CHAPTER XXII POWERFUL EFFECTS OF GOLD ON THE ASPECT OF THINGS IN GENERAL THE DOINGS AT LITTLE CREEK DIGGINGS LARRY BECOMES SPECULATIVE AND DIGS A WHOLE WHICH NEARLY PROVES THE GRAVE OF MANY MINORS. CAPTAIN BUNTING TAKES A FEARFUL DIVE. A-WOW IS SMITTEN TO THE EARTH. A MISTERIOUS LETTER AND A SPLENDED DISH. WE MUST NOW BEG OUR READER TO TURN WITH US TO ANOTHER SCENE. THE APPEARANCE OF LITTLE CREEK DIGGINGS ALTERED CONSIDERABLY, AND FOR THE WORSE, AFTER Ned Sinton and Tom Collins left. A rush of miners had taken place in consequence of the reports of the successful adventurers who returned to Sacramento for supplies, and in the course of a few weeks the whole valley was swarming with eager gold hunters. The consequence of this was the laws of a somewhat stringent nature had to be made. The ground was measured off into lots of about ten feet square and apportioned to the miners. Of course, in so large and rough a community, there was a good deal of crime so that Judge Lynch's services were frequently called in. But upon the whole, considering the circumstances of the colony, there was much less than might have been expected. At the time of which we write, namely several weeks after the events narrated in our last chapter, the whole colony was thrown into a state of excitement and consequence of large quantities of gold having been discovered on the banks of the stream, in the ground on which the log huts and tents were erected. The result of this discovery was that the whole place was speedily riddled with pits and their concomitant mud heaps, and to walk about after nightfall was a difficult as well as a dangerous amusement. Many of the miners pulled down their tents and began to work upon the spots on which they previously stood. Others began to dig all round their wooden huts until these rude domiciles threatened to become insular, and a few pulled their dwellings down in order to get at the gold beneath them.  In ten minutes there was a pit before his door big enough to hold a sheep, and before night he realized about fifty dollars. Another in the course of two days dug out one hundred dollars behind his tent, and all were more or less fortunate. At this particular time it happened that Captain Bunting had been seized with one of his irresistible and romantic wandering vits, and had gone off with the blunderbuss to hunt in the mountains. Maxston, having heard of better diggings elsewhere and not caring for the society of our adventures when Ned and Tom were absent, had bid them good-bye, and gone off with his pick and shovel on his shoulder and his prospecting pan in his hand. No one knew wither. Bill Jones was down at Sacramento purchasing provisions as the prices at the diggings were ruinous, and Co-Sing had removed with one of the other Chinaman to another part of the creek. Thus it came to pass that Larry O'Neill and Ah-Wow, the Chinaman, were left alone to work out the claims of the party. One fine day Larry and his comrade were seated in the sunshine concluding their midday meal, when a Yankee passed and told them of the discoveries that had been made further down the settlement. Good luck, dear, said Larry, nodding facetiously to the man, as he put a tin mug to his lips and drained its contents to the bottom. Ha! It's a fatino in fond of! Not but that I've seen better. Fie! I've seldom tasted worse. But there's a virtue in ghoul digging that would make Akka Farta school down, like milk it would. Will your Troyer drop? Larry filled the panic in as he spoke and handed it to the Yankee, who nothing loathed, drained it, and returned it empty with thanks.  There, answered the man, one fella dug up three hundred dollars yesterday from the very spot where he's been snoring on the last six months. Ah, then that's a party, little sum, said Larry, with a Larry that showed he didn't believe a word of it. Does he expect more tomorrow, thank you? Don't know, said the man, half offended at the doubt thus cast on his veracity. He better go and ask some. Good day, stranger. And the Yankee strode away rapidly. Larry scratched his head. Then he rubbed his nose, and then his chin without apparently deriving any particular benefit from these actions. After that he looked up at Ah Wao, who was seated cross-legged on the ground opposite to him, smoking, and asked him what was his opinion. Don't know, said the Chinaman, without moving a muscle of his stalling countenance.  