SAN FRANCISCO AGAIN--A TERRIBLE MISFORTUNE--AN OLD FRIEND IN
SURPRISINGLY NEW CIRCUMSTANCES--SEVERAL REMARKABLE DISCOVERIES AND NEW
LIGHTS.
There is no time or place, perhaps, more suitable for indulging in
ruminations, cogitations, and reminiscences, than the quiet hours of a
calm night out upon the sea, when the watchful stars look down upon the
bosom of the deep, and twinkle at their reflections in placid
brilliancy.
Late at night, when all the noisy inmates of the steamer had ceased to
eat, and drink, and laugh, and had sought repose in their berths, Edward
Sinton walked the deck alone, meditating on the past, the present, and
the future. When he looked up at the serene heavens, and down at the
tranquil sea, whose surface was unruffled, save by the long pure white
track of the vessel, he could scarcely bring himself to believe that the
whirl of incident and adventure in which he had been involved during the
last few and short months was real. It seemed like a brilliant dream.
As long as he was on shore it all appeared real enough, and the constant
pressure of _something to be done_, either immediately, or in an hour,
or to-morrow, kept his mind perpetually chained down to the
consideration of visible, and tangible, and passing events; but now the
cord of connexion with land had been suddenly and completely severed.
The very land itself was out of sight. Nothing around him tended to
recall recent events; and, as he had nothing in the world to do but wait
until the voyage should come to an end, his mind was left free to bound
over the recent-past into the region of the long-past, and revel there
at pleasure.
But Ned Sinton was not altogether without anxieties. He felt a little
uneasy as to the high-handed manner, in which he had carried off Nelly
Morgan from her late guardian; and he was a good deal perplexed as to
what the important affairs could be, for which he had so hastily
overturned all the gold-digging plans of his whole party. With these
thoughts mingled many philosophic inquiries as to the amount of
advantage that lay--if, indeed, there was any advantage at all--in
making one's fortune suddenly and at the imminent hazard of one's life.
Overpowering sleep at last put an end to Ned's wandering thoughts, and
he too bade the stars good-night, and sought his pillow. In due course
the vessel cast anchor off the town of San Francisco.
"There is many a slip 'tween the cup and the lip." It is an old proverb
that, but one which is proved, by frequent use, on the part of authors
in all ages, to be a salutary reminder to humanity. Its truth was
unpleasantly exemplified on the arrival of the steamer. As the tide was
out at the time, the captain ordered the boats to be lowered, in order
to land the passengers. The moment they touched the water they were
filled by impatient miners, who struggled to be first ashore. The boat
into which Ned and his friends got was soon overloaded with passengers,
and the captain ordered her to be shoved off.
"Hold on!" shouted a big coarse-looking fellow, in a rough blue jacket
and wide-awake, who was evidently drunk; "let me in first."
"There's no room!" cried several voices. "Shove off."
"There's room enough!" cried the man, with an oath; at the same time
seizing the rope.
"If ye do come down," said a sailor, sternly, "I'll pitch ye overboard."
"Will ye!" growled the man; and the next instant he sprang upon the edge
of the boat, which upset, and left its freight struggling in the water.
The other boats immediately picked them all up; and, beyond a wetting,
they were physically none the worse. But, alas! the bags of gold which
our adventurers were carrying ashore with them, sank to the bottom of
the sea! They were landed on the wharf at San Francisco as penniless as
they were on the day of their arrival in California.
This reverse of fortune was too tremendous to be realised in a moment.
As they stood on the wharf; dripping wet, and gazing at each other in
dismay, they suddenly, as if by one consent, burst into a loud laugh.
But the laugh had a strong dash of bitterness in its tone; and when it
passed, the expression of their countenances was not cheerful.
Bill Jones was the first to speak, as they wandered, almost helplessly,
through the crowded streets, while little Nelly ever and anon looked
wistfully up into Larry's face, as he led her by the hand.
"It's a stunnin' smash," said Bill, fetching a deep sigh. "But w'en a
thing's done, an' can't be undone, then it's unpossible, that's wot it
is; and wot's unpossible there's no use o' tryin' for to do. 'Cause
why? it only wastes yer time an' frets yer sperrit--that's _my_
opinion."
Not one of the party ventured to smile--as was their wont in happier
circumstances--at the philosophy of their comrade's remark. They
wandered on in silence till they reached--they scarce knew how or why--
the centre plaza of the town.
"It's of no use giving way to it," said Ned Sinton, at last, making a
mighty effort to recover: "we must face our reverses like men; and,
after all, it might have been worse. We might have lost our lives as
well as our gold, so we ought to be thankful instead of depressed."
"What shall we do now?" inquired Captain Bunting, in a tone that proved
sufficiently that he at least could not benefit by Ned's advice.
