CHAPTER I. ADVENTURES IN THE FAR WEST. THE CAUSE OF THE WHOLE AFFAIR. Ned Sinton gazed at the scene before him with indescribable amazement. He had often witnessed strange things in the course of his short, though checkered life, but he had never seen anything like this. Many a dream of the most extravagant nature had surrounded his pillow with creatures of curious form and scenes of magic beauty, but never before, either by actual observation or in nightly vision, had Ned Sinton beheld a scene so wonderful as that which now lay spread out before him. Ned stood in the center of a cavern of vast dimensions, so vast and so full of intense light that instead of looking on it as a huge cave, he felt disposed to regard it as a small world. The sides of this cavern were made of pure gold, and the roof, far above his head, was spangled all over with glittering points like a starry sky. The ground, too, and in short everything within the cave was made of the same precious metal. Thousands of stalactites hung from the roof like golden icicles. Millions of delicate threads of the same material also depended from the star-spangled vault, each thread having a golden ball at the end of it, which, strange to say, was transparent and permitted a bright flame within to shine through and shed a yellow luster over surrounding objects. All the edges and angles and points of the irregularly formed walls were of burnished gold, which reflected the rays of these pendant lamps with dazzling brilliancy, while the broad masses of the frosted walls shone with a subdued light. Magnificent curtains of golden filigree fell in rich voluminous folds on the pavement, half concealing several archways which led into smaller caverns, similar to the large one. Altogether it was a scene of luxurious richness and splendor that is utterly indescribable. But the thing that amazed Ned sent in most was that the company of well-dressed ladies and gentlemen who moved about in these splendid halls and ate golden ices or listened to the exquisite strains of music that floated on the atmosphere were all as yellow as guineas. Ned could by no means understand this. In order to convince himself that there was no deception in the matter, he shook hands with several other people nearest to him, and found that they were cold and hard as iron, although to all appearance they were soft and pliable, and could evidently move about with perfect freedom. Ned was very much puzzled indeed. One would have thought he must have believed himself to be dreaming. Not a bit of it. He knew perfectly well that he was wide awake. In fact, a doubt upon that point never crossed his mind for a moment. At length he resolved to ask the meaning of it all, and observing a stout old gentleman with a bland smile on his yellow continence, in the act of taking a pinch of golden snuff from a gold snuff-box, he advanced and accosted him. Pray, sir, began Ned modestly, may I take the liberty of asking you what is the meaning of all this? All what, sir, inquired the old gentleman in a deep metallic voice. This golden cave with its wonderful lamps and especially these golden people, and excuse me, sir, for remarking on the circumstance, you seem to be made of gold yourself. I have often heard the term applied to extremely rich persons, but I really never expected to see a man who was literally worth his weight in gold. The old gentleman laughed sarcastically at this sally, and took an enormous pinch of gold-dust. As he did not seem inclined to be communicative, however, Ned said again, What is the meaning of it all? Can you explain what has done it? Being blandly at his interrogator, this gentleman of precious metal placed his head a little on one side, and tapped the lid of his snuff-box, but said nothing. Then he suddenly exclaimed at the full pitch of his voice, California, my boy! That's what's done it, Edward! California forever! Ned, hurrah! As the deep tones of his voice rang through the star-spangled vault, the company took up the shout, and, with California forever, made the cavern ring again. In the excess of their glee the gentleman took off their hats and the ladies their wreaths and turbans, and threw them in the air. As many of them failed to catch these portions of costume in their descent, the clatter caused by their fall in the golden pavement was very striking indeed. Come here, my lad, said the old gentleman, seizing Ned sent in by the arm, and laughing heartily as he dragged him towards an immense mirror of burnish gold. Look at yourself there! Ned looked and started back with horror on observing that he himself had been converted into gold. There could be no mistake whatever about it. There he stood, staring at himself like a yellow statue. His shooting jacket was richly chased with alternate stripes of burnished and frosted work. The buttons on his vest shone like stars. His pantaloons were striped like the coat. His hair was a massive disheveled filigree, and his hands, when in the height of his horror he clasped them together, rang like a brass founder's anvil. For a few moments he stood before the mirror, speechless. Then a feeling of intense indignation unaccountably took possession of him, and he turned fiercely on the old gentleman exclaiming, You have done this, sir. What do you mean by it, eh? You're quite mistaken, Ned. I didn't do it. California has done it.  California forever. See here, as he spoke the old gentleman threw out one leg in both arms and began to twirl round after the fashion of a peg top on one toe. At first he revolved slowly, but gradually increased his speed until no part of him could be distinctly observed. Ned's sentence stood aghast. Suddenly the old gentleman shot upwards like a rocket, but he did not quit the ground. He merely elongated his body until his head stuck against the roof of the cave. Then he ceased to revolve and remained in the form of a golden stalactite, his head surrounded by stars and his toe resting on the ground. While Ned stood rooted to the spot, turning the subject over in his mind and trying to find out by what process of chemical or mechanical action so remarkable a transformation could have been accomplished, he became aware that his uncle, old Mr. Shirley, was standing in the middle of the cave regarding him with a look of mingled sarcasm and pity. He observed, too, that his uncle was not made of gold like the people around him, but was habited in a yeomanry uniform. Mr. Shirley had been a yeoman twenty years before his nephew was born. Since that time his proportions had steadily increased and he was now a man of very considerable rotundity, so much so that his old uniform fitted him with excessive tightness. The coat would by no means button across his capacious chest and being much too short showed a very undignified amount of braces below it. Uncle, exclaimed Ned Centon, rushing up to his relative, what can be the meaning of all this? Everybody seems to be mad. I think you must be mad yourself to come here such a figure as that, and I'm quite sure I shall go mad if you don't explain it to me. What does it all mean? California, replied Mr. Shirley, becoming more sarcastic in expression and less pitiful. Why, that's what everybody cries, exclaimed Ned, who was now driven almost to desperation.  Just glance round at the cave and the company all made of gold. And look at me, gold too, if not pinchback, but I'm not a good enough judge of metals to tell which. What has done it, uncle? Do look in a better humor and tell me how it has happened. California, replied Mr. Shirley, yes, yes, I know that California seems to be everything here, but how has it come about? Why are you here and what has brought me here? California, repeated Mr. Shirley. Uncle, I'll go deranged if you don't answer me. What do you mean? California, reiterated Mr. Shirley. At the same moment, a spout golden lady with a filigree turban shouted, forever, at the top of a very shrill voice, and immediately the company took up the cry again, filling the cave with deafening sounds. Ned sent and gave one look of despair at his relative, then turned and fled. Put him out, shouted the company, down with the intruder. Ned cast a single glance backward and beheld the people pushing and buffeting his uncle in a most unceremonious manner. His helmet was knocked down over his eyes and the coat, so much too small for him, was rendered an easy fit by being ripped up behind to the neck. Ned could not stand this. He was stout of limb and bold as a lion, although not naturally addicted to fighting. So he turned suddenly around and flew to the rescue. Plunging into the midst of the struggling mass of golden creatures, Ned hid out right and left like a young Hercules and his glows rang upon their metal chests and noses like the sound of sledge hammers, but without any other effect. Suddenly he experienced an acute sensation of pain and awoke to find himself hammering the bed post with bleeding knuckles and his uncle standing beside his bed chuckling immensely. Oh, uncle, cried Ned, sitting up in his bed and regarding his knuckles with a perplexed expression of countenance. I've had such an extraordinary dream. I, Ned, interrupted his uncle and all about California, I'll be bound. Why, how did you guess that? It needs not a wizard to guess that, lad. I've observed that you have read nothing in the newspapers for the last three months but the news from the gold diggings of California. Your mind has, of late, been constantly running on that subject, and it is well known that daydreams are often reproduced at night.  Were you fighting with gold diggers, eh? Or Indians? Neither, uncle, but I was fighting with very strange beings, I assure you, and well, well, interrupted Mr. Shirley, never mind the dream just now. We shall have it at some other time. I have important matters to talk over with you, my boy. Moxton has written to me. Get up and come down as quickly as you can, and we'll discuss the matter over our breakfast. As the door closed after the retreating form of his uncle, Edward Sitton leaped out of bed and into his trousers. During his toilet he wondered what matters of importance Mr. Shirley could intend to discuss with him, and felt half inclined to fear from the grave expression of his uncle's face when he spoke of it as something of a disagreeable nature awaited him. But these thoughts were intermingled with reminiscences of the past night. His knuckles too kept constantly reminding him of his strange encounter, and do what he would he could not banish from his mind the curious incidents of that remarkable golden dream. End of Chapter 1 CHAPTER II OF THE GOLDEN DREAM This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Golden Dream by R. M. Ballantine. CHAPTER II. OUR HERO We have entered thus minutely into the details of our hero's dream, because it was the climax to a long series of daydreams in which he had indulged ever since the discovery of gold in California. Lord Sintin was a youth of eighteen at the time of which we write, and an orphan. He was tall, strong, broad-shouldered, fair-haired, blue-eyed, Roman-nosed, and gentle as a lamb. This last statement may perhaps appear inconsistent with the fact that during the whole course of his school life he had a pitched battle every week, sometimes two or three in the week. Ned never began a fight, and indeed did not like fighting.  