Philip Thaxter
page: (TitlePage) [View Page (TitlePage) ] PHLIP THAXTER. Novel. i , - NEW YORK: RUDD $ CARILETON, 130 OBRAND SR'EE?. * MDCOX page: 0-7 (Table of Contents) [View Page 0-7 (Table of Contents) ] r ' ' . l , I. iner.... . ....... 9 II. Anteedent, .... .............................. ...... ...... 17 ^II Bl ows, ... ........ ..... ......... ... ... ...... 27 IV. Boys.;.... .......... ,3 I. S tripe ... ........... ............. .......... .................... . 48 V. Shadow. . B s. ... 46 -6 1t The Tri al .......... .. ...... .... ..... . ... ......... . . .... . 880 a 70 VII. A New Home .................... ........... ........... 52 II. The Schoolmaster.. ... ............ 7 XIX. :: TErrplosianls ...,..,..., ........... ...................... ,... 70 IX. Hesitational. ........ ..............................., .. .. . .. 81 ] XI. Fulfillment. ... O O..; Q...... ,. .........,...,.:.. ..a........ . 84 XIIL ew A rangment.................... ...... 103 , XIV. A e rset.....;.................... 117 XV. Stout's Tavern.................. .....O.... 131 XVI. Reparatfion............................... .......... .. 14 XVII . ........................................................ 148 ' XII, Death's oor ... . ..........,. . . . . ............ 15-0 XIX. Flush TimesofSan .................. XX. View -foot .................................................. 170 XXI. ,The Min es .......... ................. 180 XXII. IgIncidents of Mining Life. ....,........................, ..?., 19 XXIIL The Missing Miner................. ................... ....... 203 XXIIV. AteobL ... .................... .... .... ... . .. 209 XXV. Trial nd Teiptation ................. ............... 22. XV. The Waesof Sin ...................... 238 XXVII. Hope Deferre ............... ........... ... ......... ... 247 XXVI -A FThrank on ession ............... ...... .... 250 * XX. nesident o f i, * - , ., .. * . ,1 81 XxIiI.- hefisng Miner , ,-., ,', , , ' .203 ;KX lsieonFrnic .....7'....... 6 page: viii (Table of Contents) -9[View Page viii (Table of Contents) -9] viii CONTENTS. , CHAPTER PAGB - XXIX. Fidelity and Faith ........................... . . . . 256 XXX. The Rose of the Mountain ............ ................-., . 261 XXXI. Carmelita.. ... ................. ................................ 278 XXXTTI. Dolbear's Story................................................... 281 XXXtil. Reflection .............. ...... ....... ,.,........... 290 XXXIV. Fidelit.......................................................... 293 XXiXV[ Dislosures............. ......................................... 8 304 \ XXXVI. ATroubled Sea.... ....................... .............. 309 XXXVIL. Sharp Practice....................... .................... 316 IlXXXVII. Fair Weather Friends .................... ..................... 320 ! XXXTX. 324 XXXTX. PLA Welcome-Visitor................ .... .................. .......;. 324 XL. The Dreamer .. ...................................... ..... 328 XLI. Surprises. ........................... ..... ............. 336 XLIL Conclusion .............. .................................... 346 o, f f iS PHLIP THAXTER. C ^ HAPTER I. WINTER. IT matters little where, except that it was in New England The time was mid-winter, and thirty years ago. The snow was deep upon the ground, and the air c1ld and sharpas it always is in that section' of the country after a long snow-storm. The gun went down the night before on a stormy, gusty day, and ;he snow lay gathered in' huge drifts beside the fences and ] filed so high against the buildings that the boys could easily limb from it to the roofs of the out-houses. The sun was not ,et up, although it-was past seven o'clok, and the red glow in'i he south-east was getting brighter every moment, so that even ' ow you would look on the tall church-spire for the first rays be reflected from the bright gilt vane that pointed so fiercely 1 1 the teeth of the cold to the north-west. The wind that' oarse and raw, howled dismally the evening before, was all one scampering over the hills, leaving the snowpiled in rifts; on one side oval and hard; on the other, steep and con- " Soon the rays of the sun strike across the fields, and the snow itters so bright and dazzling that little Philip Thaxter, as he ns along on the ridges of the drifts facing towards sun-rise, inks and winks continually. His striped, blue a'd white rn mittens hang' dangling from his arms, for his hands are th doubled into fists, and the thumbs stick out, so awkwardly a )m either side of the 'hand, that the woolen potector has a appearance of a bag with a ball too large forlit forced half y into it'. , O1 . } - !. , page: 10-11[View Page 10-11] 10 PHRILIP THAXTER. Little Philip is dressed in a pair of- sheep's gray trowsers that were never made by a tailor--and if they lacked in length, they made up for it in the copious supply of ucloth in the vicinity of the hips. His jacket, once black, but now rusty and threadbare, was so closely buttoned up to the chin that no one could tell of what material his vest was made. His feet were protected by coarse woolen stockings, and over these, a pairof stout cow-hide shoes. The snow worked in sadly be- tween the shoes and the stockings whenever he came to the lee side of the drifts, for there the snow had fallen lightly, and at each step he " slmped" into it. This caused him to stop whenever he came to the harder and windward side of the drifts, and then he would pull off his mittens and insinuating his fingers, throw out the snow lest it should there melt and wet his feet. Then away he would trot winking and wink- ing in the brightl sun-light till he came to another yielding place, when he would again go through the same operation. The sun was fairly up before Philip had arrived at neighbor Truebody's; and when he ktiocked at the door his teeth chat- tered and he shook so that the old leather vizor half torn: off from his cloth cap, was kept in such constant motion before his eyes that it prevented him from noticing old farmer Truebody, who was busy cutting the ice out of the watering trough in his barn-yard. Presently he hears the step of some one within, and the door is opened by Aunt Tempe, as she is called, when Philip walks in through the entry to the cheerful kitchen. The fire in the broad fire-place, as it throws out its cordial and quiet warmth from its ashy bed, makes his face look redder than even the cold air and the violent exercise which had sent his young blood coursing so livelily through his veins. As soon as he entered the room, which in the coldest weather served,for dining-room, sitting-room and kitchen, he pulled off his old cap, the earlets of which had only partially protected his ears. An old red and yellow comforter of loosely knit woolen yarn had partially protected his neck and chin, and when he pnulled off his cap his ears showed red at the roots as the comb of Mrs. Truebody's rooster, but white at the extremi- ties as the snow outside the door. , La," said Aunt Tempe, " the child's ears are froze." "So they are," said-Mistress Truebody. "Get some snow, Iquick,- to take the frost out." MMissTemnpe lostno time, but ran out through the porch and no- t hoahtepr u WINTER. " into the wood-shed, where she found a small pile that had winnowed through a crack in the cornice. Eagerly thrusting her long, bony fingers into it, she took a handful and hurried back to the kitchen where sat Philip, looking sadly frightened, and Mistress Truebody telling him'i to keep away from the fire. She took the snow briskly from Aunt Tempe's left hand and applied it quite roughly to the dexter ear of Philip, while Miss Tempe served the sinister one in the same way. They rubbed them till their owner cried out in pain, when fitting the snow to the ear each one held it for a little while till gradually the white began to disappear from poor Philip's auricular members. He was then told to take the snow in his own hands and hold it to his ears till they were enti ely thawe'd out. Suddenly, however, he grew deadly pale, iwhen Mrs. Truebody ever ready to see if anything was going wrong said, "La, Aunt Tempe, the boy is going to faint-it is so warm herei" and with the word they caught him up and hustled him from the kitchen, through the porch, and into the wood-house, where it was cold enough to prevent fainting, if not to freeze his ears again faster than they could be thawed out with snoW. In a little time the boy revived, and while good Mrs. True- body was comforting and assuring him, Aunt Tempe was bustling about the table to get some breakfast for their early caller. The tea-kettle- was yet hanging from, the end of the crane, its nozzle inclined downwards so that the water would run out if there had been any in it. It was at once partially refilled and brought over the hottest- part of the fire, nowa bed of coals covered with the whitest ashes. Before the steam from the nozzle gave evidence that the water was "bilin," Miss Tempe had prepared some ginger, sugar, and milk ia a bowl-as she said " it was not good for boys to drink 'store tea' "-and as soon as the ,white steam issued from the tea- kettle, she deluged them with the hot -water. Philip, in the' meanwhile, sat looking on amazed at the preparation going on before his eyes. He could not ander- stand that all this was for him, for he had always been accustomed to serve and not be served, and to take his meals a-fter all others had finished, making out as best he might with what chanced to be left. The nice home-made sausages, the warm bread, and fried potatoes were placed upon the table,- and, still 1he was sceptical for whomf they were designed, whm dsgnd page: 12-13[View Page 12-13] 12 PHTLTP THAXTEi.. ' . and he was relieved from his doubt only when good Mrs. Truebody said, "Come, Philip, sit up and eat some breakfast." Poor Philip! it was so long since he had experienced any such act of kindness, showing, that he was regarded as anything more than a dog to be kicked and cuffed--Ato hide in the corners and get such uncertain fare as chance threw .in his way--that at the sound of Mrs. Truebody's kind and sympathizing voice,-in spite of himself the tears came into his eyes and he sobbed aloud. ', "What is the matter?" said Aunt Tempe, but at a motion from Mrs. Truebody she was silent, and Philip was allowed to give vent to his feelings and have his cry out. Then wiping his eyes with his coarse yarn comforter, he sat up to the table and soon forgot -his sorrows in doing justice to his hostess' entertainment. The good woman occasionally cast, a glance towards him, as if it did her good to see the boy stow away the hearty food before him. While' he was engaged in this agreeable occupation, farmer Truebody himself came in, and hurrying at once to:the fire thrust his fingers almost into the coals; then turning round to strike them together he said, "Who is this, who is this?hi hi!" "t My name is Philip," answered \the young stranger, while the good wife, interrupting said, "WAhy, Mr. Truebody, this is Philip Thaxter, the boy that lives with Luke Philbrick." "So-it is, so it is, so it is," quoth the farmer. "But you did not come all the way from there this cold morning, did you!" "Yes, sir." "Well, it is more than you would have done if you had been my boy. Are any of his folks sick?" "No, sir: he wants to borrow your small yoke so that he can break his steers in the deep snow." "Yes, yes, he shall have it, he shall have it; but how are i - you going to carry it?" "On my shoulder."' "On your shoulder! nonsense I It is more than a man ought to do to carry that yoke two miles on his shoulder and facing the wind all the way such a morning as this, let alone a boy of your size. How old are you .' "Twelve, sir." "You tell Mr. Philbrick, then, that he can't have the yoke if he don't know better than to send a twelve year old on such, an errand." 'WINTER. , 13 By this time Philip had finished his breakfast, and putting on his cap and mittens was preparing to leave. Turning to Mrs. Truebody with an awkward bow, he said: ', I thank you, for the breakfast." "You are welcome, welcome," said the farmer, and his wife jumped up, and taking some doughnuts stuffed them into his pockets. "Had n't your folks been to breakfast before you left home?" inquired the farmer. "No, sir," answered Philip. "Then why did they send you off so early q" Mr. Philbrick said I couldn't have any breakfast this mor- ning because I did not get my, stent done last night before dark." - ' And didn't you have any supper last night?" No, sir." I declare," said Aunt Tempe, ", the boy is abused." To avoid breaking down at these expressions of pity and kindness, Philip opened the door and immediately passed out. Good Mistress Truebody, whose feelings were easily touched went to the window to see him as, he plodded his way home- ward, and was surprised to observe that he did not go in that direction. ' i "Why," she exclaimed, , he is going the other way." ' What is that for?" said the farmer, running to the door and calling out " where are you going now?" ' "Mr. Philbrick told lme," answered Philip, " if I could not get your yoke to go and see if I could get Deacon Stubbs'." O, yes, then come back; you can have the yoke and what is more!" will go and help you carry it. So come in" a Philip turned gladly about, for Deacon Stubbs lived a good half mile further on, and the refusalof farmer Truebody, though meant in kindness, was calculated to increase his hardship. The farmer went directly to his barn, and having found the desired yoke carried it into the kitchen, at which Aunt Tempe querulously exclaimed that the house was no place for ox- yokes. , , "It won't hurt anything,"' said Mrs. Truebo'dy, as she took hold of one end and placed the staple and ring against one of the andirons, ;, and it will be much pleasanter to handle if the frost is taken o6ut of it. A big iron is a cold thing to hold on to such weather as this." The farmer now hastened to tie up his neek and-ears in a , ^ ' ' -j: page: 14-15[View Page 14-15] " , - . .HTTiTP THAXTER. fine woolen comforter, and having put on his thick shag mittens, said, "Come, Philip, I will go and help you along part of the way, for I am afraid this is rather too much for you to carry the whole distance, such a cold morning.' So opening the door, the farmer sallied out, taking the yoke on his own shoulder, while Philip followed after. The farmer pushed ahead so fast that Philip had no little difficulty in keep- ing up. They had got but about half the distance, when, as they neared a cross road, they espied an ox-team coming to- wards the main highway, and which Philip said he " guessed was going right by Mr. Philbrick's." So they hastened to reach the four -corners before the team, and found, sure enough, that it was going as Philip had conjectured. This team con- sisted of a wood-sled, with a yoke of heavy old oxen on- the tongue, and another of wild, half-broken steers on the lead. The teamster was a ruddy young man of twenty, clad in coarse home-made olive brown pantaloons, and a thick striped frock,: that completely hid the balance of his dress. About his waist he had tied a large bandanna handkerchief, so that he had the appearance of the most enduring strength: and firmness. His boots were of 'the heaviest cowhide, to which the snow never adhered, and they shone almost as glossy as if they had been recently polished with the best Day & Martin. A warm fur cap protected his head and ears, and a pair of blue and white. striped mittens his hands. i Farmer Truebody threw the yoke upon the sled, and said to ther teamster," I wan-t you to-take this up as far as Luke Phil. brick's,-John;" and immediately turned upon his heel and walked back homewards, without stopping to receive the thanks of Philip, who was greatly relieved thereby, his bashfulness rendering it difficult for him to express the gratitude which he felt. When the farmer got back to his own house, he found his good wife and his maiden sister, Aunt Tempe, in the heat of an animated discussion- on the cruelty and heartlessness of Luke Philbrick. It had been going on ever since he and Phi- lip had left them, an hour before; for they had no sooner started, than the good wife gave up, and sitting down in her arm-chair, began: "I declare-that poor boy--it makes me sick, to think what he must suffer! I wish we had him here- pooir little fellow!"Aunt Tempe did- not take it so much to heart, but busied herself in clearing off the table, washing up i * ' WINEMR. 15 the dishes, and sweepingand arranging the room, so that when the farmer returned everything was as neat as need be, ;and the two women had set down to their knitting-an oocupation that interfered not at al with their conversation. "It is strange," said the farmer, as soon as he had entered the room," what Luke Philbrick could mean by sending that - boy way down here for that yoke such a morning as this I 'always knew Luke was a hard-fisted man, and I have heard that this boy had a' hard time of it." "Why don't you take him to live with you? You want a boy you know you do," said his wife. "It is your fault," he answered, " that I have n't half a doz.- en. But I can't meddle with the affairs of my neighbors." "Of course you can't," said Aunt Tempe, who seemed to think that she was herself a sort of dependent on her brother, and who imagined that if the family were increased she might somehow become less necessary. Her brother and her sister- ) in-law both acted and felt as though Aunt Tempe had as much authority and interest in everything as either of them, but she knowing that the legal title to the farm was not hers but her brother's; felt that she held her position by a more slippery tenure than they did. As long as the family remained as it was she knew she was secure, but if younger and sprighther depen. dants once got domiciled there she feared that in time they might come to dispute her sway, and hence it was her policy to keep all additions at a distance. It is thus that the host has often a cordial welcome when his tedious guests look coldly on the arrival of all new comers. He has nothing to fear, but con- sults his own tastes or inclinations. They tremble lest their own welcome may become precarious and their room wanted. Farmer Truebody was independent and delighted in hospi- tality. Aunt Tempe felt that she lacked that independence and could not afford that her brother should open a door through which might enter those who would in time usurp her place. If they gave a home to a fatherless outcast boy now, why not take in an orphan girl by and by, and of course when they grew up they would not want her in the way. It was a selfish feeling on the part of the spinster resulting from her position,. for old maid as she was, there was no person in town or coun- try so active in deeds of kindness and charity. "I could gladly take him," said the farmer, "were he at liber-. ty to come.[ He would do a great manylittle chores, and what I , ,ii page: 16-17[View Page 16-17] 16 PHLIP TOASTER. with taking care of so many cattle and hogs and horses, it keeps me so busy I can hardly find time to read the papers." "You doi't seem to consider him at all,"' said kind hearted Mrs. Truebody.- "If he is sent to bed without any supper and then sent off by daylight the next morning to walk two miles to borrow an ox-yoke in such weather as this, and then to walk back and have no breakfast after all, what else may we ex- pect forhim?" "Folks should be very careful who they, take into their houses," said Aunt Tempe-,- wh6 knows anything about him? Of course he is some poor pauper. No doubt if he belonged to any respectable family, there would be some one to look after him to see that -he was not abused. " "I am afraid you forget the time when you and I came all the way from Springville up to this very place almost barefoot, and no one knowing anything about us. When father Holfax took us in he did n't inquire about our respectability. If he had we could n't have -told him. No, no, we are the last people in the world to, show suspicion."; Aunt Tempe was silent, for she did not like to be reminded that she had once been left in the world entirely destitute. The farmer both looked and felt displeased, and so he went to the barn to finish up his morning duties, which had been inter- rupted. His wife,'good woman, said nothing but was evidently thinking immensely. :ged seven, an -a girl about three years younger. e came CHAPTER II. ANTEOEDENT. NEARLY fifty years before the simple events we have juste narrated, there came to the public house of a small village in ' New England, a middle-aged man with two children-a boy aged seven, and a girl about three years younger. -He came in the slow mail coach of the time, and was suffering from a severe inflammation of the throat. He had the appearance of a clergyman, for his clothes were neat and threadbare, his hands soft and delicate, his face thoughtful andpale. He had stop. reed at the village inn because he was too ill to proceed farther. t was about the first of March; the snow was beginning to anish and leave the ground bare in spots, so that the traveler whether he had started on wheels orrunners, would wish, ere he had traveled many miles, that he had taken the other con- veyance. Our traveler. had no sooner secured his scanty baggage and settled with the- coachman, than he called for a room with a, fire in it, to which he directly retired. He took to his bed immediately, and-calling for a little hot tea, which he vainly endeavored to drink, he begged the hard-faced-landlady to give the children some supper, and make them a bed on the floor 1 of his own room; for," said he, "I may need them :to wait upon me before morning." ' x ' The landlady did as she was requested, and very soon the two chil ren were called below th a substantial supper of fried I tripe, baed potatoes, corn bread, hot biscuit and tea. They 1 behavedVwith that propriety that diffidence inspires when it does not exceed the limit of self-control. When they re- turned to the chamber'they found their bed already prepared. for them ; and when their father told them they had better lie * s An,; page: 18-19[View Page 18-19] \8 - O - - PHTTP THAXT'ER. down, they both came and knelt by the side of his bed and repeated the Lord's prayer, and also those familiar lines, com- mencing "Now I lay me down to sleep," which they had repeated so many times at their mother's knee. The father looked at them with a tearful eye, for he already felt that the hand of death was upon him, and said to himself, "Whatifwill become -of the poor orphans?" When the children had risen from their prayers, the elder one undressed his quiet little sister, and tucked her in with as much care as he had seen his mother bestow on similar occasions; and then having but .partially undressed himself, so as to be ready to attend to any want of his sick-father, he laid himself down, when in a few minutes they were both sleeping soundly. The poor clergyman slept not. He was in a raging. fever, and his throat was fastfilling up, so that it was soon impossible for him to utter a word. Towards morning he grew delirious, a,nd his breathing became so difficult and loud, that it awoke the children. The boy, whose name was' Rennie, jumped up instantly and spoke to him; but getting no answer, he shook him, while his sister Temperance, or Tempe, as she was called, burst out crying in alarm. Poor Rennie knew not what to do, so he ran into the entry and called aloud for help. "What is the matter there?" cried a sharp thin voice from below, evidently that of the landlady. "Father is sick-dreadful sick!" said the boy. "Do come, quick!" , "Let him be sick," said the same voice. I "Go to bed, you noisy young ones, you!" and the door below was heard to slam to, just as another door opened nlearer by, and a rough voice was'heard to ask, ' What is the matter there?" "O," said Rennie, running up and catching the stranger by the hand, " father is dying i ," "I will come and see to him, thepn, said he, coming across the hall in his stocking feet, and nothing else upon him but his shirt and 'pantaloons. Above the 'entreaties, of the boy and the loud cries of .the girl, he heard the strangling, struggling , breathing of the sick man; and going into the room, struck a light as soon as-possible, and looking on the sick man, said, "' 'Tis time, I thinkJ Do you go right across the street and call the Doctor-he lives in the large white house." -NT ECEDENT. ' 9 While Rennie was gone for the Doctor, the stranger loosened the bandages around the neck of the sick men, and endeavored to raise him up so he would breathe easier. But his efforts avaled n enothing. It was some time before Re nnie returned with the Doctor, and sth longer after that fun-tionary arrived -before he ventured to express an opinion or to give directions 'sto what-shbould b 'pno or 't' ,i... direc'ions as to whathould be done for the faling patient. As he was at his wit's end, he sat down and wrote a prescription in Latin; and not knowing what else to do, he thought he would treat the case as one of ordinary croup. The Latin presription would have an appearance of wisdom, and save him from the charge of ignorance. He then gave an order for a tub of hot water, which the stranger who first answered Rennie's call went below to procure. It was fall half an hour before he could get a fire lighted and the water heated, and .when he' appeared with it in a large tub, the physician said "Perhaps it will not be necessary to use it, for his breathing is easier Little Tempe had crept upon her father's' bed, and had lain *her head beside his, while he extended his arm over her and was holding her with the death-grasp of love. Rennie stood by the side of the bed, his head resting on his father's bosom, sobbing as if he could never be comforted. "Come, children," said the physician, stand ut of the wa.." ,... m p y n,. sIandbut of, the way." He lifted Tempe from the bed, while: his attendant dre w back Rennie, and held forward the light. His breathin was no longer difficult-the man-was dead. By this time other members of the house were stirring, and the landlord coming into the room, and. Seeing the state of affairs, felt so very badly about it that he immediately de scended to the bar, and took off half a tumbler of raw gin, to prevent contagion, of the disease., His tender consortocame scolding along immediately after, saying she " would like to . know what business anybody had, to bring their noisy brats into other people s houses to keep them awake all the n ight,;" which amiable sentence she had hardly finished as she entered ly-"o,.-o fiihfi'sse entered the room, and saw the dead lying there to rebuke her.- The hildren gay claspingy e cold folg of heir to her ther. The doc- tor had gone and taken his valuable Latin prescription with - ndim. The room had an air of appallng sorrow and desolation, tnd the landladry, not having it in hersoeart to vent her tillo, lumor there, went dow n to the ki rcl eartto whene the sharp .- i / wtoh :., rom whene e She r e harpi page: 20-21[View Page 20-21] 20 PHr TP THEXTER. tones of h'er voice could have been heard two minutes after in every part of the house, The children did not move from the bed, but clung to it, for upon it was lying all that bound them to this world. The friendly stranger who had first answered to Rennie's call still remained, showing a deep sympathy for the orphans. The girl had cried herself to sleep again; with her head resting against that of her dead father. But the boy was old enough to bdi too sensible of his loss to sleep again for a long time. The sun was not up yet, when some of the neighbors, having been [ apprised of what. had happened fat the inn, came in to take a look at the dead. No one knew who he was, or whence he came; and so the lawyer of the village, or as he was called, "the Squire," proceeded to interrogate the boy, while others searched the pockets and trunk of the deceased, to find first whether he had left any money to pay for burying him, and secondly whether any letters or memoranda were to be found from which they could learn who or what he was. Of money they found less than twenty dollars; and from what they could learn from Rennie and from some- letters in his trunk, they ascertained that' he had been a poor minister in one of the extreme eastern towns in New England-that his wife had died but about six months before-:-that he -had himself been long in bad health, and aware that his sands were nearly run, could see no way of saving his children from the poor-house but by returning to the distant State from whence ten years before he had emigrated with his yqunrg wife, full of hope and vigorous with health. Sickness and death had so utterly im- poverished him, that it was difficult for him to raise sufficient money to warrant him in undertaking the journey. His parish was poor and, small, for the doctrine he preached was not popular, and it proved a severe tax on his little fock to raise the means that enabled him to discharge his small debts, and " leave him -enough so that he dare attempt the journey. But he succeeded at last, land the third day after reached the vil- lage from whence. he departed but to the grave. To send the children back to their native town was therefore out of the question, and to send them forward to their place of D destination would require more money than would remain after burying the dead. But these matters, the lawyer well re. marked, should be left till the funeral was over. This cere- mony took place the next day. A few of the villagers gath- ANTECEDENT. - t ered from idleness or curiosity, and, we may hope, a better feel- ing in some instances. A prayer was said by the minister of the village, who, aving asertaid that the deceased'was of a -vn ..,,um tcaseertas of tat persuasion very different from his own,. consigned him in the most approved fashion to a world worse than this, and warned the Children to shun the evil ways of him whom dead they loved more than all living. There was much lamentation in the house when the coffin was taken out and placed upon the sleigh-bot- tom on which itwas to be carried to its final resting-place. And so there has been in a great many instances; why de- scribe this rather than a thousand others?' After the burial was over, the men of the village gathered at the tavern,to talk over the incident, and to consider what was to be done with the 'children. The minister, having piously consigned the dead to his place, had no thought or care left for the helpless living. The lawyer was the spokesman of-the party. The landlord of the inn was present, but so stupified by rum that he gave little heed to what was going on. His wife, however, had posted herself so that she could hear all' that transpired, fearing to trust her spouse to attend to it that the children were not left on their hands., The lawyer having learned all he could in regard to the eir- cumstances and connections of: the children, their.intended des- tination, and the probability of their being sent for by their friends, sagely remarked that " it was a serious case." But after considering the matter fully, he remarked that he had concluded that it " wa s best that the children should remain where they were for the present, and that in the meanwhile he and some of the other influential men of the town would'write a letter to the postmaster of Hamilton, in the distant State, set- ting forth the circumstances, and requesting that the friends and relatives of the deceased clergyman, if any such he had' there, might be notified of the helpless and dependent condi- tion ofthe ehi[dren. - If no answer-to this were received after a reasonable time, the selectmen must be called upon'to pro- vide for them at the town's expense." The lawyer having de livered himself so successfully,'it only remained for -the rest of the company to concur. Two of the :selectmen being present, expressed their approbation, and the proposal w ould doubtless have been carried without a dissenting expression, had not the sharp voice of the landlord's wife been heard outside of the door, as if talking to some one near her, though in reality to page: 22-23[View Page 22-23] 22. PH-TTP THAx'lt'. the company in the room, for she was alone in the entry, saying, -' We keep tavern, we do. We don't keep the poor-house, and if other folks' brats want to stay here they must pay for it, for I won't have nobody here that don't have no money. It is pretty well, I think, to send off to York state, and leave the young ones for me to take care on.; But I shan't do it, and it arn't no use talkin'!"At this some one opened the door, and there she stood, fronting the' company. "Well," she contin- ued, "I don't care if you did hear me. I hope you did, and I hope you have got my mind!" "Good woman," said the lawyer, "as I learn that some twenty dollars were found among the effects of the unfortunate deceased, and his clothes and trunk will bring several dollars more, there willbe certainly enough, after paying for the shroud and other funeral expenses, to pay for keeping the children for at least six weeks.' In that time we can hear from York state, if at all, and if no friends should appear to claim the children, then, when, the money is all expended, they must go to the poor-house. So you will be perfectly secure of your pay so long as they stay with you." D O, well," said the landlady, her countenance lifting, .' if I am paid for it, they can stay. I trust I am as marciful to the poor orphan as any one. But I must look after my otn house, for Joe there don't do nothing but drink rum, and who would keep the tavern, I would like to know, if I didn't?" With that she caught up the little girl in her arms, who with her brother had been viewing the scene with a sort of alarmed in- terest and wonder. "Come along," said she to the boy, and stalked out of the room in a manner showing that her preroga- tives were not to be trifled with, After the landlady had left, as no one seemed inclined to add anything more, the company dispersed, and in a few hours everything about the house of J. Mayhew, Inn Holder, was as quiet and monotonous as usual. And now came the dark days to the poor orphans. The thriftg Mrs. Mayhew ever had something for Rennie to do, and was ever scold'ing him as a " lazy varmint." It delighted the termagant to send him away, so that he could not be near his sister, and if the latter cried in her loneliness, it was a signal for correction, and many a moment of malicious pleasure did this female: tyrant enjoy in whipping the poor thing into loud ANrTECEDENT. 23 cries, and then " lacing" her into silence, and compelling her to sit for hours in a corner without' a word or a murmur. Joe Mayhew, the landlord, had more pity on themi and when his wife's eye was not on him, spoke words of kindness and encour- agement to them. Whenever by any chance it so happened that they could have a few minutes together and alone, it was sad enough to see how soon they both broke down, if they at- tempted to talk to each other of the past and of their dead pa. rents. And it was more sad still for them to be caught crying, either together or separate, by the unfeeling landlady', for with a blow on this head, and another on that, she quickly drove away the grief for the past by the thought of securing safety for the present. i . And so they lived for three long and unhappy weeks. Each night, after the labors of the day were over, and their tormen- tor had, in tiring out others, tired out herself and sat down in the parlor to entertain her guests, if by chance -she had any, the children would contrive to steal away together, and when the little girl would cry, and beg of her brother to take her away from that place, he could only promise that he would. But he waq to go he knew not where. He seemed to know that he could not fall into worse hands than he was then in and so, young as he was, he resolved to run away. By chance, a couple of sailors, who had been up into the country to visit their friends and were returning to the coast, stopped at the inn, and finding a' jovial companion in Joe May- hew, they regaled him and his spouse with tales of the sea. Rennie heard them all with eager interest, and coming near one of the sailors, said bashfully that he wanted to go to sea. "ell, my man," says the tar, " you can go as cabin-boy in a year or two." "Childre, go to bed!" shrieked out Mrs. Mayhew, at which poor Rennie shrunk away, and taking his sister by the hand the, :wo were soon building primitive air-castles far out on the roar- ng sea. It was only a week after this that these two children set out ,n their journey towards the sea. They must have some'ob . iect towards which to direct their steps, and Rennie knew of .I iothing else but the sea, and even tVo this he knew not the di- eetion. One day he ventured to ask the landlord which way e t was, when he pointed to the south-east, and with this simple Iet the two young travelers arranged for their journey. .. 1 "jo ur e. page: 24-25[View Page 24-25] 24 PHTT P THAXT'1'E. ]The girl was too young to have much idea as to whither she was going, nor did she care, if it was only from the power of the cruel landlady. The evening before their intended depart- ' ure they had arranged to start at daylight the next morning, but as they could not sleep they were deceived as to the time, and at a little past one o'clock they arose, and dressed them- selves as usual-they had nothing else wherewith to Idress themselves--and quietly stold out of the house. It-was near the middle of April. The snow had nearly all disappeared from the ground, and the frost was coming out, leaving the roads in a most rough and muddy condition. The moon shone' bright and cold, and the night frost had stiffened the top of the ground, so that the children got along very well: for several hours. Their: shoes were very poor, and afforded but a slight protection against the rough, frozen ground; and when the sun arose, and began to dispel the frost of the night, they made but slow progress through the water and mud. Their shoes were scarce any protection against the water, their feet being as wet as if they had been soaked in a pond. They , kept along together, Rennie having hold of his sister's hand all th while, and whenever they came to a dry, spot, or found a dri log or rail beside the road, he required her to sit down a fef minutes to rest. As for him, he said he did not need to rest, assuming such strength and courage that his sister might feel she hadcan able protector in him. They passed many farm houses on their way, b t did not dare to stop at any of them, for fear of being sent back to Joe Mayhew's inn. When- ever they saw people looking at them from the yards and win- dows, they hurried on, for fear of being questioned; and if any one called out to them, Rennie hurried along, half pulling the girl after him, who paddled her way through the mud as best she might. At length they became too tired to go on. It was ten o'clock in the day.. They had eaten nothing since the night before, and were foot-sore and exhausted. They sat down on the roots of an old stump beside the road, and Tempe, laying her head in the lap of her brother, was soon fast asleep. Rennie looked at her and sobbed. He feared to cry aloud, lest it might wake\ her. For half an hour or more he sat there by the road, till at length a farmer approached in his wagon, and when he had got abreast of them, he stopped his fat and lazy horse, and asked them where; they were going. Rennie answered that they were , ANTECEDENT, going to sea. When asked where he came from, he replied that it Was from a great way off--that his father had died at a house which they had left that morning-that they had been whipped and abused till they ran away. The farmer heard the sad story, and then looking down a moment, said, "That is bad-I wonder they should use you so ;" and then, without ano- ther word; whipped up his lazy horse and drove away. When he was gone, Rennie broke forth in tears; for some- how he had thought this stranger would take it on them But he rode on, thinkin'g it very strange that any one could treat little children so, and thanking God he was not so cruel and hard-hearted. The children followed on as best they could. It was near noon when the farmer passed by the house of his neighbor -olfax,-who happened to be just at that momnt comhing from his fieldto the house. As a consequence, Farmer Prinpe must stop to talk with Farmer Holfa.- They went through with their discussion of the "weather, and ad begun on the last news from Washington, when IIolfax espied the children at a distance, painfully and slowly approaching. Who. comes here--who is this?" he inquired. bor, "whom we heard about up to Mayhew's tavern in Spring. ville. Their'father died and left them there, and they were so abused by his harridan wife that they ran away last night. I declare, when the boy told mehis story, I never felt so bad in all my life; and if it hadn't been that I was going to use my horse plowin by and by, and want to keep p his flesh, I really believe I should have taken them into my wagon, and brought them along.. I am always doin' some foolish, good- a wued action. -It has cost me many a dollar." "Ahen, yes," said the other, turning away abruptly and going into the house. Neighbor Prince sat a m oment. in his wagon pondering on his own benevolence, and wondering what he had said that could Offend neighbor Holfax. He then drove on home,.resolved never to do another kind action. tThe world is.so full of elf- ishness and sin," said he to himself, "that folks can't appreci. ate a man's tender feelin's." WLen the children had arrived opposite farmier HIolfax's, they looked wishfully at the warm,--comfortable-looking house, its walls so white and its blinds so green. They stopped abreast of it for a moment to look at it.. .Tempe's right shoe 21 page: 26-27[View Page 26-27] 26 PHLIP THAXTERo had given out by this time, so that the toes we,re sticking through in full vievT; and as she stood with her old bonnet placed askew upon her head, her -face none of the clearest and her left hand clasping the right of her' brother, who looked scarcely more hopeful than she, it was a sight to move a heart harder than neighbor Prince's. Mr. Holfax saw them from the window of his own sitting- room. -He immediately went to the door. The children at sight of him moved on. Without saying a word he walked out to the road, and taking Temnpe in his armes and Rennie by the hand, returned into the house. Neither Tempe nor Rennie ever left that house again. It was their home from thenceforth and up to the commencement of this story. Farmer Eolfax had but one child, a sickly, weally girl of two years, at the time he took in Rennie and Tempe Truebody. The kindness and care lavished by both him and his wife on the two helpless children was unbounded. And they well repaid it. Rennie grew up a strong, industrious, 'honest youth, and Tempe was dutiful, -affectionate and thank- ful. The children were all brought up together; and as there was no subsequent increase of their number, the orphans were always regarded as an essential part of the family. In time, of course, Rennie was married to the daughter of his benefactor, and the farm passed into his hands. Tempe never married, and it was said by the gossips of-thetown, at an early day, that she was cut out for an old maid. Though an excellent, kind. hearted and benevolent body, and one that shed a sort of sun. light wherever she chanced to be, yet she was not of the kind to have lovers or to get married, and so she lived a long life "in maiden meditation fancy free." I am afraid my reader may have conceived a prejudice against Aunt Tempe by reason of the reluctance she showed to having the addition of Philip Thaxter to the family, and I con. fess the reproof of her brother was merited. But the people of whom I write were all actual men and women. There were no saints nor paragons among them, and the characters I shall exhibit in this story of Philip Thaxter are neither better nor worse than you and I, reader, have meto'in our limited expe. rience. I '. - ' CHAPTER III. BLOWS. hi jumped upon the sleds soon as the farmer had left him to go back to his own house, and steadied himself by holding on to one of the stakes The violent exer cise of alkingtthrough the snow had provoked a gilow of eerspira tion that was succeeded quickly afteh had ta to the sled by a sense of chilliness, so that he was soon slaking and quab " in the cold. yh l. As for the teamster, John Stancley, he was so 'busy looking after his team, now running on this side Of'the old oxen, to whip up the stders that had taken a shoot off to the sade of the road, and then on that side to head them of lintte cold. As fo )th? eamterf J ohn tay nd was not a oolttle p lou d of his good t ooke strength and endurance. At school he as studious and respectfu, never indulging in anyoff m ischief or wild sport, but beingso correct in everything that ih oe was natgenerally regrded aoro hryanpriety. ,somest yon an in tat part of the- countr and as It is true he was not liked over much by other boys, and nome people said there was a great deal-of craft and calculation, h s good name. R ig s father, y nhe Yee, w eanwoluls The care of the farm was given mainlyi to John, who -was 3 ,m itiols of sho ving "is industry and capaity in the manage- entofit. Attown meeting or villae' us, the. opinion of . 9] page: 28-29[View Page 28-29] 28 . PHLIP THAXTER. John Stanchley, though not a voter, was as much respected a, that of most men of mature age. At the festival or the evening party where were met the neighbo'ring lads and lasses, he was the .favorite partner of tli rosy buxom damsels, and he was almost invariably chosen first when it was their turn to choose partners, and whether it was at hunting the sqtiirrel or dancing the Virginia reel, he was sure to lead his romping partner a merry jig. When our teamster arrived opposite the house of Luke Philbrick, the vicious steers upon the lead, instead of stopping at the word " whoa," made a brisk dash towards the barn and the old oxen seemed to have lost all their power of holding back, for,the whole team rushed into the yard nor stopped till they brought up under the lee of the pump-shed. John jumped off to head them and to turn them back into the road, while Philip took up the yoke and carried it towards the wood-house. Luke Philbrick, who had seen all this from -his own kitchen window, had b6en sitting by thie fire for the last hour, "nursing his wrath to keep it warm," and busying himself, in the meanwhile, with trimming and warming, to suppleness a large switch about five-eighths of an inch through at the butt, and tapering down towards the other end. With tlis instrument he met Philip at the door of the wood-house, and without stopping for reasons, he caught him bv the collar, and saying, " what have you been gone so long for," began to belabor him over his shoulders, back and legs, as if the singing of the switch, as it cut through the air and into his shrinking flesh, was music to his ears'. Philip twisted and squirmed as the blows fell thick and fast, and begged in agony for nmercy. But his cries only served to whet the anger of Luke Philbrick, and as he- turned and cringed to escape the cruel blows, each motion of his yielding form was followed up by fiercer strokes of the singing rod. John Stanchley saw this cruel punishment iwith astonish: ment, and his first impulse was to interpose in behalf of Philip. But John was a youth of too much discretion-and calculation to interfere in- anything, that did not specially concern him. He saw the blows and heard the cries without moving, for a time, but they were continued so long, that at length he got alarmed, for fear lest Philip might be so injured that the circumstances would become known to the neighborhood, and he thought it" would not sound well to have it said that he had , ,BLOWS, 29 been present and neither protested nor interfered. All these considerations passed quickly through his mind, and Philip, who had twisted away from the strong grasp of Luke, was rolling over in the snow at his feet, his persecutor still plying the switch with all his might, and at the same time kicking him in the sides with his heavy boots. By this time John thought he must interfere, and stepping forward he caught Luke by the arm and said, "Come, come, that is enough."' Lukehad been so engrossed in his amusement that it had not occurred to him that any one besides his own familyhad wit- nesssed this savage flaggelation, and he: was no sooner recalled to'his senses by John than he threw away his stick and said, "O, I beg pardon, Mr. Stanchley; but that boy does vex me almost to death. I am trying to make something of him, but it is no use. I know he will be hung. Philip, go to the barn and turn out the cattle, and see that they have plenty of water, and if you don't make the linter as clean as a new broom can make it, you will get another just such a basting. Do-you hear?" Philip answered not, but hurried away to his work as fast as his sore limbs could carry him. "Come in to' the' fire," said Luke, turning to John, " come i in and see the folks," and leading the way he was followed by John into the house;. The family, consisting of Mistress Phil- brick and her three daughters, Lucy, Susan, and Eliza, were all in the kitchen, which, in the coldest weather, like Rennie Truebody's, was made to serve the treble purpose of kitchen, dining, and 'sitting room. It was a large room with an immense fire-place, having small rooms and closets adjoining,' one of which was the buttery for the earthen dishes and broken victuals, another for the flour barrel and pmeal chest, iron pots and kettles, and a third was a general place of deposit for what belonged-nowhere .else. In the winter time the fire devoured the wood so rapidly that it was only when visitors were expected that a fire was kindled in the sitting-room or parlor. When John was ;ushered into this old fashioned kitchen, he, i was not a little surprised at the; confusion which he observed on the face of each one present. Little Eliza who was about five years old, had evidently been crying, for she was still half sobbing. :Susan, three years older, was but little more composed, and Lucy, aged twelve, looked confused and I ashamed. The;(mother had likewise a shamed look, which she ' F 3 . . a page: 30-31[View Page 30-31] 30 i PHTTIP TI!AXTER. " , * - , i f disguised as best she could, and instantly sought to divert John's attention, by asking a variety of questions. "Sit down by the fire," said Luke, "for tit is a raw, cold morning. Too cold to do much. I wonder you turned out this morning. I want to get up My winter's wood, but can't think of going into the swamp this weather. I sent Philip down to get Mr. Truebody's yoke, so as to break in the steers a little before I take them into the woods, and the little rascal has been gone all the morning." "It wasn't too cold forl him to be out, w; s it?" said his wife. Lucy looked up at her mother with an appealing glance, as if she would beg her not to open so. unpleasant a subject again. Then she cast her eyes at John, when they met! his, and she blushed. John thought he had never seen anything so beauti- ful before. Luke Philbrick, this was a sad morning for you and yours. Remember it hereafter. Mrs. Philbrick Was a patient and long-suffering woman. Her childrenwere her only consolation and joy upon the earth. Though her husband intended to treat her kindly and thought he did, yet his roughness and cruelty to others made hers a bleeding heart. Luke had no sympathy with her delicate and sensitive nature. They had a mutual bond of affection in their children, which they both loved almost desperately. To have seen Luke Philbrick in his intercourse with other men, to have noticed his harsh ways where he had power over either man or beast, one would have thought him incapable of tender emo- tions. To his wife however, he wasi not unkind, and his chil- dren he loved with the deepest affection; They were all busily engaged when John entered. - Mrs. Philbrick was cutting and basting-some shirts, and her oldest daughter, Lucy, was sewing upoin them. The second daughter, Susan, was at work with her arithmetic and slate, and the youngest, Eliza, was making herself generally useful in inter- rupting the others on every possible occasion. There was an air of restraint, however, on the whole company at this time, caused by the unpleasant scene which nad transpired out of doors a few minutes before. But the mother soon started the conversation by inquiring about affirs in John's neighborhood, yet kbeping her face all the while bent over her work as if conscious that it was flushed and excited. "f ' ' ', 1 ' , ' ' , 'BLOWS. 81 Luke took a large white mug; from the shelf in the buttery, and descending into the cellar, drew it full of foaming cider, and turning to the kitchen, said: , "Come, John, take a pull of our cider. It ar'n't so st ong as some, but mighty pleasant. I put mustard seed in it-takes off the sharp, sour taste." John took a light draught, and pronounced it fine, after which, -Luke, putting the mug to his own lips, drank about half of it, without flinching. ' "'Tis savage cold," said he, as he took the mug from his lips. "Here, Susan, ha ve some cider?" "( Thank you, papa," said Susan, indicating that she was not inclined to imbibe at that time, while little Eliza ran up to him and said, "' please, papa, I want some cider," at'which Luke held , down the mug to her lips and she took a hearty draught of it. "There, Mr. Stanchley," said Luke, " don't you call that a fair specimen of a country lass. Did you ever see a peach more red and rosy than them cheeks?" he continue'd, takingra chair and lifting her in his lap. Luke was- proud of his girls, for he knew they were beautiful children,- The oldest was the fairest and most regular in her features, and it was this one that engrossed John's attention. He had seen these children at church, before, and been struck by. their rare beauty, but he had never been in the house before, nor had he ever seen them under such peculiar advantages'. He could read in the changing features of Lucy that her mind was still upon poor Philip, and he could see that every little while, she put the cloth on which she was sewing,/to her eyes to wipe away the gathering moisture. Jolin thought. that of all-the fair damsels which he knew, and among whom he was an especial favorite, there was i none to be mentioned in the same breath, or hardly to be reck- oned in the same order of beings, as Lucy Philbrick. "Have you got, a good school in your district, this winter " , inquired Mrs, Philbrick s' It is said to be," said John, " but still, I don't think much 'of the master. He is just out of college, and has a great deal to say about Greek and Latin. He told little Joe Lakemar, the first time he called him up to say his letters, that a was an !article that differred in meaning from the particle a or alpha in Greek. Just as though Joe knew anything about Greek. What nonsense! These college chaps don't, more than half of them know anything, anyway." page: 32-33[View Page 32-33] 32 , PHTTLTP THAXTER. ( I don't know about that," said Luke, "I want a master for my girls, that knows Greek and Latin and French and philos- ophy and all that. I intend to give them the best education that can be had. Still I did not think much of that gump we had here last winter, for all his college learning. But we have got a capital master this year." i' Yes," said his wife, " and they all ought to have been at school to-day." "So they ought,' said Luke. "But that lazy boy was gone so long, that he did not get back in time to harness the horse for me to take them. It provokes me that my children -should grow up in ignorance because of such a lazy cub." . it His wife cast a glance on him that said, as plainly as words could do,- that he might have harnessed the horse himself had he been so very anxious for his daughters to go to school. Luke understood its meaning, and so did John Stanchley; Lucy east another appealing glance at her mother, to forbear. The look touched John, cold as he was by nature, to the heart. "Are you going down to the mill?" asked Luke. "Yes,'sir; I am going to haul some boards for the new barn which we intend to put ui next summer. And it is time for me to be agoing It will be sunset now, before I get-back home." "Well, well, call in whdn you come back, and get some more cider. Glad to see you at any time." John went his way, but his thoughts were no longer' on his team. They were on the sweet, sAd face of Lucy Philbribk. CHAPTER IV. BOYS. IN the same neighborhood and school district with Luke Philbrick, lived Amos Thurlow. Their farms were'adjoining; but Luke's was much the best farm of the two. It lay on the southern slope of the hill, and the land was easily cultivated, and brought forth abundant crops. The Thurlow farm, on the contrary, was on the northern incline of the hill; the land was wet and heavy, and produced but poorly, unless the season was long and Warm. In consequence Amos Thurlow was a poor man in comparison with his neighbor to the south. He was not much of a farmer, either, being more inclined to read books and papers than to till the soil. He was a man of great intelligence and probity, an inveterate: talker and humorist. He had a rugged family of children, consistingof four boys and two girls. In their younger days the boys were distinguished for nothing so: much as a love of noise and mischief. T'he straitened circumstances of Amos compelled him to work harder than he otheiwise would have done, and to require the same' of his boys, if he would keep even with the world. They were accordingly put early to the plow, and at an early agethe girls learned to spin and weave, make butter and cheese, and to cook, darn and sew. The children had inherited from their father a great love of reading, and had devoured everything of a nar- native or historical kind that came in their way. Newspapers were to them a luxury, and they early learned much that was goirg on in' the great world, and of which other boys of the neighborhood were ignorant. Yet they were a rough, frolic- some set, with no precocious, improbable and unhealthy vir- tues. In the winter time all four of them, Richard, Peabody, Lawrence and Benjamin, were up long befo re the break of day, of isboy, ifhe oud kepevn wththewold Thy er page: 34-35[View Page 34-35] ob . , -1'14! I .' THAXTERI. and after building a rousing fire of beach, birch and rock-m. ple, they would g6 to the barn and feed all the cattle and the old horse which, in respect for his years and long services, they had named the "Deacon," and then, until daylight, it was a series of rough' plavs, practical jokes and petty quarrels. Sometimes the turmoil would be so boisterous, that the deep voice of their, paternal progenitor would be heard coming-from his bed-room and enjoining silence.' Then would follow a few moments of" stillness that would last, perhaps, half a minute, when they would be all by the ears again. If the weather was not too severe, the youngsters would be out and engaged i' snow-balling eacliother; but if too cold for that, and nos severe enough, to keep them in doors entirely, they would slide down- the little hill at the back of the house on their hand-sleds by starlight in the morning, or skate over the broad sheet of ice dt the foot of it, whenever it was in a proper condition for th"at exercise. In the coldest weather, however, when it was too severe and blustering for them to venture out for their customary exer. cise, there was sure to be merry music in the kitchen. , Somei. times the noise would become so obstreperous that their father would come rushing out with his toilet far from complete, and jumping,in among-them, he would scatter them so quickly that in an instant, almost, they would be seated at their books' in differentl corners of the room, cocking up their eyes at him and snickering mischievously at each other. The girls were scarcely less noisy than the boys, and though they, made a poor hand at 'snow-balling, they were nothing backward when sliding down hill was the order. { ' The preliminaries of breakfast were attended to by the two 'daughters before their mnotler appeared. .The first gleam of daylight, however, always found her at the head of internal' affairs.. The old gentleman, too, was out by this time, and before many minutes the frugal breakfast would be smoking hot upon the table. Each boy and girl, too, would be seated, and eager' for the service to begin, and the appetites they brought to the work did ample, credit to the healtlhful'charac- ter of the country, as well as to the skill of the cooks who had prepared the meal. Farmer Thurlow had no sooner'finished his breakfast than he would say, "Come, boys, now for work," and leading the way, he and his boys were soon, on the road to the wood in BOYSO .0 Indian file, each with an axe on his shoulder. He worked t hard himself, because there was a necessity for it, and he ex- l pected his boys to work hard for the same reason. And they l did it willingly. They all felt that they'had a mutual interest in everything, and worked cheerfully. Each one was ashamed of appearing as if he wanted to shirk his share of the labor and '- toil requisite for their joint support. They were under little , restraint in their amusements, but were allowed to spend their evenings as they pleased, if they did not engage in anything intrinsically wrong. If they wanted to attend a dancing school or party, they were not forbidden 'because it. was wicked and ungodly to dance ; and when their school-mates called to spend an evening with them, Amos Thurlow thought they would be X as civilly and handsomely entertained if they engaged in a game of whist or " seven-up," as if engaged in the childish games to which more rigid parents restricted their children. Being thus at liberty to indulge in whatever pastime might please them, they cared little about dancing or cards, and they could hardly understand why their neighbors, the Kingman boys, whenever they came to see them, should be so fierce to have the cards'brought out. 'They had not yet learned that there is much fruit that only becomes sweet when it is for- bidden. The Kingman bloys were accustomed to very different treat- ment at home fi'om what the Thurlow boys received. They were sternly and severely governed, and knew little motive of obedience but fear. Their father was a hard, st rict! and avar- icious lman, and expected of his boys the same steady applica- tion at their work as of his hired laborers, though they had no motive to labor but the fear of the parental displeasure. They. worked on compulsion and hence slighted whatever labor they could, and thought it clear gain, and'were at their wits' end often devising ways and means to get money from their father's pocket, as much as if he had been their natural enemy. They were restricted in their games and amusements.- Deacon King- man was very severe in his condemnation of Mr. Thurlow, who, because of his allowing his boys to play at cards and attend dancing parties, he said, was bringing them up to be gamblers and godless sinners. Thurlow's boys, however, cared nothing about cards and never played except when some of their school- mates came to see them, while Kingman's would steal away into the barn, whenever they could get an old greasy pack, and * t page: 36-37[View Page 36-37] 36 . PHTITIP TrAXTlfi. though their teeth were chattering with the cold, they thought they were having rare fun. It chanced that as one day they were thus engaged their father stumbled in upon them. They were caught inflagrante delictu. It was vain to attempt to deny anything, for the proof of the crime was spread out in full view before the angry judge. A moment he stood breathless with surprise, but quickly catch- ing up the instruments of the dire offence he tore them one by one in pieces. "Didn't I tell you that if I ever caught you playing cards I would whip you?" said hp. - "tavn't I told you it was wicked that boys who play cards always turn up wicked men and gam- blers, and drunkards, and robbers ; that when they die they all -go to the wicked place; and hasn't the minister told you that? Where did you get these cards V" "Lawrence Thurlow gave them to us," timidly answered the oldest of the two delinquents. ' "Well, you are not to go with those Thurlow boys any more. Their father lets them go in the wav of the wicked one. Come off of the scaffold; I promised you a whipping, and you have got to take it." The boys descended and stood to their flogging like martyrs. "There," said their father, " you will get just double that amount if I ever catch you again at such work." No sooner had their respected sire left them to digest their flogging that the following dialogue took place between the hopeful sons: "Henry, where is the old pack?" "In my bdxl up garret. Let's go up there and play. The old fool - -just as if we can't play cards." So the two boys, after receiving their wholesome discipline, stole away to the garret to resume a game, whose only charm to them consisted in the fact that it was forbidden. In the meanwhile Deacon Kingman went over to Mr. Thur- low's to warn him to keep his boys at home, and not'lead the unsophisticated Kingmans in the way of temptation. But Mr. Thurlow was not at home, and he found the boys all busy split- ting and piling up wood. He asked the oldest one, Richard, which of them it was that gave the cards to his boys. "I didn't" said Richard, and so said each in turn. "My old pack was lbst out of my box last week. I had promised to give them to' Henry if I hadn't lost them," said Lawrence, "so I know he didn't take them."' . , BOYS. 87 , You promised to give them to him, did you, what did you proinise that for?" "( He teased me so, and as school will begin next Monday, I shan't have time to play' cards any more. Father has gone to the store to-day, and carried all the dried apples we have m ade this year, and I am to have a new 'rithmetic and history, so I shall have no time to play cards." "You did not give them 'the cards, then?" O no, but they may have them if they want them.. We have got another pack ;'though we have not played a game for a month. I don't care anything about cards." Hearing this, Deacon Kingman went home astonished that h1is own boys should be so perversely inclined to the wicked sport, while his 'neighbor Thurlow's had no taste for such amusements. "Why my boys," s'aid he to himself, " who are sent to church three times every Sunday, and to Sabbath school, and are always punished if they don't get'their lessons, should be so wickedly disposed, I don't understand. The ways of Providence are inscrutable. But I will cure them,"' ' said he aloud, gritting his teeth. ( I will cure them, or break their necks." In this pleasant -mood he entered his own door, when his wife told him a piece of news that did not at all calm his feel- ings. She had discovered an old fiddle that their oldest son, Walter, had bought, paving for it all his money that had been years in accumulating. Hex had been forbidden to attend the dancing school, and so had got a fiddle and music book to learn by himself-as best he could, and was in the habit of stealing out at night, when his parents thoughtihim abed, and going to the house of an old, broken down fiddler and' dancing master,. to learn of him the 'terpsichorean art. The fiddle went into , the:fire that night, and Walter received a solemn admonition. !, . , I . * " *i, page: 38-39[View Page 38-39] COIKE TER V. . * . STRIPES. IN another consultation held in the kitchen of good r. True- body, it was decided that a home should be offered to Philip Thaxter. But how to offer it to hlni without giving offence to Luke Philbrick was the difficulty.. Rennie Truebody was accus- tomed to attend to his own affairs, and not interfere with those of his neighbors. He despised intermeddlers, and had a fear that he should be interesting himself in that which was none of his business, if he held out an inducement to Philip to leave Luke Philbrick. But his wife had less squeamiishness on that point. It was a duty. she said, to offer a refuge to that poor, perse- cuted boy, and it was wrong, it was weak, to be deterred from duty by the eyes or tongues of other people. So it was deter- mined that' Philip should be notified that another home was open to him. In the meantime; unpleasant stories were circu- lating in the neighborhood, in regard to the cruel treatment that Philip was receiving. The neighbors were talking about it, and one of themn, Mr. Thurlow, had even remonstrated with Luke on the matter. But LLke advised him to mind his own business, for he would tolerate- no interference with his private affairs. f That night there were heard fearl sounds coming from the house of Luke Philbrick, and the next day Philip was not at school, and when little Eliza was asked by another girl, what the noise was about, at their house, the night before, she at once burst' out crving, and her two sisters soon joined her from sympathy. 'It was evident that Philip had received a terrible beating-perhaps to atone vicariously for the inter- ference of Mr. Thurlow in his behalf-and that his daughters had seen and heard what had grieved and troubled them sorely, but of which they might not speak. It was ; 11 known in the neighborhood that Luke Philbrick was a hard man and inordinately fond of money. He had little intercourse with his neighbors, for the home circle was all in all to him. Iis three pretty daughters he regarded with a tenderness and love quite inexplicable to everybody who witnessed his harsh, stern demeanor to all else. His wife, meek and gentle, was too yielding and sensitive to have any restraining influence over him, or to stand between him and anything with which he was displeased. She pitied Philip, as did her daughters, but she was powerless, to protect him, and when the boy was sent away with a blow, it was not he alone that was hurt. Luke seemed to be aware- of this, and hated him for it. ,Had he known that the boy was friendless, unhappy, and uncared for, he would not probably have gone out of his way to give him an extra kick, any more than to his horse or dog, but feeling that there was a sense of pity and sympathy felt for him by his wife and daughters, he cordially hated him as an: enemy, or poacher, that was getting what belonged to him, and which he wished to monopolize. He was especially jealous of every one that the girls loved, fdr he wanted all their love to himself. He seemed to feel that he was not cared for by his neighbors, and he wanted to be loved by some one. Sometimes he thought of sending Philip away, but knowing that his neighbors all thought himdiligent and faithful, and that he would doubtless remain in the neighbor-, hood and attend the same school, and would still be regarded with affection by his family, when it would no longer be in his power to punish him for taking that which belonged Ito him- self, he forbore to do it. It was a bitter, cold morning in January. Long before the first gray of the morning could be seen in the east, Philip was up, and had got a roaring fire in the kitchen. One after ano- tl'er, the girls came out from their bed-rooms, the oldest ones dressed in their warm woolen frocks, while little Eliza came trot- ting out bare-foot, over the glazed, cold floor, in her night gown. The bright, bla:ing fire made her wink and turn away from it, and Philip could not help putting his arms ardund her neck and kissing her. He then took the tea-kettle to the purmp and filled it with water, and placing it-ever the fire, went to the barn, fed the cattle with hay, cut the ice-from the watering trough, led the horses to the water, and' did up such other chores as could be done so early and in the absence of day- page: 40-41[View Page 40-41] 40 PHtTT P 'HAXTER. light. By the time he got back to the kitchen, Luke was up and drest, sitting before the fire, one of the younger; children on each knee, while the oldest was busy helping her mother about the breakfast. ' Luke was the very picture of happiness as he trotted'the pretty"girls up and down on his knees. "Come, girls, get ready for breakfast," said their mother, when Luke, putting them, down, took his hat and went to the barn to see that everything had been properly attended to by Philip. ' Unhappy boy! since he had been there one of the large oxen had got loose, and was hooking the other cattle, so that just as Luke entered the barn one of them roared out in pain and fright. Luke quickly put a stop to that fun, and turning the loose ox into the yard, went back into the house to wreak his vengeance on Philip. As he opened the door into the kitphen they were sitting down to breakfast. "-Come out here, Philip," said he, in a voice that betokened no good. Philip drew a long breath, but immediately obeyed. Mrs. Philbrick turned pale, and so did her eldest daughter, while the two others at-once began to cry. Luke re-opened the door immediately, and, they all hoped that they had been mistaken in their surmises. But they were soon undeceived, for Luke went to his private' desk and drew forth a long, heavy, new cowhide, the existence of which, neither of them knew of before. At the sight of this, Eiiza broke out afresh, and Susan laid her head on the table and sobbed. Mrs. Philbrick said: a"Why, Luke, you are not going to use that dreadful thing?" "I'll see about that," gruffly answered he, " girls, silence." Philip had gone out to the wood-shed, the ordinary whipping ground, where he stood trembling. For what he was to be whipped he had not the most remote idea, but that a terrible flogging was close at hanrd, he had a dread misgiving. "Philip," said Luke, approaching and taking him by the col- lar so that his large knuckles pushed forward his head in the manner of the garote, " why did you let that ox loose to hook the other cattle?" "Wh-which ox?" said Philip. "The line-back, you young rascal, you know well enough which it was," and with this, the cow-hide began to sing through the air, and the piercing screams of Philip could have been heard far and near for a'great distance. Overi his shoulders "t , . ? - STRIPES. 41 about the legs, and down the back, the cruel raw-hide was played most vigorously, whenever the turning -nd twisting body of the boy offered the fairest chance for a blow. The stripes andsthe screaming were kept up for a long time and until Mrs. Philbrick could bear it no longer. She had steeleid herself to listen to the cries of the poor boy, but they came up so piercing and endured so long that she could not restrain her- self, but rushing out she caught the arm of her stalwart hus- band and said : "Why, Luke, you will kill the boy'." The admonition seeme -to recall him to his senses, for he at once ceMased from his savage work, and sulkily entered the house. ;' He sat down to his breakfast, but there was no one to eat a morsel, besides himself, and it was with difficulty that he could appear to eat. ' Philip came not into the house, but went again to the barn. He stood a moment after he entered, and half resolved to run away and trust to fortune to give him a better home. But whither should he direct his steps? Hehad no relative in the world, and there'was no one on whom he had a right to- call. His only friends still were in Luke Philbrick's family, so, not- withstanding Luke's brutality, he resolved to stay and brave it out awhile lounger. .No, he would not run away yet. After these reflections he went to see how it was that the ox had got loose, and found that he had broken the stanchion, so i that the fault could not possibly have been his. "ILufee Phil- brick," said he to himself, " you will remember this morning." That day Philip did not go to school. He was kept busy at the barn. The girls, too, begged that they might stay at home.' Every blopw of Luke's had inflicted a wound on their tender *sensibilities, and they were too lacerated for them to meet their school-mates with merry faces and happy hearts, as usual. But Luke brought the sleigh to the door, and then there was nothing for them to do but to hurry on their cloaks and bonnets, and away to school. The next day, Philip went as usual. In the old-fashroned school-house of that day, two boys or two girls of near the same age occupied the same seat and desk. Philip usually sat in the seat with Ben Thurlow, and did during this winter. They were special friends, Philip and Ben, though of very dif- ferent dispositions. Philip was studious and observant, but page: 42-43[View Page 42-43] 42. PHLIP THAXTER. I Ben was a dreamer'. iIe learned with little study, and instead of plodding over arithmetic and grammar, he lived, thus eArly, in a sort of ideal world. The master of the school for that winter, was a severe dis- ciplinarian, and allowed no whispering or playing in school hours. I[But Ben and Philip did whisper, nevertheless, and Ben asked Philip why he did not come to school the day before. " Because," answered Philip, "Mr. Philbrick whipped me so that I couldn't come. See here," turning back his cuff and showingo where thO cow-hide had cut through the skin on his ha:ds and wrists. "What was it for?" inquired Ben. Philip was just beginning to tell him of the unfortunate affair of the ox when he and Ben were both startled by the ioud voice of the master calling out, "Philip Thaxter and Benjamin Thurlow, come up here." They both went forward to the desk. t What were you whispering about?" said the teacher. "I prefer not to tell," said Philip. "But you must tell," said the master. "What was it, Benjamin?" "He was telling'he was telling how Mr. Philbrick whipped him ;o that he could not come to school yesterday." ( Whiipped him, did he? No doubt he deserved it, as you both do that other whipping which I aml going to give you now. - "( Don't whip Philip any-more," said Ben. I am willing you should whip me." Here Ben began to cry. "Why not whip Philip?" inquired the master. Look at his hands," answered Ben. The teacher took hold of Philip's hands, and asked the'cause of those marks. Philip refused a word. i "Take off your coat, Philip," sternly exclaimed the mas- ter. - There was profound silence throughout the school-room. A theavy scowl was on the master's face. Poor little Elza Phil. brick nestled-up to her elder sister and smothered her sobs in her lap. They all thought thatf Philip was to have a severe flogging anl' they pitied him, for besides that he was a favorite, they all kne r, that he had a hard lot enough at home, and in \ * , STRIPES. 43 , . . , their hearts they instinctively rebelled against the impending. punishment. Philip mechanically took off his coat, as directed, and folding it up laid it on a low seat in front of the fire. - "Don't whip Philip; it was my fault," ,whimpered Ben. "Silence!." thundered the master. "Roll up your shirt sleeves, Philip." Philip obeyed, and revealed a pair of arms -covered wit} stripes. In some places the skin was cut through and through, and all up and down from the hand to the shoulder, the" black blood was settled beneath the inflamed surface. "Come into the back room," said' the master, leading the way into a small apartment behind his desk which was used as, a receptacle for the girls' cloaks and bonnets. Philip followed him, when the master casting back a fright. ful scowl into the school-room, closed the door "Take off your shirt, Philip," said he. Quickly as his sore limbs would allow, Philip dropped his shirt from his shoulders and disclosed a back completely scored up and down by the relentless :cow-hide. In some places the skin had been cut through till the blood had flowed, and over such had gathered a healing scab. Elsewhere the dark;blood had settled, and above it the skin was feverish and glassy. The blows had fallen so close together that the whole surface of the back was in a state of inflammation. The teacher looked at the lacerated flesh for a moment, and thenopening the door X into the school-room, said: "Richard Thurlow, Andrew Kidder, and John Gibson, come in here, These three, being the largest of the boys, and the best scholars, obeyed, and going into the room closed the door. "Do you see that, boys?" said the master. "( I think I see jmyself laying another flogging on top of that! See, the skin shines and burns like a bottle of, hot water. When did 1Mr. Philbrick whip you, Philip? ' ' "Yesterday morning." "What for?" . "Because the ox broke his stantial."- "Well, put on your shirt and vest, go back into the school room and put on your coat, and then take your seat." Then turning to the large boys, he said, "What is to be done in this matter?" page: 44-45[View Page 44-45] " PHLIP TIIAXTEr. - "I think," said Richard Thurlow, " that Philip had better not go back to Luke Philbrick's." "Well, you have all seen the poor, boy's back, and I want you to remember how it was cut up, in case any trouble grows out of it." They all now returned to the school-room, and as it was near night, the spelling elasses were called out and put through 'their lessons. There was no whispering, laughing or giggling that night. After the regular exercises of the day were con- e cluded, the teacher said, "The school will arise." When they, had all arisen, and were expecting to be dismissed, he said to them, "I wish you all to tell your parents that there will be a school meeting this evening, and I request that every man in the district should attend. Philip Thaxter will go home with me this evening. You are dismissed." That evening every man in the district was at the school house-save only Luke ]Philbrick. The children had fa'th- fully reported the teacher's message, and. also what they lad seen in the school-room. It was evident that Philip's suffer- ings at the hands of Luke Philbrick were soon to come to an end. Everybody in the neighborhood had known that he had been grossly abused, but, like Mr. Truebody, they did not like to interfere with the domestic affairs of other people, and as everybody's business is sure to be d one'by nobody, the boy. had been left to his fate. But the thing could be blinked no longer. When they had all assembled, the master stepped forward to announce the object of the meeting. He described the ap- pearance of the lacerated boy, and told them they must do;; something, for if such objects were to be sent to him he would give up the school. Various opinions were expressed by dif- ferent parties as to what should be done under the circum- stances. One said Luke should be taken up and bound over to the District Court. Another, that Philip should be taken away, and Luke left to his own conscience. Others again thought that the selectmen should go and talk with Luke, and make him promise to be more merciful in future. Deacon Kingman thought they should not /be rash. "We all know he is a bad boy, or else h'e would not have been puna ished so severely." "He' is not a bad boy," quickly answered the master. "He don't*make half the trouble'in school that either of your boys STRIPES. . 45 do, and is a better'schlolar, too; though; he don't attend more than half the time, and has no books to study when he does conle.-" . "Come, come," said Mr. Thurlow, " let us not get personal. Let us see what we can do for the boy, and go home. I don't think it is our business to look after Luke. Leave him to his own reflections. Though I am a poor man, as you all know, and have a house full of children, yet rather than that he should go back there again, he shall go to my house and be, welcome to the same fare as my children." j "You need not trouble )yourself on that, score," said our old friend Truebody. "If it is a place- that is wanted for him, he can have it at my house and welcome. I shall be glad to have him. I want a boy, and as I see no signs of having any of my own in a hurry, I will gladly take Philip. I have known for a long time he was badly used, and would have offered to take him before, but I did not like to meddle with my neighbor's affairs." This proposition suited every one;, and so it was agreed that Philip should not go back to Luke Philbrick's, but live with old Mr. Truebody. The master took the welcome word to him when he went to his boarding-place.- Philip cried himself to sleep that night. if % .. ^ page: 46-47[View Page 46-47] CHAPTER VI. SIIADOWS. "UKE Philbrick was not a little indignant when he learned that his treatment of Philip had been the subject of neighbor- hood talk. When his children came home from school and told him what they had witnessed at school, and that Philip had gone home with the master and a school-meeting had been called, hd at first thought he would attend and defend himself. He afterwards thought better of it, and kept awav. The next day he met one of the Kingman boys and asked him " what they were making such a fuss about up to, the school-house." From him hb learned by close, questioni g, the severe com- ments that had been passed on his conduct, and that the flog- ging he had given Philip had, to use the boy's own expression, "taken the skin clean off his bare back." Now Luke was a proud man, notwithstanding his austerity. He wished to be both respected and feared by his neighbors, and was in great indignation that they should- venture to censure his conduct or interfere with his affairs. He was sullen and cross to have fallen thus in the public esteem, and, like an oyster when dis- turbed, shut himself more closely in his shell. He now hated his neighbors and he hated everybody save bis own family. His love for his three pretty daughters was in- tense. His neighbors who knew-his generally harsh nature - could not understand his exceeding tenderness and affection for his children. But they little understood him. He. had been a man of strong natural feelings and delicate sensibilites, but a cloud had come out of the sky long years before and chilled his affections. His wife he had never loved, but she was of that gentle nature that he could not be otherwise than kind to her.- His three ,daughters were the whole world to SiHADOWS. 47 him. His nature, so rude and stern to others, was to them all gentleness and affection. He would teach them ;their lessons; would slide with them on the ice and snow, or fiolic with them in the house. He would tell them-stories by the hour, and listen eagerly to all their childish prattle, and when he thought no one was observing him, he would gaze at them intently till the blood stood in his eyes. Why was it? Had he a pre-mo-" nition of the future? I know not. It was a cold, miserably raw day in Marich, about two months after Philip had been driven forth :by Luke's cruelty, and had had found-shelter elsewhere. Luke had been out all the morning, getting ready his farming tools for the labors of the Spring. At about eleven o'clock in the forenoon he had come in to rest awhile and- talk to his pets. They were all gath. ered near the window, and were examining a new story book which he had brought them the day before. Lucy, the oldest, was Leading to the other two, who were listening so intently that when their father entered and tookl' his seat by the fire, they did not run to him as usual and climb upon his knees. He accordingly sat still while Lucy began to read the GrTOY OF THE SEAL. / "There -was once a family living on the northern coast of Ireland, consisting of a man, his wife, and three little girls. "That is just like us," said little Eliza. The father loved his daughters very dearly, and they loved him dearly. "That is us," said Susan, running up to her father and throwing her arms around his peck and kissing him. It was a very happy family. The children did not know what grief and sorrow were, till one day their dear, kind mo- ther fell sick, and in a few days died and was buried. The poor children were very sad when their mother died, and the heart of their father was almost broke. They all-shea many tears when she was carried ont to be laid in the cold ground. But after awhile they seemed to forget their loss, and in a}:ear were happy and played again. Their father had a small farm and kept a few cows, some chickens and a pig. He worked very hard that he might keep his children in plenty, and oftentimes would go off in his boat: to catch fish, which he would carry to the nearest town to sell at " page: 48-49[View Page 48-49] 48 PHLIP THAXTER. in exchange for warm dresses, shoes, toys and books for his little girls. \ , At one time, when he had been out thus, and was coming back, having had no luck, he was just puling in his boat to the shore when, he saw on the beach a poor little seal that had apparently strayed away from home or been abandoned by the old ones." "That is like Philip was," whispered Susan, not intending that her father shouldh ear. ("Yes, Philip is the seal," exclaimed little Eliza. "Pead; on, sister, about the seal." Luke appeared not to notice anything, but he had caught every word. "Heigho," says the fisherman to- himself, "I shall have a nice present for my darlings, if I have not caught any fish.'" So he picked up the seal, put it in hig basket, and trudged home, His children were delighted with his present, and were like to have killed it with kindness. It-was so playful and cunning that it afforded them continual amusement;. The girls delighted to feed it, and had a nice warm house for it to sleep in; but t e seal preferred to sleep in the chimney corner, and if they were fnot up bright and early in the morning to play with 'it, they would hear it scratching and barking at their bed-room door. i 1 Thus the fisherman lived very happily with his daughters, and the seal was a favorite with them' all, till a black murrain came among his cattle. First the old cow, the best of all he had, was taken with the distemper, and in a short, time' died. 'I'hele was great sorrow in the house for her loss, for she wasla favorite with the children because she was so kind and gentle. But in a few days after the old cow was dead another one was taken and died in the same way. The poor man was in great distress for the loss of his cows, for he depended much on their milk to support his children. When therefore, a third one was taken with the disease he sent for an old witch that lived near by to come and tell him what it was that caused his cattle to die. The old hag came, and seeing nothing else to attribute it to said the seal was an evil spirit and that no good could come, to the house till it was driven away. It was not well, she said, to kill the animal, but it must be carried away so far that it would never return. -SHADOWS, 49 The poor fisherman was very superstitious and believed all the old woman told him, and without saying a word to them- for he knew it would grieve them nearly to death to part with the seal-he took it in his boat as soon as it was dark and rowed away out to sea and beyond the rocky point from whence he thought the poor creature would never find its way back to the house. He then threw the animal overboard, and rowing quickly back to the shore returned to his house. The children were in great sorrow the next day at the loss of the seal; they hunted for it in every nook and corner, and wandered up and down the beach calling it by name; but it was nowhere-to be found. That night there was sad lamentation in the fisherman's cot- tage. The children were all crying bitterly when they thought that they must go to bed and not see the seal again. But hark! there is a scratching heard at the door. Quickly they rush to open it and the poor seal dragged its weary body into the house. Never was guest more welcome. How its eyes sparkled, and how glad it looked up into the faces of its old friends, and how affectionately'it licked the hand that the night before had so cruelly thrown it into the sea. The seal slept in its old place by the fire that night, and the children went happily to bed. The next morning the third cow was dead and a fourth was attacked like the others. The poor ignorant fisherman still believing what the old witch had told him, that it was the seal that brought the i murrain, the next night took it again into his boat and'carried it so far out to sea and so far--up the coast that he believed it impossible that it should ever get back to his house a second time. Again he'threw it into the sea, and the next day was his house again desolate. . They waited up late that night for the seal to return, and when it came not they went in sorrow and tears to their beds. But they were up early in the morning, and great was their joy, when they entered the kitchen, to find the seal curled up and asleep in his accustomed place in the chimney corner. That day died- the last cow but one, of all the poor man had., 'He was now sorely perplexed as to what he should do. He knew it was a cruel and wicked thing to treat the poor harmless seal thus, yet h"e dared not keep it about the house for the old witch had told him it was an evil spirit. He thought - " , --3 I " , page: 50-51[View Page 50-51] 50 \ PHLIP THAXTER. too that it must be so or else it would never have got back from so far awa y at sea. He also thought it must hold his children by, a spell, else they would not be so much attached to it. So the next night he again took the poor inoffensive creature in his boat and again put to sea. The poor animal looked pit- eously into his face, and begged whiningly not to be carried out again; but the deluded man was inexorable. For the third time he rowed far out to sea, and then, taking his knife froim his poqket, he cut out the eyes from the poor creature and again threw it into the ocean. The next day the lament for the seal was renewed, but it was not so loud as before, for now they believed that -it would soon return again. But it came not that night, and the next day the poor chil-l dren wandered about the cove seeking it and calling its name. When night cgme again and the seal returned not the wail- of the disconsolate children was louder than ever. They only ceased to cryI when they fell asleep, and the next morning were up early to look for it in its accustomed place on the hearth. It was not there, yet the oldest girl said she heard its cry in the night. They opened the outer door to look for it, and there upon the steps the poor thing lay dead, its empty sockets glaring at them as they ldoked out. rhe next day the last of the poor fisherinan's cattle died. Soon after the youngest of his children, she that was most attached to the seal, was taken sick, and before the next morn- ing "Stop, give me that book," exclaimed Luke convulsively, advancing and taking it- from her. The vo'ce of Lucy, which had been faltering before, broke down at the first words of her father, and the other two whose eyes had been overflowing for some -time, now burst out crying beyond control. - Luke' took the book and read the conclusion of the story to himself. It continued. "Soon after the youngest of his children, she that was most attached to the seal, was taken sick, and before the next morn- ing was dead. The poor fisherman's house was now indeed the house of mourning. There was nothing but lamentation all through it, and the poor distracted man fancied that above all he could SHADOWS. 