Oh, just make a hole here where I sit and see what comes of it. Sure, it's better nor doing nothing. Saying this, Larry refilled his empty pipe, stretched himself at full length on his side, rested his head on his left hand, and smoked complacently for three minutes. After which he took up the long sheath-knife, with which he had just cut up his supper, and began carelessly to turn over the sod. Sure, there is gourd, he said, on observing several specks of a shining metal. As he dug deeper down, he struck upon a hard substance, which on being turned up, proved to be a piece of quartz the size of a hen's egg, in which rich lumps and veins of gold were embedded. Me, I never! shouted the Irishman, starting up and throwing away his pipe in his excitement. Off it isn't a nugget! Hooray! Where's the pick? Larry overturned the Chinaman, who sat in his way, darted into the tent for his pick and shovel, and in five minutes was a foot down into the earth. He came upon a solid rock, however, much to his chagrin a few inches further down. Fie! I'll tell you what I'll do, he said, as a new idea struck him. I'll dig in soy to the tent. It'll cape the sun and the rain off. This remark was made half to himself and half to Awal, who, having gathered himself up and resumed his pipe, was regarding him with as much interest as he ever regarded anything. As Awal made no objection and did not appear inclined to volunteer an opinion, Larry entered the tent, cleared all the things away into one corner, and began to dig in the center of it. It was fortunate that he adopted this plan. First, because the rainy season having now set in, the tent afforded him shelter, and secondly because the soil under the tent turned out to be exceedingly rich. So much so that in the course of the next few days he and the Chinaman dug out upwards of a thousand dollars. But the rains, which for some time passed a given indubitable hints that they meant to pay a long visit to the settlement, at last came down like a waterspout and flooded Larry and his comrade out of the hole. They cut a deep trench round the tent, however, to carry off the water and continued their profitable labor unremittingly. The inside of the once comfortable tent now presented a very remarkable appearance. All the property of the party was thrust into the smallest possible corner, and Larry's bed was spread out above it. The remainder of the space was a yawning hole six feet deep and a mound of earth about four feet high. This earth formed a sort of breast work over which Larry had to clamber night and morning in leaving and returning to his couch. The Chinaman slept in his own little tent hard by. There was another inconvenience attending this style of mining which Larry had not foreseen when he adopted it, and which caused the tent of our adventures to become a sort of public nuisance. Larry had frequently to go down to the stream for provisions, and Awau, being given to sleep when no one watched him, took advantage of these opportunities to retire to his own tent. The consequence was that strangers who chanced to look in and passing frequently fell headlong into the hole ere they were aware of its existence, and on more than one occasion Larry returned and found a miner in the bottom of it with his neck well nigh broken. To guard against this he hid upon the plan of putting up a cautionary ticket. He purchased a flat board and a pot of black paint with which he wrote the words, Mind your feet there is a big hole, and fixed it up over the entrance. The device answered very well in as far as those who could read were concerned, but as there were many who could not read at all and who mistook the ticket for the sign of a shop or store the accidents became rather more frequent than before. The Irishman at last grew desperate and taking Awau by the pigtail vowed that if he deserted his post again he blow out all the brains he had, if he had any at all, and if that wouldn't do he cut him up into mincemeat so he would. The Chinaman evidently thought him in earnest for he fell on his knees and promised with tears in his eyes that he would never do it again, or words to that effect. One day Larry and Awau were down in the hole laboring for gold as if it were life. It was a terribly rainy day, so bad that it was almost impossible to keep the water out. Larry had clambered out of the hole and was seated on the top of the mud heap, resting himself and gazing down upon his companion, who slowly but with a steady regularity of machinery dug out the clay and threw it on the heap when a voice called from without. Is this Mr. Edward's sentence tent? It is thought same, cried Larry, rising. Don't come in or it'll be worse for you. Here's a letter for him then, and twenty dollars to pay. Masha, but it's Che posted, said Larry, lifting the curtain and stepping out. Couldn't just say thirty now. Come, down with the cash and none of your jaw, said the man who was a surly fellow and did not seem disposed to stand joking. Oh, be on your own, your honor, retorted Larry with mock servility as he counted out the money. If it wouldn't displease your lordship, may I take the presumption to ex-how the sale came to be broken? I know nothing about it, answered the man as he pocketed the money. I found it on the road