"Sure we'll have to go an' work, capting," replied Larry, in a tone of
facetious desperation; "but first of all we'll have to go an' see Mr
Thompson, and git dry clo'se for Nelly, poor thing--are ye cowld,
darlin'?"
"No, not in the least," answered the child, sadly. "I think my things
will dry soon, if we walk in the sun."
Nelly's voice seemed to rouse the energies of the party more effectually
than Ned's moralising.
"Yes," cried the latter, "let us away to old Thompson's. His daughter,
Lizette, will put you all to rights, dear, in a short time. Come
along."
So saying, Ned led the way, and the whole party speedily stood at the
door of Mr Thompson's cottage.
The door was merely fastened by a latch, and as no notice was taken of
their first knock, Ned lifted it and entered the hall, then advancing to
the parlour door, he opened it and looked in.
The sight that met his gaze was well calculated to make him open his
eyes, and his mouth too, if that would in any way have relieved his
feelings.
Seated in old Mr Thompson's easy-chair, with one leg stretched upon an
ottoman, and the other reposing on a stool, reclined Tom Collins,
looking, perhaps, a little paler than was his wont, as if still
suffering from the effects of recent illness, but evidently quite happy
and comfortable.
Beside Tom, on another stool, with her arm resting on Tom's knee, and
looking up in his face with a quiet smile, sat Elizabeth Thompson.
"Tom! Miss Thompson!" cried Ned Sinton, standing absolutely aghast.
Miss Thompson sprang up with a face of crimson, but Tom sat coolly
still, and said, while a broad grin overspread his handsome countenance,
"No, Ned, not Miss Thompson--Mrs _Collins_, who, I know, is rejoiced to
see you."
"You are jesting, Tom," said Ned, as he advanced quickly, and took the
lady's hand, while Tom rose and heartily welcomed his old companions.
"Not a bit of it, my dear fellow," he repeated. "This, I assure you, is
my wife. Pray, dear Lizette, corroborate my statement, else our friends
won't believe me. But sit down, sit down, and let's hear all about you.
Go, Lizette, get 'em something to eat. I knew you would make your
appearance ere long. Old Thompson's letter--halloo! why what's this?
You're wet! and _who's_ this--a wet little girl?"
"Faix, ye may well be surprised, Mister Tom," said Larry, "for we're all
wet _beggars_, ivery wan o' us--without a dollar to bless ourselves
with."
Tom Collins looked perplexed, as he turned from one to the other.
"Stay," he shouted; "wife, come here. There's a mystery going on. Take
this moist little one to your room; and there," he added, throwing open
a door, "you fellows will all find dry apparel to put on--though I don't
say to fit. Come along with me, Ned, and while you change, give an
account of yourself."
Ned did as he was desired; and, in the course of a lengthened
conversation, detailed to Tom the present condition of himself and his
friends.
"It's unfortunate," said Tom, after a pause; "ill-luck seems to follow
us wherever we go."
"You ought to be ashamed of yourself;" cried Ned, "for saying so,
considering the wife you have got."
"True, my boy," replied the other, "I ought indeed to be ashamed, but I
spoke in reference to money matters. What say you to the fact, that I
am as much a beggar as yourself?"
"Outward appearances would seem to contradict you."
"Nevertheless, it is true, I assure you. When you left me, Ned, in the
hotel at Sacramento, I became so lonely that I grew desperate; and,
feeling much stronger in body, I set off for this town in the new
steamer--that in which you arrived. I came straight up here,
re-introduced myself to Mr Thompson; and, two days after--for I count
it folly to waste time in such matters when one's mind is made up--I
proposed to Lizette, and was accepted conditionally. Of course, the
condition was that papa should be willing. But papa was _not_ willing.
He said that three thousand dollars, all I possessed, was a capital sum,
but not sufficient to marry on, and that he could not risk his
daughter's happiness, etcetera, etcetera--you know the rest. Well, the
very next day news came that one of Thompson's best ships had been
wrecked off Cape Horn. This was a terrible blow, for the old man's
affairs were in a rickety condition at any rate, and this sank him
altogether. His creditors were willing enough to wait, but one rascal
refused to do so, and swore he would sequestrate him. I found that the
sum due him was exactly three thousand dollars, so I paid him the amount
in full, and handed Thompson the discharged account. `Now,' said I,
`I'm off to the diggings, so good-bye!' for, you see, Ned, I felt that I
could not urge my suit at that time, as it would be like putting on the
screw--taking an unfair advantage of him.
"`Why, what do you mean, my lad?' said he.
"`That I'm off to-morrow,' replied I.
"`That you must not do,' said he.
"`Why not?' said I.