Consequently he had to be thrashed. He was possessed, even in boyhood, of an amount of physical courage that would have suffice for any two ordinary men. He did not boast. He did not quarrel. He never struck the first blow, but if twenty boys had attacked him he would have tried to fight them all. He never tyrannized over small boys. It was not his nature to do so. But he was not perfect any more than you are, dear reader. He sometimes punched small boys' heads when they worried him, though he never did so without repenting of it and doing them a kindness afterwards in order to make up. He was very thoughtless, too, and very careless. Nevertheless he was fond of books, especially of books of adventure and studied these like a hero, as he was. Boys of his own size, or even a good deal bigger, never fought with Ned's sentence. They knew better than that. But they adored him, in some cases envied him, and in all cases trusted and followed him. It was only very big boys who fought with him, and all they got by it was a good deal of hard pummeling before they floored their little adversary and a good deal of jeering from their comrades for fighting a small boy. From one cause or another Ned's visage was generally scratched, often cut, frequently swelled, and almost always black and blue. But as Ned grew older the occasions for fighting became less frequent. His naturally amiable disposition improved, partly owing no doubt to the care of his uncle, who was in every sense of the term a good old man. And when he attained the age of fifteen and went to college and was called sentin' instead of Ned, his fighting days were over. No man in his senses would have ventured to attack that strapping youth with the soft blue eyes, the fair hair, the prominent nose, and the firm but smiling lips. Or if he had, he would have had to count on an hour's extremely hard work, whether the fortune of war went for or against him. When Ned had been three years at college his uncle hinted that it was time to think of a profession, and suggested that as he was a first-rate mathematician and had been fond of mechanics from his childhood he should turn an engineer. Ned would probably have agreed to this cheerfully had not a thirst for adventure been created by the stirring accounts which had begun to arrive at this time from the recently discovered gold fields of California. His enthusiastic spirit was stirred, not so much by the prospect of making a large fortune suddenly by the finding of a huge nugget, although that was a very pleasant idea, as by the hope of meeting with wild adventures in that imperfectly known and distant land. And the effect of such dreams was to render the idea of sitting down to an engineer's desk or in a mercantile counting-room extremely distasteful. Thus it came to pass the Edward Stanton felt indisposed to business and disposed to indulge in golden visions. When he entered the breakfast parlour his mind was still full of his curious dream. Come along, my lad, cried Mr. Shirley laying down the Bible and removing his spectacles from a pair of eyes that usually twinkled with a sort of grave humor, but in which there was now an expression of perplexity, set to work and get the edge off your appetite, and then I'll read Moxton's letter. When Mr. Shirley had finished breakfast Ned was about half done, having just commenced his third slice of toast, so the old gentleman complimented his nephew on the strength of his appetite, put on his spectacles, drew a letter from his pocket and leaned back in his chair. Now, lad, open your ears and consider what I am about to read. Go on, Uncle, I'm all attention, said Ned, attacking slice number four. This is Moxton's letter that runs thus. Dear sir, I beg to acknowledge receipt of yours of the fifth. I shall be happy to take your nephew on trial, and, if I find him steady, shall enter into an engagement with him. I need not add that unremitting application to business is the only road to distinction in the profession he is desirous of adopting.  Yours very truly, Daniel Moxton. Is that all, inquired Ned, drawing his chair towards the fire into which he gazed contemplatively? Mr. Shirley looked at his nephew over the top of his spectacles and said, That's all. It's very short, remarked Ned, but to the point rejoined his uncle, Now, boy, I see that you don't relish the idea. And I must say that I would rather that you became an engineer than a lawyer, but then, lad, situations are difficult to get nowadays.  To be sure I have no great love for the cloth, Ned, but the latter reaches very high. The foot is crowded with a struggling mass of aspirants, many of whom are a very questionable character, but the top reaches to one of the highest positions in the empire. You might become the Lord High Chancellor at last, who knows. But seriously, I think you should accept this offer. Moxton is a grave stern man, but a sterling fellow for all that, and in good practice. Now, what do you think? Well, uncle, replied Ned, I have never concealed my thoughts from you since the day you took me by the hand eleven years ago and brought me to live under your roof, and I'll not begin to dissemble now. The plain truth is that I don't like it at all. Stop now, cried Mr. Shirley, with a grieved expression of countenance. Don't be hasty in forming your opinion. Besides my boy, you ought to be more ready to take my advice, even although it be not altogether palatable. My dear uncle, you quite misunderstand me. I only tell you what I think about the proposal. As to taking your advice, I fully intend to do that, whether I like it or not. But I think if you will listen to me for a few minutes, you will change your mind in regard to this matter. You know that I am very fond of traveling, and that I dislike the idea of taking up my abode on the top of a three-legged stool, either as a lawyer's or as a merchant's clerk. Well, unless a man likes his profession and goes at it with a will, he cannot hope to succeed, so that I have no prospect of getting on, I fear, in the line you wish me to adopt. Besides, there are plenty of poor fellows out of work who love sitting still from 9 a.m. to 10 p.m., and whose bread I would be taking out of their mouths by devoting myself to the legal profession and, at this point, Ned hesitated for a moment, and his uncle broke in with, Tell me now, if everyone thought about business as you do, how would the world get on, thank you? Badly, I fear, replied the youth with a smile, but everybody doesn't think of it as I do. And tell me, uncle, if everybody thought of business as you would wish me to do, what would come of the soldiers and sailors who defend our empire and extend our foreign trade and achieve the grand geographical discoveries that have of late added so much luster to the British name? Ned flushed and became quite eloquent at this point. Now, look at California, he continued, there's a magnificent region full of gold, not a mere myth or an exaggeration, but a veritable fact, attested by the arrival of letters and gold dust every month. Surely that land was made to be peopled, and the poor savages who dwell there need to be converted to Christianity and delivered from their degraded condition, and the country must be worked and its resources be developed, and who's to do it if enterprising clergymen and school masters and minors do not go to live there and push their fortunes? And which of the three callings do you propose adopting? inquired Mr. Shirley with a peculiar smile. Well, Uncle, the fact is I have not thought much about that as yet. Of course, I never thought of the first. I do not forget your own remark that the calling of a minister of the gospel of Christ is not like other professions to be adopted merely as a means of livelihood. Then as to the second, I might perhaps manage that, but I don't think it would suit me. Do you think then that you would make a good digger? Well, perhaps I would, replied Ned modestly. Mr. Shirley gravely regarded the powerful frame that reclined in the easy chair before him, and was compelled to admit that the supposition was by no means outrageous. Besides, continued the youth, I might turn my hand to many things in a new country. You know I have studied surveying, and I can sketch a little and know something of architecture. I suppose that Latin and Greek would not be of much use, but the little I have picked up of medicine and surgery among the medical students would be useful. Then I could take notes and sketch the scenery and bring back a massive material that might interest the public and do good to the country. Oh, said the old gentleman shortly, come back and turn author, in fact, and write a book that nobody would publish, or which in the event of its being published nobody would read. Come now, my dear Uncle, don't laugh at me. I assure you it seems very reasonable to me to think that what others have done and are doing every day I am able to do. Well, I won't laugh at you. But to be serious, you are wise enough to know that an old man's experience is worth more than a youth's fancies. Much of what you have said is true, I admit, but I assure you that the bright prospects you have cut out for yourself are very delusive. They will never be realized, at least in the shape in which you have depicted them on your imagination. They will dissolve, my boy, on a nearer approach, and as Shakespeare has it, like the baseless fabric of a vision, leave not a rack behind, or at least not much more than a rack. Ned reverted to the golden dream and fell uneasy under his uncle's kind but earnest gaze. Most men, continued Mr. Shirley, enjoy themselves at first when they go to wild countries in search of adventure, but they generally regret the loss of their best years afterwards. In my opinion, men should never emigrate unless they purpose making the foreign land they go to their home. But I won't oppose you if you are determined to go. I will do all that I can to help you and give you my blessing, but before you make up your mind I would recommend you to call all Mr. Moxton and hear what prospects he holds out to you. Then take a week to think seriously over it, and if at the end of that time you are as anxious to go as ever, I'll not stand in your way. You are kind to me, uncle. More so than I deserve, said Ned earnestly. I'll do as you desire, and you may depend upon it that the generous way in which you have left me to make my own choice will influence me against going abroad more than anything else. Ned sighed as he rose to quit the room, for he felt that his hopes at that moment were sinking. And before you take a step in the matter, my boy, said old Mr. Shirley, go to your room and ask counsel of him who alone has the power to direct your steps in this life. Ned replied briefly, I will, uncle, and hastily left the room. Mr. Shirley poked the fire, put on his spectacles, smoothed out the wrinkles on his bald forehead with his hand, took up the times and settled himself down in his easy chair to read. But his nephew's prospects could not be banished from his mind. He went over the whole argument again mentally with copious additions, ere he became aware of the fact that for three quarters of an hour he had been, apparently, reading the newspaper upside down. CHAPTER III HOPES AND FEARS Mr. Shirley receives a visit and a wild proposal. When Edward Stanton left his chamber an hour after the conversation related in the last chapter, his brow was unruffled in his step-light. He had made up his mind that, come what might, he would not resist the wishes of his only near-relative and his best friend. There was a day in the period of early boyhood that remained as fresh on the memory of young Stanton as if it had been yesterday, the day on which his mother died. The desolation of his early home on that day was like the rising of a dark thundercloud on a bright sky. His young heart was crushed, his mind stunned, and the first ray of light that broke upon him, the first gush of relief, was when his uncle arrived and took him on his knee, and seated beside the bed where that cold still form lay wept upon the child's neck as if his heart would break. Mr. Shirley buried the sister whom he had been too late to see alive. Then he and his little nephew left the quiet country village and went to dwell in the great city of London. From that time forward Mr. Shirley was a father to Ned who loved him more than anyone else on earth, and through his influence he was early led to love and reverence his heavenly father and his blessed redeemer. The subject of going abroad was the first in regard to which Ned and his uncle had seriously disagreed, and the effect on the feelings of both was very strong. Ned's mind wandered as he put on his hat and buttoned his great coat up to the chin and drew on his gloves slowly. He was not vain of his personal appearance. Neither was he reckless of it. He always struck you as being a particularly well-dressed man, and he had naturally a dashing look about him. Poor fellow, he felt anything but dashing or reckless as he hurried through the crowded streets in the direction of the city that day. Moxton's door was a green one, with a brass knocker and a brass plate, both of which ornaments owing to vertegry were anything but ornamental. The plate was almost useless being nearly illegible, but the knocker was still fit for duty. The street was narrow, as Ned observed with a feeling of deep depression, and the house to which the green door belonged, besides being dirty, retreated a little as if it were ashamed of itself. On the knocker being applied the green door was opened by a disagreeable-looking old woman who answered to the question, Is Mr. Moxton in with a short yes? And without further remark ushered our hero into a very dingy and particularly small office, which owing to the insufficient quantity of daylight that struggled through the dirty little windows required to be lighted with gas. Ned felt so to speak like a thermometer which was falling rapidly. Can I see Mr. Moxton, he inquired of a small disheveled clerk who sat on a tall stool behind a high desk, engaged in writing his name in every imaginable form on a sheet of note paper. The disheveled clerk pointed to a door which opened into an inner apartment and resumed his occupation. Ned tapped at the door indicated. Come in, cried a stern voice. Ned as a thermometer fell considerably lower. On entering he beheld a tall gauntman with a sour cast of countenance standing with his back to the fire. Ned advanced with a cheerful expression of face. Thermometrically speaking he fell to the freezing point. You are young sentin', I suppose. You've come later than I expected. Ned apologized and explained that he had had some difficulty in finding the house. Huh!  