51 hear the last sad shriek of the seal as he thrust his knife into its eyes and cast it into the sea. The child was buried. The same night a great storm arose. The sea was wild, and came dashing up towards the fisher- man's cottage much higher than had ever been known before. The wind blew a terrific hurricane, and the sea arose many feet higher than its level in the little cove -near which stood this house of affliction. The voice of the seal was heard over all. The waves came dashing up towards the house, and the sandy foundation was giving way. The poor man gathered his two remaining little ones to him, and was preparing to leave the house when a great wave came tiumbling into the cove and completely dashed it to pieces. The fisherman was flung on shore by a subsequent wave, and he ran up and down cal-- ling on his daughters, hoping that they too might have been washed ashore. But he was answered only by the piercing shriek of the s6al; which he heard above the roar of the wind and waves. Since then he wanders up and down the coast, an insane old man, calling upon the sea to give him back his chil- dren. But they answer back only the dismal shriek of the seal.' ' Luke closed the book, and unobserved threw it into thn'fire. ,For five minutes he sat motionless, while a deep pallor, entirely' unusual to him, overspread his countenance. With a convul- sive shudder he soon aroused himself, and turning to his chil- dren, who--were whispering among themselves, his face beamed on them with a depth of affection, known only to those earnest natures that have seen sorrow. What had he seen in this re- Verie? Shadows? ' '. . page: 52-53[View Page 52-53] CHO APTER VII. A NEW HOME. A NEW life opened to Philip Thaxter, when he went to live with farmer Truebody. The evening that took him to his new home was the happiest of his short and hitherto miserable ex- istence. He found good Mistress Truebody and Aunt Tempe, both impatiently awaiting his arrival with a grand display of warm neck-comforters, woolen mittens and socks, and such undercloths as [hey could prepare for him on the short notice allowed them. They imagined 'that as he had been so cruelly whipped, he had also been half fed and clad. This to a great extent, had been true, for though the kind- hearted Mrs. Philbrick had ever tried her utmost to give him abundant food and clothing, she found that the more she did for him the worse he was treated by her husband. He could not bear to see his wife and children show him any kindness, and if he ever saw him with a garment of better material than usual, which his wife had prepared for him, he would in mere wantonness destroy it before his eyes, and soon after, find a pretext for one of his merciless floggings. A tone of sympathy in the house for the unhappy lad was sure to be succeeded ere long by the more grateful music to Luke's ears--the singing of the switch. In his new home Philip was assigned the few " chores " which he was expected to do, morning and evening. These he did promptly, and took pains, not only to do everything well, but to find out beforehand what there was that he cduld do, and do it before being told. Aunt Tempe said she believed he was the best boy in the world. He was now provided with books,; a luxury he had never known before.. Though eager to learn, he had never had any- A NEW HOME. \ 53 thing to study when at school but an old English reader, an Adams' arithmetic and a spelling-book. These he learned almost by heart from beginning to end, and yet many an hour he had been obliged to sit at his desk, forbid to look around, to whisper, laugh or play, and yet with nothing to engage his attention before him. So it was with one half the school. The parents, good, honest people, thought that they were doing all that duty required, or their means would permit, when they sent their children to school even if they had nothing to study. Knowledge, they seemed to think, would be crammed ihto their childrens' heads at school whether they had any books or not. They still held the opinion of the early Dutch settlers of New York, as related by that authentic historian, Diedrich Knick- erbocker, that there was a wonderful sympathy between' the seat of honor and the seat of knowledge, and that the best way to get knowledge into the head was to hammer it in at the bottom. No wonder that with no books to engage their attention, the children were mischievous and noisy, and that the poorest scholars were generally the most troublesome. Without books they could learn little besides mischief, for they had nothing else to engage their attention,-and children must and will be engaged at something, unless they are naturally too dull and stupid to observe what is going on around them. With a good supply of books Philip was soon at the head of all his classes. Hie was not naturally soquick as Ben Thurlow, but had more application, for Ben, as was said before, was a dreamer, and when he opened his geography and read of the inhabitants of distant countries, some living in splendid cities,. and others on the remote and beautiful islands of the Pacific, he would let his imagination run riot, and resolve that, at some time, he would wander forth to those distant regions. Philip still retained a warm affection for the daughters of his former master, and every day carried a-fine pippin to school for each of them, and, when he could safely, he was always con- triving some way to help them over a hard lesson, and hbe got' his ears boxed sundry times for whispering answers to them at recitation. The school was drawing near its close for the winter, when Philip noticed that neither of his little friends was present for two days. What had happened to keep them at home? The third morning he learned the sad news that their affectionate *, page: 54-55[View Page 54-55] 54 PHLIP THA/XTEK. mother, his own kind friend, was dead. She had' died that morning at sunrise. Philip grieved very much for her loss, not so much on his own account as on that of her daughters, and even for Luke he' had a feeling of compassion. He could have forgiven him that day for all the undeserved blows he had re- ceived from him. After the funeral Luke was more reserved than ever. He associated with nobody, but staid at home and watched over his little ones. He got a matronly old woman to act as housekeeper, and was thinking of selling out, and leaving that part of the country, when his youngest child, his sweet, tempered, prattling, and -beautiful little Eliza, fell sick. bhe had been playing about the house very happily through the day till towards night, when Luke was sitting in the parlor she came in, and laying her head upon his bosom, said she was sick. Luke took her up, looked in her face, andta death-like pallor - overspread his countenance. He laid her down upon his own bed, and sent at once for the physician. But he had no faith in medicine for her. To:his mindit was as clear that death was at hand as though he had heard the last rattle. She died the same night. . , At the school, the next winter, the two remaining girls at. tended at its commence nent. But they were no longer the gay and happy children o0 the year before. They were staid and sad-, and Philip fancied that Susan's cough had, an ugly sound. At any rate, she was detained at home after a few weeks, and it was soon reported through the school that she had the consumption. The spring came with its soft winds, but it brought no hope to Luke Philbrick; no strength not bloom to his fading flower. When the first morning of June entered, -Death came also, and stood beside her couch. The early sun streamed with its bright beams through the window, and fell upon the face of the beloved one, near whom stood her wretched father. So calm had she been for the last half hour, that they knew not whether she. slept or her spirit had passed away. But the rays of the sun, as they fell athwart her face, told that death had done its work and fled at their approach. After the loss of this second child, Luke, by a strong effort, appeared an altered man. He associated with his neighbors, and encouraged his sole remaining daughter, the only hope of his life new left to him, to mingle in society. He knew, if she brooded with him at home over the memory of the lost, she, too, would soon follow them to the unseen world. He endeav- A NEW HOME. 55 ored to assume a more cheerful air, and instead of living like a recluse, he invited much company to his house, and sought in eyery way possible to dispel the recollections of the past from the mind of his only child. But there was one young person whom he could not tolerate, and whom he would never allow to be invited to the house. This was Philip Thaxter. The men- tion of his name would excite him to a passion, and hence he Was seldom alluded to. Philip in the mean while was living a. life of comparative east and comfort with his good friends, the Truebody's. It was a sore loss to'him, the death of Susan and Eliza Philbrick, and he felt that it would be a great relief to him if he could occasionally visit Lucy, and with her talk of the loved and gone. But that he could not do, and gradually the thought of Luke Philbrick and his family came to occupy but a small place in his mind. He had an excellent home, and for four years he lived with his kind friends, working on the farm through the spring and summer, attending the district school during the winter, and a private or high-school during the fall, if such a thing happened to be kept in the neighborhood.!: His life was unvaried and happy. He read the newspapers and talked poli- tics with Mr. Truebody, and looked after the geese and chick- ens of Aunt Tempe as faithfully as the aged spinster could desire. His,lines were fallen in pleasant places. His friends were proud of him, and gave him not only the -advantages of the public schools, but sent him away to a famous school-teacher named Pidgin, in the neighboring town of Holway, who was reputed to have a wonderful faculty of imparting instruction, and to have great skill in educating young men to be teachers. To this man's school Philip was sent for one quarter, to qualify for a teacher, as he was vain enough to think that he was com- petent to teach school, and had engaged to try his hand at the business in the district adjoining the one where he lived. The qualifications of a school-teacher at this time in the country towns of New England were of a limited character. In arithmetic he must be po far advanced as to be able to do all the i" sunms " that might be brought to him by his pupils. He must understand the rules of English grammar so as to be able to parse ordinary prose, and also "Pope's Essay -on Man." He must have a slight knowledge of geography, and write a tolerably fair hand. Further than this he was seldom exam- ined by the school committee. If he understood these elemen- I ! t, . page: 56-57[View Page 56-57] 56 PHTTP THAXTER. tary branches even so superficially as this, he was given a certificate, ana was authorized by the school agent after the service was performed to draw his pay of the town treasurer. The reform in the school system of the country which had been inaugurated about this time in and about the metropolis of New England, by a distinguished and earnest philanthropist, had not yet reached the interior and remote towns, and child- ren were growing up with little better advantages than their fathers had enjoyed forty years before. Philip stood his examination so well that neither of the com- mittee objected to giving him a certificate. Accordingly, duly commissioned, he set forth on a Monday morning, the 4th day of December, to the ungrateful task of keeping a country school. "* ' ' q- CHAPTER VIII, THE SCHOOCTMASTERo "DELIGHTFUL task," says Cowper, "to rear the tender thought;" and so it might be, if the teacher had to deal only with the children. But with the parents to war upon him, the task of a district school teacher is one of the mo t thank- less to which a human being can be subjected. He is thrown among strange children, some tractable and loveable, others sullen, dirty and vicious. He:learns their dispositions, and governs himself accordingly. He tries to make them all learn, and labors assiduously to that end. But he soon hears un- pleasant whisperings from the outside. Some sharp-voiced woman. whose home-abused child'he has cuffed for spitting in 4 the face of the equally hopeful progeny of another woman, is indignant at such cruel treatment; and when her children are all present, she inveighs bitterly against such a brute of a master. She won't have her children abused so; no, she won't. She will take them out of school first. She questions her in- teresting family regarding all that the master does, and when they bring their complaints to her, she threatens to have the School Committee called upon, and have him turned out. Of course the next day the children endeavor to be as troublesome as they dare, and if punishment is visited tpon them, they run home with Sad complaints, when the question of turning out the teacher is again discussed.' If the neighbors can Be in- duced to enlist themselves with the father or mother of the wronged family, then the Committee must step in, and subject - the teacher to the terrible ordeal of a trial before his pupils and their parents. But if the neighbors do not sympathize with the wronged family, and aid in turning out the "1 brute," the parents then show their spirit by taking their children out. i - ' '* page: 58-59[View Page 58-59] 58 i PHLIP THAXTER. of school, and cuffing, scolding, and whipping them at home till their own patience is exhausted, when they are sent back, with the injunction to let them know if the master dares to raise his hand against any of them. If to these miseries be added inexperience, and a half dozen wild, ignorant,vicious, ,and overgrown boys, caring nothing for improvement, and only attending school for mischief, then the position of the schoolmaster is surely no sinecure. Philip thought very little, however, of all these difficulties. He had'always had the good will of his school-fellows, and did not doubt but he could secure that of his pupils. He was am- bitious to excel as a teacher, and intended to put in practice some of the new ideas he had learned at Master Pidgini's school at Holway. Full of zeal and hope he set out bright and early" to his new field of labor. It was a raw, cold, morning. The sun scarcely struggled through the hazy clouds that seemed to be frozen too hard to give down their burden of snow. But evidently the snow would fall very soon, as soon as the weather could moderate sufficiently. The school-house, where Philip was to essay his skill as a pedagogue, stood on a little ,knoll or ridge that was situated in a valley between two large hills. The main road running north and south, passed directly over these two hills, and in front of the school-house. The people of the district were dividend into two factions, those living to the north of the school- house composing one faction, and those living to the south the other. There was each year a great combat as to which should have the school-agent. If north-enders, as they were called, had him, they were pretty sure to be satisfied with the teachers he might hire, but if the southenders had the agent--they could see nothing but incompetency in master or mistress. The south-enders were equally illiberal and unjust towards- the teachers, unless the agent that engaged them was one of their number, so that every teacher, whatever his merits or defects, was sure to have bitter enemies, if not strong friends, and that before he had begun his school. Signs of this were to be seen by Philip as soon as he came in sight of the school-house. The whole school, boys and girls alie,; were standing out of doors, cold as it was, and waiting his appearance. The agent this year was a north-ender, and the boys from that section were prepared to be pleased with him. 'Accordingly when he appeared on the brow of the hill, they all ? i THE SCHOOL-MASTER. 59 quietly entered the school-room and tookl their seats. Models of propriety they all appeared to be, and much horrified at their south-end neighbors, who had lingered outside till after the master had come in and taken his seat at the 'desk. Directly, however, they all came crowding in with a great noise and "stomping" on the floor like so many wild buffaloes. They quickly gathered around the large fire place and completely shut out the warmth from those who were in their seats. Philip at first paid no attention to them, but busied himself for a few minutes as best he could, fumbling about his desk \ and allowing them full time to get warm. "Take your seats froim the fire," he then said. All obeyed and the usual order of exercises was begun, and everything moved along quietly till recess time, when as soon as the boys got outside the door the new master was fully discussed, That he made a great mistake in his first order was allowed on all hands,-and that he did not appear so affable, and "( not stuck up" as the last teacher, even the north-enders admitted. i, Mr. Benson didn't begin in, that way," said Lovett'Clark, a coarse-grained tobacco chewer, " and he was as good a mas- ter as. I want. He' didn't order me to my seat the first thing as this man did, but he came and shook hands all round." "Then what did you try and turn him out for?" said Chand- ler Loring. "'Because he was a fool nat'rally, and I didn't want a fool to larn me." "This man arn't no fool," said Loring; " but then;he puts on too many airs. I am two years older than he, and I don't care about having him straddlin' over me; and I won't if he is from our end." From, Philip's manner when he first entered, they had in- ferred that he- had an undue sense of his own im-portance, and it had been a practice with them unless the master would as- so'iate with them on terms of perfect equality, to turnhim out. He must snow-ball with them at noon-time, attend their speak- ing and spelling schools in the evening, or meet with them at their homes and spend his evenings in playing with themf at their games, eating apples and drinking cider, and then, if he did not require them to learn anything in school hours, he passed for a good master. Philip would probably have conformed to their notions, had he understood them at first, in all things except in the matter : , i -- . . . .'.. page: 60-61[View Page 60-61] 60 PHTTTP THAXTER- of study. tie was ambitious to excel as a teacher, and that he could not do unless the scholars would apply themselves. But he had made a mistake at the outset.' The scholars said he "felt big," and they would not be pleased. The-parents of the north-enders didnot approve of this in- cipient dislike which they manifested, and in some instances restrained itp expression in their children, but not many. The larger boys disliking the master, of course the smaller one's did the same. But it was those older than he was that annoyed him most. Sometimes they would fill his desk with snow, and no one would know who did it; again they would write impudent and vulgar words on the blackboard or walls, and yet they would all saythey " didn't do it, and didn't see, any body doit." If anything was to be done of this kind, one pupil would write a letter or word and then turn his eyes away for another to write' the next, and another the next, so that if inquired of about it, each one could say that he- didn't either do it or see it done. At another time, some public-spirited rebel would invest a cent of his own money in -snuff, and at recess time pass it round among both boys and girls, so that when they re-entered the room there would be a general fit of sneezing ,from the oldest to the youngest-r-chu-hee would begin some little fel- low on the front seat, which exercise would require the imme- diate use of a handkerchief, that, as the urchin usually did not have, he substituted his sleeve for. His dilemma could not Iqng detain the master's attention, however, for a general stlernutation on all sides soon was under way. Ea-chu sneezed a roguish -boy in the corner; at this the elder scholars grinned. Silence, said the master. A-cho-ho snorted out a large boy; ca-chu, archee followed from every part of the house, succeeded by a grin land giggle on every face. a Did you give that snuff to t ther boys, John Cheeney V" "No s-a-chu." "What have you been taking snuff for, Jane Emmons?" I havn't--e-chee." "What did you for, Levi Turner?" lI have got a cold--a-ho." "Sneeze away then," said the master, looking black as a thunder cloud. In spite of all such annoyances, however, Philip kept on, and was gradually making his scholars feel ashamed of them- I - I ' * , THE SCHOOL-MASTER. I 61 selves- One large boy who was called Ike Cook had attempted the experiment of open resistance, but he was effectually van- quished. Ike was a dull, coarse-haired, vicious boy that, none of the scholars liked. He was naturally cross-grained-cut out by 1 nature for a vagabond, and one who would have few friends. He was a poor outcast, living with farmer Dobb, and working" as he said, for his "'vittles and clothes." He was so rough and unamiable that objection had been made to his attending the school at all. Yet he went, and thinking it would be a good time to ingratiate himself into favor with the rest of the school, he determined to openly resist the authority of the, teacher. The other boys encouraged him to attempt it, though they were sure to condemn him, whatever the issue might be. He couldn't make friends by any possible means. His plan for a rupture was laid with more sagacity than he was often guilty of, for he manifested his rebellion in defend- ing little George Brooks from a punishment that he had richly earned. The father of George Brooks was the richest and most influential man in the town, and his daughter Caroline, four years older than George, was incomparably the fairest girl in the school, and the best scholar. The young men were all ambitious of standing well in her good graces, and not only was it, to be supposed that she would resent the punishment of her brother, but that all the larger boys would be gallantly in- dignant. George's offence was a serious one, and his sister Was desir- ous that he should be punished. A poor pauper boy of about /George's age had come to school for the first time that morn- ing, and put the little basket containing his dinner- down on' the floor near the fire-place. George seeing it there as he stood by the fire after the forenoon recess caught up a handful of ashes and threw it into the basket. The boy with more / courage than discretion, immediately went to the master and preferred his complaint. George was called out and ques- tioned as to his guilt. "He is only a pauper," said he. "Is that any reason why you should destroy his' dinner?" said the master. "I didn't do it." "Ah, sir, don't add a lie to so mean an act. You did do it, .' . * page: 62-63[View Page 62-63] u2 PHLITP 'THAXTER. and I must punish you. Tell me, did you throw ashes into his- dinner basket?"' "Yes, sir," sniffled George, beginning to cry. "Hold out your hand," said the master, making a motion with his ferule as if preparing to strike. "Hold out your tright hand." George hesitated. "Hold out your hand, sir, quick." . George was slowly raising the threatened member when he was startled and encouraged by the voice of Ike Cook exclaim- ing, "don't you!" 7 ' His hand at once dropped to his side - "Hold up your hand," cried the master, in a louder voice. "Don't you," again, muttered Ike Cook. r '"Isaac Cook, come out here," said the -master. Isaac obeyed, castinga glance at the other large boys to see what encouragement he, could read in their faces. He saw mischief in their eyes, and a sneer lit up his stolid countenance as he turned it full upon the master. "Take your seat, George," said the teacher. ' George gladly slipped away, Ike Cook was at least twenty pounds heavier than the master, and in an open field, with the consciousness of being half right, could have easily laid hinm on his back. "Hold out your hand," said the teacher. " I shan't do it," replied Ike, defiantly. , "Take that, then," said the master, planting a blow with all his might full in his lefteeye The blow settled back the big boy, but failed to knock him j down. Instantly he sprung Yforward and grasped at the" master's cravat. The latter had his heavy, bird's-eye maple ruler in his left hand, and seeing the movement of Ike, hit his knuckles a severe blow, with it, that made them crack and him to cry out "O." At ethis all the scholars laughed. -The laugh aroused the dull passion of Ike to its full fury. He struck with all his might at the head of the master, who quicekly dodged it, and bringing up his ruler with full force on the side of Ike's head, stretched him at full length upon the floor. As he attempted to raise himself he hit him again, and, each time as he was near gathering to his feet, he settled/him back again on. the floor. "Lay there," roared Philip, " till I tell you to get up." * I , THE SCHOOL-MASTER. ' 63 Ike made one irnve more, but a heavy blow from the fist of Philip, fall oin the right eye settled him, and he roared like a calf, "Get. up,' said Philip, after waiting a minute, "and take your seat." Ike got up, and with head bowed and spirit cowed, he slunk away, nor raised- his eyes to see what the others thought of his exploit. "Come out here, George," said the master. There was no hesitation now. The young culprit came forward and held out his hand even before the command was given. . He j began to cry with the imaginary pain before the first blow was fallen, and had he waited till he felt the pain in reality, he would scarce have dropped a tear. He thought he was terribly punished, though it was mainly through fear. The spirit shown by Philip in this contest, raised him immensely in the opinion of the whole school. For some time opposition was hushed, and he had begun to hope that he would go smoothly through the winter. But in this hopke he was not long to indulge. Philip had imbibed, either at Master Pidgin's school or some other source, some radical notions as regards school teaching. He had no patience with those people who sent their children to school without providing them with books. For instance, Captain Frost, a head-strong) violent man, and one of the most " fore-handed" farmers in the town, who there- fore could not plead poverty as an excuse for it,'sent three children, two boys and a girl, and only an old Reader and Spelling-book for the three. Silas Frost,the elder of the boys, took the reader, and Julia the spelling-book, leaving the younger boy, Samuel,:with nothing, though he was fourteen years old. Atifirst Philip had told them all that they must. have books-that it was little use for them to attend school unless they had something to study. But his words were of little use. Day after day half grown boys and girls were compelled- to sit with nothing before them except an old reading and spelling-book, and sometimes not even that. They could have no tasks set to learn from these, and sorely was' the master tried to keep their lattention engaged, so as to prevent them from falling into mischief, and committing acts that would require him to punish them. He could not tell them to study with a very good grace, for they had no books to study, no lessons to learn. If he told them not to whisper, he knew page: 64-65[View Page 64-65] ". 'PHTILIP THA XTER. they would and must disobey him, since it is impossible that forty or rfifty boys and girls should sit quiet and still unless their attention is engaged. His ingenuity was taxed to divert them by exercises- on the black-board, ,by drawing maps, or working out problems which all could see and understand, even if they had no books. Yet his trials were many. He would hear that some of the parents whose children were bookless complained that they were not learning anything. Captain Frost had said that his boy Sam had not learned a thing during the time that school had been keeping. Philip was told of this, and the next day as Sam was lounging and yawning over his desk, he asked him why he didn't study. "Ha'n't, got no book," replied Sam. * "Go home and get a book, then," said the master. '4 What do you come to school for without a book? Go home--get something. I don't want any boys here that have nothing to study. Start l" Sam started off, and i{n about half an hour returned with ah old copy of the New England Farrier, and an6ther of Watts' Hymns. Philip gave up in despair at this result, and thought that if parents were so'oblivious of their duties to their children, it was their fault rather than his if they did not learn. They re- quired him to make bricks without straw, and surely they had no right to complain if he turned out an inferior article. The short attendance of Philip at Master Pidgin's school had been sufficient to indoctrinate, him with all of that famous teacher's new ideas on the subject of teaching. Master Pid- gin was then carrying out in a small way some of the innova- tions which the Secretary of the Massachusetts Board of Edu- cation was laboring to effect throughout the country -He was but a smaller pattern of the self-sacrificing, laborious Secretary. He did not limit himself as had been customary to arithmetic, geography, English-grammar, reading, writing and spelling Though these branches had been taught exclusively in the public schools from time immemorial, and it was believed that the proficient in them knew all it was necessary to learn unless he was going to, college, yet Master Pidgin thought otherwise. He loved tolexperiment in natural philosophy and chemistry, to illustrate with his globe a d orrery the relation of the earth to the other members of the solar system. His THE SCHOOL-MASTER. : 65 pupils were taught to draw maps of different countries,:so as to have a clear idea of their relative positions and magnitude on the globe. Physiology was also a favorite study with him, and the laws of health were insisted, upon as of equal impor- tance with the rule of ,geometrical progression. The knowl- edge he imparted was of the kind to be engagingin its acquisi- tion and afterwards practically useful. Philip had gained great advantage from Master Pidgin's in- structions, and was anxious to make use of his knowledge thus acquired to the benefit of his-scholars. He had even bought half-a-dozen copies of a cheap and popular text-book on physi- ology, and given them to the older scholars to-read and study. The burden of this book was the importance of air and exercise, and it was/shown in it that consumption, :the most insidious and fatal disease in that part of the world. was to be attributed in most cases either to lack of exercise or bad ventilation. Philip also made some. experiments in eleptricity, and en- deavored to prove that it was identical with lightning, and for several evenings he busied himself in getting up a primitive electrical machine by which he could illustrate his subject. The scholars were fast getting interested in these matters. and Philip began to 'hope that the opposition was giving way. Fortunately or unfortunately, Philip was but an indifferent penman. It had been the same with Master Pidgin, who was yet acoounted an excellent teacher of the caligraphic art. From him he had learned to procure some copper-plate copies, which were far superior to'any which most teachers could *rrite. The first exercises were in the formation of the letters; but when the copies consisted of words and sentences, they were some- thing more than a single line that the pupil could learn by heart, and after writing it once could fill up the whole page without again looking at the copy. The copies that he gave out, to the more advanced scholars especially, were copper-plate forms of business papers and legal instruments. One would be a simple note of hand, beginning, "For value received, I promise to pay' ." Another would be a bill of goods made out in a regular and business. like form. Bonds, deeds, bills of exchange, receipts, or- ders, indorsements, letters of acknowledgment, and every variety of business paper, fom nicely engraved coppe-plates, were the copies set before Philip's pupils. - He impressed it upon them that it was not only important to learn to make the page: 66-67[View Page 66-67] " . PHLIP THAXTER. letters correctly, but to remember the proper forms in which legal .and business instruments shbuld be drawn. He would exercise them first with a copy before them, and then without, so that in after life they could put their knowledge of legall forms and business papers to practical use. In fact, his pupils, if they followed his instructions through life would grow up men and women that would be but poor customers to both lawyers. and doctors. Boys and girls alike were vastly pleased with their writing exercises, and made great improvement in the art. At the commencement of the sc hool there -was not one of the boys who would have dared venture to write a letter, or to attempt to make out a bill of sale' had he desired to sell a horse, a dog, or jack-knife, But the term of the school was not half over, when many of them bad got to be very proud in their episto- lary line. Their discussions out of school hours were oftener how deeds, bonds and bills should be drawn, than on the most effectual way to plague and annoy the master, as had been the case when the school commenced. In these writing exercises the children of Capt. Frost espe- cially excelled. As they, had no books to'study, no lessons to learn, they had abundance of time to devote to their writing, and Sam Frost, the student of the Farrier and Watts' Hymns, was the best penman in the school. He was so vain of his proficiency in this branch of a liberal education that he fre- quently carried home his writing book to show his father and 'mother how expert he was becoming. They were at first pleased with the boy's progress, notwithstanding that at the commencement of the school Captain Frost had determined to be pleased with nothing, but to make difficulty and break it up, if possible, before the close. He was always a sturdy: and troublesome south-ender, and had been run in opposition to Jason Parks, the successful candidate for agent, at the last election. The earlier part, of the winter he had been engaged i in getting up his fire-wood for the year, which had kept him too busy to look after the school. He ha'd only had time to' find fault in general terms, saying that his children did not learn anything, but as he did not know anything about it he could not object to anything in particular. But when his wood- pile had grown to its customary dimensions, he had little to do for the balance of the winter except to look after public affairS; and when his son, the farrier student, brought home his writing THE SCHOOL-MASTER. 67 book to show what progress he had made, his watchful eye saw ; where there was a chance to make a point against the master/. He saw that an innovation had been made, and whether it was an improvement or otherwise he neither knew nor cared. He carefully inquired of his children all about the new-fangled notions of the master, and when he learned that he was teach- ing theem to defy the doctors and the lawyers, he seemed horri- fied at his discoveries. The School Committee of the town consisted as usual of three men of wondrous wisdom. They were the minister, the lawyer and the doctor. There were other ministers in town, but this one was the minister who had the spiritual charge over the 'leading and largest congregation. There was no other lawyer or doctor in the town, and these depended rather on their farms for support than on their professions. Neither of them lived in the district where these innovations and heresies, were transpiring, and hence did not know what dangerous doe. trines were being inculcated. Of this triad the minibter was the leading spirit. He was a man of about fifty,with Lair of an iron gray, and face of granite sternness. He was considered very sensible and sound by his parishioners, though they said he was not brilliant, a fact not likely to be controverted by any. He certainly never astonished them by any-new and startling ideas, and his people concluded that as his preaching always consisted-of the veriest platitudes and common places, his doctrine must be sound and his instructions safe. '- With most people dullness passes for profundity. A preacher who is too leaden-headed to suggest anything new or to set, his hearers to thinking, is almost invariably accounted a man of wonderful depth and power. As he never says anything hav- ing an earnest practical bearing, and for which he does not find, authority in the old standard, orthodox writers, he is seldom troubled with schisms or heresies in his church. As he. does not encourage thought, he seldom is troubled by'suggestions of minds more prolific than his own. Next' to brilliant and original talent, the- most useful quality for a minister settled over a well-established parish, is stupidity. Clergymen blest with this gift get: along much better with their people than thoseof a more earnest character, who consider that they are false to their duty, to God, and to themselves if they do not en-. force on their people the duty of active benevolence and prac- r . . , t . , page: 68-69[View Page 68-69] 68 ) PPHLIP THAXTER. tical well-doing, The former come not in contact with the political prejudices or gross passions of their parishioners, while the latter will insist tht temperance should be practised and universal liberty preached., If the preaching of Parson Keith was not of a kind to prick 'the conscience of his hearers, yet he was none the less feared by them. He was a hard man whom few loved. It was not likely that the innovations of Philip-no matter what fruit they bore-would meet with much favor at his hands. An innovator was his abhorrence. Prison reforms he looked upon as dangerous experiments, and the education of the blind and deaf and dumb he regarded as impious, and an attempt to defy the judgment of their Creator. His indignation would kindle most indignantly and vehemently against all who doubted the human- ity, justice or expediency of capital punishment. In his own family his/discipline had been severe, and 'not attended -with , the happiest results. His bnly son had run away from hGme and gone to sea when he was seventeen years old to escape the tyranny of his father. In a letter which he afterwards wrote home to his long suffering mother, after describing the hard- ships of a life before the mast, he said he would endure it ten times over!rather than again be subject (as he expressed it) to "that arbitrary Curmudgeon," his father. I Lawyer Street, the next man-on the committee, was an old fashioned New England lawyer. He was a kind hearted nman, of little ability, and still less decision of character. He was never in opposition if he could avoid it, and consequently as committee man in company with Parson Keith, he was a-mere cypher. The third member of the committee was Doctor Gambier; a tall, slab-slided, gaunt looking disciple of Galen, whose great strength consisted in his, silence. He seldom gave an opinion, but had a wise and ominous shake of the head, that, to his admiring townsmen, expressed all that could be said on both ;sides. That wonderful shake, to those who understood its pro- found meaning, meant more than a whole volume 'from any other man. If pushed to express himself one way or the other, he would always contrive to extricate himself by telling a story, at which he would laugh loud and long. His stories, like the del- phio oracles, could be construed anyway to suit the parties to whom they were addressed. But, as their first object was a laugh, he would set the example by a hearty guffaw at the con- , . THE SCHOOL-MASTER. 69 clusion, and whether his auditors could see the wit or point of them or not, they would invariably appear wonderfully edified and delighted. Strangers, it is true, might be perplexed when they saw him laughing so immoderatelv at his stale jokes and anecdotes, to tell what he was laughing at; but how should they appreciate the hidden meaning of a man so deep and wise as-he? It was their misfortune if they could not understand him, rather than their fault. This committee was Waited upon one by one by Capt. Frost, and duly notified of the new, and strange practices introduced by Master Thaxter into his school. They were each requested to appear at the school on the succeeding Friday afternoon,.and examine for themselves into the grave charges preferred. ' All this had been done without the knowledge of Philip, who had recently been felicitating himself with the idea that he would go through with his school triumphantly. He was, therefore, not a little astonished when he learned of the ordeal he must pass. Two of the committee, the Lawyer and the Doctor, had visited the school early in the term, and both expressed them- selves satisfied, and Philip was sure there had been great improvement since then. Of what then could any one com- plain? He lived in a state of great doubt and anxiety till the day of trial came. He knew his scholars had made unusual progress, and was ignorant enough to suppose that that circum- stance would be a sufficient vindication of Ihis course. But he was destined to grow wiser soon. page: 70-71[View Page 70-71] l ' - e C HHAPTER IX. THE TRIAL.? THE day of trial soon arrived. Since it had-been known by the school that an effort was to be made to turn out the master, there was little more study. The scholars lost all interest in their books,!and were noisy, restless and ungovernable. They took a malicious delight in the prospect of seeing the master humbled, for they had not yet got over their first impression that he was " big feelin'." For all this, however, they admitted they had learned more during the five weeks of this school, than they had ever done before during the whole winter. At about half an hour after the school had begun on the appointed Friday -afternoon, Parson Keith drove up to the school-house door. The school was stillin an instant. Directly his positive rap was heard and the master stepped to the door and ushered him in. He was stiff, cold and formal as usual. His short-cropped gray hair stood up from his head like fine iron wire. His blue surtout was buttoned up close under the chin, and his white cravat was clean and spotless as the newly fallen snow. His cheeks and ears were redder than usual, showing that there was , an. eager and a nippingair" outside. As he entered the inner door of the school-house, the whole school rose in salutation, a movement which hereturned with the utmost frigidity and sternness. He took his seat in the master's desk with awfuldignity and pomposity, and began to survey the school with the eye of a despot. The minister being thus enthroned, the master went on as usual in the exercises of the school until the arrival of the lawyer and the doctor, who were introduced with similar cere- mony as the parson, thougthey did not have that air of over- that he was a big feeling Forall this, however, they admitted THE TRIAL., 71 shadowing solemnity about them that was inseparable from the learned divine. As soon as the three wise men were seated,-the master was at once put upon trial. Parson Keith arose with great gravity, and tapping on the desk to enforce silence, began: "My young friends; it is known to you that serious charges have been made in regard to the conduct of this school. We propose to investigate the truth of them, and some of you will be called upon to give your testimony in the matter----" He had got thus far when another'knock was heard at the door. It was opened, and the whole drove of south-enders. with Captain Frost at their head, entered. Philip now saw that it was the determination to crush him. What defence could he make against such a demonstration? Parson Keith now resumed his remarks: "It is the object of the committee to investigate certain charges that have been made in regard to the conduct of this school. We are informed that great progress has been made in some branches, and it is snot denied thalt in certain studies there has been unusual improvement. But we are pained also to learn that; the teacher has introduced certain dangerous X practices at variance with all well established rules of instruc- tion. As I see so many of the residents of the district present, who with commendable interest in the welfare of their dear children, have attended this meeting, I will ask that some one of them will make specific charges, if there be any ground for! such. Of what do they complain?" Captain Frost at once stepped forward and began: '"Yes, I have charges to make, and I ar'n't afraid to state 'em. I don't think the children have learned anything this winter, that they ought to learn. I know my boys ha'n't. And I have no idea of havin' my children' grow up in ignorance. When we have schools that we pay for, we expect our child- ren are going to learn. But how much has my Sam learnt this winter? Nlothin' but writin'. Then I am told they are learnin' to write notes and lawyersa papers and such things. as ar'n't proper for boys and girls to learn. Now I don't believe in making lawyers of boys and girls. When I was a boy I had copies such as "COMMAND YOU MAY YOUR MND FROM PLAY," and "I don't want my children to have any different learnin from what I had. I have got along without, bein' learnt to be page: 72-73[View Page 72-73] 72 PTITTLP THAXTER. a lawyer, and I 'have got the best farm at the south-end all paid for and well stocked. I don't owe a dollar. r ask any man to say if Tom Frost owes him a dollar. Not one Then I'am told that the master tries to make thunder and lightning with a thing like a glass bottle with two ends to it and no hole for the water to run out. -I want you to know that, Elder Keith ; for you preach that Gdod sends the thunder and the light. nin'. We don't want no master here that pretends to know more than our minister,\ to teach blasphemy to our children. And another\ thing: he 'tells them to take plenty of air and exercise, and use a gr est deal of cold water, and they will never needno medicine. Do you mind that, Doctor? The amount of it all is, the master is tryin' to bring into contempt the three great professions, the lawyers, the doctors and the ministers. .Now, he was not hired to teach such things. He was hired to teach learnin'. I want my childreni to have learnin'. It costs me agood deal to send them to school, and I want them to learn, I do." - , After this eloquent address, Captain Frost with an air of triumph, subsided into a seat. Parsons Keith now turned to Philip and asked him what he had to say in reply to the charges of Captain Frost. Philip answered that he did not think it worth while to re- ply to such nonsense. Captain Frost looked at him voraciously, and gritted his teeth. "As to what I have inculcated," continued the master, "I leave you to learn from an examination. You will do well to question the larger scholars and learn from them whether I have taught anything inconsistent with religion, morality, or useful instruction" i The parson then began to question some of the older boys in regard to the charge of making thunder and lightning. The text-book used was brought forward for the committee to ex- amine. Philip said he had only endeavored to teach what was found therein, and to illustrate it by experiments, and that the book was approved by the Rev. Dr. Butterworth and other em- inent divines whom Parson Keith was often quoting as bright and- shining lights in the evangelical church. "Milk for babes," said the Parson, " and stronig meat for men." The scholars were now requested to produce, their writing i ! , ' i THE TRIAL. .73 books, and the teacher went round and gathered them up. They were passed round io the committee and the citizens, and all expressed themselves as highly pleased with their general. ly neat appearance. But Captain Frost had'descried the vul- nerable point in Philip's, mode of instruction; and was prepared to make the most of it. He was already satisfied that the min- ister was duly prejudiced, and the next man to secure was the lawyer. Being a querulous and ill-tempered man, it is not strange that he was often engaged in litigation, and hence was Lawyer Street's best patron. He accordingly began to assail Philip on the law phase of the case. "It is very well, these writin' books," said he, " but we don't want our boys to be all lawyers. Here you see in these writin'-books instead of the good old-fashioned copies, nothin' but notes, and bills, and deeds, and such things-which we don't want our children to learn. When I want a deed or a bond drawn, or a note writ, I go to a lawyers don't I, 'Square Street?" The lawyer nodded assent. "I want my children to have pious precepts for copies, and leave law to those who- :understand it; don't you think that the better way, 'Square?" The lawyer nodded again, and said 1" of course it is." Captain Frost went on now with renewed vigor. "I don't wonder that my children don't learn anything. Instead of studyin' books, as we used to when we was children, they waste their time in learnin' to write notes and such things, and in makin' thunder and lightnin', and perhaps they will get killed by-and-by, and what a dreadful thing that would be. And then they hear a great deal said about the laws of health, anad about free air and plenty of it, and exercise, too. I war-m rant my boys get exercise enough, and don't need to learn i nothin' about it at school; and as to free air, don't we Hall know that we are liablb to take cold if we allow the cold air to come into a hot room? I ask you, Doctor, arn't free air dangerous . My first wife catched her death-cold by settin' one evening in this very school house at a prayer-meetin' when the house was very hot and crowded and goin' into the open air afterwards. The open air is very dangerous, and if we allow our children to get their heads full of such notions, they will get sick, the first thing we shall know, and we must follow them to the grave, and it is very inconvenient having funerals this cold weather, when the ground is froze up. But perhaps I had f A I ' - - page: 74-75[View Page 74-75] 74 . . .. PiHLIP THAXTER. better leave this branch of the subject to our friend the doctor. What do you think about it, doctor " ' "I think," said the doctor, " as the Indian did about eating apples." "' How was that?" eagerly enquired Frost, sitting down for the doctor to tell the story. "In early times," began the doctor, stretching out his long legs in front of him, and thrusting both hands deep in his breeches pockets,- " there used to be a great many Indians about here, somne of whom were hopefully converted. There was one old Indian especially, who was br'im full of religious zeal; the white folks used to call him Tophet. Old Tophet was a great exhorter, and one day wheh 'Parson Stinchfield, had been preaching about Adam's fall, and, how all the sin and misery in ,the world had come from eating an apple, he called on any brother who might feeliso inclined to offer any remarks pertinent to the subject. At the conclusion of the sermon Old Tophet being moved to speak, got up and began an exhort- ation. -' We all know,' said he, 'that it is very bad to eat ap- ples, it is much better to make them all into cider.' " At the conclusion of this story, which, they had heard many times before, they all broke forth into uncontrollable laughter, the doctor setting the example and shaking his sides till he seemed in danger of falling to pieces. When the laughter had sub- sided a little, Captain Frost resumed his remarks. '! Exactly- yes, yes; I understand what you mean, doctor. It is very bad to let the cold air into the house, 'much better to -keep it all out door. I agree with you, doctor. If we want cold air in our houses, what do we build fires for, I would like to know?" ]Parson Keith was getting restless and uneasy. He was occu- pying-but a 'subordinate position, in these proceedings, whereas it was his custom to be the leading and prominent, figure in every matter in which he condescended to take a part. He could not bear to see Frost monopolizing the time and attention white he was left in silence, And in 'the, shade. He moved uneasily in his seat. But Frost observed him not. He felt that he was sweeping down all before him, and went on. "Isd then, this 'ere master is preaching up cold water, all the time, and tells the boys never to drink' any rum, gin, or 'whiskey. Now, I will not say much about this, for I see a good many temperance fellows here. I only say a little 'does me : ! - , THE TRIAL . '-5 good, and I intend to drink it when I please, and I intend to bring up my boys to do the. same. But this -master hei'e, with his new-fangled notions, tells our bovs and girls if they will only take a plenty of fresh air and exercise, and use no medi- cine but cold water, they will never be siek. Did you ever hear any such nonsense as that, .doctor ? What do you think of cold water ?' w I will tell you a story," replied the man of pills and stories. Parson Keith hitched uneasily in his seat. All the others, however, listened eagerly for the doctor's story. " Once upon a time, when Tom Dawson was alive, and was traveling one cold, wintry day, down towards the store, with an empty jug in his hand, he was overtaken by a man in a sleigh. The day was cold, and the wind was facing him, and Tom very 'gladly accepted the gentleman's invitation to ride with him. The stranger was a great talker, and at once guessed, from Tom's shabby appearance, that he was going after rum. To draw him out, he began to preach to him a temperance lecture, and gave an eloquent discourse on the excellence of cold water. Tom listened to him for some time, without saying 4 word; finally, says he, I know water is a good thing, it-is first rate to drive water-wheels, and it has done a great deal for navigation, but then, for a steady drink, give me good New England ruin.' The doctor laughed again at this funny, oft repeated anec- ; dote, and the audience joined in harmonious cachination. Captain Frost at once caught the point of, the story, which, it is doubtful if the doctor himself had perceived, and improved upon it. . "Ah, yes," says he, " there are a great many, things good in their places, but they are -not good everywhere.-' But this mas. ter wants them everywhere. I am much obliged to you, doe.' tor, for your anecdotes that illustrate my argument so well. I think it a clear case, that this school is not properly conducted, and that the master should be turned out." Philip stbod beside the desk during this time,' looking like a convicted criminal. At first, he put on quite a bold air; but he was young; he had never before been called upon to -a'sumbe responsibility, or encounter opposition, and when he saw this formidable array of hostile forces, united to crush him, a mere stripling, his spirit quailed, and he could say but little ii his own defence. The lawyer saw his confusion, and with a low, lawyer-like- page: 76-77[View Page 76-77] 76 PHJILTP THAXTEIR. cunning, sought still more to embarrass him, by asking him to step forward and state what he had to say in his own justifi- cation. The master stammered forth, that he thought it was his duty to teach his pupils such things as would be useful to them in after life, and that in whft he had done' he had but followed the example of some of the most famous teachers in the coun- try, including especially, Master Pidgin, of Holway. And I have heard, he continued, a good many of the scholars say they had learned more dluring the-six weeks that I have kept the school, than they had ever before -learned in a whole winter. I "My children ha'n't learnt nothin'," said Captain Frost. ( Whose faullt is that? could I teach them, when they had no books to study?" , "They have all the books I think it necessary -for them to have, and all they ever had, and no fault was ever found before." 4!'hat may be," replied the master, now getting bolder. 4 Bu{ I appeal to the committee. His three children had, when the school commenced, two books between them; an old reader and a spelling book. When I first heard that he was complaining that his-children did not learn satisfactorily, I sent his younger boy, Samuel, who had no book at all, home to glet something tp studly. He returned and brought with him, Watts' Hymns andulthe New England Farrier." The scholars laughed atthis, so did the visitors and committee, all but Parson Keith and Captain' Frost. 1"'Silence," said the minister. "There is nothing to laugh at. Watts' Hymns is a very good book : an excellent book. I hope you will all ,tudy it, and learn from it the glorious gos- pel ; thatyou are ill miserable siginers; probationers for eternity ; ,to be sent in your unregenerate istate, into the bottomless pit where the" fire is not quenched and their worm dieth not."' Paul Timley, who was a blacksmith, and also a sort of horse and cow doctor, so that he was known as doctor Timley, and who was always ambitious to display his bovine and equiine knowledge, now spoke up : "Add the New England Farrier is a good book, too. I don't think much though of what it says of hosses' huffs. It says they should be kept dry, such as are not turned out in the paster, and are kept up in the stable. But I find they do , . l!X, THE TRIAL. t much better if they are kept standin' on the damp ground. And then I don't think the Farrier is right on the horn-ail question, either." ( We will not discuss the horn-ail question now," said Par- son, Keith, interrupting him, " though I do not doubt the Farrier is a very good book; perhaps not so suitable for young children, especially girls, as Watts' HBynus or the Testament, but still a book the master ought not to despise. Mr. Street, hlave you any remarks to make on this occasion ? The lawyer, who was at that moment in' the midst of a warm discussion with a Jackson man on the policy of the " Sub-Treasury," was so earnest in his argument as seriously to interfere with the examination. He was called upon on this occasion, for the double purpose of stopping his irrelevant conversation and of getting an opinion from him on the expe- diency of te'aching penmanship and business forms at the same time. But Lawyer Street never committed himself if he could possibly avoid it, and on the present occasion remarked that the old way of learning to write had served very well in his day;, when he was a boy, and all his knowledge of law had been obtained since he was thirty years old. They might, think it strange; still it was true. He ,tould yield to the judgment of the rest of the Committee. Doctor Gambier was next called upon to give his opinion. As usual, het said he had a story to tell. "Is it long ?" inquired the Parson. "'Not very long," answered Egculapius. "Well, it!is getting late, and as I presume there is no differ- ence of opinion as to the general and vital errors and heresies here taught, we may as well conclude our examination. - The committee will retire for a few moments to consult,' and with lordly tread and solemn dignity he led the way into the small room back of the desk. 1 he deliberation was short. They soon returned, and ;entering the desk, Parson Keith thus' began: "'My young friends: it has been the painful duty of the sehool committee of this town, to come to an opinion very different from what we had hoped to arrive at. We find that your teacher has been teaching you- the, most dangerous vnd damnifying ideas and doctrines, and I need not tell you that it is our duty to guard you against all such heresies and temp- page: 78-79[View Page 78-79] 78 PHLIP THAXTER. tations. I therefore herewith announce that we dismiss Mr. Thaxter. Your school is accordingly closed till you have a more competent and reliable teacher to whom we may entrust your youthful education and the care of your immortal souls, Let us unite in prayer." The prayer of the good parson was as little complimentary in its expressions to Philip as had been the remarks previously made by the same worthy. It was a supplication that the child- ren might have thankful hearts for their manifold blessings, especially thatwhen the welfare of their immortal souls was in danger from the machinations of one commissioned by the prince of evil, the Lord had sent forth his chosen and anointed ones to snatch them as brands front the burning. For this signal triumph over sin, flesh, and the devil, he expressed most unctuous thanks.; He also called upon the Supreme Being to soften the heart of the wicked and impenitent young man, who had thus early enlisted with the powers of evil, and had sought to lure infto the path of sin, shame, and sudden death, the dear children whose temporal education had for a time been entrusted to his care. So earnest and zealous did he appear in his petition to the throne of grace, that some of the citizens present imagined that their children had really escaped, as it were, by a special interposition of Providence, from some dire and irremediable evil, and they eyed Philip as an emissary of darkness to be thenceforth shunned and abhorred. Philip heard the insultingiwords of the unfeeling parson with smothered indignation. 'The sweat started from every pore as he stood before the gchool and heard himself thus stigmatized. At one time he cast his eye on a Walker's dic- tionary lying on the desk, and was half a mind to throw it at the head of the praying parson. Then he thought he would indignantly walk out -of the school room. But easting a look towards the back part of the room he noticed a pair of eyes fixed upon him which spoke so much of pity and comfort to his heart that he thought little more , of what the parson was preaching in his prayer. Those eyes were literally overflowing with pity. They were fixed on Philip with a look of'the acutest sorrow and pain, and were just swimming in tears which had not yet begun to fall, when they met those of the unhappy teacher. Instantly they gushed over, so that she buried her face in her handkerchief,. THE TXEIAL. , , 9 - Philip in turn dropped his eyes. He had often done so before' when they had been cast in the same direction and had met tie unexpected gaze of those bright blue orbs. He had often caught himself involuntarily looking that way, and when the eyes of the two had met, there had followed a blush on the cheeks of either.. The girl who had thus fascinated him, and who had exhibited such a regard on the present occasion, was Caroline Brooks, the sister of the young rebel that had been so unsuccessfully sustained by the unfortunate Ike Cook. Philip'had never spo- ken to her out of school hours. He was young and unripe; had never had any experience in women's ways, and was ex- tremely'bashful when before them. His good friend, Mrs. Truebody, had warned him of all things to beware of -showing partiality to' any of- the young ladies. The other girls would ' ot forgive that, and the boys would very likely be savagely jealous of him. Had he wished to talk, with her, however, his -awkward bashfulness would have prevented him. He saw her in school, and admired her above all young women he had ever seen. She appeared to him of a different organizatiolin, a finer texture of being, 'than other girls. Her features were finely cut, with just enough of irregularity in them to render them interesting and .give them character. Her complexion was faultless, inclining slightly to the blonde. - Her hair had the slightest possible inclination to auburn, and her eyes were large and ravishingly blue. Her figure was rather large, and devel- oped to perfection. Her entire appearance showed her to have been of gentle blood, and born'for a lady. Grace and dignity were in every movement, combined with gentleness and affabil- ity. Her appearance had struck Philip at the first, and he had admired her. Whether it was anything more than admiration he was not aware for some time. He saw that she was looked up to by all the scholars, and that the larger boys were espe- cially anxious to exhibit their feats of strength and skill when she was in a position:to see them. He wisely concluded, there- fore, that whatever admiration he might feel it was not best for him to show it before the school. She was far in advance of any other scholar, and Philip had been obliged to work at his algebra and chemistry till late, in the evening on several occa- sions, for fear lest she should get him in a corner. She was about as far advanced as he was, having had advantages supe- l rior to those of any other of his scholars. She had passed two * s ,! page: 80-81[View Page 80-81] 80 PfITTTP THAXTER. years away at a young ladies' seminary, and would have been there at the present time, but that her father was an invalid, and preferred to have her stay at home and attend the town- school. Her mother was in the grave, and she and her brother George were the fond objects of their doting father's affection. : The look which Philip had received from Caroline had ren- dered him indifferent as to what the parson was doing and sav- ing, or what the other visitors might think. The prayer was ended; the school was dismissed. Philip, confused and confounded, stood looking out of a window. The south-enders talked together for a few minutes, and then moved off, one after another, homewards. The committee did the same. The scholars gathered up their books, and were getting ready to leave. They were unusually still,-as if feeling that gross injustice had been done, and having no desire to further wound the feelings of the master. The more advanced of them were disposed to come forward and talk with him, but he waived them off, for he did not want their sympathy. He looked coldly fromn them, though not displeased to overhear several of them say that his had been the best school ever kept in that school-house. But as Philip gave no heed to them they one by one left the house and went sorrowfully to their homes, Philip lingered behind. At length he aroused himself from his abstraction, and, looking round, seeing, the house deserted and vacant, he gathered up his books, and closing the doors, left. CHAPTER X. HESITATION. WHEN Philip reached the street he hesitated ; whither should he now go q Could he return thus discomfitted and disgraced to his old friends, the Truebodys ? He had left them only a few weeks before, full of hope and confidence; and not dreaming that he was incompetent to keep a common town school. It had never occurred to him, as one of the possibilities, that he could, be turned out. Good Mr. Truebody and his wife were as proud of him as though he had been their own son, and could he go back to them, and tell them of his failure and humilia- tion ? He walked along slowly, deliberating with himself as to what he should do, and whither he should go. Yet his steps, as it were unconsciously, were towards that 'house where he knew he would be ever welcome. ' The way: led by the house of Colonel Brooks, which was situ ated on a beautiful knoll, and surrounded by a grove of butter- nut trees. Hence the place was called Butternut Hill. He cast one glance towards it, and then, as if ashamed, he turned his face' in the opposite direction. He had got but a- little way past the -house, when, hearing steps behind him, he turned and saw young George running to- wards him. "Please, master," said George, " pa told me to ask you if you wouldn't please to walk into the house." Philip turned back without a word, and entered the house. Here, in a parlor more elegantly furnished than he had ever before seen, he found Colonel Brooks bolstered up in a large arm-chair. His lame leg, that had so long afflicted him, and which was likely some day to send, (rather than carry,) him to page: 82-83[View Page 82-83] his grave, was resting on a cushion before him. Caroline sat beside him, her right hand upon his shoulder, and her left clasped in hisr As Philip entered Bshe colored slightly, and rising presented him a chair and begged him to be seated. "Well, Master Tha6ter," said the Colonel, ' Carrie tells me they have turned you out. I knew they would. We have never had a master here yet who was worth his weight in old iron, that wasn't turned out. But you mustn't be discouraged, my lad. What did they bring against you?" Philip detailed as briefly and clearly as he could the charges preferred. He--began, timid and hesitating, but as he went on. h got eloquent, and when he came to speak of Parson Keith's prayer he broke forth in passionate indignation. Colonel Brooks smiled at his vehemence, and told him he made too much of the abuse of such an ignorant, atnd intolerant bigot.. "This is one of your first trials," says he; " show yourself able to bear up like a man under it-betray no weak- ness; go on undisturbed as though you despised these people who have so persecuted you, and in six months you will care nothing about this affair. But you must stop here to supper with us to-night. I have a great deal to say to you, and I know you need advice-it is just the time to do you good." As he began to make excuses, Caroline cast on him a be- seeching look, and timidly said-" do stop, please." Philip said no more, but suffered his hat and books to be taken and-laid aside. "Now," continued the Colonel, ' I suppose you feel despe- rate, and it is very likely you were thinking at the very moment I sent for you to come in, of-'leaving these parts-perhaps of go- ing to sea." Philip admitted it was even so. "I knew it; I have been through such trials myself. Now don't make a fool of- yourself by doing anything of the kind. Doubtless Elder Keith and Captain Frost would be highly gratified to see you take the shortest road to the devil's own country. But don't you gratify them. -Go home to Mr. Truebody's. You will find that such friends as you have there will stick by you the closer for your misfortunes. I know them of old. They would be grieved to death if you were to leave them now, and you mustn't do it. It would be ungrateful." A new light flashed on Philip's mind at the strong reasoning of' Colonel Brooks. His sea-voyage was abandoned as readily as it had been conceived. He promised th e Colonel he would follw his advice, and with varied conversation not at all conm- :plim tary to the school committee, they beguiled the time We S^ n-".?e3small a We make small account of di"aer shere," said the Colonel when they werde seated at the table. " hen te children are at school I have no-inclination to eat. I musthavethathead- piece at the other end of the table, or else I have no appetite. Caroline blushed at the compiment, but proceeded with quiet dignity to discharge the- duties of her position. therefore our principal meal, and in a city would probably be called dinner. But here, if we were to call it dinner, our neighbors would take offence and call us aristocratic. But so long as we cactieat it in peaee, they may eall it what they After supper, Colonel Brooks insisted that Philip should pass the evening with them. But Philip said it was his duty to t return at onMe to Dr. Truebody's, and be the first to break the news of his failure to them. "Well, well," said the Colonel; " you must come and see nme again-come often. Here I am, an invalid. I seldom or never get out-doors, and Iwant company. My neighbors here are not generally very edifying. * utI want you to aome up, often and play chequers- with me. I shall insist upon it that you come at least once a week, and I will teach you to play chess. Then you can play with Carrie. She don tliketo play-with me, for I beat her too easily. Butyouandshe will be a good'match for each other." Caroline and Philip saw a meaning in this last sentence which Colonei Brooks did not intend to convey. Their eyes- instantly met, and showed that both understood it in the same, sense. " fay he never think otherwise," said Philip to himself; and promising to call again soon, he took his hat and books, and with a heart much lightened of its load, quickly slimmed over the ground till he zrived at the only place in this world that he could call oxns. Al page: 84-85[View Page 84-85] ,eCHAPTER XI. ,* FFLFIITTTMENT. FOR the few years subsequent to Philip's school-teaching experience, his life was as free from adventure as that of most vouug men similarly situated. He worked upon the farm of his good friend, Rennie Truebody, as faithfully as if it had been his own in reversion. His friend and confidant in everything was Ben Thurlow. In the winter time they were much toge- ther, and in summer every Sunday afternoon found them in each other's company. Ben's older brothers had all left the parental roof to seek their fortunes, and his elder sister had married a merchant in a distant city, and gone to her new home. The Thurlows were called by their neighbors an eccentric family, and so they were. But their eccentricity consisted in an utter absence of everything like duplicity'or deception in their characters. Amos Thurlow, the father, was a man who never had a thought which he was not willing that the world should know. That he was poor was not strange, for indeed it could hardly be otherwise, His superior intelligence and his original talent had ever caused him to be much respected, and some years before he had an offer to go into mercantile bus- ness, which promised to be highly lucrative, and would proba.- bly have enabled him to give one or mole of his boys a liberal education, but he declined it, reasoning in this way: "I am not forty years old, and my wife is thirty-three. We have six children, all promising well, Every man thinks his own children brighter than his neighbors. But .I know mine are, and sot do all my neighbors, excepting only their own. Now I can bring them up, and give them all a good English education. The will be obligd to work it is true, as well as myself; but this will only render them healthy and hardy, FULFILMENTT ' ' 85, and will teach them what money costs. I had better therefore just stick to the farm; keep out of debt, and bring up my boys and girls. If I can but- start them out right, then I will have no fears for my old age. But as to accumulating anything more, or getting any richer, I may as well give that up. I will be content to make the two ends meet>and if I ever get a little ahead, I can easily fall back, by giving one of the boys. some extra privileges." Having matured this plan in his own mind, he rigidly ad- hered to it. Incorrigibly honest himself, he had no need to inculcate moral precepts. His whole life was a precept of truth and morality, nor did it ever enter his mind that his children could grow up to be otherwise than honest\ and virtuous. In all his dealings with his fellow-men he was scrupulously exact, and he gave them good measure, running over, equally when present and when absent. With such an example before them, his children could never learn what meanness and dishonesty were. The idea of an advantage in a trade never occurred to them, and had one of them been set to put up a quantity of grain to be sold without re-measurement, there would not have been a kernel more or less than if it had been designed for his father's granary. Disingenuousness was-unnatural to the Thur- low blood, and one would as soon have thought of doubting his own senses as the word of one of the Thurlow family. It is no wonder they were considered eccentric. As fast as these boys got old enough to be of any essential service to their father on the farm, he encouraged'them to push out into the world and try their fortunes. His neighbor King- man and others thought it strange that Thurlow should let his boys go as soon a's they got large and strong enough to be of anyassistance to him. But their father said that a year's-, ex- perience at that age would be worth as much to them as at a later period, and their time when they were men would be worth more to themselves than it was to him as half-grown boys. He could perceive no division of interests between him- self and his children. The result of this course on the part of their father was that by the time either of them attained his majority, he was competent to engage in business on his own account and responsibility. The oldest, Richard, was a, suc- cessful merchant, a partner in a large New York house; the second, Peabody, was just settled in a southern city, to colm- mence the practice of law ; and the third, Lawrence, was yet a page: 86-87[View Page 86-87] 86 PHLIP THAXTER. clerk in Boston, at the time that the fourth one, the dreamer, was sympathizing with his friend Philip Thaxter on account of his failure as a school-teacher. It had -been the wish of the older boys that Ben should have a better education -than themselves, but they were frustrated in their efforts to assist him, by his own perverse fortune. At one time he was sent to a neighboring academy, and was taken sick the day after his arrival, and was not able to leave his room for several months. . The expense of his support when away was not light, and his older -brothers were obliged to meet it at a time when they could ill afford it. When he did attend school he paid little regard to the regular course of study, but spent his time in reading such works as were most pleasing to his vivid and dreamy imagination. He had few acquaintances and less friends, yet the latter were of the most intimate kind. He seemed to live more in an ideal than a real world, and was much given to retirement and solitude. Such was Ben Thurlow, the boy playmate of Philip Thaxter. They were very different in most respects, but only so far as to make them sympathize from contrast. That Philip would make a suceessful-man of the world none doubted, even after his fail- ure as a school-teacher. But of Benjamin there was not so much hope. Though his general judgment was good, yet he disliked to bring his mind to the details of practical affairs, and hence, whatever he undertook, no matter how bright the pros- pect, invariably resulted in a signal failure. One Sunday afternoon in the- fall, as Philip and Ben were strolling up the street, and came near the house of Luke Phil. brick, they cast their eyes towards the orchard, and there sit- ting on a settee beneath the branches of a wide-spreading apple- tree, they saw John Stanchley and Lucy Philbrick. 'They were in close conversation, and Lucy was looking earnestly in John's face, her eyes beaming with love, while her hand was clasped in his. Not wishing to disturb them, Ben and Philip quietly withdrew without being observed. 'I I don't like that Jolhn Stanchley," said Ben, as soon as he had got out of hearing from him. "He is too circumspect. Do you think he intends to marry Lucy? I never heard of his being there before." "Of course he intends to marry her," said Philip. "Did not you see that, she was in love with him? It is not likely he FULFILMENT. 87 would encourage her by such attentions unless he 'ytended to marry her." "I tell you he is too circumspect. You can't tell from his acts what his designs are." "They had best be honorable, or he may well beware," said Philip, clenching his fist. It was not long after this before it was rumored in the neighborhood that John Stanchley was engaged to Lucy Phil- brick, and his frequent visits at Luke's house gave a coloring' of probability to the report. Luke was in ecstacies at the pros- pect of having John 8tanchley for a son-in-law, and was in anticipation counting on the time when again a family of little ones should play around his knees. But the winter came and went, and so did the spring and summer, and another autumn was at hand, and yet there was no change in Luke's household. John' .tanchley was there every Sunday evening, and he and Lucy would stray away together through the orchards, meadows, and woods. During the next winter, however, his visits were suddenly discontinued. Why it was, nobody knew. The gossips said he was engaged to an heiress in a neighboring town, whom he was known to have-visited frequently of late. When some of Lucy's acquaintance inquired for her, of the old housekeeper, she shook her head aid said nothing. But the mystery was soon revealed. The cup of Luke Philbrick's misery was not filled when he lost his wife and two youngest children. A greater grief was reserved for him. One evening the faithful old house-keeper took Luke aside and told him a story of what she had suspected, and of what Lucy had confessed to her. That night, unknown to anyone, Luke Philbrick had taken down his double-barrelled gun aind heavily loaded it with buck-shot. He set' forth in the night, and long before daylight, he was hid in the barn of old Jesse' Stanchley. He remained concealed till it was after sunrise, and yet the person he waited for did not make his appearance. He now suspected John was not at home, and contrived to steal away from the barn unperceived. On his way home he saw, at some distance, a man approaching him on h6rse-back. He recognized him instantly to be John Stanchley.' He stepped behind a tree and awaited his approach. Just before he got opposite to him, he stepped forward, and leveling his gun, shot the pfhole charge of small shot into John's left knee, The page: 88-89[View Page 88-89] 88 PHLIP THAXTER.. horse, too, was wounded, and springing sideways, threw its rider on the ground. Luke, advancing, planted the muzzle of the gun against his right foot, and blew it into fragments. "There," said he, looking at John after his work was done, "you would beard the lion in his den, would you, and rob him of his cubs before his eyes? You will dance on crutches now at your wedding night, I think." With that Luke walked deliberately away, and going home he shut himself in his own room. John's horse ran galloping home and occasioned no little alarm as he came tearing into the yard, with every appearance of terror, and the blood streaming from his side. The hired men were immediately despatched up the road to look for the rider. They had gone but about a mile when theyvfound him, insensible, by the side of the road. He was taken home, and Dr. Gambier and all the other physicians within many miles were:sent for. When he came -to himself, he refused to tell who it was that had attacked him. It was several hours before different physicians could arrive and examine his wounds. It was then decided that the right foot must be taken off. It was useless to attempt to save it, for the whole charge of shot had gone through it just below the ankle, and carried away the instep and part of the heel. The -left leg was not so badly wounded but that they would venture to defer amputation for a few days. Though this leg could perhaps be saved, yet would he, in all probability,ever after, have a stiff knee. Before undertaking the operation, John was told that he must tell who shot him, for it was uncertain whether he would survive to tell afterwards. The fear of death forced the truth from him. He said it was Luke Philbrick. By this time the sheriff, constable, and ha lfthe town besides were about the house ; and as soon as it was known who was the guilty party, a ,strong force set out to arrest Luke. They found him sitting in his own parlor. Lucy and the housekeeper were in ;another room. As soon as the sheriff opened the, door, Luke looked up at him, and said, "O yes, I will go." He then got up and put on his surtout, and beckoning the sheriff to follow him, went into the next room, where his daughter was lying on the bed. He had not seen her before since the bloody scene upon the road. The housekeeper how- ever had told her that her father had been informed of John Stanchley's treachery and her own fall. She wanted to hear FULFILfMENT. 89 no more. Between love and shame shoe was in a state border- ing on distraction; and when her father entered, accompanied by the sheriff, she knew that something dreadful and desperate had been done. He advanced, and leaned his head over his sorrow-stricken' child.' As he stooped to kiss her lips, she threw her arms around his neck, and sobbing, exclaimed, ' O father, the seal!" Luke quietly withdrew from her grasp, ani turning to the she-- riff, said, ",We will go now." An examination before a justice was had that evening. Luke offered no defenceI and that night, at twelve o'clock,/found him in the County Jail. John Stanchley survived his wounds, and survived the doc- tors. He-was minus Ma right foot, and his left knee evidently would be always stiff. His vigorous, constitution, however, soon rallied from the shock it had received, and he began to recover rapidly, while yet the neighbors were discussing whe- ther he would live or not. Luke Philbrick was indicted by the Grand Jury, and it was understood that his trial would take place as soon as Joln Stanchley could attend and give his testimony. The merits of the case were soon understood by the neigh- borhood. Nothing else was thought of in the town or for many miles around but the Philbrick tragedy. Far and near it was the chief topic of conversation, and was even'Ithe subject of much newspaper comment. It leaked out at first that John Stanchley was to have been married in about two weeks to the heiress, and that he was returning home from a visit to her when he was met and shot by Luke Philbrick. This was sup- posed to be enough to have incensed Luke to suchdire revenge. The caus'e was held to be trivial. The neighbors said if John Stanchley preferred somebody else to Lucy Philbrick, he had a right to have her if he could get her ; and Luke deserved nothing more nor less than to be hanged. But the old housekeeper, when she heard how the tide was setting'against her master, gave a different phase to the case by telling what she knew of it. Poor Lucy remained at home, knowing nothing of all that was said or done outside.. She saw no one but the housekeeper, and it was said by those that passed the house in the night, that fiearful-screams were some- times heard. Be that as it may, however, it is certain that within four weeks after the arrest of Luke, one morning, page: 90-91[View Page 90-91] 90 PHLIP . THAXTER.- when Ben Tliurlow went to the door to answer a knock, he found Luke's old housekeeper on the steps. "Will you please, sir," said she, sobbing, " ask your mother to come up ; for my dear, sweet young mistress is dead." When it was known about the town that Lucy Philbrick was dead, even the gossips were hushed to silence. She had died of a broken heart. It was only the day before that Sally Jenkinson, a vinegarish old maid, went to drink tea with her neighbor, Mrs. Proctor, a hard-visaged widow. '"I warrant you," said Sally, " that that Lucy was no better than she should be.: It makes me so mad to hear all the folks talking how much she is to be pitied. I'm sure I don't pity her at all." "Nor I too," said the widow. I would like to know what we are all coming to, when all the men are talking about a pert minx, just as if she was better than half the honest women in town." "If this is the way," continued Sally,- 'I would like to know what inducement there will be for young women to live virtuously. They say that John Stanchley stole her heart and deceived her. A fiddlestick for such talk! Nobody ever stole my heart, and if any of these gay young fellows try to deceive me, I tell you they will get their match." As Sally was past fifty, not a sound tooth in her head, and her hair as gray as a badger's, she might well think; herself safe. The widow hoped it would be a warning to men not to run after the young flirts, but pay more respect and attention to , those of more experience, and who having some knowledge of -men's artful ways, would know how to guard themselves from temptation. When, however, the women of the neighborhood were called upon the next day to prepare the shroud for poor Lucy, there was no word of reproach against her fromn any tongue-no sen- timent but grief in any heart. Her funeral was largely at- tended, and never in all that country was there such a gathering. No one had it in his heart to speak of the cause that had brought them together. Instead of standing in groups, talking over the news of the day, or discussing their worldly affairs, there was no disposition to speak on the part of anybody. Even Sally Jenkinson was too deeply moved to talk with her neighbors- a circumstance never known before within the memory. of the oldest inhabitant. The services were short, for the minister- FULFILMENT. 91 not- Parson Keith-broke down in his prayer, and could not go on. There was a sadness that could be felt, for everybody loved Lucy Philbrick. Her affection for her father had en- deared her to every one. Her lonely condition, the loss of her mother and sisters, had early excited a sympathy for her, and she had ever manifested so much gentleness and goodness, that she was beloved alike by old and young. And now she was dead; and the cause and manner of Ler death were such that no one of her friends might speak of 't. They held her mem- oryStoo sacred to couple her name with disgrace or crime. ; Poo$ Luke Philbrick had been notified of Lucy's death. He was offered permission to attend the funeral in company with an officer, but he declined to accept it. Kith nor kin none fol- lowed Lucy to the grave. The head mourners were the old housekeeper and Philip Thaxter. Two sincerer mourners never followed princess to the grave, I warrant you. The trial of Luke- came on some two months after Lucy's death. Never before, in all that sectioni, had a trial excited the general attention of -this. one. It had been talked of by every one ; high and low, rich and poor. Though there was so much pity felt by all classes for poor Lucy, yet the feeling in favor of Luke was more divided. The Stanchley's were an in- fluential family in that neighborhood, and their friends endeav- ored to make it appear that John's conduct had been nothing more than ordinary gallantry and indiscretion. A great effort was made to create a sympathy for him on account of his being so severely injured, and his crippled condition was always alluded to as an extenuation of his offence. At the- trial, he was brought in and paraded in front of the jury, that they might be wrought to a commiseration of his situation, and to be indignant at the cause of it. When the indictment was read and Luke stood up to plead, he said, "I shot the wretch, but I am not guilty as charged." The trial proceeded. John Stanchley was the only witness for the prosecution. His appearance on this occasion was very different from what it had been in times past. His face was now pale, and he had a look of shame upon his countenance. His testimony was subdued, but certain expressions which he let escape him, showed that there was malice, rather than con-e trition, in his heart. He desired to have Luke condemned, for that would be a vindication of himself. page: 92-93[View Page 92-93] 92 , PHLIP THAXTER. When the counsel for the defence was asked to bring forward his witnesses, he was obliged to tell the court that he had none. The district attorney had previously, in stating his case, defined the grounds on which he expected 4 verdict of ,' assault, with intent to kill." Luke's lawyer then rose to make his defence. He drew a vivid picture of the once happy family of his client, and stated how that one by one his wife 'and children were snatchied from him, and only one was left--the pride of his heart, the sole hope and comfort of his old age. But, says he, the spoiler came. "Stop!'" thundered Luke, bringing down his hand on the table with a force that made it ring again. "Stop f Now that they have broken my heart, will you tear it out that hate may feast upon it?"The lawyer was confounded. He had hoped to have conveyed to the jury the enormity of the provocation, but Luke would not allow the' first hint of it. He would not shield himself by exposing the shame of his child. His counsel soon closed, and the attorney for the people'said, as, nothing had been made out on the other ide, the case might go immediately to the jury. Luke, now arose, and asked permission to say a few words. It was granted, and he began: "I have lived long enough, and if aught I can say would prolong my life for a single day, I would be silent. The offence is not a capital one, and as there is no denial, of the act of shooting and wounding, as, charged in the indictment, your duty is plain enough before you. I did shoot the man with deliberate intention. But it was no assault with intent to kill.- I could have killed him if I would, but his death would not have sated my revenge. I meant that he should live, a miser- able, guilty, cripple. I did all that I intended. The scorn of the world is upon him. A life of shame and sorrow is before him. Would I have him dead? No! let the villain live. But as for me, I am ready and willing to die. What have I left to live for? Those whom-I loved are all in the grave. Acquit me, and I goforth upon the world the most miserable of mortals; convict me, and I can be no worse off. I am indifferent to your' verdict; an acquittal can be no favor to me." - He sat down; the judge briefly charged the jury, barely reciting the law. The case was so extraordinary that he preferred to trust to the impulse of the jury, rather than influ- ence their verdict by any legal instructions. The jury retired, FULFILMENT. 