between this and Sacramento, and as I was passing this way anyhow, I brought it on. Oh, then it was a great coiness entirely to go so far out of your way, and that's for a stranger to and for nothing, or next thing to it, said Larry, looking after the man as he walked away. Well now, he continued re-entering the tent and seating himself again on the top of the mud heap while he held the letter in his hand at arms length. This bait's all, and what am I to do with it? Sure it's not right to break the seal of another man's letter, but then it's broke already, and there can be no sin in raiding it. Maybe he continued with a look of anxiety, the poor lad's ill, or Ted, and he's wrote to say so. Sure, I would loiterate it if I only knowed how, but me education's been forgot bad luck to the school masters. We can only make out big print one letter at a time. The poor man looked wistfully at the letter, feeling that it might possibly contain information of importance to all of them, and that delay in taking action might cause irreparable misfortune. While he meditated what had best be done and scanned the letter in all directions, a footstep was heard outside and the hearty voice of Captain Bunting shouted, Shepahore! Who's with him, boys? Roo, Captain! shouted Larry, jumping up at the light. Mind your foot, Captain, dear, don't come in. Why not? inquired the captain as he lifted the curtain. Sure it's no use telling ya now, said Larry as Captain Bunting fell head foremost into Ah-Wao's arms and drove that worthy creature as he himself would have said stern foremost into the mud and water at the bottom. The captain happened to have a haunch of venison on his shoulder and the blunderbuss under his arm, so that the crash and the splash as they all floundered in the mud were too much for Larry, who sat down again on the mud heap and roared with laughter. It is needless to go further into the details of this misadventure. Captain Bunting and the Chinamen were soon restored to the upper world, happily unhurt. So, having changed their garments, they went into Ah-Wao's tent to discuss the letter. Let me see it, Larry, said the captain, sitting down in an empty pork cask. Larry handed him the misadvent he read as follows. San Francisco. Edward Senton Esquire, Little Creek, Diggins. My dear sir, I have just time before the post closes to say that I only learned a few days ago that you were at Little Creek, otherwise I should have written sooner to say that. Here the captain seemed puzzled. Now, ain't that aggravating, he said. The seal has torn away the most important bit of the letter. I wish I had the villains by the nose that opened it. Look here, Larry, can you guess what it was? Larry took the letter, and after scrutinizing it with intense gravity and earnestness, returned it with the remark that it was, if you want him entirely. That, that, said the captain, again attempting to read that something, great success. So you and Captain Bunting had better come down at once. Believe me, my dear sir, yours faithfully, John Thompson. Now remarked the captain with a look of chagrin as he laid down the letter, folded his hands together and gazed into Larry's grave visage. Nothing half so tantalizing as that has happened to me since the time of my good ship, the roving best, was cast ashore at San Francisco. It's provoking, replied Larry, and preplexing. It's most unfortunate to continue the captain knitting up his visage, that sentin should be away just at this time without rudder, chart, or compass, and bound for no port that anyone knows of. Why, the fellow may be deep in the heart of the Rocky Mountains for all I can tell. I might start off at once without him, but maybe that would be of no use. What can it be that old Thompson's so anxious about? Why, didn't the old bigger head use his pen more freely? His tongue goes fast enough to drive the engines of a seventy-four. What is to be done? Although Captain Bunting asked the question with thorough earnestness and much energy looking first at Larry, and then at a while he received no reply, the former shook his head, and the latter stared at him with a steady dead intensity as if he wished to stare him through. After a few minutes pause Larry suddenly asked the captain if he was hungry to which the latter replied that he was, whereupon the former suggested that it was worthwhile cooking the haunch of ensign, and offered to do it in a peculiar manner that had been taught to him not long ago by a hunter who had passed that way and fallen into the hole in the tent and sprained his ankle so that he, Larry, was obliged to cape him for a week and trade him to the best duel de toigne. The proposal was agreed to, and Larry, seizing the haunch, which was still covered with the mug contracted in the hole, proceeded to exhibit his powers as a cook. The rain which had