_ CHAPTER FIVE. DESCRIBES A QUIET NOOK, AND SHOWS HOW LARRY CAME BY A DOUBLE LOSS, BESIDES TELLING OF WONDERFUL DISCOVERIES OF MORE KINDS THAN ONE
We must guard the reader, at this point, from supposing that our adventurers were _always_ tumbling out of frying-pans into fires, or that they _never_ enjoyed repose. By no means. The duty which lies upon us, to recount the most _piquant_ and stirring of the incidents in their journeying, necessitates the omission of much that is deeply interesting, though unexciting and peaceful.
For instance,--on one occasion, Larry and Bunco were deputed to fish for trout, while our hero and the trapper went after deer. The place selected by the anglers was a clear quiet pool in a small but deep rivulet, which flowed down the gentle slope of a wooded hill. The distant surroundings no doubt were wild enough, but the immediate spot to which we refer might have been a scene in bonnie Scotland, and would have gladdened the heart of a painter as being his _beau ideal_, perhaps, of a "quiet nook." The day was quiet too; the little birds, apparently, were very happy, and the sun was very bright--so bright that it shone through the mirror-like surface of the pool right down to the bottom, and there revealed several large fat trout, which were teazed and tempted and even exhorted to meet their fate, by the earnest Larry. The converse on the occasion, too, was quiet and peaceful. It was what we may style a lazy sort of day, and the anglers felt lazy, and so did the fish, for, although they saw the baits which were held temptingly before their noses, they refused to bite. Trout in those regions are not timid. We speak from personal experience. They saw Larry and Bunco sitting astride the trunk of a fallen tree, with their toes in the water, bending earnestly over the pool, just as distinctly as these worthies saw the fish; but they cared not a drop of water for them! Larry, therefore, sought to beguile the time and entertain his friend by giving him glowing accounts of men and manners in the Green Isle. So this pleasant peaceful day passed by, and Pat's heart had reached a state of sweet tranquillity, when, happening to bend a little too far over the pool, in order to see a peculiarly large trout which was looking at him, he lost his balance and fell into it, head first, with a heavy plunge, which scattered its occupants right and left! Bunco chuckled immensely as he assisted to haul him out, and even ventured to chaff him a little.
"Yoo's good for dive, me tink."
"True for ye, lad," said Larry, smiling benignantly, as he resumed his seat on the tree-trunk, and squeezed the water out of his garments. "I was always good at that an' it's so hot here that I took a sudden fancy to spaik to the fishes, but the dirty spalpeens are too quick for me. I do belaive they're comin' back! Look there at that wan--six pound av he's an ounce."
Not only did the six-pounder return to the pool almost immediately after Larry left it, but a large number of his brethren bore him company, and took up their former position as if nothing had happened. Nay, more, the surprise had apparently so far stirred them up and awakened them to a perception of their opportunities, that the six-pounder languidly swallowed Bunco's hook and was in a moment whisked out of his native pool and landed on the bank,--for the anglers fished with stout cord and unbending rods!
"Musha! but ye've got 'im," exclaimed Larry.
"Yoos better take noder dive," suggested his friend.
"Hooroo!" shouted Larry, as he whipped another large fish out of the pool.
This, however, was the last for some time. The trout, ere long, appeared to have settled down into their former lazy condition, and the anglers' hopes were sinking, when it suddenly occurred to the Irishman, that if the fish were stirred up with a pole they might be again roused to an appreciation of their advantages. Accordingly a pole was cut, the trout were judiciously stirred up, and several of them actually took the bait in the course of the afternoon--whether under the influence of the unwonted excitement we do not pretend to say, but certain it is that before sunset an excellent dish was secured for supper!
Equally peaceful and pleasant were the experiences of our hero and the trapper on that tranquil day. They wandered about in a state of silent happiness all the forenoon; then they shot a grizzly bear, the claws and teeth of which were claimed by Will, as he had drawn first blood. After that a deer chanced to come within range of the trapper, who brought it down, cut off the best parts of the meat, and, kindling a fire on the spot, sat down with his companion to a fat venison steak and a pipe.
"This sort o' life is what I calls happiness," said Big Ben, puffing out a cloud, through the hazy curls of which he gazed at a sunny landscape of unrivalled beauty.
"So it is," assented Will Osten, with enthusiasm.
"An' yet," pursued Big Ben, thoughtfully, "when I come to think on't, this sort o' life would be no happiness to an old man, or to a weak one."
"No, nor to a woman," added Will.
"Not so sure o' that," said the trapper; "I've know'd Injun women as was about as good hunters as their husbands, an' enjoyed it quite as much."
"That may be so, Ben, but women of the civilised world would scarcely think this a happy sort of life."