93 and were out but a few minutes, and returned with a verdict of guilty, and the judge pronounced the sentence of two years' imprisonment, being the shortest term the- law allowed. The trial, which it had been supposed would last a week or more, was all begun and finished in one day. Luke served his two years in prison, but came out at the end an old man-his hair was white as the driven snow. He was no more the Luke Philbrick of former days. was , mrteLk \. ' , of i t page: 94-95[View Page 94-95] CHAP A PTER XII. EXPLOSIS. IT may well be imagined' that Col. Brooks' invitation to Philip Thaxter, to be a frequent visitor at Butternut Hill, was not lost upon him. He was there just as often as he thought propriety would admit ofl, and was always received by Miss Caroline with a smile, and by the invalid with a cordial wel- come. If another guest happened to be present, the comnpany gathered about the centre table to play a game at whist, but if the fourth person were lacking, the chess-board would be brought out, and the Col. and Philip Would play at draughts till the conversation turned on some subject of interest, when the game would be dropped and the remainder of the evening spent in social converse. Sometimes, too, the chess-men would be/,brought out, that Philip might take a lesson in this complex and intricate game. He was an apt pupil, but of cours'e could do, nothing against such an expert player as Col. Brooks. The latter, therefore, said hemust try a game with Caroline, to which Philip' was nothing loth. , T!e good Col., after watching their game for awhile, and getting nervous ,at their blunders, would, much to their relief, push back his chair, and taking up his book or newspaper, would leave them to work out the game by themselves as best they might. After these younger people had advanced so far as to, play chess, Philip's visits became more frequent. He was sure to be there on Tuesday evenings, for that was the nightwhen the Col got his main batch of newspapers, and Philip knew that his attention would be so engrossed with them that he'and Caroline could have the whole evening at their, favorite game. It would obstinately happen so that the centre table would be, occupied by his books and papers, and if then they would play EXrLOSIONS. ? 95 chess, they were innocently compelled to hold the board between them on their laps, and then to hold their heads down over it in such, a position that they might have indulged in ,any amount of private conversation, and nobody else be any the wiser. Was it by accident that they invariably got seated behind the old gentleman, so that he could not, overlook their game? Or was there anything else going on, which they desired he should not see . The servant said that once when she suddenly opened the door, they'were not-looking at the board at all, but into. each others, eyes, and that " they drew back their heads and looked guilty, just as if they had been kissing." But servants are always seeing what never happens, and babbling, about it afterwards. The winter and spring months gradually wore away, and with them the long evenings and their games of chess. Yet Philip continued to be a frequent visitor through the summer, and Col. Brooks was always glad to see him at his house, apparently, not surmising, or not caring, what the young ]eople- were dointg. His own years-of early manhood had been rough, turbulent, and unhappy. tHe had quarrelled with his only brother, who had married, as it was thought, below the family rank, and incurred the displeasure 'of all his kindred. This brother had been the great hope and' promise of the family; and the family. was one of the oldest and proudest in the metropolis of New England. He was fast getting to a leading position at the bar of that city, whenr an important suit required his presence in New Orleans. From thence he determined to return North on board of a sailing vessel, hop- ing it Inight be of advantage to his health, which-was somewhat impaired. Instead of improving, however, when he got upon the salt-water, he fell sick of a fever that threatened to have a fatal termination. On board of the ship, and passengers to the same port with himself, were the wife of a sea-captain and her child, a boy about a year old. Her husband had parted from them at New Orleans, to go on a long voyage to Liverpool, China, and thence back to Boston. The care of the sick man devolved on the steward and stewardess. But they had various other duties to attend to, and the wife of the absent captain was but too happy to beguile her time in ministering to the sick passenger. The consequences may be easily foreseen. Before the voyage- page: 96-97[View Page 96-97] ,96B - PHLIP THAXTER. which was a very long one-was over,;Lawyer Brooks was desperately in love with another man's wife, and she, if not in love, was certainly pleased with the agreeable vivacity of the handsome young attorney. \ After the voyage was ended, the attentions of Lawyer Brooks to the captain's wife, were too marked to escape the notice of those who had better 'have attended to their own affairs, and though no one had ever beforeventured to breathe a word against the lady's character or purity, yet were the attentions of her sea-faring friend operating much to her prejudice. 'But he was not affected thereby at all to his detriment. His own kindred thought it not so very wrong for him to carry on an intrigue -with the young and handsome grass-widow, and the whisper of the scandal-mongers, that such was the fact, materially advanced his popularity among his fastidious and fashionable female acquaintances. When word came, however, that the absent husband had died at Hong Kong, they all viewed the lawyer's efforts at consola- tion, in a different light, and'many a scowl was seen on faces before always pleasant, whenever he was now observed in com- p iany with the widow in weeds. His family now thought it time, to interfere. His father'remonstrated with him, and warned him not to bring disgrace upon the family, and his brother George, the same we have known as the Colonel, had such high words rwith him, that they parted in anger, never to speak to each other again. When several months after, the morning papers announced the marriage of Addison :Brooks, --Esq., to Mrs. Emily Lee Harrowgood, there was great and sor- rowful indignation at the family breakfast table. The old gen. tleman did not venture out-doors that day, but meditated like a prudent man on the course he should take, under this afflict- ing dispensation. , At length he determined that he would upbraid his 'on in the-first public place he might meet him. Setting out the next morning with this determination, he took his position in the vestibule of the Court House, knowing that he would pass into Court, during the morning. Nor did he wait long, for his son soon appeared in company with several other members of the bar. Highly excited, the old gentleman stepped forward and accosted him. - "Young man, I have a word to say to you." "Well, sir," replied the son, "I am ready to hear it." , , " ff' EXPLOSIONS. 97 '! . * * "t You have disgraced yourself and your whole family," ex- claimed the old man, raising his voice to a high pitch. " You have brought shame on your home and your kindred, and now understand, sir, I disown you. Never let me see you again at my house, and the more seldom I see you anywhere, the better. You have .chosen your own path, keep it, but never come athwart mine." , Your commands shall be implicitly obeyed," said Addison, and turned back to his office. That night the discarded young man with his wife and her son, left the city, never to return. Where to go they knew not, but trusting to chance, they went on board a brig that was to sail that evening, for St. John, in New Brunswick; they would have gone to any other port, just as readily, had there been another vessel ready to put out to sea. Their chief de. sire was to get out of the city as soon as possible, and so that they could do that, they little carbd what their destination might be. On board of the brig they found one passenger, a young man, of about twenty, whom, from his manner, they judged to be a fugitive from justice. They had hardly got out to sea; when they encountered a strong easterly wind. The skipper, however, tried to beat up against it, thinking he could sooner make St. John by hugging the shore than 'by drifting out to sea. In the darkness of the second night, however, he run ashore, and the vessel went directly to pieces. The next morning, when the fishermen gathered on the beach, the broken, fragments of the vessel had all drifted to the land, but there was no soul left to tell the tale of her disa ter. It had been the intention of young Brooks, that no one should know whither or how he had gone. But his wife's maid ha(, unknown to him, followed the carriage that took them off, to the wharf, and having learned that they had gone on board a brig called the Passamaquoddy, the next day she sought to make herself welcome at the old house, by reporting what she had seen. . In a few days the papers announced that the brig Passama- quoddy had been Wrecked on the coast of Maine, and,'all on board perished. The effect of this news, on the family of the banished man, was not apparent to vulgar eyes. His proud father may have felt sorrow and compunction, but he never exhibited anything of the kind, in his intercourse with the world. His brother, * 5 , . *. v* * '! page: 98-99[View Page 98-99] 98 PpHTTTP THAXTESi George, however, it was said by his friends, shed many a bit- teir tear. l The loss of his fortune, soon after, and his only daughter, whom the old nurse said died of grief at the loss of her brother, caused the old gentleman to refect on the past, and to ask him self what he had done that Providence should afflict him so grievously. The younger son, George, had married, but a lit- tle while preceding the commencement of this catalogue of mis- fortunes, and the old gentleman had given him the fine farm at Butternut Hill, which had fallen into his hands a few years before. It was the best farm in all that part of the country, and George had just settled upon it with his young wife, intending to lead the life of a co-untry gentleman, when disaster and death came upon the parental home. Affliction soon fol. lowed him, too. A white swelling gathered on his knee, and ere five years rolled round, his wife' left him for the other world, leaving behind hoer, one daughter, Caroline, aged -four, and George, who was a stranger at -the time of - his mother's decease. f It was singular, that with such an experience, Col. Brooks should not have foreseen the danger of permitting two such persons as his daughterCaroline, and Philip Thaxter, to be so much in each other's company. To the busy-bodies of the neighborhood, it-looked as though he actually favored a union between them, and yet they could not understand how the haughty Col. Brooks, the; richest and proudest man in the county, could for a moment:entertain the idea that his daughter should marry a man who had, when a child, been taken from the poor house of a neighboring sea-port. Had Col. Brooks' any knowledge of Philip's parentage of which they were igno- -rant? , They only knew that he had been left at the poor- house when about itwo years and a half old, by a stranger, and that when he was eight, Luke Philbrick had -taken him back into the country; to live with him, till his cruelty drove him away. SEven his name had been given to him in charity, by an old revolutionaryrcripple, who begged of the warden the privilege of thus transmitting his own name to posterity. Was it likely-that Colonel Brooks would tolerate'a connec- tion of so doubtful a character with his family? Philip thought not, and so he told Caroline ; for the young lovers often talked of this matter. Their doubts were suddenly brought to a head, however, by the malicious intermeddling of the widow Procter. '! . . . EXPLOSIONS. 99 This good lady had often talked over the-subject with her scandal-loving friend, Sally Jenkinson, and it was agreed be- tween them that the Colonel must be informed of what report said to all ears but his. Accordingly this public spirited lady set out for Butternut Hill, pretending that she wished to consult Colonel Brooks in regard to a trespass committed on her grounds by her neigh.' bor's cattle. She found the invalid courteous and condescend- ing, as usual, but complaining that his infirmities would not allow him to get out and to attend to his business. With great apparent sympathy for his misfortunes, Madame Proctor re- marked.: "O, Well, Colonel, I suppose you will have somebody to take the care of things off your shoulders before long.". "I wish I could see some prospect of it," said he. ie,i Colon el, you think we don't know all about what is going on! ' ? "a If you do, you know more than I do." "What! you don't say that young Thaxter arn't going to marry Miss ar'line." n' Thaxter!doyou suppose my daughter would marry a pauper, and a fo ndling at that? Is that what you have come here for to tell me such a story as that? Madame, you ill exuse forme from saying anything more on that subjet." The amiable lady withdrew, well-pleased, though discomfit- ted. She believed she had fired the train, and that er long there would be an explosion. And this she had ddne not be- cause she had any ill-will towards Philip or Caroline, but from pure love of mischief. Nor was she deceived in her calculations. The next time that Philip called at the Hill, he saw a thunder cloud on the Colonel's brow. He atonce understood its import. Without equivocation or delay; the Colonel immediately told him that his visits there were compromising the position of his family, and though he respected him as a youn man-of corret haits ndmember ofples he must request h not to visit his house orh ny 'wmber of bs farnly more d Caroline had been previously warned out of the Way an, 'ihav..-o, * say to him, even in a fryig anything more to ea, t . friendly and neighborly way, under pena ty of in urringhis extremest displeasure. Philip left theihouse that night a most woe-beuone, a ' .for- lorn ivK" * n for 'on individual. H n 'been antieipating such a be' i ' - j page: 100-101[View Page 100-101] O0oo PHLIP THAXTER. - trophe, and had often thought how he would be indifferent to it, for' he knew he had Caroline's love., and he thought he could wait till time or something else, he hardly knew what, shodld mollify the inexorable father. -But now the evil day had come upon him, and he was all unmanned like any other unhappy and unfortunate lover. He had two friends with whom he always consulted, and to whom he always told his, hopes and griefs. One was Ben Thurlow, and the other, good Mrs, Truebody, The former was his confidant on all occasions; the latter was this adviser in times of trial, and though he had never told her of his designs on the heart of the fair maid of Butternut Hill, yet the old lady had surmised all about it. She, too, had her -misgivings in regard to the opposition of Col. Brooks, and feared that some- thing would come of it different from what Philip anticipated. The evening that he was sent away so summarily from the house, he returned home so dejected, that, though it was not near bed-time, he did not dare to face his old friends, for he knew they would read his sorrows in his face. The desperate adventures he revolved in his mind that night, were many. First, he would get Caroline to run away with him. No, he would not do that; he would go off. by himself; win a name and fame like Claude Melnotte, and then return in triumph and demand the hand of his beloved one from her haughty father. Then'again he would get a likeness of her and wear it next his heart till his own mad passion should consume and destroy him. He would wander in foreign coun- tries, and the image of his Caroline pressed to his dinug lips, should tell to the world the tale of unhappy love. These, and many other foolish and desperate projects, common enough, to love-sick swains, he considered and discarded, tossing and turning on his bed till near morning, At last, however, he fell asleep, but with such scanty covering-for in his love-fever he had tossed off the bed-clothes-that when he awoke, later than usual, his love was wonderfully cooled off, for the cold had so d affected his body that he was forced to think of getting warm rather than of Colt.'Brooks and his lovely daughter. In the course of the morning when he knew that Mrs. True- body was alone in the sitting room--for the old man was in the 1fi!ld, and Aunt Tempe was taking care of her pigs, geese, and lchickens'--Philip went in, pretending that he Was looking for something. But a married woman of fifty knows a great deal, EXPLOSIONS. ' 101 and 'often suspects more than she knows, and Mrs. Truebody, readily surmising what he was after, broke the ice by asking him what the trouble was the night before up at Butternut Hill. Philip colored, but sat down., "How did you know anything about it?" said he. "I know by the signs,! so tell me all about it. He does not want you to have Caroline, I suppose. Well, I knew it would be so. But you must rem'ember the old saying that there are as good fish left in the sea as ever were caught.," "What does that matter to me,"' dolefully responded Philip, "when the only one I would care to have is not for me" X There may be others as good and beautiful in the eyes of everybody else as she, but still she alone is all in all to me, and if I am not to see her more, as her father tells me, I care, little what becomes of me." His voice almost choked as he said this, and his kind friend waiting a minute for his grief to exhaust itself, ' continued : "Well, Philip, love always chooses a rough road and never got through it without meeting with some rebuffs. If you look at the matter like a mnan, you will think little of this opposition. Have a brave and patient heart, and you will get her yet. But' do not be rish. Wait the course of events ; be true; have faith in the future and faith in yourself, and if Caroline is worthy, of your love, she will be true to herself and to you, and in time every obstacle will fade away like a summer cloud." , The words of the:good woman were full of encouragement and consolation to Philip, and with renewed beart he'went to :I his labor, which consisted of the very unromantic work of dig- 1 ging potatoes. \i That evening, when he went to take counsel with his friend I Beni Thurlow, he had entirely recovered his elasticity of spirits. T When he told Ben of the manner he had been sent away the night before, "1 with a flea in his- ear," at the conclusion he snap- ped his fingers and said, "I will teach him a thing or two yet. He will find that I amn not to be snubbed so easily , , Ben was too much of a dreamer to give advice in such a case as this. His experience had been entirely different from Phi- lip' s He was not in love, and never had been. It is true that some time before he had seen a vision, as he said, of a bright , being that had made an indelible impression on his mind, but that ever he should meet with' such a one he scarcely hoped. , And so with his'romantic disposition he loved this vision, It , . , ' , - page: 102-103[View Page 102-103] 10 PHLIP THAXTER1. was his ideal, and however much he might be pleased with any other, there appeared to him an immeasurable distance between her and this imaginary being. Nor yet was she altogether imaginary. He always maintain- ed that he had seen her; that she was a living, ,breathing woman; but who she was, whence she came, or whither she 'went, he never knew. He had full faith,that he should bee her again, for she had so entered his thoughts as to become a part of his being. But when or where he should meet her he knew not, though his faith was so strong as to influence his actions and color his life. He was true to this ideal being as though he was conscious that her eye was always upon him ; and vague as it might be supposed was her image on his mind, it was to him the magnetic star of his life. CHAP TEl XIll. NEW ARRANGERMENTS. IN spite of the stern interdicts of Col. Brooks, Philip and Caroline contrived to see each other as often, or oftener than before. Having implicit faith in each other's fidelity and love, they believed with good Mrs. Truebody that no obstacle chuld prevent their ultimate union. They were therefore content to wait the course of events, as they had not intended to marry for two or three years, whatever might befall. Philip was in no condition to take upon himself the responsibilities of a fam- ily. He had always lived with Mr. Truebody ever since he left the house of Luke Philbrick, and had n) particular prospect before him. Some people supposed he would continue with his benefactors so long as they lived, and that then the old Holfax farm would be his. But there was no such tinderstand- ing between him and'them, and even if there had been, how was he to manage matrimonially? He did not know that Ca-! roline would be altogether satisfied to settle down with a house- full of old people, though for his own part he desired nothing I so mch as tolook afterthe wants and lighten the cares of those dear old friends who in other times had been so kind to him. But there was another objection to his taking a wife then. Aunt Tempe, though ever 'so kind a body, Was strongly inclined she would never give up the Control over the domestic afaais so long as she was able to get about the house. The prospect, therefore, for him was none of the brightest, and he had',1, long confabs with his- friend Bn Thurlow as to what he should do. He had now arrived as he supposed, to within a year of ther the latter intended to allow him anything more than spend- no condition to take upon himself the responsibilities of a fam-. ily. He had always lived with Sir. Tiuebody ever since he left page: 104-105[View Page 104-105] 104 PHL 'P 'IAXT'ER. ing money-with which he had always been well supplied--he knew not, nor did he like to ask him. So he kept along, work- ing faithfully for his friend; making love as opportunity offered, and holding long consultations with Ben on the hidden future. Thus timle wore on, and there was little change ,in Philip's prospects. He' grew discontented and unhappy, being altoge- ther uncertain about the future and about himself. To add to his discontent, his friend Ben left the neighborhood, to study law in a distant city. A pretty lawyer, thought Philip, he would make, since he had no idea that such a thing as decep- tion or duplicity existed in the world. Philip had often told him of their existence, but like Tristram Shandy's mother, he "always forgot." : But Philip's love affair soon assumed a new phase. Col. Brooks, who had 'been gradually failing :for the last year or two, suddenly improved in health.- He who had not been out doors more than, three or four times in as many years before, was now to be seen riding n his carriage every fair day. A famous traveling physician, with a whole portfolio of diplomas, and certificates, showing that he had graduated at all the great medical colleges and institutes in the world--that he had cured princes of their aches and princesses of their bunions-had come, like a bird of promise, bearing healing on his wings; and if he, did not completely cure Col. Brooks, he at least wonder- fully eased him. { About this time, when the Colonel was taking his ride one evening, just before sunset, his boy drove briskly along through a strip of woods, and suddenly emerged into an open space, he was astonishedi and confounded by coming directly upon his disobedient daughter in so close conversation with Philip Thaxter that neither observed the carriage till it was close upon them. But he passed on without seeming to notice them; and quickly returned home. ("Half-way measures will no longer do," said he to himself. "Something must now be donei more efficacious than words " To forbid, to upbraid, to scold! fume and fret, he was well aware, would avail nothing. The next morning, therefore, he appeared as cheerful-as usual, and said not a word of the pre- ceding evening. Caroline felt that- this silence was ominous, and that evening, when she stole away to meet Philip--for it had been agreed upon that they must meet again that night, let good or ill befall ,go oribfl NEW ARRANGEMENTS. 105 ,j - it-,she said she-knew something dreadful was coming, for her father had said nothing The next daly, however, his plan was developed., He told his daughter that he was going: to Europe for his health. The I great Doctor Somerville had said that he was so mu'ch im- proved that he only needed recreation and travel to recover entirely, and if the Col. desired it, he would accompany him I for a few months, though it would be attended with great loss tQo himself, for a part oiily of which he would expect to be re-imbursed. Caroline had no faith in Dr. Somerville. She regarded him i as a swindler and a quack, and so expressed herself to her father. He would have thought the same; had anybody but himself been the patient. But when a man has been long an invalid, and the regular, long established physicians have pro- nounced his case incurable, he is the fit subject for itinerant quacks. No man who is fond of life and health-and there are few who are not-will believe himself past cure so long as an- other will support him in a contrary belief. Col. Brooks found in Dr. Somerville one who spoke words of hope and encourage- ment, and, readily gave himself into his ha ds. The itinerant did not pretend that he could cure his lameness entirely; but he assured him that his general health, which had long been failing, would be soon and permanently restored. And so it was. 'Tis true his old physician shook his he ad doubtingly, when he saw his chronic patient getting better (in spite of his own learned prognostications. But the Col. only laughed at, him and deplored his own folly it not getting the services of a great and travelled physician earlier. r Col. Brooks left it entirely with his daughter whether she would accompany- him on his travels or not. He was aware that if he required her to go she would understand that the whole journey was made in order to separate her from Philip, and. this knowledge would effectually steel her" heart against any change that might otherwise be wrought by time or travel. He knew, too, that- if. left 4to her own choice, she would not allow him to depart without her, on so long a journey, in so pre- carious a state of health, and- in company with such a man as she regarded Dr. Somerville to be. His reasoning was correct. When he told his daughter that she could go or stay, as she preferred, she replied that even that privilege left her no choice , for go, of course she must, . -5 '1 X Aid,;* 9 page: 106-107[View Page 106-107] and at once set herself to prepare for the -journey. The Col. told her that they would probably be gone a year, though he intended to remain away for five years, if necessary to defeat a match so distasteful to him. During the preliminary'arrangements she found time to con- fer with Philip, who was completely dumbfounded by the new turntof affairs. It was agreed between them that, as soon as she was gone, he would emigrate to the far West, and there seek his fortune and prepare a home for her against the time when she should return from her European travels. These plans and their fulfilment were suddenly cut short, however, by an unexpected occurrence. The morning before the company were to start on their travels, Col. Brooks was found dead in'his bed. There was great consternation imme- diately in the house, in the' midst of which Dr. Somerville sud- denly left. It was known that Col. Brooks had been engaged for some time previously, endeavoring to raise money for his expenses while abroad, and yet none was found in the' house after he was dead, and the far/ious old gold watch, which was regarded as a sort of heir-loomn of the family, having been pur- chased by the Colonel's grandfather, at a cost of a hundred guineas, was likewise missing. It was several days after the funeral before it was suggested by any one that the Doctor might have hastened the death of his credulous patient. Even then the idea gained little credit or currency, Those who examined into the matter most closely, said nothing; but shrugged their shoulders significantly. They found that the Col. had been engaged for some weeks before his death in efforts to borrow money, but, so far as they could' learn, with verylpoor success. His affairs were known before- hand to be somewhat complicated, though it was suppoeed that he was able to pay all his debts, and still have a large p rperty left. Inquiry after his death, however, divulged the t ct that he was desperately involved, that the homestead wa mort- gaged to an extent that not a dollar more could be raised upon it, and that he must soon have gone through the dark doors of bankruptcy had not the darker doors of death suddenly opened and closed upon him. His contemplated voyage to Europe had forced upon him the necessity of examining into his affairs with the view of raising. ioney. The inspection must have staggered him, and it was Ascertained that the day before his decease he received such letters as utterly precluded the possi- - NEW AKRANGEMENTS. 107 bility of his going abroad. Now, whether he cEt the thread of his own life, or whether the Doctor, intentionally and with malice prepense, did this little job for him, or whether the course of medical treatment had given him a temporary relief that must naturally result in a corresponling depression terminatinog in death, is unknown to this day. No one seemed inclined to push an investigation, and the community settled down into the belief that " somehow he had died of a quack doctor." For several weeks after the death of Colonel Brooks, there was little change about the establishmhent, save what would necessarily result from so important an event. Caroline .was at first completely prostrated by the unexpected blow, "but gradually recovered her cheerfulness and buoyancy of spirits. Philip could now come when he would, and depart when it appeared necessary. He had given up his idea of going west. The embarrassed condition of affairs, as they had been left by the deceased, was such that, Caroline often consulted him as to what should be done. Her brother George was taken by a cousin, a merchant in Philadelphia,- into his counting-room, land the question now was, whether an attemnpt should be made to retain the dear old homestead at Butternut Hill, or it: should be given up immediately with the other property to pay off the numerous creditors. The debts were all amply secured, though it was evident that to liquidate them it would take every- thing. But they could all, with one exception, be paid by sell- ing off the stock and converting securities and other property not belonging to the homestead into cash. The overshadowing incumbiance was a mortgage on the farm held by a rich man in Boston, who had been a frequent guest at Butternut Hill, and was always an unwavering friend to Colonel Brooks in his life time. Him it was resolved that Philip should go and con- sult. He could, if he would, make it all fair weather and plain sailing for them. Philip, in all his ;doubts and perplexities, consulted good Mrs. Truebody, who advised him with most affectionate interest. She consulted her husband on the mat. ter. MThe old gentleman said, " it was best to let him financier for himself for a while, and when he really wanted help he knew -where he could get it." He took occasion, however, a day or two iafterwards, to count out to Philip a hundred dollars 'in gold, saying as he did so, that ' perhaps he might want to go off to Boston or somewhere to see a bit of the world." The money came in good time. An administrator had been 1. page: 108-109[View Page 108-109] 108 PHrITA THAXTER. appointed, and would ere long proceed to sell off and settle up. Philip hurried away to Boston, and found, as soon as a raw stranger might, the creditor whom 'he wished to conciliate. He found him to be a kind-hearted, fatherly old gentleman. by the name!of Moses Brimhall. Philip found him in his parlor at home, just after breakfast, early in the morning. He had not learned that it was not a proper hour to call on city people, but perhaps it was just as well. Philip stated to him briefly and clearly the condition of affairs at Butternut Hill, and the object of his visit. "Well," says the old -gentleman, "what do you propose to do?" / "I have thought perhaps that you were in no immedikte want of money, and might be willing to allow it to remain!on the same security." "Well;" says Moses, " as to that it makes no great difference to me. If any arrangement can be' made so that the interest will be paid regularly, and the principal at some future time, it will suit me as well as to have it now. But how can that be done?" "Miss Caroline," timidly rejoined Philip, " prefers that the. place should not pass into the-hands of strangers, and perhaps some friend may help her in redeeming it." "O ho!" exclaimed the old man; "I see how it is-you and Caroline want to join forces, do you? Well, how much money have you got?" Philip owned that he had very little, but was in hopes of get- ting assistance. , Bad," said. Moses, drawing off his gold spectacles 'and shaking his head; " bad way to begin the world. In'debt to start with, and after years of worriment and hard labor per- haps lose all; better begin small, and make sure of what you get-that is my advice, ,and you will find it correct, if you live long enough. But, however, I will not throw any obstacles in your way. My money is secured, and that is all I have any right to interfere with. I am not goipg to break up your arrangements. I was once young myself, and I had to, run away to get married; and when we begun house-keeping I had nothing, and my wife had less; but we scratched along, and now have got all we want, and can do a good turn to others once in a while. Only mind this, Mr. - what is your name?" f - :x NEW ARRANGEMENTS. 109 F Thaxter."' "Mr. Thaxter, don't run down the farm--k-eep my security; good--pay me the interest promptly, and I shall nqt trouble ,you. But if I do this, can you put off the other creditors?" ( My plan would be," said Philip, " to pay all but you imme- diately.- The horses and carriages andall the real estate, not belonging to the home-farm, could be sold off, and enough could be realized from this source and from the debts due the estate, to pay all except ,you." "Well, well," says good-natured Brimhall-- " go ahead and do the best you can ; but if you take my advice, you will never r start in life with such a load on your shoulders. , Depend upon it, you will-find it hard to carry., It will make you discon- tented and impatient. You will grow old prematurely under such a weight." A young man of twenty-one seldom wants advice, and Philip was no exception to the rule. He only wanted the privilege of acting according to his own ideas of expediency, and not those of other people. He was well pleased with the acts of Brimhall, but his opinions and judgment he did not think much of. Well satisfied, however, with the issue of his interview, he departed and returned to his country home. It was soon arranged between him and his. friends that he should take the farm at Butternut Hill, and endeavor to pay off tle mortgage. To meet extra expenses, and to give him a fair outfit, his good friend Truebody loaned him a thousand dollars, without interest., When he told his wife what he had doni, the old lady said he ought not to have taken a note for it. "I do not intend it shall ever be paid," said he, handing the note to' her; "I only took it in or'der that he might be the more indus. trious and economical. But you can do with it as you like." -The old lady lit one end of the paper in the candle, and then waited to see it slowly consume. - The farm 'at Butternut Hill consisted of 400 acres of the best land in the country. The late owner had been a fancy farmer, looking less to the, profits than the beauty and adorn- ments of the place.' His buildings were excellent, and always in perfect repair. The fences H ere all in the best- order, and the farm was in a- condition that for the next few years it would require little outlay to make it yield ihandsome returns. The soil was not exhausted, but rich and strong; and Philip had full faith, that with industry and close management he could page: 110-111[View Page 110-111] I1lU ?HiilLlP THiAAX"l., not only pay his interest, -but materially reduce his prin. cipal. A- But it takes a good farm in New England to support a family and pay off a debt of any considerable magnitude. Love- and youth, however, are nhot deterred at trifles, and in due time Philip Thaxter was the ruling spirit at the Brooks farm, and Caroline still remained as before to preside over the domestic arrangements. Both of-them understood the difficulties before them, and with courage, fidelity and love, they commenced to travel hand in hand their way of life. Philip's lot,as we have seen, had been early cast in rough places. It came easy for him to get up before daylight, and look to his affairs-to say comne to his hired men, and to lead off iq whatever work they were engaged. In talking over the future with Caroline, before they were married, he had told her tow he must and should-do-that lie must labor early and late, as he had been accustomed to do, but that she must still live the life of ease and freedom from care that had ever'been hers while her father was alive. She only waived the subject when this topic was introduced, determined to try her own strength and resolution before she boasted of what she would do. But after marriage she was as attentive to the internal affairs of the household as he was to the management of the farm. The sun never found her in bed, even in summer; and in winter she was in the kitchen long before the cock crew'. The dairy received her special attention, and she took great pride in showing her butter and cheese to any ofhei- fashion- able acquaintances. Even the poultry were carefully looked after by her, and she collected and marketed her eggs with a gleesome pleasure that showed how much she enjoyed a life of responsibility and toil, With all their frugality and industry, however, they soon found it would be very hard to do anything more than keep the interestfrom accumulating. To meet it regularly required $240, in cash, and in ordinary seasons it Would take all that could be spared from the place to pay that If the season were productive, and produce bore good prices, they might perhaps reduce the principal somewhat, but if the crops canle short, and the markets not-favorable, it would be all th:yg could possibly do to pay Brimhall his ever-accumulating interest, while- the formidable principal of four thousand dollars would remain to draw the same interest another year. NEW, ARANEMENTS. ' " In all this they were very happy. 'Tis true they occasion. ally ifelt very anxious about the future, and Philip often thought that Brimhall was not so great a fool after all. The first year of their joint efforts was a productive year, and they had no reason to complain, of prices. Yet they could only pay the sleepless interest. But that year they needed many things which oncer, obtained would last a, life-time, and though, the principal stood the same, they were hopeful of doing better the next year, and were 'still'very happy. The second, how- ever, was not so favorable. Their clip of wool, which the year before had brought them a round sum, would sell for very little-so little that Philip desired very much to hold it till the price advanced. But that he could not do. The interest must be paid, and to raise the money he was obliged to sell off, not only the wool, but some of his neat stock, which good husbandry required should be kept on the farm. The third year, however, -was a more prosperous one. The large stock of apples which the farm produced every year, and which usually little more-than paid for harvesting and market- ing, readily sold off at such prices as to give him $1,000 to apply towards reducing the principal' of, the great debt. The farm that year was generally productive, so that there was no difficulty in paying the interest from it, reserving the $1,000 for the reduction of the principal. A happy winter they passed that year, when the crops were secured and it was established that they had made an inroad on the over-shadow- ing debt. A little incident-a mere trifle--had occurred during the autumn, that had not a little increased their happiness. Such incidents frequently occur among people who have not been too long married. A young stranger had appeared among them, appealing, in a voice unintelligible to all but themselves, for protection and support. What they should call this new comer was a question. Philip, who had -no relations of his own, that he knew of, suggested the name of his friend Ben Thurlow. His wife wished to call him George, after her father and brother. She said it would gratify her brother to have him named for him, and would show that his father cherished no resentment on account of the school difficulty years before. But Philip argued that that was unnecessary. If the memory of that flogging left a sting behind, it was not to him-George, if either, was the only one that held a grudge on account of it. But to,'- i , page: 112-113[View Page 112-113] "2g . PHLIP THAXTER. compromise, matters, he said the next one should be called George. She cuffed his ears at the proposal, but No. 1 was called Benjamin. The enterprise and shrewd management of Philip excited the astonishment of his neighbors. They had generally predicted that the second year at most- would see him at the end of his tether, and many a warning had been given to Caroline Brooks to avoid such an alliance. But his success had made him friends. -He was now regarded as an important man, and his opinion in town matters, had a weight and influ- ence at which he was himself astonished. He was even solicited to run for select-man or town-clerk. Bqt he declined, saying he was too poor to accept of such honors. He was "elected a lieutenant in a, company of volunteer riflemen, which office he was not firm enough to decline. He was vain of his fine form, and intelligent, thoughtful face, and the idea of being an officer in uniform, "with a tinsel thing on his shoulder," so pleased his fancy that he was unable to act according to- his own judgment. He o therefore accepted the office and the honor, with all the attendant expenses and annoyances. The fourth and fifth years of farming experience had each showed a small balance on the right side of the ledger. By this time both Philip and his wife began to feel that it would be vastly pleasant if they could get along, and not labor quite so hard. Philip complained that he was growing old too -fast, and that his limbs and joints were getting stiff and sore, like those of an old stage-horse No 2 had arrived a year or two before this, and had been called George, in accordance with a promise made a year and a half in advance of his appearance to claim his name -or demand his rights. Their mother now wanted more -time to devote to her children than she had hitherto allowed herself, and between them they felt that the great debt was a terrible load to bear. Under these circumstances was it strange that Philip was casting about' for some way to extricate himself from his embarrassments? Could he not sell the farm for enough to pay off the debt and begin on asmaller scale, and live easier and happier, with less ostentation? Caroline could not bear the thought of giving up the old place ; she fancied that in future years they would do better than they had done previously, and a s to hardship, she did not care for it. At the NEW ARRANGErMENTS. .113 worst they would finally extinguish the debt, though it might take manyt years. Each year the interest was slowly dimin- ishing, and when once the farm was paid for, they would be secure in all they would ever want in this world.. Another circumstance which greatly encouraged Mrs. Thaxter, Was the return of the old housekeeper of Butternut Hill, Nabby Snow. Nabby had been her mother's chief dependance and housekeeper, while she lived at. Butternut Hill, and after she was dead, on her devly;ved the care of her two orphan children. Faithfully did she: perform the duties of a second mother, and though the children were both young when she left for her new home further east, yet she left none but pleasant and affectionate memories. -Aunt Nabby, as she was called, was one of those beings in whom the equivalents of nature are illustrated. What she, lacked in beauty ot person was made up to her in beauty and fidelity of character and cheerfulness of disposition. She was a diamond in the rough. At the time of the marriage of Col. ,Brooks, she had been engaged as a servant, and she lived in the family for a dozen years, and till long after M rs. Brooks, whom she always regarded as a pet child, had been laid in the church-yard. She was always the housekeeper and head of the homer department. The mistress was delicate and feeble, and Nabby willingly took the care and responsibility of everything. Whenever either of the children had any childish sorrow or grief to tell, they always-found in her a sympathizing friend. They never saw that her features were irregular, her face homely. It was beautiful to them, for it always beamed with love and affection. Their mother had on her dying bed -com- pmended them to her care, and the good creature then thought that she could never leave them. But love upsets the calculations of all of us. Among the men whom Col. Brooks hired on his farm was one Anderson Twiggs, who was as uncomely to the eye as Nabby, but lacking her redeeming beauties bf character. Knowing that she had been long at service, and supposing that she must have accu- mulated something'., he laid close siege to her heart, and of course took it by storm. Nobody had ever pretended to be in love with her before, and in the simplicity of her nature it never occurred to her that he was not, as he protested, abso lutely dying of his passion. He'!had a nice little farm, he said, away down on the banks'of the Penobscot," but it was so lone- ,o page: 114-115[View Page 114-115] PHLIP THAXTER. some living there all alone, that he had rented it out and gone off to work out by the month. And now " if Nabby would only hitch teams with him, they would go back there and live like fighting cocks.' To all these inducements he added that (" if she would not do it, he would go and drown himself immedi- ately." X It was a hard struggle for her to leave the children, but then she did not wanVtTwiggs to drown himself. She thought that would be a dreadful thing, and to prevent it she accepted the proposal, and as soon as everything could be made ready for the winter, she and Twiggs were married, and set off for their eastern home on the banks of the Penobscot The farm which Nabby found on arrival at her new home, was certainly inferior to that-she had left at Butternut Hill. The buildings consisted of a log house with one room and a small shanty for a cow. But they had no cow till the next summer, when they bought one with Nabby's money. The farnim consisted of about 60 acres of poor land, from which the timber had been cut off, leaving it covered with stumps and underbrush. About a dozen acres had been partially cleared, so as by hard labor to be, made to produce stinted crops of Indian corn, potatoes, and cabbages. And yet the place, poor as it was, was not half paid for, and after providing themselves with provisions for the winter and such scanty outfit as they must have, the balance of Nabby's money went to pay for the land. These were hard times for Nabby. She worked hard, while her worthless shiftless husband did little, and spent most of her money and his time at a dirty grocery near by. He was a great politician, and was especially indignant against those tyrants who would restrain him of his liberty by rendering it impossible for him to get intoxicating drinks. Temperance measures were his especial aversion, and he spent days and weeks in trying to convince those as miserable as himself, and who consequently agreed with him from the start that he was correct. 'Poor Nabby kept plodding on for years. She often thought with a sigh of the nice home she had left, and she reproached herself too -that the children had been so forsaken. Her sorrows had sharpened her visiop to see her conduct in leaving them in a new light. Yet, for all her hardships, was she ever cheerful, and her face had a pleasant smile for her lord, worth less as he was. -She did niot seem to be any less proud of him if he was shiftless and idle. If his day was spent at the groggery, and he came not home till late into the evening, yet she always received him with a cheerful welcome and the best supper the house could afford. For several years they worked along thus, getting poorer and poorer each year, until at last it appeared, when the autumn was well nigh spent, that no provision-bad been made for the winter. ,Twiags saw short commons and little rum by' staying at home, and when the teams for the lumbering swamps passed through that year, he determined he would try another winter at logging, and hired out for the season, without as much as consulting his dear Nabby. The latter, when she heard what he had done, was in sore affliction, though she approved his resolution. Poor a husband and helpmeet as he was, she said he was "a powerful sight better than none."' She knew it was the best thing he could do; and hoped he would save' his earnings to make their' home more comfortable another year. So she provided him twith the best outfit her scanty means would allow, and with more heartfelt tears than she cared to show, she bid him God-speed and a speedy re urn. After he was gone, it was a dreary season for Aunt Nabby. She lived entirely alone, and seldom did any one, save herself,- darken her doors. - She worked almost incessantly at spinning, weaving, knitting and sewing, and at any other work which any of her- neighbors would give her to do. 'Thus she eked out a living, and laid away sundry niceties anld knick-knacks with which to gratify and astonish her dear Twiggs when he should come back. But it was long ere his return. The winter passed away, and the snows melted and vanished, andmany lumbermen passed her door on their return from the pinery. But Twiggs came not, though she chanced to learn from one of thenm, that he had engaged to wait till} the-spring fresHiets, and assist in driving the logs down the roaring PenobsCot. She eagerly watched the breaking up.of the river, and saw with pleasure the first logs as they came hurrying down amid the rushing flood By and by they came in immense numbers, and the drivers were following them up to dislodge them when' they got aground and roll them into the channel of the stream. Still Twiggs came not; and many an anxious night did this modern Penelope lay awake listening to the roaring of the river, and thinking of her absent lord. page: 116-117[View Page 116-117] "6 PHLIP TIIAXTER. At length, when from hope deferred she was getting to be heart-sick, a couple of lumbermen called at her house and asked for a drink of cider. She had no cider to give them, but instead of that she offered them a pitcher of milk, which they gladly accepted. She inquired of them, as of all other lumber. men whom she met, if they had seen or heard of her absent Twiggs. "O yes," said one; "he' wsas in our camp. Didn't you know he was drownded the second day after we got our; logs, started? He was prying out'a log that had got stuck when his hand-spike slipped and he soused into the ice and slush and never came up agin. Was he your husband?' Well, he said he had the likeliest wife on the Penobscot river.' Poor Nabby's hopes and fears' were now at-an end. She grieved for her dead- lord as though she had lost something not only worth having, but beyond:price. Her home now became intolerable, and. often, like a more romantic person, would she walk up and down the bank of the river as if looking for him again to return. The season passed slowly and sadly away, and when the cold weather was again drawing near, her hus-i band's friend, the grocer, levied on and attached her cow and everything, else she had, to satisfy an account which he had contracted for rum. She thus, found herself friendless, and destitute, save a small sum of gold which had been paid her years before by Colonel Brooks, and which she had kept hid away in an old-stocking to provide for any emergency that might arise. She now resolved to make her way back to her old friends, and gathering up what little she could'save from the clutches of .the remorseless creditor, she was soon back to Butternut Hill, when she first learned-that during her long ab- sence Colonel Brooks had died, and Carolin'e had grown up to be a woman and had married Philip Thaxter. . It was at once agreed that she should be, reinstated in her old position, and never' was wanderer more glad to get back to the haven of rest -than-she was to find herself in her old room at the Brooks house. Unless she was turned out, she said she should never leave it again. She was not turned out, and yet she left it. iL' o , fr en ' .. devising ays and means by which they should extricate them- selves frdm the formidable indebtedness that was .hanging over them, a new and unexpected prospect opened to the anx- ious mind1of Thaxter. It wasjust at this time that the:first news was received of the gold discoveries in California. The reports of these astonishing discoveries were read with avidity by all classes, though they were at first believed to be greatly exaggerated, if not fabricated from nothing. They were the subject of conversation at Hihe fireside, in thestreet and in the bar room or grocery. Gold, gold was in every man's mouth if not in his pocket.- Some were for starting right off to Califor- nia to secure some of the precious ore before it was all gone. Others were for waiting till the news was confirmed. They had heard already that some had set out from the sea-port towns for the land of promise, and unless the gold fields were very eatensive they would all belexhausted of their treasure, before those who lived. so far back in the interior could get there. Yet if there was gold there, as there probably was, they were all anxious to get a share of it. Thbse who had nothing were the most anxious to go, in th ie same manner as such people are always first to seek change and revolution. They were not afraid to take the risks, providaed anybody, better off than themselves, would give them an outfit and take a bond or obliga tion from them to pay them in return for it one-half that they might make in a given time-say one, or two years. But nothing more than talk resulted from the delibierations and resolutions of the people residing in the vicinity of Butternut still. The papers which they received from abroad contained accounts, that seemed to them fabulous, of gold discoveries; page: 118-119[View Page 118-119] "8 PITITLTP TI IAXTER. : and some of the precious -metal was said to have found its way to New York, where it was exhibited to wondering eyes. San ! Francisco was said to be depopulated. All had gone to the mines. The government officers could not retain so much as their body servants. They were obliged to cook their own food, eat it raw, or starve. New discoveries in distant and remote parts were reported-at each new arrival, and the gold began to find its way east in such large quantities, that there could no longer be a doubt that wonderful discoveries had been made, and that the mines were of considerable extent Thaxter eagerly caught up all the reliable intelligence that he could gather concerning this land of gold. He said little but all that, he could learn he treasured up. "' Perhaps," thought he, " there may be something in it of importance even to me. If it be as it now appears, why may I not go there and spend a year or two and make enough to pay this crushing debt that is so wearing upon me and then have some peace the rest of my life. Of course Caroline will object to my going, and it will -be well nigh impossible to get away, and if I go I must arrange all the preliminaries before I let- her know anything about it. I will first consult with some of my neighbors in re. gard to it, and if the right sort of a company will'join me I be- lieve I will go." With this intention-he called on some of his neighbors to sound-them on the subject of California. Those whom he would have selected for companions would not entertain the idea of leaving a good home for the dangers and uncertainties of a gold digger's life. But others thought more favorably of the under- taking. The winter evenings that had now set in were spent in discussing California. Philip was away from home more than he had ever been- before. His wife su,-posled he was drilling his company-for by this time he had become Captain of it-at the town hall and indeed they often met there for that aUvowed purpose. But their interest in the news from the gold regions caused them to be brief in their exercises and to fall to canvassing the all-absorbing subject. At length it was determined among half a dozen of them, Athat they would go to California. They formed themselves into a company with Thaxter as their captain. The company was not such a one as Philip would have selected, nor were they an average of the New England yeomanry. They were of moderate intelligence, and one or two of them were inclined to be intem- NEW PROSPECT. 119 perate whenever they were free from restraint. They organized themselves- into a tee-total society,' however, and each one pledged himself to total abstinence during the time he was away. t They all hoped to be back in a year, and pledged the mselves to return at farthest in two years, if life were spared and they could get back. When these preliminaries were arranged they were all engaged in raising the means so as to get off: "One was obliged to mortgage his farm ;. another sold off a piece of land; a third had money at interest; one had relatives who would gladly let him have the money to go in order that they might get rid of him, and one of them had an acquaintance who would advance him the money necessary for the journey, on condition that he would give him half he might make oversand above his expenses the first year after his arrival. 'Untit they were ready to leave they all agreed to meet twice a week at the tavern of Capt. Stout, which was situated about a mile from . Butternuft Hill. Up to this time Mrs. Thaxter was entirely ignorant of what was going on. But now when the money had been raised by; lier-husband's companions and he could not refuse to go I without incurring censure- and-ridicule, he thought it time to I break the news to her. Like Cortez he had taken pains to cut - off his own retreat. He had not yet allowed his plans to interfere with his ordinary avocations, but worked each day as usual and as the season required. One day he had been at work all day in the woods, getting fire-wood for the year. That evening he was to meet his friends at Stout's tavern. His milnd had been so active thinking of what he was about to do, and of the consternation that would- be created at home .when he told of his resolution,- that the time passed rapidly away, and- the shades of evening were falling before he was aware that the day was near spenft. As the darkness gathered he made his way homeiward, thinking of the sorrow which would- be occasioned there that night, by the news he was about to divulge. There was no apprehension, tat that hour, of the impending sorrow. Aunt Nabby was busily engaged in her household-i-nuties. At the first sign of dusk, she had begun her preparations for the evening meal. Through the day, Mrs. Thaxter had been- engaged in teaching George his letters, and Ben his multiplication table, and afterwards, in The old house at Butternut Hill was a large. square, old- s / page: 120-121[View Page 120-121] 120 - LPJP THAXTEBR. fashioned domicil, with green blinds and gable roof. It stood . , fronting to the east, and on the south side had a deep piazza, extending from the front tothe rear. During the life time of its former owner, it had been kept in complete repair, havring a new coat of paint every two or three, years. But Thaxter had never felt able, since he came into possession, to indulge i it with" this- expense. He said that it was best to get it paid i for, first, and then, if they could afford anything for taste and beauty, to do so; and not till then. The dining room of the house was- that in which the family lived in the winter time. j It was a large, Well-furnished room, in the back part of the a house, with bed-rooms at each end. It contained an immense fireplace, on one side of which was the brick oven, used for the great baking of the week,:which consisted of huge loaves of white - and brown bread, mince, apple, pumpkin, and custard pies; i akes and pork and beans. The small room, adjoining, which in late years was more exclusively devoted to cooking, con- tained a large cooking stove, and it was here that the house work was mostly performed. mn as cold, wintry day the dining room had an air of exceeding comfort, and a stranger looking in there, would naturally bclinolined to say, that if peace dwelt , anywhe heart that is humble might hope for it here." There was comfort in the very look of the room. Its broad i fire-place, with thee wire fender in front, and a cordial -glow upon the coals, seemed to invite you to sit 'down,' take your ease and be happy. The high, board ceiling seemed to be i made to defy the cold, and th-, knocks and thunlps of chairs and tables, so that you could lean your chair against it with no i fear of defacing it. The large table that stood between the o windows, its broad leaves dropped down to gain more room, . wa large enough, when opened out in the center of the room,!I to give elbow room around it for a small regiment. Over head were numerous hooks, pendant from the ceiling, with poles ; stretched fi'om one to another, on which pumpkins and apples cut for drying, were hung in their season, and in the winter time; mittens, stockings and neck-comfortkrs were placed to . dry. The supper for this evening was to consist of a roast spare-!a rib, some baked potatoes, a small loaf of newly baked brown bread, warm from the oven, some short cream biscuit and a hot apple-pie. Aunt Nabby had her supper all ready but the tea, J ', NEW PROSPCrE. . 121 and for this the water was already heated, and she was waiting the appearance of the " gude mon" before she pouued it on the tea-leaves and set the infusion " to draw." The potatoes were almost done, and the careful housekeeper was in an anxious flurry, for fear they would be fully cooked before they were ready to eat them, for she said " they were never so -good as when jist done and taken pipin' hot from the oven." Ben, who had been to the doqr to look for his father, came running back into the room and said he was close by. The hot water was now quickly poured upon the tea-leaves and the tea- pot set near the fire. The various dishes containing the dainty viands were placed upon the-table.. The spare-rib was taken from the stove-oven, hissing and sputtering in its dark, thick gravy. When the master of the-house was away dinner-time, this was the principal meal of the day. - At such times a light lunch sufficed for the balance of-the family. The boys at about one o'clock had their fill of bread and mills; and about two hours later a generous slice of bread and 'butter was given to each of them " to-fill them up," as Nabby said, so, that they would not eat too much! hearty food just before going to bed. Shle said, " it was dre'ful bad for folks to eat too much jist as they were goin' to bed. She had known it to give Twiggs the night- mare before he was drown4ed in the roaring Penobscot.", When Philip entered he found a smile of welcome on every face. He sat down by the fire and took a boy on each knee and inquired if they had been obedient during the day. To this question their mother gave an affirmative answer, when he told them to jump down, so that he conld wash himself and be ready for supper. " Has Jonas been over yet to put up the cattle ? he inquired of Nabby. " Yes, he is out to the barn now," said she, and I will see that all is right when I go out to milk." " Ah, well," said he, " I am glad of it, for I am about tired enough without doing anything. more to-night." Having washed his face and hands and changed his coat, he now sat down to the table, having one boy on each side of him. They were both as happy as they could be, and had many questions to ask and many stories to tell of what they had seen and learned that day. Philip was at first abstracted and less communicative than usual. The thought crossed -his mind whether or no anything page: 122-123[View Page 122-123] [122 PTITP THAXTER. he could secure by going to California would compensate him for leaving, even for a year, a home like his. Naturally he thought alo, and-his thoughts found utterance thus: "It is mighty comfortable in here, especially after being out in the cold and snow all day. And you have got us a capital supper, Nabby., This spare-rib is enough to make a, man talk in his sleep and get up and eat it. I guess you have been kept pretty busy to-day, what with baking and scrubbing, and keep- ing the children in order." "O la, Mr. Tha;ter, it's jist fun for me to work, and Mis- tress has worked as hard as I have. Of course we must all work if we would get rich." , "I am afraid," said he to his wife, "you are working too hard. I wish we could feel that we could afford to ease up a j/ little on the hard work. But the prospect is pretty blue for it now, I admit." " ( I know that would be agreeable, but I don't allow the thought of it to trouble me. Do you suppose we should be any happier if we had nothing to do but sit in the corner and fret because we had nothing to occupy oui time? We have worked hard till this time, and do you suppose that any couple ever, spent six years more happily? I ask nothing more in the fu. ture on that score than I have had in the past." "But you should recollect, my dear, that we are getting older, and we shall not be able always to, work so hard ; or if we do we shall get old too early. I begin to feel already less active than I did six years ago." "All the men say, however, that you do more work than any of them yet." "That is because I know who I am working for. We have got a long way before us ere we get out of the woods, and withe out hard work and close management, we shall yet break down. It would come desperate hard to lose all now, after our first enthusiasm and yigor is spent."- "I have no fear of that, and I am not going to borrow trouble, If it won't come of its own accord, it may stay away. I will hope for the best-.but O! I forgot-your loquacious friend has been here to-day, and she had her rattle-head full of news." "' Who do you mean?" "Why, the widow Proctor. She says that the widow Grim has got news from her son Josh. He has turned up in Cali* fornia at last, and has written home a letter"' . A NE W PROSPECT. 123 "Well, what sayls Josh? I hope he has got some of the go d they are finding there; and then I hope will send some home to his mother, for she needs it badly enough."' : ' He has: he has sent her five hundred dollars, and he writes that he has such heaps and piles of it left. Some days, he says, he makes a hundred dollars, and most always fifty." I "Perhaps he does; but he never made the salt of his por- ridge before, and I would rather .see the gold now than take his word for it." "But if he has sent the money it proves it must have been plenty, or he never would have got so much. He writes that -he has got $7,000 to bring home when- he comes." "Is it possible?" said Philip, pushing back from the table and walking across the room. The bovs, by this time, having finished their supper, were playing about the floor. "Come, Nabby," said their father, " put these young men to bed: I will go to the barn and feed the cattle again. After supper I must read the Tribune to see what that says of California2' While Philip is gone to the barn Aunt Nabby is busy cIear- ing off the dishes and carrying them to the kitchen sink to wash them. Mrs. Thaxter employs' herself, meanwhile, in undressing the children, hearing them say their prayers, and putting them to bed. While thus engaged Nabby leaves her work, and half blushing, as if ashamed of what she was about to say, simpers out: If you please, ma'am, if you please, may I have a fire in F the other room to-night?" ; "A fire, Nabby; how is this l" tIf you please, ma'am, I expect company to-night. It don't mean nothing. It's only for social." "It's Bumpus, is it? O I am afraid, Nabby, you will be leaving me again But if Bumpus is coming-I suppose you must have a fire." - "O, no, ma'am, I shall never leave youi agina. Saying which she hurried back to her dishes, and was soon singing in a voice more remarkable for strength than melody, a hymn, of which the purport was that she was " bound for the land of Philip soon returned form thhebarn, and took his seat in the large, old-fashioned arm chair, the same which had been occupied by Col. Brooks through so many long years of sick- ness and pain. page: 124-125[View Page 124-125] 124 PRITAP THAXTER. ". The Post is on the mantel-piece," said his wife, who had jUSt returned from putting the children to bed; " but I have not had time to look into it yet." "Well, it is no matter about that now: I have something else to think about." "What is it? I am curious to know." , Come and, sit down by me, thdn, and I will tell you. It is very important." 1 ' Important," exclaimed she, beginning to look surprised, and sitting down on a low chair beside him, placing her two hands on his knee. "How important? You look very grave, and speak as earnestly as a judge." You will look grave and speak earnestly, when I tell you that I am going to California." "To California!" "Yes, to California-to California. I am convinced it is the best thing I can do., I am tired of this unceasing labor, and no getting ahead." (' But, Philip, we are getting ahead, and we are so happy. You are not in. earnest. If you are, do give up that foolish notion. We are not afraid of hard work. And it will be so much harder in California-digging gold-working in the water all day-lifting great stones, and climbing those terrible hills. I have, read all about it in the' papers. Don't think of such a thing, Philip. It is a dreadful country to go to. When you have been to work hard all day, you will not have such a nice home as thi- to come to. Np, good, warm supper-no nice, warm, dry clothes to put on, and no big fire to warm yourself by. And you will have no little wife there, no Benny, no George. And' when you lie down at, night, to sleep on the cold ground, you will think you would give all the world if you were back to your old home again. So don't, don't, as you love me, don't ever speak of such a wild, harum- -scarumr project again. "' Why, Carrie, you are very eloquent, and it is almost dangerous to listen 'to you. I do not propose to be gone, at the most, more than two years, and that time will be over almost before we ean think about it. You were saying only a day or two since,-that it seemed but yesterday that we were married, and the sixth-year of our married life is gone and is now shut up with the past." "( Ah, yes! but then it was brief because we were so happy. ,T * O * ' A NqW PROSPECT. 125 Together we have been so quiet and happy that we took no note of time. But were you away, and Inot knowing how you fared, the days would then seem to be ages. O Philip, give up this foolish freak; you cannot, must not go." ' My darling wife : go I must. My heart is set upon it. I have been brooding and thinking over the matter for the last two or three weeks, and I cannot keep the subject out of my mind. Sleeping .or waking, California is in my thoughts I should almost go -mad if I could not go there. 'Tis hard to leave you--very, dreadful hard ;' but then-,Lam sure it is best for us all. I have no doubt that I can make money enough and more than enough, in one year, to pay off all I owe on the mortgage, and then we can live at ease the rest of our days We can send both of the boys to college. And is not it our duty to submit to a separation for a time, on their account' /We hope some brighter future for our boys than mere laborers. They must be educated, and then they may not only be a comfort, but an honor to us both. Yes, Carrie, for this you can endure your widowhood awhile, and when we are rich, we will look back with the greater satisfaction- on our days of poverty and humble toil." "We may be richer, Philip, but we shall never be happier than we have been. If, we have worked hard, we have been none the less happy on that-account. And why shouldn't we be content? Do you think we should love each other any bet- ter if we had millions? Would the boys promise better, think you, if they were to grow up conscious that they were to inherit fortunes? Have we not often seen that rich men's sons are the most trifling and worthless! Can we expect that our boys will be benefited by having fortunes left them; or will it be better for them to grow up relying and depending on them. selves I know it would be a great relief to have the debt paid off, but I do not believe, that if you were to come back friom California in a year, with a hundred thousand dollars, you would be any happier than you have been for the last six years. Why, if we were rich, we should feel that we must spend more money. We could not,have the quiet comfort we now have. We must then live in more style, and have lazy, swindling servants to annoy us, and then you would be obliged to be armed at all points, and always on the watch to save - yourself from being robbed or cheated. No, I do not believe we can ever be any happier.- We do not want wealthl. We re, - - d n w page: 126-127[View Page 126-127] 126 PHLIP THAXTER. have that already, which is better than gold. We have healtl and happiness, and that is all we want. Each year, too, we are getting [Jowly out of debt.: We have only to be patient \ few years longer, and then we shall have all that we can desire Once out of debt and with this place-on which I was born and on which I hope to die-left clear ; 'tis all we want, and sc 'I have heard you say a thousand times, before this foolish Cal fornia notion got into your dear old head.," Philip sat looking at the fire, while his wife thus eloquently appealed to him to abandon his California project. "to fervic and heartfelt was her appeal, that'when she concluded the tears were fast falling down her cheeks. She looked up in her bus band's face with a most beseeching expression, and a glimmer of hope flashed over her features, as she saw that the tears were also standing in his eyes. - Raising his hand to her head he, stooped over and imprinted a kiss on her lips, saying, "Car- rie, you are right." "I know I am," continued she with increased energy. "Nothing can be gained by going, in any, event. And then suppose yon should be sick. Suppose misfortune should over- take you ; you may be cast away before you get there, or break a limb, and what then would become of you?" "What would become of you, Carrie? That is the question that troubles me most. Want might be looking in at the door before I could give any relief. I can't stand that suggestion. You are right. I will not go to California. The others must go without me. I am sorry I everlhad anything to say about the matter. They will be disappointed if I do not go. But I would sooner displease them than you. I must let them know to-night that I am not going, We were all to meet down at the tavern this evening, and our plan was to start very soon. I will go down and tell them of my determination. I suppose they will think me very weak and vacillating, but the mere resolution to give up the enterprise, has taken a load from my mind. I feel like myself again. The nightmare has passed away. How it was I ever argued myself into the belief that it was my duty to go to California,'I cannot understand. Why, I have now, what I would not exchange for all the gold in Cali- fornia. But the-illusion is over now, thank God. I must go over to the blacksmith shop, and then run down to the tavern and let the others know they must arrange their future plans without regard to me. But I will be' back directly," saying A NEW PROSPECT. 127 which he took his hat and went out, while his wife walked up and down the room in a fever of excitement. She had reasoned him out of his purpose, it is true, and this very fact caused her to fear that others might reason him into -it again. She feared the contact with his intended fellow trav- elers, would undo all she had done. She thought, upon. her sleeping children, and to calm her excitement went tolook at them as they lay in the sweet sleep of youth and innocence. No sooner hadMr. Thaxter quitted the room than Nabby came bustling in, her face all aglow and looking smiling and happy as a young girl with a new bonnet. "What was it," said she to herself, "I heard them saying about going to Cali- fornia? I hope Mr. Thaxter arn't going there. I am sure Bumpus won't go there. He couldn't leave me-I will ask him about it when he comnes-there, he is coming now-there, that is his knock-come in." The door was opened, and as Nabby surmised, Mr.: Bumpus entered. He was a good-humored, good-natured, thick-headed, thick-set sort of a man, about forty years of age. He was dressed in a new suit of warm, home-made sheep's gray. The pantaloons were of the amplest dimensions, and the coat, which was a cross between a sack and a roundabout, had generous pockets in the sides, in which the owner kept his hands when- ever they were not in active use. After entering the door, and closing it behind him, he stood awhile with his hat on waiting for orders before he ventured farther. His hat was literally one of the tallest kind. It run up like a. church spire, towards heaven, and had a rim, around the base about an inch wide. -The silk, which yet remained upon it, evidently had , been recently smoothed down with a wet cloth, so that it looked as glossy as a newly japanned tea-caddy. He stood thus looking like the very genius of stupidity and bashfulness till Nabby, who looked scarcely less silly, relieved the restraint and Silence by saying " good evening." Good evening, Miss Nabby," said he, "fine evening, ma'am. Cold weather." "Yes, sir, take a seat, sir," said she, pushing a chair towards him. "I knew you was comin'." "You did, well I declare. How did you know that?" , I knew," said she, casting an arch look upon him. "I was jist goin' to build a fire in 'tother room, but as the folks are all gone, I guess we can. stay -here.'" page: 128-129[View Page 128-129] 128 p'PHrLTP THAXTER. T Having got thus far, both parties came to a dead halt in their conversation, and looking happy and confused they sat : gazing at the -fire. ' - - \ After hemmin g and hawing and spitting vast quantities of tobacco juice into the fire, casting now and then guilty and side- long glances at Nabby,' Bullpus at length mustered courage to , begin-- -* "Nabby, do you remember the last time I see you what we i was talkin' about?" - "Of course I do," said she, " you wanted a housekeeper." X "Do you know where I can get one? It comes mighty hard on me to look after all my things. My old mother is ?:- pretty weaksome, and can't do much besides get the victuals, so I have to look to all the geese and pigs and hens, when I .:i! or't to be 'tendin' to the cattle, and plowin' and farm-work. Now, if I could get a right tidy and, rugged woman to come and keep house for me, I would be proper glad. You know what kind of a one I want-'bout your size-pretty stout and - a plump-for I have heaps of hard work to do. I want to make lots of butter and cheese next summer. Do you know any sich " i "( No, I don't know nobody." t:i "Hush, Nabby; maybe you would like to be my house- - I 1keper," said he, moving up towards her and hitting her a -I slight dig under the ribs, " chick, 6ld gal!" X ' Me! Penobscot! Do you think I could so soon forget poor - - Twiggs? It arn't two years since he was drownded in the roaring Penobscot. And then I have promised my good mis- i tress not to leave her no more. What would she do? poor woman, I would like to know if I was to leave her." "( You don't consider what I am to do this long winter, with the awful long, cold nights. You can see jist how it is. My I farm is small, but there arn't no better .land in all the town. I have got a hoss, four cows and one old grunter.. I have got \ twelve layin' hens and two roosters. I don't count Pipsy, for she don't lay no more, and I am goin' to kill her before long . Then I have six strappin' geese that give me lots of feathers. Don't you like geese-feathers to sleep on, Nabby? And -I I i! have got a good wagon and a sleigh, and my house is warm and comfortable and snug, and all I want is;a housekeeper. Can't you go, Nabby" " Nabby', who had been listening quietly to Bumpus' recapit- j ; \ \ . @ i ' !" A NEW PRO'SPECT. 129 ulation of his effects, affected, notwithstanding her late allu- sion to the dear departed Twiggs, not to understand the. drift of his talk, and surprised him by asking him what he would pay a week. " 0, no, I don't mean' that," said he, moving a hitch nearer to her. " I want you to marry me. Didn't you know that-?" " Yes, but I can't do" it. How can I leave Mistress Thaxter, and she been so kind to mie ? When she was a little bit of a baby I took care'on her. and she- was jist the sweetest child I ever seen. And when I left her and went to live with Twiggs, I thought my heart would break, and when I come back I told her I never would leave her agin. How could she get along with them boys if it wasn't for me ? Do you know I love them boys, Bump-jist as well as if they was my own." " If we was to wait a little spell, perhaps we should have some of our own," timidly suggested Bumpus. " Mr. Bumpus," said Nabby, moving back her chair in great apparent indignation, " don't say such a thing to me agin--you make me blush. A bird in the hand is worth a whole flock in the bushes." - "0 well. it's no matter. If you don't like it, I'll go. Good by, Miss Twiggs-good by. 1'11 go right down and ,see the widow Proctor." "O don't go, Mr. Bumpus," - said Nabby, relentingly. "I didn't mean nothin'. We have got some new cider, and it's fust rate. I will get some apples, too. Won't you stay and have some cider ?" " Guess I will take a little drop of eider," said he, instantly mollified and resuming his seat. I am a temperance man, you know, though I take a little cider once in a while." While Nabby was gone for the apples and cider, Bumpus sat holding his hat between' his knees, whistling half-audible snatches of a tune and drumming on the sie of his hat with his fingers. His love appeals had been entirely unsuccessful thus far, and he was whistling to keep up, his courage to be ready for another attack when Nabby should return. The stony-hearted widow soon emerged from the cellar with'a large pitcher of the foaming juice of the apple in one hand, and a tin basin of large pippins in the other. She set them down before the fire to go for a tumbler, but Bumpus obviated the necessity of that by taking up the pitcher immediately; and, as soon as he could take out the quid of tobacco, he applied it to his lips- page: 130-131[View Page 130-131] 130 Ptfn p ITAXTER. nor did he remove it till it was emptied of the larger half of its contents. Then setting it down he said, thrusting back the well-worn quid--"Nabby, that is good cider." She assented to this latter proposition by pouring out a tum- bler of the beverage and taking it off. She then offered Bum- pus an apple, when out came the tobacco again, which he held in his hand while he-disposed of two of the pippins. He then said he guessed it was time for him to be going, for he had got to go down to the tavern to see what the news was from Cali- fornia, for he had learned there was to be a meeting there of folks that were going after gold. He said " he didn't know who was going, but if -there didn't more than one go there would certainly be one fool in the crowd." Nabby was anxious to hear more -of this California expedi- tion, but Bumpus knew nothing about it. She was afraid from what she had overheard, that Mr. Thaxter might be one of the party that was going. She urged Bumpus ,to go down to the tavern and learn all about it, and come back the next day and let her know. He, too glad to do anything that she might ask, immediately put on his hat, and saying "good night," started off for the inn. Nabby sat looking in the fire for about fifteen minutes after he was gone. What she thought about I do not know, buat the tears would come into her eyes in spite of herself-then she would laugh in spite of her tears; then cry again, and again laugh. At length, fearing that some one might surprise her in this mood, she went up to her own room over the kitchen, and was soon snoring in her bed at a rate that must have reminded poor Twiggs, had he been alive and near, of the " roaring Pen- obscot." . CHAPTER XV. . , , i STOUT S TAVERN. STOUT'S' Tavern was a square, old-fashioned country house, situated at the four corners near the centre of the town, and ' about a mile to the south of; Butternut Hill. It stood facing the west and south; and as the landlord always kept a good fire in the winter time, his bar room was usually pretty well filled with travelers and neighbors, who met there- to get the current news and to talk over the affairs of the world. The stable stood several rods to the east of the house, and be- tween them was a long, low shed for the shelter of animals, isleighs and carriages. It was not unusual for it to be filled with the horses and sleighs of neighbors whose patronage was more punctual than profitable. In times anterior to those that now engage our attention, they had been accustomed to meet there and keep up the hilarity of their meetings by frequent potations at the bar. Many a truant husband had stayed there till lone after the time when sober folks were abed, unmindful that thereI was one at homes "nursing her wrath to keep it warm." Captain Stout, the landlord, never hurried a guest till he became noisy and troublesome, when he would get out his horse and sleigh from under the shed, tumble in the limber! jointed owner, give the horse his head and a switch of the whip and sends them home, the horse knowing the way fre- quentlv better than the man. But the temperance reform, or " temperance folly," as Cap- tain Stout called it, had, changed all this, The doughty"Cap- tain, the valiant hero of sundry sham fights at militia trainings and general musters, after being prosecuted and fined, till he was very much impoverished, for violations of the liquor law, at last abandoned the traffic and removed the bottles from his page: 132-133[View Page 132-133] 132 PHLIP THAXTER. bar. The effect of 'this was to' materially diminish a cer. tain portion of his custom. The most frequent attendants in the good old days of free rum now seldom appeared there, To them the place had lost its charm, though the jolly landlord was as merry and ns cordial as ever, and kept up as warm a fire as when the free use of internal appliances rendered it, accor. ding to his theory, less necessary. It was a poor substitute, he said, that he could-now offer the shivering traveler for the hot toddy of other days. But such as the law would allow he always had ready in abundance. A small plaster-of-Paris furnace always stood in the chimney corner, and at about seven o'clock each evening a pot of coffee was placed upon it that sent forth its grateful aroma into the room, while in the little closet beside the fire-place was a, copious pitcher of cream so rich and thick as to turn the coffee with which tit was mixed to a light golden color. In this closet there was likewise laid in, each day, for the evening's consumption, Sa platter of doughnuts, soine mince-pies, a loaf of bread, a big slice of cheese, and a plate of bufter. The landlady of Stout's tavern was a notable house-wife, and in former years having been so often disturbed by her husband and his revellers 'going to her pantry late at night, she adopted this system, and qow kept her own part of the house under lock and key. This course was also rendered necessary by the fact that the mail stage passed through the town at about twelve o'clock each night and in the winter time there was a great demand among the passengers for the coffee and dough- nuts that Were always temptingly displayed to them at Stout's tavern. This display had the effect of not only enticing travel- lers to a midnight lunch, but frequently the neighbors who had ; been accustomed to resort thither to spend their time and mo- ney, were induced to indulge in a cup of coffee, which they con- sidered a poor substitute for the New England rum of other days. The only striking characteristic about Capt. Stout was his laziness. He was not particlarly stupid nor particularly intel- lectual: e was neither very fat, very lean, very tall, nor very short. In all these respects he was very middling. But his laziness was as near the sublime as laziness ever gets to be. His wife was all activity, neatness and industry, and while the Captain was too lazy to offend ainybody, she took care that all customers should leave the house well pleased- with their * STOUT S TAVERN. . 133 - faire. So Stout's tavern came to be regarded as the best pub- lic house between Fly-away Point and Little River--a distance of forty miles. Before Thaxter arrived at the tavern the bar-room was half- filled with persons afflicted, more or less severely, with the Cal. ifornia fever. - Some would go if they could, and some would go whether or no. The most fabulous stories were told of rich prospects and wonderful discoveries. At length one individ. ual by the name, of Stanton, who had been one of Stout's most regular and-constant customers in the days of free rum, spoke up and inquired if there was any liquor law in California. "Not a bit of it," said another, whose name was Chew, and who had likewise been a good customer in other times. "Not a bit of it. I thought of that the first thing. But it will cost a quarter to get a glass-some difference- be'tween that and five cents." "That is nothing," answered Stanton, "when we can make fifty or a hundred dollars a day. Who will mind twenty-five cents, when he is making a hundred dollars a day 1? ',11treat the whole crowd when I am doing that." "Well, boys," said Boniface, " you may get plenty of rum in Californy, but I doubt whether you get such coffee and doughnuts as my old woman makes. I think if me and her was in Californy, we would make a fortin5' She is a great woman, my wife is. Here is the coffee, just bilin',"' said he, taking the pot from the furnace and placing it upon the hearth. "Who is goin' to have coffee and cakes to-night? Only twelve and a half cents, and as we don't have any toddies now, we must have something else to stay the stomach." " I, for one, am going to try the coffee and doughnuts," said Joel Jocelyn, who was one of the most eager for the California expedition, and who had come three or four miles to make ar- rangements with his fellow-voyagers.