been coming down as if a second flood were about to deluge the earth had seized at this time, and the sun succeeded for a few hours in struggling through the murky clouds and pouring a flood of light and heat over hill and plain. The result of which was that, along the whole length of Little Creek, there was an eruption of blankets and shirts and inexpressibles, and other garments which stood much in need of being dried, and which, as they pluttered and flopped their many-colored folds in the light breeze, gave the settlement the appearance, as Captain Bunting expressed it, of being dressed from stem to stern. The steam that arose from these abillaments and from the soaking earth and from the drenched forest covered the face of nature with a sort of luminous mist that was quite cheering by contrast with the leaden gloom that had preceded it and filled with a romantic glow the bosoms of such miners as had any romance left in their natures. Larry O'Neill was one of these, and he went about his work whistling violently. We will not take upon us to say how much of his romance was due to the haunch of venison. We would not, if called on to do it, undertake to say how much of the romance and enjoyment of a picnic party would evaporate if it were suddenly announced that the hamper had been forgotten, or that it had fallen and the contents been smashed and mixed. We turn from such ungenerous and gross contemplations to the cooking of that haunch of venison, which as it was done after a fashion never known to Sawyer, and may be useful in after-years to readers of this chronicle, whose lot it may be per chance to stand in need of such knowledge, we shall carefully describe. It is not necessary to enlarge upon the preliminaries. We need hardly say that Larry washed off the mud and that he passed flattering remarks upon his own abilities and prowess, and in very irreverent tones and terms addressed Ah wow, who smoked his pipe and looked at him. All that, and a great deal more, we leave to our readers' well-known and vivid imagination. Suffice it that the venison was duly washed, and a huge fire, with much difficulty kindled, and a number of large stones put into it to heat. This done Larry cut off a lump of meat from the haunch, a good deal larger than his own head, which wasn't small, the skin with the hair on being cut off along with the meat. A considerable margin of flesh was then paired off from the lump so as to leave an edging of hide all round, which might overlap the remainder and enclose it as it were in a natural bag. At this stage of the process Larry paused, looked admiringly at his work, winked over the edge of it at Ah wow, and went hastily into the tent once he issued with two little tin canisters, one containing pepper, the other salt. Why, you beat the French all to nothing, remarked the captain who sat on an upturned teabock smoking and watching the proceedings. Ah, then, don't spake, Captain, you shall spoil your appetite, said Larry, sprinkling the seasoning into the bag and closing it up by means of a piece of cord. He then drew the red hot stones and ashes from the fire and, making a hotbed thereof, placed the venison dumpling if we may be allowed the term on the center of it. Before the green hide was quite burned through, the dish was cooked as Yankees express it to a curiosity, and the tasting thereof would have evoked from an alderman a look he would have been past speaking of ecstasy, while a lady might have exclaimed, Delicious! or a schoolboy have said, or some such term which ought only to be used in reference to intellectual treats, and should never be applied to such low matters as meat and drink. End of Chapter 22 Chapter 23 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 23 The rainy season and its effects, disease and misery at Little Creek, reappearance of old friends, an emigrant's death, and unexpected arrival. Captain Bunting, after two days' serious consideration, made up his mind to go down alone to San Francisco in order to clear up the mystery of the letter and do all that he could personally in the absence of his friend. To resolve, however, was easy. To carry his resolution into effect was almost impracticable, in consequence of the inundated state of the country. It was now the middle of November and the rainy season, which extends over six months of the year, was in full play. Language is scarcely capable of conveying to those who have not seen it an adequate idea of how it rained at this period of the year. It did not pour. There were no drops.  