or keep the Sabbath, and
would have certainly gone to work had not Ned and the captain
remonstrated. All were under great excitement in consequence of their
valuable discovery, and anxious to know whether the run of luck was
likely to continue, and not one of the party escaped the strong
temptation to break the Sabbath-day, except, indeed, the Chinamen, who
were too easy-going and lazy to care whether they worked or rested. But
the inestimable advantage of good early training told at this time on
Ned Sinton. It is questionable whether his principles were strong
enough to have carried him through the temptation, but Ned had been
_trained_ to reverence the Lord's-day from his earliest years, and he
looked upon working on the Sabbath with a feeling of dread which he
could not have easily shaken off, even had he tried. The promise, in
his case, was fulfilled--"Train up a child in the way he should go, and
he will not depart from it when he is old;" and though no mother's voice
of warning was heard in that wild region of the earth, and no guardian's
hand was there to beckon back the straggler from the paths of rectitude,
yet he was not "let alone;" the arm of the Lord was around him, and His
voice whispered, in tones that could not be misunderstood, "Remember the
Sabbath-day, to keep it holy."
We have already said, that the Sabbath at the mines was a day of rest as
far as mere digging went, but this was simply for the sake of resting
the wearied frame, not from a desire to glorify God. Had any of the
reckless miners who filled the gambling-houses been anxious to work
during Sunday on a prolific claim, he would not have hesitated because
of God's command.
The repose to their overworked muscles, and the feeling that they had
been preserved from committing a great sin, enabled the party to
commence work on Monday with a degree of cheerfulness and vigour that
told favourably on their profits that night, and in the course of a few
days they dug out gold to the extent of nearly two thousand pounds
sterling.
"We're goin' to get rich, no doubt of it," said the captain one morning
to Ned, as the latter was preparing to resume work in the creek; "but
I'll tell you what it is, I'm tired o' salt beef and pork, and my old
hull is gettin' rheumatic with paddling about barefoot in the water, so
I mean to go off for a day's shootin' in the mountains."
"Very good, captain," replied Ned; "but I fear you'll have to go by
yourself, for we must work out this claim as fast as we can, seeing that
the miners further down won't be long of scenting out our discovery."
Ned's words were prophetic. In less than half-an-hour after they were
uttered a long-visaged Yankee, in a straw hat, nankeen trousers, and
fisherman's boots, came to the spot where they were at work, and seated
himself on the trunk of a tree hard by to watch their proceedings.
"Guess you've got som'thin'," he said, as Larry, after groping in the
mud for a little, picked up a lump of white quartz with a piece of gold
the size of a marble embedded in the side of it.
"Ah! but ye're good for sore eyes," cried Larry, examining the nugget
carefully.
"I say, stranger," inquired the Yankee, "d'ye git many bits like that in
this location?"
The Irishman regarded his question with an expressive leer. "Arrah!
now, ye won't tell?" he said, in a hoarse whisper; "sure it'll be the
death o' me av ye do. There's _no end_ o' them things here--as many as
ye like to pick; it's only the day before to-morrow that I turned up a
nugget of pure goold the size of me head; and the capting got hold o'
wan that's only half dug out yet, an' wot's seen o' 't is as big as the
head o' a five-gallon cask--all pure goold."
The Yankee was not to be put off the scent by such a facetious piece of
information. He continued to smoke in silence, sauntered about with his
hands in his nankeen pockets, watched the proceedings of the party,
inspected the dirt cast ashore, and, finally, dug out and washed a
panful of earth from the banks of the stream, after which he threw away
the stump of his cigar, and went off whistling. Three hours later he
returned with a party of friends, laden with tents, provisions, and
mining tools, and they all took up their residence within twenty yards
of our adventurers, and commenced to turn the course of the river just
below them.
Larry and Jones were at first so angry that they seriously meditated
committing an assault upon the intruders, despite the remonstrances of
Tom Collins and Maxton, who assured them that the new-comers had a
perfect right to the ground they occupied, and that any attempt to
interrupt them by violence would certainly be brought under the notice
of Judge Lynch, whose favourite punishments, they well knew, were
whipping and hanging.