Have you ever been in an office before? No, sir. Up till now I have been at college. My uncle is rather partial, I fear, and may have spoken too highly of me. I think, however, that my hand is not a bad one. At least it is legible. At least, said Mr. Moxham, with a sarcastic expression that was meant for a smile, perhaps for a grin. Why, that's the most you could say of it. No hand is good, sir, if it is not legible and no hand can possibly be bad, that is legible. Have you studied law? No, sir. I have not. Hmm. You're too old to begin. Have you been used to sit at the desk? Yes. I have been accustomed to study the greater part of the day. Well, you may come here on Monday and I'll speak to you again and see what you can do. I'm too busy just now. Good morning. Ned turned to go, but paused on the threshold and stood holding the door handle. Excuse me, sir, he said, hesitatingly. May I ask what room I shall occupy if I come to work here? Mr. Moxham looked a little surprised at the question, but pointed to the outer office where the disheveled clerk sat and said, There! Ned fell to twenty below the freezing point. And praise, sir, he continued, May I ask what are office hours? From nine a.m. till nine p.m. with an interval for meals, said Mr. Moxton sharply, but we usually continue at work till eleven at night sometimes later. Good morning. Ned fell to zero and found himself in the street with an indistinct impression of having heard the disheveled clerk chuckling vociferously as he passed through the office. It was a hard struggle, a very hard struggle, but he recalled to mind all that his uncle had ever done for him, and the love he bore him, and manfully resolved to cast California behind his back forever and become a lawyer. Meanwhile, Mr. Shirley received a visit from a very peculiar personage. He was still seated in his armchair pondering his nephew's prospects when this personage entered the room hat in hand. The hat was a round straw one and cried heartily, Good day, kinsmen! Ah, Captain Bunting, how are you? Glad to see you, old fellow, exclaimed Mr. Shirley, rising and seizing the sailor by the hand.  Why, I believe it's six months since I saw you. Longer, Shirley. Longer than that, replied the captain, seating himself in the chair which Ned Sinton had vacated a short time before. I hope your memory is not given away. I have been half round the world, and it's a year and six months to-day since I sat here last. Is it? cried Mr. Shirley in surprise. Now, that is very remarkable. But do you know, Captain, I have often thought upon that subject and wondered why it is that, as we get older, time seems to fly faster, and events which happened a month ago seem as if they only occurred yesterday. But let me hear all about it. Where have you been and where are you going next?  The only part of him, in fact, that wasn't rough was his heart. That was soft and warm. I've been, as I remarked before, half round the world, and I'm going next to America. That's a short but comprehensive answer to your question. If you have time and patience, kinsmen, I'll open the logbook of my memory and give you some details of my doing since we last met. But first tell me, how is my young friend, Ned? Oh, he's well, excellently well, besides being tall and strong. You would hardly know him, Captain.  I wish him to become an engineer or a lawyer. But the boy is in love with California just now and dreams about nothing but wild adventures and gold dust. The captain gave a grunt, and a peculiar smile crossed his rugged visage as he gazed earnestly and contemplatively into the fire. Captain Bunting was a philosopher, and was deeply impressed with the belief that the smallest possible hint upon any subject whatever was sufficient to enable him to dive into the marrow of it and prognosticate the probable issue of it with much greater certainty than anyone else. On the present occasion, however, the grunt above referred to was all he said. It is not necessary to trouble the reader with the lengthened discourse that the captain delivered to his kinsmen. When he concluded, Mr. Shirley pushed his spectacles up on his bald head, gazed at the fire, and said, Odd, very odd. And interesting, too. Very interesting. After a short pause he pulled his spectacles down on his nose and looking over them at the captain said, And what part of America are you bound for now? California, answered the captain slowly. Mr. Shirley started as if some prophetic vision had been called up by the word and the tone in which it was uttered. And that, continued the captain, brings me to the point. I came here chiefly for the purpose of asking you to let your nephew go with me, as I am in want of a youth to assist me as a sort of supercargo and jack of all trades. In fact, I like your nephew much, and have long had my eye on him. I thank him the very man for my purpose. I want a companion to him, my business, one who is good at the pen and can turn his hand to anything. In short, it will be difficult to explain all the outs and ends of why I want him. But he's a tight, clever fellow, as I know, and I do want him. And if you'll let him go, I promise to bring him safe back again in the course of two years, if we are all spared. From what you've told me, I have no doubt the lad will be delighted to go. And believe me, his golden dreams will be all washed out by the time he comes back. Now, what say you? For the space of five minutes, Mr. Shirley gazed at the captain over his spectacles in amazement and said nothing. Then he threw himself back in his chair, pushed his spectacles up on his forehead, and gazed at him from underneath these assistants to vision. The alteration did not seem to improve matters, for he still continued to gaze in silent surprise. At last his lips moved, and he said slowly but emphatically, Now, that is the most remarkable coincidence I ever heard of. How so, inquired the captain. Why, that my nephew should be raving about going to California and that you should be raving about getting him to go? And that these things should suddenly come to a climax in the same forenoon? It's absolutely incredible. If I had read it in a tale now or a romance, I would not have been surprised, for authors are such blockheads generally that they always make things of this kind fit in with the exactness of a dovetail. But that it should really come to pass in my own experience is quite incomprehensible, and so suddenly, too. As to that remarked the captain with a serious philosophical expression of countenance, most things come to a climax suddenly, and coincidences invariably happen together. But after all it doesn't seem so strange to me for vessels are set in sale for California every other day, and well, interrupted Mr. Shirley starting up with energy as if he had suddenly formed a great resolve. I will let the boy go. Perhaps it will do him good. Besides, I have my own reasons for not caring much about his losing a year or two in regard to business. Come with me to the city captain and we'll talk it over as we go along. So saying Mr. Shirley took his kinsmen by the arm and they left the house together. End of Chapter 3 Chapter 4 of The Golden Dream This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Golden Dream by R. M. Ballantine. Chapter 4 The End of the Beginning. Farewell to Old England. As Captain Bunting sagaciously remarked, most things come to a climax suddenly. On the evening of the day in which our tail begins, Edward Sinton, still standing at zero, walked into his uncle's parlor. The old gentleman was looking earnestly, though unintentionally, at the cat which sat on the rug, and the cat was looking attentively at the kettle which sat on the fire hissing furiously as if it were disgusted at being kept so long from tea. Ned's face was very long and sad as he entered the room. Dear uncle, said he, taking Mr. Shirley by the hand. I'm not going to take a week to think over it. I have made up my mind to remain at home and become a lawyer. Ned, replied Mr. Shirley, returning his nephew's grasp. I'm not going to take a week to think over it, either.  Ned was incredulous at first, but as his uncle went on to explain how matters stood and gradually diverged from that subject to the details of his outfit, he recovered from his surprise and sprang suddenly up to one hundred degrees of Fahrenheit, even in this shade of the prospect of parting for a time from old Mr. Shirley. Need we be surprised, reader, that our hero on that night dreamed the golden dream over again with many wonderful additions and sundry, remarkable variations. Thus it came to pass that two weeks afterwards, Ned and his uncle found themselves steaming down the Thames to Graves End, where the good ship roving best lay riding at anchor with a short cable and top sails loose, ready for sea. Ned, said Mr. Shirley as they watched the receding banks of the noble river, you may never see home again, my boy. Will you be sure not to forget me? Will you write off in Ned?  How can you suggest such a—well, well, my boy, I know it. I know it, but I'd like to hear the assurance repeated by your own lips. I am an old man now, and if I should not live to see you again, I would like to have some earnest loving words to think upon while you are away. The old man paused a few moments and then resumed, Ned, remember when far from home that there is another home, eternal in the heavens, to which, if you be the Lord's child, you are hastening. You will think of that home, Ned, won't you? If I do not meet you again here at any rate I shall hope to meet you there. Ned would have spoken, but his heart was too full. He merely pressed old Mr. Shirley's arm. Perhaps, continued his uncle, it is not necessary to make you promise to read God's blessed word. You'll be surrounded by temptations of no ordinary kind in the Gold Regions, and depend upon it that the Bible, read with prayer, will be the best chart encompassed to guide you safely through them all. My dear uncle, replied Ned with emotion, perhaps the best promise I can make is to assure you that I will endeavor to do in all things and at all times as you have taught me, ever since I was a little boy. If I succeed, I feel assured that I shall do well. Along an earnest conversation ensued between the uncle and nephew, which was interrupted at last by the arrival of the boat at Graves End. Jumping into a wary, they pushed off and were soon alongside of the roving best, a bark of about 800 tons burden, and according to Captain Bunting, an excellent sea boat. Catch hold of the man ropes, cried the last named worthy, looking over the side. That's it. Now then. Jump. All right. How are you, kinsman? Glad to see you, Ned. I was afraid you were going to give me the slip. I have not kept you waiting, have I, inquired Ned? Yes, you have, youngster, replied the captain with a facetious wink, as he ushered his friends into the cabin and set a tray of broken biscuit and a decanter of wine before them. The wind has been blowing offshore the whole morning and the good ship has been straining at a short cable like a hound chained up. But we'll be off now in another half hour. So soon, said Mr. Shirley, with an anxious expression on his kind old face. All ready to heave up the anchor, sir, shouted the first mate down the companion. The captain sprang on deck and soon after the metallic clatter of the windlass rang a cheerful accompaniment to the chorus of the sailors. One by one the white sails spread out to the breeze and the noble ship began to glide through the water. In a few minutes more the last words were spoken, the last farewell uttered, and Mr. Shirley stood alone in the stern sheet of the little boat, watching the departing vessel as she gathered way before the freshening breeze. As long as the boat was visible, Ned's sentence stood on the ship's bulwarks holding on to the mizzen shrouds and waving his handkerchief from time to time. The old man stood with his head uncovered and his thin locks waving in the wind. Soon the boat was lost to view. Our hero brushed away a tear and leaped upon the deck where the little world of which for many days to come he was to form a part, busied itself in making preparation for a long, long voyage. The British Channel was passed. The Atlantic Ocean was entered. England sank beneath the horizon and for the first time in his life, Ned sent and found himself at sea. End of Chapter 4 Chapter 5 of The Golden Dream This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Golden Dream by R. M. Ballantine Chapter 