-" j never did care much about liquor; in fact, I rather go in for prohibition, I do; I get along without any rum better than with it, and if I only stick to it when I get to California, it will save me a great many quarters." , During this conversation Capt. Stout has drawn the pine table, on which two elongated thorough-bred Yankees have been sitting, with their feet drawn under them, into the mnid- dle of the room. On this he placed the huge coffee-pot, and then the doughnuts, cheese and other edibles, besides cups and I page: 134-135[View Page 134-135] 134 PHLIP THAXTER. saucers. "Jim, you lazy fellow," says he, "Jim, do you see what I have done? Wait upon the gentlemen," and with that he took his seat upon his throne inside the bar. The expedltionists had assembled this evening especially for the reason that Thaxter had agreed to meet with them. They all looked up 'to him as their leader, and the most of them would never have entertained the idea of going but for the fact that he was to be of the company. Without any consultation or agreement, theyl had all recogmnized him as their head or leader, and the fact that he was to accompany them had recon- ciled their friends andsneighbors to thWeir hazardous adventure, His non-arrival at the time he was expected had caused some uneasi ess, not because any one anticipated any change of pur- pose in him, but for the reason that they were'!purposeless without his leading mind to plan for them. No one had any confidence in suggesting anything till it met with his approval. One after another they had drawn around the6 table and con'- menced upon the doughnuts. Several had come in and gone out during the last half-hour, and every one that entered was asked whether or no he had seen anything of Capt. Thaxter. Among others, our friend Bumpus entered and took his seat at the fire. I Tie company at length began to get anxious for fear lest Thaxter was nqt coming. One said he guessed they had better adjourn till the next night; another would wait awhile longer. Joel Jocelyn was afraid the woman had made objection; "( for," said he, "I asked him yesterday what she thought about it, and he said he had never hinted a word about it to her. I reckon there was a blow-up and he don't- dare to leave her for fear of gettiing his hair pulled and a curtain lecture after he gets home." "That is -the- trouble, I reckon," said Murch, "Thaxter thinks a heap of that,woman of his'n. A plague on the women, I say; I am glad I ha'n't got none o' that sort o' property." "No." said Stanton,- you won't be troubled that way very soon. No woman would have you, not even such- a one as her that fell in love with me." , ' "You don't pretend to say a woman ever fell in love with "Don't I, though? Sartainly I do, and she was a right handsome woman, too. . She was smart as chain-lightning, and STOUT'S TAVERN, 135 twice as spry. She had lost one eye in a fight with a wild-cat. ILtell you she was a bruiser." "But the wild-cat-tell us about that," said Chew. ( Yes, tell us about the wild-cat," said the landlord. "Where did that fight come off-I would like to have seen that tussle." "( Down to the Madawaska. Itswas when I was lumberin' away down there two year ago, away up towards- the head of the Penobscot." "Penobscot!" broke out Bumpus, " that- is just the way Nabby talks." "But she killed the wild-cat, and I seen the skin. She had to carry it home on her shoulders, and she did it, lame as she was." ( Did she get lamed by the wild-cat?" inquired Murch, "No, she was got lamed by' an accident when she was little. One leg was about two inches or two and a half shorter than. the other-so she told me --I don't know for sartain, and she walked in this way," getting up and walking across the room with the left knee held, stiff and throwing himself up on the [right leg at every step, in imitation of the peerless hero of the Madawaska wild-cat fight. "She must have been a beauty. Aye, you were a pair on 'em," said Chew. "Well, we was, hoss," continued Stanton, motioning the boy, Jim, to give him some coffee. "Why didn't you marry her?" asked Murch. ' She didn't fancy me, I reckon. She said I was a fool, and! ugly as sin, and all such compliments. But she didn't talk that way when I went a-courting and give her nice presents. X When I asked her to marry me though, she said I was a fool, an idiot, an ass, and was ugly enough to break the looking-glaps and 11 the other household furniture. And when she got through with all such lingo, she threw tfie stool at my head, , and there is the scar now," holding down his head and parting the thick, coarse hair to show a cicatrix that proved that no slight gash once existed there. "Since then I have cut the wome;n, I have. They an't any on 'em get round me ag'in. -But here comes the man himself." At this time the door opened and Thaxter appeared. It was a bitter night without. The snow, which had fallen to a great depth but a short time before, was blown merrily about by the cold, sharp, north-west wind, and the roads were badly page: 136-137[View Page 136-137] 136 , PHLIP TIXHXTER. blocked with the drifted snow. Philip looked round on the company, and remarked that it was " devlish cold." "Yes, indeed,' said-Boniface, who had come down from the bar; "sit down and try a cup of coffee. It ;is the best we can do these days. But it is better than nothing." Philip thanked him, but excused himself on the ground that ne never ate anything except at regular meal-time. -' But what is the news?" he inquired, " anything ,later from California?" "' O, lots of news-cords and cords of it. Havn't you heard it?" said Jocelyn. "I was down below to market yesterday, and saw a letter from Jeremiah Chickering--you used to know Jeremiah; he went to sea, you know, and he happened to get into San Francisco just in the nick of time, and he has writtpn a letter home to some of his folks, and such stories., Why, he says he made two thousand dollars in one week, and now he is going to dam the river next summer, and expects to find the bottom of it all covered with gold." "Ah," said Thaxter, "I thought he hadn't made anything; that was the last report, and was coming home." "But his luck has turned," replied Jocelyn. "I am afraid it is- all luck," said Thaxter. "There is little certainty about anything, from all that I can learn. Even the papers say that, where one is making his fortune hundreds are roaming about barely making enough to pay for what they eat and drink. We may do well, and we may find ourselves poorer at the year's End -than when we first arrived in the country. We should lookn-t-both sides of the picture before we start." - i "You are not getting sick, I hope," said Stanton. At this instant there was a loud sound of sleigh-bells and of a team driven rapidly up to the door. Before anyone could get out to see who it -was, a cry for a light was, heard. ' Jim," said the landlord, " where are you? Attend to the gentleman. Get the lantern. Do you hear?"i ' "Aye, aye, sir," said Jim, drawing out the lantern from un- der one of the seats, and lighting the lamp with as much speed as so great haste would permit. He was soon outside the door, assisting the traveler to get out of his sleigh, in which he was so completely wedged in with buffalo robes that he could hardly extricate himself. By the aid of the hostler, however, he was soon upon his feet-when, surrendering the horses, he. walked into the house. He was shielded from the ,t STOUTTS TAVERN. '137 cold by a, wolf-skin overcoat, and a beaver cap for the protec- tion of his head. His gloves were of mink-skin, having long and large wrists, so as to be drawn on over the sleeves of the overcoat, thus effectually protecting him from the wind. Nev- ertheless his first words were in pxecration of the cold and the bad roads. Captain Stout bustled about, ordering his lunching neigh- bors out of the way to-give the strange gentleman a:chance to warm himself. The latter, seating himself in front of the fire, told the landlord to put his horses under cover and give them some oats. The landlord was a little taken' aback at this, for he- had supDosed he had,a guest for a longer period. "( It shall be done, sir," quoth he; " will you have anything else ." (- Yes, make me a good, stiff, hot whiskey toddy. Make a big pitcher of it--enough for all hands. Come, gentlemen, 'tis my treat. Landlord, hot whiskey for all." "You are a stranger, I reckon," said the landlord, looking at him in astonishment. "Yes, yes, I havn't been in this section before for seven years, and hope I shan't be again for seven years to come.- Come, don't staind there; hurry up the whiskey." "I guess youti forget where you are. Do you know that you are in New England agin, where we don't have toddies any more; no rum, no whiskey, no nothin'."' "Nonsense; give me a glass of New England rum, old ' White eye,' as they used'to call it when I was a boy." "Can't do nothin' of the kind. They don't allow us to keep anything stronger than coffee now-a-days." "Don't tell me that! I must have some. My pocket flask gave out about an hour ago, and I must have some more. So bring it out-I have heard about your d - d Maine laws if I have been a traveler. We have Christian laws there. You are afraid of getting fined, but here is a slug-that will pay the fine-'only give me something to drink." "Can't, upon my life, sir; havn't got it. ..I tried mighty hard to keep a little just for travelers; but one night the boys found it and got noisy, and one of them froze to death before he got home, and the next day the sheriff; came and found the keg that held the critter in the soap. barrel-you can't keep it away firom these temperance chaps-and they page: 138-139[View Page 138-139] PHLIP THAXTER. poured it all out on the ground, and it hurt my feelings so to see the good stuff runnin' to waste; thatI hadn't the courage to buy any more. It is the law's fault, stranger, not mine." ' Curse such laws, then," said the stranger,' ' and hang the men that make them. Give me some coffee, then, and some of your mince pie. I wonder what they would do in Califor. nia without whiskey." At the mention of the word California, the company gathered round the stranger, all as eager to catch the words he might drop as if they were gr ins of gold dust. "You are from California, are you?" said Thaxter, while the traveler paid his respects to the doughnuts, pies, cheese, and coffee of Madam Stout. "Yes, I came by the last steamer. I had some business to do in New York-some quartz stock I wanted to sell, and some other little matters; so I came. And when I got there, as I had not seen my old father for seven years, I thought I would run down and see him. I intend to buy him the best farm in all that section, and let him have all the money he wants to stock it with, and then go back. Then, if I should ever get broke, I should have a good place to go to. But here, you John, see how my horses get along with their oats. I must go twenty miles to-night, and I have got the team to do it." "Well, sir, may I ask you what your opinion is of Califor- nia?" said Thaxter. "I think," replied he, " as the Queen of Sheba did of Solo- mon, that the half has not been told. I don't pretend to say how it is for other people. I will only tell you what it has done for me. About a year ago L landed in San Francisco without a dollar. In fact I had to borrow a dollar of a fellow passenger to pay the boatman who took me ashore. Six weeks ago I left there with one hundred and sixty thousand dollars in yellow gold, and quartz stock which I have sold in New York for two hundred thousand more." "Did you make all that by digging?' said Stanton, who had stood looking astonished at the wonderful story of the traveler. "Digging!" sneered the Californian. "Digging! ha! ha! Not I. Your honest, plodding men dig; but gentlemen specu- late and engage in politics. That is the way I made my money." "Well," says Stanton, bringing together his overcoat to cover up the rags beneath it, "I think I will be a gentleman when I get there-I was cut out for one any way." "So was I," said Bumpus. "So you were," -said the stranger, looking first at one and then at the other. The rest of the company looked at the two born gentlemen, and laughed in derision. ( As I told you," resumed the traveler, when I arrived in the country I was flat broke. San Francisco was nearly deserted. The people had all gone to the mines. I worked my passage on a schooner to Sacramento, and then walked up into the gold country. Tried digging for two months-no luck. Sunk a shaft twenty feet deep--was making an ounce a day-thought that small business-others all around me were making five and six ounces-abandoned my shaft and claim. The next day a couple of bog-trotters set in and took two thousand dollars. I then looked around for other dig- gings-tried a great many places-got disgusted, and went back to San Francisco. Turned patriot-found the city af- fairs had been badly mismanaged. Went in for reform, and got elected alderman. Found there were no titles to much of the property. Found a poor devil with a little shanty on a large lot. His wife was sick and his shanty full of children Of course he had no money. I asked him about his title. He said he hadn't any-he was a squatter. So I got some of my fellow patriots to join me-we tore down his shanty, and I took possession of the lot. Put up a house on it that cost me a thousand dollars, and afterwards sold the house and lot for one hundred thousand dollars. But not to be hard on the poor squatter, I gave him one hundred dollars, to get another shanty -he was very thankful-told him he was lucky in not getting into State Prison for trespassing on another person's property. He promised to be more careful next time. So I agreed to let him off, if he would say nothing about it. Did not like to---be implicated in compounding a felony i' "Had you any title to the lot?" inquired Thaxter. "Me! no. I didn't want any. But yes, I had the best title. I had money. IIhad to pretend that I had a Mexican title. Then the rich men and the newspapers all took sides with me against the' thieving squatter, and I kept the lot." "You must have-a queer way of doing things, there," said Thaxter. Have you no laws?" "Laws?" exclained the traveler, jeeringly. "Yes,we have page: 140-141[View Page 140-141] "O PHLIP THAIXTER. E the best kind. A man can get any kind of law there, if he X only has the money to pay for it." "That must be very delightful," said Thaxter, " how is it?" "I will give you an illustration," said the traveler. "I broke a man's head there one night, and I had to give the sheriff two thousand dollars to summon the right kind of a jury, i and then the fellow did his business so badly after that, I had i to give four of the jury one thousand dollars a piece to acquit me . : "I think: it must be good business serving on the jury," said Stanton. "It pays handsomely," said the traveler. "I followed it myself for a week or two. But I did not like it-never thought i it an honest way to make money-'tis not in accordance with our republican institutions. It tends to destroy confidence in the jury system. So the next row I got into I let them con- vict me, and bought a pardon. That only cost me fifteen hun- dred dollars-the governor was a friend of mine."' "A saving operation, that," said Stanton. "But how about-the mines?" said Thaxter, " we are think- ing of getting up a company, and are curious to know about them, as we expect to work for our money, and not get it 'by swindling and robbing." "Ah, friend, you will get over your stiff, puritanic notions after you have been in California a few months. I have seen more than forty ministers bucking at monte. Don't be too righteous when you start, if you do the first fall will shame you so that you will go clear to the bottom the next leap. It is your middling men that hold to their old habits and practices ; men who are always holiest, and yet do not pretend to be bet- ter than their neighbors. As they never assume any peculiar virtue, they seldom have anything to be ashamed of, and al- ways preserve their self-respect. But your straight laced, men when they make a slip go right straight to the devil without stopping. Those whom the eyes of other men Keep in the path j of rectitude, are the most reckless when they get where the- eyes of others' are taken up with their own affairs, and are no, longer upon theem. I "Your homily is very good, sir, yet we would be better pleased to hear about the mines," said Thaxter. "-Ah yes, excuse me ; I am a great naturalist, and when I get on my favorite topic, run on at great length. As to the mines STOUT'S TAVERN.. 141 Sir, I have only to say that they usually pay well to those who work. But it takes hard work-too hard for me. On an aver- age I should say that in the part of the mines where I was the steady hardworking miners made about two ounces a day. Sometimes more, sometimes less. I am in," said Stanton; " so am I," was repeated by sev- eral who had been listening intently to the conversation. "But I am loitering too long, here. John, bring me up my team. I have a long ride before me to-night. Here landlord, here is a chispa for you," said the moralist, taking, a piece of gold from his pocket and throwing it on the table. ("You have good coffee, and your doughnuts are first chock. But they are not equal to whiskey in a cold night like this: Good evening, gentlemen. Hope I will see you all in California-great coun- try--good-by,"-with which concluding remarks he bustled out to his sleigh, into which he bundled, and having had thU buffalo robes tucked snugly about--him, again-he was soon hur- rying over the snow behind his shivering; and restive horses. No sooner was the stranger gone than the company gathered round the landlord to get a look at the lump of gold which the traveler had left in liquidation of his bill. Various estimates were put on its value, ranging from five to thirty dollars. Stanton said he would give the latter sum if the landlord would take his note.' The offer, liberal as it was, was declined. \ "Who wouldn't go to California? Just heft that chunk of gold," said the landlord, tossing it up and down. " Who wouldn't?"Chimed in Stanton, Murch and Chew. "I wouldn't," said Thaxter. "You wouldn't!" exclaimed they all in astonishment. "What has frightened you. I would be glad to know? A pretty time to back out, I think, just as we are all ready to start, and you to be the captain of the company.'- "I have thought better of it on reflection, and I am con- firmed by what I have seen to-night. If we should not be suc- cessful there, what would become of us and those we leave behind us? and, if successful, very likely we should be as great rascals as this adventurer who has just left us. Those of us who are tolerably well off had better keep out of tempta- tion." Well, if that don't beat all," said Stanton; "he is afraid of getting rich. I ha'n't any fears of the kind." page: 142-143[View Page 142-143] 1 4:2 PHLIP T-IAXTE'I'; "No, and you, needn't have so long as there is no liqnor law," broke in Bumpus. "So long as your gold will buy ruin youa'are in no danger of having enough to trouble you." ", Wells I don't care if I do drink rum I don't back out: when -I say I will do anything, t-do it, and that is more than your Capt'n can say. I told you you had better make me Capt'n--you'would find me true pluck and no back out." : "And you are not henpecked, either," said Chew. "I see what the trouble is-he is afraid of his old woman." "Have it your own way, gentlemen-but I candidly think the risks outweigh the chances." There was great consternation in the cqmpany when Thax- ter announced his change of purpose. All had predicated their I plans on his going. It was no trifling matter in that section - for a man in ordinary circumstances to raise the necessary funds to take him to California. The old farmers who had a few hundred dollars at command would not loan it unless they were amply secured by mortgage on real estate and approved of the enterprise besides. The whole of the company except Stanton had property sufficient to give the security, but the honest, meddlesome old dunderheads who had the money would not listen to their application till they were told that Thaxter , was to be of the company. It was therefore apparent to them that if Thaxter relinquished his purpose they must all do the same; One after another then began to upbraid him. They i had been at great expense in making arrangements. Jocelyn had been to the trouble: of raising a hundred dollars by sell- ing off some cows and sheep, which his family would need ,for their support, in order to lift an- old mortgage on his farm that was not quite paid off-so that he could re-mortgage, and thus raise the money required for the expedition to California. He was to have the money of none other thanu Thaxter's old friend and benefactor, Truebody, and only on condition that Thaxter went out as the head of the company. "You oughtn't to have said you were going unless you were," said he. "You knew that I had put myself at great trouble and expense to. get the , money to go with. I told you on what terms I could have it, and now; if you call it honest- and doing the fair thing for you- to back out, you may; but I don't-I call it mean."1 The perspiration started from every pore of Thaxter's body at this reproof. He had never been talked to in that way before, and he felt that the censure was. deserved. The sweat stood STOUT 8 TAVERN. 143 143 "n large drops on his forehead. But he could say nothing3 After an inward struggle for a few moments he extended his hand to Jocelyn and said, "Boys, here is my hand on it. I will go, and God forgive me!" The remainder of the evening was now taken up in making arrangements. It was decided that the money should be raised. without delay and sent to New York, in order to secure tick- ets. This being Wednesday evening, it was agreed that they start in one week from the next Monday morning. Each one -was to provide himself with the necessary funds, so as not to b'e dependent on the others, unless in case of sickness. Stan. ton, who had always been a tax and an incumbrance on his re- lations, was to be supplied by them with the means to get him away, and then, what became of him, so that he did not get back, they little:cared. Thaxter, whose farm had been unu- sually profitable this year, was able to pay-up his. interest to his friend Brimhall, and to have seven hundred dollars to take with him, and also three hundred dollars to leave for his wife to use, in case she might happen to need it. * 2 , page: 144-145[View Page 144-145] - : i 1 - ! : CHAPTER XVI. PSEPARATION. WHEN the party at the hotel broke up, each one returned to his home. -The feelings of Thaxter as he made his way to his own house, may be inferred from the fact that though the night was one of the coldest, and he walked: but slowly along-- for 'he was meditating on what he was to say to his wife in excuse for his fickleness of purpose-he found himself, before he reached home, in a profuse perspiration. He had hoped to find his wife abed and asleep, so that there would be no neces. sity for an explanation that night. But the light was not yet extinguished' in the dining room when he approached the house, and he knew very well who was waiting for him.- He entered the door, not with the firm, brisk, elastic step that was habitual to him, but with the tread of one conscious of guilt. As he opened the inner door he was met by his wife, her face all anxiety, and her eyes ,bearing evidence that she had been recently'weeping. The first look at her husband convinced her that her fears had been but forewarnings of the truth. How was it that 'she had not implicitly believed what her husband had said when he parted from her in the early part of the evening? He had never deceived her before in the least particular,'and when- ever he had told-her anything, she had always received his words as absolute truth, nor thought of it as possible that it should be otherwise. Why had she doubted him now? There had been no hesi- tancy, reservation, or condition in his words at the time he had parted from her, nothing in his manner to indicate that , his purpose was not immovably fixed. Yet had she been tormented all the evening by a, fear amounting almost to a. PREPARATION. 145 consciousness that his resolution would fail him. She could not understand it, and yet the conviction was so strong upon her that through the long evening she had wandered about the house, now going up and gazing upon her sleeping children, and then returning and walking up and down the dining room, almost in a phrenzy of anxiety. As the hours passed on, this anxiety had increased. He had promised to be gone but a short time, and (ne, two, three hours had elapsed and yet he had not returned. Delay was evidence that her fears were well founded, and hence they increased at every moment. Time wore on and silence prevailed throughout the house save the loud, stentorian snoring of Nabby in the oback chamber. In the stillness she: would occasionally cease in her walk up and down the room, to listen a moment for the footsteps of him whom she feared she was about to lose. In one, of these intervals of suspended breath, and senses overstrained and sensitive, she was startled by a loud scream in the boys' chamber. Hastily catching the candle she hurried to them, and found George sitting up in his bed, and screaming out to some imaginary person to' save-save-save my father. Quickly catching and shaking him, she awoke him, but for some time he seemed to see some strange men, as he said, " killing his papa." Seeing his mother, however, and his brother Ben beside him, and being assured by their presence, he came to a sense of where he was, and burst into tears. When he had composed himself a little, he said he had seen a great, dark , house, and somne big, ugly men were dragging his father into the door, and he cried out to them to let him go, for it was his father. The mother could scarce disguise her agitation when she heard this, yet she contrplled herself as well as she could, assuring her child that it was only a dream-that his-father was down to Capt. Stout's tavern, and would soon be back. The boy being thus callmed, soop fell asleep again, when his mother, more anxious than ever, resumed her walk through the house, listening intently every few minutes to catch the sound of approaching steps. - As we before said, therfirst glance at Philip confirmed her fears. She read in his face that he had given way before the persuasions of others, and that her words had been lost upon him. He did not greet her with a welcome in his face that meant as muichas if he had said, "for you, my dear, wife, have I given up this niad adventure, and we will henceforth continue page: 146-147[View Page 146-147] "6 PHLIP THAXTER. as before to live, love, and be happy together," but he had a half guilty look, as if he dreaded to meet her. She saw his confusion at a glance, and'intuitively understood the whole story. She approached him as he stood hesitating and con- fused, laid her hand upon his bosom, and burst into a flood of grief., She was the first to speak;-"It is true, then, you are going to California." "( It is, my dear Caroline. My word, my honor is' pledged. Too late I found I could not refuse without involving and Embarrassing others. You will not upbraid me!" ' No," said she, "It have no word of complaint to make. And yet it is hard, when we have been so happy. But I have had a warning. For several days back I have had such a wild I and jubilant flow of joy and happiness as old woman Gubbin, the fortune teller, says precedes some great misfortulne. I ould not surmise what it was, but I felt assured in my sober moments something was coming. And when to-night you stayed away so long, I knew the worst was at hand. Though you and forty other witnesses had assured me of the contrary, I could hot have' been convinced. I felt it. I had an evii- deiice or conviction that nothing couldtremove. Were there spirits hovering round, and whispering to my heart in words inaudible to the ear." ("Why, Caroline, how wild you talk! What have you seen to disturb you so? Your watching and anxiety have so excited you, you magnify your troubles." - I know," said she, "I amn violently excited, and so wourd you have bebn, could you haye seen and heard what I have, this night." She then minutely detailed how that, when she was pacing up and down the room, her imagination wrought up to the highest pitch, she had heard George scream, and how, when she'ran to him, and sought to know the cause, he told his dream of seeing his father set upon by strangers, and dragged to prison. This story somewhat startled Philip. But there was nothing of the superstitious in his composition. He supposed that the boys had overheard his mother or Aunt Nabby talking about the dangers of California life, and this had made so strongan im- pression ion his mind, that it had caused him to dream as he had. So he explained it to his wife;, and told her' likewise, that her ' , . J PREPARATIN. ' : 7 ' overwrought imagination had made that -which was trifling and unimportant in itself, to appear frightful and portentous. When Philip had explained to his wife how it was that he lhad been persuaded to change his purpose for a second time, she acquiesced in his decision, and said that she had not a word to say against it; for she did not see how, that honorably, he could do otherwise. The tears were soon dried on her face, and, whatever trouble was preying at her heart, she entered with seeming alacrity into all her husband's plans of prepara- tion for his departure. It was a busy time for our adventurers, until their departure. Little was talked of, in town, but California and the gold-hunt. ers. Those who were going, were busy in getting ready; in raising the; money; providing for their families,; and in getting such an outfit of clothes and convenient trifles as men might be supposed to want, when far from home, and no wife, sister, or mother to look after them. Work-boxes, with needles, thread, silk, pins,. pin-cushions, wax, thimbles, awls, bristles, shoe- e thread, and every conceivable thing that could be imagined, were carefully provided by the female friends ;of the adven-" turers. Then each of them promised to write to all his neigh- bors, who, in turn, agreed to follow them to the land of gold, provided they found it all right. '1 haxter, however, was an exception, in respect to this latter. He told all his friends, that he: would write at length, to his wife, by each steamer, all he saw worthy of notice, and she would let them. all see his let- ters. Besides this promise to his neighbors, he and his wife mutually promised each other that, come what might, whether well or sick, rich or poor, neither 6f them would allow the monthly mail to leave without taking a long letter to the other.- page: 148-149[View Page 148-149] CHAPTEa XVII. i AT SEA. AT the time which had been fixed upon, at Captain Stout's Tavern, our company set forth on their expedition. They v arrived at New Yorkl, meeting with no important adventure, and got along in the city, asrawcountrymen usually do, when first visiting so large a town. They had set forth with the determination to better their condition, if possible, and again to return to their old homes. They were resolved to econo, mize ; to carry their New England habits of industry and thrift with them, 'and to come back uncontaminated by the vice and immorality which they expected to encounter. The steamer on which they had secured'passages was the Georgia, and they had all taken steerage tickets, partly to save expense and partly ,to inure themselves to hard fare and rough usage, when their courage was high and their enthusiasm warm. Thaxter, had he been alone, would have-inc'urred the additional expense of cabin fare, but he wanted to keep company with hisneigh- bors, and sonme of them could not, as he was well aware, afford the additional expense of a cabin passage. They therefore kept together, resolved for the time, to make the best of matters and submit with the best grace possible, to the inconveniences of a deck passage' to California. They were no sooner out to sea, than they began to look for the berths that were numbered on their tickets. After groping about, for a long time, Thaxter found his down in the lowest hold forward. It was filled with boxes and bales, and to reach it he was obliged to crawl lover boxes, trunks, and unclean mat- tresses. There was no possible chance for ventilation,; and the air was villainous,/ thus early in the voyage. To sleep there through the night; would be impossible. The Blak Hole of - , . AT SEA. 149 I Calcutta was an oak opening, compared to it. He cared little for that, however, for he had brought on board, a good supply of blankets, and lad no fears but he could find a place to stretch them, and thus get a chance to sleep. When he came to look for his blankets, however, he found that some one else had taken aHliking to their texture, so that they were nowhere to be found. They had been rolled up with his coarse overcoat on the inside of them, but as they were plain blue blankets, which he had just bought in New York, and very similar to many others which he saw belonging to other passengers, he could not identify them,' so that the thief might have spread them beside him and been in no danger of detection. The rest of Thaxter's company fared no better than he in respect to their berths. Stanton;, who had been looking for his, came up to his companions with his mouth wide open and his eyes sticking out prodigiously, saying that " a great, fat Irish woman was in it, and she was as drunk as a beast." A countryman of hers was trying to pull her out of the berth, say- ing it was his and that he had paid for it and got the ticket. Her husband had interfered and a bloody fight hid just begun,- when an officer of the steamer interfered and put the disturber of the woman's peace in irons. When Stanton complained to the officer that they had got into his berth, he was told that he should be served the same way if he opened his head again. Concluding from this that discretion was the best policy for him, he returned to his companions with his woeful tale. Murch, Chew, Jocelyn and Phinney, all found that there were three or four claimants to the berths which their tickets called for, and each with the same title. So it was evident they must all sleep where they could. - The steamer had three times the number of passengers on board which by law she was entitled to carry. But so eager were people to get to California, that they thought little of their accommodations if they could only get on with speed. The fare in the steerage caused some complaint, it is true, but less' than might reasonably have been expected. Swinging tables were suspended above the lower deck, forward, and on these were placed large pans of boiled beef, pork, potatoes and hard bread. . Tin plates were given out, from which this substantial food was to be eaten, and tin cups were the utensils from which they were to drink their tea and coffee. Such fare would have been thought generous by old'salts or soldiers, but to men who page: 150-151[View Page 150-151] 15.0 PHLJP THAXTER. had been accustomed to their hot cakes, their nice tea and coffee with sugar and cream all set out on white table cloths, it appeared hard eating, or, as Stanton expressed it, " darned nmean livin"." The tables were not sufficient to accommodate more than one-fifth of the passengers at a time, so that when the victuals were set upon them there was, such a pulling and-hauling, such crowding and snatching, that a man accustomed to civilization and decency would rather draw out and go hungry than engage in such a wrangle. / Our friends were fast getting wiser as they got out to sea. But a new trouble was upon most of them. Stanton and Phinneuy wer'e dreadfully sick, as were most of the passengers. There was a heavy swell on, and the Georgia rolled, dipped, and plunged so that few could keep th ir feet without holding on to something for support. Poor Stanton was in sad distress. A little before he had been complaining loudly of the imposi- tion of assigning half-a-dozen passengers to one berth, and one of them an Irish woman at that. He wouldn't stand it, he said. He would have satisfaction, and proposed to lead an insurree- tion. His courage had been at an unusual height, as he had indulged in frequent potations during the forenoon, before coming on board, notwithstanding his good resolutions before he' left home. But the sea air had cooled his courage, and the abundant dininer, which had been washed down by several glasses of ale, came up in spite of himself, to inquire what was going on. A sailor, who had heard his threats that he wouldn't stand it, asked him if he wouldn't have somel pork and beans. Stanton groaned and laid down on a coil of rope. The malic- ious sailor said he liked his pluck, for he had said he wouldn't stand it, and he didn't; he did not-stand at all. Murch and Phinney stood leaning over the gunwale of the vessel, throwing up, as it seemed to them, all they had eaten for the last two weeks. Thaxter, fortunately, was not affected with sea-sick- ness, and could' therefore look after :and assist his companions. As soon as,the rules of the ship would permit, he spread the blankets of poor Stanton on the middle deck, and told him to lie down on his back, and he would soon be easier. The others were disposed of in a similar- way, all except Joce- lyn, who;said he had made the acquaintance of a gentleman from New York, who was acquainted with the officers, and who would give him a chance to sleep under his blankets on ' -; AT SEa. 151 the cabin floor. So he lent his blankets to Thaxter, who told him to look out for his money when among his New York friends Jocelyn said it would take a smarter man than- there was on board that ship to get ahead of him-that thev could get no advantage of him, for the reason that he didn't drink anything. So they were all disposed of for the first night. The next morning the fog had cleared away; the sun came up out of the east bright and clear-f be sea was calm, and our travelers were much, relieved of their first sea-sickness. But Jocelyn was in a sad humor. He had not only lost his courage, but he had lost his money. His purse- containing one hun- dred dollars in gold had .been taken from his pantaloons pocket while he was asleep., He told his New York friend of his misfortune, and he was very indignant, and said if he could find out the thief he would "lam"' him. The Captain was a friend of his, and he would get him to order a search for the money., Thaxter advised' him to ,avoid new friends for the fu- ture, and to say nothing about his loss, for he would only be laughed at for his greenness. If he would do that, he would lend him money enough to meet a!ll his necessities till he got to- San Francisco. The voyage of our travelers, after the first novelty and sea- sickness had worn off, was monotonous and uncomfortable as usual. They had expected to meet with hardships, and would have been disappointed had they found the way altogether agreeable. After they had landed at Chagres, however, and seen one or two desperate fights, in which several men were cut to pieces, they began to think that something besides hard- I ship was to be encountered. Their' slow and toilsome ascent up the Chagres river did not seem to compare with the glowina and romantic accounts they had read in the New York papers. Having come so recently from near where Mount Washington casts its, shadow, they were overcome by the heat, and felt a degree of lassitude and languor such as they had before no conception of. The intense heat of the sun pouring down his vertical rays in full force at one time, and in a few minutes af- ter the rain descending upon them in buckets-full; the humid and oppressive atmosphere, all combined to-make them think that there was a worse climate in the world than that of chill, frost-bound New England. The exposure to the night air to which they were subject, gave them alarming notions of chills and ague, and where they reached Gorgona they began mbre . * page: 152-153[View Page 152-153] 152 PHTTP THAXTER. seriously than, ever to ask themselves whether or no they had not been unreasoning fools to leave good homes and their happy surroundings for such a journey of toil and exposure as this. But their spirits revived as they approached the Pacific coast. The weather became less variable, and the old Spanish city of Panama had, after their journey on foot from Gorgona, an appearance of rest and comfort. Here they tarried but a sin- gle day, and in twenty-four hours after their arrival they were. on their way to San Francisco on another steamer called the Pacific, a smaller, dirtier and worse found vessel than had been the Georgia. The second day out, as Thaxter went forward to look over the bows and observe the motion of the waters as the ship plowed her way through them, he thought he recognized a familiar face. He looked again--yes, it must be so; he could not be mistaken. It was surely the face of his old friend, Ben Thurlow, whom he had not seen for six years.-; But what a change had taken place in that time! His face was thin and haggard and covered with hair. His body,was terribly emaci- ated, so that his clothes were a world too wide for him, and there was a wild unsteady look about his eyes. He was rest- ing against the capstan of the, vessel, and appeared to be" list- less and indifferent as to what was going on around him-nor did he seem to notice or be noticed by a single fellow passen- ger, save one who was acting towards him the part of the good Samaritan. This man seemed to be his,friend, his nurse, his dependence. I Thaxter looked at him till he was sure that he could not be mistaken, and then stepped before him -and called him by name. The other looked up, saw who it was, caught the prof- fered hand between his own, and held it for several moments without saying a word. ,Soon there followed a flood of explanation on both sides, till at last Ben was exhausted and obliged to lie down under an awning to rest. It appeared that he, too, had caught the gold- fever, unfit as he was by nature for engaging in anything of a practical character. Since he and lis old friend last parted he had studied law and been admitted to the bar,but he was so impractical in all his ideas that be had never practiced, and had made his support for many years by acting as a clerk in the office where he had,studied. He had never accumulated anything but his books, room-furniture. and some articles of - AJi. D1i: l. I. .- J ) virtu, all of which he was obliged to dispose of before he left, in, olrder to raise the money to pay his fare to California. At Panama he had been taken sick,:and was so very ill at the time the steamer, for which he had a ticket, sailed, that the Captain would not allow him to be, taken aboard. He;very kindly, however, took his ticket and paid him the cost of it in New #York;' the same ticket which he afterwards sold for two hun- dred dollars, advance. Poor Ben was detained at Panama for six weeks, and would leave died but for the attentions of that friend whom Thaxter had observed acting the part of a nurse, and a Spanish, or na- tive Panama girl, who seeing his suffering and helpless condi- tion, had brought to him each day such delicacies as his condition required. The stranger who was thus acting the Christian part was a man of the name of Dolbear, whose acquaintance he had formed on the passage from New York to Chagres. When they had first met they mutually inclined one to the other, and had hardly exchanged a dozen sentences be- fore they ,were S worn friends. When they first arrived at Panama, they were obliged to -wait about two weeks for the sailing of ithe steamer, and had pitched a tent outside of the town'to stay in during that time. Here it wasi that Ben was taken sick, and when the time came for the steamer to sail ie 'was left behind. His friend, however, remained with him; for finding that his patient could not go, he had also disposed of his ticket in exchange for another one on a steamer that was to sail four weeks later. When at length they thought they might venture to set forth again, Ben had no money. It had all gone, how he hardly knew, during his sickness, and now his newly-found friend was obliged to advance the money for his ticket if hfe would not leave him behind. This he did cheerfully, and at last after vexatious and anxious delays they got on board the Pacific, and were soon after steaming away for the promised land. page: 154-155[View Page 154-155] CHAPT ER XVHI. ", DEATH S DOOR. OU travelers were dooed to be sorely tried on their pas- sage from Panama to San Francisco. Crowded together in a vile and contracted old hulk in that low latitude, with little to eat, and that little tainted and unwholesome, it is no wonder that many of them were taken sick--thai the funeral service was many times repeated, till the deaths became so frequent, that, to give time for a decent burial of the dead, interfered seriously with the management of the ship and the care of the living. Among those prostrated after being out about four days, were Thaxfer and Dolbear. A burning fever Seized upon the latter, while the former had ana ttack closely resem- bling cholera. Fortunately, their friend Ben was convalescent, so that their attentions to him were no longer indispensable. Thaxter's other companions were of very little assistance to him now, in his distress, though they seemed disposedo to do what they could. But it is only meh Of a refinedb nature and delicate organization that are fit to tak e care of the sick. A rough, unsympathizing being cannot appreciate the wants of an invalid, nor have they the delicacy of touch and perception to do tht graciously which they try to do acceptablyo: It was difficul tao obtain anything from the cooks orwstewards that was not nauseous even to the sight, and they were both in a fair way to change their point of destination for the unseen land. Who Dolbear was, and whom he had left behind to mourn for him, was not known. Somehow, he had fallen into their com- pany, and was regarded as one of their number. When ex- pecting to die, he told Thurlow to take possession of his trunk, if he survived him. In it he would find one thousand dollars in gold and a package containing a manuscript. That package DEATH'S DOOR. 155 contained his autobiography. After he he had been dead a year, he might open and read it-not till then. One welcome face they met aboard the steamer, which occa- sioned much surprise to Thurlow and Dolbear. It did not show itself to them till the third day out, and then they could scarce believe their eyes when they saw-it was the beautiful Spanish girl who had been such a ministering angel to the sick in and about Panama. Her name was Carmelita. She had not told them that she too was going to California, and hence they were astonished to find her on board. She was a beautiful, dark-eyed brunette ; her hair was long thick and glossy black; her eyes were large and voluptuous , her voice-soft, liquid and musical." She had belonged to the middle order of people at Panama, and had the characteristics, good and bad, of that class. She was amiable and compassionate, and delighted in mitigating the pains of the sick, or relieving the distressed. Some said that her ideas of virtue were not of the strictest sort; but, be that as it may, she appeared as an angel of mercy among the sick, and many a miner now delving in the foot-hills of the Sierra Nevada owes it to her that his body is not mingling with the soil of Panama. There were on board of the steamer several of her countrymen and countrywomen, but n'either of them would compare with, Carmelita, either in grace of manner or beautyv of person. While Dolbear was waiting at Panama, in attendance on his sick friend, Carmelita had often visited his tent, and as the sick man lay swinging in his hammock, she had sat for hours- beside him and fanned his brow, and brushed away the flies. So did she for others of the sick whom she had never seen be- Fore. Early in the morning she might be seen with a jar of : cool spring water on her head, going about to where the sick ! were lying, and laving their feverish brows and slaking their 1 burning thirst with the grateful element. i 1 On board the steamer, she was at first very quiet, keeping exclusively among her own people. One evening, just before i dark, as she was standing by herself, a short distance from her companions, looking outzon the "dark blue sea," she overheard a couple of men talking in a manner that somewhat frightened g her. - "That is a right handsome wench," said one of them, a fel- ! low with immense whiskers, and a revolver slung to his body. i "Yes," said his companion, a small, smooth-faced man, with : page: 156-157[View Page 156-157] 156 PHLIP TIITAXTER. a malicious, hang-dog look. "Yes, she has got a handsome pair of shoulders, ha'n't she V" "See how mincing she is. Wouldn't I like to have her on the plantation where I oversee'd last summer? Wouldn't'I make a chequer-board of them shoulders and that 'ar back, if she put on any them airs? By heavens! she is a beauty. " "I have given handsomer wenches than she is a round hun- dred before breakfast many a timej just to give them an appe- tite. It's such fun to see them twist and scream." Carmelita, whose English was imperfect and broken, was nevertheless able to make out the drift of these brutal remarks, and directly stole away among her companions. After that she kept as quiet as possible among her friends, and was not aware that her old patient, Ben, was on board, till the steamer had been some time out of port. ,When sickness began to prevail among the passengers, she could not resist the womanly spirit that was within her; but she went about from morning till night, stopping here to adjust the couch of one, so that he might be easier, and giving another a drink of lemonade, and a third a sip of claret, and so on, till her face was as welcome to the sick as the sight of water to the traveler in the desert, Poor Dolbear was the subject of her most particular atten- tion. She had seen at Panama how faithful he was to his friend, and now that he was himself sick, she could do no less than act the same part to him. He was very, almost hopelessly sick. No one supposed he could survive. But Carmelita relinquished not her attentions. She would sit for hours, looking intently at his face, gaunt and deathke, with her fan of long feathers waving gently above him, just enough to give him a grateful sense of the atmosphere. She had provided herself, too, with a variety of tropical fruits, with claret and chocolate, and other articles which she thought might be of service on the voyage. 'These things were all dealt out to the sick man as they might require. Her little stock was gradually getting short. She had only three bottles of claret left, and the fruit had nearly all been given out. It was about 3 o'clock in the morning, and she was asleep, when a passenger came and woke her up, saying that a sick man whom she had attended the day before, wanted to see her; for he was dying. She hastily jumped up, and throwing her iantilla over her head and shoulders, groped over the sleeping and the sleepless, to, where the sick man lay. At the sound of her voice he At , h DEATH'S DOOR. 157 caught her hand, pressed it to his heart, and in a moment was dead. In fifteen minutes he was lowered over the side of the boat. Carmelita dropped a tear that mingled with the brine above him It was all the tear shed then and there--b'ut what tears were shed elsewhere weeks and months afterwards, when after long watching, hope gave way to despondency, and despondency to conviction-that the absent would never return -we know not. . Carmelita, when the waves had closed over the dead, returned to her corner of the ship. As she approached it, she saw the two overseers whose previous talk had frightened her, coming from that direction. She stepped behind a water cask - till they had passed by, and then went forward to her own place. Without looking about to see if anything was disturbed, she covered her head with her mantilla, and sobbed herself to sleep. In a little while she awoke and found it was nearly sunrise. Her first thought was for the sick, and looking in among her stores to see what she should take them, she was a tonished to find that during the night her three bottles of claret, and the most of her oranges, limes, and bananas had been stolen. She remembered having seen the women-whip- pers leaving her part of the ship, and thought that no other so proper persons for such a deed were on board. She told her companions of her loss, and on whom her suspicions fell. She then went to comfort the sick. Her old patient, Ben,-was fast convalescing. TLaxter was slowly mending, having passed the crisis of his disease. But Dolbear was still very sick. He was entirely hopeless, and, when asked how he was,- said "there was but one peg between him and the outside of the vessel, and he guessed that peg would give way before night.'", Of the others of the sick, some were dying, some recovering, but as the vessel made her way into a higher latitude, there were fewer new cases. The loss of Carmelita's stores was known all over the ship before noon, and many were the execrations of an act so base. Suspicion pointed to the negro-whippers, and some expressed themselves to the effect that they were the thieves. A friend of theirs, who had a sympathy with them on account of having i followed the same laudable vocation, repeated to them that he heard a sick man say as much. The two chivalrous gentlemen were highly indignant at' this, and having loaded themselves' down, each with two revolvers and a bowie knife, went in page: 158-159[View Page 158-159] 158 PHLIP THAXTER. pursuit of the cowardly slanderer. They found him stretched upon his blanket, and in a raging fever. When asked if he had repeated it as his opinion that they were thieves, he said he had nothing to say to them thoen, but if they would wait till he got his health and strength, they could have any satisfaction they wanted. At this they got valiantly angry, and swore they would cut his heart out. i They wanted it understood that they were gentlemen--southern gentlemen-none of your Yankee sneaks.' They were men of honor, and would have satisfaction. In the midst of this valiant onslaught on the sick man, a tall shingle-maker from Aroostic, stepped up to them, and told them to stop or he would throw-them both overboard. "We would like to see you do it," said they : at which he caught one -of them by the nap of the neck, and'lifting him from. his feet, threw him with great force on his hands and knees, about ten feet aft, upon the deck. Turning to the other, who',was retreating, he gave him a hearty kick that lifted him into the air, and then spread him on the deck so that he cut the figure of a snapping turtle. Gradually the sick men of our acquaintance all rallied. Thaxter as soon as the crisis of his disease was over, gained very fast, and his' friend Ben was recovering his strength every day. Dolbear, however, was so low that it took a long time for him to recuperate. But the attentions and kindnesses of Carmelita at last had their effect upon him, and Ihe was ena- 'bled to sit up for several hours at a time. One morning he was sitting with several of his companions, all of whom had been sick, and were now recovering. The grateful breeze from-the' north-west gave them all hope and courage, for it seemed to infuse strength and vitality 'into them. They were languidly conversing among themselves, and giving offence to no one, when they noticed the two whmen-whippers with two others of like appearance seat themselves close behind them and commence a conversation that'was evidently intended for their benefit., It appeared from their manner of addressing each other that they were all, with one exception, military characters. The heroes of the robbery of the Spanishsgirl both lhad titles. One was Major Bodkin, the other Captain Squirm. One of the others' was called Colonel Norwin, and the other Doctor Glennin. Colonel Norwin was the'leading, man of the- party, and Doctor Glennin supplied the most of the- oaths, though it did not appear that either of the others were either DEATH'S DOOR. 159 so religious, or so modest, as to hesitate in the use of the most monstrous profanity. "(What an outrage it is," said the Colonel, " on white peo- ple, that they should be obliged to travel on an equality i+th white livered Yankees. Now, such cattle should be learnt their places. There should be a line drawn across the boat, to separate them from the gentlemen. I I think them and the nig- gers should be put in a pen together. If I could get one of the cowardly wretches to show fight, I would soon learn him his place." "We will have fun with 'em,- when we get to California," said the Doctor. "t Won't it be sport, of some fine morning when some of them are going by with their pockets full of dust, to get: behind a tree or log, and draw a bead upon them. Wlew! ,how they will spatter! If I don't get all the money I want, without work, you may shoot me, that's all." r' Iny opinion is," said Captain Squirm, " that these Yankees ar n't fit for nothing but to get out the gold, that gentlemen may have it to spend. If it wa'n t for that, I should be in favor, when we got there, of getting up a few companies of Southern gentlemen, and running them out of the country. It wouldn't take more than five hundred, to drive out the whole crowd of northern abolitionists." "I go in for that," said Major Bodkin. ' I intend to go into politics when I get there, and if I get into the legislature, I shall go in for a law to abolish Yankees and abolitionists. If we can't have niggers there I am damned if we will have Yankees; for the niggers is the best of the two." "They will have to give me a wide berth or I will shoot'em as quick as I used to shoot debr in Virginia. I am a Virginia gentleman ,and I want men to understand it. No man can impose upon me. My grandfather, fought in the revolution, and the blood of the Dinwiddies and Fotherheads runs in my veins. Let the low bred Yankees beware how they come across my track. My cousin is now Governor of Virginia, and my second cousin on my mother's side is now U. S. Senator. Do you think I will allow" the blood of the Norwin's, to be dis- graced by the presence of thieving, speculating Yankees. I consider them only one remove above the nigger. I have got two niggers on board here, Joe and Lize, and I consider either of them equal morally, socially, and intellectually to ary Yankee taere is aboard. - page: 160-161[View Page 160-161] 160 PIIILIP TIIAXTEE. "Don't you expect, Col. they will leave you when you get to California?" inquired Squire s. "-No, I have got a law to hold them always ready," said he, showing the breech of his revolver, " and if I were to see any d d Yankee talking to them aboard the steamer, I would put a piece -of lead through him sooner than he could wish." ' You shouldn't be too hard on 'em," said Bodkin, " for you know they think niggers are better than white folks, and feel proud to speak to one of -them. They go in for?,amalgamation, and perhaps he might be making love to Lize, instead of advis- ing her to run away." "It makes no difference," said he, "What he is after. I don't want my niggers to mix with Yankees. I don't like the breed. Gods, to think that men with white skins should want to amalgamate with niggers! It's enough to make a white man ashamed of his color.": In this way they run on for about half-an-hour, our sick trav- elers hearing every word they said. At length Thurlow, who had been writhing for sometime, raised himself up, and look- ing over towards Norwin said, "You are from Virginia, I think you said 'l "Yes sir." "You belong to the first families of Virginia?" "Yes, sir." "An F. F V.?" a "'Yes, sir ; strictly." , "Then you are one of the R'ivalry " "Yes, sir." . "And you are such a coward as to come with a crowd of your companions, alllloaded down with arms, and sit down by and insult a company of sick people who are helpless, and c n- not defend themselves. Is that southern chivalry? Accord- ing to my idea, it is the meanest, lowest kind of cowardice." ' Sir,"said the enraged colonel, " do you intend to insult me? call me a coward'!" at the same time drawing and cocking his revolver. O "O," *aid Ben, " you may just as well put up your pistol: you havn't the courage to shoot anybody in the day time." By this time many other passengers had gathered around, and among them the shingle-maker from Aroostic. Not liking 'the looks of some of the other passengers, the gallant colonel DEATHaS DOOR. 161 put back his revolver, remarking, "You will hear from me another time." "( O, fight it out now," said the shingle-maker. "I'll see fair play, and if this man is too sick, Hwill take his place. Look a' here, you feller with the shutin' iron. I will fight with you. But I don't know nothin' about shutin' with pistils. I can shute with guns and kill bear and moose as far as any on 'eml. But I will tell vou what I will do.; I will let you pop at. me till you shute off all your bullets in your pistil, if you will only let me throw you overboard afterwards. Will ye due it, old chap. The sharks is hungry about here, and I see the fin f 'one out there now. He is laying off and on waitin' for you." The proposition of the shingle-maker, combined with his uncouth appearance, caused such a shout to go up from the passengers, that the gallant son of chivalry and his company withdrew as soon and as quietly as possible, after which " shuting " was little talked of during the rest of the voyage. But the gallant scion of the old stock of the Virginians, was fated to -undergo, ere longr, a still greater mortification. His slaves, Joe and Lize, whom he was taking to (California, at the risk of losing them, were kept below, in' the forward cabin or steerage. They were' each about forty years old, and had lived together as man and wife, for ten or fifteen years. Joe was an ingenious old darkey, and had found a place below, that he had cleared out, so as to fix up a sort of state room for himself, about 6 feet by 4, and shut out from the view of other passen. gers by a curtain, which he had made of an old blanket. Here he and his wife slept for about a week after they had got it fixed. But, unfortunately their master, the Colonel, whose abhorrence of everything looking towards amalgamation, was so great, happened to discover the comfortable quarters of his slave Joe, and though he had a cabin state-room for himself, in company with two others, it appears he was somewhat envious of his servant. That night Thurlow and Thaxter sat up very late, talking together. They noticed the negro Joe, walking about, looking wretched and unhappy. They asked him the, trouble, but he refused to answer. When the officer on' deck came along, soon after, he noticed the darkey, and suspecting something wa w wrong, took a light, and motioning to one or two friends to follow, w6nt below, and tearing away the curtain, behold there, the gallant Colonel Norwin, the foe to Yankees and amalgamation, fast asleep-in the arms of the beautiful Lize. ,.. X page: 162-163[View Page 162-163] 162 ?.- - Pt-LTP THAXTER. Without awakening either, he returned to the deck, and draw. ing a bucket of water, fresh from the sea, he returned, and while Thaxter held the light, he dashed it all over them. The Colonel shouted murder, death, we are drowning, so that every passenger inthat part of the ship was immediately aroused, and looking to learn the cause of the disturbance, were not a little astonished to see the heads oft the brave Virginian and the sable Lize, emerge at the same time, from beneath the same curtain.. The former, as quick as his feet would let him, escaped from the jeers of the crowd and hurried away to his own state room, while his companion busied herself with her husband, in taking- out their clothes to dry, after which the two turned in harmoniously together. The next day a meeting of the steerage passengers was held, at which it was voted that the brave, Colonel Norwin should be invited to address them on the subject of 1"Amalgamation practically considered." But though thus earnestly invited, he did not favor them with his observations or experience. He was civil and quiet for the remainder of the voyage. I \ i ' :g" CHAPTER XIX. FLUSH TIMES OF SAN FRANCISCO. IT was a little before sunset, on the-last day-of March that the steamer bearing our adventurers, passed through the Golden Gate. Many an anxious heart beat quick as they neared the harbor, for they were all going to a, place of which: they knew almost nothing. ; A city was there, which had sprung up, as it were, in a night. What it was like, they could only, imagine, for nothing similar to it was ever seen before.. They had heard that reckless and desperate men abounded; that dissipation ran high; that gambling was carried on openly, day and night; that piles of gold of fabulous size, often changed hands on the turn of a card. And they were soon to see this strange city and all its-wonderful sights. But it was not the thought of what they might see of a strange and novel charac- ter, that most fiercely possessed them. Curiosity was not uppermost in their minds. No: the passengers on board that steamer were generally earnest men, and their thoughts were of gain. They had nearly all 1eft friends behind, dependent upon them, and their strongest desire, now was, to get as soon as possible, a reasonable amount of gold end return whence they came, to gladden the hearts of the beloved. They were not anticipating a night of riot and jollity when they got on short, but of what they could do to best advantage. First they must all provide themselves with quarters to stop in while they remained in the city; next, they must learn as much as possi- ble about the mines, and then hurry off to find them. Some have no money left, and such must find labor in town as soon as they get ashore. Those who have a little money left, are anx. ious to get well located, and making more while this lasts. In fact, every one is intensely and selfishy anxious. Our com. page: 164-165[View Page 164-165] 164 PH1IL' TIIAXTER. pany, which now includes Dolbear and Thurlow, besides all those who first started in it, have resolved to keep together. They touch the shore, and ard surprised at the advanced civil- ization which exists, as is evidenced by a crowd of hotel run- ners, as noisy, insolent and profane as any to be met with in the older cities. ' It was seven o'clock in the evening before they were all on shore with their baggage; Several runners offered to show them-as good hotels as were in the city, where 'the fare was only $3 50 per day. There being a baggage wagon there marked "St. Francis," Dolbear asked the price of board, at that house per day. On being told that it was only seven dollars, he told him he guessed he would not have his baggage taken up. Finally it was decided to go to the "Garrett House," which they were told was A 1, and terms moderate. They then hired a drayman to take up their baggage, for which they paid him a dollar each. , 'The Garrett Iouse was not' so good a building as Capt. Stout's tavern, though it was not scantily supplied with those things, that make glad the inner man. They sat down to a supper such as they had not seen for 'many a day. There was boiled venison, fat and juicy--beef-steak-mutton chop--ham and eggs-broiled quail--roast goose-broiled antelope steak- baked potatoes, so mealy and: rich-that Stanton said they beat Madawaska-hot rolls- and batter pudding. It may well be supposed that after the sea voyage with its scanty fair, they commenced upon this feast of fat things with wonderful vigor and appreciation. The invalid portion had by this time so far recovered as to be "nothing backward at the trencher, and the whole company applied themselves so vigor- ously as clearly showed that their fare on ship-board had been none of the daintiest. ' For sleeping:conveniences the bar-keeper told them the best he could do was to allow them to spread their blankets on the floor of the bar-room, which was also the dining-room. This would cost them only a dollar each; whereas, if they slept up stairs in cots or bunks, they must pay two dollars. ,The differ- ence in price reconciled them all to the floor, previous to seek- ing which, however, they sallied forth for a stroll, to see what strange sights the town might afford. They walked down the hill to Kearney street, where there was a row of gambling houses in full blast. The first one they entered was a large , . FLUSII TIMES OF SAN FRANCISCO. 165 and elegantly furnished room, with a bar extending nearly the whole length. Stanton, having a sovereign left, proposed to treat- the crowd. But the offer was declined, so Stanton took a drink by himself, and in change -received $4 75, which istonished him, as he had heard that liquor was twenty-five I cents a glass. The bar-keeper, however, told him that every. thing above four dollars passed for five, that five franc pieces I passed for dollars, and English shillings and all other pieces larger than a. "ninepence," passed for quarters. When Stanton repeated this piece of news to his friends they thought that Californians were not so careful in making change is they were down east. The appearance of this gambling saloon was almost bewil- lering to our uninitiated New Englanders. On each side of the room were tables on whidh were placed large piles of silver md gold coin mounted with big " chunks" of pure gold just as t came from the mines. One specimen they noticed which was marked $1,300. It caused them to feel impatient to get nto .the mines. Besides the tables arranged along the sides )f the room, there was a row in the middle of larger tables, ipon- which still larger piles of coin, and richer specimens of fold were placed. These tables were devoted to faro and nonte, and aroundthem were gathered as many as could stand, some betting and some watching to see the run of the cards. The tables ranged along the sides of the room were devoted o smaller games. One had a set of dice which he threw in tt the top of a hollow tin cone, and which came tumbling down vith entire fairness, unless the owner of the -bank saw some ,ne betting on a particular number, when he could by a motion vith his left hand, stop those;* dice which he had thrown in vith his right, and cause others to fall down which had been o loaded as'to meet this very case. At another stand was a oulette table, behind which stood an old man, apparently :bout seventy years of age. He had an immense white beard, is back was stiff and stooping, so that 'he always supported timself, as he stood, with one hand on the table. He had a ight stick, about 4 feet laog, with a cross-piece at the farther ,nd of it, with which he raked in the money he had won, and mushed out his losses to the winner on the other -side of his able. Thaxter, Dolbear, and Thurlow stood looking at this ;ame for some time. They noticed that whenever gold was )laced upon the table, no matter on what number, the rake - ' ' page: 166-167[View Page 166-167] L66 PHIIIP T1 AXTtR. as always run out to haul it in; whereas, if small silver was putdown, it would sometimes win. And yet the game seemed eminently fair, and fairly. conducted. The. old man would give the table a violent whirl, and then wait for them to make their bets whileit was in motion, and how could he tell where the marble would stop Of course it was strictly fair, that they all could see, and yet the gold all found its, way to the old man's pile, and more than half the, silver. Tlhurlow stood watching for some time for an explanation ofthis. He noticed every motion and look of the old man, and at length got a clue as he thought, to the mystery. Do yoursee," said he, " that whenever any gold is put down on the black, he puts his hand down at that particular place where: it now is, and keeps it there -till the table stops revolving. If it is on the red, he rests his hand about two inches farther to .the right. He has got some kind of connection with the revolving table so that. he raises or lowers the partition walls in it just as he wants to." This was spoken in a whisper, and: yet so loud that'it was heard by a rough'looking. miner who had been betting and losing till he was almost broke. He at once caught at the explanation he had overheard, and working up close to the table, and drawing a knife, that might perhaps more properly be called a cleaver, he laid- doWn an eagle on the black, and said to the old man: "Now keep your hand off the table, or I will -- ." The old, man started back, but said nothing. Should the crowd upset his table and learn his trick, he knew his life was not good for five minutes. He, therefore, kept on as if nothing had,occurred, and when the table stopped was compelled to push a ten dollar piece in the direction of the, bowie knife; Moving on to a mont6 table, they saw the wildest kind of bet. ting going on. Miners wit4l long beards and shabby clothes, would pull out their bagsof dust, sometimes having several pounds of gold in them, depositing them on the table, and risk the whole on the turn of a card. If they lost, they would turn and go off, apparently uiconecerned, saying there was enough more where that came from. - The scene was intoxicating. Of those who entered that room, the larger half engaged in some of the games. Many who went in, having never lost or won a, dime before, at any game of hazard, and who had entered from curiosity, did, not leave till their last dollar was piled on some banker's table. FLUSH TIMES OF SAN FRANCISCO. 167 Every art that could excite, and every device that could inatox- icate, was brought into use. At the farther end of the room was a fine band of music that discoursed soft and voluptuous strains: around the walls of the rooms were suspended large and costly paintings in immense gilt frames, some of them be- ing of nude figures, and all having a meretricious look. Be- hind several of the tables beautiful females were seated to deal off the cards and take in the winnings, and enliven the game by their smiles and witty remarks. Had the great tempter of souls himself devised a place where the feet of those who might enter, ishould take hold on death, he could not have improved on this. After sauntering through the room for nearly an hour, they noticed a man come in and approach a table with a wild, unl steady look. "There," said he, taking an eagle from his pocket and- throwing it on the table, " that is the last of six thousand ;dollars, which I brought from the mines four days ago." The dealer drew off the cards and the miner won. He- allowed his money to remain, and won again. A third time he won, when he took up his winnings, all but the first ten dollars. Then he lost. Again he ventured all, and won again, and'thus he went with a luck bordering on fatality, till at length he broke the bank and walked off with eleven thousand dollars, which he deposited with the bar-keeper in the safe of the house. Thaxter had two hundred dollars left. ( Could I have half that luck," said he, :' I would go back on the next steamer. I will try for it, any way." He approached a table and was in a few minutes eased of one half of his surplus. At that time Dolbear came up, and telling him that he was a fool, induced him to stop. The company being all got together, they re- turned to the Garrett House, where they all slept well, save only Thaxter, who was not pleased that his first act after get- ting to California was to play the fool. It was not the last act - of the kind by a great many. The next, morning our travelers were out e rly and bright, and, before!breakfast, went around to the different markets to learn the price of e Merzthing. They visited the wharves- such as they were-and of everybody inquired what he was doing, what he was getting, and what the chance was for an- other hand. If they did not learn a great deal about San Fran- cisco, it was not from diffidence in asking questions. Of every O page: 168-169[View Page 168-169] 168 ?PHLIP THAXTER. miner they inquired what part of the mines he had been in, and if the diggings paid well and hadn't given out. Of course they got all sorts of information. One man had begn in a certain section for two months, worked hard till he got flat broke, and then ame down to San Francisco to see if he couldn't get something to do, so as to, make an honest living without going to dealing monte or selling whiskey. Another had worked in the same mines for four months'and never made less than an ounce a day--generally twice that. The more they inquired the less they seemed to know, and they soon fell into discord as to which mines they should frst visit. Stan- ton had found a keeper of a drinking house who wanted to sell out-said he had made some days, twenty-five or thirty dol- lars a day, and would sell out his lease and stock lor two hun- dred dollars. He was very eager to get the money of Thax- ter and Dolbear, that he might engage in the business. They ,did not think it would be a- good investment, and declined to furnish the money. Stanttn was very wroth with them, and told them he thought he understood his own business. They admitted it, but still refusing, Stanton left them, telling them they might go to the devil. He would not remain in the com- pany of so mean and spiritless a crowd. About two hours later they found him asleep on some boxes in the street. They got a dray and took him to the Garrett House, and left him to sleep off his intoxication; The next morning he was humble, and said no more of engaging in the liquor trade. After remaining two days at San Francisco, it was finally"de- termined that the company would all leave for Sacramento on the third, and then if they-could not agree to remain together they would separate, and each take that course that seemed to him best. Their trunks, containing all their souvenirs of home, their best clothes, books and everything not considered abso- lutely necessary, they stored inia fire-proof building, paying the'storage for two months in advance. The charge for storage of a trunk was four dollars a month, being double what it was in a building not fire-proof; but as fires were common there at that time, they thought little of the additional cost and paid the increased price." Unfortunately, however, the " fire-proof" building was burned up the same night, and they lost not only their trunks but the money advanced for storage. Finding themselvbes thusfree from the embarrassment of their super- FLUSH TIMES OF SAN FRANCISCO. '16 ,16 9 fluous baggage, they concluded they would no longer tarry in the city, but leave for the interior as they had before intended. Before setting out, however, they all performed the duty of writing to their friends-all except Dolbear. When asked if he was intending to write, he answered, "No; he had no friends-he was an outcast and a wanderer." page: 170-171[View Page 170-171] t! , CHAPTER XX. VIEWS A-FOOT. IT was four o'clock in the afternoon when the steamboat on which our travelers had embarked left the Chrysopolis. The! boat, which was called the General Sutter, was but a slow craft, and her accommodations were of the hardest kind. There was a great crowd of passengers on board, and Stanton said he thought it must pay " darned well," as the price of passage was. thirty dollars a head for deck passengers, and forty dollars in the cabin. Our travelers took a deck passage. It was a night of great discomfort. The boat was so crowded that passengers were thrown into disagreeable proximity to strangers whose appearance was not in their favor. There were many drunken mei on board, and much loud talk of cut- ting and shooting. There was a constant rush at the bar of the boat, and our friends thought that California society cer- tainly was not superior to that of New England-at least for them. Others might prefer it, but that would depend on early prejudices. , About sun-rise the boat arrived at Sacramento, the "City of the Plains." During-the trip, notwithstanding the noise and / profanity, Thaxter had made the acquaintance of several men of modest manners and intelligent conversation, who had been in the'mines and were now returning to them. From one of them he learned that the vicinity of the Yuba river was gener- ally as rich as any portion of the state. Another had been on the Feather river, and reported that' section to be equally pro- lific of the coveted treasure. Others of the party had gathered favorable reports from other sections. Stanton was intent on Hangtown, ahd Jocelyn sided with him. But Thaxter, Dol- bear and Thurlow, were inclined to go to Yuba or Feather ,* . a . 7, ) - \- - ' VIEr WS A-FOOT. . 1 river. Murch and Chew resolved to go to Moquelumne Hill. Thus Thaxter found himself separated from every one of those who had started with him, and who could not get away unless he went with them to take the lead of their operations. He parted from them with a heavy heart, though he felt where everything was so uncertain and so entirely dependent on chance, he ought not to restrain or influence thepm. He saw them all leave the city of Sacramento- beside the trains that were to carry their blankets and their provisions for the road. It must be confessed that he felt:relieved of some responsibil- ity, when he saw them, of their own accord, leave him to seek their fortunes in their own way. "Now," thought he, 'I have only myself to be anxious about." ; It was a hard journey for some of our travelers to the mines. The sea voyage and the severe sickness had reduced them- 'in strength. The calloused hands which Thaxter had brought from home were now soft and delicate as a woman's. His feet, too, were not fit for travel over the hard roads. At first, however, they would be required .to walk but slowly, as their blankets and provisions were on board of an ox-team that made but about a dozen miles a day. When they had emerged from the " city of the plains," and had a fair view of the coun- try, they thought they ,had never seen anything so beautiful. As far as the eye could reach, -the plains were as an immense flower-garden. The brilliancy of color surpassed /anything they had ever seen. The brightest yellow and deepest scarlet were mingled in with the most delicate purple, the faintest crimson. On the left, where the plain gently undulated and brought it in full view to the eye, it, looked like a sea of pre- cious stones floating inrippling waves far away till the eye could 'no longer distinguish anythinghut a lawn of vivid and liquid beauty. For an hour they dwelt upon the prospect be- fore them in silence. It seemed to them that they were- walk- ing in Paradise. It was a March morning. The air was soft and the sun shone down with grateful but not oppressive heat. The birds were singing, and all nature seemed to rejoice-nor was it strange thatf our travelers thought, after;their month of recent hardship, that never looked anything so beautiful. They thought the scene: almost ,too beautiful to be real, and said to themselves, surely " this is not the world of reality but of fancy." It must be confessed that there was nothig -very par dais- ^ ' . ,- * page: 172-173[View Page 172-173] 17' PIIILIP 'ITIAXTER. ical in the appearance of the long teams that were scattered up and down the road. The rude teamsters, with their long boots and ragged breeches-their hickory shirts, so full of dust and 'dirt as to be nearly black-did not resemble very much those beings whom the imagination creates in fairy-land or the home of the blessed. Nor was their language made up of praises to their Creator, nor were their voices attuned to heavenly strings. But the coarse oaths and ribaldry mingled with the cracking of the long whips were calculated to remind' the dreamer that he was still in the land of, sin and sorrow, albeit God had made it so beautiful. . ..i Our travelers made their way but slowly. They must needs keep in sight of the team that carried their blankets, and that moved along but slowly. An ox-team is none of the fastest even when the roads are good. But when they are bad, as they were in many places at this time, they seem to the im- patient passenger hardly to move at all. At twelve o'clock they were so little distance from the city, that they seemed scarcely to have left it. So, when they stopped to take their mid-day lunch, they transferred their goods to a wagon drawn by mules. After this, they could progress faster, but before night they bad cause to regret the change. Their feet had be- come blistered and: sore, and the team having got ahead of them, it was with difficulty they could keep in sight of it. When it grew towards night, they-hoped to see the team haul up, but it did not, and evening set in and they were compelled to drag their wearied and sore limbs for several miles after they would gladly- have rested for the nights At length they came up with the long wished-for wagon. The teamster had turned out his mules, and having made his coffee by a fire he had kin- dled beside the road, broiled his ham, was preparing, in com- pany with several others for his supper. Our weary gold- hubters ame up to them and sat down, exhausted. The night air was now chilly, for it is a peculiarity of that country and climate' for the nights at all seasons of the year to be cool, no matter how hot it may be, in the daytime. They managed, however, tired as they were, to g et their provisions from the wagon; the teamster invited them to partakeof his coffee, for he had made enough for all hands. They ate'but little, for they were too tired, and then spreading their blankets as they had seen the teamsters do, they lay down with nothing but the clear sky above them. Dolbear and Thurlow immediately put their i, , . VIEWS - A-FOOT. - 173 heads beneath their blankets, forgot their sorrows as soon as pos- sible, and fell asleep. ThaSter lay looking at the stars; he traced out the North Star, and then calculated in his mind in what direction his old home might, be, and then with his whole thoughts on those left there, he fell asleep. He dreamed of that home. He was, in thought; back to his old dining room. Ben was playing horse to George, who was driving him round the room; his wife was listening to him as he read some wonderful news in the paper, at which Nabby cried ouat "Penobscot!" ' But this happy illusion could not last long. He awoke to realize that he was not at his own happy fireside, but far away in an untried country. It was some time before he could real- ize his condition. His wife -and children were with him as vivid realities an instant before. How was this, that they were gone and he was stretched upon the ground, his limbs stiff and sore, so that he could scarce move then} from their painful position? For a little time his mind was confused, and he tried to drive away the last unpleasant impression. But the more he got awake, the more it gained upon him, till at last: he realized that he was far away, sleeping -beneath the coli sky, and that he could not bring back the merry faces which were, a few minutes before, around him. He groaned in spi- rit, raised his head, andsaw that his companions were sleeping beside him, turned over and again fell asleep. Before sunrise he was awakened by Dolbear, who had got up with the teamster, and, while the latter had been engaged in getting his team ready, had made afire and prepared the cof- fee. There were many teams camped around them, for there was a spring of good'water here, and it was indispensable that the teams should camp where there was abundance of water.- Their breakfast this morning consisted'of ham, which they broiled on the fire,-though the teamster- ate it raw,-soda biscuit and coffe6. The coffee was made in a tea-kettle holding about four quarts, and each of them being provided with a tin quart measure, they filled them with the boiling coffee, to which they added as much coarse, birown sugar as they liked. Inio this they would dip their soda crackers, which made them, as they said, delicious. Whatever else they might want, there was no lack of appetite, and though they were stiff, in their limbs and somewhat foot-sore, they felt generally strong and well, and started on the second day full of hope and courage. page: 174-175[View Page 174-175] 174 . PIII TH[AXTER.- Their teamster 'was a--social fellow, and told them all he had heard of different mines. He had mined hinmself till hle got money enough to buy a team, then lie clanged his business, and had made one hundred and fifty dollars a week ever since. Intended to go home in the fall, would have -all the money he wanted. Thaxter asked him what made him swear so to his mules.'- He answered that they were from Pike county, and did not understand any other language. Our travelerks thought it very strange that any one who was acquainted with the coun- try should be content to work for one hundred and fifty dollars per week, while many were making, by digging, from one to five hundred dollars per day. But they were in a fair way to get wiser as they got older. They had not gone far that morning before Thurlow was Compelled to lag behind, by reason of his sore feet. His boots were thick and heavy, and such as he had not worn ever before. They slipped up and: down at the- heel at every step, and had, raised a blister on each heel, and another on the ball of the foot. - Every little way the tortured victim would stop and pull off the unyielding cow-hide, and, try and readjust the stocking - so as to ease the- foot. This would" take time, and leave him still farther -behind the team, yet he would hardly get ahead ten rods when he could not step but with excruciating pain. After awhile, the big blister on the ball of the foot broke, and. the water it contained saturated his stocking, and the smarting th'at followed was almost unbearable. By this time it was almost noon, and the' te-am was far ..head of him. He now be. gan to'fear he should not overtake it till after nooning, and he aknew he could not follow it all day and overtake it at night. He therefore nerved himself up -to bear the pain as best he could, and pressed on like a cripple running from danger. He reached the next camping-ground just as the team was starting /for the afternoon's drive. .His companions, supposing he had made some interesting and comnmunicative acquaintance, thought nothing of his delay. But when they saw him ap- ! proach, and noticed with what pain he walked, they felt secretly condemned for seeming to have deserted hilm. He threw him- self upon the ground, and protested he could walk no farther. He was accordingly mounted on the load, and the team, moved on. The other two were now getting so foot-sore that they, too, could keep up with difficulty. This, however, was a shorter VIEeWS A-FOOT. 175 day's travel than yesterday's. The spring was among the foot- hills of the'mountains, and they began to .observe signs of "the gold diggers. At this place they met some people returning from the diggings, who gave glowing accounts of what was go- ing on in sections where they had been, on the north fork of the Yuba, and on the middle -fork of the American river, the -miners were said to be doing an immense business. The riv- ers were too, high to be worked to advantage yet, but so low as bthey could get into the banks they found them very rich, and when the water got low enough, so that they could work the bars and beds of the streams, every man was sure of a fortune, R W Vhy had these men left such a rich country? They had only left for a short time. They belonged to large companies, and still retained all their rights and interests. They were just going below for a short time, to get supplies for the season. Our travelers resolved that they would make at once for one of these rivers. The Yuba being the nearest, they decided on that. B ut in order to reach it, they must leave the main road about five miles further on. There was a trail leading across the hills,' over which pack-mules and foot-passengers traveled, but it was not passable for teams of any kind. By taking this cut,! they could reach the Yuba well up where the gold was plenty, and at a distance, of not more than twenty miles from the main road. The weather thus far, since they had left Sacramento, had been fine. The early winter rains had been copious, and filled up the streams. But February had been, according to all ac- counts, a delightful month. Every day had the sun-rose clear' and bright in the morning, and gone down as clear and bright at night. There had not been a cloud seen during the entire month' March had set in, and, thus far, continued as mild. But the rainy season was not over.', This night they were all awakened by an unexpected shower. When they fell asleep :they had no warning of what was coming, and were not a little astonished to awake up in the night, and find the rain falling very rapidly, and so gently and softly as though the clouds that produced it could be but a few feet above them They all crawled under the wagon for protection, and though the bed was narrow between the wheels for the four, and the outside ones were scarcely protected at all, yet they all laid down there and slept soundly. Thaxter, who was on the outside when 'he , ,. page: 176-177[View Page 176-177] 176 : \ PHLIP TH AXTER. 'waked up, found it still raining so gently, and yet so fast, his blankets wet through, and himself very wet, and yet none of the worse for it. In fact, he felt a greater suppleness in his limbs than he had felt for the past day and a half. They made their coffee that morning as bVest they migft, and got under way as soon as they could,/for they were now eager to reach the Yuba river. i But it wa;s slow getting along. The roads were wretched, the rain having made deep gullies in an incredibly short space of time, and rendering the earth so soft and pulpy that the wheels- sunk in half way to the hubs.