Meanwhile Captain Bunting had proceeded a considerable way on his
solitary hunting expedition into the mountains, bent upon replenishing
the larder with fresh provisions. He was armed with his favourite
blunderbuss, a pocket-compass, and a couple of ship-biscuits. As he
advanced towards the head of the valley, the scenery became more and
more gloomy and rugged, but the captain liked this. Having spent the
greater part of his life at sea, he experienced new and delightful
sensations in viewing the mountain-peaks and ravines, by which he was
now surrounded; and, although of a sociable turn of mind, he had no
objection for once to be left to ramble alone, and give full vent to the
feelings of romance and enthusiastic admiration, with which his nautical
bosom had been filled since landing in California.
Towards noon, the captain reached the entrance to a ravine, or gorge,
which opened upon the larger valley, into which it discharged a little
stream from its dark bosom. There was an air of deep solitude and
rugged majesty about this ravine that induced the wanderer to pause
before entering it. Just then, certain sensations reminded him of the
two biscuits in his pocket, so he sat down on a rock and prepared to
dine. We say prepared to dine, advisedly, for Captain Bunting had a
pretty correct notion of what comfort meant, and how it was to be
attained. He had come out for the day to enjoy himself and although his
meal was frugal, he did not, on that account, eat it in an off-hand easy
way, while sauntering along, as many would have done. By no means. He
brushed the surface of the rock on which he sat quite clean, and, laying
the two biscuits on it, looked first at one and then at the other
complacently, while he slowly, and with great care, cut his tobacco into
delicate shreds, and filled his pipe. Then he rose, and taking the tin
prospecting-pan from his belt, went and filled it at the clear rivulet
which murmured at his feet, and placed it beside the biscuits on the
rock. This done, he completed the filling of his pipe, and cast a look
of benignity at the sun, which at that moment happened in his course to
pass an opening between two lofty peaks, which permitted him to throw a
cloth of gold over the captain's table.
Captain Bunting's mind now became imbued with those aspirations after
knowledge, which would have induced him, had he been at sea, to inquire,
"How's her head?" so he pulled out his pocket-compass, and having
ascertained that his nose, when turned towards the sun, pointed exactly
"south-south-west, and by south," he began dinner. Thereafter he lit
his pipe, and, reclining on the green turf beside the rock, with his
head resting on his left hand, and wreaths of smoke encircling his
visage, he--he enjoyed himself. To elaborate a description, reader,
often weakens it--we cannot say more than that he enjoyed himself--
emphatically.
Had Captain Bunting known who was looking at him in that solitary place,
he would not have enjoyed himself quite so much, nor would he have
smoked his pipe so comfortably.
On the summit of the precipice at his back stood, or rather sat, one of
the natives of the country, in the shape of a grizzly-bear. Bruin had
observed the captain from the time he appeared at the entrance of the
ravine, and had watched him with a curious expression of stupid interest
during all his subsequent movements. He did not attempt to interrupt
him in his meal, however, on two grounds--first, because the nature of
the grizzly-bear, if not molested, induces him to let others alone; and
secondly, because the precipice, on the top of which he sat, although
conveniently close for the purposes of observation, was too high for a
safe jump.
Thus it happened that Captain Bunting finished his meal in peace, and
went on his way up the wild ravine, without being aware of the presence
of so dangerous a spectator. He had not proceeded far, when his
attention was arrested by the figure of a man seated on a ledge of rock
that over hung a yawning gulf into which the little stream plunged.
So still did the figure remain, with the head drooping on the chest, as
if in deep contemplation, that it might have been mistaken for a statue,
cut out of the rock on which it sat. A deep shadow was cast over it by
the neighbouring mountain-peaks, yet, as the white sheet of a waterfall
formed the background, it was distinctly visible.
The captain advanced towards it with some curiosity, and it was not
until he was within a hundred yards that a movement at length proved it
to be a living human being.
The stranger rose hastily, and advanced to meet a woman, who at the same
moment issued from an opening in the brushwood near him. The meeting
was evidently disagreeable to the woman, although, from the manner of
it, and the place, it did not seem to be accidental; she pushed the man
away several times, but their words were inaudible to the captain, who
began to feel all the discomfort of being an unintentional observer.
Uncertainty as to what he should do induced him to remain for a few
moments inactive, and he had half made up his mind to endeavour to
retreat unobserved, when the man suddenly struck down the female, who
fell with a faint cry to the earth.
In another minute the captain was at the side of the dastardly fellow,
whom he seized by the neck with the left hand, while with the right he
administered a hearty blow to his ribs. The man turned round fiercely,
and grappled with his assailant; and then Captain Bunting became aware
that his antagonist was no other than Smith, _alias_ Black Jim, the
murderer.
