Shortly after the termination of the melancholy drama, in which I had
taken so prominent a part, Stormy Jack and I went to see the child--now
left without either father or mother.
We found it in the keeping of a young married couple--who had lately
arrived from Australia; and who had there been acquainted with its
unfortunate mother.
They told us, that the murdered woman was the daughter of a respectable
shopkeeper in Sydney, that she had run away with Mr Mathews--the name
under which Leary had passed in Australia--and that her parents had been
very unwilling she should have anything to do with him.
She was an only daughter; and had left behind a father and mother sorely
grieved at her misconduct. Everybody that knew her had thought her
behaviour most singular. They could not comprehend her infatuation in
forsaking a good home and kind parents for such a man as Mathews--who,
to say nothing of his dissipated habits, was at least twenty years older
than herself.
Perhaps it was strange, though I had learnt enough to think otherwise.
Experience had told me, that such occurrences are far from being
uncommon, and that one might almost fancy, that scoundrels like Leary
possess some peculiar charm for fascinating women--at least, those of
the weaker kind.
The orphan was shown to us--a beautiful bright-eyed boy, about a year
old; and bearing a marked resemblance to its mother.
"I shall take this child to its grandfather and grandmother in Sydney,"
said the young woman who had charge of it; "they will think all the
world of it: for it is so like their lost daughter. May be it will do
something to supply her place?"
From the manner in which the young couple were behaving towards the
child, I saw that it would be safe in their keeping; and added my mite,
to the fund already contributed for its support.
In hopes of learning whether my mother had ever reached Sydney, I asked
them if they had been acquainted with Mathews there; or knew anything of
his previous history. On this point they could give me no information.
They had had no personal acquaintance with Mathews in Australia; and all
that they knew or had ever heard of him was unfavourable to his
character. In Sydney, as elsewhere, he had been known as a dissolute,
intemperate man.
Before we left the house, three men came in--bringing with them the gold
that had been for the orphan.
It was weighed in the presence of the young man and his wife, and the
amount was fifty ounces--in value near two hundred pounds of English
money. My own contribution increased it to a still greater sum. The
married couple had some scruples about taking charge of the gold,
although they had none in regard to encumbering themselves with the
child!
"I will go with you to an Express Office," said the man to the
deputation who brought the money, "and we will send it to Mr D--, in
San Francisco. He is a wholesale merchant there, and came from Sydney.
He is acquainted with the child's grandparents; and will forward the
money to them. As for the child, I expect soon to return to Sydney
myself--when I can take it along with me, and give it up to those who
have the right to it."
This arrangement proving agreeable to all parties concerned, the gold
was at once carried to the Express Office, and deposited there--with
directions to forward it to Mr D--, the merchant.
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Having passed the remainder of the day in the company of Stormy Jack, I
returned to my home on the Tuolumne, but little better informed about
what I desired to know, than when I left it. I had seen Mr Leary for
the last time; but I was as ignorant as ever of the fate of my
relatives.
Leary was now gone out of the world, and could trouble my mother no
more--wherever she might be. It was some satisfaction to be certain of
that.
As I walked homeward my reflections were sufficiently unpleasant: I
reproached myself with having too long neglected the duty on which I had
started out--the search after my relations.
Nor was I without some regret, as I suffered my mind to dwell on the
spectacle just past. The criminal was my stepfather. I had, though
half unconsciously, given the word, that had launched his body from the
scaffold, and his soul into eternity!
My regrets could not have been very deeply felt. They were checked by
the reflection, that he could have given me some information concerning
my mother, and that he had died apparently happy with the thought, that
he had disappointed me by withholding it!
Mr Leary had been my mother's husband--my own stepfather--yet without
shame I have recorded the fact, that he died an ignominious death. I am
not responsible for his actions. I stand alone; and the man who may
think any the less of me, for my unfortunate relationship with a
murderer, is one whose good will I do not think worth having.
Volume Two, Chapter V.