- They passed several teams that were stuck fast. The teamsters were, nevertheless, in good spirits, and laughed and joked their more fortunate fellow-travelers. One had broken his hind-axle, and was in high glee because he had a spare one in his wagon. He said he knew it would take him a day to uiload and fix it and load up again, but -he:was glad of it, for it would ,give his team a chance to rest. Another had got fast in the mud, and'had got his friend to double teams with him, to help him out. But the king-pin breaking, the fore part of his wagon dropped in the mud, at which disaster they knew not what to do, but that in the meanwhile they might not get discouraged, they sought consolation from a demijohn of whiskey which was on board the wagon. Thaxter and Thurlow wondered at such procrastination and indifference to time. They counted thei value of each hour. Thus, if:a team can earn one hundred and fifty, dollars per week, that is twenty-five dollars per'day, and at least two dol- lars per hour for, the working hours. And how men could stop and fool away two or three hours, drinking whiskey, playing poker and other- such questionable arnusements, was surprising to 'them. Nor did- they believe that a teamster in New Eng- land, whose time and -team were worth two dollars per hour would very willingly stop to help his neighbor over a hard place. But here, they saw their teamster, who was'from the State of Vermont, stopping every time that he thought he could do a favor to a fellow teamster. But they had got to learn the 1 influence California life was calculated to exert on character. i Perhaps they expected to leave California the same persons that they had New England. We shall see whether they did or no. It was past noonrere they reached the fork's of the road, where ' ?' - i[ 6, VIEWS, A-lOOT. A-F O the mule trail diverged from the main road. The rain had ceased soon after they started, and it became warm and pleasant. Here they stopped for a short time. They took a lunch of soda biscuit and a slice of raw ham, which with a drink of cold water, made up their dinner. They were all very foot-sore, though the rain had softened:,their boots and. penetrating through to their feet, had allayed the inflammation. Their pre- vious trials, however, were nothing to what was before them. Each one of them had two pairs of heavy blankets ; some spare hickory shirts and pantaloons of corduroy, and a variety of what they supposed was indispensable, like combs, shaving utensils, pocket looking-glasses, and some provisions. Thaxter also carried a bible, which Parson Keith had given him with an admonition to look after his spiritual welfare, and as he was getting old he needed some gold spectacles :and a gold headed cane, and did not know when he should get them, if some old friend of his did not send them to him from California. Philip took the hint, and would have sent back the bible as too expen sive on such conditions, but his wife begged him not to, for when he was gone, she would need the friendship of Parson Keith and all his parishioners. In addition to these things they had provided themselves with picks and shovels, so that they had no light amount of freight to pack..ovdr to the banks of the Yuba, It might be supposed that a man of Thaxter's experience would make light account of such trials as these. And so he did:. But yet it was serious business for any one to break in to this kind of life. When once accustomed to it, a man thinks nothing of it, but it comes hard at first, to everybody, and, fre- quently the counting house clerk, or the kstudent from college, submits to all these hardships with a better grace and less tmur- muring than one who has worked all his life-at farm labor, or at severe mechanical drudgery. Each man having shouldered his' bundle, they all set for- ward. The round bundle was a great inconvenience to them in traveling up and down the steep hills. They thought they had seen steep places before, but nothing to compare with these immense hills, over which they were compelled to climb. They had not gone on more than two hours, when they met three disappointed miners returning from the banks of the exhaustless Yuba. Two of them had long rifles, and each of \ , , page: 178-179[View Page 178-179] ,L i O r Ijir ALK. them was loaded down with a Colt's revolver and a bowie knife., If either of them had ever been shaved it was. long before. "Where are you going?" said the foremost one to Thaxter, who was also the foremost in' his party.' "Yuba River," answered Thaxter.. R' How far is it?" "Yuba River!" said the first interrogator, ' you had better go to the devil at once."' ' Why, what is the matter? Is there no gold there?" said Thaxter, taking his bundle from his shoulder and laying it on the ground. "There may be gold there,"-said' the other, "but nobody can find it. We worked there three days, and didn't make any- thing. All the miners'are leaving there. I have been travel- ing through the mines all winter, and heard so much about the- Yuba I thought I would go and try them, but I have not saw any so, poor mines as them- is nowhere. Now we are going over to Sonora and Mariposa. I' hear there is heaps of gold there. You had better turn about." i "Where have you found better diggings?" asked Thtrlot, disheartened at hearing so unpromising an account of the Yuba. "Anywhere. Grass Valley. There is quartz there, full of gold. Nevada. Hangtown." "I guess we will keep on," said Thaxter, "now we have got started." "Well, go ahead then. You are not the first fools we have' met." Saying which he and his companion passed on, leaving our trio in a state of charming dubiety. Thurlow looked after them, and saw from the ease with which they walked up the steep hills that they were used to it. He also .noticed that they had a way of carrying, their blankets different from his own. Instead of having them rolled up in a large and-awkward bundle, they had them twisted out at length in the manner of a rope. The two ends were then brought together and fastened.' The coil was then thrown over the head, one side resting on the shoulder, and the other allowed to hang down below the hips. ITe immedi- ately suggested that they could take a hint from these travelers, rough and boorish as they were, and that they would try their method of carrying blankets. In a few minutes they adjusted them accordingly, and found that 'though their load was not lightened, it was incomparably more easy to carry. d VIEWS - A-}fO0'. L . v- That night it rained again. They tried various devices to shield them from it, but in vain. The rain came down in vast quantities. Their blankets were wet through and through. Finding it folly to attempt to keep dry, they spread one half of their blankets upon the ground, and then, the three lying down upon them in a row, they brought, their other blankets over them, and though it poured down in torrents, they soon fell asleep, and woke up just before the sun rose bright sand clear, steaming with warmth. They had now no facilities for ! making coffee, and were compelled to breakfast on raw ham and soda biscuit. But they were used to this kind of life, and started again ere the sun had been half an hour above the horizon. It was past noon of the next day before they reached the summit of the "Yuba." Even then it: was more than an hour's travel, tired and foot-sore as they were, to' the banks of the river. But so eager were they to be there that they pushed on without stopping to take their usual nooning or lunch. The hill which they'had to descend was covered with timber, so that,it was only here and there that-they could get a glimpse of the valley below. As they neared the bottom, however,/ there was less timber, but a thick growth of chapparel completely hid them from the river. When they emerged from this they found themselves on the banks of the stream. They had arrived at the long wished for mines of California, and stood on the banks of the Yuba, and in the very heart of the Gold regions. s , page: 180-181[View Page 180-181] X '! CHAPTER XXI. -:aken ou . They THE MNES. THE hearts of our adventurers sahk within them at the sight which met their eyes when they first stood on the banks of the river. Up and down, on both sides, as far as they coaul see, the ground had all been dug over, and the gold all, apparently, taken out. They sickened as they beheld how much labor had already been performed. JThey had supposed that they were among the earliest of the gold-hunters, and yet the banks of this river had been all worked over, and in many places abandoned. Was it for thi' they had braved the dangers of the sea, and toiled over plains and mountains? I They sat down on' the ground, in one sense, satisfied. For some time neither of them spoke. 'At length Thaxter broke the silence by saying that " he had seen enough of California." The others agreed 'With him, but seeing, a little farther up the river, several tents, they thought they would go up and learn what they could, and then shape their course accordingly. They passed several miners at work in the banks, one company of whom they asked how they were doing. "Just grub money," was the cheering reply, They entered , the largest tent and found in it a large stock of goods. The tradesman, who went by the name of Scotty, was asleep on his counter, and on a barrel back of him stood a tin basin about half full of gold dust. "Halloo, landlord," said Dolbear, " wake up." The person addressed, roused himself, and seeing strangers, jumped down behind his bar, saying: "Well boys, what are you going to take to drink?" Thekparty had not as yet tasted spirituous liquor since they arrived in the country. But they felt desperate and depressed H - THE, MNES. 181 on this occasion, and answered that they would take anything ., he could recommend, at which he set forth a bottle,'saying: " There, gentlemen, is as good, whiskey as you have tasted since you left Sacramento." Thurlow said he didn't doubt it was better. The whiskey revived them and they then began to question their host about the diggings. " Immense," said he. " T is' company below here are taking out two ounces to a man every day, and have been for a month. -Then there is a couple of chaps down here working in the wa- ter close by them: they made sixteen hundred dollars a-piece last week, and when the river goes down their claim will be good for fifty thousand. No such diggings in California, I know, I don't say it because I have got a trading tent. But it's so, anid if you stay here you will find it." / "But I see the ground looks as though it had- all been worked over," said Thaxter. ] " Nonsense," said the man of groceries. " The coyotes have f just run over it and picked off the top. But I' can show you claims enough not half worked out. I have been here four months and know all about this section. You will find it just as I say. And if you want a stake, just say so, and you may have, anything I have got in my store, and pay me when you take the gold out. There is a cradle you can have for fifty dol-' lars, and you may have flour and pork, or anything you want, for a dollar a pound.' "A dollar a pound:!" exclained Thaxter. " Why, yes. That is cheap. What is a dollar a pound when you are making three or four ounces a day ? I don't make much of any profit on my goods-could do much better dig- ging. - , - Could you show us one of these claims you speak of?" inquired Thurlow. , "Yes, follow me," said he, putting on an old Panama hat and leaving no one the store to keep guard. ' " Isn't it unsafe," asked Thaxter, " to leave everything so exposed" " " Do you see that tree there 1" asked their cicerone. ' Yel." - " Well, there was a man hanged on that lower limb last week." " For what V" page: 182-183[View Page 182-183] -H iiL , AT 'E l "For borrowing six ounces of dust without leave of the owner" At this moment,'Thaxter and the trader happening to cast their eyes simultaneously on Dolbear, saw that'he was deathly pale. ' . What is the matter, Dolbear?" asked-Thaxter. "(, nothing; only a slight giddiness. I reckon that whiskey didn't agree with me." They passed along till they came to a point where a ledge of rock made out to the river's edge. Just below it the ledge receded, iand their new friend told them that " a couple of men had taken out $14000, in five days, when the lead gave out. It paid over an ounce a day, however, after that. But they got scared on, account of a robbery down the river, and put out. Now, I advise, you to pitch in." The party, considering the advice good, resolved at once to follow it. In returning to the tent, Thaxter and the merchant being at -a little distance from the other two, the latter inquired of the former who his friend was with the tarpaulin hat. "His name is Dolbeqr," was the answer. "Have you known him long ." said the other. "S I met him for the first time on board the steamer." "Did you notice how pale he turned when I told about hang- ing that fellow?" -- "Yes." "Well, then, I advise you to know who you camp with. Still, it's none of my business." It now occurred to Thaxter that there was something myste- rious about his traveling companion, Dolbear. Though he and Thurlow, and the rest of their company, had told who they were, where they were from, what their circumstances were, without reserve, yet Dolbear had never disclosed a word of his history. His manners were those of a New Englander who had trav- cled a great deal, but farther than that they knew as little of his previous history as on the day they first met. He had the air of a man of sorrow, and if he was not altogether what She should be, his deception was very deep. His curiosity was excited by the tradesman's question to know-more of him, but he had so much confidence and respect for him that he thought little about it. The new-comers were now elated, and in great haste to take possession of theircelaims; for they coull not believe it safe to THE MNES. 1-i leave unoccupied for a single hour, so valuable 'a spot as this was reported to be. Every man they sawapproaching, they fancied, was making for the same place. They therefore des- patched one of their number with a pick and shovel to the ground, as they had learned that that was sufficient to hold a f claim for three days, according to the mining laws that then obtained on the river. That evening they provided themselves-with such tools as they were lacking. The cradle was the customary utensil for ! washing the gold. This was placed on the edge of the- river, and the!dirt was carried, to it from the claim in buckets and dumped into this machine. The water being poured on this at the same time that the cradle was rocked to and fro, the dirt was carried, first through a sheet-iron seive to an inclined table, and from that fell to the bottom of the rocker and thence run out of the machine. The gold in the meanwhile, being heavier than the earth, settled to the bottom of the cradle and was caught and retained by the riffle boards that were tacked down for the purpose. They soon caught the idea of this ma- chine by seeing it used by others, and before dark they had their claims measured off, their tools in them, their cradle set on the bank of the river, and were prepared for a powerful effort the next day. They likewise made themselves a bush tent that same even- ing, and obtained from their friends of 'the trading tent such cooking utensils as they required, as also a bag of flour, a quantity of Chilian beans or frijoles, a piece of pork, some sugar and coffee. The next morning they were up betimes. They were so eager to get to work they could not stop to prepare much for breakfast. ;The remains of their soda-biscuit, a slice of boiled ham, and a drink of Yuba water sufficed, and they began work in fierce earnest. Thaxter, as being the most powerful man of the three, used the pick and shovel and filled the buckets. Dolbear carriekd them to the cradle,: and Thurlow run through the dirt. They looked-often to see if they were getting any gold, and sure enough they were. So they kept on till noon, and when they came to clean up' and took their treasure' into the store to have it weighed, they found they had just one dollar and seventy-five cents. Scotty said they did not save the gold. He would show them how to do it. So after dinner he went out, and after watching,Thurlow at the cradle for a few minutes, said it was plain enough that the page: 184-185[View Page 184-185] gold all run through with thi dirt and was lost. So he sat down at the rocker and run through a few-buckets, and taking out the gold found not less than five dollars. T The motion of the cradle," said he, "must be uniform,- the water must run through gradually, and the black sand must be stirred up frequently from the.- riffle boards, else the gold will all run over. Thus enlightened, our friends went to work again, and at night had an ounce to, show for their day's work. That night there was a sudden rise of the river, which car- ried off their cradle and buckets, and also covered their claim with water so they could not work it. They got another cra- dle, however, and began to work farther back in the bank. That forenoon they took out seven ounces. In the afternoon they took out only four dollars, it appearing they had struck a little " pocket"' early in the day, and that the surrounding earth had nothing in 't. The day being Saturday, that night there was a great gath- ering of miners at Scotty's tent. Almost every man had a buck-skin bag well filled with gold, and they seemed to vie with each- other to see who could, spend it most lavishy. In ;the back part of the tent were two gambling-tables, around which stood a crowd "bucking" at monte. The dealers were both of them well-dressed men, one of them being a smooth- faced youth not twenty-one-the other about thirty with a fine soft beard and mustache, a voice gentle and mild, and a hand delicate and small as a- girl's. But there was a speck in his right eye that told you as plainly as words could do, not to pro- voke his anger. The miners, when they came in, would generally drink them- selves and ask all the others to drink-nay, many would insist on treating the whole crowd, and compelling them to drink whether they would or no. Hence those who were among the first at the store were in a very maudlin state before it was at all late. The different people were in every different degree of inebriation, from the strictly sober to the very drunk. The majority, however, were in a state to be reckless, and the gold was fast accumulating on the gamblers' tables. Men seemed to gamble just for the sake of losing; for they would get a cer- tain amount of dust changed to coin, when they would approach the table for the avowed purpose of " bucking it off," and when it was gone would go home contented. It was getting late. Thaxter, Thurlow and Dolbear had gone THE ZIINEi;S. , to their blankets, each of them with more whiskey in them than thy had ever carried before. Thev were -just getting obliv- ious of the outward world, when they heard the report of a pis-. tol, in the direction of Scotty's. This was succeeded almost instantaneously, by several shots and a great shouting--of " kill him," "shoot him," " stop him." They rushed out of their tett and in the clear moonlight, saw the elder of the gamblers running towards thelnm, brandishing a knife, and a dozen of the l miners in keen pursuit. Doibear caught a stone about the size of his fist, and just as he was opposite of him, threw it with such aim as to take him in the ribs and knock him over. Before he could regain his feet others were upon him Hewas disarmed and led back to the tent. It appeared that he had been caught cheating at the game. During the early pairt of the evening he had won large sums, but later the luck seemed to be against him, and he had substi- tuted some waxed cards, so that he won invariably, whenever There was a very large sum on the table. This had caught the attention of an old Mexican, who had stood for some-time watch- "g, with his serape thrown over his shoulder and his hat drawn over his eyes Hastily catching at the deck, hle showed the trick in an instant. Not so quick, however, but that when the cards fell from his hands, he fell back dead, from a shot of the gambler's revolver. As he fired the desperado jumnped over his table, ran so quickly that the half dozen shots that were fired' after himl, were too late to reach him, and he would prob- ably have eseaped but for Dolbear's chance throw of a stone. He was brought back to the tent bound and strictly guarded The other gambler had vanished, and taken all the money belonging to the two. A consultation was held, and it was agreed to meet the next morning-and bury-the "greaser," and dispose of the murderer as they might then decide. Some half-a-dozen took the lead in this matter, and when it was proposed to send him off to the jail that night, the proposal met with a decided negative. Two of the leaders named Boyce and Cotton volunteered to keep watch by the prisoner till morning.,Bl After a while the crowd again dispersed., Dolbear was evi- dently in great distress. He had offeredi to be one to escort the prisoner to the county jail. But his offer was treated with derision. He lay awake till it was almost morning, when at length he fell asleep. Thurlow was the first to rise in the . * / ' * I ' . page: 186-187[View Page 186-187] ltS6 ' .PHLIP THAXTER. morning, and looking out from the tent he saw the body of the gambler dangling from the limb of a tree, not more than ten rods from where he \stood. He called to his companions to come and look. Thax er being ahead, as soon as he shiw the hanging body, turned Wand looked at Dolbear, who was so hor- rified at the sight, that he turned deathly pale, and was obliged to catch hold of a post of the tent to save himself from falling. Not a word was said. They'then proceeded to get and eat their breakfast, and went to their work as though nothing had happened, and no such frightful sight was near them. In the course of the morning some other miners gathered, and cutting down the body, buried it as they would havq buried a dead horse or mule; to get it out of the way and prevent it from becoming offensive. That evening there were as many miners as usual about Scotty's tent. Very little was said about the event of the evening before. They did not seem to regard the occurrence as unusual or important, and were talking rather of new diggings or rich strikes than dead gamblers. The claim which the tradesman had recommended, proved to be nearly as good as he had foretold. They saw: that with hard work they could make money very fast-that all were doing so up and down the river who had the necessary stabil- ity and application. The first letters home were full of pronmise, and expressed great satisfaction at having made the venture. Thus our party worked along for about two months. They had accumulated among them something more. than-five thou- sand do'llars, and had it buried in the' ground, They were thinking of sending one of their number below to deposit it, when a proposition was made to them to engage in an operation of- dammig the- river. nIt was shown that for about a quarter of a mile below the point of ledge where their claim commenced, the bank was extremely rich, and grew richer and richer the lower down they got into the bed of the stream. Now, it was argued, if they could only build a dam abovq that point, and -turn the body of the river from its bed so they could work the bottomn, they would all have what money they would ever need. ' At first Thaxter would listen to no proposition of the kind ; neither would Dolbear: The' former said he considered th'it he was sure of getting all that he, expected to get when he left home, if he kept clear of all wild operations and visionary 'I- TTHE ITNE . -S87 experiments. He-did not intend to relinquish a certainty for anything less. Dolbear said' it was probable they would find no gold at the bottom of the river, and that under no cir- cumstances would he engage in so absurd an undertaking. Thurlow, however, viewed the matter in a different light. He did not Lsee houw it was possible for the result to be other- wise :than completely successful. "Is it likely,";' said he, i( that the gold would run down ito the water's edge, and no farther? Does gold float on. water that it should work up and run off? And suppose that in some places it does not extend any lower down than the bank has been worked, it is impos- sible that it should be so uniformly, and all along the bank of the river. That there should -be a dividing line just where the banks have been worked ; that the gold should all be on one side of that line and none on the other, is impossible. Now, it is said by the old miners-that not less than half a million has been taken out along the banks where we propose to flume; is it likely that one half of it has yet been taken out 9?" There was no answering this reasoning of Thurlow, though Dolbear :said it was all nonsense. He said " -it was easy enough to figure out fortunes, but there were always contingencies in untried experiments which no man could foresee, and the effect of which no man-could calculate." Heuwould not throw any impediment in the way of others. If they wanted to go into anything of that kind they might 'do it, but as for him, he " would tell them in the outset that he should have nothing to do with it." It promised so well, however, that Thaxter and Thurlow resolved finally to engage in it, even if they must part company p with Dolbear. There were seven others-engaged in the operation, all hard working miners--like themselves? and having from one to three thousand dollars each in gold. It was a large under- taking. A flume was to be built for the distance of one hun- dred rods, and the whole body of the river was to be turned into it and :carried along its bank, so that the miners could work in its bed. The first move was to put up a saw mill to make' the necessary: lumber, and the mill-wright of the com- pany wais despatched immediately to San Francisco to get the mecessary iron-work and other materials. The money was paid in in installments of five hundred dollars to each member of the company. It was estimated that it would take the whole season till September- to complete the dam and flume. - - ' r Lt page: 188-189[View Page 188-189] 188 P-rILIP- THAS'XTES., That wouldgive them from two to three months for worling out the bed of the river; or, rather, for taking out all they wanted; for they did not doubt but that they would find more than they could carry away. The work was begun in the latter part of May. The com- pany was made up of practical working men. Thaxter was chosen foreman of the work, and they all considered that they had got one season of labor before them, after which they might bid good by to California and return to their eastern homes. But Dolbear shook his head ominously, and even ventured " the remark to Thurlow,-that "Thaxter was not a fit man for California. God send him prosperity, and then send him home, said he, " for, if he does not do the one, he never will the other.". Dolbear had no faith in the damming operation; but he had something else which'he thought better. He had found the source of the gold.' In rambling round of a Sunday, he had observed that a gulch near by, called Rattlesnake Gulch, which was famous for the amount of coarse quality gold it had yielded,! had been worked only -to a certain point. This gulch was formed by the union of two smaller gulches or forks, which united about a mile and a half fromn the river. Between these two swaller gulehes was an elevated ridge. Each fork of the gulch had been worked up to about the same elevation, whence it appeared that the gold had its origin somewhere in that dividing ridge, above where the gold ceased to be found. Here, then, was a clue to a fountain of gold. It must come from near the back-bone of that ridge; for if it had been on either side exclusively, then the gold would all have been worked into one fork of the gulch, and none into the other- whereas it was in both, and hence it must have come from thatl point from which the rains of ages washed it, a part down'one declivity and a part down the other. If the gold was not from this exact spot, how was it that it happened to strike each fork of the, gulch at the same elevation? It must have come from there, that was clear. So much had Dolbear reasoned out from distant observation. - He had traced the course of this gulch with his eye, and from a distance formed his conclusion as to the source of the gold. So, when he parted company with his fellow voyagers and mining companions, he resolved to go and prospect thi's spot, THE -MNES. 189 where reason told him there must be an inexhaustible sup- ply of the precious ore. With pick and shovel he, started forth. He passed many miners' on his way, all hard at work. With several he stopped to converse and inquired of how they were doing. All were making wages, as they said, and some two and three ounces a day, while some declined to tell what they were doing.. Dol- bear thought they were all very foolish to thus spend their time and'strength for such paltry sums, when they could, by going to the source of the gold, get' all they would ever want in a short time. 'Twas passing strange, as he thought, that men would be so short sighted and unreasoning as not to look to the source and fountain head for what they sought, instead of frittering away their time in picking up the scanty fragments that in the course of ages had been worn off, scattered about, and intermingled withthe surrounding earth. fOn carefully examining this dividing ridge, Dolbear found a quartz ledge just cropping out of the ground. "Here, then," said he, " is the explanation of the grand secret. The quartz has decayed and become disintegrated by exposure to the atmosphere, the gold has been washed 'down into the ravine and has been there found. Of course, there must be enough more where that came from." So he set to work with pick and shovel, to clear away the earth and get a view of the quartz. Some loose fragments of the rock which were lying round he closely examined, but found no gold in them. But, so certain was he that there was aninexhaustible fountain there, that he anxiously looked about, fearing that others might be in sight, who would rob him of his treasure, or, at least, demand a share in it. But no one- was in sight, and so he worked with a11 -his might to clear away the earth and reveal the auriferous quartz. The loose boulders which he first extricated were closely exam ined, and it staggered. his reason whien he found they were not bristling all over with gold. "Of course, though," said She to himself, ' the ledge cannot be all gold-bearing, quartz. That part having gold in it which was near the surface, has become disintegrated, while ' that which was deep in the earth, remains in its primitive state." With zeal and faith unabated, there- fore, he continued :to work away. Could he have got "'the color" of the gold in any of-the quartz, he would have been in raptures; but even that poor comfort was denied him, and I- page: 190-191[View Page 190-191] 190 '; ' PTT TP THAXTER. when night came he was obliged- to return to his old camp no richer than- he had suet-ou't in the morning. The next morning he returned to the quartz ledge, and for a week he v-orked upon it solitary and alone. At the end of that time he found it was necessary to have assistance, as he could xnot work alone to advantage. So, no longer anxious lest he should be discovered, he talked freely with all he met of i his'prospects. But no one could see it with his eyes. At length he made the acquaintance of a man who entered fully into his views. What his name was no one knew. He was called "Old Ignominous," f0om a habit he had of calling every- body who disagreed with hi, " damned ignominiouses." Dol- bear, however, called him the Major. The two, having agreed upon the terms, set to work in good earnest. They provided themselves with drills, hammers, sledges and safety-fuse, and went to work as if there was no doubt but they would find gold in great quantities before they got very deep. Dolbear and the Major now camped close by their work. The Major said time was " too considerable" to be wasted in going back -and forth. Besides, some of their acquaintances said they were d-d fools, to expect to find gold up there. The Major told them that " theyi were d-d ignominiouses, and had better at. tend to their: own conveniences." While Dolbear was thus engaged on his quartz lead, Thax- ter and Thurlow were at work on their dam. They soon got their saw-mill in operation, previous to which a part of the company were clearing out the way and laying the foundation for the flume. But, with all their dispatch, they began to fear it would be so late in the fall before the work was complete, that they would not be able to get out all the gold that season from the bed of the river. The middle of August was upon them; and the flume was not half finished. So they increased their force by hiring men. They found, too, that it would cost three times as much as had been estimated-that the work would take every dollar the company could raise, and run them largely in debt besides. But that-the gold was there they knew. As the river had' fallen they had tried the banks lower down, and got some mag- nificent prospects. They were., consequently, very impatient to finish their flume, and get into the bed of the river. One Saturday evening, when the day's work was done, and Thaxter and Thurlow were sitting in front of their tent, after THE MNES. 191 supper, smoking their pipes, (for they had learned to appreci- ate that elegant luxury,) Dolbear and his partner, the Major, gave them a call-having come down to the store to buy some provisions, and powder, and safety fuse. "Well," says Thaxter, " how is that great quartz vein? have you struck the solid gold yet?" "No," said Dolbear, "not quite. We expect to reach that the next day after you get your flume done." 4 4"It is very well for you to laugh at our flume, when 'you have spent the summer where everybody says there is no gold, never was, and never will be." "They are a set of ignominiouses, then," said the Major, "and to prove it, I will show you what we have got for a pros- pect from some of our quartz which we pulmonized, and then extinerated the gold by means of quicksilver. Do you see that," said he, taking out his buckskin bag, and producing a piece of quicksilver gold, "there is what we got from two pounds of quartz, and 'tisn't likely we got it all." " How much is there?" said Thaxter, beginning to think that his doubts must give way before incontrovertible facts. "It weighs about- twenty-five cents," said he, "-that is, twelve and a half cents to the pound of rock; twelve and a half cents a pound is twelve dollars and a half a hundred, or two hundred and fifty dollars a ton. Now, any man can get out two tons of that a day, and not half work. That will be five hundred a day, and as long as you are a mind to work it." "That all figures up very prettily," said Thurlow, " but how are you to get the gold out? To have'a hundred dollars in gold in a half a ton of quartz would be inconvenient pocket money, you couldn't make change easily." - "I hope you don't takee us for fools," said the Major. "I want you to understand we are men of function--none of your d-d ignominiouses. We have provided for all that. It is calculated by scienced men, and those that understand phren- ology, that with good machinery, quartz that has three cents in the pound will pay big. Now, when we get about three hun- dred or four hundred tons of rock raised, we are going below to get some machinery." "How are you going to pay for it?" said Thurlow.. "' We can give a lien on our pile of quartz," said he, " or on the vein. With a quartz lead worth half a million I think it a pity if we can't get credit for twenty thousand dollars. Or we ,i I page: 192-193[View Page 192-193] 1J US PHTLTP THAXTER. could get it worked on shares, and that would involve no out- lay." "'Well," says Thaxter, " when you get your mill in opera- tion I will come to see it, but I have just one word of advice to give you-if the fool-killer should come round, look out for your heads." The Major and Dolbear at this took their leave, the former muttering that it was strange that such ignominiouses should be allowed to'run at large without guardians. Dolbear had said little, for it seemed to him that the Major's talk was wild and absurd, though his reasoning, he knew, was based on ocu- lar demonstration. His figures were correct; that he knew; the quartz vein was inexhaustible, and he had seen two pounds of it yield twenty-five cents. Still he doubted-slightly, it is true, but yet he would have been a little better satisfied to have seen the half million, than to have had such clear evi- dence that the mine was worth that amount. There was now a feeling of spite felt by Dolbear and the Major towards Thaxter and Thurlow. They were more eager than ever to show people that they' understood something about mining. They applied themselves with redoubled energy, and raised enormous piles of quartz. They were sinking deeper and deeper too into the hill, little doubting that they would strike-it soon, so rich that they would send it by the wagon load directly to the mint. This feeling was reciprocated by Thaxter and Thurlow, and they were more eager than ever to get at the bed of the river. The whole company was getting anxious. The season of low water was drawing to a close, and if the river were to rise before they got the bottom cleaned out, their labor would be partially or wholly lost. September was uponi them, and was wearing away. The company were out early, and did not quit till late. It was an anxious time. And it was certain that it would be October before the dam and flume were both fin- ished. To add to their difficulties, some miners who were at work on the bank had got out an injunction against their taking the water out of the bed of the river. This was an unlooked for calamity. But a friend of the judge, named Lanman, who was reputed to act as broker for him, and sell his opinions, appeared on; the bar, and stipulated to get the injunction dissolved for the sum of two thousand dollars. The money THE MNES. 193 was raised and put in the hands of a third party, to be paid over when the injunction was removed. This, too, produced embarrassment and delay. Others threatened to get out another injunction, and- it was found that the judge's broker had advised them to do it,. thinking, no doubt, that he could get another fee for having it dissolved. The company called a meeting, therefore, of all the miners in the vicinity, and a resolution was passed that if, under the present circumstan- ces, any-one should attempt to get out an injunction, or any agent of any corrupt judge should appear on the bar, the offending party should be hanged immediately. No other injunction was served upon them. Since the allusion of Thaxter to the fool-killer, Dolbear and the Major had not called at his tent again. The four however chanced to meet at the store of an evening, and were engaged talking together when they noticed a couple of miners, who had- lately come to this bar, making their way towards them. One of them had a tin pan in his hand, which he held in both hands, as though it contained considerable weight. When they came near so that they could look into the pan, they saw at least 12 pounds of gold in it. "You had great fortitude to-day," said the Major. "Yes," said the one with the pan, " pretty good, but not equal to yesterday." "You must have a great claim." s( Yes, it pays right clever. We- haven't worked it only week yet, and nary day haven't got less than six pound." "Where is your claim?" said Dolbear. "Just below that pint of ledge yonder." "Our old claim, by hokey," exclaimed Dolbear. "I guess we had all better look out for the fool-killer." "Did you have that claim?" said the Major. ( Yes," said Thaxter., "And give it up?" ". Yes." "Well,s you were a set of ignominiouses." October was upon them, and the flume was not done. Nei- ther had the quartz miners got into the pure ore. But they had got out, a great quantity of the rock, and thought that they had no time to lose if they world get their quartz mills on the ground that fall. If they delayed till after the rains began to ; page: 194-195[View Page 194-195] 194 PHLIP THAXTER. fall, -it would be difficult to get heavy machinery so far into the interior. They accordingly thought they would test some more of their quartz by pounding it up and amalgamating it with quicksilveir. But this time they got no gold. Some- thing was wrong; perhaps they had selected poor ore. So they tried again. Same result. Perhaps the quicksilver was bad? No, it was the same they had used at first. They miade another test-still- no gold to be seen. What was the diffi- culty? Thev got some more quicksilver, the same as they had at first. This time they found iabout the same amount of gold as at their first assav. They tried some more quartz with the same quicksilver, and got nothing. Could it be the gold was in the quiclsilver? They got some more of it, and before they attempted to amalgamate anything with it, pressed it through the buck-skin, arid got more gold than they ever had before. The quicksilver, they learned, had been used in a machine for washing dirt. Hence the gold it contained, and hence, too, it was proved there was no gold in the quartz. That night when the Major lay down to-sleep, he asked Dolbear if there was no danger of the fool-killer that night "' Let him come," said Dolbear, "I amn ready for the sacri- fice. Blow your horn, Gabriel." That night it rained, and in the morning the discouraged quartz miners went down to the store to get some whiskey. The Major said-he " felt so bad that nothing could bring him out right and restore his appliances but some whiskey," and Dolbear was inclined to seek the same relief. As they descended the gulch towards the river, they were surprised at the quantity of water fallen!during the night.- The evening before the gulch was nearly dry. Now it was rushing in torrents. When they came-in sight of the river that too they -found had risen astonishingly and on its surface was floating a great number of buckets, cradles, long-toms, sluice boxes, boards and joists. "We will have company in our sorrow, I reckon," said Dolbear. !' "Yes, we will all get drunk together," responded the Major. They followed up the river till they came in sight of the flume and saw all hands busily engaged in tearing it upf to save the lumber. But the river wasrising so fast that they soon gave it up and the company gathered about the store to condole with each other and talk over their misfortune. That day they had intended to let the water into the flume, but the river had .. * " c TIHE MYES. 195 risen and carried off their dam, and it was impossible for them to accomplish anything this season. What hopes were blasted by that untimely rain! Not a man of that company but who, the evening before, was sanguine that in two months or less hb could count his thousands and return to his home and friends in the Eastern States. But 'now all was gone. The hard labor of four months was all gone ifor nothing, besides all the money they had previously accu- mulated. More than that, they had got in debt some ten thousand dollars for labor. and supplies.- Was it not a gloomy prospect : The most of the crowd spent that day in oblivious inebriation. Thaxter, however, sought 'consolation in writing a long letter to his wife and pouring out his grief to her.- Assuring her that though temporary misfortune had overtaken him he had learned enough of the country to know that he could do well with his present experience. He had been successful as long as he was satisfied with reasonable gains, but like the dog and his shadow, in grasping too eagerly for more he had lost what he had. Had he been contented and been satisfied with doing well, he would then have been in a condition to return to her and to pay off the long standing. mortgage, and thereafter to have remained at home contented with a competency that would have secured him forever from want. ' He was now resolved to- keep clear from all speculation and to rely on his own hard labor for all he got, and there could be no doubt that in less than a year he would yet be able to return, when he would never wander more. * . * page: 196-197[View Page 196-197] CHAPTER XXII. INCIDENTS OF MNING LIFE. AFTER the disastrous result of the damming operation neither Thaxter nor Thurlow were so eager or enthusiastic in engaging in any new undertaking as they had been formerly. In fact Thaxter, notwithstanding his assumed courage and good spirits in his letters home-was far from well. He had exposed himself very much, and was threatened with chills and fever. It had been necessary for him to stand in the water a great deal, which, with over exertion, had seriously affected his health. The Major had been prospecting around since the bottom had fallen out of his quartz lead and said he had struck it rich in a ravine about a mile distant. He offered to take in the others " if they was not predisposed and could make it agree with their other conveniences." They all joined him therefore, and the first day took out eight ounces. The next day Thaxter was too sick to labor. The others agreed however to divide equally just the same as if he had continued at work. That day they struck a crevice and took out seven pounds and two ounces. Their spirits began to revive wonderfully at, this, and they would all have been in high glee but for the sidkuess of Thaxter. His standing in the water so much had caused him to have frequent and severe attacks of cramp, and several large, sluggish sores broke out on his feet and ankles. He was getting worse every day, so Thurlow was very much alarmed. There were no conveniences for the sick where they were.; not even a bed to sleep on. Medicines were not to be had even- if they bad known how to administer them. There was a doctor on the bar whom they had tried- to get sober enough to look at the sick man ; but in vain. It was therefore decided that- the invalid must be sent INCIDENTS OF MNING LIFE. 197 below, either to Sacramento or San Francisco. The money which they- had accumulated during the last few days was given to him in- order to payi his expenses while sick. It amounted to $1300. He was obliged to walk a distance of four miles before he struck the road travelled by trains. To this point he was accompanied by his three companions,who having secured him a passage on board of a mule-wagon bade him good by and returned to the ir work. He promised to return to them as soon as his health was sufficiently restored. In the meanwhile he and Thurlow were to correspond as often as the mail facilities would allow. The success of the company after Thaxter left them, was but indifferent. Their claim soon gave out entirely, and though they prospected about for several days, yet they found no place that would warrant them in working it. 'I'hey therefore resolved to go higher up into the mountains, and try their for- tunes elsewhere. They had heard that diggings of immense richness had been recently struck at a place on the American River, called Murderer's Bar, and they resolved to travel im- mediately in that direction. They could not, now, -as when they came upon the bar, carry all their. blankets, tools, and camp furniture on their backs. They therefore bought a couple of bouros or jacks, and bidding adieu to the Yuba, almost as light in pocket as they reached it, they trudged off to look for richer diggings. They passed many rich places on their way.! But as they had started for Murderers Bar they would not be diverted from their purpose. By this time they had learned- many Cali- fornia ways. One was to drink whiskey; ayother to carry wea- pons, and a third, to attend to their own buslness. They pushed on, regardless of the diggings they might pass over. They were not i6ch enough to detain them. It was a tiresome journey. The hills were become almost mountains. Their feet were again sore, and it seemed that they made scarce any progress. When they stood on the sum- mit of a hill, and looked back. to where they had been the day. before, it seemed they had traveled far and labored hard to make so little a distance, But they were deceived as to dis- tances. They were unused to so clear an atmosphere, and the mountains that appeared to be very near, were, in fact, miles away. The atmosphere of New England, to which they had been accustomed, clear as it was, was very different from that '. .c - , . page: 198-199[View Page 198-199] -- - J JL Al. .^.fl. JLJ. of California. They found that a station in advance, which from its distinctness to the eye, appeared near, was far more distant when they came to travel over the ground to it, than they had supposed. The nights were now getting cool. They were well up towards the Sierra, Nevada, and at so higl; an elevation, that the weather was much colder than they had before experienced since they had been in the country. The :days were delightful, and so were the nights to people who had any protection from the night air. But for those who slept in the open air, with nothing between thema and the, sky, it was a ,a little frosty. They were therefore eager to get into winter quarters, and as soon as they arrived at Murderer's Bar they proceeded at once to build them a log house in which to pass the winter. f ' This was an easy job. The hills all around wele covered with pines, tall and straight, with never a limb for eighty feet from the ground. By cutting them so that they would fall down the hill they could get all the logs required, and close to where they wanted them. It was, therefore, a short work for them to fell the timber, cut and notch the logs, and put them in their places. For roofing they got some stout canvas from one of the trading tents, and at the end of four days they had a house such as was the envy of all the tent-inhabiting riners of the neighborhood. They also had the further luxury of sleeping on something softer-than the ground; for across one side of their house they made a tier of bunks, wherein they could sleep without being reminded that the ground was a hard bed to lie on. They also had a rude table on the other side of thecabin, made, not of boards, but of small poles laid side by side. For seats they had a small pine, about eight feet long, split through the center, and in the oval part of which legs were inserted, thus bringing the flat side uppermost. Their usual bill of fare was about the samp as that of other miners. The standing dish, or rather the main reliance, was pork and beans. The beans were of the kind called -frijoles, a kind of Chilian production, of a dark color, large, easily cooked, and palatable. These were put into a large pot with a piece of pork, and stewed till they were soft; and pulpy, when with a piece of bread they afforded a luxurious meal. For bread' somel relied mainly on sea and soda-biscuit. But the miners generally made their own bread each day. It was not always the lightest, and not unfrequently was hard enough and solid . . . ' INCIDENTS OF MNING LIFE. 199 enough to be a very dangerous brick-bat. But Thurlow, being of an ingenious turn, soln found a way to make .bread which had several advantages to recommend it. First, he could make it without touching his hands to it; second, he could make it with very little labor; and third, he could always be sure of light and palatable bread. His method was thus : into a very large and deep tin pan about half full of flour, he poured his yeast. This he stirred up with sufficient water to make a con- sistent batter of the whole. He would then set it aside, if in the morning, till evening, and if in the evening, till morning, by which time it would all be the lightest sponge. He would now add a sufficient quantity of dry bicarbonate of soda, pul- verized very fine, to neutralize the acidity of the batch. Then he would pour the whole into a Dutch oven, and setting it on the hot ashes,' and covering it with a hot cover overlaid with coals, in about forty minutes he would have a loaf- sweet and j toothsome, and light as light could be. A favorite dish with many miners was a peculiar kind of griddle-cakes which they called " slap-jacks." They were simply flour and water made into a batter and poured into a "spider" and browned over a fire. This dish was often eaten, because it was so easily prepared. The "'slap-jacks" were not so tough as green hide, but were rather to be compared with the texture of a felt hat, and not unfrequently passed by that name. One evening after they had got fairly to house-keeping, Thurlow was engaged in cooking supper, and Dolbear was at work chopping wood for the night.: Each had taken his pick and pan that morning for a day's separate prospecting. Nei- ther Thurlow nor Dolbear had made any important discoveries, and it had got to be dark and "Ignominious" was not come in. Just as- the supper wasready, however, he opened the door and brought in a pound of butter and a bottle of whiskey "Great luck," says he. "I have struck it big about half a mile up the river. Didn't do a thing till the sun was descend- ing in the mellifluous west. Then I seen where the arroya come down from the mountain and made an eddy on the fiat. You better believeI sot my pick into it. Took out a pan of dirt, washed it out, and found there was about an ounce and a half. So I thought we would have a little better feed to-night, and I stopped and spent it at Poker Jim's tent for butter and whiskey." . page: 200-201[View Page 200-201] 200 PHLIP THAXTER. "How much did you give for the butter?" said Thurlow. "Eight dollars.", "How much is there!" \ " A whole pound." "A mighty strong price." , "Yes, but not so strong as the butter," said Dolbear, smell- ing it. "How much for the whiskey?" i "An ounce." "Cheap enough," said Thurlow. "Let us have a drink, and then eat supper." This motion was seconded unanimously, and in a short tinie the hot bread and pork and beans were on the board, and the three heroes were at work upon them at a rate that soon satis- fied the innaer man. Then each one took his plug of tobacco, and having chipped off as much as would fill his pipe of clay, loaded it up to the brim and commenced to smoke with great satisfaction. After smoking till their wits were so befogged that they scarce noticed what each other said, they turned in to their luxurious bunks, and w6re6 soon snoring at a rate that would have kept grizzly bears, coyotes or wild cats at a safe distance. - The next morning they proceeded to the Major's newly dis- covered diggings. They found them as he had represented, and took out six ounces the first day, though they had first to clear away a large quantity of non-paying earth. The next day they did better, and so continued to do for about a week, when there came -a fall of snow that rendered it impossible to work for a couple of days. These two days were spent by the Major at Poker Jim's tent. He had been so fortunate as to sell a rifle, which cost him only an ounce, for eight ounces, and hence had concluded that there was a better and easier way of making money than by digging. He therefore stayed rounnd Poker Jim's, drinking and playmng at poker till his money was l gone. Late in the evening of the second day he came stagger- ing back, after both his mess-mates were abed. He made' out to get inside and to stumble into his bunk, which was the low- est one, with his clothes on, and muttering, as an apology for disturbing the others, that he was drunk, he was soon oblivi- ous of all about him. Thurlow lay thinking over his condition. Here he was thou- ' sands of miles from'home, with no one near him whonl he had ever known before leaving his own people. True, Dolbear was INCIDEXNTS OF MN!ING LIFE. 201 his friend. IBut Dolbear was eccentric and mysterious-who he was, or where he came from, he could not find out. But that he passed by an Assumed name he was well satisfied. And he was associating and living with, in a style half barba- rous, a man who was nor beastly drunk' and addicted to the pleasures of an ignorant vulgar mind. Could he have foreseen a year before, that in twelve months from that time he would be in such a condition;, ssociating on terms of equality with such a person, he would have. asked for death to save him from such a fate; What would. be the final result of his wild venture to a land for which he was by education and habit wholly unfit- ted? A whole year had been wasted since he started for the land of promise, andhe Was very little if any better off than he was then. Would another year's end find him still lower in the scale of social degradation . Would he at that time, for the sake of gold, associate with digger Indiaiis, gamblers and cut-throats, or would he .be laid away under the shadow of one of these hills? Why, thought he, should people visit Califor- nia who have no businesj in it? He never was fit to come in contact with men of a roigh nature and of business tact and ca- pacity. If he stays in California he must be content with the life of a gold-digger, orfor nothing else i While oth- ers of less capacity, perhaps, have been roughing it through the world, learning the Hature of men and getting fitted for life's rough and-tumble ways- he has been dreaming and build- ing castles in the air. What now can he do but dig? In all his researches into'the mysteries of the Rosicrucians, or the- power of the Greek particles, he has never learned where gold could be found. ! The man who lives iln the next tent, and who can neither read nor write, can do tiNice the work with the pick and shovel that he can. Nor does he repine at it. His coarse' nature' knows little but physical! enjoyment, and if his senses are grati- fied, he is satisfied. But the dreamer has learned to aspire, and when thrown in competition with other men, he finds that he can cope with none of them. In business he- is a mere child, and is liable to be imposed upon by anyone having more experience of the "world. At labor he is unequal to the inso- lent Irishman, who tries to jump his claim, on the ground that he is a " better dimmeerat and '\kerican citizen," than its pos4 sessor. Why should he remain in a country like this? Even page: 202-203[View Page 202-203] now the oldest nminers say the mines are not so roductive as formerly, but are 'getting exhausted. Not one in twenty of those who who dig regularly day after day has made anything like a competency forlife If he keeps on in the same way, he will stand only oDe chance in twenty of doing any better. Should he work thus, day after day, for so remotea prospect as this? No, i i folly for him to do it. Those who make fortunes-are not the hard working, anything as in. the condition of those who surround him He will venture largely, and, if fortunate, itwill he well, and if e not, taen he will be as he has been. 'Tis much or nothing' Revolvingthus desperately in his mind, ib wasnear morning when he I asileep. eas awa e ned by the ric of he wanted Some money, So s to get even with those " ignomin. louses" ovingthudeeraJims, for he had learned theitrick of winning just ashe got brokemor wheDo you nfot thinsk Hyou had better let the boys at Poker Jim's alone?" said Thurlow. "Idon't know bu Ihadu I know I made a hundre d dol. !s w ithout striking a te ic] day before yesterday , and have'ever done better than rthat, Ia wouls-ae to ifo fo " What did y, o d o with t ohe moneye" lewth thos w h n. "O, I lost if'at poker. :But theyhcan't get t he better of me rgain. ey bylearn ed tounderstnd theam et i ofgame "D yo oth this elucidation of the easeof innyn'a aoke, r t o T warms coninued to pay very tell fort qu hI a ,uch times asthey could work at . After kat they worked in various p laces till darch, having,know good WhMatri demaeYO with them as ever,? oeeasonall, . g t: lel I nehlost it at, poker goB ot an' ge t rid of his Wt. hsmoney by getting drunk. CHAPTER -XXII. THE MSSING MNER. THE winter was almost over. December and January had passed, and February had come and gone, With its beautiful flowers, its cloudless skies, its genial sun. The snows which had fallen in this pait of the country were gone from the hill- tops and from everywhere save the deep, dark valleys and the summits of the Sierra Nevada. The river was now become a large, violent'and roaring stream. The miners had generally left its banks and bars, to work in higher ground and in the dry. diggings. Dolbear and the Major were gone off towards Ne- vada on a prospecting tour. Thurlow remained to watch the cabin, and to prospect nearer home.- It was a lonely time for him, especially when the,evening set i and he had no one to amountof gld. Butofhi n onekne. oldhuntersusu- ally keep their own coutsel in such matters. One of the com- pany wasicalled Hunks by his comrades, by reason of his par- simony and stinginess. He insisted on a division of the gold every night, and put his portion ia a belt which he. carried around his body. He was believed to have at least ten or fif. teen pounds of gtodabouh his person at all times, though he had two or three times that amount somewhere hidden. In disposition, he was armiser, and though he camped with others more liberal, he insisted o n eating by himself, as they were too extravagant for him, and he wanted to economize. They would have turned him ut of their tent nut that he had discovered all the best diggings they had ever worked, and they' thought tenta twompany or.'three tiesthatam ot someywhabere hite . page: 204-205[View Page 204-205] him lucky. At evening, he would crawl away to bed, while the others were playing at whist or euchre. As there were but three besides him, they could not make up a set unless some one of their neighbors came in. .Thurlow was, there- ftore, always welcome, and they played almost every evening, till about ten o'clock, when he went to his own cabin, and his hosts retired to their couches. One evening when he w-en-in he found them engaged in a consult tion. They had been doing badly of late; and it was proposed that they should go out on some prospecting expodi- tions. Hunks preferred to go alone. He said he had better, luck alone. Two of the others, Lux and IPlyn, were going to-. gether. The fourth one, Stoffle, was to remain at the tent, to guard their effects from thieves. In the midst of their delibe- rations they were startled by the cry of murder, succeeded by a fearful, deathly screech. Catching their weapons, they all ran- in the direction from whence came the sound As they a passed on, they saw dimly through the darkness several others running towards the same point with themselves. As they came near a small tent that stood a little back in the mouth of a ravine, they'heard a groan close by.' Approaching, they found a man whom they' recognized, notwithstanding the dark- ness, as one of their neighbors. But he was past speaking, and, before a light could be procured, he was dead. Every miner in the neighborhoodwas soon on the'ground. The body of the murdered man was examined, and found to have re. ceived two frightful stabs in the back and a blow on the head. Then was there a hunt for the murderers. Bat no trace of them could be seen. They looked into the tent at the foot of the ravine, but 'no one was there. It was too dark to 'follow them that night 'The inquiry next was, who had lived in that tent,? :They were two Irishmen, who had previously been sus- pected of having robbed and; murdered a man in Downieville, tome four months earlier. IThey had never been known to rork but little, and had always been regarded 'with suspicion. rheir tent was examined, and; everything was remaining there ,s though they had left very abruptly. While one pulled back he fly, and held a candle at the entrance of the tent, another rawled in to see what he could discover. He pulled over the lankets and rubbish, but found nothing to excite suspicion till e got near the edge of the tent, when down he went headlong to a hole, He shouted lustily, not doubting that the ,murder. ,X * THE MZISSING MINER,. UO ers were concealed there, and would despatch him as relent- lessly as they had their former victim. But, for all his fright, he was soon able to scramble out unharmed. The tent was quickly torn down, and by the light of the many candles now burning in the hands of the excited specta- tors, they saw that a hole had been dug about six feet long and three deep. This had been covered over so as to excite no suspicion, and there could be no doubt but that it was the in- tention of the wretches, had not ,the victim given the alarm, to have buried him beneath their own tent, and to-have remained in it till'all suspicion was removed; and then they could have; [eft without reawakening it. But it would seem that the knife l preceded the club, and that the unhappy man, when he felt the Oruel steel, gave one cry and screech, and then was forever silenced by the club. His money was found upon him, and Also about five hundred dollars in coin, which it was known he would not have had when he entered the tent. It was private coin, and of the same kind as had been stolen out of Poker Jim's tent a month before. How was-Ithis to be explainedI The murdered man, whose name was Floss, was prepared to leave the country when he was killed. He was an early comer, and had accumnlated,--by his own hard labor, seven thousand dollars in pure dust. He had also a valuable claim, which he had intended to work out before leaving. This claim one of the foreigners had expressed a great desire to get, and' had offered five hundred dollars for it. The day before, he was down to Floss's tent, and had repeated his offer, which was ac- Cepted, Floss telling him and the others who were camping : with him, that he should leave'-the bar the next morning for San Francisco ; and for the States by. the next steamer. His Milesian friend, cautioned--him about revealing his plans; for, is-it was known he had considerable money, he would be in danger of being robbed. His advice to him was, to start out early and say nothing to any one, and when he got down to the main road to get aboard of, some team, and travel alone as lit. ; tle as possible. Floss replied that if anybody got his money, he would be - obliged to fight for it, for that he bad two revolvers and -a bowie-knife that he could split down, &,man with, and he would make, it a-dear job for any one who attempted it. Neverthe- less, he said he should start before other people were up. The bargain having been' concluded as to the claim, the purchaser page: 206-207[View Page 206-207] told Floss that if he would come tohis tent at a little after sun- set, he would pay him his money. He should pay in coin, and if he had any dust he was willing to exchange for coin he would buy a couple of thousand dollars worth ofit, if'they could agree on the price. ' So much was overheard by a friend -of Floss, and it was known that just at dusk he went over to the Irishman's tent to get his money. The money was found in his pocket;five hun- dred dollars in coin. His belt of dust had not been disturbed, and hence it was inferred that the poor victim was beguiled with the blarney. of his captors till it was quite dark-that lthey, having found outthat he had his belt of dust with 'lim, dleclned to purchase that, but paid for the claim ill coin, and e hen herose togo that one of them stabbed hiin twice in quick succession, and the other hit him with a club, but not till he had given the alarm. That night scare a miner on the bar closed his eyes, and as soon as daylight appeared companies started off in various di- rections, -to spread the alarm, and, if possible, overtake the fugi- tives. But they had too good a start. - Nothing was ever seen of them afterwards. The murdered man was buried the next day, and the public administrator appeared to claim the money which he had left, to use it in his own speculations, andI if he was successful, pay it over to the heirs after the lapse of a year, and if unsuccessful, to fail and leave the heirs to recover of insolvent bondsmen; The sharks of the law are like, rats; for they are among the pioneers-of civilization. Wherever a -vessel from'any civil. ized and- hristianized teuntry-arrives, there you may find the tracetlof the rat and the'la yer. No ship is fitted out for any part of the world, but takels its quota of ravenous four-footed beasts, and if it does not take ready made lawyers, it takes the forms and intricacies of law, so that . men shall not resort to natural Justice or depend for their rights on the natural 'sense of fairness inherent in the human, race. ,Could the miners .have had their way; they would have taken. tho poor victim's mnoney and. sent it directly- to his family. Butthat would have given the sharks of form no power to use it or squander it, and so it was delivered over into the hands of the legal cus- todianl, and like many a shlp that has left her harbor " was never heard of more." In two days after the murder of Floss, everything on th e 'TlHil MSSlJN MJN iK. MNE R bar was moving on as usual. Those who were given to the use of spirits, drank as hard as ever. The gamblers played " as recklessly, and oaths were rolled forth from profane mouths with the same profusion. It had startled people, it is true, and hall caused them to look well to their own safety, and had the two Hibernians been caught,-they would have--been strung up without absolution. More went, uniformly armed than ever before, and it was remarked by many that a terrible example was to be made of thle next one who was, caught in any delin- quency. , ' It was a week after the murder, and Thurlow was anxiously expecting the return of Dolbear and the Major, or one-of them. RHe had made nothing while they were gone, and was grown restless and uneasy. For two days he had been wandering ' about in the hills with a rifle on his shoulder, looking for deer, : and for " sign" of gold. Hunks and his companions had in the Lrieanwhile been prospecting, but with small success, as it ap- pefared. One'morning whlen Hunk-s started on his prospect- i ing tour, Thurlow accompanied him for a short distance downl the river. That night Hunks did not return. The next night came, and still Hunks ws iwasaent. His companions now-began to fear that some evil had befallen him. His habits were known, and it was feared he had been dealt foully with. They inquired of others whiether they had seen him. The last they could hear of him, he and Thurlow were ascending a creek that made down to the river about a mile and a half, below. Plyn and Stoffle went down to the mouth of the creek and followed it up for several miles, but could find no trace of the lost man. Thurlow was inquired of, but he only knew that Hunks was very anxious to part company with him, from whence he inferred that he had found some diggings that were very rich, or else expected to. Finding that he would not go in the direction he intended, he parted company with him and allowed him to go where he would, and no one to disturb him. The inference from this was that Hunks having found a rich spot, had given his friend the slip, and they indulged in no 1 complimentary remarks in allusion to him. But there had late- ly appeared at Poker Jim's tent a gambler who, having caught sight of Thurlow, was forcibly reminded of a circumstance in his own life that he remembered with small satisfaction. This was no other than Col. Norwin, the anti-amalgamationist and "National" Democrat. When he heard the Conversation that page: 208-209[View Page 208-209] '0 -' PHLIP THAXTER. was going on in relation to the disappearance of Hunks and was, told that Thurlow was the last one seen in his company, his eyes lit up as they might be supposed to at the prospecft of seeing a woman takeda hundred lashes on her bare-back before breakfast. He began to question people, to ask if they knew anything of this fellow that was last seen with the lost man; for it was probable that he knew more about him than any one else. This caused suspicion to be directed. towards Thurlow, though no one knew aught- against him, and Hunks's compan- ions ridiculed the idea that he knew more of him than he had disclosed. ' The excitement in regard to this was also dying out, Thur- low having not the the slightest idea that any suspicion had attached itself to him. But now came news of a startling dis- covery . Near the bank of the river the hat of flunks had been found, together with some fragments of a green jacket such as he had -worn: when last seen. There were traces of blood on the ground, and a knife had been found with the blade all bloody. The appearances from this were that he had been murdered and his body thrown into the river. Was there any trace cf the murdered? Could it be possible? the knife, was the identical one Tlurlow had used for snuffing the candle when he played at euchre with the companions of the murdered man. 'Therpe was no mistaking it. It had a peculiar make, Plyn, Stoffle and Lux had all noticed 't particularly as it lay on the head of'the cask used for a tab e, its blade open and the three fish eyes 'in the side of the handle. The- discovery of these evidences of a murder and of the perpetrator of it were made just' at dark. f A consultation was held at Poker Jim's as to what should be done. Col. Norwin was the most zealous and leading spirit in defence of justice. "There will be no safety here for gentle- men," said he, " so long as these dirty abolitionists are unhung. We must. just hang this man on the first tree and then put up a notice for all such characters to leave." "Yes; I second that motion," said a -pale-faced native of New Hampshire. "Hang the abolitionists. I go in for niggers in California. I am national, Ham." ' ci C A?T E R XXIV. MOB LA\W. WHLE matters were assuming an aspect so threatening to Thurlow, he was at his own cabin, little dreaming of what was transpiring close by. He was just on the point of retiring to bed when he heard footsteps near to his tent. He quickly opened the door, in the belief that he was about to welcome- his friends, Dolbear and the Major. But instead of them he ; saw a crowd of men approaching, at the head of whom was his neighbor Plyn. "You are wanted,' said he, "down at Poker Jim's" : "Me wanted," said Thurlow, " what am I wanted for?" "Well, well, come along," said a strange voice. "You know well enough what it is for. You play it mighty fine, but it won't do ; so come along." Saying this he took him by one shoulder, and another of the party'by the other, and forced him along in the direction indicated. The balanee of the crowd canime pressing around, some ahead and some behind, many of them with their revolvers drawn and cocked. Thurlow hurried along, 'not knowing what to make of this demonstration of hostility. That it had, any connection with Hunks' disappearance, never occurred to him. When they came near to Poker Jim's tent, he saw a very large crowd collected, awaiting their approach. He was marched into the tent, where he .asked Stoffle what thi's all meant. "It means,y" said he, " that we have found out who killed Hunks." "And. we are going to let you know shortly." said a rough and hoarse voice. "You will see the apostles," said another strange voice, "before you shave again." page: 210-211[View Page 210-211] 210 PHLIP THAXT;R. "Aye, aye! he will rest to-night in Abraham's bosom." "Yes, he will s oon hear Gabriel's horn." These coarse and insulting expressions which were bandied about, served to convince the object of them that he was in danger, and that-for some reason he was suspected of having made way with Hunks. "Gentlemen," said he, " if there is anything against me, I would be very glad to know what it is." "Order, gentlemen, order,i' said another strange voice, which was foulnd to proceed from a man of some- importance on the bar, by the name of Kurtz. "We must come to order. I move that Col. Norwin of Virginia be chairman of this meeting." Col. Norwin declined; said that "'he was already prejudiced against the prisoner from his antecedents. He, therefore', moved that General Kurtz be chairman"--and putting the motion it was carried unanimously. A ring was now formed, and Thurlow was the centre of it. On one side was the chairman, and about him were the wit- nesses. "Whose knife is that?" said Lux, showing him the bloody proof of guilt. "That," said he, " is mine;" involuntarily putting his hand in his pocket, and feeling for the same thing. "Igave it to Hunks, the morning I saw him last, to cut a sliver from his pick-handle, and I thought he gave it back to me till after we parted. Why, who found it, and where?" "I found it," said a stranger, " just on the bank of the river above the green run, right where the trail comes out on the bluff of the river, and I found these things too," said he, producing an old hat that many knew to have been Hunks', and a piece Of green cloth like his -jacket. "( What have you to say to this evidence?" said the Chair. man. EIow do you explain these appearancesi?" '"I have nothing to explain," said he, c" except in regard to the knife, and that I have explained already." "Hang him, hang him,", exclaimed several of the more cowardly of the crowd, who -stood back in the darkness so that no one could detect from whom the murderous expressions came. Are there any other witnesses?" Some half a dozen now 'MOB LAW. 2" came forward and volunteered their testimony, that they saw the prisoner leave the bar in company with the ideceased. The chairman then asked what there was against the character of the accused, for, if he was known to be a dangerous man, it would go far towards convincing them of his guilt in this par- ticular case. . No one volunteered a word for two or three minutes. The chairman then called on Col. Norwin, by name, to testify as to what he knew of him and his antecedents, that had occasioned so strong a prejudice. The Col. came forward, and withi great magnanimity, ,' declined to adduce anything that might prejudice the case of the guilty wretch who stood before them. It did not matter how great his previous offences might be, for he was not on trial for them. If he was guilty of this murder of Hunks, wherewith he was charged, then let him suffer, but if . not, he must go free, no matter how unfit' he was for the society of gentlemen and Christians." He would therefore move, since the evidence was all in, that the prisoner be taken aside and well- guarded, while they deliberated on-what should be done with him. This motion prevailed, and Thurlow was taken out and fastened to a tree by some trace chains, and three men, each with a drawn revolver, were deputed to watch him, and in case of an attempt at escape or rescue, to shoot him down instantly. As soon as Thurlow was out of hearing, Col. Norwin began his usual harangue on (" the necessity of expelling ihe aboli- tionists and all such vermin." He had received-intimations that his previous classification of Yankees and abolitionists as equally low, ignorant and debased, had given- offence to many native New E!ngelnders 'who were eminently national and favored the extension of slavery, and thought it a great honor to be allowed the acquaintance of Southern gentlemen. . So on this occasion he confined himself to the abolitionists. He said the country would never be fit to live in, till they were all hanged or driven from the country. As to the prisoner, he new him to be a nigger-stealing abolitionist. He had stolen money, he had no doubt, on board of the steamer; for money was lost, and if it was not taken by him, it was by some of his confederates., He would'then, as a means of testing the sense of this meeting, move that the prisoner be hanged imme- diately. page: 212-213[View Page 212-213] 212 P'lIILIi, TIIAXTER. At this, aV small, hesitating New Englander, with a slight twang, in his \voice, and a decided lisp, stepped forward and said he thought they were going too fast "This man may beg guilty,", continued he. "I never saw him before to-night. He has not the appearance of, a bad man. It is not certain, even, that the missing man has been mur- dered, and it is a principle of law, that the accused shall have the benefit of a doubt. Then his story in regard to the knife, may be true, even if the man was killed. There is another loop to hang a doubt upon, and he is entitled to that. Besides, :why should there be such haste? Why not wait till morning. He will not, or need no+, escape, and does any man want his blood if he is innocent?' Does any man want innocent blood? If not, why not wait? We wmay have more evidence then, and certainly no less. But this strangling men in the dark, unheard and untried,is-monstrous. It is murder, black and wicked, and if under such circumstances you would take the life of a fellow mortal, you must answer to your God for so great a crime." This indignant speech had its intended effect, notwithstand- ing that Colonel Norwin sneeringly answered, that he " hoped no gentleman, at least no Southern gentleman, would be infiu- enced by the cant of another of the murdering abolitionists." But the audience were appalled at the pointed, brief and elo- quent appeal of the small man with the lisping voice. A mo. tion was made that the decision of the matter be postponed till nine o'clock the next morning, and was carried almost unani- mously. The young man whose words had told so effectually, left soon [after, and without having any conversation with the prisoner. He knew if he were seen in. his company, or hovering about, he would be charged with being a confederate, and the circum- stance would be construed to the disadvantage of the accused. So he got a friend to go see him, and to learn his story, which was very short-for in fact, he had no story to tell, only that he had been seized-and to report to him the full particulars. The volunteer advocate or defender, found very little in his investigations that night, to found a hope upon. Ever since the murder of Floss, the people on the bar had been eager for a sacrifice. They felt that justice wanted a victim, and so that it got it, they did not seem to care,.very much whether it was guilty or innocent. It was the universal opinion that the BMOB LAW. i- 213 unhappy man would be hanged. The miners were expecting a holiday, and-there would be no work done on the bar the next day. As many of them unfeelingly expressed it, they were "bound to have some fun." The next morning the sun rose bright and clear, and the sur- rounding hills lo0ked -beautiful and glad. The air was clear and invigorating. The little valleys and level spots which were free from timber and chapparal were bright with the most brilliant flowers. The river laughed merrily as it went jump- ing and dancing over the rocks, ' And all save the spirit of man, was divine."' Ben Thurlow surveyed the scene with a calm and apparently an untroubled eye. His had been a life of disappointment, and only the night before, had he debated in his own mind, whether the future had enough of promise to make him desire to prolong it. Yet he knew that there were those far awav, who had great hopes of his future success and who would gladly welcome him home again, though he returned like the prodigal son, clad in rags, and asked only to be a hired-servant. What would be the sorrow of that household when it was known he had met death by such means and for such a cause. He would not write, for his father and mother would know he was innocent, as well if he were silent as if he were to protest in burning words. He would not entertain the thought that they could suspect otherwise, and would not debase himself by asserting what all who knew him would know, must be so. He would let them learn his fate through the newspapers, but would not add to their grief by any act that should seem to intimate that they could have a doubt that he had fallen a victim to- the hasty judgment and bad passions of men. At an- early hour the next morning, there were signs on the bar that something unusual was to happen. Miners weregath- ering in from every accessible way. They first drew up at Poker Jim's tent, where they learned that- the prisoner was bound and under guard a few rods in the rear. They each and all were curious to see him, and came out and gave him a scru- tinizing look, and somine of them indulged in rude and brutal remarks, "You found some rich diggings, didn't you, in old Hunk's pocket?" said a fierce looking gambler, with a scar on his cheek and his face covered with long hair, and a revolver slung at his back. page: 214-215[View Page 214-215] 214 r PZLtP TUHXTIr. "Can you dance well?" said another. We are going to try you at that play. You must dance on nothing Keep up your courage, boy. .'You will have merry music to cut the double shuffle in." "What did you do with old Hunks' money," said a lawyer with clean shaven face and long curling hair. a You had better give it up.,i It can't do you any good. There is no getting away, and you may as well make your peace." "1I would know by his countenance that he was an unhung murderer," said a hirsute ruffian, who w as known to have killed at least two men in drunken brawls, for which he had in one case been acquitted by a jury, and in another given bail and never been brought to trial. "His face would hang him if I were on a jury." Thurlow heard all these cruel taunts, and replied only by a fixed look-on the speakers. They each and all quailed under it, and soon quit his presence and sought to stir up a feeling of ,animosity against him by appeals to the excited and unrea- soning crowd. It was very near nine o'elock, and the. crowd'. had brought out an empty whiskey barrel, and had placed it -directly under the branch of a tree that stood near Poker Jim's tent. That all might get a fair view of the prisoner, he was to be mounted on the head of this cask. Col. Norwin had also taken care to have a strong rope provided, so that he could lay his hand upon it in a moment,-so soon as the sentence of hanging was declared. Everything was ready, and the prisoner was about- to be brought forward, when some one cried out, "The Sheriff is coming!" Every eye was instantly turned in the direction from which the voice came, and saw but a little distance up the river, and hurrying over the rocks as fast as the uneven sur- face of the country would allow, Sheriff Turk and three of his deputies. i George Turk, the Sheriff of the county, was a bold frontiers. m/an, and had spent much of his life in hunting the Apaches, the Snake and Blackfeet Indians. He was perhaps as insen- sible to danger as it is possible for man to be; and when he got among the crowd, and some of them came towards him with their revolvers cocked, he laughed in their faces. "Put up-put up your pistols, you shameful cowards, you! Are you not ashamed, a thousand of you,'to set on one poor devil, and,not give him a chance for his life?" MOB' LAW. '^ 215 " Who dares call me a coward?"' said Col. Norwin,: putting his hand under his vest, and clasping the handle of a big bowie knife. "I do!" said the Sheriff. "I call;: youi a dirty coward, or any other man who will join a mob. If you want to kill a man, why don't you go and kill him, and take the responsibility of it, and not divide it up among a thousand of you-. You are all murderers at heart, but are too great cowards to do the act. I never saw a mob yet that a dozen good men could not drive like a flock of sheep.- Where is the-prisoner?" The Sheriff and his deputies were completely hemmed in by the crowd, that appeared to be as much exasperated against him as against Thurlow. But he laughed defiance at them, and quickly made his way through them, and approaching the prisoner, proceeded to unloose his chains. ' i Kill the Sheriff--hang him first!" cried out the mob. But no one ventured to lay hands on him, and he was like to get the prisoner free, when those who stood farther back, pushed those in advance against him. The pressure from all- sides was so great that he could not stoop to free .the chains from the prisoner's feet; those on the outside 'apparently by: con- cert pushing up with all their might against those next the prisoner and the Sheriff. At this time, the ,hirsute ruffian who had conceived such a prejudice against the prisoner by reason of his countenance, managed'to press ioa behind the sheriff and throw a lasso over his head and shoulders. Drawing it tight, he gave the rope to as many of the crowd as could conveniently get hold of it, and the Sheriff was quickly drawn away from the tree.' The mob gave a shout when they saw the trick which the ruffian had resorted to, -and for a moment, the prisoner was lost sight of in their eagerness to get the Sheriff out of the way. They dragged him round behind a clump' of chapparel, where he could not get a view of Pokeyr Jim's tent, or what was going on near it. He was then disarmed, and bound as securely as Thurlow had been; and the mob having set a guard over him, soon completed the work of liberating the prisoner from the treq, which the Sheriff had begun. He was then led forward, and made to stand on the top of the whiskey barrel. The mob was now so excited that it was beyond reason. It seemed that though one rose from the dead, or even had old Hunks appeared alive and well, the thirst of the mnob for'blood , , ' page: 216-217[View Page 216-217] 216 PHLIP THAXTER. could only have been appeased by the death of the prisoner. They could hardly wait the forms of a mob trial, summary as its process is. The hirsute ruffian and Col. Norwin were the leading spirits of this wild and savage crowd. Twelve of the most vindictive and clamorous for hanging were selected as a jury, and -Hirsute was nominated as judge; A farce of a trial, very similar to what had occurred the night before, was gone through with, and the prisoner was asked by the judge what he had to say ini excuse fot the wicked murder he had com- mitted. Up to this time the accused had not said a word to any one ' during the morning. Since he had stood forth in the midst of the crowd, he had appeared calm, and almost indifferent to' what was going on. He gave no heed to the mock trial, but lookedd about on the sea' of upturned faces to see if he could recognize any of his old acquaintances and friends. But they were all strangers. Not one pitying glance met his eye. Even Plyn, Stoffle and Lux had skulked away, preferring to take none of the responsibility ok the tragedy which Was about to be enacted. So had every on6, save Col. Norwin, who had ever seen or known anything of the prisoner before. When asked what he had to say, he turned from the Judge and jury to the crowd, and said : "Am I to understand, from the question which has been asked of me, that I am at liberty to address this assemblage in such manner and terms as to me may seem proper, or ail I to be restricted to what may please those whom you have digni- fied by the title of judge and jury?" "Speak what you please, and be quick about it," said a voice. "Yes'* speak-speak!" cried out many voices. "Let us hear what the, poor devil has got to say." The judge was afraid of a speech, for he had seen and participated in mobs before, and he knew how easy it was to turn the feelings of such a multitude' from hate to pity, and from pity to revenge on their persecutors. "You are at liberty," said he to the prisoner, " to say any- thing you wish in regard to this murder, which it appears you have committed; what you did with the money, and any con- fession you have to make." ' Then," said he, '"I have nothing to say." MOB LAW. 217 "i A speech, a speech!" cried out the mob. "Let him say what he wants to. Fair play. Letihim speak." These and similar expressions were so numerous and loud that the judge succumbed before them, and one of the jury stepped forward and said: "It is the opinion of the jury that you should say what you like.; You can have half an hour to defend yourself." "It is all-sufficient," said the prisoner. "Listen." There was now breathless silence throughout the crowd. The prisoner took a calm survey- of the scene immediately around him, and then cast his eyes towards the hills, as if look- ing for some one to come and deliver him. He then began : "That I should be able to say anything which shall satisfy this crowd of my innocence, is in the nature of the case impos- sible.' You all know the evidence, and as you are bent on having my life, it is idle for me to deny its truth or bearing, or to attempt to explain it away. That I was the last person seen with the prisoner, previous to his disappearance, I do not . deny--that my knife, covered with blood, was fo'und near the spot where his hat and remnants of his clothing were found, I think most probable, for I had lent it to him on the day I last saw him; and was not aware it had not been given back to me until we had parted company. That is all I have to say, and under the excitement and prejudice which now exists-against me I have no reason to believe that my word will be taken in explanation against the appearances which exist against me. Nor can I complain that it is not; and I shall not appeal , to your reason 'in the few words I have to say. You are past reason. You are not wanting to hear any words of explanation or defence that shall prove me guiltless of the charge'you bring against me. In your present fury and passion you would hate me worse, were I to prove my entire innocence, than you do now. The long settled hate of one bad man has infected you all, and now many of you who would not intentionally do a wrong act to any one, are so mad against me that you think you are doing God and the world good service by hurrying me to an ignominious death. But I give1 you warning, that you must do your work quickly or not at all. Your madness ig but for an hour, and when once you come to reason on your crukel haste in putting to death a fellow-being, your souls will recoil within you, and in after years, when, the truth of my ,innocence is made to you-as it certainly will be, as sure as there is a - 10 page: 218-219[View Page 218-219] just God that rules the earth-you would give worlds could you make' this poor form down at your bidding, and these words which I now utter cease ringing in Sour ears. You who a now so impatiently await mydeath, and stand ready to lend a, hand in effecting it, beware! You will carry hence a dead hand': there will be blood upon it, and the dark spot shall, never be wiped out. You now thirst for blood, and blood enough you shall have; for turn where yoit will, the damned deed of this day shall haunt you through the world. "It is not because life is dear to me that I now care to speak. For myself I have lived long enough. My experience of life has not been of that kind calculated to make me prize it very highly, and in the line of duty I could lay it down without a regret. You .will do me, as an individual, no dis-service by putting an end to an existence that has thus far been more charged with sorrow than joy, and which may as well be ended' now as-when a few more years of blight and sorrow have made i life even more irksome than it has yet been., You who, seek to gratify your bad passions, and to rejoice ii n g agonies by seeing me shrink and recoil from the cruel death you intend for me, will be disappointed.. Were no one else to be affected or compromised by my death, I would not turn on my heel to save my life. You will be disappointed if you would wreak your vengeance on me. Me you will favor by cutting short my thread of life." '"What' do you want to ke'ep us waiting for, then?" said, Hirsute. A"Hurry up ; hurry up. - "' Yes, yes, time is a'most out," said Col. Norwin. "Sir," said Thurlow, turning calmly on the latter, "I was promised thirty minutes, and you would deprive me even of so brief a time. Shlall I go on?" said he appealing to the multi- tude. "Go on," shouted the mob, and Hirsute exclaimed loud ' enough to be heard over all the others, ". tell how you killed i him." "Though life is of so small account to me yet there are oth- ers who will weep tears of blood when they shall learn of your wicked and murderous work this day. Me you can little .in- jure: others you will sorely distress. I speak to you as, men ; as mep, it is true, almost without reason, yet as human beings having the sympathies and affections of other men. To reason with you is idle and I therefore 'speak to your hearts." You all have homes far away from this. You have all kind friends in those distant homes. You have fathers and mothers, brothers and sisters, and, many'of you, wives and children. You have all left beloved ones behind you. Think of them now. They count eagerlyand anxiously the weeks and days ou have been absent, and look forward with bright hope to the time when you shall return to make6 glad their hearts.: Bring up that old homue to your mind now. iSee with what ax. iety the wife, the father or the friend, waits for the arrival of the mail that shall bring them some word of you and your for- tunes. With how trembling a hand the paper or the letter di- re cted by an unknown hand is opened, and how eagerly the news is scanned to learn somethiq g of th long absent. Does it contain word that the wanderer' has prospered and is soon to return ? the smile of joyilluminates the face, and the tears of joy fall as the word goes r ound from the prattling child to the gray-haired grandfather. Does it tell of sorrow, misfortune and sickness ? then fall the tears of anguish, and the house is desolate and sad. But dbes the dreadfulmissive tell that the one long missed and loved,the old father's hope and pride,-the yoeng wife's stay and dependence the ,hildren's father and protector, has been hanged, and by a mob' O. then, who shall describe the sorrow, who picture the despair ! There shall be wailing in your homes when that story is told, and your ad parents, ho ut a few months before gave you their parting blessing, shall go down in shame and sorrow to the tomb. The blight of shame shall render the way of your children desolate, and the canker of sorrow shall eat into the hearts of your kindred. Beside the chimney fire where my young days were spent, sits an old man. He issmoking his pipe of clay. By the op- posite corner sits his companion of many years; the sharer of the joys and sorrows of his maturer life. ,Their sons anddaugh- ters have all grown up and left the maternal roof. It is the great joy of the household for the children and grand-children to return as often as may be and gather around the old hearth- stone. Never yet has come tothis honored couple any word of dishonor or shame on the part of their children. Though none have reached distinctiobn, yet all, with one exception, have acted-well their part, holding the golden mean of industry and happiness, and commanding the respect of all who knw them. The exception is the unhappy man who stands before you. I page: 220-221[View Page 220-221] '0 O PH-T T-p THAXfTEER. hear the voice of love ana a ppineis in the old home. - note Py^ ^ thog orlkd who note the happy though cracked voice of the old man, who is enga. ged in play with his grand-daughter. I listen to theadmonition of the grand-dame to the two children-one of e ad t other of youth-while the tone of kindnes disarmsit of allnd t force Inote his features when the neighbor comes in and giv- Ing him the paper bids him read. I mark the horror of his face when he learns that his own son the chid of his old age stand overD the chave of hi'sea ^ sn ol age, i has been hanged--hanged by a mob--and I hear him curse the ugthors of the cruel deed. I see him follow, ere many days,. jth e cmpanion of his life, striclen downby this great shame and Sorrow, to the grave. Again Isee him there, his mind shattered, his steps totteiing wandering about his now des'o. lae home Ihear him call for hs murdered son; I see him standoover the grave of his wife a nd ask vhyh 1 r e hi the c omp anion of sok whyyhe erass obed quailsoedS many years of happiness. Ii'ee him ian, dering from door to door asking in his grief for his absentBen. jamin. le calls on all he meets to give him back the lostt, the murdered one.' He calls upon y o Doy ouhearhis voie How will you answer him when this da's dThis appeal, so vivid, fo unexpected, so direct, held the crowd for some',minutes motionless and esilent The picture -h '"meb s an, he tIe he had drawn , a ei heldu before'each one, and all dprew back horror'stricken a 'the personal appjicjt h e' areack gone Ha thequetio ko8 t* J'on. The snpeechtwse speaker had- shown ana t.,.r . on. aTe cunacised pae yo 8aurai ingenuity and artthat put the case in a new light to them and for some time the multitude quaiped before his indignant eloquence. Whenhe commenced he was calm, and his face showed no unusualemotion; but as he progressed, his countenance seemed to be lit up bya internal fire, and when he concluded the crowd appeared trans. -fixed asbbefore one inspired. :But this effect was only transient. The silence was first broken by Hirsute, who said: "Well, b he's-done gassing "'" A derisive laugh from Norwin and those:around him, followed this remark, and in an instant the efrecq of the speech was and b'- ? t 'anee pt nsaniyt its conclusion$ t endly to the prisoner, he would undoubtedly have been acquitted. But!he good angel 'hovered but'one instant over the crowd and -disappeared. Before the vote was taken Norwin and Hirasue -hd taken good care to 'f a verdict tout them They passed the word around. MOB LAW. '221: among their immediate followers and friends to give a loud yell when the vote was called for. They had determined before submitting the case to the jury, to: get an expression from the multitude. This,-they knew, would be against the prisoner, and would greatly influence the jury. But to- make all sure beyond a peradventure, lNorwin, who was standing behind them, said loud enough to be overheard, that "it was time to hang juries if they failed to convict on such evi- dence." The Hirsute judge saw that the effect of the prisoner's words had passed off, and that the mad passions of- the multitude were raging more furiously than ever. Impatience now marked their vociferations. Addressing them he said: "This man- makes no confession of the murder he has committed. What say you, is he guilty or not guilty? . "Guilty!" was the response, so loud that if there were any opposite expressions, they were completely lost in the loud howl of the majority.