"P'raps not," returned Ben. "Happiness is a queer thing, after all. I've often thought that it's neither huntin' nor farmin', nor fair weather nor foul, that brings it about in the heart o' man or woman, but that it comes nat'ral to man, woman, and child, when they does what is best suited to their minds and bodies, and when they does it in the right way."
"Which is very much like saying," observed Will, "that happiness consists in obeying the laws of God, both natural and revealed."
"Just so," assented the trapper, after a few moments' consideration, "though I never quite thought of it in that light before."
Thus they conversed--or, rather, in somewhat similar strains they chatted, for they did not pursue any subject long, but allowed their minds to rove where fancy led--until evening began to close; then they carried their meat into camp and closed the day with a sumptuous feast of fish, flesh, and fowl, round a blazing fire, while the stream, which formed their beverage, warbled sweet music in their ears.
This, reader, is a specimen of one of their quiet days, and many such they had; but as these days of peace bore no proportion to the days of toil and trouble, we must beg you to be content with the account of this one as a fair sample of the rest, while we carry you over the Rocky Mountains and bear you down their western slopes towards the Pacific Ocean.
The mountains being crossed, the future course of our travellers was down hill, but in some respects it was more toilsome than their uphill journey had been. The scenery changed considerably in respect of the character of its vegetation, and was even more rugged than heretofore, while the trees were larger and the underwood more dense. Many a narrow escape had Will and his friends during the weeks that followed, and many a wild adventure, all of which, however, terminated happily--except one, to which we now request attention.
They had reached the Fraser River--that celebrated stream of British Columbia which waters a country that was destined in after years to become one of the great gold-mining regions of the world. On the afternoon of which we write, the party rode with difficulty down the rugged banks of the river, which, roaring through a narrow valley, had overflowed its banks, so that the trail was completely covered, the horses being frequently up to the girths in water. In the course of the day they came to a place where the trail passed along the face of a lofty cliff of crumbling slate. The path was only just wide enough for the horses to pass. On the right rose a perpendicular precipice. On the left, a few yards below, the swollen waters of the Fraser roared and boiled down their rocky bed with tremendous velocity. On turning a projection they found the track barred by a huge rock which had recently slipped down the mountain side. As it was impossible to pass the obstacle either above or below, there was nothing for it but to cut down trees, use them as levers, and dislodge the mass. It was discovered, when they dismounted to undertake this task, that Larry O'Hale was amissing. Will Osten had just uttered an exclamation of surprise, and the others had not had time to reply to the question, "Hallo! what's become of Larry?" when that worthy's voice was heard shouting in the distance, and his horse's hoofs were heard clattering along the narrow track as he approached at full gallop.
"Hooroo! howld on, doctor; hi' Bunco an' Ben, look here. Goold, avic, goold, I've got it at long last, sure enough!"
"You've got rid of your senses at last," said Will, as his comrade almost rode him down. "Have a care, man! What makes you ride at such a pace?"
"Goold! goold! goold!" cried the excited Irishman, plucking a little bag from his breast, leaping off his horse, and pouring the contents--a mass of glittering lumps and particles--on a flat stone. "Didn't I tell ye I was born to make my fortin' out o' goold? There's plenty more where that comed from. Come back an' I'll show 'ee the place!"
"I'm sorry to disappoint you, Larry," said Will, examining the so-called gold, "but I have seen this stuff before, and I believe it to be a substance which is not worth its weight in brass. Many poor fellows have been deceived by it before _now_."
Larry's face elongated very much at this. "What say _you_, Ben?" he inquired.
"I fear me that it an't worth picking up," replied the trapper, fingering the shining particles. "Leastwise I once collected a bag o' the same an' showed it to a man in the settlements who got the credit o' bein' a knowin' fellow in regard to metals. He told me it was somethin' that I don't remember the name of, but worth nothing, so I heaved it away."
Thus doubly assured, Larry sighed deeply as he collected the shining metal into the bag, and stood eyeing it disconsolately. At this point Bunco chuckled.
"Worse luck to it," cried Larry, starting and tossing the bag violently into the stream, where it sank and vanished for ever. Little did any of the party imagine, at that time, that they had actually cast away some hundred pounds worth of pure gold, yet such was actually the case!
As it left Larry's hand, the bag touched the nose of his horse, which shied, slipped over the bank, fell into the river, and was swept away. Instantly they all clapped their shoulders to the big stone, and pushed with such good-will that it slipped and went crashing into the stream, while the party went off at full speed after the horse. The poor animal was found at last stranded amid a mass of driftwood, with its saddle and baggage gone, but beyond this and the fright, no harm was done.
"Misfortin's niver come single. 'Tis always the way. Howsiver, niver say die; better luck nixt time; ye'll make yer fortin' yit, av ye only parsevair an' kape up yer heart, ould boy." Thus soliloquising, the unfortunate man remounted his wet and bare-backed steed, and rode away.