Smith, although a strong man, was no match for the captain, who soon
overpowered him.
"Ha! you villain, have I got you?" cried he, as he almost throttled the
man. "Get up now, an' come along peaceably. If you don't, I'll knock
your brains out with the butt of my gun."
He permitted Black Jim to rise as he spoke, but held him fast by the
collar, having previously taken from him his knife and rifle.
Black Jim did not open his lips, but the scowl on his visage shewed that
feelings of deadly hatred burned in his bosom.
Meanwhile, the girl had recovered, and now approached.
"Ah! plase, sir," she said, "let him off. Shure I don't mind the blow;
it's done me no harm--won't ye, now?"
"Let him off!" exclaimed the captain, violently; "no, my good girl; if
he has not murdered you, he has at any rate murdered one human being
that I know of, and if I can, I'll bring him to justice."
Kate, (for it was she), started at this reply, and looked earnestly at
the man, who hung his head, and, for the first time, shewed symptoms of
a softer feeling.
"Ah! it's true, I see, an' all hope is gone. If he'd commit a murder,
he'd tell a lie too. I thought he spoke truth when he said Nelly was
alive, but--"
The girl turned as she spoke, and left the spot hurriedly, while the
captain took out his pocket-handkerchief, and began to fasten the arms
of his prisoner behind him. But Black Jim was not to be secured without
a struggle. Despair lent him energy and power. Darting forward, he
endeavoured to throw his captor down, and partially succeeded; but
Captain Bunting's spirit was fully roused, and, like most powerful men
whose dispositions are habitually mild and peaceful, he was in a blaze
of uncontrollable passion. For some time Black Jim writhed like a
serpent in the strong grasp of his antagonist, and once or twice it
seemed as if he would succeed in freeing himself, but the captain's
hands had been trained for years to grasp and hold on with vice-like
tenacity, and no efforts could disengage them. The two men swayed to
and fro in their efforts, no sound escaping them, save an occasional
gasp for breath as they put forth renewed energy in the deadly struggle.
At last Black Jim began to give way. He was forced down on one knee,
then he fell heavily on his side, and the captain placed his knee on his
chest.
Just then a peculiar hiss was heard behind them, and the captain,
looking back, observed that a third party had come upon the scene. The
grizzly-bear, which has been described as watching Captain Bunting at
dinner, had left its former position on the brow of the precipice, and,
whether from motives of curiosity, or by accident, we will not presume
to say, had followed the captain's track. It now stood regarding the
two men with an uncommonly ferocious aspect. Its indignation may,
perhaps, be accounted for by the fact that they stood in the only path
by which it could advance--a precipice on one side and a thicket on the
other rendering the passage difficult or impossible. Grizzlies are
noted for their objection to turn out of their way for man or beast, so
the combatants no sooner beheld the ferocious-looking animal than they
sprang up, seized their weapons, and fired together at their common
enemy. Bruin shook his head, uttered a savage growl, and charged. It
seemed as if Black Jim had missed altogether--not to be wondered at
considering the circumstances--and the mixture of shot and slugs from
the blunderbuss was little more hurtful than a shower of hail to the
thick-skinned monarch of these western hills. Be this as it may, the
two men were compelled to turn and flee for their lives. Black Jim,
being the nimbler of the two, was soon out of sight among the rocks of
the precipices, and, we may remark in passing, he did not again make his
appearance. Inwardly thanking the bear for its timely appearance, he
ran at top speed into the mountains, and hid himself among those wild
lonely recesses that are visited but rarely by man or beast.
Captain Bunting endeavoured to save himself by darting up the face of
the precipice on his left, but the foot-hold was bad, and the bear
proved about as nimble as himself, compelling him to leap down again and
make for the nearest tree. In doing so, he tripped over a fallen
branch, and fell with stunning violence to the ground. He rose,
however, instantly, and grasping the lower limb of a small oak, drew
himself with some difficulty up among the branches.
The bear came thundering on, and reached the tree a few seconds later.
It made several abortive efforts to ascend, and then, sitting down at
the foot, it looked up, grinning and growling horribly in disappointed
rage.
The captain had dropped the blunderbuss in his fall, and now, with deep
regret, and not a little anxiety, found himself unarmed and a prisoner.
True, his long knife was still in its place, but he was too well aware
of the strength and ferocity of the grizzly-bear--from hearsay, and now
from ocular demonstration--to entertain the idea of acting on the
offensive with such a weapon.