- Then turning to the jury the judge called for their verdict, "Guilty!" exclaimed the foreman, and the word was echoed by each one of his associates. "Gentlemen: you have heard the verdict. Is it your pleasure that this verdict be confirmed i Those who are in favor, will say aye--those agin it, no." A loud and apparently unanimous aye was )heard, when the judge said, "carried." Is it your wish, gentlemen; that the prisoner be hanged immediately?" "Aye!" again resounded against the hills, and immediately Col. Norwin made his way through the crowd, and threw down a coil of rope directly in front of the prisoner, so that his eyes must have rested full upon it. There was now some talk, in an undertone, as to Vwho should act as hangman: but no one would volunteer. With that owardi c characteristie of all mobs, each one objected to take the responsibility of an act which he was eager to see com- mitted, and would encourage another to do. There was enough to shout hang him, but no one wanted to carry the bloody hand away from the scene. It was finally agreed that the rope with a noose in it should be thrown over the limb of, the tree, and that as many as dould get hold of it should do so, and lowering the noose over his head, to draw it tight around his neck. Then at a signal made by the judge they were all to give a sudden jerk, and lift him into the air, and'then fastening their end of page: 222-223[View Page 222-223] PHLIP. THAXTERB. th e rope to the body of another tree, leavehim dangin from the branch -. 11. from After several ineffectual efforts the rope was finally thrown over the limb, and brought directly over its intended victim- The "national" man from New -ampshire 'volunteered to prove himself national by acting the hangman, anteed slicited the prisoner-s hads hangman,18" and solicite-d the prisoner's hands, and adjusted the rope to his neck. long line of -men strung outT each. T p0 his neck The cord The Judge mounted on the tp of another Whiskey barrel, and, previous to giving the si gnal tol that he could have five mi-nutes to pray. "I have no-need of prayer," said he. It, isyou that need toprayG Iamev to pray. a a -ever ready for a better land. ay you never realize the wickedness of the act ou are ut to commit; for then it shall haunt you to the grave." He bowedhis head The e national democrat" tied a handkerchief eadover the judge raised his hand as a signial f .e. his eyes, gave the final word l,.e. , . f ...ne tlooe e ,ave thl word----ook aout to see that all was. ready, when, lo, a voice was heard in the distan a a e fussy little figure of"te n theMa ' c n active, through the crowd^o f^the was seen'making his way through the crowd, shouting ,hold on there! Iam coming! lie is alive!"- "Now!" said Hirsute ready " motioning to the crowd to draw upon the rope, as if fearful that the victim w oul d toescape at the last moment. But they had heard the Major as well as hea vry man'haddropped the rope. juWho are you," said Hirsute, that comes to interfere with jtustice?"1 Inerer with' es, who are you, you dirt ,u Col. orwn, approaching, White with raze and-..:r;.'r , atu 'oion, % ]l o^ -" :, a I .appointient, and motion. lng as if to cock his revolver U ",111is revlver pon him. show yOU -WhIO I amii ' " "'cask with Thurow , anduti said he, jumping on the same I cask with Thurlow, and putti n one arm arouad him, and str'. ping the handkerchief from his head. ld Hunks hmis and rip, a will be here in five minutes. 8 aive, ad Ai Are you such foolsas to bedeceived bva tri ! is ^said ;Lrsute, appea lingto the crowd tks plain as to th 'rowd ' ut ' efell ba ghast, as did his confederate, Norwin, when he heard the I rowd shouting, "Hunks! IIunkss coming-here he is--open ie way for theri' en, The"MA-b^ jus The mob just nowso eager for blood, fell back, and Hunks peared, closely followed by Dolbear and the young man, Din. MOB LAW. 223 neman, who had spoken so tellingly in Thurlow's behalf the night before. They each held a cocked revolver in hand, and from their appearance had driven Hunks before them at a rapid pace. They were all out of breath,iand Hunks sank upon tile ground exhausted. The rage of the mob' was now turned towards the judge and Col. Norwin, but they had quietly with- drawn, disappointed and chagrined. The jury, too, were miss- ing. Though a loud aye was heard when the vote was taken, yet every one that remained .professed to have voted against hanging, and many who had taken hold of the rope said they had only done so to hold the others back But Thurlow turned from them in disgust, and told them that, as they had not taken his life, they would oblige him not to afflict him with their presence and congratulations. The bar was soon cleared. The miners who came for blood, departed, feeling abashed and ashamed. The words of Thur- low, as he stood expecting the next moment to be in eternity, came back ringing in their ears. The holiday was spoilt, and all from being a few minutes too late. The young man, Dinneman, who had interposed "the night before in the face of the angry mob in behalf of Thurlow, had not been seen on the bar during all the morning, till his timely appearance with Hunks and Dolbear. After the mob was dis- persed, he proceeded to inform his friends of the means he had taken to save the prisoner. As we have seen, he went not near him that night, and after thinking the matter over and taking into consideration every circumstance, he saw no way by which he could effect anything. And so, wearied, sick at heart, and disgusted, he lay down to sleep. But to sleep it was impossible. He lay tossing and tumbling, thinking-of the unfortunate stranger. Perhaps, thought he, the man whom they suppose dead-is yet alive, and is working in some secret place, where he -wishes not to be found. "Alack!" said he, "I hav'e it. That old curmudgeon I saw last week, stealing along at the foot of Bald Mountain is the man. I noticed he was whatthing to see if any one was fol- lowing him, but he didn't see me. I have it. I'll find him yet," and jumping from his earthy couch, he was dressed and on his way just-as the first gleam of daylight appeared abow the mountains. He hurried, along the banks of the river with all the despatch he could make, and had turned up the run which Thurlow said was taken, by Hunks, and following an Indian page: 224-225[View Page 224-225] ' 224 PHLIP THAXTER. trail, wasfast nearing the place, where he had ouspersoij. .lewasrunning uw aen-l seen themysteri. no-'noticiin anything to the r . P. g emlineof 'the tra il, de"nly startled b, a -- or .e ft whe nhen he was sud tie bY asrange voicdmt out of the road. itte way inte bushes lit,ewa ':Hallo there, stranger i where are you going sOfast " He turned and saw two men sitting on theground, inishing up a homely breakfast. Ig a*Iam going after a, witness," Said he. , ,inp said be. thing of an old man with a green jacket adng white beard an" "No, we haven't seen any such man," said thite on e who hadard rst addressed him; ', but where are you from?"- lifed e s; Ban; but do n't detain me; I am on business of "Only one word, stranger: Doyou know wheiher a the name of Thurlow is there yet?- b'hurlow p yes, he is the one they are -going to hang ;unless I find the ma I am fter ang to da Hearing this, the two men, who were none other than Dol. bear and the Major, jumped to their &0. "ang him!"said the Major, ' , feet - h ' WTho is the man you want to find?ep He is calleo d unks," said h Bt et is precious." " But every moment "We will o with vou," id Do - ' , lbear-, and leaig ever. thing, theh i. pus , the stran er telling th y ran, the circumstances un . eas them a. t was fu- --- . der which he ha'd'If 1 t bar - - was full an hou before they arrived at the place where 't thought he had^^ : ^ p h ere he thought he h fod teen the I1d man, and then he Could discover no trace ofhuman footsteps. Butthe pushed on makin l" tie noise as possible, for abot ..lf an hour mop' s ean oLn a th -'d re . - uvniandhu the side of a hill at the foot1, ; . more r a nd e t On whrenpth elong hmi o steathil an as io he stream m They search belw them and noti" mor ejrnsaw thes ^Jectat of wstendy they were u gOn m 1heard the soun cler. They his tene gold, orien t ona pick ort h ham ing lum of towards the bari wagtain twley wer e hu 0 heady e ut startin-g . n h a Ids, aloth. ctly- below them in the r--e'-, y d of- thec ard. z th crept aoiselhl-n atue ntvineor te oheste. aou stalthlyad fat ufi! hey saw the object of theire search below them and' not maore thanSxrd itn. I s tandythey were upon hi,:n wihudiig i'i et M, an d wi, -ig hm oDf toars jakth .-t Je , the were lHurr,. im -o-f toarsth br with two re'volvr's ' r. head,. He was anxious to -no w h I tespointed -at his -- hatthi alI meant, and the MOB LAW. - 225 stranger informed him as he ran, of how important his life was just then, though he might die the next day and no one regret him. The old man confessed he had torn up his jacket and left his hat on the bank of the river purposely to mislead people, .so that no one should follow him and rob him of his rich claim. The knife he had dropped by accident, llaving cut a severe gash fin his left hand while cutting up his jacket.' But he protested he was not such a fool as to throw away a knife worth a/ dollar and a half for nothing. When they got to the mouth of the run, the Major was so impatient to get ahead that ie ran along in advance, and by this chance came in just in time to prevent the consummation of a great crime. Thus the stranger told his story, and went away to his own tent. That evening there were many miners, all of -whom hadhad more or less participation in the affairs of the day, collected in small knots in and around-Poker Jim's tent., General stillness reigned among them. They talked but in whispers. - All seemed to be impressed with a consciousness of guilt, save only a few who were under the malign influence of Col. Nor- win. In .the early part of the 'evening, Thurlow had been at the tent, and whenever he observed a group of men he would stop and fix his eyes upon them. The group would be imme- diately broken up, for they could not stand his searching, steady look. They would separate, and come together in some other place near by. In the tent, sitting upon his table, on which he had not yet placed his gambling implements, was Col. Norwin, surrounded by his satellites of chivalrous gentle- men, intermixed with New Englanders who denied their birth- place, and vaunted their devotion to Southern institutions. It was so disgusting to see the fools hesitate just as they were all ready, and only because that fussy little Major said the man was alive. What difference did that make? Nobody supposed he had killed old Hunks, He ought to be hanged on general principles, like all the rest of the vile Yankees and sec- tional agitators that infest the country. If I had mistrusted what that meddler was after as I saw him running up, I would have put a bullet through him. "'I wish I had been here,?' said a voice that was unfamiliar to all but Col. Norwin, "I would have had my pistol ready cocked for such an emergency, and at the first sign of hesita- tion I would have made daylight shine through the quaking page: 226-227[View Page 226-227] Yankee. -I owe the whole' tribe a grudge. They killed a friend of mine down- on the Yuba--Captain Squirm. You knew him, Colonel. Hewas on the steamer, and came up with us. He was hs brave and honorable a gentleman as ever drew a trigger. I He was hanged for killing a greaser, and that I hold to be the same as killing a Yankee--. no offence at all." This last speech proceeded from none other than Major Bod- y kin, whose acquaintance we made on board the steamer in comn ing from Panama to San Francisco. His friend, whose loss he thus bewailedl, was the unfortunate gambler whose -experiments in the waxed card business terminated so disastrously as to bring him under the limb of a tree, with nothing to stand' ipon. These were the two whose fondness for claret had led them to rob the pretty Carmelita. "I would like right well to get into a row with some of htem," said the Colonel. "The only way is, when you- get a "air excuse, shoot. They will not dare to hang Southern gen- tleman, and the courts and judges are all made up of our sort. These d-d Yankees are all so fierce to get money they give is all the offices, and if we don't use our advantages it is our Iwn fault. I intend to run for office myself after I get a little better known." ' So do I," said Major Bodkin, "I am bound to be in the iext legislature. I wish I had got here this morning. The E lay's work would have. been different. But come, let us all i! ake a driuk?"' They all gave the motion of assent to this suggestion, and ; mmediately stepped up to the bar. Poker Jim himself handed ,ut the-bottles. - "( What will you have, gentlemen? I. have some fust rate vhiskey-I allow it is the best on this bar, and I ort to know-- ny brandy, too, is pretty fair, but I have saw better.". Thus recommended, the whole crowd took some whiskey. They had hardly finished their potations, and Major Bodkin ras paying for the same, when, in turning from the counter, hey. beheld Ben Thurlow, him whom a few hours before they rere bent on murdering, standing before them, gazing calmly nd firmly first at one and then at another, till each in turn uailed and slunk away from before -him. The tent was soon mpty; and -no one was left save Thurlow and Poker Jim. Thurlow immediately returned to his own tent, and feeling hat it was unsafe longer to remain in the vicinity of such \ * ' . . ^' neighb ors, it was resolved by him, Dolbear, and the Major, that they would leave the nex t day, as soon asthey could dispose of such matters as they had and could not conveniently take w ith them . Thurlow feared no open enemy, but he knew that wtthe political aspirants were not above secret assassination . The preliminaries being fixed, the party was about turning in for the night when the heard, in the diection of Poker Jim's tent,-:three pistol shots almost Simultaneous. Seizing their weapons they rushed-out, and, hurrying down to the place, found a crowd who had got there before them shot. Pushia Iiis gathered round a man who had' just been shot Pushing h is way through, what was Thurlow's surprise and grief to behold the lifeless form of Dinneman, the young and ga llant stranger whose exertions had twice saved his own life. , Who did this?" cried he, turning on the crowd with the eye of a fury, and laying his hand on his revolver. "Col. Norwin," said a timid and hesitating voice. "Where is he?" cried Thurlow. *' He and all his crowd are down to the judge's tent, and swearing they will shoot any man-that comes-near. How many will go with me and take out and hang the scooundrel?"n T heMajor was the only volunteer. ' Cowards and'murderers; you deserve to le shot like beasts! Come, letIus remove the dead,'nor allow his body to be polluted by the' touch of such wretches." With the assistanee of Dolbear and the!Iajor, the body o the murdered' ma was taken up and carried off in the ire- tion of their own tent. It was resolved to bury him that night, with as little delay as possible. A light was procured, and at once they proceeded to dig the grave. Whle employed i tis work, they were interrupted by a person claiming to be an ordained minister of the gospel. -He said he had come to offer his services, and make a prayer over the remains of the un or- tu-sanerthe a. benefit of prayers," said 'fhurlow; "you hd better go and pry with his murderers.." "9The prayer of -the righteous availeth much," said the or- d'aided minister.:' "But the good God knows his integrity and valiant heart, and will rewar- him for his noble, disinterested conduet in behalf of a friendless strKa ger,'" page: 228-229[View Page 228-229] 228 PHLIP THAXTER. j "It is by grace; and. not works we must be saved." Thurlow, now coming near the minister, and holding his light near his head, exclaimed-- "You sanctimonious, murdering- hypocrite! Only this morning I saw you\hold of the rope, eager to murder me. You had no prayer then Ito offer, but all you could say was, ' Hang him ' Get away from here, for I shall not answer for your life a minute longer!" As the minister turned- to leave, Thurlow gave him a kick- that laid him sprawling on his face; but recovering his legs quickly, he took himself out of the way with the best dispatch he could make. He failed to come in for a share of the mur. dered man's effects, as he had said he would when he left his own tent to volunteer his services. No friend nor acquaintance came near to assist in the burial of the murdered man. From some letters in his pocket his name was ascertained, and also the place from whence he came, and where his friends resided. After the burial was over, Thurlow spent the remaining hours of the night in writing a letter to the friends of the deceased, giving an account, of his death, and'the circumstances that led thereto. The next morning they all went down to Poker Jim's tent. A Justice of the Peace, had been sent for, and Col. Norwin and his friends were to have a trial for the killing of Dinne- man. The Justice was known to be a friend of Norwin, and the trial was to be a farce, as everybody knew. There was no' danger of a mob now, for some thirty or forty chivalrous men were standing around, each ome carrying a small battery of fire-arms, and swearing that they would stand by the laws and see justice done. Thurlow and Dolbear would, not stay to witness this shame- less mockery, but returned to their tent and prepared to leave immediately. From the Major-they learned that it was proved by Bodkin and several others that Dinneman/had commenced the attack by first shooting at Norwin. Several others wanted to testify that the deceased had no weapons of any kind when he entered the tent, but the Judge ruled out their testimony as inadmissible, on the ground that they were prejudiced. The prisoner was honorably acquitted, and the claim and other effects of the dead man taken to pay the Expenses of the Court. From Murderer's Bar the three friendJ now took their weary and cheerless way., : * '* 1CHAPTER XXV. TRIAL AND TEMPTATION. ADVERSITY hath its uses; so it hath been said by the poet, -the moralist, and the philosopher. Yet it' is not always that it leaves its object either wiser or better than it found it. While some pass through the furnace of affliction unscathed, others are ruined by .o severe an ordeal. Some may resist all temptations in the day of prosperity, but in adversity yield and be swallowed up in vice and crime. The proud and arro- gant man, who is surrounded by the restraining influences of friends and kindred may be humanized and rebuked by adver- sity, while the same person, cut off from these influences, may yield to temptation, and fall into the way of sin and transgres- sion. The lessons of calamity must be opportune, or they are lost; for that which would redeem and save at one time, may occasion recklessness and self-abandonment at another. "The right man in the right place," is no more essential than that the trials and crises of life should come when we are surrounded by circumstances that will enable us to bear them. At one time we may feel strong in ourselves, and nothing can seduce. us from the path of rectitude; at another we may yield with scarce a struggle. It is little credit to'a man who was brought up in habits of temperance and regularity, that he is not a drunkard; nor should he who has neyer- known want take any credit to himself because he is not a thief; neither should he who- has a family of his own, think it any peculiar merit that he is'not a seducer or an adulterer. He fhas never kntown temp- tation, and if tried as others have been, he might find himself less firm than he had imagined himself to be. We may know of the acts of those that fall, but we know little of their temp- tations. If men were judged not by what they have done, but ,.tions -If men were j g ; , page: 230-231[View Page 230-231] by what they have resisted, we know not how much iower we might stand than many we now affect to. look down upon. It is not for man thus to judge, but there is One who will so judge us -all. - go It was the second day, and almost sunset after Thaxter left Yuba River, when he arrived at Sacramento. He was so sick on the road, that he lay in the bottom of the wagon nearly all the way. Yet he could not but observe the change that had come over the face of the country since, in the early spring, a few months before, he had first beheld it. Then, it 'was as beautiful and luxuriant as Nature, profusely scattering on. every hand her rich veWrdure, her wild and gaudy flowers, could make it. Now, the same plains appeared dry and barren. The grass, was withered and scant; the springsg were- dried ; the dust hadI settled qverywhere. No rain had fallen since April, and it was now October :The untimely freshet that had carried off his dam, had not been felt so low dowln qn the plains. The traveler passing over this country for the first time, would surely say, this is a desert and can never' be made to produce the fruits of the earth. Yet were the cattle that grazed on these plains, rolling in fat. The grass on which they fed, though withered and scanty, had ripened and dried in the sun, and no rain or dew had ever fallen on it to wash away its rich gums, or extract its nutritiousness, to be lost in the underlying ground. The evening of his arrival, Thaxter made inquiries for a pri- vate hospital. He was recommended to one that stood some distance from town, and though tired and sick, he dragged his limbs thither. The building was not so good'as his old hog- house, which, the year before, he had torn .down, as not fit for longer use. Yet he entered, for he did not feel strength to get back to town. ' He asked for the doctor having charge of the hospital. After sitting about half an hour on an old bench he was not a little astonished, whew-a short, dirty, coarse, vul- gar looking man, entered and inquired if'he was the sick man. He was answered in the affirmative. "The admission-fee is six ounces in advance, said the doc- "Always in advance.' The voice of the disciple of Galen, sounded unpleasantly familiar to Thaxter, and after looking sharply at him for '-a moment, he recognised the features of, Dr. Glenning the friend and companion of Colonel Norwin. It was enough. He said the, terms wouldn't suit him, and turned to leave. The doctor now turned upon him in a'rage, and asked " what in --- he came for if he was not going to stop," and following this up with a profusion of profane and vulgar epithets, pur- sued him to the door. The sick man made his way as best he might, to the nearest house of entertainment, which, forbidding as it was, he was glad to enter. Here he took a cot, which he did liot leave till the next day at two o'clock, when he went on board the steamboat for San Francisco. His money was in a belt around his body, where he supposed it was entirely safe. On his way down, his forlorn and hag- gard look attracted the attention of several of his fellow pas- sengers, who inquired of his ailings. One man in particular, was very much interested in him. He was a gentleman in appearance, and. used correct and elegant language. He inquired of Thaxter his infirmities, and professed great anxiety to assist him. 'He said he had a state-room he should not occupy himself, and he was welcome to go and lie in one of thq berths. The offer was accepted, and he was soon-in the prof- fered room trying to sleep off lime and pain together. His newly found acquaintance frequently, looked in to see him, and finding him restless and in much pain, he brought him a hot sling, This seemed to relieve him, and made him com- municative to his friend, He told him of all his mining adven- tures, and what success he had met with, not omitting the thir- teen hundred dollars in his belt. He did not sleep, however, dur- ing all the afternoon, and at about eight o'clock in the evening his friend brought him a hot brandy toddy. In about half an hour he was asleep, and -when he awoke the engine had stopped all the passengers were gone, and only a dim light in the cabin revealed to him that he wwas still on board the boat. He felt much better than he had done before for several days, and lay for some time thinking over his condition. As soon as he got on shore he thought to himself, he must-lwrite home, and also to his companions in the mines. He must get well as soon as possible, and again be earning money. The money which he had must be safely deposited in some bank,as soon as the banking houses weie opened in the 'morning. This thought led him to feel for his belt to see if it was all safe. It was gone ; money aid belt. Instantly it flashed upon his mind that his super-kind friend had drugged and robbed him. ' page: 232-233[View Page 232-233] 232 PHrlTP T-HA[XTEIR. \ ; ' . He had slept, he knew not how long; the passengers were all gone, and his money was lost past recovery. It was no use now, to get up till daylight, and so he lay, debating in his own mind what he should do in a strange place, sick, with no money and-no friends. Fortunately he had about ten dollars in change in his pock- ets, which the thief did not discover, or else was humane- enough to leave. He accordingly, when he lefti the boat, went to a hotel, and having got a cup of tea and a piece of toast, he proceeded to the post office to learn if there were any letters there -for him. The steamer with the semi-monthly mail had got in the day, before, and there was a line of people at each window waiting their turn, at least a hundred yards long. Thaxter took his place in the line, and in the course of two hours or less it was his turn to be served, He inquired for letters to his address, and was told by, the clerk there was nothing for-him. He was weary and sick before, and that word drew forth a groan. He could not believe there was no letter for him, for now it was two steamers that he had heard never- a word. He accordingly took his place at the foot of the line a second time, and after awhile it came his turn 'again. This time he had better success, for the clerk handed out three let- ters, all in the well known hand. Having paid the postage of forty cents on each; he eagerly took them, and returning to his hotel, opened and read them with avidity. The news from home was the best possible, and it caused a feeling of home- sickness that he had never felt before. He now thought if he had not lost his money he would have returned on the next steamer. But it was impossible to go without money, and' of that he had none. Hle was far from home, in a'strang place, moneyless and sick. ' In this frame of mind he could hardly muster courage enough to write a letter in answer. But he had never missed writing by every mail that went to the east, and he had promised that he never would. He therefore made out the best story he could, saying little of his poverty and nothing of hissickness, and with many protestations of love he despatched this, the last letter he was ever to write to the wife' of his bosom. In the afternoon he went down upon the wharves and looked into the gambling houses to see if he could meet with anything to encourage him. He had wandered about till past three TRIAL AND TEMPTATION. 233 o'clock, never meeting with a familiar face, ;?He was just turning to go back to his hotel when -he met face to face his old fellow-townsman and fellow-voyager, Jocelyn. " Hallo," says Jocelyn, grasping his hand, "well, if this don't beat the devil. I am glad to meet you, for I want to know if you have heard anything from home of late. I don't got a word from my folks. Did you get anything by this last mail?" "Of course I did. My wife writes-every steamer. I got three letters to-day, but I had to go twice through a string of men at least half a mile long. But I got paid at last." ( Well, what is the news?" "'Tis good as can be. They are all well. The farm has never been more productive than this year, and they say all they want is for me to come back, and they don't care whether I bring any money or not. And you recollect my old house- keeper, Nabby. She has sent word for me to come, for she has promised to get married again as soon as I get back. She wants to marry Bumpus; you know old Bump?" "Well, what do they say about the neighbors? Nobody dead or married?" "Yes; one of the best friends I ever had is dead-Aunt Tempe Truebody. I thought she would-outlive the whole of them, but it seems she took a sort of cholera morbus and died. I ought not to have been away when such a friend of my youth died." "Do you write home each mail?" "I Jalways have, so far. 'But 'tis hard to write with no welcome news to tell. 'Tis hard to send unwelcome messen- gers to those we love. No news is better than that. And that too long continued is, in itself the worst conceivable ill news. But whether it be good or ,ill, I have promised to write each mail, and should I fail 'twhuld be construed that I was sick or dead. The'news is bad,enough, but not so bad as no word at all. I believe I was a fool to leave such a holme and wife as I did. How is it with you?" "I have no reason yet to regret coming," said the other. "I brought down one hundred and twenty ounces this time, ofmy own money i That is more than I was ever worth before, and I shall be disappointed if I do not double it before spring. When I get it up to a clean seven thousand I am going home. I can then buy the Middleton farm and stock it, and that will be as good for me as ten times as much. I will make it within page: 234-235[View Page 234-235] 234 PHLIP THAXTER.. a year from this time. But what makes you so down-hearted? Bad luck?" "Good luck and bad judgment, or else bad luck and good judgment. And now I am sick and nearly broke. I have made \tmloney-enough, but like a fool have lost it. Only last night t was robbed of $1,300. "That is bad, sure enough. But the bell is ringing. Good- bye, old fel. WeIll meet again at Capt. Stout's tavern, come what will. Good-bye!", As soon as he had gone Thaxter turned and walked slowly up the street. ", I am glad he is gone," said he to himself; ( had he waited any longer I should have asked him for a loan, and that would have killed me; for he would have written home and told how that he had found me broke, and had to , give me money to save me from starving. No, that would never do. I am glad he is gone and the temptation is removed," ' That night Thaxter was more. sick than he had yet been. His money was all gone. Not a dollar had he left, nor had he where to lay his head. As evening drew on he wandered out to the outskirts of the city, scarce knowing where he was, or whither he was going. A fever -was upon him and his mind was wandering. Did Philip Thaxter wander off among the sand-hills, and, exhausted and sick, with no kind hand to-lave his heated brow, and no ind. voice to whisper words of love and affection in his ear, lay own and die? Happy would it have been had he done so! Then this tale of sorrow, of sin, had never been written. But, alas! it was not so to'be! After wandering about fo, several, hours he came to a large open lot on which stood a solitary ]ouse. - It was a small, one- story building of rough boards With only two small rooms. Near it was an inferior shanty which in that mild climate might have answered for a stable for a single horse or cow. Thaxfter perceived a light in the window alid approached. He had thought, ere he reached it, that he would ask the privilege of sleeping in the stable. But when be got near he had not the courage to knock at the door and appear before it in the char- acter of a beggar. He stood a moment when he got opposite the house deliberating what he" should do. Pass on, Philip Thaxter; pass on, nor enter that door. You , TRIAL AND TEMPTATION. 235 can but die if you sleep in the :street to-night, but the Devil waits for your soul within that house! The good spirit coaxed him to move forward, and he had just began to advance when the door opened, and by the light of a solitary candle was disclosed--what he had not seen for many months-a home. The room, it is true, was but rudely fur- nished, yet the arrangement, the neatness and the regard to comfort which it revealed showed that a woman's hand had or- dered it. There was the table standing in the middle of the room with the dishes upon it as though laid for supper. There was a nice loaf with butter and cheese on the table. The door seemed to have opened of its own accord, for no one was at first to be seen 6within. ,Was it opened by the great Temp- i ter? Thaxter looked wistfully at the homelike and homely prepar- ations, and was again about to pass on when from the back room of the house appeared a woman. She placed something on the table and came forward to close the door, but before-do- ing it she looked out as if expecting sdme one. Seeing a stranger within a few feet of her, she started back and was about to close the' door when Thaxter accosted her. "Madam, would you have any objection to a sick man's sleeping in your stable to-night; I must ask such a favor or else sleep in the street, and I am too sick to live through a cold night like this, with nothing to keep off the night air." ,' No." said the woman," there is no objection to that; but my husband will be here directly, and you can ask him. If you are so sick you had better come in and sit down till he comes." Philip entered and took a seat near the door. The woman was engaged in getting stipper; going every two or three min- utes to the door to look for the good man. She was a tall and finely formed woman, with rich derk,hair, blue eyes, and fea- tures regular, save that her nose was somewhat too prominent. She stepped about like a woman full :of life and energy, and though her cot was humble, everything in it had -an air of ex- ceeding neatness. She expressed a great deal of sympathy for her sick guest;: asked where he was from; how long he had been in California; what were his complaints, and a variety of questions which Thaxter answered with indifference. He was "nxious for the man of the house to come that he mnight be laid away in the barn to rest, or, perchance, to die. page: 236-237[View Page 236-237] 236 PHLIP THAXTER. It was not long before he heard heavy wheels approaching, and as the woman opened the door he saw a dray approach and turn into the lot. Philip at once inferred that her husband had come, and that he was-a drayman. "You sit here," said she, " till he comes in. You must have some tea before you go to bed; so keep quiet." Saying which she went out to keep her husband company while he was put- ting up his,horse for the night. They soon returned to the kitchen when the drayman pulled off his work frock, washed his face and hands, and put on a coat. He then went ,in to the front room where the table was waiting. "My wife," said he, to the stranger, " says you want to sleep in my stable; -it is a mighty poopr place to sleep-hardly fit for a horse-let alone a man ; but such as it is you can sleep there. But sit up first and have some supper, if you are sick a little toast and tea will do you good." ' Philip movea up to the table but could eat little or nothing, though his kind host and hostess pressed him hard and assured him it would do him good. He waited patiently till they had finished their meal, and in the meanwhile told them of some of his misfortunes, especially that of having been robbed on the boat. When the supper was concluded the host said that he thought they could do better: by him than give him a bed in the stable, and that though they had not much room to spare, they could make him up a "shake-down" somewhere. Accordingly when the table was cleared away some boards were laid across from the topiof a high trunk to a chair and a mattrass placed upon them; upon this were spiead blankets and some clean cotton sheets, when the woman went into the kitchen to wash her dishes. The host now ordered the sick man to undress and get into bed, and go to sleep as soon as possible. "i For," says he, "I want you to get well without any delay; and you don't need to go back into the mines any more, for you can make money faster here, if you are only willing to work. With my dlay I can make from one to two ounces every day, andi when a man can do that he had better let the fools go into the mines. If you want anything in the night, don't hesitate to call me. It is no trouble for me to get up." Thaxter accepted-the couch so:kindly offered, and his host TRIAL AND TEMPTATION. 3t retired to bed in the back room, which served the double and incongruous pulpose of bed-room and kitchen. The nest day the stranger guest was in a high fever, which seemed aggravated greatly by distress and anxiety of mind. He talked incessantly of home, of wife, and of children. No won- derthat the 'hearts of his hosts were touched. Their only child was lying at the bottom of the dark Pacific, andt when their guest, in his wandering moments, spoke of George, it re- Y. e who alas, -would minded them that they too once had a eorge who, alas, ould never answer to that name again. A physician was called during the day, and he told them that their guest was a very sick -man, and would die without the closest attention. He advised them, as he was a stranger, to send him to the hospital, for if they kept him at their own house, it would entail on them incessant care, he knew not how long. He should not visit him again, unless thehost was re- sponsible for the compensation. The generous drayman would listen to no such selfish con siderations, and told the doctor that when he sent for him he expected to pay him. For the first two days after the sick man was taken in, it rained incessantly, so that the host, whose name was'Lyman Lovell, did not'take out his horse an d dray for the time. His attentions were mostly engrossed by the sick man. And he was dreadfully sick. Fever and del;i- rium made him a very troublesome patient. It was with diffi- culty he could be kept in bed, and he babbled continually of the old home far away in New England. The evening of the second day the physician administered a powerful :sleeping potion. The sick man must sleep or die. Nature could not: much longer keep up this restless agitation. The narotic was administered, and before eleven. o clock the sick man as asleep. The next morning the delirium was gone, and he was in his right mind. But there. was much fever left. The sun rose bright and clear that morning, and Love!l, or as his wife famil- iarly called him, Lyman, felt that 'he must be at work. His wife could attend to the sick man, and also tohher family cares. He would come home to dinner, and then lend a helping hand if anything was necessary to be done. It was four weeks before the sick man was able to sit up. During that time what havoc had been made with his affec- tions . page: 238-239[View Page 238-239] CHAPTER XXVI. TfHE WAGES OF SIN, THE woman on whom Thaxter was dependant for so long a time, and from whose hands he received so many favors, had no idea, when she received a sick and helpless stranger into her house, of the consequences, the sin and shame to which such an act of pure kindness' would lead. She was a simple-minded, kind-hearted and sympat ising woman, that knew little of the world, arid little even of her own heart. She had that common weakness, vanity, and was fond of the admiration of the other sex. Her education was limited, but less so than that of her husband to whom she was sincerely attached, and there is no reason to suppose that had they remained in their former home, the. would not have lived and idied an exemplary and happy couple. But what was to be expected of a woman, innocent and vir- tuous, who had seen nothing of the world's temptations, if exposed to all the snares that may be set, around her? Her very virtues rendered her more open to temptation. She was sympathetic and proud, unschooled in the ways of the world, and knew not of what she should beware. She was far removed from all her early associations and restraints, and, not a female acquaintance in the whole country to whom she could confide her thoughts, or from whom she might receive a warning word. Her affection for her husband, and their joint efforts at money- making, had thus far rendered her contented; and, though the days often seemed long, as she sat at home alone, yet the even- ing brought relief and happiness, and the morning hilarity and hope. A stranger now appears. His sufferings and misfortunes at first enlist her sympathy, and when, he becomes convalescent X , X THE WAGES OF SIN. ., 239 she is interested in his conversation. She loves to sit by his side and hear him converse. 'Iis talk is of a higher order than that of her husband. She talks and laughs with him, and thinks how much happier she is now than before he came. The thought that he may soon leave her giAes infinite pain. But she does not see to what all this is tending. She does not dream of danger. She knows she is happy-that the sick stranger's voice is sweet to her ears. On the other hand, the sick man, when his delirium first leaves him, is pressed down by a great sorrow. His mind is on the loved ones far away. But a gentle hand now laves his fevered brow and brings him cooling draughts. He watches her as she comes and goes. Every motion she makes has a witching way of engaging him. He misses her if she leaves the room for a moment. She approaches his bed and a thrill, not of pleasure, nor of pain, but of sensuous delirium, runs through his frame. He feels for a timethat she is usurping a place in his thoughts that by right belongs to another, and tries to drive out the intruder. [But she- that should be there is ' away, and she that should not be there is ever present. Her smile is upon him, and her hand still administers to his wants. He cannot arise and fly. He' passively floats on down the stream crimson with crime. No' word had ever as yet passed between them but such as the world might hear. YetJ did each know how it stood with the other. One day as Philip lay on his bed, his head partially propped up and supported by pillows, Mrs. Lovell, or, as she was called by her husband, and' he had learned to call her, Kate, came and sat by hisbed with her work. She sat still for half an hour without saying a word. Philip gazed steadily upon her all this time. His mind was full of conflicting emo- tions, ant- he looked to read what might be passing in hers. The tears-'were they of remorse?-stood in his eyes ,He saw that Kate's, though she raised them not, were also just ready to overflow Extending his hand he took hers into his own, and pressing it said, "Kate, I love you." The tears now dropped from her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. She stooped over the sickl'man's couch and kissed'-im. It was several weeks yet before Thaxter was able to leave the house, even for a few moments. His thoughts were no, longer on his old NeW England honme1. If he thought of his wife and children, it was with no pleasant recollections. He page: 240-241[View Page 240-241] ' 240 PHTTTP TH AXTER.' quickly shut out the intruders from his mind and filled their place with his guilty love, And all this time, honest Lyman was toiling away with his dray. It had never occurred to him that it was tot safe; for him to leave his young and artless wife for days and weeks with a handsome stranger, one to whom he was inferior physi- cally, socially and intellectually. He saw the sick man recov- ering with pleasure, for he thought it must be irksome for him to be so long laid up; his plans unfulfilled, his wife and child- ren waiting for him at, home, and the day of his return to them apparently drawing no nearer. The tax- upon himself he thought-little of, and when Thaxter would sometimes advert to that circumstance, he always told him to be perfectly easy on that score, and that he could pay him by and by, when he got rich enough so he would-not feel it, and not then unless it was perfectly convenient. "You have been excellent company to us," said he, " and the winter would not have been passed half so pleasantly if you had. not been here. I consider that pay enough, if I get nothing more." When "he was farther convalescent, Lovell was good enough to procure a horse and buggy for him to ride out whenever he felt disposed. Mrs. Lovell was always his companion on such occasions, and some of her neighbors began to mistrust that all was not as it should be. These, took good care that her husband should be warned. At first he laughed at the idea, though it caused 'him to give more attention to appearances. When once he had begun to observe, he wondered he had been blind so long. That there was a better understanding between his wife and Thaxter that an honest woman can ever have with any man besides her husband, he was convinced. He saw that they both wanted him out of the way, and in their expedi- entr for passing time, itlwas always so arranged that he should be absent. / Tbaxter, as soon as he was able to write, had sent a letter to 'Ihurlow, telling of his feeble and dependent condition. About six weeks afterwards he got an answer from him stating that he, together with Dolbear and the Major, had sent below and deposited to his order one hundred ounces. This letter was received just ,before Lbvell's jealousy was getting awa- kened. The guilty parties were aware that the good natured husband was not quite easy at appearances. Thaxter, conscious of his base conduct, thought if hecould lessen his pecuniary THE WAGES OF SIN. 241 obligations, his domestic treachery would not be so glaring, He accordingly drew out five hundred dollars of that which had been sent to him, and paid over to his too confiding host. He spent nearly as much more in costly presents of silks and jewelry to his wife, and then tried to reason himself into the be- lief that his had been only an ordinary act of successful gallantry. The effect on Lovell of- his wife's faithlessness was such as completely to break his spirit. He no sooner was convinced of it than he gave up all business and spent his time in brood- ing-over his great sorrow. His wife jeered, snubbed and ridiculedhim whenever he met her. How changed was she! Wheni he questioned the propriety of receiving such presents from a comparative stranger, she told him, if he would mind his own business he would oblige her. I She told him plainly that she was not to be nlewed up any longer like an old woman, and that, if he didn't like it, he might help himself if he could, She said he was a foolnot to have seen what would have been the result of taking a better looking man than he was into the house, and leaving him alone with his wife for months. Thus virtually admitting her own shame, she closed up all hope in his mind that he had falsely suspected. . Two days after this a ship sailed from San Francisco for Melbourne. Among her passengers was Lyman Lovell., When he was gone, his wife and Thaxter threw off all re- straint. They lived together and let everybody know it. She was no longer the woman that she was when the tempter first met her. Conscious of having fallen, she now assumed an air of boldness: that was before unknown to her. - Still, they continued to live in the cottage of rough boards. It had a charm for them even now. It was-here that had sprung up this first guilty love. It was here they had sinned, and no- where else could they so fully realize the intense earnestness of a guilty passion. While Thaxter had been convalescing, he had, each day after his health and strength would allow it, gone into the business part of the town and,. mingled more or less: with the excited f throng that at that time were crowding the streets of San Fran- cisco. He would every day go into some gambling house and watch the game for an hour or two. He learned, too, how to gamble, and imagined, if he had money, that he could win very much more. He heard people talking of realizing for-- tunes of fabulous amount in an incredibly short space of time. k- . '1 - '/ . page: 242-243[View Page 242-243] ,x, -, - .I' is L[P TII A XTER. One had brought a ship round Cape Horn, and by some accident, having got her aground, found himself rich in a month after, from being in possession of the ground on which she had stuck fast. Another had found a glut in the market of some article at a particular time; aind, buying up an invoice of it, had been able in a month to make a thousand per cent. on his invest- me nt. . But those who had secured real estate were regarded as the most permanently rich, and for this, possession was regarded as the best, if not sufficient title. Here was a man who but six months ago arrived in the country, and having got posses- sion of a piece of-land had put up a cheap building on it that paid a monthly rent equal to half its cost. . 1 Thaxter now began to think that there were easier ways of making money than digging gold. If others could mlake it so easy and so fast,.why not he? He busied himself in. learnink the ways men had ,in doing business. He made acquaintance with every man, who had time enough to talk with him. He learned the tricks of [art, duplicity, and trade, and was .so fortunate as to become acquainted with the sharp practices, the swindling devices, the reckless risks of California adventurers, before he had any money to venture ,in fortuitous specula- tion. lHe Iwas not long in ascertaining that the lot on which Lovell's house stood, was, as prices then went, very valuable. Lovell having left, the country, it was only necessary for Thaxter to call the lot his opwn, and his title would be the same as that by which one half ofq the city was held. He therefore procred a deed from Mrs Lovell and had it recorded, and dividing up the block, sold out several lots for about $60,000. He did not, like Moses Primrose, take his pay in "'plated spectacles with shagreen cases," though it would have been as well for i him, perhaps, if 'he had, for in payment for four of these lots, which were reckoned at $10,000 each,.he received a half interest in a famous gambling establishment. He was not yet" so- far lost to all sense of self-respect as to consent to be known as a public gambler. 'He made a differ. ence in his own mind between gambling himself and owning a building and renting out the tables for gambling purposes. He was simply a proprietor whose business it was receive his rents, and, like a fast fancy man, keep his fast horses his fast woman, and go fast down the broad road that' leadeth to destruction. TIE WAV G.S ',F SIN. 243 He was :now making money very fast. He bad a steady income from his tables of rising $100 per day, and the bar of the saloon yielded about half as much more. Still he was not satisfied; flor the dealers would sometimes bring to the clerk, at night, to be locked up in the safe,. a thousand dollars or more, as the winnings of a single day. He soon got over his scruples as to being an actual gambler, and had two tables of his own, for which he hired experienced dealers, gamblers who were expert at all the tricks and expedients whereby the unwary countrymen are, with seeming fairness, stripped of all they have. He had not the skill to shuffle cards, else he would have taken his seat occasionally rat the table to draw themn. His self-respect was literally and absolutely gone. He was embarked on the sea of dissip-ation-and sin, and he rushed headlong into anything that promised gold and excite- ment. He at last gave up the humble cottage of rough boards, the scene of his first great sin, and took a more ambitious house on the hill in the north part of the town. This house was small but elegant, and elegantly furnished. Whatever he-might want he had, and so with the guilty sharer of his life. Money came to him ,without effort, anid it wept' as freely-as it came. His carriages were the finest, his horses the fastest that could be procured. His entertainments of his friends were -expensive beyond reason, and almost beyond belief. He was proud of his magnificence and proud of his munificence. But most of all was he proud of the stately beauty that sat at the head of his table. The men whom he invited to his champagne suppers were mostly of like occupai tion and character with himself, and like him led a life at defiance with all laws of mlorality and virtue. ' One evening he was watching a big game of faro at one" of his own tables. A na tive Californian who had lately driven up a drove of beef cattle and got the gold for them, had come into his saloon and began to bet; against the bank. It was- a losing game for the native from the starts; but the more he lost the more desperate he grew, and he drew one:check after another till they amounted to a sum equal to all the money which he had deposited in)'another kind of bank from the sale of his cattle: Yet was he furious to bet 'more, and in his desperation drew forth the title deeds to-his ranche which by ill-fortune he had brought with hilm from, home that his, I ^! page: 244-245[View Page 244-245] 244 PHLIP THAXTER. lawyers might examine them in order to properly defend his title before the Board-of Land Commissioners. He produced them, and offered to stake the whole against the bank, which, including the ohe ks he had given, amounted to near $40,000. Thaxter was looking on. The@ dealer hesitated--looked at Thaxter, who nodded to him to take it. The title deeds were handed oer to the clerk of the establishment, who was ordered to write a assignment or conveyance of the property therein described. The old Mexican was impatient; so were all. But the clerk was a Tennessee lawyer, and he understood his business, and made the- conveyance strong enough to hold. When it was completed the Mexican signed it. It was wit- nessed by two witnesses. A formal tender of purchase money was made. -There was a great crowd pressing round the table. It was the, greatest bet ever dependant in California- on the turn of a card. The deck is examined by the Mexican and his ,friend. .It is found all right. Many eyes are watching and there is ii chance for foul play. One card is drawn after another, and still the case is not decided-but silence-the bank has won-and Philip Thaxter owns one of the finest ranches in California. On going home that night the thoughts of Thaxter, for some unknown reason, were upon his other home, where dwelt his wife and children. -He had of late banished, as far as possible, all such unwelcome images from his mind. But somehow this night they would come back. So unwelco-me were all such thoughts, that he would tolerate nothing'about' him that might reminind him ofwhat he once was. Even now a suggestion that should suddenly call up the old fireside around which were gathered his wife, his 'boys, and faithful Aunt Nabby, ivould cause him to start and-.turn pale, as though some unutterable anguish possessed himn. It was not all happiness, this life of sin. In fact, there was none of that pure tranquil enjo ment that had been his in:the cold and sterile New ERngland. The day before the gambling incident just, described, the mail steamer had arrived, and of course bringing to him its customary: letter fr0m hisl wife. Those letters had come regu- larly for the last six months, though the last he had written had been on the day when, sick in body ad sick at heart, he had- reached the city from thbl interior, aud without money and without friends found himself left to the tender mercies (of a :strange city. These letters he could not destroy without read . , . . . . TaE BAGES OF sn . 245 ing, however much pain their perusal might cost him. The last one he had forced into his pocket at the time he received it till he should have courage- to read it. On his way home, after this night's successful venture at the gaming-table, he be- thought himself of this unread- letter. It was -late ;when he reached the house. The lamp was burning brghtly in the parlor, and the fire was mouldering in the grate. The compan ion of his life of shame had retired,- and was sleeping in the ad, joining room. In spite of- himself thbugh, his mind was upon his other home far away. He took?his wife's letter from his pocket and sa down and read it. It was written in language of most passionate earnest. ness and anxiety. No letter had -been received from him for four months, and, the long silence was killing her. :ias he dead, was he sick, or why did-she receive no letters .?- She feared the worst; and the letter she was: writing she was afraid would never be read by him. Yet she niust write. It seemed to her that she thus poured forth her sorrows into this sympathisin$g bosom, and 'the mere act afforded her relief. She sent. it forth upon-the waters, and -begged him, if: he received it, to at least send word of his personal safety; for if she knew but that, it would be an unspeakable relief to her mind. As Thaxter read; this letter 'he could not prevent the tears from falling down his cheeks. "It is too: late,"'said he. "For me now there is no return.: This ife : now leiadI know can- not last. I, see the devils tliancd: leading me to destruction. He takes: care of his own, auid when he- gets me past' hpe or redemption, he' will abandon me. I am rich to-day. But what, hold have I on -my fortune? It -all depends on: the turn of othe cards so. long as I :e this :life :To-morrow I - -may: lose as much as I have won t0-day. In a week I may be banrupt. This is a land of violence. Men - like me are laid out almost every day by others grown desperate at their losses. I will take a bond of fate for so much; I will make this ranch property over to my wife and send her the deed of it. I will put it out of my power to lose it, and then, should the old place be finally cohsumed by that gnawing mortgage which first caused me to seek this God-forsaken country, then she can realize enough from this to place her in ease and comfort." Saying thus he took a blank deed, of which he had several in the house, and with his own hand filled it up according to page: 246-247[View Page 246-247] 246 PHLIP THAXTER. the original description in the title Expedienta. He made it; all over to his wife ,Caroline Thaxter of the second part, con. sort of Philip Thax ter, of the first part."' It was necessary that these papers should be recorded imme- diately, else the ,native Californian might deed the ranch to some one else, and the deed firston record would be valid. A man was therefore sent early in the morning for Monterey, with instructions ' to haste thither with all despatch-to ride one horse furiously till he gave out, and then to get another and neither stop to eat or sleep till the papers were in the hands of the recorder, of that county. The messenger followed his instructions literally. But he had not gone more than half way before he. learned of two menin advance of him, who were pushing on in: the same direction. ,He had no doubt that it was the old Mexican and his compagnero. - He hurried on and soon b ame ,in sight of hem. He was now so fortunate as to exchange his jaded horse forone :that was fleet and fresh. They were nearing 'the town. It was not more han two leagues distanit. He rode up behind the Mexicans. lAs soon as they saw him they seemed to feel instinctively that his presence boded no good to them. They spurred upthinking. to ride away from him. But he rode past, dashing by them like -the wind. - The old man seeing that he would be outstripped, drew a pistol and fired at the flying messenger. The ball passed directly under his nose. .He spuirred up now more vigorously than ever, and reached the recorde's office and had his papers endorsed on the back as filed for record, before the Mexicans arrived. The messenger saluted them courteously as they entered, as though nothiing had-happened-passed out, and saw them no more. The bell of the coast steamer was ringing in the harbor. He rode down to the wharf, had his horse takenon board, and taking a state room lor himself, was the next morning in San Francisco. ^ ' ' ," CHAPTER XXVI. HOPE DMFEitBED. 'vern ont inued to be the head-quarters of news- S mTstavern p rwre of th mongers and politicians the' same after the departure of the mongers aut p or th & ..A, few- We/k afermy gold-hunters as bef re. Forfthe t eir pr bble errs of speculations as to their probable ,left there were all sors o , d never get back success. While ed they woul never ge success.. Whfie so . uld return iu'a few monh alive, others were confident they wo te expiration o ith as .ut gold as tw her oa- tirn of wtth a s .mu har received a letter from .her' about three mnonshr, --,ta-l. -;acont of his voyage, husband, in which he gave a detailed Sco F is . and also a description of whathe had seen in San Franthsoat The geeral mport of te letter was inroratic n of all th at the newspapers had sd in regard to tgolhe He had not yet been to them; but the quanities ofgld: he had seen on thegaming-tables, in the maba-king-hOUsea, d in ;trnds'of t ernant n beineio;hants, Waterwass6 n t the h nds of the merchants, was ertainevide wthat thewn to , ', unitanthile, 'nintero. .. tena unasi ab -. -t rial wa^ ,abunati h neirodt congregate atCpr" several of those whowere acustomed to cgregate at oaprs- seVera, ofi?, a reportea it'- Conte nts oes- tain Stout's tavern, and th repos .. but the curiosity was so great to kno itspre o sethat buto the eu y ...,. o lo t to'be, -read to the" seq '.Mrs. Thaxter was solicited to al- - . ; ansented, and bled curious at the tavern. To this to a gi co"Id. for seera eveningsit was read aloud to a gapingerod. His subsequent letters, ..ame with tolerable regu- ', ' u en eters ohfc, , , e, ,a. rityno ssemiss ing more than half the timewere of equalm- larity.-not bs.... te re:ttedaasot of terest to the public, and they ad faithful public bulletin. Generally, t hey were a full antrs recordof,what "he saw and :did. some ofi the other' a d'enturers atlso, wrOt' :.home letters. of ,what, they'saw and didibut letes , page: 248-249[View Page 248-249] 2 4 PHT;TP THAXTER. for some reason they never brought them forward to be read in public. ? , When, after Several months, the letters of Thaxter ceased to come, there were anxious surmises as to the reason. Some thought he must besick--some, dead; and some, that he was about coming home, and wanted to surprise people. But no one suspected that he had fallen into sin and shame. At length it was rumored that Jocelyn, had written to his wife, in answer' to an inquiry she had made as to what had become of Thaxter, that Ad if his wife didn't hear from him she was just as well contented as she would be if she knew more about him n' This led to a great deal of speculation as to what he meant; but it was the current rumor about town that something had gone wrong with Captain Thaxter. His wife knew nothing of the rumor, and was in great distress at not hearing from him. Others suspected, that something was wrong. She knew it. But what it' was she had not the m3st remote idea. Was h-e sick, or dead, or cast away, on his return home? One of these misfortunes must surely haave overtaken him, or else she would have heard frommhim. A letter received about this time from -Ben Thurlow by his father, the old 'squire, spoke of having received a letter from him a few days 'before. But of his health or prosperity no word was sai. Mrs. Thaxter was sorely troubled by this long silence, and knew not what to do. Sometimes she thought it her duty to follow him: to California, and,- if sick or suffering td relieve his wantg. Then again she thought that perhaps he might be on his way home-shewould wait a month or two longer. In this state of doubt and disquiet the weeks-and months wore on till a settled cloud of' sorrow rested on the once happy and viva- cious mind of Caroline Tliaxter. To add to her anxieties, she began to fear lest her faithful Nabby should leave her again. She knew that Bumpus was laying close siege to the not invincible citadel of her heart, and great was her fear that she might' surrender. She thought she would learn the justice of her apprehensions,-and accordingly one day, when she had been talking with her faithful confidant and househeeper of her troubles and axieties till the affection- ate creatree had her pumps in full operation, she turned upon her suddenly and said: ' a "And the next thing, I suppose, that I shall know is that you have left me, too" ' ^ , " le "' said Nabbybrushing thetearsaway. " lele you in all your troubles I hall never leave you till your T U , . k it i an' for forty years.. And l: have" husband comes bacf oolish notion in your hea told jumpu . Wha - t putta Penobscot ! o I am in so ,' O Nabby, I am so glad to hear you say so I am so uiueh trouble that I sometimes feelas though everybody would The next morning after this conversation, while- Mrs. hax- ter was engaged in the parlor and 'Nabby was busy in the kitchen, havingjust inished packing down som e golden butter that she had taken from the churn that mornig,the a ce r was opened and she' was briskly saluted with-. "Good mornin', Miss Nabby, how do you do this mornin , Pretty well, Bumpus; how do you do?" , Well, I ampretty well tuckered. I have had arighttough time of it." , ' "How was that, Bumpus t. , Well, I have been chasing that little brindle heifer of yourn all overimy back paster and the darned critter got yourn all fo v er ls, and got in among, Deacon Stickiaey' away. from one at last, au n. ein' as ow was up cattle, ,an I let her go. So, I thought,bein as how Jkwas u. this way, I would call in and see you. ,' Well, I amdrelful glad to see you, Bumpus; but you must get home the brindle heifer before night. ttl "I had a tough pull for heramong Deaon Sti'kneya cattle this morning, I tell " e. . ] , was that amog hem," said Bmpus, still hold- with the right, nd, ye " -wo*d awn e sook hise ye see, he pawed? the g ound, an h- roared, .. head: but I went right towards himpwith... hand, and when he seen I was stark . ad, he ruI I "Do tell. He run! Penobsot. what adi-you . "I run, too." , What, did you run for?" ' Why did Irun I guess i hadl thebest reason to run, for he run after me ;Ye see, I run full chisel for the fen-e,.and just as I got to it, he- come up ' a boosted we over. "He was very polite;" said iabby, laughing. page: 250-251[View Page 250-251] 50?so PmTPP THAXTER. "iYes, and if he would be polite enough to-mend my coal where he tore it, I would be very much obliged to' him." 'Dont mind the coat^, said Nabby. "Just take it off, and I will mend it in half the time you have been talking about it." This proposition of Nabby was most graciously received , by Bumpus,'who proceeded at once i to divest himself 'of his torn garment, while Nabby, providing herself with nee- dle and thread, sat 'down to mend the rips that the hull had made. Bumpus now resumed the conversation byinquiring if any- thing had lately been heard from Capt. Thaxter. "No," said Nabby, , we don't hear nothin' of him, and I don't know what will become of us if he don't come back soon. Mistress, feels dre'ful bad. We don't have no such times as we used to have. She don't go out nowhere. ' She don't do nothin' but look out for the-farm and larn her boys geography and sich like. Penobscot! if my old man was to go off and leave me so, you' wouldn't catch me taking sich care of -his things."/' a ' I reckon, Nabby, if you had an old man," said he inplo. ringly, "he wouldn't leave you. Do you think I would leave you% Nabby?" "It is no matter whether you would or not," replied she some- what sharply. "I am not going to leave Miss Thaxter till her his-band comes back, if it ar'n't for forty years, and I told her so last night, and I have told you so more 'n fifty times, and if you are comin' sneakin' and teasin' round in this way, I won't 'let ye come here at all. When Captain Thaxter , comes back there will be time enough to think of gittin' mar- ried; so, if you are in a hurry, you better get him to come home." At this last speech, Bumpus sat looking the very picture of vdespair. Finally, says he, "Will you have mewhen he comes back . :k ( Wait till that time," replied she, "and then it will be time enough to .answer. Here, put on your coat." Bumpus did as directed, and, to be sure that the treaty was ratifiedcontinued : "It is a bargain, is it, that we are to, be married when he gets back?" Nabby laughed and nodded assent to the proposition. ^ , , -- HOPE DEFERRED. -W , Good,': said Bumpus, "I can wait, now. Do you know what I will do I will send to California for him, and if he don't como, I'll be darned if I don't go and fetch him myself. ood monin'," and with that 'he went off, singing and cack- ling to himself from excess of joy. y 'i i, *, 1. i . %,L - - *^ * ' - . ^ ' * ', ? *, page: 252-253[View Page 252-253] OHAPTER XXVIII. ? "A FRANK CONFESSION. IT was some three or four weeks after, the occurrence of the ganbling scene,in which by the fortune of the game. Thaxter was made the,lproprietor of a valuable ranch, when, as he was standing one morning before breakfast in the door' of his own saloon, he wassar' risedo see walking upon the other side of the street the same company of his fellow townsmen th which he had made his joarney to California. -They, had not yet' observed him, and havin- just arrive' an u--river boat were staring in wonder at the great changes hich had taken place since they were there last. ta"nai n .ori iedbThaxter, Icome over t his own They allturneu their ees iin the otherons the oi eandwer surprised and rejoiced-tobehold the face of their old fren and fellow :traveler' o I "Halloo, Capt. Theixter; is that you:." said Stanton ap proachfiv; Well, you are just the man we was wanting to see. -This luck beats the dry diggin'. How are you, old Thie company immediately crossed over, and a jlly and eo ,-dial hakming of thands to-ok- place, "' Well, boys,". said Thaxter, "have you just come down. from the mines?" 'i Yes; we are all On ourway home,".re'liedJoe yn. on recfllect we lagreld, cominh ou, to all -- . ...g : .er, d a . g: . ..v, -;?r- -0mpn y Will bi;e sthe as when we started nly we wilf have a aheap more money." I am afraid," rejqined Thaxter, , I could hardly get ready quite so soon-as you would wish to start. Bat u have not been to breakfast, have you?' '. L . A FRANK CONFESSION, 253 "No," said Stanton, "we was jist looking for a good place for that when you called out to us. I am as sharp-set as a new saw." "Well, I want you all to go and breakfast with me, and we -will talk over matters in the meantime." Saying this, the gambler led the way up to a fashionable French restaurant, and ordered breakfast for the company. They seated themselves at a large round table, and the waiter having set a bottle of claret to each plate, and placed some long rolls of bread, and some small dabs of new butter before them, while the breakfast was' preparing they, sipped at the claret and nibbled away at the bread and butter. "' Now, friends," said Thaxter,: "j want you to tell me all about how you have done." "I have no reason to complain," said Chew. "I struck good diggin's soon after I got into the mines, and I stuck, close by ^them ever since. When the water was so high I could not work my,:own claim, I hired out by the day. So I did not lose any time." "How much have you got?" "I reckon about $3,000; enough to do me. You know I was always a poor man, and It don't need so, much as some do. So'I thought I would join the rest of the boys and go home." "Very sensible; and you, Jocelyn, have made three times that amount, I suppose" - "Just about, you know I was in a good streak when I saw you here last fall!" , "So you all have been fortunate, haVe you? How isit with you, Murch?" . "I have made about $1,500 by hard work. fMy luck was never the best. But perhaps I shall come back and try it again." , - "It took me to have the luck," broke in Stanton, who by this time had disposed of the larger--half of his bottle of claret. But it' don't seem to be much use to have luck -when a mian don't know enough to keep his money." - "I am afraid you used too much whiskey a'l ',Perhaps I did, and another trouble I had was that the banks where I deposited never paid me back.'"-. "What sort of banks were 'they?" {- "Monte banks. They got all my money except what went for whiskey, but as I last week struck a; pocket and got out page: 254-255[View Page 254-255] '25 --i PHLIP TIIAX'TER. abouit #1,500, Heoncluded the best thing:I could do was to cut and run. And so we are all going home together. Won't you go with us? ' - "' No, I reckon not?;' said ]Thaxter; '; I have got over the notion of going home. When I was poor I used to feel home- sick.- But I have got rich now and I don't think anything about it." C i "You have got rich then?" said Jocelyn. d Well I am comfortably well off. You recollect when we parted here a year ago or so? I was flat broke then--not' a dollar-sick in body and mind. Well-rI may- as well say it myself-for it must all come out sooner or later. I wrote my last letter home that day." "What-!" exclaimed Stanton, "you are not so changed as all that 1 Why I had rather be drunk every day than act like that. Just because you have got rich you neglect your wife and children, and' such a wife I think you are a dod-blasted scoundrel."- "You can hear 'me through, and then I don't know as I could blame you for having such an opinion. As I was saying to you, Jocelyn, that day I mailed my last letter. That night I wandered forth, not knowing but I should die in the street. A little ways. out of town I saw a small house and- stable, and begged that I might be allowed to: sleep upon the hay. : They took me in and nursed me for five long weeks. My ost was an honest ddraymati, and had a handsome wife. That is all. The man left the country soon after I got well, and the wife was mine. I took possession of the house and lot and found it worth $100,000." "Mr. Thaxter!" exclaimed Stanton, bringing his fist down with great force, upon the table. "I will not eat breakfast with'such a villain. Here, waiter, how much is-the bill for my breakfast?" "Breekfas," says the waiter, " tree dollar-wine, two bottle, four, dollar ; on bill seven: dollar." t Sit down," said Thaeter coolly, "and hear me out, and then you can pay for your breakfast or not, just as you please.-- Finish vour bottle before you go." Stanton looked at the bottle and then at the chops, so nicely cooked with:a few sprigs of tender grass lying around them; the broiled quail that passed underhis nose at that 25 A FRANK CONFESSION. Ow moment had a most delightful odor, ,so much 'so, that smother ing his resentment he again sat down to the table. embarked on a sea of sin and d an and my trub nsgred tone i,y onaitin to those who ar nowelook rd hping m It had betteor be crushed out at onc, for t ruth must and will be known, sooner or later. I want you, when you return to speak of me as I am-a and thatis than my old acquaint- ances will believe. Thisis have tfo say t andno ma see you again bettfore thatyou , and, said he, hesitatingrry hmoment, "Iwould send hom re presents oto the boysra ; but h wouldMY ydo nothitng to remind them that they have a father so unworthy of them and their mocpther. e Having settled thhe bllor the company ato the baruhe bor ist bstrage country, The pious churchman atyou returns mont deal ere, and the idle vagabond there is therich man :of influence and respectabiity in alifor aia A Don't knot 'bout that;, replied kton. "I was called a to spe of me aon I am-and aI dont see but I am great a ou- aga- bond/89 , . .. The means thus adopted b 'Thaxter to inform his wife and frmer friends and auatnces that he had falleni nto such former1 f d a at leisure et - disgrace that he could not reyourn to brhe akfase tan tI lo rve a b efortiveU you leave, anshort.. s heh r toa o o ng tioreminp d themthat theyavea fathrer so u' fthem d their m other. . . ' ' 'tO nnl sna oll, Th, e , ' ' ' ' ' company roma. e that this page: 256-257[View Page 256-257] , j CHAPTER XXIX. : FIDELITY AND FAITH. ? ON the same dav that the scene which we have described in the last ehapter was transpiringin an rancisco, a er dif 1 pIng tSan Francisco, aver di., ferent scene might have been -itnoe '-- - . y dif. , ferent sele might have beenrwitnessed in another place- and among different parties. For at least the hundr'edt;h time sin e any letter had been received had Nabby been to the post office to inquire for one. She had returned just at dark, andr en interrogated as to the result of her mission, he answedthat "the post master said he guessed Mr. T'haxterwas not goin' to write no mote. trange said she "how sassy olk is getting to be , "is You must not repeat such things to me," said her'afflicted mistress. , You can leave me now., Bumpus is in the other "Thank you, matam, Bumpus-Penobscot!" No sooner had the faithful serving woman closed the door than her unhappy mistress began Walking up and down the room, repeating half aloud the thoughts that troubled -her buse "It is almost tWO years--two -long, long y ears thati have borne this weary life, and-for thelast on e no word has come to give me hope that it shall ever end. Poor Philip' He ; sick or dead. He must be. He used to write so promt' And now I neverhear from him . .. . .n:e1 so'Androte dead. He is sick, I know he must be slk, aney sayhen misfo n tune has-come upon him, and he is sopoor that his fond and loving heart recoils at the thought that I Ishould know how luch he suffers. Yes, it musthe so. Prostrate; in want he lies, W hile 'I live here in ease and coinfort. O, Caroline, were you the wife that in your young heart you promised to *- ,ff- * FIDELITY AND FAITH. 257 be, you would brave all danger and go to him. And now is the time to test your love. Love is not shown by whining idly at home, but by the sacrifices we make of our ease and 'comfort for the sake of: those we love. But, hark, who knocks? come in." The door was opened and good old Mr. Truebody stood before her. He had a stout staff in his hand, and a small basket hanging on his left arm. His face was the picture of' ff good nature:and content. ;"Good evening, Mrs. Thaxter," said he, placing the basket on the fire-frame, his hat and staff in the "corner of the room, and taking the chair which was set out fo him. "My wife sent me over to bring you a little present, and here it is in the basket." "She is very kind; what may it be?' "Only a trifle-a nice piece: of fresh pork, and a few sau- sages--I killed a noble shoat a day or two since, and my wife would allow me no peace till I brought you over-a little bit of it, and as it was Sunday, to'morrow, I told her I didn't care if I did sit up a little later than common. So I lit'- the lantern and took my stick-for I am getting pretty old and clumsy; I am now rising seventy year old-and I trudged over. But where are the boys?" "They are both asleep. Do you know, I got frightened again last night that George talked in his sleep, and screamed just as he did that night when I first heard that Philip Was going to California." "Nonsense, my dear child. Don't talk such foolishness. I guess you didn't hear anything but your own thoughts a-clat- ering. " "Well, if it is so foolish I will say-no more about it. But I have something else to say to you that is not foolish. You have come just the right tine, and are the very man I wanted to see. I was intending to send for you on Monday." ] "Well then, my child, what have you got to say?" " But you must proinise me, secrecy before I can tell you. You must not even tell mother Truebodv." "O I can't promise that," said he, staring wide. "I never: had a secret from her in all my life. If she knew I had one she would give me no peace night or day." " O well then," carelessly rejoined the, provoking woman, " it is no great matter." . ../ page: 258-259[View Page 258-259] 258 PHLIP THAXTER.- , "But you must' tell," said the: old man, now become importunate. "Philip was my boy, and I have a right to kjnow. You,shall tell me."' "Tell you what?" ' "Why, that secret.' '/ You will tell your wife and then it will be no secret." "Well, if it is any so terrible great matter, then I will say nothing about it." \ "Do you promise fairly?" I "I promise, and no man can say that Rennie Truebody ever broke his word to man or woman." "Will you aid as well as]promise?" "Of course I will. Don't I always help everybody that @ asks me, like a good-natured old fool, as Aunt Tempe-now rest her soul in peace-,always called me." "I will tell you then that I am going to California, and you must assist mne it getting away." "California! bvy the powers! You are crazy, woman I I shall do no such thing." "But you promised to," "No man keeps a promise with crazy folks." "I am far from crazy, Mr. Truebody--.but I am resolute. It is over a year since I heard a word from my husband, and he must be sick or under misfortune, and it is my duty to go and find him. If you will aid me, well; if not, I can get along without you ; but go I shall." "Alone?" ' "NNo, not, alone. I shall take my boys with me, and Nabby ill not forsake me in this extremity." "Take th& boys with you! Impossible! Woman, that will not do. I might have consented for you to go if you were bent upon it. But the boys-never. Leave them with me. We never had any boys of our own, unless it was Philip, and no boy was ever better taken care of than he, and, if he don't come, back it is not because he didn't have good instructions when he was a boy, My wife used to set up and helphim get his, lessons every evening, and no woman was ever so proud of her own, boy as she was of him the day he married you.' No, no; leave the boys with us, and :we will see that they are trained up in the way they should go " "They go with me," said the mother. "They shall not be orphaned while their parents live. If they grow up strangers .. . FIDELITY AND FAITHI. 259 to their father, they shall not to their mother. No, good father Truebody, they must stay by me. If they learn no other les- son, they shall know the power of a mother's love, and that shall win them to a virtuous life. So do not mention a separa- tion; 'twill avail nothing. I shall go, and they with me." "But how will you get there? No one will aid you, unless it is myself, and I am very sure I shall not." * "Father Truebody-you will!" said she, more passionately, andher eyes just ready to overflow. i"Never! You can't coax me into favoring any such wild notion as that. None of your crying, for I can't stand that, so I will have to leave before I cry too." l As he made a motion of leaving, Mrs, Thaxter sprung for- ward, and laying her band on his ' shoulder, said, "Stop, Mr. Truebody! I am resolved-go I shall, and the boys with ime. You can render it more comfortable for my journey if you will, and you cannot prevent me. Since Philip went away, you can testify that I have not been idle nor extravagant. I have made butter, and I have made cheese. I have raised chickens, and sold eggs, and the money from these sources I have kept by 'me, and have more than half enough for this long and expen- sive, journey." "Half enough will get you half way there : then what are you to do for the other half?"' 'E If I can do no better I can sell the plate and jewelry that belonged to my father and mother. 'Tis hard to part with it, I know; but 'tis harder to feel that one's darling husband is sick or dying in a distant land, with no friendly or familiar voice to cheer him." "Then you will go, and nothing can stop you?" said the old, man, musingly. Nothing," she replied, while a gleam of hope sparkled in her eye. e"Then I suppose I may as well let you have the money at once. How much will you require?" "With what I have, five hundred dollars will be suflicient."! "Well then, say no more about it, and I will bring it over to you next week." ,. "I knew it!" said she. "O. how shall-- "' Not a word-not one word!" fiercely said the' old man, seizing his cane and hat, and rushing for the door, , Good night!" ,*/, ' ' - " ' page: 260-261[View Page 260-261] 260 260 HLIP THAXTER. heavenwhileethe tears fast chased one another over her cheeks. Her thanksgiving was said, and with a relieved and happy spi rit se Sat down to ecmpose her agitated mind before retiring Ste sat: quietly a few moments thus, when she was roused fro her :reflections -by-the entrance of -Nabby, who was making her laistcircuitover the house that night to see if the doors and windows were all safe. f the e'Nabby," said Mrs. T., " will you sit down here one ming mnt?. Ihave a word to. say to you." "Well, ma'm," said she, sitting on the edge of aohmr and- holding the candle still in her hand. "Nabby, I am going to California." '.T; California. Penobscot!" "Ys, It am going ndI shall take Ben and George with e,^W6ill, you gowith -e,?... Mistress Thaxter, I will go anywhere with you and them boys and 1 have told you so a liundred times, It is a;great wa ys,: ar'n't it? - Yes, it is a long and trying journey, and is almost all the way by sea. You are not afraid of the sea, are you?" uMe, afraid or: the sea'! I. guess. I ar'n't.;'Didn't-I once cross the roaring Penobscot and wasn' t poor Twigs drown. ede on it? Penobscot! I guess I ar'n't afraid to go anywhere "Next'week, then, we must prepar for. the journey nd so .. i s : , CHAPT'ER X XX. THE ROSE OF THE MOUNTAIN. THAT veracious historian, Diedrich Knickerbocker, "has ad- vanced, in his history of New York, the ingenious and ex. tremely plausible theory that all warriors and wars are made as mere' food for historians. With great force of argument that learned philosopher goes on to prove-which he does most conclusively-that the historian is the most important character that figures among men.' All others are mere pup- pets in his hands, to be used for his benefit, and as shall please him. He takes, the materials as furnished by other men's actions and characters, and putting them into his purifying crucible, brings out from it whatever 'may please his fancy or accord with his prejudice. How important it is,' therefore, to have the good opinion of those who write history-not those merely who write ponderous tomes of the past, the collaters of dry facts; but the ballad-makers, the fictionists and the jour- nalists. It is from the writings of such as these that the histo- rlian must cull his simples, from which he will distil his com- pound of what the worlk calls history, and from which opinion and verdict there is no appeal. But the American historian, notwithstanding that he is the absolute autocrat of the past, encounters a difficulty at the threshold of his labors which is unknown to like arbiters of fame in other countries. There are no artificial elevations here that render some characters interesting from their high posi- tion. It is a fundamental principle of our government, at least in theory, that all mewn are created equal, and the historian must treat them as such. There are no born princes, lords, dukes, earls or marquises with us. Every man must rest, as' it were, on his own merits. No one has any title to dignify him page: 262-263[View Page 262-263] 2G2 rnP LIP I nIAXTER. in history. His own acts must show him to be either nature's nobleman or nature's churl, There are no hereditary chieftains who stand out at all times as objects of the world's interest inl spite of themselves. ,The historian cannot enthrone himself among the nobility, and then launch forth from this elevation, to which all vulgar eyes are looking, his facts, his satire or his invective.- An act of ordinary occurrence -cannot be raised- by him into importance because committed by a duke, an earl, or a marquis. An act of meanness cannot be paraded as especially detestable because it was committed by one whose ancestors came over with William, attended the conference at Runny- nlede, or fought at Flodden Field. The characters must all be taken'from one level, and whatever of interest the history has, it must owe it to the deeds and events recorded, and not to the illustrious-names that figure on its page, If this lack of, titled personages is a draw back to the histo- rian, it is doubly so to the writer of fiction.' His hero, though he have the prowess of a Wallace,the valor of Richard of the Lion-heart, and the gallantry of a Bayard, can be only a plain mister, or at best a corporal, captain, -or general. He can have no Lord Fitznoodle to be doubly ridiculous by reason of his being a peer of- the realm, nor can he have an Earl High- flyer to skim over the heads of other men of equal bravery and eloquence. He has no Duke 'of Despondency to enlist our sympathies by reason of his illustrious birth and his unprece- dented misfortunes. The title ,which he- must use are so cheap and common as to be almost ridiculous. His gererals, colonels and majors, very likely were stable-boys a few years before, and they' must be wonderful in their deeds and sur- passing in their merits to enlist the attention of the reader. Now, it will not do for. us to have all our characters with no distinction or sounding titles and only the plain mister attached to their names as a handle. A few such unpretending charac- ters can be tolerated, but for the balance there must be a great repetition of the few titles that are current among us. Hence our generals, colonels and' captains make up'appa. rently a large majority of oursmale population. Had we titles of nobility, we could: get along, with less of the scrub titles that we are!now restricted to. If we had dukes, we might dis-. pense with a part of our colonels ; and-if we had marquises and viscounts, we could get along with fewer captains and cor- porals. THE ROSE OF THE MOUNTAIN. 