Time and tide are usually understood to wait for no man; we therefore decline to wait either for time or tide, but, sweeping onward in advance of both, convey our readers at once to the sea coast near Vancouver's Island, where our adventurers arrived after an unusual share of toil and trouble, and found a small craft about to sail for California--took passage in her, and, in due time, arrived at San Francisco. The gold-fever had just set in there. The whole town was in an uproar of confusion. Excitable men had given up their ordinary work, or shut their shops, and gone off to the diggings. Ships were lying idle in the bay, having been deserted by their crews, who had gone to the same point of attraction, and new arrivals were constantly swelling the tide of gold-seekers. Here Will Osten found his father's agent--a staid old gentleman of Spanish extraction, who, being infirm as well as old, was fever-proof. Being somewhat taciturn, however, and rendered irritable by the upheavings of social life which were going on around him, he only vouchsafed the information that the estate which belonged to the late Mr Osten was near the goldfields; that it was not a rich one by any means, and that his advice to Will was to go and see it for himself. Accepting the advice, our hero expended the greater part of his remaining cash in purchasing provisions, etcetera, for the journey to the Sacramento River. By steamer they accomplished the first part of it, and on horseback progressed north-eastward until they drew near to the mighty mountain range named the Sierra Nevada.
On the way they had more than enough of company, for men of every clime and of all ages, between sixteen and fifty, were travelling on every description of horse and mule in the same direction. From most of these, however, they parted on reaching the entrance to the narrow valley in which the estate was said to lie.
"Is it far up the valley?" asked Will Osten of the landlord of the last ranche, or inn (a small hovel) in which they had passed the night.
"Not far," replied the innkeeper, a shrewd intelligent Yankee, with a touch of the nasal tone for which the race is noted; "guess it's about three leagues off."
"A wild gloomy sort o' place, no doubt?" asked Larry.
"Rayther. It'll stand tamin' a bit. There's nobody lives in the whole valley 'xcept a band o' miners who have been prospectin' all over it an' locatin' themselves in the house without leave."
"Locatin', is it?" exclaimed Larry, "faix, it's vacatin' it they'll be, widout so much as 'by yer lave,' this night."
"Have they found much gold, do you know?" asked Will Osten.
"Believe not," replied the innkeeper. "It's not a likely place--though there _may_ be some, for gold has been found below this, as you would see, I s'pose, when you passed the diggers on Cocktail Creek."
Bidding the host good-bye, our hero and his friends rode off to take possession of the estate. They were well armed, for, in these days, might, not right, was the law of the land.
It was evening before they reached the head of the valley where stood the house or wooden cottage which had been the abode of Will's eccentric old relative. The scenery was savage and forbidding in the extreme. Lofty mountains rose on every side, and only a small portion of the land in the neighbourhood of the dwelling had been brought under cultivation. The house itself was a low long-shaped building, and stood on the banks of a stream which gushed and tumbled furiously along its rocky bed, as if in hot haste to escape from the dark mountain gorges which gave it birth. A hut near by was the residence of an old native who had been the owner's only servant, and a few cattle grazing in the meadow behind the house were tended by him with as much solicitude as though his late master had been still alive. The only cheering point in the scene was a gleam of ruddy light which shot from a window of the house and lost itself in the deepening gloom of evening.
"A most lugubrious spot," said Will, surveying it sadly as he rode forward.
"Faix, I'd recommend ye to sell it to the miners for whativer it'll fetch," said Larry, in a disappointed tone.
"They're a jovial set of squatters, whatever else they may be," said Big Ben, as an uproarious chorus issued from the house. "Hallo! Bunco, what d'ye hear, lad?"
Bunco's visage displayed at that moment a compound expression of surprise and deep attention. Again the chorus swelled out and came down on the breeze, inducing Bunco to mutter a few words to Big Ben in his native tongue.
"What is it?" inquired Will, eagerly, on beholding the huge frame of the trapper quivering with suppressed laughter.
"Nothin', nothin'," said Ben, dismounting, "only the redskin's ears are sharp, and he has heard surprisin' sounds. Go with him on foot. I'll hold the horses."
"Come 'long, foller me quick as you can," said Bunco, in a whisper--"no take gum?--no use for dem."