5 The Sea, dangers of the deep and uncertainty of human affairs, a disastrous night and a bright morning, California at last. Only those who have dwelt upon the ocean for many months together can comprehend the feelings of delight with which the long and prison voyage draws near to his desired haven. For six long months did the roving best do battle with the surging billows of the great deep. During that time she steered towards the Gulf of Mexico, carefully avoiding that huge reservoir of seaweed turned the Sargasso Sea, in which the unscientific but enterprising mariners of old used to get be calmed oftentimes for days and weeks together. She coasted down the eastern shores of South America, fired at and showed her heels to a pirate, doubled cape horn, fought with the tempests that take special delight in reveling there, and finally, spreading her sails to the genial breezes of the Pacific Ocean, drew near to her voyage end. All this the good ship roving best did with credit to herself and comfort to her crew. But a few weeks after she entered the Pacific she was met contrary to all expectation by the bitterest scale that had ever compelled her to scut under bare poles. It was a beautiful afternoon when the first symptoms of the coming storm were observed. Captain Bunting had just gone down below, and our hero was standing at the weather gangway, observing the sudden dart of a shoal of flying fish, which sprang out of the sea, whizzed through the air a few hundred feet and fell with a splash into the water in their frantic efforts to escape from their bitter enemy, the Dolphin. While Ned Gaze contemplatively at the spot where the winged fish had disappeared, the captain sprang on deck. We're going to catch it, he said hurriedly as he passed forward. Tumble up there, tumble up. All hands to shorten sails. Hand down the royals and furl the tecallant sails, Mr. Williams, to the first mate, and look alive! Aye aye, sir, was answered in that prompt tone of voice which indicates thorough discipline and unquestioning obedience, while the men scrambled up the forehatch and sprang up the rat-lines hand-over-hand. A moment before the vessel had lain quietly on the bosom of the unruffled deep as if she were asleep. Now she was all up-roar into apparent confusion.  I see no indication of a storm, remarked young Sinton, as the captain walked out. Possibly not, lad, but I do. The barometer has fallen lower all of a sudden than I ever saw it fall before. You may depend upon it, we shall have to look out for squalls before long. Just cast your eyes on the horizon over the weather-biles there. It's not much of a cloud, and to say truth, I would not have thought much of it had the glass remained steady, but that faithful servant never. Better close reef the top sails, sir, said the mate, touching his cap and pointing to the cloud just referred to. Do so, Mr. Williams, and let the watch below remain on deck, and stand by to man the halyards. In less than an hour the roving best was running at the rate of twelve knots under close reef top sails before a steady gale, which in half an hour later increased to a hurricane, compelling them to take in all sail and lay too. The sun set in a blaze of mingle black and lurid clouds as if the heavens were on fire. The billows rose to their utmost height as the shrieking winds heaved them upwards, and then, cutting off their crests, hurled the spray along like driving clouds of snow and dashed it against the labouring ship as if impatient to engulf her in that ravening maw which has already swallowed up so many human victims. But the little vessel faced the tempest nobly and rose like a seamew on the white crest of each wave, while the steersmen, for there were two lashed to the wheel, kept her to the wind. Suddenly the sheet of the four tricell parted, the ship came up to the wind, and a billow at that moment broke over her pouring tons of water on her deck and carrying away the four mast, main top masts, and the jib-boom. Clear the wreck, down the helm and let her scud, shudded the captain who stood by the mizzen mast holding on to a belaying pin. But the captain's voice was drowned by the whistling winds, and seeing that the men were uncertain what to do, he seized one of the axes which were lashed to the foot of the mast, and began to cut away the ropes which dragged the wreck of the four mast under the lee of the ship. Williams, the mate, and the second mate followed his example, while Ned sprang to the wheel to see the orders to the steersmen obeyed. In half an hour all was clear and the ship was scutting before the gale under bare poles. We've not seen the worst of it, remarked the captain as he resumed his post on the quarter deck and brushed the brine from his whiskers. I fear, too, that she has received some bad thumps from the wreck of the four mast. You better go below sentin' and put on a top coat. It's no use gettin' wetter than you can help. I'm as wet as I can be, captain. Besides, I can work better as I am if there's anything for me to do. Well, there ain't much. You'll have enough to do to keep yourself from bein' washed overboard. How's her head, Larry? Nar Easton Boy East, replied one of the men at the wheel, Larry O'Neill by name, a genuine son of Aaron, whose jovial smile of rollicking good humor was modified, but by no means quenched by the serious circumstances in which he found himself placed. His comrade, William Jones, who stood on the larbored side of the wheel, was a short, thick-set stern seamen, whose facial muscles were scarcely capable of breaking into a smile and certainly failed to betray any of the owner's thoughts or feelings, excepting astonishment. Such passions as anger, pity, disgust, fear, and the like, whatever place they might have in Jones' breast, had no visible index on his visage. Both men were sailor-like and powerful, but they were striking contrasts to each other as they stood, the one sternly, the other smilingly, steering the roving best before that howling storm. Is not Nor Easton Boy East our direct course for the harbour of San Francisco, inquired Nudd Sitton? It is, replied the captain, as near as I can guess, but we've been blown about so much that I can't tell exactly. Moreover, it's my opinion we can't be far off the coast now, and if this scale holds on, I'll have to bring two at the risk of being capsized. Then plaguey coral reefs, too, are always springing up in these seas where you least expect them. If we go bump against one as we are going now, it's all up with us. Not a pleasant idea, remarked Nudd, somewhat gravely. Do these storms usually last long? Before the captain could reply, the first mate came up and whispered in his ear, Eh? How much do you say, he asked quickly? Five feet, sir. She surged heavily once or twice in the foremast, and I think must have started a plank. Call all hands to work the pumps, and don't let the men know how much water there is in the hold. Come below, Ned, I want you. Keep her head steady as she goes. Aye, aye, sir, sang out O'Neill as the captain descended the companion-hatch to the cabin, followed by his young friend. The dim light in the swinging lamp flickered fitfully when the ship plunged into the troughs of the seas, and rose again with a violent surge as each wave passed under her, while every plank and spar on board seemed to groan under the strain. Darkness now added to the terrors of the wild storm. Sitting down on a locker, Captain Bunting placed his elbows on the table, and covering his face with his hands remained silent for several minutes, while Ned sat down beside him, but for bored to interrupt his thoughts. Boy, he said at length, looking up anxiously, we've sprung a leak, and a few minutes will show what our fate is to be. Five feet of water in the hold in so short a time implies a bad one. Five feet, two, sir, said the mate, looking in at the cabin door, and the carpenter can't get at the leak. I feared as much, muttered the captain. Keep the men hard at the pumps, Mr. Williams, and let me know how it stands again in ten minutes. Captain, said Ned, it does not become a landsman to suggest, perhaps, but I can't help reminding you that leaks of this kind have been stopped by putting a sail below the ship's bottom. I know it, boy, I know it, but we could never get a sail down in such a night. Can nothing be done, then? Yes, lad, it's hard to do it, but it must be done. Life is more precious than gold. We must heave the cargo overboard. I have invested every farthing I have in the world in this venture, continue, Captain Bunting, sadly, but there's no help for it. Now, you were at the shifting of the cargo when we opened the hatches during the calms off the Brazilian coast, and as you know the position of the bales and boxes, I want you to direct the men so as to get it hove out quickly. Luckily, being a general cargo, most of the bales are small and easily handled. Here comes the mate again. Well, Mr. Williams, up another inch, sir, go, Ned, over with it. I'll superintend above. So good-bye to our golden drains. There was a slight tone of bitterness in the captain's voice as he spoke, but it passed away quickly, and the next instant he was on deck, encouraging his men to throw the valuable cargo over the side. Bail after bail and box after box were tossed ruthlessly out upon the raging sea until little was left in the ship save the bulky and less valuable portion of the cargo. Then a cry arose that the leak was discovered, the carpenter had succeeded in partially stopping it with part of a sail, and soon the pumps began to reduce the quantity of water in the hold. At last the leak was gained and effectually stopped, and before daybreak the storm began to subside. While part of the crew being relieved from the harassing work at the pumps busy themselves in repairing damages, Ned went to his cabin to put on dry clothes and take a little rest of which he stood much in need. Next day the bright sun rose in a cloudless sky, and a gentle breeze now wafted the roving best over the Pacific, whose bosom still heaved deeply from the effects of the recent storm. A sense of fervent thankfulness to God for deliverance filled the heart of our hero as he awoke and observed the warm sunbeams streaming in at the little window of his cabin. Suddenly he was roused from a deep reverie by the shout of, LAND HOE on deck. Words cannot convey an adequate idea of the effect of such a shout upon all on board. LAND HOE was repeated by everyone as he sprang in disabil up the hatchway. Where away, inquired Captain Bunting. Right ahead, sir, answered the lookout. Aye, there it is, said the captain as Ned, without coat or vest rushed to his side and gazed eagerly over the bow. There it is, Ned. California at last. Yonderize the golden mountains that have so suddenly become the world's magnet, and yonder, too, is the golden gate of the harbor of San Francisco. Ha! much good it'll do us. Again there was a slight tone of bitterness in the captain's voice.  There is still enough of the cargo left to enable us to make a start for the gold fields. Maybe we may make more money there than we would have made had we sold the cargo at a large profit by trafficking on the coast. Captain Bunting hooked his thumbs into the armholes of his waistcoat and shook his head. It was evident that he had no faith in gold digging. Meanwhile the crew had assembled on the forecastle and were looking out ahead with wistful and excited glances. For the fame of the golden land to which they were approaching had spread far and wide, and they longed to see the gold dust and nuggets with their own eyes. It's a beautiful land entirely, exclaimed Larry O'Neill with an irrepressible shout of enthusiasm which called forth a general cheer from the men. Our ah now! remarked another patlander. Don't you wish it was up to the knees and elbows and the golden sands already? Fie! Oid give a month's pay to have one day at the jiggins. I don't believe a word about it. I don't, remarked Jones with a dogged air of a man who shouldn't, wouldn't and didn't believe, and yet felt, somehow, that he couldn't help it. Neither do I, said another. It's all a sham. Come now, ain't it, Bill? he added, turning to a bronze veteran who had visited California two years before. A sham, exclaimed Bill. I tell you what it is, messmate, when you come swore to see the miners in San Francisco drinkin' sham pain like water and payin' a dollar for a glass of six-water grog. How much is a dollar, inquired a soft-looking youth, interrupting him.  