"`Because,' said he, `now that things are going smooth, I must go to
England by the first ship that sails, and get my affairs there put on a
better footing, so you must stay here to look after my business, and
to--to--take care of Lizette.'
"`Eh! what!' said I, `what do you mean? You know _that_ is impossible.'
"`Not at all, boy, if you marry her!'
"Of course I could not refuse, and so, to cut it short, we were married
right off and here we are, the representatives of the great firm of
Thompson and Company, of California."
"Then, do you mean to say that Thompson is gone?" Inquired Ned, with a
look of horror.
"Near the Horn, I should think, by this time; but why so anxious?"
"Because," sighed Ned, sitting down on the edge of the bed, with a look
of despair, "I came here by his invitation; and--"
"Oh! it's all right," interrupted Tom; "I know all about it, and am
commissioned by him to settle the affair for you."
"But what _is_ the affair?" inquired Ned, eagerly.
"Ah! my dear boy, do try to exercise patience. If I tell you everything
before we go down to our comrades, I fear we shall have to send a
message to say that we are not coming till to-morrow morning."
Tom rose as he spoke, and led the way to the parlour, where bread and
cheese were spread out for them.
"The only drawback to my felicity," whispered Tom to Sinton, as they
entered, "is that I find Thompson's affairs far worse than he himself
was aware of; and it's a fact, that at this moment I can scarcely draw
enough out of the business to supply the necessaries of life."
There was a slight bitterness in Tom's tone as he said this, but the
next moment he was jesting with his old companions as lightheartedly as
ever. During the meal he refused, however, to talk business, and, when
it was concluded, he proposed that they should go out for a stroll
through the town.
"By the way," remarked Ned, as they walked along, "what of Captain
Bunting's old ship?"
"Ay!" echoed the captain, "that's the uppermost thing in _my_ mind; but
master Tom seems determined to keep us in the dark. I do believe the
_Roving Bess_ has been burned, an' he's afraid to tell us."
"You're a desperately inquisitive set," cried Tom Collins, laughing.
"Could you not suppose that I wanted to give you a surprise, by shewing
you how curiously she has been surrounded by houses since you last saw
her. You'll think nothing of it, now that I have told you."
"Why, where are ye goin'?" cried Larry, as Tom turned up a street that
led a little away from the shore, towards which they had been walking!
Tom made no reply, but led on. They were now in that densely-crowded
part of the town where shops were less numerous, warehouses more
plentiful, and disagreeable odours more abundant, than elsewhere. A
dense mass of buildings lay between them and the sea, and in the centre
of these was a square or plaza, on one side of which stood a large
hotel, out of the roof of which rose a gigantic flag-staff. A broad and
magnificent flight of wooden steps led up to the door of this house of
entertainment, over which, on a large board, was written its name--"The
Roving Bess Tavern."
"Dear me! that's a strange coincidence," exclaimed the captain, as his
eye caught the name.
"Tare an' ages!" yelled Larry, "av it isn't the owld ship! Don't I know
the mizzen-mast as well as I know me right leg?"
"The _Roving Bess_ Tavern!" muttered Captain Bunting, while his eyes
stared incredulously at the remarkable edifice before him.
Bill Jones, who, up to this point, had walked beside his comrades in
silent meditation, here lost presence of mind and, putting both hands to
his mouth, sang out, in true stentorian boatswain tones, "All hands
ahoy! tumble up there--tumble up!"
"Ay, ay, sir!" roared half-a-dozen jack tars, who chanced to be regaling
themselves within, and who rushed out, hat in hand, ready for a spree,
at the unexpected but well-known summons.
"Major Whitlaw," said Tom Collins, springing up the steps, and
addressing a tall, cadaverous-looking Yankee, "allow me to introduce to
you your landlord, Captain Bunting--your tenant, captain. I dare say
you have almost forgotten each other."
The captain held out his hand mechanically and gazed at his tenant
unbelievingly, while the major said--
"Glad to see ye, cap'n, I guess. Wanted to for a long time. Couldn't
come to terms with old Thompson. Won't you step in and take a cocktail
or a gin-sling? I'd like to have a private talk--this way."
The landlord of the _Roving Bess_ Tavern led the captain to what was
once his own cabin, and begged him to be seated on his own locker at the
head of his own table. He accepted these civilities, staring round him
in mute wonder all the time, as if he thought it was a dream, out of
which he should wake in due course, while, from all parts of the tavern,
came sounds of mirth, and clatter of knives and forks and dishes, and
odours of gin-slings and bear-steaks and pork-pies.
"Jist sit there a minute," said the Yankee, "till I see to your friends
bein' fixed off comfortable; of course, Mr Collins may stay, for he
knows all about it."
