The first intimation given of the eccentricity of the testator was, I
think, in the spring of 1854. He was at that time in possession of a
considerable property, heavily mortgaged to one friend, and a wife of
some attraction, on whose affections another friend held an
encumbering lien. One day it was found that he had secretly dug, or
caused to be dug, a deep trap before the front door of his dwelling,
into which a few friends in the course of the evening casually and
familiarly dropt. This circumstance, slight in itself, seemed to point
to the existence of a certain humor in the man, which might eventually
get into literature; altho his wife's lover--a man of quick
discernment, whose leg was broken by the fall--took other views. It
was some weeks later that while dining with certain other friends of
his wife, he excused himself from the table, to quietly reappear at
the front window with a three-quarter-inch hydraulic pipe, and a
stream of water projected at the assembled company. An attempt was
made to take public cognizance of this; but a majority of the citizens
of Red Dog who were not at dinner decided that a man had a right to
choose his own methods of diverting his company. Nevertheless, there
were some hints of his insanity: his wife recalled other acts clearly
attributable to dementia; the crippled lover argued from his own
experience that the integrity of her limbs could only be secured by
leaving her husband's house; and the mortgagee, fearing a further
damage to his property, foreclosed. But here the cause of all this
anxiety took matters into his own hands and disappeared.
[Footnote 63: From "The Twins of Table Mountain." Copyright, 1879, by
Houghton, Mifflin Company.]
When we next heard from him, he had in some mysterious way been
relieved alike of his wife and property and was living alone at
Rockville, fifty miles away, and editing a newspaper. But that
originality he had displayed when dealing with the problems of his own
private life, when applied to politics in the columns of _The
Rockville Vanguard_ was singularly unsuccessful. An amusing
exaggeration, purporting to be an exact account of the manner in which
the opposing candidate had murdered his Chinese laundryman, was, I
regret to say, answered only by assault and battery. A gratuitous and
purely imaginative description of a great religious revival in
Calaveras, in which the sheriff of the county--a notoriously profane
skeptic--was alleged to have been the chief exhorter, resulted only
in the withdrawal of the county advertising from the paper.
In the midst of this practical confusion he suddenly died. It was then
discovered, as a crowning proof of his absurdity, that he had left a
will, bequeathing his entire effects to a freckle-faced maid-servant
at the Rockville Hotel. But that absurdity became serious when it was
also discovered that among these effects were a thousand shares in the
Rising Sun Mining Company, which a day or two after his demise, and
while people were still laughing at his grotesque benefaction,
suddenly sprang into opulence and celebrity. Three millions of dollars
was roughly estimated as the value of the estate thus wantonly
sacrificed. For it is only fair to state, as a just tribute to the
enterprise and energy of that young and thriving settlement, that
there was not probably a single citizen who did not feel himself
better able to control the deceased humorist's property. Some had
exprest a doubt of their ability to support a family; others had felt
perhaps too keenly the deep responsibility resting upon them when
chosen from the panel as jurors, and had evaded their public duties; a
few had declined office and a low salary; but no one shrank from the
possibility of having been called upon to assume the functions of
Peggy Moffat the heiress.
The will was contested--first by the widow, who it now appeared had
never been legally divorced from the deceased; next by four of his
cousins, who awoke, only too late, to a consciousness of his moral and
pecuniary worth. But the humble legatee--a singularly plain,
unpretending, uneducated Western girl--exhibited a dogged pertinacity
in claiming her rights. She rejected all compromises. A rough sense of
justice in the community, while doubting her ability to take care of
the whole fortune, suggested that she ought to be content with three
hundred thousand dollars. "She's bound to throw even that away on some
derned skunk of a man, natoorally; but three millions is too much to
give a chap for makin' her onhappy. It's offerin' a temptation to
cussedness."