263 If, therefore, any person shall be disposed to find fault at the number of personages with military handles to their names that figure in this history, let the fault be attributed to our in- stitutions and not to the historian. Experienhcein actual life justifies the free use of these adjuncts. He is but a sorry fel- low who has not a title of some kind, and if we picture society as it is we must dispense commissions with a lavish hand. It has been related by a famous modern humorist, that as he once stood on the deck- of a steamer about to leave one of our American ports, he recognized an acquaintance on the wharf, and touching his hat he said, " Good by, Colonel," and was astonished to observe that full half of the persons standing on the wharf touched their hats in return, and responded " Good by." And when immendiately after he spoke up in an equally clear and loud voice and said "Good by, Muggins," heiheard but one response, and that was "Good by, my brother." Among the first acquaintances made by Thlaxter among the sporting characters, of which he had become one, was Colonel Stockwell, a person whom he had 'met once before he left for California. He was the same individual whose appearance on a wintry night at Captain Stout's tavern has been described in one of the early chapters of this work. Thaxter saw himn fre- quently about the gambling-saloons at the time when he was a convalescent, without money, and dependent on the benevo- lence and charity of Lyrean Lovell, whose confidence he had betrayed, and whose peace and honor he had destroyed. At that time he had not the assurance to make himself known to the prosperous speculator and politician. But afterwards, When he had himself become rich, wicked and- unscrupulous, and had made his acquintance by being thrown casually into his company, he recalledithe circumstance to the mind of the early Californian, and reminded him that he was one of the honest countrymenwho so eagerly devoured the words that he let fall at the time that he himself was devouring Madam Stout's doughnuts. From this time they became bosom friends, and the most frequent visitor at,Thaxter's house was Colonel Stookwell. It was indeed whispered by some that he was there oftener than Thlaxter knew of; but as no suspicions were aroused in his mind they continued to be confidentially intimate. Stockwell was a bold operator. JHis success as a speculator was almost unparalleled even in that country of Aladdin-like fortunes. page: 264-265[View Page 264-265] 261 PHLIP. THAXTIER,. His boldness, in design was only equalled by his rapidity in execution. He would take possession of a piece of property belonging to the city, and the next wpcek, for a nominal consid- eration, the city council would pass an ordinance vesting in him the title. He would run a wharf into the bay in a single night, and the Legislature would pass an act granting him the franchise' for the same. Hence he was reckoned to be a mil- :lionaire, and had abandoned-all public gambling-saloons. It is true he gambled immensely, and for large sums, but it was in private rooms with lawyers, judges and merchants for his corn. pany. When he talked with Thaxter of his gigantic operations, the latter thought he was in small business keeping a gambling- house, and was importunate to engage with his friend in some of his stupendous speculations -by which he could make thou- sands in less time than it now took hiim -to make hundreds. The State, Legislature being now in session, Stockwell was engaged in getting a bill passed that would render it safe for him to loan ascertain ditch company a large amount of money on a mortgage. - A water ditch having been commenced in one of the upper' mining counties, and above half a million of money spent in its construction, and as it would all be dead property -and could 'not be, made available without the expenditure of. one hundred thousand dollars more, application had been made to Stockwell for the money, to secure which he was to have a mortgage' on the whole. Before consenting, however, he pro- cured a law to be passed that would enable him at once to en. ter upon and take possession unless the amount loaned was' repaid with enormous interest within a certain time, and that time was to be so short ,that he knew the company could not pay 'his debt at maturity. Thus the whole ditch would fall into his hands. . In this operation he offered to give Thaxter an interest. Mis reason for. that was, he wanted to get him to go into the country. It may be, too, he would have been willing to favor him, even had lie not had any designs of supplanting him in the affections of Kate Lovell--for he gave him more of his friendship and confidence than any other of his acquaintance. Thaxter was accordingly dispatched to Sierra to examine the work and report as to its advancement, and the advantages it offered for an investment. This' was ab'out two weeks after his interview with his old'townsmen at the restaurant, when he told them that he should return not to his former houle. - . THE ROSE OF THE MOUNTAIN, 265 The style in which Thaxter traveled when he now went to the mines, was very different from that in which he came from them. Then he was sick-now in the most glowing health. He had landed from the steamboat with scarce a dollar, and now he was going to negotiate a loan of $100,000, and one-third his own money. He had come down to Sacramento, an invalid, in a freight wagon, and -now he was going back from there with his own team of fast horses and elegant carriage, with his driver and accoutrements, Verily, the way of transgressors is a smooth and even way. His first day's travel after leaving Sacramento, brought him about half way to Downieville, the head quarters of the ditch company. He stopped at a place called the Half Way House, a public stopping place famous as being the best on the road. When he left the mines previously, he was not fastidious about his accommodations; he could sleep upon the floor of a public house and think himself fortunate, it was so much softer than the ground. He could make a hearty supper on stewed frijoles and pork, with hard bread and coffee. But his life of luxury at the Bay had changed him. Now there was no- thing that he could eat. The beef steak was not nicely cooked. The butter had come round the Horn. The coffee was not clear, and had no milk and only Manilla sugar to sweeten it. It was scandalous, the way gentlemen were treated at these stopping places! If he was much displeased at the fare and accommodations afforded at the Half Way House, he was equally pleased to find here a noted politician from San Francisco, who was likewise a Senator in Congress. He had often heard his friend Stock- well speak of this Senator as one of his intimates and a member of his little club of gentlemen poker players.. He was now out on a political tour, and having arrived by stage that day, in- tended to leave for Downieville and vicinity the next day by the same conveyance. Thaxter offered' him a seat in his car- riage, and the two set out -the next morning, both well satis- fied, the one that he had exchanged a crowded, and uncomf6rt- able stage coach for an elegant private conveyance, and the other, that he had"secured the company of the Honorable Sen- ator of the Congress in the United States. Thaxter's business required him to spend several days at Downieville. He had found everything as had been repre- sented, and considered that the loan could be made to the Ditch 12 page: 266-267[View Page 266-267] auu' PHTTIP THAXTER. Company with e'ntire safety. It was ten days after his arrival before he was ready to return. The Senator had been se/veral days away, visiting-the surrounding precincts, and had re- tuirned again to Downieville with the view of taking the stage again for Sacramento. His political friends proposed that he should make them a stump speech before he left, and as he did not object, handbills were posted all over town during the day, i announcing that the Honorable -, Senator in Congress, Would address the people of Downieville on the important poli- tical subjects now occupying the public mind. A! platform was raised in front of the largest gambling houses in town, and at the appointed hour an immense crowd of gam- blers, lawyers, Jews, sharpers, miners, and merchants, were gathered around it to hear what the Honorable Senator had to say. His speech was mainly a tirade against the Whigs,whom hbe denounced as traitors richly deserving the halter, and by a singular process of reasoning he showed that the objections urged-by the opponents of the National Administration in Cal- ifornia, were the same as those urged by the terrible Abolition- ists, and hence they were alike all worthy of reprobation and suspension: if not in the exact manner as the Abolitionists, at least from all participation in administering the affairs of the government. -The speech was: long, witty, and ojscene, and the crowd, of whom many were jolly when it began, were ob. streperous before it was finished. The drinking saloons had done an immense business during the evening, and at the con- elusion the company was of the most O-be-joyfuil character. Perhaps the larger half had left very soon after the speaking was concluded. This half included all the more temperate and industrious. This class did not like the speech of the Honor. able Senator so well as to be desirous of remaining to make his acquaintance, nor did they think it incumbent on them to stay all night about the gambling saloons and get too drunk to resume their ordinary labor on the succeeding day. In the bar-room of the principal hotel 'that night, was a noisy and drunken crowd. It was a scene of revelry. The Honor- able Senator was there, talking and drinking :familiarly with the unshorn miner and the neatly trimmed gambler. Thaxter, 'too, stood lookingon, but he was too much of a novice in such scenes to fully enter into the spirit of it and enjoy it Twelve o'clock came, and yet the main saloon, or bar-room, was more than half full. It was, however, a good natured crowd; there THE ROSE OF THE MOUmTAIN. 267 was no fighting or quaireling. They had all heard the wicked Whigs sorely abused, and not one of that traitorous crew had raised' his head to defend himselfor his party. Gradually, however, after twelve o'clock they began to thin out. Some were laid away under the stools and tables, and others had stolen out and gone home. It had got to be half-past one o'clock. Not more than a dozen of the most obdurate against the potency of the bottle were left, and these were mostly the leading political characters : ex-melbers of the Legislature, prospective candidates for Congress, judge- ships, sheriffs, and other places of honor and profit. A game of poker was now proposed, and every man in the room, inclu- ding the Senator and Thaxter, sat down to it. Many a vulgar joke was spoken as the ante was put up and the knife pushed forward. Loud laughed the players, and the coarse wit came forth as freely as the fiery liquor went down. "'Tis my last hand," said one, who had been winning for some time, my wife will think I have got my head broke, or else am too tight to get home."' (' Ha, you a wife in this country 2" said the Senator, "'tis time, then, for you to be off." ("Ah, indeed I have," said the other;, " and she is the rose of the mountain." I' No, no," said another, "the .rose' of the mountain is the belle of Panama." "Who is the belle of Panama?" inquired the Senator. ( The; belle of Panama! What, you havn't seen her yet? Why, it's Carmelita. She is the fawn of the valley, the belle of Panama, the rose of the mountain." Possible, thought Thaxter, that Carmelita, my old friend, is here. "( Where does she live, and what does she do? ' he in- quired aloud. - "She makes and sells cigaritos, and the boys buy them of her at twice their value, for the sake of hearing her sweet, sil- very voice, and getting a glimpse of her soft black eyes." "I know her," said Thaxter, " she came in the steamer with me. She was all the time taken up with looking after the sick." "Aye, and it's so here; you can see her every day, going into the tents of the sick, with her little bundles of herbs and vials of doctor's stuff. And they say she cures better than any: of the: doctors, and never charges for it." . . page: 268-269[View Page 268-269] :268 PHLIP THAXTER. "She is virtuous, I hope," said a man who was called Jake -a rough, noisy, political demagogue, with an immensely long beard and an evil black eye. "Virtuous," rejoined the other, ' I know not,: and I care not. She is the beautiful rose of the mountain, and it is not my business to look after her virtue." "Here," said Jake, pulling out a buckskin purse containing ten or twelve ounces, "I will bet that against a like sum that she will accept of my company to-night." "I take that bet," said the champion, in his turn drawing forth another purse containing, as he said, two hundred dollars in coin. "Put up your money," said Thaxter, " and don't go to dis- turbing the woman to-night." "Yes, yes," interposed the Senator, " don't go on a lark at this time in the morning, somebody will give you a leaden wel- come if you are not cautious." "I'll take all them chances," growled Jake, getting up and passing his purse to the landlord-" come, now, don't back out." .' Reluctantly the person who had'once offered to take the bet gave his purse into the same hands, and immediately Jake left the house, followed soon after by his friend. The game of poker still progressed, but the disposition to. laugh at everything that was said no longer prevailed. The game had grown Imore interesting, and each one kept his mind -confused as it was with alcohol--closely on the cardS. 'A half hour or so had passed, when the person who had taken Jake's bet came running in, in breathless haste, exclaiming "Jake's dead-! Jake's dead!" "Jake dead! how! what!"-exclaimed each and all, jump- ing fromh the table and leaving their cards scattered about where they happened to fall. "Carmelita killed him," said the other, " stabbed him with a knife!" "Shoot the jade, hang her'" was exclaimed by one and an- other ; the whole company ru'shed out of doors and hurried in the direction of the scene of the tragedy. It was not a dark night, for the moon was near the last quarter, and at this time, three o'clock in the morning, shone with considerable effect. Before the crowd from the hotel could arrive at the; scene, there were perhaps some twenty miners and others on the THE ROSE OF THE MOUNTAIN. 269 ground, surrounding the house. It was a small house, made of slabs, with but a single room. The door had been forced in, and just inside of the threshold lay the lifeless form of Jake. The voice of Carmelita, sobbing and ejaculating in mixed Spanish and English, could be heard inside,Athough it was too dark to see anything more than the outline of her figure. A light having been procured the house was entered, and there, sitting crouched in one corner, her hair dishevelled and falling about her neck and shoulders, and her night-robe, white and snow-like, gathered closely around her, she looked up to those who entered through her dark lustrous eyes now, in their tears, more beautiful than ever. She still clasped in her hand the dagger with which she had done the deed, and, holding it up, pointed to the dead body, and then, motioning towards herself, intimated that she had committed the bloody act. I must not here repeat the coarse, vulgar, and obscene lan- -guage with which she was assailed by the crowd that thus un- bidden entered her house. It included everything harsh and abusive that could be suggested, not by one, but by many vul- gar minds. She heard it, and understood its fearful import, and looked imploringly in the rough faces for a gleam of pity. ? But she only read in the eyes of those around inflamed brutal- ity and hate. She drew her mantilla over her head, buried her face in it and broke forth in a gush of tears. The lifeless body of Jake was taken up and borne out. A store near by was opened, and it was carried in and laid upon the counter. The exclamations against the unhappy Carmelita were fierce and numerous. ,Some- of the more intelligent and less excited of the crowd- inquired if any one witnessed the deed of blood. There were- two witnesses of it all, and their stories precisely agreed. One of them said that he had been drinking pretty-freely in the evening, and being very dry in the night, consequent thereon, he arose to get a drink of water. Hearing a voice outside, he partially opened his door, and saw a man at the window of Carmelita's house, which was the very next to his. "Carmel- ita," said he, in a tone approaching a whisper, "Carmelita, open the door, pfease-let me in." Directly he saw, a white figure in the window-it was a small window, having only two panes of glass-and heard a female voice say, "Vamose, va- mose; Americano!"'. when the curtain was dropped, and all was silent within. The man at the window then went to the door page: 270-271[View Page 270-271] 270 PHLIP THAXTER, and knocked, and again called out ,( Carmelita!"Again he heard the words, "Vanlose, Americano!"But the man then began to force his way into the house. He pushed violently against the door. It did not yield: then he stood back, and raising his foot, planted that against it with the whole weight of his body.: This he repeated three times, and the third time the 0door gave way and the -man entered. It was full a minute before he heard anything more than some half-spoken Spanish, as if it had been choked in the utterance; and then he heard the yell of a man, as though hurt, in the back part of the room, and directly saw him stagger forward and fall just inside the door-sill. Thisawitness was corroborated in his testimony, in the main points, by another, who Was' at a greater distance, but yet near enough to see and hear what was going on. When asked why they did not interfere, they said that it was only two weeks before that a man did interfere in a quar- rel between Jake and another man, and got shot through the heart for his pains. And yet Jake was acquitted, and had often since said that he would serve any other man the same way that attempted to interfere with any concern of his. Each said he did not consider it incumbent on him to risk his life, with a certainty of losing it, for the sake of saving Jake's. Though it would seem that after hearing the stories of the witnesses the multitude would have said: she had served the ruffian right, yet there were few if any expressions to that effect. Many must have thought so, but so violent were the expres- sions and demonstrations to the contrary, that it was unsafe for one to say a word in behalf of the poor unfortunate girl. Jake wad a gambler and "-a man of honor," and his friends were around By the time daylight had appeared a great crowd had col- 1lected, and every minute added to it. From all directions the people poured, eager to see the miserable victim of his own bad passions, and the unhappy cause of his well-merited death. The poor woman yet remained in her house, which was under the guard of at least twenty desperate looking fellows, all loaded down with revolvers and knives. As if the poor de- fenceless girl required a guard like that! She could hardly have walked away had she been left free, so great a reaction had come over her after she had succeeded in repelling her vile assailant. But the brave avengers were not going to run THE ROSE OF THE MOUNTAIN. 271 the risk of having her strike down a weaker force, and make her way like an escaped tigress to the mountains. 'A notice was posted about the town that a meeting would be held at nine o'clock to take measures for the protection of the people of Downieville from the hands' of assassins, "MEN OR WOf. ' 'lhaxter attempted to enter the house of the poor woman, to speak a word of courage and comfort to her-but he was repelled by the guard. The Senator had retired to sleep off the fumes of the night's dissipation. The mob seemed to have smelt blood and to have become insane. The gamblers, of whom there were not less than fifty in town, were especially loud in their cries for vengeance; and brazen harlots, circulated in the rowd, appealing to their acquaintances not to let the Mexican hag escape, but to hang the vile thing, as she deserved. The friendless woman was the object of especial hate to this latter class; her wondrous beauty having been the frequent theme of those unworthy to look upon her, and her life of modest pri- vaey having been in such entire contrast with their own as to have been a perpetual reminder of their lost and abandoned condition. o It is not right to hang that poor woman," said an intelli- gent man of about fifty years' of age, standing a little distance from the crowd, to another about ten years younger. I think the rascal got what he deserved. But it is no use to interfere. If we do they will call us a couple of d--d abolitionists, and that will be the signal for any one of this chivalrous crowd to shoot us with impunity. I am a northern man, and as much opposed to abolition as any man-that you know, neighbor Bry- ant, and so I don't think it is fair to commit great crimes, and charge that every man opposed to them is an abolitionist." "You are right, neighbor; but we have come here to make money and then to return to our families; and it don't matter to us what they do so long as they let us alone. And they will do that so long as we keep our mouths shut and go the regular Democratic ticket; we shall get along well enough till we get so that we can leave the country. If-you were only as pru- dent as I am, and took every opportunity to speak against free soil, it would be a great deal better for us'." "That may be," replied the other, " and so I did in Maassa- chusetts, My side wlas not popular there, and so I said noth- ing, only that I was a national man and in favor of th( slave X page: 272-273[View Page 272-273] 272- P1TTrTp THAXTER,. measures, fugitive law and all. But you called me a dough. face; and yet for all the sacrifices I made for the sake of the Union and the rights of' the South at home, they call me an abolitionist here, while you pass for a national democrat. The fact is, a man must act. the slave and dog here or else he will be called an abolitionist, and then like John Chinaman, every man may insult and abuse him." "Well, well, let us keep quiet, and when we get back to s civilization we can then be again what is most expedient. But now it would be madness to-interfere, and you know i -am no coward; for didn't I rescue a whole ship's crew off the coast of Cape Cod, when everybody else, refused to go to their hel, and. said I should certainly be swamped and drowned-? Haven't I saved as -many as fifty men from wrecks, and twice been brought to, when they thought I was drowned " "Yes, you have done; all that; but that won't'save this "That is true-nothing will save her, and it is folly for us woman,." to interfere. Don't you see that every one of these gamblers' and desperadoes is loaded down with 'arms, and will take advantage of the excitement to shoot down any one who shall say a word against the proceedings?"- "Very true; and Het us not seem to encourage an act so monstrous by-our presence. Let us go back to our work." The two now walked off up, river, nor turned back again to look upon the scene. CHAPTER XXXI. CARMELITA; THE sun was now fairly up above the hills and looked down on a sight at which it is a wonder he had not veiled his' face, or turned back in his 'course. The proceedings of that day were such that I hope my readers will regard the record of them as ari absurd freak of the imagination. I am aware that the details of the event I am about to describe will be regarded as too monstrous for belief, and that if I would not have my whole -book disfigured by so unnatural and improbable a cir- stance, I should omit it entirely. But the truth may be spoken in a tale of fiction ; and if it be the strangest part of the story, yet the fact justifies the use of it. If any reader -shall think it impossible that an event of this kind could occur in this age of boasted gallantry, I have only to answer that, in the main, it is all TRUE. "It is a true thing." The crowd was continually increasing and getting every minute moie excited. Stories were told of the friendless woman absurdly false and extravagant. She was represented to be a brazen harlot, who had inveigled her unsuspecting vic- tim into her toils, and then murdered him for his money. These stories, repeated by those who had been longest on the ground to those just come, were growing in extravagance every hour, and by the time themeeting was organized, her character was presented as so black that a Borgia or Messalila were purity land innocence as compared4 with her. Those who had reason to speak well of her from her kindness and attention to them while sick were told that it was only a cunning device to learn if they had any money, and then to rob and murder them. In fine, the people were mad with anger. And all against a poor woman who had only done as she 12 page: 274-275[View Page 274-275] 274 PHLIP THAXTERE. should have done, and slew her attempted ravisher. Surely human nature is not so bad as that. These people thus engaged were a fair sample of the population of California, and these in turn of the whole country, for they were gathered here from every state in the Union, and from almost every country under the sun. But the multitude saw only through the eyes of a few desperate, Gndless men-men who were the offshoots and branches of families calling themselves aristocratic in states where the law gave almost unlimited power over the in- ferior in race and position, and where 'the brutal passions had been trained to know no restraint but their own, cruel caprices. These vicious and dangerous idlers having been shipped off to California by their relatives as being too- expensive and tur- bulent to be retained around' home, in California turned gam- blers and politicians, and ruled the land, both by the terror of their weapons and their legislative enactments. On the opposite side of the street from the Downieville Hotel, there-stood an unfinished building before which was a carpenter's work-bench. 'This had been usedas the rostrum on the evening previous, from which the senator had dispensed in glowing periods the fact that this was a great country, the democratic party a great party, and the Amemican eagle a great bird. Though it was some distance from the house where the homicide was committed, yet it was about this place that the most of the'multitude were assembled. Thb most fashionable gambling and drinking saloons were ne/ar here, and this was the vicinity where idlers chiefly congregated. At about nine o'clock a young and well known lawyer of the place, by the name of Sprig, mounted the platform arid began a furious tirade against the unfortunate Carmelita. He com- menced by declaring that " he was a lawyer, and on general principles, and on most occasions, he was a law abiding, man. But this was no ordinary occasion. A woman with fair exte- rior and silvery voice, and the eyes of a gazelle, hAd stolen into their midst, and then, without provocation, had cruelly and basely murdered one of the citizens of Downieville. The peo-. pie had assembled to avenge that death, and he invoked them, as they loved their 'country, and as they valued the safety of themselves, their wives and their children, and as they valued the Union, they would -take the law into their own hands and show the murderers in their midst that the live#s of the people of Downieville: could not be taken with impunity. le begged a; CAIEMELITA. - 275 them to go and look at the murdered nlan, as heilay weltering in his gore, and then answer to their own hearts if this woman should be allowed to go free, or which was aboput the same thing, be turned over to the delays and uncertainties of the" law." The speaker, a young man who-had evidently taken this opportunity to show himself and how brilliant a speech he could, make, was frequently interrupted by such expressions as, "We will take care of her," H' Hanig the vile thing," "Shoot her," "Kill her." Thaxter had attempted iseveral times to say a word in her defence, and just as the first speaker concluded, he attempted to spring upon-the platform. A heavy blow with a club on the side of the head, however, knocked hip down upon the ground, and' the assailant told him to keep still, or a bullet should let the daylight into him. He therefore withdrew, and entering the hotel, found the Senator viewing the'scene through the - window. He appealed to him to interfere, saying, "You are the only man here whom these crazy people will listen to." ' It won't do," said the Senator. "The people are mad with excitement, and, it's not my business to, interfere and jeopard- ize my popularity for the sake of your .mountain rose." At about this time, three men came hurrying up towards the crowd. These were none other than Thurlow, Dolbear and the Major. They had been at work for the last few weeks on a bar three or four miles below Downieville, and having heard that a man had been killed that morning by a woman, and that the crowd were threatening to hang her, they lost no time, but - hurried to the sqene of action in hopes a6f averting the awful crime. They had no idea as yet who the offender was, and when they inquired of the bystanders they were informed that she was an abandoned Mexican harlot, who had committed a most cold- blooded murder. "But the mob will not hang a woman," said Thurlow. ' They will hang her as sure as shootin," said the person addressed, " and you, too, if you say any thing against it." "They will have to fight for it," replied he, turning away and pushing into the crowd. . . At the conclusion of Sprig's speech, a rush had been made for the prisoner by about one-half of the mob. The leading man was a notorious gambler who had lost an eye- in- a street brawl in the city of Mobile, years before, The guard gave way page: 276-277[View Page 276-277] -, f r a l. '.LAXTIRER for him, as he earried, his credentials of authority in his hand, in the shape of a large navy revolver. The presence of the guard at the woman's door had been of service to her in keeping out the vulgar imultitude, so that she had had an opportunity to dress herself for the trying seerie which she had learned she was to go through. She had ac- cordingly arrayed herself in a snow white dress, or rather robe, that hung loosely about her. Her hair, long, dark and luxuri- ant, was smoothly combed back from her brow, and fell untied over her back and shoulders. Its glossy blackness threw back the rays of the sun like the plumes of the raven. From a silk ribbon on her neck depended a plain gold cross which she held in her hand and pressed repeatedly to her lips. The one-eyed ruffian pushed open ;the door and saw the wo- man standing as if expecting him. I You. are wanted," said he in a harsh voice, approaching and raising his hand as if ,tolay it upon her shoulder. , She recoiled from his touchlas from 'anadder, and quietly walked out, the brave escort keeping Close beside her, with: his pistol ready cocked. , The multitude separated for them to pass through, and their I eyes were fixed upon the sylph-like figure that passed before them, as they would have been over a Bengal tiger or an Afri. can leopard. Beneath so much beauty there must be some- thing very dangerous.' She walked between the files of rough, E bearded men, her eyes fixed on the ground and her mantilla thrown gracefully over her shoulde'rs. She approached the platform and mounted upon it, and then cast her eyes over the ense crowd around her. But she met not one sympathizing look. . - Lawyer Sprig now. jumped upon the platform a second 'time and commenced another violent harangue. But by this time Thurlow and Dolbear had each eaught sight of the prisoner, and behold, it was none' other than the beautiful, gentle Car- melita! They both rushed forward, exclaiming, ' Save that woman!" ' we know her;, " she is our friend; she cannot be guilty". This caused:an interruption in Sprig's tirade and a general rush was made towards them, whep with blows, impre- ration and threats, they were driven back towards the hotel. In distraction Thurlow looked around to find some sympa. thizing-face, when for the first time his eye fell upon Thaxter, who was, in turn, making his way towards him. His unex. OARMETTA. 2" pected appwarance caused no surprise, for Thurlow was too much engaged, endeavoring to rescue the beautiful Carmelita, to think of anything else. ;' "Is there no one here who will speak a word for this woman?" he frantically inquired. -' I have done my best," said Thaxter, staunching the blood that flowed from the wound he had received-when trying to mount the bench, " and this is what I have got for it. The only man here that can have any influence, and who is not mad as the rest of them, is Senator , and he will not interfere." "I Where is he?" eagerly asked Thurlow. "That is he with, the blue coat and brass buttons, looking out of the window," was the reply. , Thurlow rushed in and appealed to him to speak to the multitude. "It, will take but a word from you to make them see the enormity of the crime. Tell how mean and cowardly it is to hang a woman. Let them see what shame will follow them to their graves for participation in so dastardly an act- only get them to reason and they are not brutes.", "Nonsense, young man. I have decided to say nothing in the case. If she has killed the man let her hang." With a sickening sense of disgust Thurlow turn'ed fronl "the selfish politician. He returned to the door just in season to hear Sprig conclude his speech by putting the question! whether or no it was the will of the gentlemen present-yes, he called them gentlemen--ha! gallant gentlemen they were! that the woman before them should be hanged? A loud, apparently unanimous "Aye," was the response. t Thurlow made another attempt to be heard, but this time he was assailed and knocked down, and two men stood over him, with pistols drawn, threatening to shoot him if -he were not quiet. The crowd was now hushed into silence, and all were intent on witnessing the proceedings. Above the bench on which stood the unhappy woman, a joist had been run out from the adjoining building for the distance of about seven feet, and firmly lashed in its place. On the same platform stood lawyer Sprig and the one-eyed ruffian, besides a half a dozen others of ttie most desperate gamblers in the community. At the window above stood the smooth-faced, delicate-fingered fancy man of a notorious woman, with a piece of rope in his hand. He looked so smiling and mild, as if he could not harm page: 278-279[View Page 278-279] - ,.x rs axr TUAXTER. a fly, and were at this moment engaged in the most agreeable pastime. the beautiful Carmelita stood calmly surveying the scene. There was a slight heaving of her bosom, but beyond that she betrayed little emotion. Her cross she held in her left hand ; and repeatedly kissed it. She saw the preparations completed, and falling on her knees cast her eyes to heaven, and remained in this- position for about threte minutes, when she rose again, and fervently kissing the cross stood awaiting her cruel doom. Her dark, lustrous eyes were now suffused with tears which welled up and fell fast over her delicate bronzed cheek. The mild featured man overhead now threw down one end of the rope, in which the hangman's knot had been tied. The other end was thrown to the, crowd on the, other side. A gambler picked up the end with the noose, and approached to adjust it" over the head of the girl. Calmly and resignedly she gathered up the long, rich, raven tresses of her hair, and, drew them through the fatal rioose. With her own hand she aided to adjust the rope to her slender neck. The one-eyed ruffian now approached with a handkerchief to bandage her eyes, at which she shuddered, and for an instant shrank from the con- tamination of his touch, but recovering herself she turned those brilliant orbs once more, and for the last time, towards heaven, and for the last time kissing the cross, she bowed her head to the profane fingers of the ruffian. Her hands were next tied behind her. , The slack of the rope was drawn taut, by those holding it at the:urther end. The stillness of death pervaded everything. The lawyer stood with a white camnbric hand kerchief in his hand to give the signal; he looks about to see that all is ready, he waves the handkerchief-the rope is quickly drawn upon, and the beautiful and unfortunate Car- melita is left swinging in the air i She scarcely struggled in death. A few slight twitchings were all that was observed.. The crowd looked on in silence. The rope was made fast to a piece of timber, and the murdered girl was left dangling till some one more bold 'or humane than the rest should venture forward to ask the poor privilege of interring the body. . Though thecrowd was so cruel and callous, yet were there tears of sorrow shed for the fate of Carmelita. Thaxter had seen -the whole of the murderous proceedings, and Ihad wept like a child. So had Thurlow, and the Major had indulged in CARMELITA. 279 sundry muttered objections and denunciations against the ,ignominiouses " who were engaged in this-deed of blood. But Dolbear was nowhere to be seen. Soon after he'reaehed the ground, and when he saw that the doomed victim was none other than the loving and beloved Carmelita, he fell into a state of syncope from which he did not recover till all was over. After the bloodthirsty wretches were made sure that the victim was dead, they scattered about town and Fought to keep up the excitement by drink. The gamblers took advantage of this crowd to open their game, and before life was fairly extinct in the murdered girl, the one-eyed ruffian had a game of faro opened at the hotel opposite. The miners, many of them, left and went to their claims, yet was 'there an unusual crowd in town throughout' the day, and the night was made hideous by the brawling and Carousal of the drunken actors in the tra- gedy of the morning. Thurlow and his friends remained in sight of the hanging body till the crowd had in a great measure dispersed, and long after life was extinct, when, no one making any opposition, they cut it down and took it into a retired place about half a mile up a ravine and completely hid from town. Here they dug a grave, and having procured some dry-goods boxes, from which they made-a rude coffin, they placed her tenderly therein, and there they laid her with many tears in the dark and silent earth. "Friend of my countrymen, and is this the reward of your kindness?" said Thurlow as he stood at her grave, before the first dirt was shovelled upon her. Quickly and without another word the earth was thrown in, and the grave was closed up, and Carmelita slept at last, hid from her persecutors and murder- ers among the hills of Oalifornia. This pious task being accomplished, a few words of explana- tion passed in regard to their singular meeting at such a time and place. It was agreed that they would all leave that region, never to return to it again, as soon as possible. Thaxter called for his team, paid -his bill, and was about leaving, 'hen the Senator asked him if he was going below, intending it as a hint that he would not object to riding with him again. Yes," said Thaxter, "But I pick my company. I do not choose to ride with murderers."' iThey all went down as far as Thurlow's tent in company. There they decided to remain during the night, and in the morning abandon the mines and forever. The Major was busy page: 280-281[View Page 280-281] A80 280v PHLIP THAXTER. in getting together their tools and selling them, and also was, looking for a customer for their claim, which was of Considerable' value. Buttfinding no purchaser, he concluded to remain and work it out himself. He was urged by the others to escape from such a land of say'ages While he had, yet life. But seeing that hewas disinclined to leave, they abandoned the idea of selling anything, and left all to him. That evening, after eating such a supper as a miner's cabin Would afford them, Thurlow, Thaxter and Dolbear Strolled up the stream for a short distance, and Seating themselves on the bank of the river, Thurlow and Thaxter bathed their feet in its waters. Doibear had scarce spoken during the day. A great grief seemed to have Settled upon him. Thurlow now re. counted to Thaxter the full particulars of his narrow escape from death at Alurderer's Bar. Theyall felt it was time-to get out of a country so completely given up to, the mad passionasof men, where law had no restraint to deter men from rash acts, / till reason should'resume her sway. It was a mild evening, and they sat till late till all was silent up and down the river. Dolbear was restless and uneasy; now,siting dowrn a moment on a rock or on the grovnd, and directly getting up andwal - ing, back and forth for a minute or two, and again resumain his seat.. Finally geating himself directlY in front of the .herg two, he said "You think you have witnessed sights in this'land of gold enough to make ,the heart Sicken. I do not deny it. Youhave seen this day Consummated the darkest act whichbthe histoni of this'generation will record. Your experience in this coun try has been such as:to reduce you to leave it with a maledic- tion. I blame you not. But why should I go, and whei'e should I go? I have had as bitter an experience elsewhere, as ever any man had in California. I am a Pariah: an outcast, --"and if at this day it were-known that I were in this country or even alive, I cannot doubt but there would, soon be a pack ofhellbhounds on my track.', "How is this ?" said Thurlow, ,you have never mentioned anything of this to me before; as long as we have lived to. gether." "No," said he, "I 'ever intended to mention it to an body, But, lik6e'th6 Anieni, Mariner, I feel, to-night, that I must tell my tale, and you are the wedding guests who must hear it." . The other two bent forward to listen, and thus the Pariah began. CHAPTER XXXXII. DOLBEAR S STORY. 'I NEED not warn you to silence," "said the outcast, "for when you have heard my story I know your lips will be forever sealed. There are, in other lands than ithis men more eager for my blood than were any of those wretches up river for that of poor Carmelita. Those cannot plead excitement or sudden passion, for now twenty-five- years have passed away, and yet there are men who would again bring me to the judgment seat if they knew that I were still alive. They Ido it for vengeance; or, as they call it, justice. Justice! aye, they fear to leave the meting out of justice to that' Being whom they profess to worship, and would, to make it sure, take it into their own hands. Not to-protect society, but for justice, would they hang men ere they are cast into outer datknes-s. "To tell you the whole story of my life would take too long, and as much of it has but a remote bearing on the main inci- dent which I wish to relate I shall pass it by. But I will pre- mise by saying that my name was not Dolbear. My real iame I shall not reveal, evento you. It could do you no good; and inadvertently you might some time let it slip. But when I tell you that I have been hanged and cut down for dead, and so be. lieved by the vast crowd that witnessed my struggles, you will well understand why I should wish to pass by some other name than my own. "I cannot go through the sickening details even now to show you how-itzwas that I Came to be suspected and-arrested for a crime which I never committed. It must suffice -that a a man was found dead, un'der circumstances that led people to believe he' was murdered. I can see now how that circum. stances pointed to me, but I Could not then, for the idea of page: 282-283[View Page 282-283] 82 , PHLIP THAXTER. such a thing was so preposterous I could not reason upon the matter. The facts were freely commented upon at the time in the newspapers, and perhaps if I were to repeat them here you, would recall the circumstance and thus learn my name. I can only repeat that part which it is most likely you have never heard, and then it will be impossible' that you should in some thoughtless moment say what might lead to my re-arrest anid trial. I now want the world to let me alone, and I will let that alone. I have never wronged it nor any individual in it, and yet I asa obliged to hide myself from the face of my fellow men as though I were indeed a criminal. ? c"I was tried and convicted. It was not strange that I was, for I scarce made an effort to be acquitted. I did not care to be, in truth, for I so [felt degraded by the fact of being sus- pected that I did not care what became of me. Had 1 gone forth acquitted by the jury, I knew that many would think me guilty, and I was indifferent to the result. The ingenious prosecuting attorney construed several circumstances to my prejudice which I could easily have explained away to the jury.; but I was too proud spirited to do it. I felt, I confess, a sort of malicious satisfaction in seeing them groping in the dark-, and thought it would be my revenge, even though dead, to awake to the consciousness that they had been instrumental in' sending to the gallows an innocent man. It was'a wicked feeling, I know. But at that time I was young an'd at enmity with the world, and as I had- incurred disgrace through no fault of my own, I wanted to carry vengeance with me even in my death throes. I had few acquaintances, and, with a single exception, no friends. Therb was indeed onewho had been a friend to me before- my arrest, and with whom I had passed : many hours. But the community had imbibed a prejudice .:i against ime quite unaccountable, and it was with 'difficulty he could get in to see me. The jailor was forbid to let any one see me except in his presence ; and as my friend wanted to be with me much of his time he had many sh/arp and bitter words with him. Not only this, but his attentions to me were con- strued to his; disadvantage by the people around, and when he appeared among them he was liable to be insulted, and Ato have so strong sympathy with the murderer imputed to him that he would do well to keep him company both while he lived and. when he died. i "' There was one other came ,to see me-at least there came r *J, - ' ' t ' ' DOLBEAR'S STORY. I 283 a person who bore the human form, but he had'the spirit of a wolf. Pride, hate, revenge were all personified in him. He professed to be of a sacred calling. He was well-fed, fat and sleek. His voice so soft that one would have-supposed his heart had tempered it with its own soft influences. .This was his/'appearance when among his parishioners; butlet him be thwarted in his plans, his pride offended, or his anger excited, and the wolf was seen in his eye, and the tiger's angry cry heard in his voice. "He came to see me one day as I lay on my pallet of straw in my cheerless prison. It'was a cold wintry day, and it was not possible in that room to keep one tolerably warnm. His first words were to ask me why I had done this deed for which I was about to suffer. Yes, his first words were an Insult. :He had come to extort a confession. I answered, I know nothing about it. I was innocent as he was;' At this he raised his hands with an expression of pious horror, and asked if I would add falsehood to murder now that I was so soon to appear be- fore the great Judge of all. I told him I was well aware of my condition-that I could not leave the world with a lie on my; tongue, and therefore I must maintain my innocence. With a look of scorn and doubt he turned to-leave me, saying, ' Take your part in the lake where their worm dieth not and the'fire is not quenched.' I asked him if he would not pray with me. Turning on me a look of hate hel said, 'Pray with such a thing, a reptile, as you are? No; down to your doom.' He passed on. I,begged him to stay, but he heeded not. The door swung'to; more merciful than the priest, it creaked upon its hinges as it shut me up to the horror of my own solitary thoughts. "A few days after that he came again. Why he had done so I know not, unless it was that society required it. He said little, but at once knelt down and uttered what he doubt- less supposed to be a prayer. But it was not It was an expression of his own hate. He asked that since I was doomed to suffer the righteous' penalty of violated laws, and was soon to sink in the sea of everlasting sorrow and agony, others might take warniDng and flee from the wrath to come. 'h What a prayer that was to offer in behalf of -an innocent man! I could not stand it, and before he had concluded I sprang forward and told him to stop such insulting language as that, for although he was a priest and I was doomed to die, I page: 284-285[View Page 284-285] 284 PHLTP THAXTEER. could not hear such language used, and I wouldn't. How amazed the old villain looked at me! -How fiendishy his wolf-eyes glared under their wolf lids. "Ah,' said he, 'you can chafe now, but ere long you shall be bound in Satan's chains, in regions of endless despair where hope can never come. . - - He stopped awhile,'walked up and down the bank of the river where, Thaxter and Thit ow sat paddling in the water with their bare feet. 'He was ure er a degree of excitement fearful to behold. Finally he re-umed- : 'I know I was excited, and perhaps my conduct was censurable. But, who could do otherwise? I Iask you. I ground my teeth and tore my hair, and I could see in the vile priest's eyes that he was taking a wicked delight in the agony he had wrought in my soul. I have never seen such malignity 1 displayed before nor since. I asked him in despair if there was no hope for me. 'None,' said he, 'tis useless to pray with -such a wretch as you are. Your misery now is great, but it is nothing compared to what you will undergo in that place where you must go in punishment of your crimes.' "As he pronounced the word crimes I could see from the cunning look he gave me, it was done to agitate and excite me, knowing how strenuously I denied all participation in the crime for which I was incarcerated, and for,which I was to die. I Believed he knew that I was innocent-that he accused but: to aggravate. I saw the glare of a fiend in his eye, and at that time my body was too little for my indignant, thundering soul. The anger within me swelled so that -had I not vented it in violence I should have died then and there. "I ought to have controlled myself better, but I could not. It was impossible. I struck the canting wretch a full blow on the cheek so that he reeled again He fell back, looking more demon-like than ever. I now flew at him as though I were a fury. I drove home the blows in either eye, and as he turned in any direction I met him in front with a full blow in the face. He fell, overpowered, to -the floor, and roared like a dying calf. It was well he roared, for had no one come, I fear he would never have roareed after that until he got to a warmer country than this. The turnkey, hearing the disturbance, came in and rescued the victim of my indignation, and carried him out. "The news soon spread of the scene in the jail. The priest DOL EAR S STORY. 285 told how that he had been set upon ' when in the performance of his pious duties to the lost wretch,' and nearly killed. His face was- evidence enough that he had been hardly used, for his. eyes were both black', and his face was of a livid color. "The excitement was intense. A great crowd soon collected round the jail and threatened to take me out and hang me before morning, but they attempted nothing of the kind. "The day of execution was close at hand. I had a singular dream the night before. I thought a stranger came to my bed-side and sat down by me. He had a staff in his hand, a bundle on his arm, and, the look of a traveler. 'Friend' said he, ( you will not die this time.' I knew, or rather felt, the announcement to be true as soon as it was uttered, and it gave me unspeakable pain. The stranger vanished as quickly as he appeared, and when he was gone I sleeping grieved that Death had hovered round but would not come to me. I awoke in the morning, and when the turnkey brought in a suit of clothes, all white, for me to wear to the place of execution, I knew even then that I was not to die. "Nevertheless, I dressed myself with scrupulous exactness in the clothes provided ,for me, When I was lall ready I sat down to wait the hour, and again I fell asleep, and was sleep-. ing soundly when the turnkey returned, accompanied with two officers, to take me to the gallows. They all appeared surprised that I siould&sleep under such circumstances; but itrdid not and does not appear strange to me! I knew that whatever scenes I might p'ass through that day, I should not die. "( I walked to the place of execution with a firm step, as why should I not? It was not to be the day of my death, and I knew it. It was to be a'day of experiment. I was curious to see what would come of it, and farther than that I cared little about it. There were ten thousand eyes on me as I mounted the scaffold. I felt a, disgust for them all. There were men and women of all ranks and classes. There had they met for the delectation of seeing a poor wretch writhing in mortal agony. It was a melancholy spectacle, and exhibited human nature in its most hideous aspect. In that crowd I noticed but one face particularly, and that was the priest's. His eyes were still black, and other parts of his face showed he had been severely punished. I looked at him and caught his eye, and gave him a saucy, triumphant look. He gritted his teeth, page: 286-287[View Page 286-287] zn O 1 rI1LIIr '1 ATl'lli,. and the devil looked out of his eyes., He would not ascend the scaffold though urged to do so. I knew the reason. He feared that I should have kicked him off in spite of all the guard could do. But his malicious advice'was not wanting, for he begged the sheriff to make the rope short so, hat the struggle would be long and painful. ' It would have such a good effect,' he said, ' for the multitude to see the reward of sin in, his protracted death-throes.' Yes, they even made the rope short that my tortures might be increased." fie ceased again. Again he walked up and down the bank for a few minutes, when coming in front of his companions, he resumed: - ' Are men more cruel than beasts? The lion, the wolf-and the tiger all kill their prey as soon as they light upon it. They make death short, and with as little pain as possible: they do not torturelfor the pleasure it gives them. The victims they must kill thley kill quickly. Who would not fall into the claws of a tiger sooner than into the hands of his fellow men? In the one case his pain is soon over ; in the other he is kept days, weeks, or months in dread of the fatal moment, and at last sus- pended in the air and left to dangle in excess of pain till life is extinct. Why is this method still adhered to? Does jus- tice require that the wretched victim-whose life is forfeited should be tortured? If not, why not put him out of the world by the bullet, which carries no pain in its course? Are men fiends, that they must torture for its own sake? "In my case I knoW it was so, but I would fain believe mankind are not all so cruel. They made the 'rope short, as the good priest suggested. There was scarcely' any fall al- lowed, so 1 hung dangling in the air for a long time. O, the agony of pain I endured! Its intensity was beyond concep- tion! It was a succession of sharp twinges-then all was dark --then it would twinge again. 'The life-cords are almost ready to break-there i's another twang , It holds! O, my God!- darkness-and bright visions of fairy lands-! ' For two weeks after this I,\was unconscious. At the end of that time I came to myself, and found that I was in a noted quack doctor's office, some twenty miles from the scene of the execution: I here learned, much to my surprise, why I was yet in the land of the flesh. The good priest's malice had de- feated itself. My neck was not broken by the fall, and it was a long time that the crowd had the pleasure of witnessing my * . .^. 1 DOLBEAR'S STORY. . 287 convulsive twitchings. At length being pronounced dead by a doctor, I was cut down and handed over to my friend. I had but one friend, as I have told you. He took me, and placing my body in a covered wagon, drove rapidly away. The quack doctor and another man were concealed in the carriage. They at once commenced making hot applicatioais and rubbing me violently.; They also applied a blister from the cerebrum of the head down half the length of the spine. As soon as they got me to the office they applied ;the galvanic battery. The first shock showed that life was not quite extinct, and after a protracted trial they galvanized enough life into me so that I began to breathe. I need not say that their efforts were finally completely successful, for here I am alive and well before you. "It was two weeks before I was restored to consciousness. 'e After that I gained very fast. My next move was to get out of that part of the country. But I could not leave till I had paid my respects to my friend the priest. I returned to the neighborhood, and lay hid in the woods and barns till one evening I met him returning alone from a house where he had no business to go. I met him directly in front. It was not so dark but that he recognized me distinctly. He gave a shriek, and fell on his knees before me. In a sepulchral tone I said, Not yet, O wretch, do I seek you. Live to be misera- ble! In a little while I will come for thee. When thy place is made seven times hotter than itlnow is, thou shalt hear from me again. Then together we will dance on billows of fire! Farewell l' I had a phosphorescent preparation with me, and as I disappeared in the woods, the good priest had no doubt: but the trail of light I left was literal hell-firet He swooned away, and remained inca state of unconsciousness till one of his neighbors came along and picked him up and carried him home. "He never told what he had seen that night, or the cause of his being found in that condition. -ie pined away and, died; , and I verily believe that the worst man I have ever met in my whole life went to his final6 account. I only hope he found the other world less gloomy than he had pictured it in hils own malevolent and vengeful mind. '"I now-made good my retreat from this part of the world. It had been whispered about that I had been unjustly con-, demnned, ,and whlen men came to ask themselves what the evi- dence was on which I had been convicted, they found it was page: 288-289[View Page 288-289] -288 t PHLIP THAXTER. absolutely nothing. Hence there grew up a bitter personal controversy. You have doubtless observed that when people are half-conscious that they are in the wrong, they are more bigoted and intolerant than at any other time. A man who can defend himself by reason can afford to be catholic and liberal. But he who has no reason to fall back upon, and pleads con- science, or blind belief, is beyond conviction. He shuts him. self in the shell of ignorance, and would silence the voice of reason by the hand of power; for he has no other weapon of defence. There grew up accordingly a most bitter controversy in regard to my guilt, after it was supposed I was dead. Rea- son favored my innocence; but as nine-tenths of the people ! had at the time desired- and approved my death, there was a degree of intolerance practiced by the many on the few, the like of which was never known. They planted the dragon's teeth when they murdered me, and the armed giants that sprung up have been fighting from that day to this. The con- troversy was so sharp and bitter, that had I been discovered alive I have no doubt but I should have been dragged back, and I warrant you they would not have made the rope so short a second time.- I warrant you they would not. So I took my- self away." During the latter part of this tale, Thaxter sat back a little from the river, holding his left foot-on his right knee. This foot had been injured at a time so remote that he remembered nothing about it, and therewas no friend to tell him. The lit. tle toe was wanting, and the two next to it were'misshapen, as if they had been badly bruised at some period of-his early boy- ,hood. "I made my Way to the sea-board, and took passage on a schooner for the British Provinces. I found on board a gen. tleman and his wife, and a little boy. I could see that they, like me, werle fleeing from trouble. There came on a severe eastern gale, after we had been out for a day or two. The schooner was driven upon a rock and went to pieces. I secured a large timber or plank, and was just making my way towards the shore, when I saw the boy floating close by me. I caught him and threw him on my back, where he, clung like a very crab. But it Was long before we drifted on shore, and " ere we got there the poor boy was almost exhausted. When the timber first struck a shall rock on the shore, the jar was such as to cause him to lose his grasp. He fell in the water, , DOLBEAR S STORY. 289 and by some chance, when the timber struck a second time, the boy's foot came between it and the rock, and two or three of the toes were mutilated. But I caught him up and we both got to- the shore. I was an outcast and dared not be seen. I took the boy to the nearest town, and in the night left him at the door of a fine house. I then fled, and since then have been a wanderer over the "earth. That mutilated foot I see before me now, and that is it," said he, touching Thaxter's as it still lay upon his knee. "You are that boy whose life I saved, as I have long known, but I had not thought to declare myself till to-night, when I have felt an irresistable impulse upon me, to say what I have. To-night, we part, and shall not meet again. I have lately learned the history of the boy whom I saved.- Had he perished in the sea it had been well. There would now be no broken-hearted wife, and no children worse than orphans, to blush for the baseness oft their natural protector. I at-one time hoped that the being whose life I had preserved, wo0rld be one to whom, when I had become an old man, I could make myself known, and who, in senility- and helplessness would smooth my way to the grave.- But, now that Fknow his character, I turn from him with disgust and-horror. There is now nothing left for me. ,After this interview you will not see my fade again." .. These last words were like living coals on the head of the. conscience-smitten Thaxter. He cast his eyes in confusion on the ground., Thurlow turned away and looked in an opposite direction. When he cast his eyes again towards the spot where Dolbear was standing a moment before, behold, he was gone. They heard retreating footsteps running up the moun- tains and called to him, But no answer was returned. Their eccentric, sensitive friend was gone. It was useless to follow him that night, and in the morning no trace of him could be seen. Evidently he had left them with the purpose that they should see him no more. "Why," said Thaxter, musingly to himself, "'did -I not per" ish in the ship wreck? What sin and remorse had been saved! What sorrow had been spared my wife!" -II I page: 290-291[View Page 290-291] started the morning before, and would have donte so but for the occurrence of the dark tragedy which we have described. He had personally inspected the water-ditch and the mining coun- try which it was to supply with water, and had now only to return and report to his principal, Col. Stockwell, when, if he' was successful in getting through his legislative enactment, the money would be forthcoming and the btargain closed. But he did not reveal to those who had invested all they had in the ditch, that the plan was to get a law passed by which they ,would be swindled out of all they had invested. He was )o longer the man he had been. He had fallen from step to step,till now he could engage in corrupting the fountains of law and subvert- ing the, principles of government. When he proved false to 7 his domestic ties, he lost his self respect, and thence the de. scent was easy. As he and his friend rode down through the country on their, way to San Francisco, there was little said by,either. The crowd of reflections that rushed o-n- the mind of Thaxter, as-the accusing words of Dolbear rose to his mind, completely over- came and silenced hilim. He had now leained who he was; he had found his preserver; the same who, long years before, had left him an innocent child, had now just turned from him with aversion, as a debased and polluted man. He could not talk, for he had no explanation no justification to offer. He was a rich man now, overwhelmed and crushed with4a consciousness of his own guilt. His companion was nearly as poor as on the day he landed in San Francisco, and yet he envied him; for he REFLECTION. X 291 had kept his conscience clear and had wronged no one. But he made no high resolve to amend his life and abandon his present ways. :On the contrary, he steeled himself against the upbraidings of his conscience, and said to himself, "It is too late. There is now no return for me. I must go on in the way on which I have entered." At Sacramento they put their team on board the steamboat md told their driver to go through the same night with it to San Francisco while they stopped at Benicia, where the legis- lature was then in session, and it was supposed that Stockwell was uaiting the return of Thaxter. But they did not ind him there, and the next'day having nothing else to do ihey strolled up to the capitol to see what was going on in the way of legislation, Thev entered. the 'Senate chamber, and what was their astonishment to see their old friend, Col. jNor. vin, occupying the floor and engaging the attention of the !enate with his customary speech against amalgamation. It was;sthe same that they had heard him-declaim on board of the ;teamer, and among the gamblers in the mines. The bill ind'er'discussion was an act providing for the repeal of the law xcluding Chinamen and colored persons from testifying in courts. This was a thenme worthy-of the gallant Senator, and le waxed:eloquent as he denounced those terrific monsters he free-soilers and abolitionists. He said if a law of that rind were passed it would- result in the dissolution of thb inion, and he would there in his place if the senate of Califor- Lia denounce any man who voted for that bill as a traitor and disunionist and deserving of the halter. Instead of allowing egroes to testify he would rather pass a law to exclude all romn testifying who would not make oath that they approved nd would aid to enforce the fugitive slave law. What," said e, waxing warm, ( shall a high-toned Southern gentleman, a rirginian, a chivalrous son of the south, be convicted on the estimony of a nigger-stealing Yankee'. It may do for them to estify against each other, but let no mackerel-catcher ever Bstify against me. I have a specific, a preventive against all Ich witnesses, and I have it here," lifting up his coat and nhwing a heavy pistol beneath it.- "Pass this bill," he contiu- ed, (' and the next thing we shall be asked to allow Chinamen Id niggers to vote, and then all the horrors of 'amalgamation ill be .upon us, and when it comes to that, when white men re so lost to decency and-self respect as to associate and amal- , '* , page: 292-293[View Page 292-293] 292 PITT',TP THAXTER. gamatie pith niggers, then Mr. President, I -- , at this point in his' speech he happened to turn his head in the direction of the lothy and his eye fell upon Thaxter and Thurlow, who stood gazing fixedly upon him. He turned pale, stam- mered and sat down. A vote was then taken and the bill was rejected, there being but two votes in its favor. Thaxter and Thurlow now went from the senate into the assembly, and here too they met another of their old steamer friends in the person of Major Bodkin, one of the high-toned gentlemen who had robbed poor Carmelita. This satisfied them as to the character of the California legislature, and they no longer thought it strange that Stockweil should presume that there was no difficulty in carrying through any measure if he would only pay enough for it. When the boat came ' ; along that evening they took passage for San Francisco, where they arrived at nine o'clock in the evening. Thurlow found his way to a hotel, and Thaxter hastened to his own house, where he found a little to his surprise his friend Stockwell anxiously, as he said, awaiting his return. Even then he suspected nothing, for Madame Lovell received him so cordially that he could not suspect her fidelity. The remorse that had so oppressed him all vanished from his mind. But Stockwell to his surprise had given up his water-ditch speculation. o I t. ' CHA PTER XXXIV. FIDELITY. A STEAMER was now due at San Francisco. Day after day has gone by, and yet the expected vessel has not arrived. Many people are in the city expecting their friends, who had previously informed them of their intended departure for the land of gold. With each day's delay their anxiety. increases. No word comes for a week-two weeks are nearlygone since she has been due, and still there is no news of her. One man supposes his wife and children are on board the delayed ves- sel, and is in great distress lest he shall not see them again. Another expects his affianced, and knows not whether she has gone down to the bottom of the sea, or whether he shall yet lead her to the altar. No one knows who was on board, or who is lost if the ship has gone down. Those who before were not expecting friends, are now anxious lest they might have started without having previoisly notified, them. So the?nx- iety becomes general and almost intolerable. At length news comes that the vessel is lost. She had gone ashore far down the cosit, hundreds of miles from San Fran- cisco and the passengers are all safely encamped on the coast, waiting for some friendly vessel to come and take them to their place of destination. Among thesd were Mrs. Thaxter, her two boys and her faithful servant, Nabby. They got on shore alive, but their baggage was all lost with the ship. It was a hard trial for them all, but they bore up with fortitude, not doubting that they would yet reach their place of-destination in safety. Aunt Nabby made herself useful in a thousand ways. Their baggage being lost, their wardrobe was of course very scanty, yet did the indefatigable serving-woman continue to keep the boys always wneat. and clean. Their fare, too, was page: 294-295[View Page 294-295] '294 PHLIP THAXTER. i very different from what they had been accustomed to beforee they commenced this ill-starred voyage, yet Aunt Nabby would contrive to get up some dainty dish for the family, and for others who were exhausted or sick. It was a weary deten- tion for them all. They had been impatient at the slow pace of the steamer, and now that they were cast on a wild and un known shore, with no prospect of getting Off for weeks, and no- thing to do to -vary the tiresome monotony of their lives, the delay was unspeakably irksome and annoying. Their provis- ions were of inferior quality while in the steamer, and many of them had been damaged by contact with the salt water in get-' ting them ashore, so that altogether they were as rico mfort- ably situated as could well be imagined. But they were not to be there forever, ithat they knew from the first. Their sufferings on this forlorn coast could not last long. Some of the more hardy and resolute of the men left and followed up the coast on foot. A small sailing vessel took off others, and at length, when only about half were left, a' steamer which had been sent to their rescue, lhove in sight, and in about ten days after that they reached the long desired haven. They were glad to get on shore destitute as they were. I Mrs. Thaxter was perhaps in as distressed a condition as a true woman could be. The anxiety about her husband had kept her in a fever of excitement till the wreck, when the excitement of one kind was succeeded by that of another. The exposure on the seacoast had affected her health, and when she reached San Francisco, she was in a condition very unfit to bear up under the trials that awaited her. She had saved a, small sum of money from the wreck, and when they landed they sought such accommodations as they thought their means would justify. This was at a private boarding house kept by a woman who said her husband was at work in the mines. Aunt Nabby at once set herself to learn something of Thaxter. She inquired, of the landlady if she had ever heard of such a man in San Francisco. The landlady said no. , There was a man by the name of Thaxter in town, she said, but he couldn't be the man; for he was a rich gambler and kept fast horses, and was a great man about town-and that was, all the Thaxter she ever heard of. Mrs. Thaxter said that could not be the man. Nabby, however, was. not quite certain, though she said nothing. Al. FIDELIrrTY. 295 The next day she wen' out to purchase some coarse material to make clothes for the boys, as they had lost nearly all they started with in the wreck. She met with no success, how-. ever, in learning anything of Mr. Thaxter. She inquired of one or two for a man of that name, and the only answer she could get was that he was a famous gambler, and owned the "Diamond" Saloon. She had a misgiving that this was none other than he wlhom she sought. She wathed about the door of the " Diamond " for several days, but saw no familiar face. She now thought of a way to find out where the proprietor lived. She boldly entered the saloon, and inquired for him. The -clerk answered with more civility than she expected, that he had gone into the mines as far as Downieville, and would not be back for some days. She then asked where he lived, for she had been doing some washing for him, and wanted to return his clothes. "Take the next street above," said the clerk, "follow it up over the hill, and when-you get about half way down the other side, you will see a neat brick house standing back from the road, a little on the right hand side-that is his. You will find his woman there, unless she has gone out to ride." The word woman attracted Nabby's notice, and she quickly rejoined, ",Over the hill-brick house-right hand side. will find it. You say his wife is there ?" "0 Ono, not his wife--his woman. His wife, and woman are Following these directions, Nabby found the house indicated. She approached the back door, and inquired of the servant if Mr. Thaxter lived there. She was told that he did and asked what business it was toher. , O, nothing," said she. I only wanted to know. , He owes me some money, and I want to get it." 0, O wall, he is not at home, and you must come at some other time." " When will he be at home ? she enquired. "Not for a week or two." " Couldn't I get you to ask him to leave the money with you, so, that I shall be sure to get it when I come again." " Wall, I mought," said the girl. " Come in and set down a little while and rest you." The talk of making her a deposi- tory of money, had softened her down. Nabby entered and took a seat in the kitchen. You see," page: 296-297[View Page 296-297] 296 Pr-JLTp TUAXTER.' said she, "I used to know Mr. Thaxter; let me see, what was his given name?" "Philip," suggested the servant: "Ah, yes, Philip. I used to know him, and as I recollect there is a small balance due me that I want to get. Have you lived long with him?") "About four months,' answered the girl, blowing the fire' in the stove, which she was just kindling. "Is he a rich man?" "I guess he is rich as corn cake with eggs in it. He is o ne of the richest gamblers in town." "Has he a wife? I knew him when he had none." "He has a womanthat he lives with, but his wife is away down east, and he says he shall never go back to see her no "The rogue. But who is this woman he lives with?" "She is a fine lady. Mistress tovell, they used to call her, but now she goes sometimes as Mrs. Thaxter and sometimes as Thaxter's woman." Nabby was now satisfied, and withdrew as soon as she could effect a graceful retreat. She' promised to be back again in a day or two, and thence made her way directly to her mis- tress. She said nothing of her discoveries, farther than that she guessed Mr. Thaxter was not in the city, and if he was in the mines, it might be months before he heard from them. They could live where they were but a little while, before their money would be quite, exhausted, and then they, would be thrown destitute on the world. Nabby foresaw this, and took measures in anticipation, She looked about for a small tene- ment that she might hire, trusting toher own hard hands to earn enough to furnish them with food. The high rents appalled her. In the country she had left, a whole farm, with house, barn and out-houses, could be rented for a less sum than she could get a single room for in this magic :city. Her means were almost exhausted. She-must have something more than a bare room to stay in. A little furniture was as necessary as a room, and she, must so economize as to secure both. In her inquiries she heard of a place called "Washerwoman's Bay," that was a little way out of town. It was better to be a wash- rwoman than to starve, she thought, and so bent her footsteps to that locality. I This place was situated to the west of the city, and near the l FIDELITY. 297 channel of the Golden Gate. There was a small pond or lake of fresh water called ,the "Laguna," not far from the channel, which connected the bay with the ocean. Around this lake were a large number of shanties and tents, and the great variety of clothes that hung a-drying on numerous clothes lines, clearly indicated that this was Washerwoman's Bay. She cir- culated around among the tenants of these habitations, and was, surprised to find that in half of the shanties there was no woman. She saw strong men at the wash-tub, but sel- dom, when she saw a wonman, did she find her at the tub. Working women, at that time, were too scarce and precious to spend their strength at such severe labor. The men took this labor on themselves, while their wives confined themselves to the starching and ironing. Nabby found that there were compen- sating advantages in the [high prices for everything that obtained here. Washing and ironing which in New England was not more than 75 cents per dozen, was here 5 and 6 dollars, and she was highly elated, when she thought how certain she was of being able to make a comfortable support for herself and her mistress and children. She found a vacant house made of rough boards, about twenty feet long by twelve wide. In it" were stored a variety of washing utensils, such as tubs, wash-boards, kettles, clothes- lines and flat-irons. On the door of this house she found posted, "This house for rent and furniture for sale. Inquire-:next door." She inquired next door, and learned that a man and his wife had occupied the house till they had made a snug little fortune at washing, and had lately moved into town, leaving the premises for rent at twenty-five dollars per month. This struck Nabby as exorbitant; but recollecting that it would take only four dozen pieces of washing to pay it, she concluded on the whole she could stand it The furniture, as it was i called, was twelve dollars in addition, which was not more, as the agent assured her, than one-fifth--part the cost. "But," he said, " when you want to buy here, you must pay four times the value, and you are in luck if you can get anybody to take as a gift what you have no further use for." Nabby concluded a bargain, but was somewhat surprised when told that the rent must be paid in advance, and that too down on the nail. But she had no money, and she did not know as her mistress would consent to engage in a busi- ness humble as that of washing clothes. However, she got the - , 8 page: 298-299[View Page 298-299] refusal of the premises on the terms mentioned for the period-. of two hours, during which she hurried off to her mistress So induce her if possible to consent to her undertaking. To her great joy Mrs. Thaxter entirely approved her plan. She lad herself foreseen that it was necessary for them to make an effort to support themselves for a time, and while Nabby had been running about in looking up something to en. gage in, she had matured a plan for opening a boarding house. But Nabby's plan suited her better, for, there was less risk, and she did not take it into consideration that those who-were compelled to labor for their support with their own hands find that of\ two callings equally honest, one might be infinitely more genteel than the other, and that the boarding-house keeper would look with contempt on the washer-woman, even though the latter had the most money and the most refinement of the two. - The purse was accordingly given to Nabby, with directions to go on and engage the house and provide it with such articles as were indispensable. She hurried back ljust before the ex- piration of the two hours, and found a man and his wife waiting in order to take the premises in case she did not return within the appointed time. The bargain was at once closed, and she took possession immediately, and commenced putting the place in order. By dark she had effected a revolution in its appear- ance,' and in the morning she escorted her mistress and her two sons to this: humble home. She learned of her neighbors that the way to get custom was to go about and solicit it, and accordingly that day, having made things as comfortable as the circumstances would permit, she sallied forth to find custom- ers. In that she had little dfficulty. She returned at night witL a dray having a load of foul linen to be returned in forty- eight hours. She worked, assisted by her mistress, till late that night in filling her tubs and kettles, and in getting her clothes in soak, that they might wash the easier on the succeed- ing day. The labors of the day had beguiled it of its tedious- ness, and the family were happier that night, when they retired to rest on their cot-beds, than they had been for many a long day before. : X ' The morning came, bright and glad, and found Aunt Nabb It her tub. Mrs. Thaxter was also at her work, although she was so weak from anxiety and the exhaustion resulting from the sea-voyage and its dangers that she was obliged very often to sit down and rest herself by talking to, and cheering up her children, who were sorely amazed at the changes they had witnessed since they left their old home in the east. But they cheerfully rendered all the assistance in their power, and fed the fires and ran of errands, so as to save the more valuable time of Aunt Nabby The second day as devoted to starching and ironing, which MDrs. Tkaxter undertook to perform, while Nabbwent forth on a second tour of soliciting. The afternoon she devotd to delivering t clothes that had been washedand colleting the' pay for th>m. She found she had seventeen break her-heart. Se had even seen him riding out withehis fallen companion, wih an air of onden and assrance that showed he had no idea what eyes were watching him. But worse times were new to come to the unhappy family. Mrs. Thaxter fell sick, and so did George, so that poor Nabby's time was almost all take n up with them, and the washing ust, necessarily be mostly given up. Theearnings which had aceumulated during the shbrt time they had been blessed with health, melted away like tie dew before the rising sun. What with doctors' charges and 'druggists' extortion, it was not long before want itself came and stood at their door. Nabby worked herself day and night, and little Ben was an assiduous nurse. There was sorrow all around them. There was no ray of hope nsow entered the house where they lived from any direction. There seemed to be nothing before them but disappointment, pov erty and de ath. " The Laguna, or WashPerwomans which d fmusthe hanne l of the GoldensGate. There is a slightly ele- vated ridge . or natural tye, betehfh ea the salt yet so'slight that bystanding on the banks of the Laguna prson ma wav e a fair viewof t he entire dannel, as it now coes, melted adown through its narro w jaw s t o the ocean, or It was here that' stoed t he h ouse o rcupied by M rs. Thaxter band her family. But the was hing was carried on out of doors, and close to the lake . ' The washermen andw omen generally did their work out of aoora. They had forked stioks stuck up page: 300-301[View Page 300-301] in' the ground, and a cross-piece stretched from crotch to crotch, from which depended the large kettles of boiling water and boiling clothes. The tubs stood close by on stools or benches, so that the whole was convenient to the water, and the neigh. boring washerwomen had convenient opportunity to cultivate each other's acquaintance, and to regale themselves with stop ries of their own history, or with such scandal as might be of mutual interest. It was now apparent to Nabby that the best thing to be done was for them all, so soon as MArs. Thaxter and George were strong enough, to return home. But for a family of four to go from San Francisco to New England, would take more money than she could hope to accumulate for many months, even if sickness left them and came not again. Yet she knew how toget, over this trouble. Only let; good Mr. TruebodyX know their circumstances, and he would instantly send them; all the money they required. But it would be necessary for Mrs. Thaxter to write the let- ter, and she knew her mistress would not do that, unless she first heard some word, good or bad, from her husband. She had directed letters to him in all the leading towns of the State, which she had given to, Nabby to mail, but which that faithful messenger had taken care to burn immediately. She therefore resolved to break the fearful news to her, that though her husband was in the same city with herself. yet ' was he worse than dead to her, How to approach the subject she knew not. It would not do to suggest anything of the, kind so long as she lay sickl and she watched her convalescence with fear and anxiety. She had resolved to divulge all she knew, and-yet she half wished her mistress to remain sick, that she might find an excuse to, her own-mind for putting off the ungracious task. The prolonged'sickness of the mother and child had nowE educed them all to absolute, grinding want. It required tearly all that Nabby Could'earn to pay the rent, :and the bills br fuel, soap, and spermaceti; in addition to which, to get bod for the sick suitable to their condition, and such plain fare s would serve to keep up her own health and strength, was ow more than she could do. She one day saw some nice hickens at the door of a butcher's -shop. Thinking that some hiken broth wasu'st what her patients needed, she inquired he price. On being told that it was eight dollars each, she ::.[ V 'liJL'r' Yx. OU V , concluded she wouldn't buy one; for her whole stock of ready money at that time was only one dollar and a quarter. Yet were the sick recovering. The fresh air from the ocean that swept in every day over the Laguna had an invigorating effect; and could they have had that dainty food which was required, they would ere long have been well. Mrs. Thax'ter was again so as. to move about, mQre or less, every day; but George suddenly and unexpectedly relapsed, and great was : the fear lest he would die. It was now the house of want and woe. There was no bread 'in the cupboard or meat in the larder. Death seemed hovering nigh, and sadness and sbrrow held undisputed sway within. Opposite the Laguna and across the bay, at that time lived a dairyman, who every morning came across the channel from Saucelito in a sail-boat, bringing two immense cans of new milk, On this side in a rough shanty, he kept a mule, across whose back he was accustomed to sling the strap that held the cans together. In this way he would- go through the city, serving his customers. On several occasions Nabby had purchased small quantities of milk from him, but her means were so lim- ited that the quantity was always very small, sometimes not more than half a pint. It seemed now that George must die if he could not have the necessary food on which to rally. He was very low indeed, and one morning Nabby took the last half dollar in the house, and when she saw the boat of the dairy- man coming towards the shore, went down to meet him. She gave him the half dollar, and he poured a quart of milk into her pitcher. She said she could not take so much;, " Andl why," said the farmer, " a quart-is not much." "I know it," said Nabby, " but it is every cent of money we have got in the world, anid poor little George is sick and is going to die I am afeard, and mistress is sick too, and we are so poor, and I know poor} Geojrge will- die, and then his poor mother will die too, for she is a nice lady and arn't used to 'these hard times." Nably here broke.out crying, and before she~ could conclude her speech the dairyman handed back the half dollar and took another quart of milk and poured it into her pitcler, and then hitting his mule a quick switch across the- hind quarters that sent it trotting off ahead, he followed after without saying another word. Nabby returned to the house, and with a loaf of brqad she page: 302-303[View Page 302-303] 302 PIIII IP THAXTER. had bought from the cart of a baker she made a nice toast for George and also for the whole family, save only she stinted herself to half an allowance. When the dairyman returned at about eleven o'clock, having housed and fed his mule, he thought he would enter the house of which he had received so doleful a picture. There lay on t! e floor, in a corner of the room, a child, so pale and yet so beautiful that his heart was touched the mboment he entered. Beside the invalid seat- another boy, a little older, who scarcely raised his eyes from the sick sufferer to notice the entrance of the stranger. Their poor mother sat silent and sad, looking at the two. Her thoughts at that moment were such that her eyes were swim- ming in tears, and she was obliged to wipe them before she could look at the intruder. The dairyman thought he had never seen anything so beautiful as this woman in her tears. Her sickness had left her so delicate- that she seemed to be rather an apparition of loveliness than a being of real flesh and blood. When he entered he-stood for a moment confused and not knowing what to say. He was relieved from his embar- rassment, however, directly, by the entrance of Nabby, who, told the others that this was the kind gentleman that gave them so much good milk for their breakfast. If his first embarrassment was gone he was now subject to another and a greater. The tears of the beautiful woman again gushed forth, and little Ben got up from his place by his sick brother and came and took the stranger's hand and said: " O, you don't know how much we thank you." The countryman was not used to scenes of this kind, and perceiving that he was like to act the woman if he remained, he turned and walked obut. Nabby followed him far enough to see that he pulled out his handkerchief and blew hiss nose as soon as he got away from the house. He took his boat and was soon to be seen far away scudding before the breeze that swept up at that hour through the portals of the harbor. The next morning when he came over he drove his mule up to'the door, and calling Ben to bring the pitcher he again filled it with milk, and he also gave into his hand a bag, telling him it- contained something ,for his mother. Ben took it into the house, and while gone the countryman moved away. The bag was found to contain a fine fat chicken, some potatoes and onions. After that he called every morning, always taking ) - . \ n FIDELITY. -303 something with him such as he knew was especially wanted. Gradually he got acquainted with the family in spite of his bashfulness, and when George got better he promised to take both him and Ben over to his ranche and keep them for a week -a proposition to which all assented. ' i. , j page: 304-305[View Page 304-305] - CHAPTER XXXV. / . DISOLOSURES. , WITH the returning health of, her beloved patients Nabby found time to resume her washing, and was again getting a lit. tle in advance, of the besie er, want. Their good friend Bunce, the dairyman, had helled them out so effectually at the critical time of need, thatlnow they were no longer in want of any such gratuitous aid. Yet he called every day and talked with the boys about his farm, and of the promised pleasure they were to have, when they should go over to his place, in riding his horses and milking his cows. , . -The time at last came when Nabby felt that she must break the news to her mistress of her husband's faithilessness. Ac. cordingly one day, when the boys were both down on the beach looking for shells and pebbles, she left her tub and came into the house, and began to complain of the hard work. ' It is lnot, said She, " that I would care about the work, if I could see that any good would come of it. But I can't. Wre shall never hear any thing good of Ir. Thaxter. and we may as well -make up our minds to go back first as last." "O, Nabby! do not say that,'" replied Mrs. T. I amn yet confident of finding him. Suppose he hears that we are here, and -should come to find us and we should be gone. No, we must wait as ilong as there is any hope; and that will be as long Good mistress,' do not d, ceive yourself longer. "I could find Mr. Thaxter, if Idar's'ttto." You could? Then wByj o you not?" "O Lordy; I dare not tel you all I know. It would break your heart; I know it would', and I mustn't tell you nothin: mIore about it." DISCLOSURES. 