The sun sank behind the mountain-peaks, and the shades of night began to
fall upon the landscape, and still did Captain Bunting and the bear
sit--the one at the top, and the other at the foot of the oak-tree--
looking at each other. As darkness came on, the form of the bear became
indistinct and shadowy; and the captain's eyes waxed heavy, from
constant staring and fatigue, so that at length bruin seemed, to the
alarmed fancy of the tree'd mariner, to be twice the size of an
elephant. At last the darkness became so deep that its form mingled
with the shadows on the ground, and for some time the uncertainty as to
its actual presence kept the prisoner wakeful; but soon his eyes began
to close, despite his utmost efforts to keep them open; and for two
hours he endured an agonising struggle with sleep, compared to which his
previous struggle with Black Jim was mere child's-play. He tried every
possible position among the branches, in the hope of finding one in
which he might indulge in sleep without the risk of falling, but no such
position was to be found; the limbs of the tree were too small and too
far apart.
At last, however, he did find a spot to lie down on, and, with a sigh of
relief, lay back to indulge in repose. Alas! the spot was a myth--he
merely dreamed it; the next moment he dropt, like a huge over-ripe pear,
to the ground. Fortunately a bush broke the violence of his fall, and,
springing up with a cry of consternation, he rushed towards the tree,
expecting each instant to feel the terrible hug of his ursine enemy.
The very marrow in his back-bone seemed to shrink, for he fancied that
he actually felt the dreaded claws sinking into his flesh. In his haste
he missed the branch, and fell violently forward, scratching himself
terribly among the bushes. Again he rose, and a cold perspiration broke
out upon him as he uttered an involuntary howl of terror, and once more
leaped up at the limb of the oak, which he could just barely see. He
caught it; despair nerved him, and in another moment he was safe, and
panting violently among the branches.
We need scarcely say that this little episode gave his feelings such a
tremendous shock that his tendency to sleep was thoroughly banished; but
another and a better result flowed from it,--the involuntary hubbub
created by his yells and crashing falls reached listening and not
far-distant ears.
During their evening meal that day, Ned Sinton and his comrades had
speculated pretty freely, and somewhat jocularly, on the probable result
of the captain's hunting expedition--expressing opinions regarding the
powers of the blunderbuss, which it was a shame, Larry O'Neil said, "to
spake behind its back;" but as night drew on, they conversed more
seriously, and when darkness had fairly set in they became anxious.
"It's quite clear that something's wrong," cried Ned Sinton, entering
the tent hastily, "we must up and search for him. The captain's not the
man to lose his way with a compass in his pocket and so many landmarks
round him."
All the party rose at once, and began to buckle on belts and arm, while
eagerly suggesting plans of search.
"Who can make a torch?" inquired Ned.
"Here's one ready made to hand," cried Maxton, seizing a huge pine-knot
and lighting it.
"Some one must stay behind to look after our things. The new-comers who
camped beside us to-day are not used to mining life, and don't
sufficiently know the terrors of Lynch law. Do you stop, Maxton. Now
then, the rest of you, come along."
Ned issued from the tent as he spoke, and walked at a rapid pace along
the track leading up the valley, followed closely by Tom Collins, Larry
O'Neil, and Bill Jones--all of whom were armed with rifles, revolvers,
and bowie-knives. For a long time they walked on in silence, guided by
the faint light of the stars, until they came to the flat rock which had
formed the captain's dinner-table. Here they called a halt, in order to
discuss the probability of their lost comrade having gone up the ravine.
The question was soon settled by Larry, who discovered a few crumbs of
the biscuit lying on the rock, and footprints leading up the ravine; for
the captain, worthy man, had stepped recklessly into the little stream
when he went to fill his pannikin, and his wet feet left a distinct
track behind him for some distance.
"He can't have gone far up such a wild place as this," said Tom Collins,
while they moved cautiously along. "Kindle the torch, Ned, it will
light us on our way, and be a guide to the captain if he's within
sight."
"It will enlighten enemies, too, if any are within range," replied Ned,
hesitating.
"Oh, no fear," rejoined Tom, "our greatest enemy is darkness; here,
Jones, hand me your match-box."
In a few seconds the torch flared forth, casting a broad glare of light
on their path, as they advanced, examining the foot of precipices.
"Give a shout, Larry," said Ned.