The only opposing voice to this counsel came from the sardonic lips of
Mr. Jack Hamlin. "Suppose," suggested that gentleman, turning abruptly
on the speaker, "suppose, when you won twenty thousand dollars of me
last Friday night--suppose that instead of handing you over the money
as I did--suppose I'd got up on my hind legs and said, 'Look yer, Bill
Wethersbee, you're a d----d fool. If I give ye that twenty thousand
you'll throw it away in the first skin game in 'Frisco, and hand it
over to the first short card-sharp you'll meet. There's a
thousand--enough for you to fling away--take it and get!' Suppose what
I'd said to you was the frozen truth, and you knowed it, would that
have been the square thing to play on you?"
But here Wethersbee quickly pointed out the inefficiency of the
comparison by stating that he had won the money fairly with a stake.
"And how do you know," demanded Hamlin savagely, bending his black
eyes on the astonished casuist, "how do you know that the gal hezn't
put down a stake?"
The man stammered an unintelligible reply.
The gambler laid his white hand on Wethersbee's shoulder.
"Look yer, old man," he said, "every gal stakes her whole pile--you
can bet your life on that--whatever's her little game. If she took to
keerds instead of her feelings, if she'd put up chips instead o' body
and soul, she'd burst every bank 'twixt this and 'Frisco! You hear
me?"
Somewhat of this idea was conveyed, I fear not quite as sentimentally,
to Peggy Moffat herself. The best legal wisdom of San Francisco,
retained by the widow and relatives, took occasion, in a private
interview with Peggy, to point out that she stood in the
quasi-criminal attitude of having unlawfully practised upon the
affections of an insane elderly gentleman, with a view of getting
possession of his property; and suggested to her that no vestige of
her moral character would remain after the trial, if she persisted in
forcing her claims to that issue. It is said that Peggy, on hearing
this, stopt washing the plate she had in her hands, and twisting the
towel around her fingers, fixt her small pale blue eyes on the lawyer.
"And ez that the kind o' chirpin' these critters keep up?"
"I regret to say, my dear young lady," responded the lawyer, "that the
world is censorious. I must add," he continued, with engaging
frankness, "that we professional lawyers are apt to study the opinion
of the world, and that such will be the theory of--our side."
"Then," said Peggy stoutly, "ez I allow I've got to go into court to
defend my character, I might as well pack in them three millions
too."
There is hearsay evidence that Peg added to this speech a wish and
desire to "bust the crust" of her traducers, and remarking that "that
was the kind of hair-pin" she was, closed the conversation with an
unfortunate accident to the plate, that left a severe contusion on the
legal brow of her companion. But this story, popular in the bar-rooms
and gulches, lacked confirmation in higher circles....
The case came to trial. Everybody remembers it--how for six weeks it
was the daily food of Calaveras County; how for six weeks the
intellectual and moral and spiritual competency of Mr. James Byways to
dispose of his property was discust with learned and formal obscurity
in the court, and with unlettered and independent prejudice by
camp-fires and in bar-rooms. At the end of that time, when it was
logically established that at least nine-tenths of the population of
Calaveras were harmless lunatics, and everybody else's reason seemed
to totter on its throne, an exhausted jury succumbed one day to the
presence of Peg in the courtroom. It was not a prepossessing presence
at any time; but the excitement, and an injudicious attempt to
ornament herself, brought her defects into a glaring relief that was
almost unreal. Every freckle on her face stood out and asserted itself
singly; her pale blue eyes, that gave no indication of her force of
character, were weak and wandering, or stared blankly at the judge;
her over-sized head, broad at the base, terminating in the scantiest
possible light colored braid in the middle of her narrow shoulders,
was as hard and uninteresting as the wooden spheres that topt the
railing against which she sat. The jury, who for six weeks had had
her described to them by the plaintiffs as an arch, wily enchantress,
who had sapped the failing reason of Jim Byways, revolted to a man.
There was something so appallingly gratuitous in her plainness that it
was felt that three millions was scarcely a compensation for it. "Ef
that money was give to her, she earned it sure, boys; it wasn't no
softness of the old man," said the foreman. When the jury retired, it
was felt that she had cleared her character; when they reentered the
room with their verdict, it was known that she had been awarded three
millions damages for its defamation.