305 ' Why, Nabby, what is it? What has frightened you so? Is there anything known to you that you have not told me?" "O yes, ma'am; but don't scold. I did not dare to tell you." "Woman! you will drive me mad by such answers'as that; tell me what you know. Speak, quick." "O dear, I know it will kill you." "Tell me. Is he sick--is he dead? Answer." "Worse, worse than that. He, he--" "He, what! Speak before I go distracted." - "O ma'am, don't kill me for telling you, but it is true. He has got--has got-" A"What has he got? Do. you mean to kill me with your cruel evasions?" - "O no, dear. But it will kill you to know it. He has got--, has got another wife, or woman that lives with him." "Is that all?'" said she; " who put that idea into your silly head? If you had told me he had flown away to the moon, I might have believed it; but that he has been false to me-that is at absurdity. He may be sick--he may be dead; but that he should forget to love me, and cherish in his heart of hearts his children and the mother who bore them, I never can believe.," "O" ma'am, I know all about it. I haye seen him two or three times; and only last night, when we were walking down town, he went by us. I shook all over, for fear you would see who it was; but he ,had his collar turned up so as not to be seen. And I seen him ridin' in the street one day. He had two bosses and a little bit of a waggin, and a fine lady in it all silks and big feathers in her bonhet--and I seen him drive up to his house. I knowed it was him before-and a fellow as black as a coal come out and took the bosses, and they both went in. And then I went round to the back door and asked the cook to give me some cold vittlds. It wa'n't the same cook as used to be there, for I had been there before.; She set out some nice lookin' things that she said she must throw away if nobody' didn't eat it up, and it was a-great 'deal better than. what we have to eat since we come to Californy. And I set pretendin' to eat it, but I couldn't. Not a morsel could I swallow. It stuck in my throat and would not go down. And 1 asked the cook who lived there, and she said Mister Thax- ter-and I asked if he had a wife -and she said he had, and he page: 306-307[View Page 306-307] 306 'PHTIP. THAXTER. didn't live with his wife no more, for she was away off down east, and he now/lived with lady Lovell, a much nicer, lady, as sh6e had heard master say, than his old wife down in New Eng- land. But she wa'n't half so nice, ma'am, for I seen her when she come out to get a bottle of wine, and she had a long nose, and she was tall and strong, and looked cross at me and said to the cook, what is - that baggage here for? And I told her I wa'n't no baggage, but an honest woman, which was more than she could say, and! I. left and slammed the door when I come out as hard ,as I could bang." Nabby had, by great effort, delivered herself of this speech. She had previously made up her mind to it, and wheni she got started she turned her eyes away, for she feared if she looked at her mistress she would break down before she got through. In the meanwhile, Mrs. Thaxter had been listening with an air of incredulity, and wondering how her faithful old servant could be so deceived. She could not think that she was prac- ticing any deception, and yet nothing could be more ridiculous and absurd than this story which she told. "And you think," she finally answered, " that we had better go back to our old hWme?" "' O yes, ma'am, I know we had; and if you don't believe me you can come with me, and this very day I will show you a sight that will make you wish your eyes were stone blind." O0 well, as you have got this foolish idea in your head, I will go with you, and then I hope you will never come to me with so stupid a story again." That afternoon they set out to go to Thaxter's house in com- pany. Mrs. Thaxteor had no idea where her servant was taking her, . and passively) submitted to be led along. It was the design of Nabby to get her mistress into the house and have her hear the story of the servants, and then to be so placed that they could see him when he came home to dinner. But ere they reached the house they saw both him and Madam Lovell approaching in a dashing carriage drawn by a span of fine greys They were both deeply veiled, so that they could stand safely near by the road, aWs the carriage went by, without danger of being recognized. The guilty parties approached, looking the very-, pictiure. of happiness and self-satisfaction. The driver sat in front, and in the rear seat sat the gay dash- ing Madam Lovell, with Thaxter leaning most lovingly against, her. s , , DISCLOSURES. 307 A single glimpse sufficed to tell the whole story to his hith- erto incredulous wife -As soon as the carriage passed, she quietly said : "It is enough. We will return now." Nabby supported her home. She feared several times that she would go into convulsions before she got there; but by great efforts they at last reached their unpretending house, It was necessary to put her mistress to bed, and then she applied such sedatives as her long experience, as a nurse and house- keeper, had taught her to use in similar cases. In spite of all her efforts, however, i the excitement was so great, and the, sho'ck upon the nerves so sudden, that she was in exceeding alarm and deeply repented her own rashness in disclosing the crushing truth. By administering powerful opiates, however, she made her partially insensible to her miserable and unhappy condition. In the morning she was very feeble and weak, but the cruel announcement had made less havoc than her anxious servant had feared. The two boys were still in ignorance of the recent discoveries, and the second night after -the adventure just described, when George asked his mother if he should not see his papa soon, it had well nigh caused as great a shock to her as the discovery of the day before. The ever-ready and ingenious Nabby, however, suggested so ready an excuse for the sudden illness, that neither of the- boys, though at an age to be observing, had any suspicion of the true cause of it. But the next day, when their friend,-the dairyman, came and again requested that they might-go over to his place and stay for a week or two, Nabby insisted that it was a good time for them to go-and their mother at last consented. The boys were rigged up as best they could be, and were in a fever of excitement at their anticipated visit. Mrs. Thaxter seemed to be lost in a fit of abstraction during all the time they were preparing for their trip over the bay. But they were hardly out of hearing, and had scaice turned the point that hid them from her view, when she burst into a flood of tears. "Nabby," said: she, "I fear I shall never see my, boys again." "And why?" "'I feel it," said she. "There is some evil surely to come upon them. Why did I let them leave my sight? Do you know, Nabbr, that if I should lose them I should die? "Do not talk so, my dear good mistress," said Nabby, "Does not the farmer cross every day, twice a day, and he page: 308-309[View Page 308-309] / '308 PHLIP THAXTER has never been drownded. O, no, this ain't nothing like the roarin' Penobscot. He will be here again in the mornin' and then we shall learn they are as wh and happy as a spring lamb 'in July." While she was yet speaking a sudden gust of. wind struck th6e house so violently as to startle them both and to force the door suddenly open. Nabby jumped up to shut it, and observed that a violent and unusual squall was set in. There was a dark cloud in the south-east, from which direction the wind rushed with great violence. "Alas, I knew it would be so," exclaimed Mrs. Thaxter, in an agony of tears. "My boys, my boys! They are lost. The wind has come for them. I shall see them not again." She covered her face and wept. The" wind outside roared " loudly, and the rain fell in: torrents. Nabby looked keenly through the darkness to see if she could catch any glimpse of the boat. But though she saw other craft driven rapidly down the channel towards the sea, she could get no sight of the one she sought. She, too, now sat down, and- burying her face in her hands, wept aloud. It was but a short and sudden squall, and when it was over she went down near the )shore to look for the boat containing her treasures. But it- was nowhere to' be seen. It was possible that it' might have returned to some point higher up the bay, having warning of the gale before it set in. But it was scarcely probable, and in sorrow she returned to the house. -CHAPTER XXXVI. A TROUBLED SEA. ON returning from the interior, after his unpleasant experi- ence and observation at Downieville, Thaxter found that affairs with him ' had gone but poorly during his absence. Each of his banks, in his saloon, had been -" broke, and the noted Billy Blower of Stockton had carried off from his tables one evening no less than $20,000. His fortune was evidently waning, and each day found him poorer than the preceding.. Col- Stockwell had abandoned the idea of the canal speculation, and some busy, kind friend Whispered to Thaxter that he had been sent off so' that he might be out of the wa'. Thaxter resented the implication on the fidelity of Madam Lovell-- when. his friend with. a sneer remarked that -' a woman who was false to her husband was quite likely to be true to her paramour." The same night Thaxter went home to his own house, and was quite sure that, as he approached it, he saw the receding form of Col. Stockwell. But though he saw it he would not believe it; his mind..would not own itself father to such a ; thought. He was in no pleasant mood when he 'entered the house, and he thought he was received by Madam L. with doubtful welcome. But they had their customary supper together, and partook as usual of sandwiches, shrimps, broiled birds, and costly wines. While yet sitting at the table the alarm of fire came suddenly upon them. They heard the shouts of distantrmen, and the clear, quick, and sharp tringing, of the fire-bell. Running into the street, he saw the sky was 'brightly illuminated in. the direction of the most dense part of the-.ity. The hill between his house and the town cut off the prospect so that he could not see whether or no his own page: 310-311[View Page 310-311] 310 - PHiILIP THAXTER. property was in danger. He quickly ran- to the summit of the hill and saw an immense fire midway and near the very spot where stood his own saloon. It was no use for him to go near it. He sat down, and a sickening sensation passed throuigh his system. ( It is all gone,'i said he. I sowed to the wind and now the whirlwind is upon me. It came over the back of the evil one, and now is gone under his belly." He sat and surveyed the fire with calmness till he saw the frame of his own building fall. He then walked down to the scene, of the conflagration and surveyed the desolation. It had been a stupendous fire, A whole block of wooden -buildings had been licked up, as itjwere, in a single swoop -of the devouring element, and now nothing but an open space, illumined by glowing coals, was, left betweenlthe four streets that surrounded this square on as many sides., The streets were filled with bales and boxes of goods, and men were at work in getting them out of the way. The firemen had done wonders, and saved-no one seemed to know how-the adjoin- ing blocks. To one corner of the square now left vacant, a pile, of boards was drawn, almost before they were safe from being consumed, and before sunrise two tenementsi were erected, and ere noon occupied by the energetic proprietors of the buildings just destroyed. Thaxter Vooked on and saw all this with a sort of stupid wonder. je did not betray his accustomed energy and resolution, but was vacillating and undecided. He, regretted now that he had not sold out all his interests before this, and betaken himself out of the country, and abandoned his life, and sin, and shame. , But now it was too late. His property was all consumed, and he could not think of returning to the family he had abused and injured, now that he was poor, when being , rich 'he 'had refilsed to do so. He had some property left, including the house-where he lived and the lot where stood his former sa- loon. But he owed his good friend Stockwell; an amount equal' to the value of these two pieces of property, so that taking into account his worldly affairs he considered he was about as good as "broke." That day was a long and dreary one to him. He saw other men whose loss was greater than his, and who had been ,eft with less than he on which to resume, busily drivingabout and preparing with unflagging heart' to resume business in a very few days. The only lot where there was no appearance of , i\ I I. I A TROUBLED SEA. 8" industry was his., On both sides men were at work clearing away the charred wood and rubbish, preparatory -to the eree- tion of substantial brick buildings; but his lot showed no such signs df activity. He felt that he had been stricken for his sins, and could not rise above that s ensation. That night he returned early to his house. The mistress of his household was full of condolence for his losses, and they concluded that as money had been easily made "it could be again. At any rate, let good or ill befall, they would be faithful and devoted to each other, and share the same fortunei or good, or ill. t"It was the thought that you miight not bear it cheerfully that has, so weighed upon me," said he. "For myself I care little, but that one I so love, should be deprived of any of those pleasures and luxuries to which she has been accustomed was torture to me, and I dreaded to meet your face for fear you would reproach me as the cause of this evil coming upon you.. Surely, I have given you no cause to think that it is not yourslf I have loved. When first we knew each other were you not poorerthan now . Do you not remember the evening when poor,- sick and friendless, some good genius took you to our door? Was it selfishness that led me to take you in and watch over you :for weeks? And when my attentions swept a cord of love in your. heart, was 'it not love that mine responded, pure, holy love! And could you distrust me after all this, my darling Thaxter V" It was not distrust, dear Kate, but rather an aversion to: witness the sorrow that it must, cause you to. know the cruel truth. I would have had you spared this trial, but since that were impossible I could not endure to witness your sorrow." "That sorrow is nothing so long as my Philip's love is mine. So now let us think no more of the past, or its losses, but be henceforth happy in each other's love." "It shall be so," said he, giving'her a kiss, and--drawing to the table, wh ereon was placed the usual elegant supper. Could Thaxter have known the secret thoughts of the woman who sat opposite him at the table, he would probably have felt less pleased than-he did. But in his ignoranee he felt re-as-' sured and happy. Surely, thought he, the love of such a woman is worthn more, by many times than all'I have lost. He slept that night contented and comparatively indifferent to the losses of the night before,. h ' ' ' ! page: 312-313[View Page 312-313] 312 PHLIP, THAXT'EBR- i That day he met his friend Stockwell, and made arrange- ments with him to put up a new and elegant saloon on the site of the old one. He was to deed the lot to the capitalist, in part security of what he already owed him, and was to have the, use of it at a low rent: till he could make enough to pay for it. In the meanwhile, Thaxter, who by this time was an expert gambler, resolved to try his fortune at other banks, and at pri- vate gaming tables, where he fancied lhe might have such a run of luck, that very likely he would be able to pay for the buil- ding before it was done. He had seen fortunes made in an evening, and he indulged in the pleasing dream of seeing him. self do the same. In the course of the day he went into a saloon, and in the course of a few minutes won two hundred and fifty dollars, when, the tide seeming to turn against him, he left. Meeting with several of the more genteel gamblers that after- noon, and learning that a big game of poker was to be played in the private rooms of the "El Dorado," he resolved to be one of the company. At eleven o'clock the game was -to open. A circumstance occurred, however, ,during the evening, but, illy calculated to give him a steady nerve or an immobile coun- tenarce, without which the game of poker is apt to be a losing game. He was walking along in the street between eight and nine o'clock. It was just light enough to distinguish features, when close to them: but not at any considerable .distance. As he walked along slowly, he thought he saw a little ways in advance of him, who? "Is it Nabby? It certainly is her figure. There is no' mistaking her broad, slightly stooping shoulders, and the ' heave and set motion of her body; the rise and fall of each hip alternately. And who is that beside her? It is not Carolne. Yet it looks like her. There is her graceful motion, but not her elasticity and vigor of step. No, that cannot be she. Nor is it Nabby, for they are both thousands of miles away, and are not only not here, but not likely to be." Debating thus in his mind, he came nearer to the two wo- men. ' He had pulled up his collar so that his own face could. not be distinguished, and then walking rapidly by them, cast a side glance it the two. The face of the servant was turned away so thatt'he could not see it, but a glimpse at the other re- vealed familiar features. It was not his wife, though the fea- tures were-very similar, as he thought His wife had no such shrunken face as that-those eyes so'supernaturally large and- - * ' i A TROUBLED SEA. 313 brilliant, could not be hers, nor could those pallid cheeks be those of Caroline. And yet the glance of them he got reminded him of her. He said to himself, "That is not she," and yet he feared to turn round to get another look, for fear it might e. -e hastily hurried home, his mind ill at ease. He found Madame Lovell seated at the table with her jewelry: spread out before her. There were several thousands of dol. lars worth of it, and he had given it all to her. There were watches, brooches, rings and. bracelets; some plain, and some set with costly diamonds. On the entrance of Thaxter she gathered them up and put them away; "' Do you-know, Kate," said he, " that I have had an appari- tion to-night?" No, how should I know it?" she replied. "What was it?" "I saw somebody in the street that reminded me of my wife." ' "Was it she?" quickly asked the fallen one. "Of course not. But the resemblance struck, me unpleas- antly, and so I hurried home to see'you and thus dispel it." "You say it was not she?" "Of course it was not." ' "That shows, then, what and whom you are thinking of when you are away. What right have you to think of anyone but me? If your mind were not running on her, the appearance of every woman would not startle you so." "One cannot always control his thoughts., In spite of me, the memory of other times will force itself upon my mind, and then I cannot' rest under the reflection that, there is one whom I once loved that I have deeply wronged." '"Once loved! You talk of love! when she you profess to have loved has been so abandoned. I do not believe you know what love is. You will tire of me as you tired of her. But at that time, beware of me. You'are aware of what I have sacri- ficed for you. Ere I knew you, I was innocent and happy in my humble home. What am I now? Lost beyond redemp- tion. And all for you; and yet you come here and talk as though you had made the sacrifice, and not I. You will learn that women liked me are dangerous playthings, and whoever toys with them will some day repent it," "O Kate, do not talk thus to me! It was but a transient thought came over me, occasioned by the apparition. I almost "6 14' i , page: 314-315[View Page 314-315] O.cY- JA r T nH A * TIB R O 11'3 ' !." ii,!" 'JI I1 *,'l'JL . see it now. How pale she looked! How those large eyes shone forth in the twilight!" "3he was so very beautiful 'tis a pity she would not in re- ality appear," said she, provokingly. "Iwould sooner see the devil than her," he rejoined. ( If her memory disturbs me so, how should I hate her sight. Were it not that the fire has swept-off my fortune we would leave this place together and somewhere in South America we would find a place of quiet and retirement where we might be secure from intrusion, and never fear the approach of an un- welcome- guest." "We will soon be able to do that yet," said she, , "and in the meanwhile let us improve our time. Do you play to. night?" "Yes, we are to have a private game, and it is time now for me to be off. So good night, I will' be back by sunrise or a little later." Saying thus, the deluded man left, and immediately his false hearted companion began to place her jewels, her costly dresses and other valuables in her trunks. At about twelve o'clock there was a knock at the front door. It was opened and Colonel Stockwell entered. "Is he away?" he enquired. "Yes," said she, " he has been gone over an hour. I have got my trunks all ready." , Stockwell now opened the door and called in a dray-man who was waiting outside. Madame Lovell showed him a couple of trunks which he carried out and placed on his dray. You will take them to my house," Said Stockwell, " and wait till I come." The trunks being dispatched, the two sat down to a sump- tuous entertainment which Madame Lovell has ordered the servants to prepare. "The fool," said she," to think that I should stay with him after his money was gone. He was talking all the evening about his wife. He had better go home to her if he thinks so much of her. I ami tired of his sighing and sentiments" "What will he think in the morning when he finds you gone?" "I do' not kn0ow nor care. Probably he will think he has been a great dupe. He can now talk about his Caroline, as he calls her, till he is gray ; he will never have me for a listener." Having feasted on the delic'te viands to satiety Stockwell * s ait St o c ke l j - * , ' A TROUBLED SEA . l15 and his newly gained treasure left the house and proceededl to that owned and occupied by. himself. It was at that time the finest private residence in the city. His horses were the fleetest, his carriages the finest, his whole equipage the gayest that in those days were to be seen flying over the road to the Mission or the Presidio; or swept up and down the broad beach on which broke :the waves of the noble old Pacific. page: 316-317[View Page 316-317] CHAPTER XXXVII. PHARP PR ACTIOE. i THE rage:of Thaxter when he found how hemhad been be- trayed by Stockwell and abandoned by Madame' Lovell, was smothered but deep. His'friends of the gambling board knew, almost as soon as he did, of-all that had transpired, as he could see by the sidelong and sinister glances which they gave him. Whatever he iiight feel, he knew it was necessary to assume an air of indifference, and to intimate that he had turned off "Lady Lovell," as he called her, and that he was well rid of her. His furniture was all sold at auction, and he took a room over a large gambling saloon, and came down to the level of a common! gambler. His luck was now varied. One night he would make a thousand dollars and the next he would lose it. But on the whole he was losing ground. He had been obliged to borrow from hip more successful friends sums varying from $500 to $1000, and the most of them he had never repaid. He' occasionally met Stockwell on the street, but no words ever passed between them ; and to prove that he had become 'nation- al' in his views, he told his companions that " if the fellow ever gave him a word he would blow'the top of his head off." Gambling had ceased to be so profitable as it had been. People, were getting more sober, a'nd the wild excitement of the first few months of California life was succeeded by return- ing reason and economy. Nevertheless, as many remained in the business as ever. Large sums changed hands every night, both at public and private tables. The Polka Saloon was in full blast, anrd it was here that Thaxter was accustomed to re- sort in the earlier part of the evening, ard before the private game overhead was opened. As he stood watching the game one evening, just at dusk, SHARP PRACTIOE. 317 smoking a finely-flavored cigar, and spying out the various tricks by which the gamblers contrived invariably to rob and swindle the unkempt miners that resorted thither, he was amused at the extreme rawness and countrified' appearance of a couple of young men that canme and peeped in atl'the door. Gradually they ventured inside, when they seemed enchanted, charmed and bewildered by the music, the bright lights, and the indeli- cate pictures. They moved about, surveying first one nude figure and then another, at which their eyes would protrude from their heads, and they would indulge in criticisms more correct than elegant-one of' which was that they " guessed clothes was mighty sca'ce where them women lived*, After looking at all the pictures, and having taken a drink at the bar, in order, as they said, " to patronize the house,"they were about going out, when their attention was arrested by a game which was played with dice in one corner of the room. The gambler sat behind the table, with his back to the wall. ' At his right hand stood one man, apparently a stranger, and at his left another, both of whom were betting freely, and winning large, sums. Before him were two ;or three others, watching the game, and putting down occasionally a half a dollar, or a dollar, which they usually took back with; as much more added to it, Our mining friends saw this game go on for a few min- utes, and were about turning, to go away, when they saw the banker, or thrower of the dice, turn half round and pay off in silver the bet just won by him who stood on the left. The dice, which had been already thrown for the next bet, and only-re- quired the lifting of the box to show who would next ,win, stood exposed on the right, and when the banker's back was turned, the man upon his right lifted the box, and a three and a four were revealed uppermost. Quickly he replaced the box, and instantly drew out two purses filled with dust,-and also three ' slugs,' or fifty dollar pieces, and put them all on those numbers. Our countrymen seeing the trick, and seeing how easy it was to cheat the banker, and that there was no danger in betting when they knew, for certain, beforehand, what was to turn up, instantly drew out their purses, containing about fifteen ounces each, and imitated the sharp practitioner beside them. The box was now lifted, and behold a two and a five were upper- most. i "There is cheating :here!" said the biggest Johnny Raw. "( Beware how you accuse me of cheating! I am a man of ,.i page: 318-319[View Page 318-319] 318 .. PHLIP THAXTER. honor-I don't allow any man to say I cheat," said the banker, showing the hilt of a -large knife. "Well, you did cheat, for I seen a three and a' four before you took up the box:" "How did you see them 4," "Him-that ar fellow," pointing to the capper, "he lifted up the box and showed 'emlto us." "'Tis a lie!" said the capper. "He lifted it himself." "Why, they are a pair of blacklegs, swindlers, trying to cheat honest men out of their money. This is my way of deal- ing with such characters," said he, drawing a revolver and lay- ing it on the table beside him. "Let me see now who will accuse me of cheating. Where are the police? Go and call them, McCoy." The person addressed- as McCoy was 1the same who had lifted the box. He started off as if to call an officer, while our friends moved away, one of them muttering to the-other, that "1he reckoned that the folks there was a leetle smarter than they was in Pike County." , Thaxter, who had witnessed this act of gross and open swin- dling, as soon as the robbed countrymen had withdrawn, came up by, the table, and said that " it was well they were not in his building, for if he were to detect any of his tenants in such swindling practices, he would kick them into the street in less than ho, time." The gambler asked-him " if he ever heard of the man who rmade a good living by attending to his own business." "Yes, I have, and it is miy business to see that gambling does not fall so low that no white man can engage in it." McCoy now returned, and there was a violent altercation between him-and Thaxter, the latter insisting that he had a right to interfere and prevent such practices so disgraceful to the profession, and the--- former threatening to let daylight through him if he ever interfered again in a game in which he was concerned. Later in the evening, there was a big game of faro going on in the corner of the room assigned to that game and to those who were supposed to be willing to venture large sums. Thax-: ter had stood at the table, betting more or less all the while, for half an hour, and scarce raising his eyes from the board. When, at last, he did raise them, he was surprised to see his quondam friend, Stockwell, at: the other end of the table, and SHARP PRACTICE. 319 betting largely. He drew a long breath and then looked down again, and continued on at the game. For awhile, neither he nor Stockwell got much ahead of each other and but little ad- vantage of the bank. 'But gradually Stockell's'pile accumu- lated, and Thaxter's slowly melted away. At last his stock was exhausted, and he had no more in his pocket to go on with the game, and looking round, he saw no familiar face, to which he might apply for a temporary loan. So he just stopped bet. ting, and stood and watched the game. Stockwell continued to play till his winnings amounted to rising six thousand dollars, when he drew out his gold from the bank, and, tying it up in his handkerchief, was making , his way through the crowd to- wards the door. A rush-a scramble--a cry of pain-Col. Stockwell falls to the floor, and the gold is missing. Immediately there was the maddest excitement throughout the room, Tables' were overturned, and gold and silver rolled on the floor as of no value. Who had done this deed? It had been a nice job-one that De Quincy would have pronounced artistically executed. The victim had been' stabbed to the, heart by a long, slim ,and sharp poignard, that entered between the ribs on the left side. The bag of gold must have been seized at the same instant, and before it was dropped by the wouhded man, else it would have made a noise and chink as it fell on the floor, that must have been heard by those standing around. But there was no such sound heard. Therj was no perceptible commotion in the crowd, and it was not known for some seconds after Stockwell fell, how or where he was hurt, or whether he had not fallen in a fit,' the 'consequence of the intense excitement of the game during the last hour. 'I'he mystery of this murder excited universal comment and interest. The successful gambler, speculator and politician had died in a gambling saloon by the hand of the secret assas-. sin. He was buried the next day with little ostentation or dis- play, his friends thinking that the less said about the " deep damnation of his taking off,' the better it would' be for- his memory, and more satisfactory to his relations. The next night gambling was going on in that saloon, and in that very- corner, the same as ever. , ^ page: 320-321[View Page 320-321] CHAPTER XXXIII. , FAIR WEATUh-H FRIENDS. THE next day there was a great deal of speculation and inquiry among the sporting fraternity as to the mysterious murder. Every inquiry was made to learn who there might be having special cause of enmity'against Stockwell. But there was no one in town entertaining any such feeling towards him so far as could be ascertained, save only Thaxter. It was known that there was bad blood between him and the deceased -that Stockwell had got away his woman,' and that all th e pro- perty, not burnt up, which Thaxter had owned a few months before, was now held in Stockwell's name. Yet Thaxter was far above any suspicion like this. He was, and always had been, regarded as the most honest and fair gambler that had ever been in the city, and it was thought an impossibility that he could have any knowledge of this bloody deed. : That night there was a private game of poker in a private rooim near the scene of the last night's tragedy.. Thaxter was one of the company, of which there were four besides himself. The-,game had gone on with more or less excitement for about two hours. As usual of late, however, Thaxter had been losing. The room was expressly fitted up and used as a gambling room, and a descendant of Ham was employed to wait Upon those engaged in play,.to be sent out of errands, to watch the door against intruders, and shrve out wine or liquor as it might be wanted. - The company this evening was not made up exclusively of professional gamblers. There were two of these besides Thax- ter, also a judge and a police lawyer. Thaxter had put up his last money, save a single slug, as ante. One gambler passed. The other said he was "in." FAIR WEATHEJR FRIENDS. 321 "So am I," said the judge. "And I," said the lawyer. ("The same here," said Thaxter. "I go fifty better," said 'the first gambler, putting up his money. i' I meet you," said the other. "I am out,'" said both the Judge and the lawyer. (' I call," said Thaxter, putting tip his last slug. " Two aces and two jacks," said the first gambler, throwing down his hand. "I can go over that," said the next. "Three kings and two sevens." "The money is yours," said Thaxter, throwing down his hand and showing, three tens and a pair of nines. "Six months ago that; hand would have taken down the pot. But the cards don't run as they' did then." "The devil always throws out dainty bait to catch shy fish. He has got you-fast, I reckon," said one of the gamblers. "( No matter for that," said he. "Here, judge, your pile is the largest, let me have a brace of slugs."' "I don't know about trusting you much farther," said the judge, pushing him three of the octagons, " that makes a thousand you owe me." "May I pay it back out of your own pile before we quit," replied he. . The game is interrupted at this stage y the sable servant, who informs them that the police are at t e door. "Police!" exclaims the judge. "What the devil are they after here?" 'However, show them in." "Impertinent puppies!" muttered Thaxter, "can't they let gentlemen alone when they are having a quiet game of cards. But here they come. Well, what is wanted, you men of the night?" , ,i "Gentlemen," said the foremost of the two policemen, who advanced, bowing most obsequiously. "I begyour pardon. I do sincerely. If there is anything I admire it is a good- quiet game of poker. In fact I have a decided penchant for poker.. It gives me exquiste and infinite pain to disturb a game of poker. But business before pleasure, as, Solomon or Franklin says, I forget which. And the best of friends must part, and I may say in all frankness, in fact, confidentially, that it causes : 14* i , . page: 322-323[View Page 322-323] 322 PHLIP THAXTER. me the keenest anguish to be obliged to inform you that I have a warrant for,one of your number." "A warrant!" was the general exclamation, "what does that mean?" "It is a mere trifle," contiriued the policeman, his glossy silk hat still in his left hand, and twirling his light bamboo cane in his right. "In fact, it may be said to be nothing' at all. A man stabbed--that is all-he was buried to-day. That is nothing; you know it is' done every day-and by gentlemen --and they are thought none the less of for it, In fact, they become- lions at once.", "If you ever get through your rigmarole," said the judge, petulantly, t we will go' on with our game." "I beg pardon, gentlemen. Mr. Thaxter, the warrant calls for you." "For me," exclaimed Thaxter, in astonishment, " and for stabbing a man. "Who the devil have I stabbed?" "The man stabbed is Stockwell, perhaps you know him,' coolly responded the officer. "Stockwell, the scoundrel, they lay his death to me, then. What, nonsense that is. I left the room before the fracas hap- pened.'" "I have no doubt of that, sir. In fact I am convinced that such is the fact. Nevertheless it is necessary for you to go with me," "Why, sir, 'tis an absurd mistake. I shall not go." - Beg your pardon, sir, you will." " I won't."' "Yes you will," said the polite man, now dropping his superfluities. "You will go. Resist if you dare. I make short work, sir. It will be well for you if you get safely inside of the- jail to-night. The -mob have just got the story that you' killed the man, and there is such an excitement that if they get hold of you to-night, you will never come to trial." 'Tis a shameful mistake, sir. Still, if I must go I suppose I must. Come, who will go with me to be my bail? Will you, judge?" "It is not rulable for judges to bail men who are to be tried before them.'" Turning to the lawyer he asked him the same question, but with no better success; the gamblers also declined to sign his bail-bond, saying they would call the next day to see what - , o ; FAIR WEATHER FRIENDS. 323 could be done in his behalf. The officer was now become importunate, and no longer standing on ceremony, rudely hurried and hustled his prisoner before him. As soon as he was outside the door it was locked by the sable waiter, and the others of the company renewed their game. "He must think we are amazing green," said one gambler to the other, "to suppose we will go on his bail-bond. He has. not got a dollar left, and if he should find the case agoing against him, how do we know that he would not turn up missing. He isibroke and gone in, and when I find a man in ,that fix I alwaysl drop him. We sporting men are good friends to one another as long as we have money. But friendship goes with the ' -dobies.' " Thaxter was ,taken to jail that evening, but could learn no-' thing as'to the reason why suspicion had attached to him. The morning papers explained the mystery. A gambler named McCoy having in some way excited shuspicion against himself, had revealed the whole facts of the murder. He stood within three feet of Stockwell at the time he was killed, and distinctly saw Thaxter plunge the poignard into his heart, and seize and make off with his gold. Having had some difficulty with Thax- ter in the early part of the evening, he thought at first he would not volunteer his testimony, but as no one else had seen the m'urder, his conscience would not suffer him to be longer silent. The paper added that the evidence was-conclusive, and that there could be no doubt of the conviction of the prisoner; for the witness who had thus providentially appeared was ' a high- toned gentleman," and moved in the society of other gentlemen of high political standing. . Thaxter had met his old acquaintance Col. Norwin in the street the day before, and had no doubt that he had been en- gaoged in filling the editor's ear with his malicious reports, and that he would moreover take all possible pains to have the jury packed against him, and the sectional prejudices of the judges aroused against him. Though he was no politician, yet he had seen that with the ruling powers then in authority, his birth- place would operate strongly to his prejudice; and that could he prove a plantation origin, the form of a trial would very likely be dispensed with. He saw that a net-work was spread for him, and believed that his doom was sealed. "It is but just;" thought h,. a "Though innocent of this crime, yet have I been guilty of a greater. For the last two years my life has been one great crime. - Justice will no longer sleep." page: 324-325[View Page 324-325] CHAPTER XXX!X. A WELCOME VISITOR. IT was about two weeks after the fatal storm, which rising so suddenly -and blowing furiously down the channel had car- rind all small craft out to sea, or caused them to go ashore, capsize or founder, and yet no word had been received of the missing bbys. That they had been drowned was now rendered certain, as it was thought; for an empty boat had been brought into the harbor that had the name "Buena Ventura " painted on her stern, and that was the name of the dairyman's boat. This fact had been brought to their knowledge by a brother of the dairyman, who was on the lookout for him constantly till he learned this factthrough the papers. He went to see the captain of the incoming vessel that picked up the boat, and learned that seeing what appeared to be a nice-looking skiff, bottom up, near by, at a time when he was making no head way, he sent off a boat for it, and finding it a new little craft, he had taken it in tow and brought it into the harbor It was his brother's beautiful yacht, and there was 'no doubt now that all who were in it had been drowned. These facts were learned from the man when he came to look after the mule and other property left near them by his brother. Ever since that unfortunate day when the boys had left her, poor Mrs. Thaxter had been bordering on insanity. Nabby whispered to her neighbors that she was so-for she would neither speak, eat nor sleep. Her whole time she 'spent wan. dering up and down the shore of the bay, casting her eyes ever and fanon towards the ocean, to see if by chance she d night not catch a glimpsea, of the lost jewels. Poor Nabby was almost equally grieved and sad. But she must work. They were not her children that were lost, nor had she the delicate and sensid A WELCOME VISITOR. -325 tive nature of her mistress. The ne'cessity of labor that she felt was upon her kept her from brooding over her sorrows. One day when her mistress was down near the shore, cast- ing her eyes seaward, she was, as usual, working away at her tub on the shore of the Laguna. She was scouring away with all her strength, her -head completely enveloped in the steam arising from the suds. She was so busy at her work, and the commotion she made in the hot water caused so -much noise, that she did not perceive footsteps approaching, nor did she notice that for full 'two minutes a man stood within six feet of her, closely'observing her every motion. She was muttering to herself all the while, and the observer could hardly contain himself when he heard her mumbling: ( Penobscot Penobscot, I say, it is pretty well that I have got to be a washerwoman! But I don't mind it, no JIdon't; I won't let my good mistress starve, if she is e'en a'most lost her wits. And such a dear good lady, too, to be left by her nauglity scamp of a husband! Who'd a thought it, too, of Philip Thax- ter! Penobscot! There she is down on the beach now, look- ing for the boys. But they won't come back rio more--they are all drownded!" Her attention was arrested just at this moment by a familiar voice close to her, saying, "Nabby!" ,She turned. / "Bumpus! PenobScot!" raising both hands from the steam- ing tub, and throwing them high in the air. "Is that you, Bumpus?" ' "Well, 'tis, Nabby," said he, rushing towards her, and giv. ingher a hearty smack, regardless of who might be looking. i' Ar'n't {you glad to see me? , "Glad! I guess I am. I ha'n't been so glad to see nobody since I coms to Californy! When did youl come-how did you get here--how did you leave' all the folks to home, aind how is; Mr. Truebody? Tell me all. But hush-you must'nt let Mistress see you here. See her out on the bank looking for her boys. Come into the house, so she won't see you." She led the way into the house, and shutting the door, again importuned him to tell all the news. He answered such ques- tions as were put to him, while Nabby sat staring at him, her mouth open, and her ears alive to every word he might futter. At last it was his turn to ask questions,-and the first one he put had so practical a bearing that it threw Nabby off her guard. "Do you love me, Nabby?" said he. j page: 326-327[View Page 326-327] ,L^lr 'J.:IAXT'ER. "Love you! guess I do. I have got nobody else to love now, except my poor mistress. Her husband, that poor man Captain lhaxter, as used to be so kind to her, he has left her and her two boys are gone too; and they never 'll come back no more." . .- ; What," exclaimed Bumpus, "are they dead " f Yes, they are dead. A clever man that lives over the bay here as used to bring us milk every ,day asked mistress if . they mightntm go over to his farm, and she said yes, and jest as soon as they was gone, do you know, what she said?" "Yes-: what was it?" "She said she would never see/them no more, and she won't. They are all drownded." "Drownded!" Yes : her and me has watched every night for them and they don't come-back. Oh, no, they is dead. It blew awful that night. The boat was found, but no one in it, and so my pretty boys is dead." "And haven't you heard anything of Captain Thaxter?" , !" O, dear, that is worse than tother. He has got another1 wife, and when my mistress knowed it, it broke her heart. But she didn't cry, not a tear. But she would set looking at them boys all the time; when they was drownded do you know what I think " .- "Yes : what is its?" "I think," said' she with a whisper, and looking round the room for fear some one might overhear her, "I think :she is crazy. She talks strange. But she mustn't see you here. She thinks, now that all is gone, that I shall go too, and she will think if she sees you here, that you have come to get me way from her. But I won't go." "Why, Nabby, this must be a dre'ful country. I was afeard Tou wouldn't go back, and I have come all the way to Cali- orny after you. O dear, I wish Californy had slid off intothe aoifio ocean before we had ever heard a word about it. Ar'n't 'ou going-to have me now, Nabby?" "How can I leave my poor mistress? She will 'hot leave is place. She still thinks she will find her boys, and I must, tay with her till she is willin' to go back home, and I am feard that will not be pretty soon, for she don't act as she sed to. When she finds her boys we will all go back home, Id we will live together again." -' A WELCOME VISITOR. 6 4 ' And you wil'l have me then, will you, Nabby V' : ( Yes, but we: shall never see them again." "Nabby, I am bound to find them boys." : "No, Bump, they are dead." I say I'll find them," h'e repeated, with emphasis, setting [is hat firmly on his head, and hitting it a heavy blow on the op of-the crown. I'll find 'em, I say." ", Do it and I'll marry you in an hour after," isaid she. 'But see, she is comin' up. towards the house." Bumpus ooked through the window and saw the figure of a female pproaching. But its appearance was so wild and haggard he vould never have mistrusted that it was the once beautiful, ;entle and delicate Caroline Thaxter. "Quick," said Nabby, " she must not see you here. Come gain when you are sure she will not see you." Bumpus hurried out, muttering to himself that he knew rhere the boys were, four he had heard some folks talking that lorning, of a man and two boys that were .picked up while linging to a boat, by a schooner that was bound down the- oast. " I'll find Ithem," said he, "I will, and then won't I get Tabby in the door. There will be no getting away from me hen." With these consoling thoughts he hurried away to town, nd was soon down on Long wharf inquiring what schooner had ately arrived'from down the coast. ' - i w- page: 328-329[View Page 328-329] - a 'i 1 JCHAPTER XL. THE DREAMER. THE city papers of the next morning announced that the murderer of Col. Stockwell had been discovered and arrested, an'd that he was no other than the well known gambler, Philip Thaxter. 'This report caused much astonishment in the city, especially among the gambling fraternity; for, among all who made their money in this disreputable way, he was regarded, as the most fair and honorable. It was generally admitted by -them that, in his saloon, none of the swindling tricks had been allowed that had brought so much disgrace on ', gentlemen of the profession. For this very reason, therefore, many of them, though doubting the truth of the accusation, secretly rejoiced at it. FBew of them visited him in' prison, and those few were such as had loaned him money, and came rather to see what chance there was of getting their pay, than to ex- press condole oceor sympathy. But there was one friend who now appeared, and who was unexpected and unwelcome. T'his was Ben Thurlow. When Ben entered the prisoner's cell, and the eyes of Philip fell on *the familiar features of his old friend, such a feeling of shame and degradation came over him that he sunk down humiliated and prostrate on the floor. Conscienee had not only madeh a coward, but had shorn him of his strength. From this'shock however, he soon recovered, and soon the two friends were as in days -long past, conLng to-eaoh others sympathizing ear their trials and their troubles. ' "' Since the time when Ben had returned from the country with Thaxter, and had learned from his own admissions, from Dolbear's story, and from observation in the city, the shame- less life he was leading, he had avoided his company and had --.. THE, DREAMER. 329 never met him. During all this time, Ben had been leading a life of dreamy indolence. The hard life of drudgery which he had led in the mines had so worn .him down, that rest was most welcome to him, and it seemed to him that it would re. quire months of quiet before his limbs would recover their former elasticity and yigor. The exciting incidents of his mining life afforded ample subjects of reflection, and in imagi- nation he would live them over again and recall the strange vicissitudes] through which he had passed. i In the midst of this life of languor, as he was one day sitting in the parlor of his hotel, he was startled, and, as he thought, entranced by an apparition. He was, at the time, sitting alone, deeply absorbed in living over and thinking upon his past life. One sne e after another rose up before him with such a reality of re-presentment that he deemed to realize the life of earlier and happier years. Suddenly an apparition of a little girl of nine or ten summers entered the room. Why it was he scarcely knew; but somehow she called up to his mind the figure of that lovely presence that long years ago so impressed his young and' teeming fancy, and with which he had been in love ever since--never having seen anything so nearly'approx- imating to it as to be at all lovable. The girl had a beautiful and sad cast of countenance, showing that even young as she was she had tasted of deep sorrow. She flitted into the room like a fairy, and, as' Ben thought, cast a look of sympathizing pity on him as he sat looking sad and silently alone; then flitted out, and left him firm in the belief that-it was only a creature of his own imagination When it was gone he continued to dwell on the image, that its presence had called up in his mind, of one who had once appeared to captivat'e him and then left him to grope his way through life with no hope of ever meeting it again, or of ever again seeing another that, Icompared with this, would have any charms for him. , The next day he was sitting again in the same position, thinking over the apparition of the day before, and half hoping it might return, when., sure enough, in it came. But it was now equipped for a walk with hat and cape, and closely followed by what!-the face he has carried in his memory for years. It is the same. There is no mistaking it. 'Tis true, it is older than it w as then, and has not the freshness and Ax fulness of a dozen years ago, and yet it is the very same., page: 330-331[View Page 330-331] 330 ' PTTP THAXTER There is a look of sadness on that face, too, showing that sor- row has been at work k; but the angelic smile which she bestows ; Don the little girl is the same, he witnessed playing on those same features long years ago, and the like of which he has never seen since. The lady cast her eyes upon him for a ,mo. ment as if she, too, were endeavoring to recall some familiar features, when, bowing as if in apology for the gaze, she held out her hand to the child and saying, ,' Come, my darling," they both left-the room and went forth for a walk upon the street. He sat a full hour in dreamy ,unconsciousness of what was going on around him. Could he believe 'it? Was his ideal then a living reality? It must be so, for surely he was in his waking moments, and he made a calculation of figures to assure himself that he was not dreaming. In- about an hour the child returned and came into the' room where Ben still sat musing. He raised his eyes as she approached, and thought he had never beheld anything so lovely. Her cheeks, that were so delicate' as to be pale when she went out, now had a slight glow, and her eyes so clear, bright and beautifully blue, sparkled with, as it seemed to Ben, a spiritual fire. Her fine flaxen ringlets, that were regular and precise when she went out, had been shaken into chainming freedom and disorder. Her small and well-turned ankl s were so springy and strong that, as she walked, she seemed not to! bear her weight upon them, but to be supported by some unseen power, so that her feet scarce rested on the carpet. Ben looked at her with 'a steady look, which she returned with equal steadiness. She held in her hand a beautiful full- blown pose; and after standing a moment looking at Ben, she gently approached him. At this time there was a tear stand- ing-in either eye of the dreamer. The child extended to him the rose, and her own soft eyes were now suffused with tears. Ben tool the rose, and then the fountain gushed forth. The child turned, and with the rapidity of a. vision left the room. The next)time they. met Ben spoke to her,' and she came and laid her hand in his. They were friends and confidants from that time forth. The child after this sought his society every day, and gave earnest ear to his long tales of what he had seen and expe- , rienced during his chequered existence. She listened intently tohis visionary schemes of wild adventure; of wandering off into the regions of the Pah-Utes, the Apaches and Comanchcs, THE DREAMER. 331 and engaging in the exciting life of a frontiersman : again he would have a project for fitting out a small vessel and sailing away down to one of the islands far off in the Pacific ocean, and there lead a life of indolence and ease. One day his mind would run on the rough pleasures of the explorer, and the next he would bask in luscious indifference under the shades of the palm and the plantain. To these audible reveries the little child listened, and she clung to the stranger, and told him how glad,she was that she had found him; " for," said she, "I have no one else in the world to love but my dear sweet angel aunt. My father died when I was a wee little baby, and my mother went down with the ship. I remember my mother; she held me in her arms, and :when the vessel sunk she stood upon the deck, and we both went down with it. They tell me that some passengers in a boat picked me up, and that I was floating alone on the top of the water. But they didn't; Though I was a little girl not half nor a quarter so big as I am now, I remem- ber how my mother held me to her bosom. No, she never let go of me. Poor mother; she was never seen again. I have no one in the world but my dear good aunt-; and if I am ever left alone, I think what would become of me were I to lose her. She never goes out but I fear that she will not come back alive. And it makes her feel so bad to come back and find me crying. But I can't help it. The tears will come, and something gets into my throat and almost chokes me. But you will love me, won't you I knew you would. When- I first saw you I felt it, and I went up to you because I knew you loved me then, and I could not help it." Becoming so intimate with and attached to the child, it fol- lowed naturally that Ben soon made the a-cquaintance of her protector and only relative. From her he learned the partic- ,ulars of the death of the child's mother, but as to the lady her- self he could learn nothing, She was reserved and'dignified, and it was clear that 'a great shadow had fallen on her life-- that it had rested so longit had eaten a care-worn and melan- choly look into; her face, and that it was chilling her existence, and slowly congealing the springs of life. Ben became vastly interested in her, and his baffled efforts to learn something of her history excited in him a still greater curiosity. He could - not divert his thoughts from this evidently unhappy woman, and her niece, that had so trustingly throwni herself on his love and pity. He found that he could not bring his mind to regard page: 332-333[View Page 332-333] 332 PHLIP THAXTER. anything else. At night he lay sleepless through the long hours, thinking upon them, and through the day, if they were not present, his thoughts were still upon them. That she was married, he had ascertained of the landlord; and when he learned that, he said to himself, "It is enough; I must leave this place, or at heart I shall fall into the guilt of him who was once my dearest friend. I will depart for the lower country this day." i But though he tjhus resolved, he could not bring himself to the duty of tearing himself away. The tearful look of the child when she had appealed to him to be her friend, held him as by ' a spell. Ah, well was it for you, Ben Thurlow, that an unseen power now intervened, and compelled your thoughts to another channel. Almost unconsciously to yourself, you have entered the road, thd beginning of which is innocence, affection and love ; but itl leads down to the dark valley of sin and death. It was atthis time that news first came to his ears of the difficulty in which Thaxter had become involved. His early friend had been arrested, and was lying in prison under an accusation which, if sustained, would send him to the gallows. Though he knew he had fallenh, yet he could not think him guilty of such a crime. But whether guilty or not, it was very clearly his duty to go and see him. It was now time for him to quit dreaming and go to work, and the next morning after the arrest he went directly to the prison, knocked at the door, and was admitted. He found 'him in the city jail, occupying a room by himself. He was utterly prostrate, and without hope. He -said that the crime of which he was accused he knew nothing of, but that his other offences were greater than this, even had he been guilty. He deserved death, and his only regret was that he had not met it long ago, and before he had brought disgrace and ignominy on his family. Thurlow inquired of him all the particulars in regard to the events of the fatal. evening when Stockwell was killed, and especially of the altercation between oThaxter and McCoy. He had no doubt from this time that McCoy was the actual mur- derer, and he accordingly set himself to work to find'out what evidence might be -collected against him. First he learned that he had been a broken down' capper--one of the lowest and meanest kind of gamblers; That immediately after the murder he had been flush of money, which circumstance THE DREAMWR. 333 - had drawn suspicion upon him. Then again, as soon as he found he was suspected, he made his confession, implicating Thaxter, and giving bonds for his appearance at trial as a wit- ness,- had immediately left town and gone on a gambling tour through the southern mines. Thurlow followed him. He learned that' at every place where he had been he had gambled largely, and had lost more than he had won. At Sonora he had got among a crowd' of sympathizing and choice spirits, and became more intoxica- ted than usual. Here he gambled recklessly, and ere he was aware of it found himself broke. A week of reck- less pleasure was all he had got from this great risk and crime. He became very belligerent and insulting, and in his anger kicked over the table on which not less than $1,200 in silver was piled, with more than that amount in gold. The first he knew after this, he felt a sudden pricking sensation through the body and heard the report of a pistol. He next found him- self on the floor, and that he had been shot through the lungs. Thlurlow was at the City Hotel at ab,out ten o'clock in the evenmg,when he heard that a gambler named McCoy had been shot in a saloon called the "Long Tom." lHe quickly hurried up to learn what he might in regard to him, and found that, though not dead, he could not survive till morning. - He was an entire stranger in the place, and this circumstance :favored his plans. No one could .wonder at his officiousness in aid of the wounded man; At his suggestion he was taken to the hotel and laid in a private room. At first he was violent, blas- phemous and noisy. But as he grew weak he became calm, and Thurlow drew him into 'conversation. The physicianwho was called said he must die, and that there was no possible escape. At this the poor wretch whimpered like a sick child. "I don't want to die,' he said. "' I am too wicked. I always meant to repent before I died, and now I must be cut off in all my sins. But it is just my luck. 'Nobody ever had such damned bad luck as I have. And now I am going to die! I know ,I shall go rightstraight to hell. If any of you gentle- men don't think so, you can get a right smart bet on it." "Hush, hush," Aid Thurlow--" if you are going to die, you had better make your peace with your God." At this the cowardly assassin began to cry land say he didn't want to die.' He asked if there was no minister to pray for page: 334-335[View Page 334-335] 334 PHTT TP THAXTER. him. "I must have some one to pray for me, for I can't pray: a d-d bit." Thurlow now slipped out, and having ascertained the resi- dence of a clergyman; hurried up there and quickly had him by the side of the-dying man. On his way back he briefly in. formed him of his object-that he hoped to get a confession from him of a murder committed a week or two before, and which, if it could be had, would probably save an innocent man from the gallows. They found the poor wretch lying in great distress of body and mind. The clergyman at once began to tell " of the infinite mercy and grace of the Redeemer. I: we would but lay bare our hearts and confess our sins, we may always hope for for- giveness." The gambler said he was too wicked and guilty. "Have you any particular sin on your mind?" inquired Thurlow. '"Have you wronged any man lately 2" "I have been a wretch-a murderer, a thief. I have done worse than that: I have cheated at cards, and robbed my own partner." ' * "Have you ever borne false witness against your neighbor 9,? inquired the Darson. "Inde6d I have," groaned the dying man ; " and the rascal will be hung on my testimony-yet, thank God, I would like to see him hung, thatis all." "How can yqu hope for forgiveness'from heaven, if you do not forgive your enemies?" meekly inquired the parson, now fully convinced that he had got a subject that was past praying for. ( Are you aware -that you, will be in eternity in less than -half an hour? If you have anything on your conscience, I charge you speak." f These words, uttered in a serious and solemn tone, alarmed the hardened sinner, who groaned out: "It, was a gambler at, San Francisco, Thaxter. I swore that he killed Colonel Stockwell. But I killed him myself, and stole his money." Thurlow was now all attention, and-beckoned to several -by- standers to approach and listen. "I killed him, just as he was-coming out of the Polka, with a dirk, and I grabbed his money. And then I laid it on ThaX- ter, 'cause I knowed he and Stockwell was enemies and-they had suspicioned me." . . . THE DREAM^ER:. 335 "You hear the confession,'" said Thurlow. a It is enough. Remember what you have heard." The miserable gambler- grew weaker each moment. Will he survive long, doctor? inquired a-bystander. ("Not twenty minutes," replied Esculapius,- dropping the wrist of the expiring man. "I'll take a-small-bet on that," groaned out the gambler. "( Let the devil take it then, for he has got you now," said one of the gambling fraternity, who had heard-this last speech. They looked-the man was dead. Thurlow immediately procured pen and paper, and drew up a statement of the confession, to which the minister and some half a dozen others affixed their 'signatures. At sunrise the next morning he was on board the stage and on his way to San Francisco. In twenty-four hou'rs his journey was accom- plished. He early sought out the judge in his chambers and submitted the dead gambler's confession to him. The judge having read it remarked it was a clear case, and he would make out an order for the discharge of the prisoner. With this in his hand Thurlow walked out, happy in the consciousness of having done as he would be dopne by. *, ' . page: 336-337[View Page 336-337] CHAPTER XL I. SURPRISES. IT waS on the same morning of Thurlow's arrival from the interior that the first news of the imprisonment ofThaxter was carried to the iears of hIis wife and Nabby at the Laguna That morning Nabby was as usual at her tub, and the forlorn mother was down on the shore of the bay,looking and still looking for the return of those whom reason said would not come back. She had been there through the whole long night. Nabby had tried, late the evening before, to get her to enter the house and lie down-but it was in vain. The woman's heart seemed broken,-and it was certain she could not long survive the great sorrow that was eating out her life. Nabby was in the deepest distress about her, and would not willingly. have been absent from lher side for a moment. But the very poor have no time to assuage the sorrow and grief of those they love. They must work, work, work, all the time. Nabby could not afford time to sit or wander with her on the beach. c k She must toil at her tub, else wouldshe be unable to l provide for her the food necessary to detain the ebbing life in the failing body. She would stop every few, minutes in the midst of her work,sand look down and see what her mistress was doing. Her motions this morning were more strange than usual, and the faithful creature was alarmed, for she feared her senses had entirely left her. "There she goes," said she, stopping her work and planting her dripping hands firmly on her hips. '( There she goes--up and down--up and down-there-look-see-'there, she sees them-poor woman-now they are. gone. She will die soon. I must, get a doctor, and have her taken away from here." "( Who is thati" said a strange woman who had lately moved SURPR ISES 337 to the Laguna, and who had come around for the sake of mak- ing-acquaintance with Nabby. -, , ,That is my mistress, poor woman, and I don't know what will become of her. She goes up and down, all the time, and she hardly ever sleeps or eats anything. Poor woman, she'll die." "There, see," said the other, " what is she doing now2 See, the waves come clear up over her feet."'-' "-Sometimes I am afraid she will drownd herself. She talks and walks, and calls on Philip to come and. save the boys from drowndin'. Now she calls out to Ben, and now to George to swim ashore, to come to her, and she reaches out as if she would save thetm, and when they don't come you will see her fall down on the ground and lie for two hours at a time. There, see her up and down--up and down." "Who are Ben and'George?" "They were the two darlin'est boys, and they was both drownded in this terrible bay; and- Philip was her husband, and he went away and left her, and lives with another wife, and it broke my mistress's heart." "The wretch," said the comforter. "I would tear his eyes out if he was mv husband. What is his n-ame 'sides Philip?" ,' Philip Thaxter, and he lives in town, and has a fine house, and keeps such pretty hosses, and rides out with that hateful, wicked woman that stole him from my mistress." "Philip Thaxter!" exclaimed the astonishedwoman. "Why I seen his name in the newspapers." I You did; well that's his wife," pointing to the distant figure on the beach." "Yes, and he is in jail. Didn't you know it? He's in jail for killing a man, and all the papers and other folks say he will be hung." "O that ar'n't the man," said Nabby. "Yes, it is," said the other, "I it is Philip Thaxter, the gambler. He killed another man named Stockwell, and he is in jail." * "You don't say A" exclaimed Nabby, holding up both hands in astonishment. A "Is it possible? Penobscot! The wretch! It's just what he desarves. No wonder he should'kill some- body after bein' so wicked as to leave his dear good wife and children. I'll let mistress know all about it. See, she is-om- 15 page: 338-339[View Page 338-339] 338 - 'PHTLIP THAXTL kK. ing. You stand back a little way, and hear how strange she talks." The visitor stood back behind a line of newly washed clothes, so as not to be observed by Mrs. Thaxter when the latter ap. proached, and seated he'rself upon a large round and smooth stone that happened to lie about twenty feet from Nabby's tub, and a little farther fi'om the place where the newsbearer stood listening. Ever and anon sie would cast back her eyes upon the salt ocean spray, as the white caps danced upon its sur- face, before the strong wind which swept up the channel. "Here let me sit down," said she, partly to herself, and partly that Nabby might hear. "s But I am not tired. O no, I am not tired': It makes one weak to stand so long upon the shore. That is all. I am not tired." Pausing a moment, and again casting her eyes towards the sea, she continued: "They are dead! Yes, they are dead! No, no, not dead. I saw them last night, coming through the air. Yes, I did," she said, stretching forth her hands as if she would grasp them, and her eyes fixed on some approaching object. "They clapped their 4 hands, and beckoned me to follow them; and when I rose to go I fell upon the bank. Andtheyv were gone. But I'll not die-no. My boys may live-may live. O cruel word, that m ay-'which harrows up my heart with hopes of what I klnow cannot be possible I But if they live, ad fnd find me dead, who then shall save them from being homeless wanderers in the streets. O no, I must not die! Nabby, come here, Tell me who that is behind the clothes line-there." - Nabb$ came forward and said it was a washerwoman that lived do vn the Laguna, and she had some dreadful news. "o You need not tell it to me, Nabby. No news can sound dreadful after this to me. . The worst news would be good if it would engage 'my thoughts a little time, so I would not think upon my children who are dead, and my husband, who is worse than dead. , MNy crazy brain so runs upon this double grief, I cannot think of anything else You need not tell your news to me*" By this time the nelghbor woman had come forward, and in spite of Nabby's. motions to her to keep quiet, she broke out: V : ' ' ' O ma'am, it will do you so much good to know it! It is your turn now. Your wicked husband is in jail, and he will be hanged." - - . - * . I '** ' ^ . . * - i SURPRISES . 339 "( What is that?" said she, raising her head'and looking at the speaker with a half heedless, half incredulous air. "He is in jail-in jail, I say--your husband." "In jail! Nabby, what is this trick you are playing on me now? 'Who is in jail, and for. what?" ' Dear ma'am, I did not mean to tell you-but this woman says that Mr. Thaxter is in S tate's prison, and has killed a man, and will be hanged." "In prison! Philip in prison! He killed a man!- Why will you trifle with me thus? Have I not real griefs enough, that you should amuse yourself by such foolish stories as that? Leave. me-do leave mi!" "Well, it is true," said the neighbor. "I know it's true. That man that lives in the nice brick house back of" the hill. lie is in jail, and all the folks is talking about it, and say he will-be hung. And I hope he will, and he ort to be, for leav- ing a nice lady like yourself." "Woman, is this true? Do- you know it?" she shrieked, her eyes supernaturally fired, and her hands clinched till the blood started under the nails. , "God help your ladyship, it is all true. I knowed him well, for I had often seen him riding out with his t'other wife, and whe'n I went to the jail to see my Joe, who got tipsy and got into a fight, I seen the handsome Mr. Thaxter, the gambler, in the same place, and I heard folks say it was him as killed Col. 'Stockwell, and they said he would be hung, and I should think'you would be glad of it."- Mrs. Thaxter held up her hands with a look of infinite pain, and waived both Nabby and her visitor to withdraw. They fell back--when letting her head fall upon her lap, and cover-' ing her face with her, hands, she soliloquized "I had not thought to see his face ,again--nor had I thought to see him bound a prisoner. But now he is in prison, overcome, no doubt, by guilt and sorrow, perhaps he may again think' on his faithful wife, he so cruelly deserted. O, it was so cruel in hin to leave me thus! But I loved him innocent;-guilty I love him! I will go to prison, too. He is not guilty of this dreadful crime of murder-I know he is not'guilty. His gen- tle heart would revolt at such a critne. I know its tender na- ture, and he could not murder--no, he could not! I will go to him, and if he must die, he shall have my forgiveness. I will go to him now." page: 340-341[View Page 340-341] ,340 I PHLIP THAXTER. There is no medicine for a mind, diseased like action. The necessity to do precludes that constant brooding that often up. sets the initellect. How, long Mrs. Thaxter's reason had re- mained to her had' she Continued to think upon and brobd over "her troubles, is uncertain. But evidently it could not have held its throne much longer. As we have seen, Nabby had often thought her wandering, and felt she could not much lon- ger endure the rack and'torture of mind which she was under- ,going. This last news she feared would quite upset her. But she was entirely mistaken. The before disconsolate woman seemed at onc'e to forget her past troubles, and to think only of what was necessary to do for the future. She quickly rose from the stone whereon she had been sitting, and beckoning Nabby to follow her, entered the house. As quickly as possi- ble she arrayed herself as: best she could from her scanty ward- robe, and directing Nabby to do the same, they hastened to find the jail. When they came to the top of the hill which overlooks the city, they inquired where the jail was. They were directed to : the City Hall. Thither they proceeded, and inquired of seve- ral if the jail was in that building. One said it was; another that it was not./ At length a rarely civil man accosted them, and asked for whom they were, looking. Nabby replied for the jail, and for Mr. Thaxter. The stranger told them that Mr. Thaxter was at the other jail, on Pacific street, and directed them how to find it. To that place they then directed their steps. They knocked at the iron door, when a small hole in it was opened with la slide, and the question asked, "What's wanted '" , - "Is Mr: Thaxter here?" inquire d Nabby. "He is," was the reply. "Could we see him ; The heavy door swung open, and the two women timidly en-. tered. There was one room in the prison which was used as a sort of ante-room, and of which prisoners of the more genteel kind were allowed the use. It was a large room-larger than four ordinary cells. This room had been assigned to Thaxter, and at this time he was gloomily seated on a low chair or stool, his head down between his knees, and his eyes on the. floor. The jailor advanced, and-opening the door, remarked that there were some women outside, who wafted to, see him. Raising his head, he said gruffly- SURPRISES. 341 ( Some women What women can be after me, I would like to know?" He did not turn round th look, and the next word he heard was his own name, "Philip," pronounced in a trembling female voice. "Well, who wants Philip V" he said, throwing up his head and turning to look over his left shoulder. Philip," was again repeated, this time, as he thought, in a tone not unfamiliar to his ear. , Well," said he, not moving farther, "what would you have of Philip? Do you know me?" !"Look on me, Philip," said she, advancing and falling on her kjnees by his side, and placing her hands on -his Shoulder. "tLook on me, and do not kill me." "What!" exclaimed he,turning quickly round and grasp- ing her hands, "Caroline? It is not possible. It is an appari- tionsent to torture me-to prick my wicked soul to sharper sense of guilt. Away!" He placed his hands over his eyes, as if he would' shut out the light. "Look on me, Philip," said she, sobbing, and the tears fast falling down her cheeks. "Let me but touch you. I am your faithful wife-your Caroline. O Philip, do not turn your eyes from me!" - He still remained seated, and she continued on the floor, her - arms resting on his knees. The tears from his eyes now gushed forth, He laid his head upon her shoulder and was a child again. For several minutes, not a word was spoken. At length, Thaxter had so far overcome his emotion that he said: "O Caroline! I could have borne all but this-the rabble's jibes-the fingers of the executioner. But this I cannot bear. O, why is this last crowning misery reserved for, me? "And am I so hateful Is my voice so unwelcome?" "It was enough for me tofeel the deep disgrace and shame that I had brought on all I loved; but to have. you here to wit- ness my ignominious punishment of a long life of guilt, is more than I can bear. 'I hoped you would never hear how fallen and lost I was. But now you see it all. O why did you come to this land of sin and shame?" "Did I not promise years ago, while my father lived, and before we were wed, I would follow you wherever you might page: 342-343[View Page 342-343] 342 PHtTP THAXTTIME go? I have but redeemed my word, and O, do not, do not, Philip, chide me- for it! I can never leave you again, never, Inever." "Alas! I fear my time isi short. I know not what the proof is of the crime with which I am charged, as I knew nothing of the act, and if they are set to have my life, they can manufac- ture much proof as well as little, and 'tis said the chain of evi- dence, is complete. If -so, then my sands are nearly run, and soon you will be left in the world again alone' Well, be it so. Would this meeting had never been. You would not then have known, perhaps, how base a wretch has been your hus- band and the father of your children." "The children!" said Caroline, looking imploringly in his face. "O do not speak of them!" i ;"Not speak of them i and why? Are they not well?" "Speak not of them. Hcannot tell you: do not ask me. To know will kill you." "' You would not torture me when already so crushed and borne down with sin and sorrow." "Alas!no. Look at me, Philip. They are dead." "Dead! dead, O heavens! both dead? They will then never know the guilty wretch their father is." "They sleep beneath the foaln. They will never creep upon your lap again and please you with their childish, innocent prat- tle. They will not," said she, laying her hand upon his bosom, "ever rest their little hands again, as they 'wre wont, and as I do now. They will not kiss your cheek like this," kissing' him. "No, they are dead. Down in the eaves of the dark sea they lie. - Their curly'uringlets no more play about their heads, and round their half hid ears; but they, tangled, lie upon their fast decaying cheeks, and over their sweet mouths and those full lips we have so often kissed. And there may they always lie; for there is no more breath to brush them away. O, dead! and you, too, may be with me but a little while, and were my fate bound up in yours, and could my life end with it, then I would ask ask no more. -But to wander over this desolate world alone, -to drag out: life, wishing each day the last-to dread, and not to hope, to-morrow-no, no, I cannot survive you. You must not, shall not die. You are not guilty?" "Not guilty of this crime for which I am to suffer, but with baser crimes and darker guilt, my soul is black. Did I not , ,. v , . . SURPEISES. 343 leave the truest, sweetest wife, to wander in the path of crime? Have I not left my boys to perish? What punishment so great I have not deserved it? It is but justice that has over- taken me. I deserve to die." ( Do not, dear Philip, do not, if you do not hate me, talk of your acts towards me. Have I come here to harass your mind by thoughts like that'I No, you have my heart's for- giveness. Speak not again of that." During all the while this 'conversation had been going on, poor Nabby had stood back in a corner of the room nearly hid filro sight. She had been obliged to turn away several times in order to give her feelings vent, and to wipe away the tears that flowed, in spite of her, fast and continually down her cheeks. At about this time, too, there was another knock at the little sliding window in the door of the, jail, and Ben Thurlow asks if hecan see Mr. Thaxter. He is admitted and presents the judge's order for the discharge of the prisoner. He glances into the rfoom, and is amazed to see his former friend in the arms of his wife. He gives the order to the turnkey and turns away his face, for he cannot look upon the scene. "Mr., Thaxter," said the turnkey. - ( Sir," replied he, while his wife clung to him with fearful tenacity, as if she feared he was to be taken from her. ('I have an order here from the Judge and the District Attorney." "I will attend to it in a little while, do now leave me for a little longer," "I cannot do it; the order calls for your immediate and uniconditional release." "Release!" he exclaimed in surprise, while his wife turned eyes that appalled him, on the turnkey. I know nothing about it, except that another man has con- fessed and you are ordered to be set free. But take your time, you can go whenever you choose." "' O, Philip, I knew it nmust be so," said his wife. "Come, let us away from this cruel place." "Yes, we will go. Bit where? We have no friends, no home, no money, now. .IShave sinned away all but life and you. Where shall we tiurn." "( If we will wait till we can send to our good friends at home, we may return to them." ?-' , * i page: 344-345[View Page 344-345] 344 PUTLTP THAXTER. "How could we return to our home that was once made so glad and -merry by the prattle and gambols of our children and they not with us? The thoughts of our lost priceless jew- els that would be ever suggested by those familiar scenes, would make our lives ,one scene of prolonged sorrow and unhappiness. No, we must select some quiet spot elsewhere, and there hid from the world pass our remaining days. All this while Nabby was standing in the dark corner scarce., able to contain herself, and watching her opportunity when she could leave the room unnoticed, she glided out into the hall bf the jail. Here she found a person who had been scarcely fess interested than herself in the scene which we have just des- cribed. This was Thurlow, whom, though it had been years since she had seen him, she instafntly recognised as the old friend of Thaxter in times now long gone by. There was no time for explanation of the circumstances that had thus brought them together within the walls of a jail, thousands of miles away from w here they had last seen each other.- They stood at the back part of the hall, each thinking that this world was full of strange coincidences, when the jail door was again opened. , Nabby looked and saw the door open, and Bumpus entered with the two boys, which for two weeks had been given up for, dead. She gave a scream and rushed towards the door. She clasped them both,together in her-stout arms, and lifting them up, while the tears rolled down her face faster than everV she bore them bodily, right into the room where their father ;and mother were at that moment talking of them as forever lost. As they entered the door both Thaxter and his wife raised their eyes anxiously, as if fearing some one had entered to tear them asunder. "What!" said he, not believing his ow'n eyes. "It is." ' It is the boys," cried she, springing forward and falling on her knees, and clasping th;em to her bosom. The scene which followed is best left undescribed. It was half an hour, before Thurlow ventured into the room. After what hadLpreviously happened, nothing could excite sur- prise in that little company, and his entrance was as if it had been expected, and a matter of course. He suggested that the jail musthe left, and Thafxter asked whither should they go. Nabby proposed the' Laguna, and indeed, that seemed their only retreat, as they were completely destitute I of money. But Thurlow was not so poor in pelf, as his quon SU lAPRISES . o dam rich friend, Thaxter, having a few hundred dollars on deposit which he had dug in the mines with his own hands. tHe said that they must go with him, and having sent for a car- riage they all entered it but himself, and he mounted with the driver and directed him tohis hotel. There he took the best part of the house for his friends, and assumed the responsibility of the payment for it. The landlord, 'in showing him over the hous6 that he might select suCh rooms as would suit him, opened the' door of that which had been occupied by thie woman whose fate and fortune he felt was so mysteriously con- S neeted with his own, and the ittle girl that he had at first thought was an apparition. thi And where is the lady and the hild that occupied thi room?" eagerly inquired he. "Gone this three days," replied the landlord. Gone? which way have they gone "Don't know anything about them, sir." They were gone no one knew whither, and Thurlow saw them no more. C page: 346-347[View Page 346-347] CH APTER LXII. 1" ' , 'j CONCLUSI. . MY story is told. A few words will ow suffice to dispose of the characters over whom I feel thatP:I have no longer any control. The reader has as much right as I have to imagine ' the future of the people whose history I have revealed ito him. And yet something will seem to be lacking if I do not leave them better located and settled than they were at the close of the last chapter. They must be brought out from their trou- bles and trials and placed above them with a prospect of unin- terrupted happiness that n6 sorrow can ever invade, or else the tale will be incomplete. There was much discussion .in the party that left'the 'jail after they got to their hotel, as to what should be the future course of the different members composing it. Whither should they nqw go? Should they return to the dearly beloved New England? This was-the first wish of Mrs. Thax. ter; but she soon saw that the idea was most displeasing to her husband, and abandoned it. He@' knew that his life of sin and folly would be all known and canvassed by his old leighbors and townsmen, and that he could never. hold the same position among them and feel the same self-respect that ie had before he left. There would be a perpetual sense of , lumiliation and shame pressing him down, and he would be he subject of much curiosity and censure. He therefore bought it would be better for him to live somewhere ,else-a onclusion with which all agreed. He now bethoug ht himself of the ranche which he had won rom the native Californian, and which having been recorded n his wife's name, he had never been able ,to dispose of, and Vhich was hers still. This ranche was situated some one hun. * ' ; .' f. CbNCLUSION. 3 7 dred and fifty miles to the south of the city, and included one of the finest of the many fine valleys in California. It was about twenty miles long by ten broad, and was beautifully di- versified by plains and upland, lawns and openings, and all completely hedged in, almost as effectually as the valley of Prince Rasselas, save only on one side, where the stream that flowed through it found its outlet into the next valley lying be - tween this and the ocean. . The buildings were of the most ample dimensions, built ini the old Spanish style--one story in height, with a- deep piazza on every side. The walls were im- mensely thick, built of adobies,or sun-dried bricks, that were made from the soil of the immediate vicinity. The roofs were tiled, and would endure and be perfectly impervious to water so long as the rafters would sustain them. In summer, the rooms enclosed by these walls were delightfully cool, and in fact they khew but little variation of, temperature ,during the entire year. There was a large stock-of cattle and horses on the ranche at the time of its sacrifice by the former owner. But as there was no one to interfere with him, and it was totally neglected by Thaxter, he had driven off and sold all the neat stock and all the horses, and having been killed himself in a drunken fray with some Indians and half-breeds who were accustomed to hang about his place, there had been no one for the past year who had pretended to ownership, and hence everything was fast going to ruln. Thaxter had learned this much of its condition, and was just negotiating with a tenant to go and live on it at the time of his arrest. / Caroline, when she learned how this place had come to, be his, had some doubts whether she ought to avail herself of it.' But having learned that its former owner, after having attempted murder in order to accomplish another fraud, and afterwards stolen all the stock from it, and wound up by being shot, leaving no heir in the country, concluded she might as well claim it as leave it to be overrun by half-breeds and Indians. It, was accordingly determined that Thaxter and his family should go down there and live a life of retirement in this pleasant valley. It contained many fine fruit trees such as pear, apricot, quince, fig and peach, besides acres of thriving grape vines. In this- quiet h6me with those she loved, was Caroline Thaxter to spend the remainder of her days. i , - ;. ' page: 348-349[View Page 348-349] 34S PHLIP THAXTER. But Bumpus and Nabby determined to return to the Atlan- tic States, and Thurlow thought. that his duty to his revered father--for he had learned-from Bumpus thatO his mother was in her grave-required him to accompany them. Bumpus held Nabby to her promise to marry him after the boys had been found, apd accordingly the second morning 'after their oppor- tune appearance, the papers of the city contained the announce- ceinent of the marriage by the Rev. Dr.' , of Mr. Josiah Bumpus and Mrs. Abigail Twiggs. They accompanied their old friends to their new home in the valley, where Nabby as usual, made herself useful in putting things in order. They returned, however, after a few weeks, Bumpus having received a power of attorney from Thaxter to sell the old Brooks farm and after paying off the amount due on the mortgage to retain the balance for himself and Nabby. Thurlow was importuned to stay and live with his old friends on the ranch, but he declined, saying he was- not born 'for rest. He, left on the steamer with Bumpus and Nabby,! and in a little over a month was sitting in his father's parlor entertaining the old gentleman with stories of his California life. The Brooks farm was sold and brought enough to pay off all incumbrances and leave the faithful and homely couple to: whom the residue was coming a little over three thousand dol- lar's. They wisely concluded not to enlarge the farm on which i Bumpus had lived so long but to put their surplus money out at interest in such a manner that it would be safe, and then make use of the increase as they might need it. In this way they now live as comfortable as it is possible for them to be. They pass among their neighbors as " fore handed"' people, never wanting for anything, never repenting anything. Nabby superintends the geese and chickens, and busies herself about thee house, while Bumpus looks to, the general management of the farm. They are both as happy as a pair of duces, and as they go to church of a Sunday; not arm in arm, but hand in hand, the roguish boys speak of them as the old duck and drake. There is one man who sometimes comes, when the weather is warm, and sits in Nabby's front yard and 'talks with her. It is Luke Philbrick. He is a driveling old man now. He knows little of what is going on at the present, and one or two great sorrows seem in a great measure to havye obscured the past. Soon after Bumpus returned to his own house the old O CONCLUSION. 349 man happened to be passing by and stopped to enquire who, it was. He had quite forgotten him. "I am Bumpus,' said he, ",you know Bumpus; and this is my wife, her that was Nabby Twiggs. You knew Nabbv; used tolive with Philip Thaxter." "Thaxter!" exclaimed the oldi man catching hold of the fence to save himself from falling, as though the name had a power to strike him to the earth. "Thaxter! O yes. I remember; the seal, the seal,?' and leaning on his staff the old man tottered away. Since' then when he comes to their house they never mention the name of Thaxter. Thurlow remained at home for a year. During that time he lived a life of seclusion, On each fair day' he would take out his aged father to ride in the carriage, and would often regale him by the hour with stories of what he saw while abroad. But the most of his life was a dream. His mind was upon the sad and beautiful face which he had met in his childhood, and which had again appeared to him in California, and then so mysteriously disappeared he knew not whither. Sometimes he thought he could go forth again and seek it but he could not leave his old father, who was, evidently to his eyes, fast failing. No, whatever impulse might be upon him he would first discharge every duty to him who had the first' claim upon him. One evening the old man's failing faculties seemed to have returned to him with all their former vigor. He talked and laughed as he had not done before for many a day. Old scenes, long forgotten, came back and were present to his mind. It was the last flicker of the exhausted lamp. He retired to rest at his usual hour and awoke in that land where old age is unknown. Ben remained at home to attend to the burial of the old gentleman. That evening he sat in the old family kitchen where so many of his youthful and-happiest hours had' been spent. There was a bright fire in the broad old fashioned fire place. He gazed with fixed eyes on the bright coals and one scene after another appeared as it were present .to him. The events of his whole life seemed to walk in procession before him. Now he. sees that bright vision of vernal loveliness that so charmed him in his youth, then follow years of adventure, of peril, of sorrow and experience, and again that bright being appears before him, and she now leads a little child. She has a sadder countenance than then, but her face is still imbued . . page: 350-351 (Advertisement) [View Page 350-351 (Advertisement) ] PHLIP TjHA XTER. With the samL angelic Serenity. 'She beckons him to follow. She is fading from his sight, yet still beckons-she islgone. He still sat looking into the fire after the figure had disap-' ,peared, thinking it might return. But the fire paled, and ashes gathered upon the coals, and it came not back. He arose from his seat and retired to his own room; With the morning light he re-commenced his wanderings. a Y T . E B * D -0. /( ** / e A ;' . . .' " i NEll BOO KS And New Editions Recently Publishedv by iRUDD & -ARLETON,' MSO GRAND STREET, NEW YORK. (BROOKS BUILDING, COR. OF BROADWAY.) N B.-Rudd & Carleton, upon receipt of the price, will send any of the follow Ing Books, by mail, POSTAGE FREE, to any part of the United States. 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