Filled with surprise and curiosity, Will and Larry followed their comrade, who went straight towards the window from which the light streamed. A voice was heard singing within, but it was not loud, and the air could not be distinguished until the chorus burst forth from, a number of powerful lungs:--
"Hearts of oak are our ships, Jolly tars are our men--"
At the first note, Larry sprang past his companions, and peeped into the room. The sight that met his gaze was indeed well calculated to strike him dumb, for there, in a circle on the floor, with the remains of a roast of beef in the centre--red-shirted, long-booted, uncombed, and deeply bronzed--sat six old comrades, whom they had not seen for such a length of time that they had almost forgotten their existence--namely, Captain Dall, long David Cupples, old Peter, Captain Blathers, Muggins, and Buckawanga! They were seated, in every variety of attitude, round a packing-box, which did duty for a table, and each held in his hand a tin mug, from which he drained a long draught at the end of the chorus. The last shout of the chorus was given with such vigour that Larry O'Hale was unable to restrain himself. He flung open the door, leaped into the room with a cheer and a yell that caused every man to spring up and seize the nearest weapon, and Captain Dall, in a burst of fiery indignation, was in the act of bringing a huge mass of firewood down on the Irishman's skull when Will Osten sprang in and arrested his arm. At the same moment Muggins recognised his old messmate, and, rushing at him, seized him with a hug worthy of a black bear!
To describe the scene of surprise, confusion, and delight that followed were impossible. The questions put that were never answered; the answers given to questions never put; the exclamations; the cross purposes; the inextricable conglomeration of past, present, and future history--public, personal, and local; uttered, ejaculated and gasped, in short, or incomplete, or disjointed sentences--all this baffles description. After a few minutes, however, they quieted down, and, while the new arrivals attacked the roast of beef, their former messmates talked incessantly, and all at once!
"You're the laird of a splendid estate of rocks and scrub," said Captain Dall to Will.
"Not to mention the river," replied Will, smiling.
"Without fish in it, ha!" groaned Cupples.
"But lots o' goold," suggested Larry, with a wink; "give us a drop o' yer grog, lads, it's dry work meetin' so many friends all at wanst."
"Nothin' but water here!" said Muggins.
"What! wos ye singin' like that on cowld wather?"
"We wos!" returned Muggins.
"An' what's more," said Old Peter, "we've got used to it, an' don't feel the want of grog at all. 'What's in a name,' as Jonathan Edwards says in his play of 'Have it yer own way,' or somethin' like that. Why, if you call it grog an' make believe, it goes down like--like--"
"Wather," suggested Larry; "well, well, let's have a drop, whativer it is."
"But how comes it to pass," inquired Will, "that we should all meet here just as people are made to do in a novel, or at the end of the last scene in a play?"
"Nothing more natural," said Captain Blathers. "You know, when we were cast adrift by the scoundrels that took my ship, Captain Dall, Mr Cupples, and I, made the coast, and got to San Francisco, where we remained, working at what we could, to scrape together a little money before leaving for England, as we had no heart for the goldfields. Some months after that we were surprised to see Old Peter and Muggins wandering about the town like beggars. They had come in a small craft from South America, and were very glad to join us. We were soon persuaded by them to go to the goldfields, and were about to start when we heard of this estate that had been left to a Mr Osten by his brother. I made inquiries, found it was your father it was left to, and, having heard from Muggins of your father's death, I wrote a letter to let you know we were here, and to ask advice--which letter, by the way, is about half seas over to England by this time, if all's well. Then we agreed to come here, and prospect for gold all over the estate-- the which we have done, but without much luck as yet, I'm sorry to say."
"But you have not yet accounted for the appearance of Buckawanga?" said Will.
"Oh, as to that, Muggins recognised him one day in the street. We found he had come over from them rascally Cannibal Islands, in the service of a missionary--"
"What!" exclaimed Will, dropping his knife and fork.
"The missionary, you know," said Captain Dall; "Mr Westwood, who--"
"Is he--is his _family_--in San Francisco?" asked Will, recovering himself and pretending to be busy with his supper.
"Ay, he is on his way to England--waiting for a ship, I believe; but Buckawanga prefers the goldfields, and so, has come with us, as you see."
"Are the Westwoods well--_all_ of them?"
"So far as we know, they are. But in regard to the gold hereabouts--"
"Ay, that's the thing," said Larry, who had glanced at our hero with twinkling eyes when reference was made to the Westwoods; "nothin' like goold to warm the heart of a poor man an' gladden the eyes of a rich wan. It's that same as'll interest the doctor most."
"Well," resumed the captain, "as I was about to say--"
"Didn't I hear you say something about going to San Francisco for fresh supplies and more tools a few minutes ago?" asked Will, abruptly.
"You did; we are short of provender and hard up for tools. I meant to start to-morrow, but now that you've come I'll delay--"
"We'll not delay an hour," cried Will, with unusual energy. "It will never do to waste time here when people are making fortunes all round us. The rest of the party can remain to prospect--but you and I, captain, will start for San Francisco _to-morrow_!"
"Ho, ho!" said Larry to himself that night, as he smoked his pipe after retiring to rest; "it's neck or nothin' is it--never ventur' never win, is the word? Well, well, 'tis the way o' the world. My blessin' go wid ye, doctor." With this benediction on his lips he turned round, shook the ashes out of his pipe and went to sleep. _