She got the money. But those who had confidently expected to see her
squander it were disappointed: on the contrary, it was presently
whispered that she was exceeding penurious. That admirable woman Mrs.
Stiver of Red Dog, who accompanied her to San Francisco to assist her
in making purchases, was loud in her indignation. "She cares more for
two bits than I do for five dollars. She wouldn't buy anything at the
'City of Paris' because it was 'too expensive,' and at last rigged
herself out a perfect guy at some cheap slop-shops in Market Street.
And after all the care Jane and me took of her, giving up our time and
experience to her, she never so much as made Jane a single present."
Popular opinion, which regarded Mrs. Stiver's attention as purely
speculative, was not shocked at this unprofitable denouement; but when
Peg refused to give anything to clear the mortgage off the new
Presbyterian church, and even declined to take shares in the Union
Ditch, considered by many as an equally sacred and safe investment,
she began to lose favor. Nevertheless, she seemed to be as regardless
of public opinion as she had been before the trial; took a small
house, in which she lived with an old woman who had once been a fellow
servant, on apparently terms of perfect equality, and looked after her
money.
I wish I could say that she did this discreetly; but the fact is, she
blundered. The same dogged persistency she had displayed in claiming
her rights was visible in her unsuccessful ventures. She sunk two
hundred thousand dollars in a worn-out shaft originally projected by
the deceased testator; she prolonged the miserable existence of _The
Rockville Vanguard_ long after it had ceased to interest even its
enemies; she kept the doors of the Rockville Hotel open when its
custom had departed; she lost the cooperation and favor of a fellow
capitalist through a trifling misunderstanding in which she was
derelict and impenitent; she had three lawsuits on her hands that
could have been settled for a trifle. I note these defects to show
that she was by no means a heroine. I quote her affair with Jack
Folinsbee to show she was scarcely the average woman....
Nothing was known definitely until Jack a month later turned up in
Sacramento, with a billiard cue in his hand, and a heart overcharged
with indignant emotion.
"I don't mind saying to you gentlemen in confidence," said Jack to a
circle of sympathizing players, "I don't mind telling you regarding
this thing, that I was as soft on that freckle-faced, red-eyed,
tallow-haired gal as if she'd been--a--a--an actress. And I don't mind
saying, gentlemen, that as far as I understand women, she was just as
soft on me. You kin laugh; but it's so. One day I took her out
buggy-riding--in style too--and out on the road I offered to do the
square thing, just as if she'd been a lady--offered to marry her then
and there. And what did she do?" said Jack with a hysterical laugh.
"Why, blank it all! offered me twenty-five dollars a week
allowance--pay to be stopt when I wasn't at home!" The roar of
laughter that greeted this frank confession was broken by a quiet
voice asking, "And what did you say?" "Say?" screamed Jack, "I just
told her to go to ---- with her money."...
During the following year she made several more foolish ventures and
lost heavily. In fact, a feverish desire to increase her store at
almost any risk seemed to possess her. At last it was announced that
she intended to reopen the infelix Rockville Hotel, and keep it
herself. Wild as this scheme appeared in theory, when put into
practical operation there seemed to be some chance of success. Much
doubtless was owing to her practical knowledge of hotel-keeping, but
more to her rigid economy and untiring industry. The mistress of
millions, she cooked, washed, waited on table, made the beds, and
labored like a common menial. Visitors were attracted by this novel
spectacle. The income of the house increased as their respect for the
hostess lessened. No anecdote of her avarice was too extravagant for
current belief. It was even alleged that she had been known to carry
the luggage of guests to their rooms, that she might anticipate the
usual porter's gratuity. She denied herself the ordinary necessaries
of life. She was poorly clad, she was ill-fed--but the hotel was
making money.
It was the particular fortune of Mr. Jack Hamlin to be able to set the
world right on this and other questions regarding her.