When he was gone, the captain rose and looked into his old berth. It
had been converted into a pantry, so he shut the door quickly and
returned to his seat.
"Tom," said he, in a low whisper, as if he feared to break the spell,
"how _did_ they get her up here!"
"She's never been moved since you left her," answered Tom, laughing;
"the town has gradually surrounded her, as you see, and crept out upon
the shore, filling up the sea with rubbish, till it has left her nearly
a quarter of a mile inland."
The captain's eyes opened wider than ever, but before he could find
words again to speak, Major Whitlaw returned.
"They're all square now, gentlemen, so, if you please, we'll proceed to
business. I suppose your friend has told you how the land lies?"
"He certainly has," replied the captain, who accepted the phrase
literally.
"Wall, I reckon your property's riz since ye wor here; now, if you give
me leave to make the alterations I want to, I'll give you 1000 dollars a
month, payable in advance."
"You'd better tell Captain Bunting what the alterations you refer to
are," suggested Tom Collins, who saw that the captain's state of mind
rendered him totally incapable of transacting business.
"That's soon done. I'll give it ye slick off. I want to cut away the
companion-hatch and run up a regular stair to the deck; then it's
advisable to cut away at least half o' the main deck to heighten the
gamin' saloon. But I guess the main point is to knock out half-a-dozen
windows in the hold, for gas-light is plaguey dear, when it's goin' full
blast day and night. Besides, I must cut the entrance-door down to the
ground, for this tree-mendous flight o' stairs'll be the ruin o' the
business. It's only a week since a man was shot by a comrade here in
the cabin, an' as they rushed out after him, two customers fell down the
stair and broke their arms. And I calc'late the gentlemen that's
overtaken by liquor every night won't stand it much longer. There isn't
a single man that quits this house after 12 p.m. but goes down that
flight head-foremost. If you don't sanction that change, I guess I'll
have to get 'em padded, and spread feather-beds at the foot. Now,
cap'n, if you agrees to this right off, I'll give the sum named."
Captain Bunting's astonishment had now reached that point at which
extremes are supposed to meet, and a reaction began to take place.
"How much did you propose?" he inquired, taking out a pencil and an old
letter, as if he were about to make notes, at the same time knitting his
brows, and endeavouring to look intensely sagacious.
"One thousand dollars a month," answered the Yankee; "I railly can't
stand more."
"Let me see," muttered the captain slowly, in an under tone, while he
pressed his forehead with his fore-finger; "one thousand dollars--200
pounds sterling--hum, equal to about 2400 pounds a year. Well," he
added, raising his voice, "I don't mind if I do. I suppose, Tom, it's
not _much_ below the thing, as rents go!"
"It's a fair offer," said Tom, carelessly; "we might, perhaps, get a
higher, but Major Whitlaw is in possession, and is, besides, a good
tenant."
"Then I'll conclude the bargain--pray get pen, ink, and paper."
While the major turned for a moment to procure writing materials, the
captain looked at Tom and winked expressively. Then, a document was
drawn up, signed, and witnessed, and then the captain, politely
declining a brandy-smash, or any other smash whatever, left the _Roving
Bess_ Tavern with his friends, and with 200 pounds--the first month's
rent--in his pocket.
It is needless to remark, that his comrades congratulated him heartily,
and that the worthy captain walked along the streets of San Francisco
chuckling.
In a few minutes, Tom Collins stopped before a row of immense
warehouses. There was one gap in the row, a space of several yards
square, that might have held two good-sized houses. Four wooden posts
stood at the corners of the plot, and an old boat, turned keel up, lay
in the middle of it.
"I know it!" cried Ned Sinton, laughing in gleeful surprise; "it's my
old boat, isn't it? Well, I can scarcely credit my eyes! I saw it last
on the sea-shore, and now it's a quarter of a mile into the town!"
"More than that, Ned," said Tom Collins, "the plot of ground is worth
ten thousand dollars at this moment. Had it been a little further
south, it would have been worth ten times that sum. And more than that
still, the Irish family you lent the boat to--you remember them--well,
they dug up a bag from under the boat which contained five thousand
dollars; the honest people at once gave it up, and Mr Thompson rewarded
them well; but they did not live to enjoy it long, they're all dead now.
So you see, Ned, you're just 3000 pounds richer than you thought you
were this morning."
"It's a great day!" remarked Larry O'Neil, looking round upon his
comrades, who received all this information with an expression of
doubting surprise; "a great day intirely! Faix, I'm only hopin' we
won't waken up an' find it's all a dhrame!"
Larry's companions quite agreed with him. They did not indeed say so,
but, as they returned home after that stroll, talking eagerly of future
plans and prospects, the ever-recurring sentiment broke from their lips,
in every style of phrase, "It's a great day, intirely!"