Four shillings, exclaimed the soft youth in amazement. Clear the anchor and clue up the main top sail, shouted the mate. In another moment the crew were scattered, some aloft, to lay out on the top-sail yard, some to the clue-lines, and some to clear the anchor, which latter had not been disturbed since the roving best left the shores of old England. End of Chapter 5 CHAPTER 6 San Francisco An unexpected desertion, Captain Bunting takes a gloomy view of things in general, new friends and new plans, singular facts, and curious fancies. The Golden Gates, as they are called of San Francisco, are two rocky headlands about a mile apart which form the entrance to one of the finest harbors, or rather landlocked seas, in the world. This harbor is upward of forty miles long by about twelve miles broad at its widest point, and receives at its northern end the waters of the noble Sacramento River, into which all the other rivers in California flow. Nearly opposite to the mouth of the Sacramento, on the southern shores of the bay, stands the famous city of San Francisco, close to which the roving best let go her anchor and clasp the golden strand. The old adage that truth is strange, stranger than fiction, was never more forcibly verified than in the growth and career of this wonderful city. No dreams of Arabian romance ever surpassed the inconceivable wonders that were matters of everyday occurrence there during the first years of the Gold Fever, and many of the results attributed to Aladdin's wonderful lamp were almost literally accomplished, in some cases actually surpassed, in and around the cities of California. Before the discovery of gold, San Francisco was a mere hamlet. It consisted of a few rubed cottages built of sun-dried bricks, which were tenanted by native Californians. There were also a few merchants who trafficked in hides and horns. Cruisers and whalers occasionally put into the harbor to obtain fresh supplies of water, but beyond these, and the vessels engaged in the hide trade, few ships ever visited the port, and the name of San Francisco was almost unknown. But the instant the rumor got abroad that gold had been discovered there the eyes of the world were turned towards it. In a few months men and ships began to pour into the capacious harbor. A city of tents overspread the sand-hills on which the hamlet stood. Thousands upon thousands of gold-hunters rushed to the mines. The golden treasures of the land were laid bare and immense fortunes were made, literally in the course of a few weeks. In many cases these were squandered or gambled away almost as soon as made, but hundreds of men retired from the gold fields after a few months' labor and returned home possessed of ample fortunes. These, too, failed. Some from physical inability to stand the fatiguing labor of the mines, and some from what they termed want of luck, though want of perseverance was in nine times out of ten the real cause, while many hundreds perished from exposure and from the diseases that were prevalent in the country. Well would it have been for these lasts had they remembered God's word, make not haste to be rich. But the thirst for gold in the prospect of the sudden acquisition of enormous wealth had blinded them to the fact that their frames were not equal to the rough life at the mines. The excitement was at its height when the roving best anchored off the shores of this land of gold. The sun was just setting as the anchor dropped and the crippled ship swung round towards the shore for the tide had just begun to rise. Cy, it's a queer town, said Larry O'Neil Tened, who was gazing in rapt astonishment and admiration over the stern. It was indeed queer. The entire city was made up of the most flimsy and makeshift materials that can be conceived. Many of the shops were mere tents with an open framework of wood in front. Some were made of sheet-iron nailed to wooden posts. Some were made of zinc. Others imported from the states of wood painted white and edged with green. A few were built of sun-dried bricks, still fewer of corrugated iron, and many of all these materials pieced together in a sort of fancy patchwork. Even boats were used as dwellings, turned keel up with a hole cut in their sides for the egress of a tin smoke pipe and two others of larger size to serve as door and window. Finding space scarce, owing to the abrupt rise of the hills from the shore, many enterprising individuals had encroached upon the sea and built houses on piles driven into the sand nearly half a mile below the original high-water mark. Almost every nation under the sun had representatives there, and the consequent confusion of tongues was equal to that of Babel. The hills overhanging the lower part of the town were also well covered with tents, temporary houses, and cottages that had some appearance of comfort about them. Such was the city on which the sun went down that night, and many were the quaint, sagacious, and comic remarks made by the men as they sat round their various mess-tables in the forecastle of the roving best, speculating noisily and half seriously on the possibility of getting a run into the interior for a day or two. But there was a party of men in the ship whose conversation that night was neither so light-hearted nor so loud. They sat in a dark corner of the forecastle talking earnestly in subdued tones after the watch for the night was set. Their chief spokesman was a rough, ill-looking fellow named Elliot. "'You see, lads,' said this man to the half-dozen comrades around him, "'we must do it tonight if we're to do it at all. There's the captain's small boat laying out a star in which comes quite handy, and as we lose all our pay by the dodge I don't see why we shouldn't take it.' The man struck his fist into his left palm and looked round the circle for opinions. "'I don't half like it,' said one. "'It seems to me a sneaking way of doing it.' "'Bah!' ejaculated another. "'What gammon you do talk? If he lose the boat, don't we lose the ten? Besides, are we going to let such a trifle stand in the way of us and our fortunes?' "'Have you spoken to the other man, Elliot?' inquired one of the group. "'I, of course, I have, and they're all agreeable.' Young Spence stood out pretty stiff at first, but I talked him over. Only I said nothing to Larry O'Neill or Bill Jones. "'I know it's of no use. They'll never agree, and if we was to speak of it to either of them, he'd go right away aft and tell the captain. Their watch below will come on in an hour, and then the watch on deck will be on our side. "'So, lads, go and get ready, and sharps the word.' The party broke up and went quietly below to prepare for flight, leaving no one on deck except O'Neill and Jones and two of their comrades, who formed part of the watch. As Elliot had said, the watch was changed in about an hour. The maiden captain came on deck, looked round to see that all was right, and then returned to the cabin to consult about the preliminary arrangements for disposing of the remnant of the cargo. Ned Centon had turned in to have a good sleep before they expected toil and bustle of the following day. O'Neill and Jones, being relieved from duty, were glad to jump into their hammocks, and the deck was left in charge of the conspirators. It was a clear, lovely night. Nada Zephyr stirred the surface of the sea, in whose depths the starry host and the images of a hundred ships of all shapes and tonnage were faithfully mirrored. Bright lights illumined the city, those in the tents giving to them the appearance of cones and cubes of solid fire. The subdued din of thousands of human voices floated over the water and mingled with the occasional shout or song that rose from the fleet and the splash of oars as boats passed to and from the shore. Overall the young moons shed a pale, soft light, through into deep shadow the hills towards the north which rose abruptly to a height of three thousand feet, and tipped with a silver edge the peak of Mount Diavolo, whose lofty summit overlooks all the golden land between the great range of the Sierra Nevada and the ocean. It was a scene of peaceful beauty, well-fitted to call forth the adoration of man to the great and good creator. Notice there were some whose hearts rose that night above the sordid thoughts of gain and gold, but few such were recognizable by their fellow men compared with the numerous photoires of sin and so-called pleasure. Towards midnight Captain Bunting turned in, ordering the steward to call him at daybreak, and shortly afterwards the mate retired, having previously looked round the deck and spoken the watch. A few minutes after, Elliot and his comrades appeared on deck with their boots and small bundles in their hands. "'Is all right,' whispered Elliot. "'All right,' replied one of the watch. Nothing more was said. The boat was hauled softly alongside and held firmly there while two men descended and muffled the oars. Then one by one the men slid down the side and a bag of biscuit and a junk of beef were lowered into it by the second mate, who was one of the conspirators. At that moment the first mate came on deck and went forward to inquire what was wrong. "'It's something in the boat, sir,' replied the second mate. The mate looked over the side and the sailors felt that they must be discovered in that their plans were about to be frustrated, but the second mate was a man of decision. He suddenly seized Williams round the neck and covering his mouth with his hand, held him as if in a vice until he was secured and gagged. "'Shall we leave him?' whisperingly inquired one of the men. "'No,' he'd managed to kick up a row. Take him with us.' The helpless mate was immediately passed over the side, the rope was cast off and the boat floated softly away. At first the oars were dipped so lightly that no sound was heard even by those on board except the drops of brine that trickled from the blades as they rose from the water. Then as the distance increased the strokes were given more vigorously, and at last the men bent to it with a will, and they were soon shooting over the vast bay in the direction of the Sacramento River, up which they meant to proceed to the diggings. With the exception of O'Neill and Jones, who had already reached the diggings in their dreams, the whole crew, sixteen in all, levanted, leaving Captain Bunting to navigate the ship back to Old England as he best might. It is easier to conceive than to describe the feelings of the Captain when on the following morning he discovered that his crew had fled. He stamped and danced and tugged his hair and pursed up his lips so tight that nothing but an occasional splutter escaped them. Then he sat down on the cabin skylight, looked steadily at Ned, who came hurriedly on deck in his shirt and drawers to see what was wrong, and burst into a prolonged fit of laughter. Hello, Captain. What's up? Nothing lad. Oh yes, human flesh is up, Ned. Sailors is risen, we've been sold. We have. Uncommon! Hereupon the Captain roared again, but there was a slight peculiarity in the tone that indicated a strong infusion of rage with the seeming merriment. They're all gone. Every man jack said Jones with a face of deep solemnity as he stood looking at the Captain. So they are the black cards, and that without bidden us good morning, bad luck to them, added O'Neill. At first Ned sent and felt little disposed to take a comic view of the affair and urged the Captain strongly to take the lightest boat and set off in pursuit, but the latter objected to this. It's of no use, he said. The ship can't be repaired here without heavy expense, so, as I don't mean to go to sea again for some time, the desertion of the men matters a little after all. Not go to sea again, exclaimed Ned in surprise. What then do you mean to do? That's more than I can tell. I must see first how the cargo is to be disposed of. After that it will be time enough to concoct plans for the future. It is quite clear that the tidal luck is out about as far as it can go just now. Perhaps it may turn soon. No doubt of it, Captain, cried his young protege with a degree of energy that showed he had made up his mind as to what his course should be in the event of things coming to the worst. I'll go down and put on a few more articles of clothing and then we'll have a talk over matters. The talk, which was held over the breakfast table in the cabin, resulted in the Captain resolving to go ashore and call on a Scotch merchant named Thompson to whom he had a letter of introduction. Half an hour later this resolve was carried out. Jones rode them ashore in the smallest boat they had and sculled back to the ship, leaving O'Neill with them to assist in carrying up two boxes which were consigned to Mr. Thompson. The quay on which they stood was crowded with men of all nations whose excited looks and tones and go-ahead movements testified to the high pressure speed with which business in San Francisco was transacted. It's more no I can do to carry them two boxes at once, said Larry O'Neill regarding them with a puzzled look, and Sara a potter do I see nowhere. As he spoke a tall gentlemanly-looking young man in a red flannel shirt round-crowned wide-awake long boots and corduroy's stepped forward and said, I'll