I was anxious at once to set sail for Liverpool--taking my mother and
sister along with me. Of the money I had brought from San Francisco,
there was still left a sufficient sum to accomplish this purpose; but
should I remain much longer in Sydney, it would not be enough. I had
determined not to leave my relatives in the colony; and the next day a
long consultation took place, between myself and Martha, as to how we
should induce our mother to return to England. My idea was, to let her
know that Leary was dead--then tell her plainly of the crime he had
committed, as also the manner of his death. Surely, on knowing these
things, she would no longer remain blind to his wickedness; but would
see the folly of her own conduct, and try to forget the past, in a
future, to be happily spent in the society of her children?
So fancied I. To my surprise, Martha seemed opposed to this plan of
action, though without assigning any very definite reasons for opposing
it.
"Why not be contented, and live here, Rowland?" said she; "Australia is
a fine country; and thousands are every year coming to it from England.
If we were there, we would probably wish to be back here. Then why not
remain where we are?"
My sister may have thought this argument very rational, and likely to
affect me. It did; but in a different way from that intended. Perhaps
my desire to return to Lenore hindered me from appreciating the truth it
contained.
I left Martha, undetermined how to act, and a good deal dissatisfied
with the result of our interview. It had produced within me a vague
sense of pain. I could not imagine why my sister was so unwilling to
leave the colony, which she evidently was.
I was desirous to do everything in my power, to make my new-found
relatives happy. I could not think of leaving them, once more
unprotected and in poverty; and yet I could not, even for them, resign
the only hope I had of again seeing Lenore.
I returned to the hotel, where I was staying. My thoughts were far from
being pleasant companions; and I took up a newspaper, in hopes of
finding some relief from the reflections that harassed my spirit.
Almost the first paragraph that came under my eye was the following:--
Another Atrocity in California.--Murder of an English Subject.--We
have just received reliable information of another outrage having been
committed in California, on one of those who have been so unfortunate
as to leave these shores for that land of bloodshed and crime. It
appears, from the intelligence we have received, that a woman was, or
was supposed to have been, murdered, at the diggings near Sonora. The
American population of the place, inspired by their prejudices against
English colonists from Australia, and by their love for what, to them,
seems a favourite amusement--Lynch Law--seized the first man from the
colonies they could find; and hung him upon the nearest tree!
We understand the unfortunate victim of this outrage is Mr Mathews--a
highly respectable person from this city. We call upon the Government
of the Mother Country to protect Her Majesty's subjects from these
constantly recurring outrages of lawless American mobs. Let it demand
of the United States Government, that the perpetrators of this crime
shall be brought to punishment. That so many of Her Majesty's loyal
subjects have been murdered, by blind infuriated mobs of Yankees, is
enough to make any true Englishman blush with shame for the Government
that permits it.
There is one circumstance connected with the above outrage, which
illustrates American character; and which every Englishman will read
with disgust. When the rope was placed around the neck of the
unfortunate victim, a young man stepped forward, and claimed him as
his father! This same ruffian gave the word to the mob, to pull the
rope that hoisted their unfortunate victim into eternity! So
characteristic a piece of American wit was, of course, received by a
yell of laughter from the senseless mob. Comment on this case is
unnecessary.
Regarding this article as a literary curiosity, I purchased a copy of
the paper containing it, by preserving which, I have been enabled here
to reproduce it _in extenso_.
On reading the precious statement, one thing became very plain, that my
mother could not remain much longer ignorant of Mr Leary's death; and,
therefore, the sooner it should be communicated to her, in some delicate
manner, the better it might be. It must be done, either by Martha or
myself and at once.
I returned forthwith to the house--in time to witness a scene of great
excitement. My mother had just read in the Sydney paper, the article
above quoted; and the only description I can give, of the condition into
which it had thrown her, would be to say, that she was mad--a raving
lunatic!
Some women, on the receipt of similar news, would have fainted. A
little cold water, or hartshorn, would have restored them to
consciousness; and their sorrows would in time have become subdued. My
mother's grief was not of this evanescent kind. Affection for Mathew
Leary absorbed her whole soul, which had received a mortal wound, on
learning the fate that had unexpectedly, but justly, befallen the
wretch.
"Rowland!" she screamed out, as I entered the house! "He is dead! He
is murdered. He has been hung innocently, by a mob of wretches in
California."
I resolved to do what is sometimes called "taking the bull by the
horns."
"Yes, you are right, mother," said I. "If you mean Mr Leary, he _was
hung innocently_; for the men who did the deed were guilty of no wrong.
Mathew Leary deserved the fate that has befallen him."
My mother's intellect appeared to have been sharpened by her affliction,
for she seemed to remember every word of the article she had read.
"Rowland!" she screamed, "you have come from California. You aided in
murdering him. Ha! It was you who insulted him in the hour of death,
by calling him father. O God! it was you."
The idea of my insulting Mathew Leary, by calling him father, seemed to
me the most wonderful and original conception, that ever emanated from
the human mind.
"Ha!" continued my mother, hissing cut the words. "It was you that gave
the word to the others--the word that brought him to death? You are a
murderer! You are not my son! I curse you! Take my curse and begone!
No, don't go yet! Wait 'till I've done with you!"
As she said this, she made a rush at me; and, before I could get beyond
her reach, a handful of hair was plucked from my head!
When finally hindered from farther assailing me, she commenced dragging
out her own hair, all the while raving like a maniac!
She became so violent at length, that it was found necessary to tie her
down; and, acting under the orders of a physician, who had been suddenly
summoned to the house, I took my departure--leaving poor Martha, weeping
by the side of a frantic woman, whom we had the misfortune to call
mother.
How long to me appeared the hours of that dreary night. I passed them
in an agony of thought, that would have been sufficient punishment, even
for Mr Leary--supposing him to have been possessed of a soul capable of
feeling it.