Larry obeyed, and all listened intently, but, save the echo from the
wild cliffs, no reply was heard.
Had the captain been wide-awake at the time, he would, doubtless, have
heard the friendly shout, but his ears were dull from prolonged
watching. It was thought needless to repeat the cry, so the party
resumed their search with anxious forebodings in their hearts, though
their lips were silent.
They had not proceeded far, however, when the noise occasioned by the
captain's fall from the tree, as already described, struck upon their
ears.
"Och! what's that?" exclaimed Larry, with a look of mingled surprise and
superstitious fear.
For a minute the party seemed transformed into statues, as each listened
intently to the mysterious sounds.
"They come from the other side of the point ahead," remarked Ned, in a
whisper. "Light another torch, Larry, and come on--quick!"
Ned led the way at a run, holding one of the torches high above his
head, and in a few minutes passed round the point above referred to.
The glare of his torch immediately swept far ahead, and struck with
gladsome beam on the now wakeful eye of the captain, who instantly
greeted it with one of his own peculiarly powerful and eminently
nautical roars.
"Hooroo!" yelled Larry, in reply, dashing forward at full speed. "Here
we are all right, capting, comin' to the rescue; don't give in, capting;
pitch into the blackguards--"
"Look out for the grizzly-bear," roared the captain, as his friends
advanced at a run, waving their torches encouragingly.
The whole party came to a dead halt on this unexpected caution, and each
cocked his piece as they looked, first into the gloom beyond, and then
at each other, in surprise and perplexity.
"Halloo! captain, where are you?" shouted Ned.
"And where's the bear!" added Tom Collins.
"Right in front o' you," replied the captain, "about fifty yards on.
The bear's at the bottom o' the tree, and I'm a-top of it. Come on, and
fire together; but aim _low_, d'ye hear?"
"Ay, ay, sir," replied Bill Jones, as if he were answering a command on
shipboard, while he advanced boldly in the direction indicated.
The others were abreast of him instantly, Ned and Larry holding the
torches high in their left hands as they approached, step by step, with
rifles ready for instant use.
"Have a care," cried the captain; "I see him. He seems to be crouchin'
to make a rush."
This caused another halt; but as no rush was made, the party continued
to advance very slowly.
"Oh! av ye would only shew yerself," said Larry, in a suppressed tone of
exasperation at being kept so long in nervous expectation.
"I see him," cried Ned, taking aim.
The rest of the party cried "Where!" aimed in the same direction, and
the whole fired a volley, the result of which was, that Captain Bunting
fell a second time to the ground, crashing through the branches with a
terrible noise, and alighting heavily at the foot of the tree. To the
surprise of all, he instantly jumped up, and seizing Ned and Tom as they
came up, shook them warmly by the hand.
"Och! are ye not shot, capting?" exclaimed Larry.
"Not a bit; not even hurt," answered the captain, laughing.
The fact was, that Captain Bunting, in his anxiety to escape being
accidentally shot by his comrades, had climbed to the utmost possible
height among the tender top branches of the oak. When the volley was
fired, he lost his balance, fell through the tree, the under branches of
which happily broke his fall, and finally alighted on the back of the
grizzly-bear itself, which lay extended, and quite dead, on the ground.
"Faix we've polished him off for wance," cried Larry, in the excess of
his triumph, as he stood looking at the fallen bear.
"Faix we've done nothing of the sort," retorted Tom Collins, who was
examining the carcase. "It's been dead for hours, and is quite cold.
Every bullet has missed, too, for the shot that settled him is on the
side next the ground. So much for hasty shooting. Had bruin been alive
when we fired, I'm inclined to think that some of us would not be alive
now."
"Now, that's wot I wos sure of," remarked Bill Jones. "Wot I says is
this--w'en yer goin' aloft to reef to'sails, don't be in a hurry. It's
o' no manner o' use tryin' to shove on the wind. If ye've got a thing
to do, do it slow--slow an' sure. If ye haven't got a thing to do, in
coorse ye can't do it, but if ye have, don't be in a hurry--I says."
Bill Jones's maxim is undoubtedly a good one. Not a scratch had the
bear received from any one of the party. The bullet of Black Jim had
laid him low. Although hurriedly aimed, it had reached the animal's
heart, and all the time that Captain Bunting was struggling to overcome
his irresistible tendency to sleep, poor bruin was lying a helpless and
lifeless body at the foot of the oak-tree.