help you if you like. Say a thank you can lift it, inquired Larry with a dubious look. Youth replied by seizing one of the boxes and lifting it with ease on his shoulder, showing that, though destitute of fat, he had more than the average allowance of bone and sinew. I doubt if you could do it better than that yourself, Larry, said Ned, laughing. Come along now, close at our heels lest we get separated in the crowd. The young porter knew the residents of Mr. Thompson well, and guided them swiftly through the crowded thoroughfares towards it. Passing completely through the town, he led them over the brow of one of the sand-hills behind it and descended into a little valley where several neat villas were scattered along the sides of a pleasant green slope that descended towards another part of the bay. Turning into the little garden in front of one of these villas, he placed the box on the wooden platform before the door and said, This is Mr. Thompson's house. There was something striking in the appearance of this young porter. He seemed much above his station in life, and Ned sent and regarded his bronzed and handsome but somewhat haggard and dissipated countenance with interest as he drew out his person asked what was to pay. Two dollars, answered the man. Ned looked up in surprise. The idea of paying eight shillings for so slight a service had never entered his imagination. At that moment the door opened and Mr. Thompson appeared and invited them to enter. He was a shrewd, business-like man with stern but kind expression of countenance. Come in, come in, and welcome to California, he said, on perusing the captain's letter of introduction. Glad to see you, gentlemen. You've not had breakfast, of course. We are just about to sit down. This way, he added, throwing open the door of a comfortable and elegantly furnished parlor. Bring the boxes into the passage. That'll do. Here, Lisette, pay the man, dear. Two dollars apiece, I fancy. Excuse me, interrupted captain Bunning. Only one has to be paid, the other is one of my sailors. Ah, very good, which is he. Larry O'Neill stepped forward hat in hand. Go in there, my man, and Cook will attend to you. Larry passed through the doorway pointed out with a pleasant, fluttering sensation at the heart, which was quickly changed to a feeling of considerable disappointment on discovering that Cook was a negro. Meanwhile, Lisette took two dollars from her purse and bowing modestly to the strangers as she passed out of the room, advanced with them towards the young porter. Now, Lisette was not beautiful. Few women are in the highest sense of the term, and a few who are are seldom interesting. But she was pretty and sweet and innocent, and just turned sixteen. Fortunately for the male part of the world there are many such. She had light brown hair, which hung into shoveled curls all round. A soft fair complexion blew eyes and a turned-up nose, a pert little nose that said plainly, I will have my own way, now see if I don't. But the heart that animated the body to which that nose belonged was a good, kind, earnest one. Therefore the nose having its own way was rather a blessing than otherwise to those happy individuals who dwelt habitually in the sunshine of Lisette's presence. At this particular time ladies were scarce in California. The immense rush of men from all parts of the earth to the diggings had not been accompanied as yet by a corresponding rush of women. Consequently the sight of a female face was, as it always ought to be, a source of comfort to mankind. We say comfort, advisedly, because life at the gold mines was a hard, riotous, mammon-seeking, rugged, and we regret to say it ungodly life, and men in whom the soft memories of other days were not entirely quenched had need, sometimes, of the comforting reflection that there still existed beings on the earth who didn't rant and roar and drink and swear and wear beards and boots and bowie-knives. There was double cause, then, for the gaze of respectful admiration with which the young porter regarded Lisette as she said, Here is your fair porter, and put the money into his hand, which he did not even thank her for, but continued to hold extended as if he wished her to take it back again. Lisette did not observe the gaze, for she turned away immediately after giving him the money, and re-entered the parlor, whereupon the youth thrust both hands into his breeches' pockets, left the house, and returned slowly to the city, with the expression on his countenance of one who had seen a ghost. Meanwhile, Captain Bunting and Ned Senton sat down with their host and hostess to a second breakfast, over which the former related the circumstances of the double loss of his crew and cargo. You are unfortunate, said Mr. Thompson, when the Captain paused, but there are hundreds and nearly the same predicament. Many of the fine-looking vessels you see in the harbor have lain helplessly there for months, the crews having taken French leave and gone off to the diggings.  What would you advise me to do? Sell off the remnant of the cargo and set up a floating boarding-house. The square lump of pork disappeared as the Captain thrusted into his cheek in order to say, What? With a look of intense amazement, Lisette laughed inadvertently and feeling that this was somewhat rude. She, in her effort to escape, plunged deeper into misfortune by turning to Senton with a blushing countenance and asking him to take another cup of tea. A proposal that was obviously absurd, seeing that she had a moment before filled up his second cup. Thus suddenly appealed to Ned-stammered, Thank you, if you, ah, no, thank you, not any more. Set up a floating boarding-establishment, reiterated the merchant in a tone of decision that caused him all to laugh heartily. It may sound strange, he continued, but I assure you it's not a bad speculation. The Captain of an American schooner, whose crew deserted the very day she arrived, turned his vessel into a floating boarding-house about two months ago, and I believe he's making a fortune. Indeed, he ejaculated the Captain, helping himself to another mass of pork and accepting Lisette's proffer of a third cup of tea. You have no idea, continued the merchant as he handed the bread to Ned and pressed him to eat. You have no idea of the strange state of things here just now, and the odd ways in which men make money. Owing to the rush of immigrants, everything is enormously dear, and house-room is not to be had for love or money, so that if you were to fit up your ship for the purpose, you could fill it at once. At the various hotels in the city, an ordinary meal at the Tabledoat costs from two to three dollars, eight and twelve shillings of our money, and there are some articles that bear fabulous prices. It's a fact that eggs at this moment sell at a shilling each, and onions and potatoes at the same price. But then wages are enormously high. How long this state of things will last, no one can tell. In the meantime, hundreds of men are making fortunes. Only the other day a ship arrived from New York and one of the passengers, a cute fellow, had brought out fifteen hundred copies of several newspapers which he sold for a dollar each in less than two hours. And rents are tremendous. You will scarcely believe me when I tell you that the rent paid by the landlord of one of the hotels here is one hundred ten thousand dollars, about twenty-two thousand pounds a year. And it is but a poor building, too. My own warehouse, which is a building of only one story with a front of twenty feet, is rented to me at forty thousand dollars, eight thousand pounds a year. And rents are rising. Ned and the captain leaned back in their chairs aghast at such statements and began to entertain some doubts as to the sanity of their host. But the worthy merchant was a grave, quiet man without a particle of romance in his composition. And he went on coolly telling them facts which Ned afterwards said made his hair almost stand on end when he thought of how little money he possessed and how much he would have to pay for the bare necessaries of life. After some further converse on men and things in general and on prospects at the mines, Mr. Thompson said, and now, Captain Bunning, I'll tell you what I'll do. I will go down to your ship, overhaul the cargo, and make you an offer for the whole in the lump, taking the saleable with the unsaleable. This will, at any rate, put you in funds at once and enable you to follow what course seems best. Will that suit you? It will, said the Captain, and thank ye. As for turning a boarding-housekeeper, I don't think I'm cut out for it. Neither is my friend sentin', eh? Certainly not, answered Ned, laughing, we might as well become washerwomen. You'd make a pretty good thing of it if you did, retorted Mr. Thompson. Would they not, Lizette? You know more about these things than I do. Indeed, I cannot tell Papa as I do not know the capabilities of our friends in that way. But I think the few washerwomen in the city must be making fortunes, for they charge two shillings apiece for everything, large and small. Now then, gentlemen, said the merchant rising, if you have quite finished, we will walk down to the harbor and inspect the goods. An arch-smile played around Lizette's lips as she shook hands with Ned at parting, and she seemed on the point of speaking but checked herself. I beg pardon, said Ned, pausing, did you? Oh, it was nothing, said Lizette. I was only going to remark that if you set up in the washing line, I shall be happy to give you all the work I can. Ahem, coughed Ned gravely, and if we should set up in the other line, will you kindly come and board with us? Hello, Ned, what's keepin' ya, roared the captain. Coming, shouted Ned as he ran after him. Where is Larry O'Neill gone? He's away down before us to have a look at the town. We shall find him, I doubt not, cruisin' about the quay. In a few minutes the three friends were wending their way through the crowded streets back to the shore. End of Chapter 6. Chapter 7 of the Golden Dream. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Golden Dream by R. M. Ballantine. Chapter 7. The fate of the roving bests, gambling scenes. Mr. Sinton makes a new friend. Larry O'Neill makes money in strange ways. A murder and a beggar's death.  The remnant of the cargo of the roving best proved to be worth comparatively little, less even than had been anticipated. After a careful inspection Mr. Thompson offered to purchase it in the slump for one thousand dollars, about two hundred pounds sterling. This was a heavy blow to poor Captain Bunting who had invested his all the savings of many years in the present unfortunate venture. However, his was not a nature to brood over misfortunes that could not be avoided, so he accepted the sum with the best grace he might, and busied himself during the next few days in assisting the merchant to remove the bales. During this period he did not converse much with anyone but meditated seriously on the steps he ought to take. From all that he heard it seemed impossible to procure hands to man the ship at that time, so he began to entertain serious thoughts of taking his chance at the diggings after all. He was by nature averse to this, however, and had nearly made up his mind to try to beat up recruits for the ship when an event occurred that settled the matter for him, rather unexpectedly. This event was the bursting out of a hurricane or brief but violent squall which, before assistance could be procured, dragged the roving best from her moorings and stranded her upon the beach just below the town. Here was an end to seafaring prospects. The whole of his limited capital would not have paid for a tenth part of the labor necessary to refloat the ship, so he resolved to leave her on the beach and go to the diggings. Mr. Thompson advised him to sell the whole as it would fetch a good price for the sake of the timber, which at that time was much wanted in the town, but the captain had still a lurking hope that he might get his old ship afloat at some future period and would not hear of it. What! said he, sell the roving best, which stands A1 at Lord's, to be broken up to build gold digger's houses? I trow not. No, no, let her lie where she is in peace. On the day after the squall, as Ned and the captain were standing on the shore regarding their late floating and now grounded home in sad silence, a long-legged lantern-jawed man in dirty canvas trousers, long boots, a rough coat and broad straw hat with an enormous cigar in his mouth and both hands in his trousers' pockets walked up and accosted them. It did not require a second glance to know that he was a Yankee. Yes, that is pretty well fixed up, stranger, who said, addressing the captain and pointing with his nose to the stranded vessel. It is, answered the captain shortly, fit for nothing but fire would I calculate. To