A stormy December evening had set in when he chanced to be a guest of
the Rockville Hotel.... At midnight, when he was about to retire, he
was a little surprized however by a tap on his door, followed by the
presence of Mistress Peg Moffat, heiress, and landlady of Rockville
Hotel.
Mr. Hamlin, despite his previous defense of Peg, had no liking for
her. His fastidious taste rejected her uncomeliness; his habits of
thought and life were all antagonistic to what he had heard of her
niggardliness and greed. As she stood there in a dirty calico wrapper,
still redolent with the day's _cuisine_, crimson with embarrassment
and the recent heat of the kitchen range, she certainly was not an
alluring apparition. Happily for the lateness of the hour, her
loneliness, and the infelix reputation of the man before her, she was
at least a safe one. And I fear the very consciousness of this
scarcely relieved her embarrassment....
"I wanted to ask ye a favor about Mr.--about--Jack Folinsbee," began
Peg hurriedly. "He's ailin' agin, and is mighty low. And he's losin' a
heap o' money here and thar, and mostly to you. You cleaned him out of
two thousand dollars last night--all he had."
"Well?" said the gambler coldly.
"Well, I thought as you woz a friend o' mine, I'd ask ye to let up a
little on him," said Peg with an affected laugh. "You kin do it.
Don't let him play with ye."
"Mistress Margaret Moffat," said Jack with lazy deliberation, taking off
his watch and beginning to wind it up, "ef you're that much stuck after
Jack Folinsbee, you kin keep him off of me much easier than I kin. You're a
rich woman. Give him enough money to break my bank, or break himself for
good and all; but don't keep him foolin' round me in hopes to make a raise.
It don't pay, Mistress Moffat--it don't pay!"...
"When Jim Byways left me this yer property," she began, looking
cautiously around, "he left it to me on conditions; not conditions ez
waz in his written will, but conditions ez waz spoken. A promise I
made him in this very room, Mr. Hamlin--this very room, and on that
very bed you're sittin' on, in which he died."
Like most gamblers, Mr. Hamlin was superstitious. He rose hastily from
the bed, and took a chair beside the window. The wind shook it as if
the discontented spirit of Mr. Byways were without, reenforcing his
last injunction.
"I don't know if you remember him," said Peg feverishly. "He was a man
ez hed suffered. All that he loved--wife, fammerly, friends--had gone
back on him. He tried to make light of it afore folks; but with me,
being a poor gal, he let himself out. I never told anybody this. I
don't know why he told me; I don't know," continued Peggy with a
sniffle, "why he wanted to make me unhappy too. But he made me promise
that if he left me his fortune, I'd never, never--so help me
God!--never share it with any man or woman that I loved. I didn't
think it would be hard to keep that promise then, Mr. Hamlin, for I
was very poor, and hedn't a friend nor a living bein' that was kind to
me but him."
"But you've as good as broken your promise already," said Hamlin.
"You've given Jack money, as I know."
"Only what I made myself. Listen to me, Mr. Hamlin. When Jack proposed
to me, I offered him about what I kalkilated I could earn myself. When
he went away, and was sick and in trouble, I came here and took this
hotel. I knew that by hard work I could make it pay. Don't laugh at
me, please. I did work hard, and did make it pay--without takin' one
cent of the fortin'. And all I made, workin' by night and day, I gave
to him; I did, Mr. Hamlin. I ain't so hard to him as you think, tho I
might be kinder, I know."
Mr. Hamlin rose, deliberately resumed his coat, watch, hat, and
overcoat. When he was completely drest again, he turned to Peg.
"Do you mean to say that you've been givin' all the money you made
here to this A1 first-class cherubim?"
"Yes; but he didn't know where I got it. O Mr. Hamlin! he didn't know
that."
"Do I understand you that he's been bucking agin faro with the money
that you raised on hash? and you makin' the hash?"
"But he didn't know that. He wouldn't hev took it if I'd told him."
"No, he'd hev died fust!" said Mr. Hamlin gravely. "Why, he's that
sensitive that it nearly kills him to take money even of me."