this the captain made no reply. I say, stranger, continued the Yankee. I wouldn't mind to give him one thousand dollars more, slick off. I don't wish to sell her, replied the captain. Say fifteen hundred, replied the man. I tell you I won't sell her. No? Now that is curious. Really loner, then. Here Ned whispered a few words to the captain, who nodded his head and turning to the Yankee said, How much will you give? Well, I reckon she's too far out to drive a Screamin' trade, but I don't mind sayin' one hundred dollars a month. After some consultation with Ned and a little more talk with the Yankee, captain Bunting agreed to this proposal, only stipulating that the bargain should hold good for a year, that the hole should not be cut or damaged in any way, and that the rent should be paid in advance into the hands of Mr. Thompson as he himself was about to proceed to the gold fields. Having sealed and settled this piece of business at a neighboring tavern, where the Yankee, Major Whitlaw, ordered a brandy smash for himself and two gin slings for his companions, which they civilly declined to his intense amazement, the contracting parties separated. That's rather a sudden transfer of our good ship, said Ned, laughing as they walked toward the plaza, or principal square of the town, where some of the chief hotels and gambling-houses were situated. I feel half sorry for having done it, replied the captain. However, it can't be helped now, so all a way to our friend Thompson's office and tell him about it. Then I shall wonder about here until you return. It will be dinnertime at the hotel's two hours hence, suppose we meet at the Parker House and talk over our future plans while we discuss a chop. To this the captain agreed, and then hurried off to his friend's office while Ned entered the hotel. A large portion of this building was rented by gamblers who paid the enormous sum of sixty thousand dollars a year for it, and carried on their villainous and degrading occupation in it night and day. The chief games played were Monty and Farrell, but no interest attached to the games as such. The winning or losing of money was that which lent fascination to the play. Ned had intended to stroll through the hotel and observe the various visitors who throng the bar, but the crash of a brass band in the gambling saloons awakened his curiosity and induced him to enter. The scene that met his eyes was perhaps the strangest and the saddest he had ever looked upon. The large saloon was crowded with representatives of almost every civilized nation under the sun. English, Scotch, Irish, Yankees, French, Russians, Turks, Chinese, Mexicans, Indians, Malays, Jews, and Negroes all were there in their national costumes and all were, more or less, under the fascinating influence of the reigning vice of California and especially of San Francisco. The jargon of excited voices can neither be conceived nor described. Crowds surrounded the Monty tables on which glittering piles of gold and silver coin were passing from hand to hand according to varying fortune. The characteristics, and we may add the worst passions of the various nations were ever in a nom brought strongly out. The German and Spaniard laid down their money and lost their one without a symptom of emotion. The Turk stroked his beard as if with the view of keeping himself cool. The Russian looked solid and indifferent. The Frenchman started frown, swore, and occasionally clutched his concealed pistol or bowie-knife while the Yankees stamped and swore. But indeed the men of all nations cursed and swore in that terrible place. Those who dwelt in the city staked gold and silver coin while the men just returned from the mines staked gold dust and nuggets. These last were conspicuous from their rough clothing, rugged, bronzed, and weather-worn countenances. Many of them played most recklessly. Several successful diggers staked immense sums in either doubled or lost in two or three throws the hard earnings of many months of toil and left the rooms penniless. At one end of the saloon there was a counter with a plentiful supply of stimulants to feed the excitement of the wretched gamblers, and the waiter here was kept in constant employment. Ned had never been within the unhallowed precincts of a gambling house before, and it was with a feeling of almost superstitious dread that he approached the table and looked on. A tall, burly, bearded miner stepped forward at the moment and placed a huge purse of gold dust on the table. Now then, he cried with a recluse air, here goes, neck or nothing. Nothing he muttered with a fearful oath as the President raked the purse into his coffers. The man rose and strode sullenly from the room his fingers twitching nervously about the hilt of his bowy-knife, an action which the President observed, but he did not, being prepared with a concealed revolver for whatever might occur. Immediately another victim stepped forward, staked five hundred dollars and one. He staked again a thousand dollars and one. Then he rose, apparently resolved, to tempt fickle Fortune no more and left the saloon.  Fortune favored this man for a long time, and his pile of dollars gradually increased until he became overconfident and staked fully half of his gains and lost. His attention was drawn particularly to this player whom he thought he had seen before. On looking more fixedly at him he recognized the young porter who had carried up the box to the merchant's house. His next stake was again made recklessly. He laid down all he possessed and lost. Then he rose suddenly and, drawing a pistol from his breast, rushed towards the door. None of the players who crowded the saloon paid him more than momentary attention. It mattered not to them whether he meditated suicide or murder. They made way for him to pass and then, closing in, were deep again in the all-absorbing game. But our hero was not thus callous. A strong feeling of sympathy filled his breast, prompting him to spring through the doorway and catch the youth by the shoulder just as he gained the street. He turned round instantly and presented the revolver at Ned's breast, but the latter caught his right arm in his powerful grasp and held it in the air. He calmed, my poor fellow, he said. I mean you no harm. I only wish to have a word of conversation with you.   Come, come, said Ned, releasing his arm. Don't give away like that. I'm lost, said the youth bitterly. I have struggled against this passion for gaming, but it has overcome me again and again. It is vain to fight against it any longer. Not a bit of it, man, said Ned in a cheering tone as he drew the arm of the young man within his own and led him slowly along the street. You are excited just now by your disappointments. Let us walk together a while, for I have something to say to you. I am quite a stranger here and it's a comfort to have a countryman to talk with. The kind words and earnest, hearty manner of our hero had the effect of soothing the agitated feelings of his new friend and of winning his confidence. In the course of half an hour he drew from him a brief account of his past history. His name, he said, was Collins. He was the son of a clergyman and had received a good education. Five years before the period of which we now write, he had left his home in England and gone to sea, being at that time sixteen years of age. For three years he served before the mast in a South Sea whale ship, and then returned home to find his father and mother dead. Being no near relations alive and not a six pence in the world, he turned once more towards the sea, with a heavy heart and an empty pocket, obtained a situation as second mate in a trading vessel which was about to proceed to the Sandwich Islands. Encountering a heavy gale on the western coast of South America, his vessel was so much disabled as to be compelled to put into the harbor of San Francisco for repairs. Here the first violent attack of the gold fever had set in. The rush of immigrants was so great that goods of all kinds were selling at fabulous prices, and the few bails that happened to be onboard the ship were disposed of for twenty times their value. The captain was in ecstasies and purposed sailing immediately to the nearest civilized port for a cargo of miscellaneous goods. But the same fate befell him which afterwards befell captain bunting and many hundreds of others, the crew deserted to the mines. Hereupon the captain and young Collins also betook themselves to the gold fields, leaving the ship to swing idly at her anchor. Like most of the first arrivals at the mines, Collins was very successful and would soon in diggers parlance have made his pile, i.e. his fortune, had not scurvy attacked and almost killed him, compelling him to return to San Francisco and search of fresh vegetables and medicine, neither of which at that time could be attained at the mines for love or money. He recovered slowly, but living in San Francisco was so expensive that ere his health was sufficiently recruited to enable him to return to the gold fields, his funds were well nigh exhausted. In order to recruit them he went in an evil hour to the gaming saloons, and soon became an inveterate gambler. In the providence of God he had been led some years before to become an abstainer from all intoxicating drinks, and remaining firm to his pledge throughout the course of his downward career was thus saved from the rapid destruction which too frequently overtook those who to the exciting influences of gambling added the maddening stimulus of alcohol.  Sometimes when fortune favored him he became suddenly possessor of a large sum of money which he squandered in reckless gaiety. Often however following the dictates of an amiable sympathetic disposition he gave the most of it away to companions and acquaintances in distress. At other times he had not wherewith to pay for his dinner in which case he took the first job that offered in order to procure a few dollars. Paying strong and active he frequently went down to the quays and offered his services as a porter to any of the gold-hunters who were arriving in shoals from all parts of the world. It was thus as we have seen that he first met with Ned Sinton and his friends. All this and a great deal more did Ned worm out of his companion in the course of half an hour's stroll in the plaza. Now, said he when Collins had finished, I'm going to make a proposal to you. I feel very much interested in all that you have told me. To be candid with you I like your looks and I like your voice.  And—but what's your Christian name? Tom, replied the other. Very well, then I'll call you Tom in future and you'll call me Ned. Now, Tom, you must come with me and Captain Bunting to the gold-fields and try your fortune over again.  I know what you would say. You have no money to equip yourself and you won't be indebted to strangers and all that sort of stuff. But that won't do, my boy, I'm not a stranger. Don't I know all your history from first to last? Tom Collins sighed. Well, perhaps I don't know at all, but I know the most of it and besides I feel as if I had known you all my life. Ned interrupted the other in an earnest tone of voice. I feel your kindness very much. No one has spoken to me as you have done since I came to the diggings, but I cannot agree to your proposal today. Meet me at the Parker House tomorrow at this time and I shall give you a final answer. But why not give it now? Because I want to. To get paid for a job I expect to get. Tom said Ned stopping and laying his hand on the shoulder of his companion while he looked earnestly into his face. Let us begin our friendship with mutual candor. Do you not intend to make a few dollars and then try to increase them by another throw at the gaming table? The youth brow flushed slightly as he answered, You're right. I had half an intention of trying my fortune for the last time.  Gambling for money is a mean, pitiful, contemptible thing. Don't frown, my dear fellow, I do not apply these terms to you. I apply them to the principle of gambling, a principle which you do not hold as I know from your admission made to me not many minutes ago that you have often striven against the temptation. Many men don't realize the full extent of the simple-ness of many of their practices. But although that renders them less culpable, it does not render them innocent. Much less does it justify the evil practices. Gambling is all that I have styled it in a great deal worse, and you must give it up. I insist on it. Moreover, Tom, I insist on your coming to dine with me at the Parker House. I shall introduce you to my friend Captain Bunting, whom you already know by sight. So come along. Well, I will, said Tom, smiling at his friend's energy, but still hanging back. But you must permit me to go to my lodgings first. I shall be back immediately. Very good. Remember, we dine in the course of an hour, so be punctual. While Tom Collins hurried away to his lodgings, Ned Stanton proceeded toward the shores of the bay in a remarkably happy frame of mind, intending to pass his leisure hour in watching the thousands of interesting and amusing incidents that were perpetually taking place on the crowded quays, where the passengers from the newly arrived rig were looking and bewildered anxiety after their luggage and calling for porters, where traffic by means of boats between the fleet and the land created constant confusion and hubbub, where men of all nations bargained for the goods of all climbs in every known tongue. While he gazed in silence at the exciting and almost bewildering scene, his attention was attracted to a group of men, among whose vociferating tones he thought he distinguished familiar voices. That's it. Here's your man, sir, cried one bursting from the crowd with a huge portmanteau on his shoulder. Now, then, where'll I stare to? Right ahead to the best hotel, answered a slim Yankee, whose black coat, patent leather boots, and white kids in such a place, told plainly enough that a superfine dandy had mistaken his calling. Aye, aye, sir, shouted Bill Jones as he brushed past Ned in his new capacity of porter. Aye, you've coached a loy, Yankee, exclaimed a voice there was no mistaking as the owner slapped Bill on the shoulder.  If his mother was here to take care of him, Larry O'Neil gave a chuckle, slapped his pockets, and cut an elephant-tying caper as he turned from contemplating the retreating figure of his shipmate's employer, and advanced toward the end of the quay. And now, then, who's next? cried he, holding out both arms and looking excited, as if he were ready to carry off any individual bodily in his arms to any place for mere love without reference to money. Don't ask me at once. Two dollars a mile for anything under a ton, and yourself on the top of it for far. Haroe, Mr. Sinten, darling, this is yourself, but this is a place entirely. Good and silver for the action almost. Aye, young Nadine's grin, look here. Larry plunged both hands into the pockets of his trousers, and pulled them forth full of half-and-quarter dollars with a few shining little nuggets of gold interspersed among them. Nadine opened his eyes in amazement, and, taking his excited comrade apart from the crowd, asked how he had come by so much money. Come by it, he exclaimed. You could come by twice the sum of your light. Sure, didn't always find that they was charging two dollars. Echo to eight shillings, I'm told, or carryin' a boxer-portsmanter the length of me foot. So I turned his porter all at once, and, fine, I made six dollars in listener-in-hour.  So Inoi goes to a grog shop, and, fine, I had to pay half a dollar for a thimble full of brandy. Bad luck to them, as would turn the stomach of a pig. I almost had a round with a landlord, but they told me it was the same everywhere. So I went and had another in the next shop, I says, just a Troy, and it was true. Then a Yankee spoils my knife, the great pig-sticker the bob-short swap with me from a junk-a-plum duff off the cape. It seems they've run out of such articles just at this time, and will give handfuls of gold for one. So says I, what will you give? Three dollars, I guess, says one. Four says another, he's cheating ya. Four's bid, says I, mounted on a kegabaki and holding up the knife. Who says more? It's a real stale, straight from Manchester or Connaught, I remember which. Warranted to cut both ways, if ya only turn the a-drowned and shove with a will. I'd be good in joke, but, fi, they took me up in earnest and run up the price to twenty dollars. Far pounds, as sure as me names Larry, before I know'd where I was. I believe I could've got forty for it, but I hadn't the heart to ask more for it wasn't worth a brass button. You've made a most successful beginning, Larry. Have you any more knives like that one? Sorrow one, Mars the pity. But that's only a small bit of me's speculations. I found six old newspapers at the bottom of me chest, and would you believe it, I sold them every one for half a dollar to pace, and I don't rightly know how much clear gold I've got by standing all morning at the post office. What do you mean? Another more nor less nor what do I say? Well, I suppose you know the mail's come in yesterday morning, so says I to myself this morning. I've got no living soul in the old country that's likely to write to ya, but ya better go for all that and act that there's letters. Maybe there is? Who knows? So away I went, and sure enough I found a row of men waiting for their letters, so I crushed his heart. Ugh! But I thought they'd hung me on the spot, and I found it was a row that first come, first served, fair play and no favor. They was all standing one behind another in a line half a mile long if it was a foot. As patient as could be, some raiding the newspapers and some drinking coffee and tan grog that was sold by men as went up and down the loin the whole morning. So away I goes to the end of the loin and took me place. The time had to stand it out, and in three minutes I heard a tale of a dozen men behind me. Fie, Larry Suzoy, it's the first time you ever commenced at the end of a thing in order to get to the beginning. Well, when I was getting prety near the post office winning, or here's the chap behind me a sand duff pillow behind him, that he expected no letters but only took up his place in the loin to sell it to them what did, and sure enough I found that lots of them were on the same errand. Just then up comes a moiner and big boots in the void awake. Ock says, hey, who's selling me a place? And with that he offered a lot of pure good lumps. Guess it's too little says the man next to me. Ah, yes, Dave and Blackguard says I. Here, Your Honor, I'll sell you my place for half the lot. I can wait for me later. More be token, I'm not sure there is one. Ah, yes, see, I was roiled at the Yankees grade. So ought I steps and insteps the moiner and hands me the hole he'd offered at first. Take them, my man, says he. You're an honest fellow and it's a trait to meet one here. Capital cried Ned, laughing heartily, and you didn't try for a letter after all? Porter there, shuddered a voice from the quay. That's me, Your Honor. Here you are," replied the Irishman, bounding away with a yell and sheltering a huge, leathered trunk with which he vanished from the scene, leaving Ned to pursue the train of thought evoked by his account of his remarkable experiences. We deem it necessary here to assure the reader that the account given by Larry O'Neill of his doings was by no means exaggerated. The state of society and the eccentricities of traffic displayed in San Francisco and other Californian cities during the first years of the Gold Fever beggars all description. Writers on that place and period find difficulty in selecting words and inventing similes in order to convey anything like an adequate idea of their meaning. Even eyewitnesses found it almost impossible to believe the truth of what they heard and saw, and some have described the whole circle of life and manners there to have been more like to the wild incongruous whirl of a pantomime than to the facts of real life. Even in the close and abrupt juxtaposition of the ludicrous and the horrible, this held good. Ned's sentence had scarcely parted from his hilarious shipmate when he was attracted by shouts as if of men quarreling in a gaming-house. And a few moments later the report of a pistol was heard, followed by a sharp cry of agony. Rushing into the house and forcing his way through the crowd, he reached the table in time to see the bloody corpse of a man carried out.  He lost. And drawing his bowie-knife in the heat of despair, rushed at the president of the table. A dozen arms arrested him and rendered his intended assault abortive, nevertheless the president coolly drew a revolver from under the cloth and shot him dead. For a few minutes there was some attempt at disturbance and some condemned while others justified the act. But the body was removed and soon the game went on as if nothing had occurred. Sickened with the sight, Ned hurried from the house and walked rapidly towards the shores of the bay beyond the limits of the canvas town where he could breathe the free ocean air and wander on the sands in comparative solitude. The last straggling tent in that quarter was soon behind him and he stopped by the side of an old upturned boat against which he leaned and gazed out upon the crowded bay with saddened feelings. As he stood in contemplation he became aware of the sound as if of heaving plethoric breathing under the boat. Starting up he listened intently and heard a faint groan. He now observed what had escaped his notice before that the boat against which he leaned was a human habitation. A small hole near the keel admitted light and possibly at times emitted smoke. Hastening round to the other side he discovered a small aperture which served as a doorway. It was covered with a rag of coarse canvas which he lifted and looked in. "'Who's there?' inquired a voice as sharply as extreme weakness would allow. "'Have a care. There's a revolver pointing at your head. "'If you come in without leave I'll blow out your brains.' "'I am a friend,' said Ned looking towards the further end of the boat where on a couch of straw lay the emaciated form of a middle-aged man. "'Put down your pistol, friend. "'My presence here is simply owing to the fact that I heard you groan and I would relieve your distress if it is in my power. "'You are the first that has said so down here,' sighed the man falling back heavily. Ned entered and advancing as well as he could in a stooping posture sat down beside the sick man's pellet and felt his pulse. Then he looked anxiously in his face on which the hand of death was visibly placed. "'My poor fellow,' said Ned in a soothing tone. "'You are very ill, I fear.  "'I am dying. "'I have seen death too often and know it too well to be mistaken.' His voice sank to a whisper as he added, "'It is not far off now.' For a few seconds Ned could not make up his mind what to say. He felt unwilling to disturb the last moments of the man. At last he leaned forward and repeated from memory several of the most consoling passages of scripture. "'Twice over,' he said. "'Though thy sins be as scarlet, "'they shall be white as wool. "'And him that cometh unto me, Christ, "'I will in no wise cast out.' The man appeared to listen but made no reply. Suddenly he started up and leaning on his elbow looked with an awfully earnest stare into Ned's face. "'Young man!' "'Gold is good. "'Gold is good. "'Remember that. "'If you don't make it, you're God.' After a pause he continued, "'I made it my God. "'I toiled for it night and day. "'In heat and cold wet and dry "'I gave up everything for it. "'I spent all my time in search of it "'and I got it. "'And what good can it do me now? "'I have spent night and day "'here for weeks threatening to shoot "'anyone who should come near my gold.' "'Ha!' he added sharply, "'observing that his visitor glanced "'around the apartment. "'You'll not find it here. "'Ah, look, look round, "'peer into every corner, "'tear up every plank of my boat, "'and you'll find nothing but rotten wood "'and dust and rusty nails.' "'Be calm,' my friend said, "'Ned, who now believed that the poor man's "'mind was wandering. "'I don't want your gold. "'I wish to comfort you if I can. "'Would you like me to do anything for you? "'After?' "'After I'm dead,' said the man abruptly. "'Nah, nothing. "'I have no relations, "'no friends, "'no enemies even now. "'Yes,' he added quickly, "'I have one friend. "'You are my friend. "'You have spoken kindly to me, "'you deserve the name of friend. "'Listen. "'I want you to be my heir. "'See here, I have had my will drawn up "'long ago with the place for the name "'left blank I had intended. "'But no matter. "'What is your name?' "'Edward Sinton. "'Hair. "'Hand me that inkhorn in the pen. "'There,' continued the man pushing the paper "'towards him, "'I have made over to you the old boat "'on, both are mine.  "'Take care of the.'" The man's voice sank to a mere whisper. Then it ceased suddenly. When Ned looked at him again, he started, for the cold hand of death had sealed his lips forever. A feeling of deep, intense pity filled the youth's heart as he gazed on the emaciated form of an endless man. Yet he experienced a sensation approaching almost to gladness when he remembered that the last words he had spoken to him were those of our blessed savior to the chief of sinners.  Ned was an hour too late for dinner when he arrived at the hotel where he found Captain Bunting and his new friend awaiting him in some anxiety. Hastily informing them of the cause of his detention, he introduced them to each other and forgot for a time the scene of death he had seen.