It struck the tense-like shot and spirited through the tightest canvas in the form of scotch mist. It swept down cabin chimneys and put out the fires. It roared through every crevice and rent and seam of the hills in mad cataracts and swelled up the little creek into a mighty surging river. All work was arrested. Men sat in their tents on mud heaps that melted from below them or lay on logs that well-knife floated away with them. But there was not so much grumbling as one might have expected. It was too tremendous to be merely annoying. It was sublimely ridiculous. So men grinned and bore it. But there were many poor miners there, alas, who could not regard that season in a light manner. There were dozens of young and middle-aged men whose constitutions, although good perhaps, were not robust, and who ought never to venture to seek their fortunes in the gold regions. Men who might have lived their full time and have served their day and generation usefully in the civilized regions of the world, but who, despite the advice of friends, probably, and certainly despite the warnings of experienced travelers and authors, rushed eagerly to California to find not a fortune, but a grave. Dysentery, scurvy in its worst and most loathsome type—egg, rheumatism, sciatica, consumption, and other diseases—were now rife at the diggings, cutting down many a youthful plant and blasting many a golden dream. Doctors, too, became surprisingly numerous, but these disciples of East Galapias failed to affect cures, and as their diplomas, when sought for, were not forthcoming, they were ultimately banished en masse by the indignant miners. One or two old hunters and trappers turned out in the end to be the most useful doctors, and affected a good many cures with the simple remedies they had become acquainted with among the red men. What rendered things worse was that provisions became scarce and therefore enormously dear. No fresh vegetables of any kind were to be had. Salt, greasy and rancid pork, bear's meat and venison were all the poor people could procure, although many a man there would have given a thousand dollars, I all he possessed, for a single meal of fresh potatoes. The men smitten with scurvy had therefore no chance of recovering. The valley became a huge hospital, and the banks of the stream, a cemetery. There were occasional lulls, however, in this dismal state of affairs. Sometimes the rain ceased, the sun burst forth in irresistible splendor and the whole country began to steam like a cauldron. A cart, too, succeeded now and then in struggling up with a load of fresh provisions, reviving a few sinking spirits for a time and almost making the owner's fortune. But, at the best, it was a drearily calamitous season, one which caused many a sick heart to hate the sight and name of gold, and many a digger to resolve to quit the land and all its treasures at the first opportunity. Doubtless, too, many deep and earnest thoughts of life and its aims and ends filled the minds of some men at that time. It is often, in seasons of adversity, that God shows to men how mistaken their views of happiness are, and how mad, as well as sinful it is in them, to search for joy and peace apart from and without the slightest regard for the author of all felicity. Yes, there is reason to hope and believe that many seeds of eternal life were sown by the Saviour and watered by the Holy Spirit in that disastrous time of disease and death, seed which, perhaps, is now blessing and fertilizing many distant regions of the world. In one of the smallest and most wretched of the huts at the entrance of the valley of Little Creek, lay a man whose days on earth were evidently few. The hut stood apart from the others in a lonely spot, as if it shrank from observation, and was seldom visited by the miners who were too much concerned about their own misfortunes to care much for those of others. Here Kate Morgan sat by the couch of her dying brother, endeavoring to soothe his last hours by speaking to him in the most endearing terms and reading passages from the word of God which lay open on her knee. But the dying man seemed to derive little comfort from what she said or read. His restless eye roamed anxiously round the wretched hut, while his breath came short and thick from between his pale lips. Shall I read to you, darling? said the woman, bending over the couch to catch the faint whisper, which was all the poor man had strength to utter. Just then, ere he could reply, the clatter of hose was heard, and a bronzed, stalwart horseman was seen through the doorless entrance of the hut, approaching at a brisk trot. Both horse and man were of immense size, and they came on with that swinging, heavy tread which gives the impression of irresistible weight and power. The rider drew up suddenly and, leaping off his horse, cried, Can I have a draft of water, my good woman, as he fastened the bridle to a tree and strode into the hut. Kate rose hurriedly and held up her finger to impose silence as she handed the stranger a can of water.  Going gently forward to the couch he sat down beside it and, taking the invalid's wrist, fell his pulse. Is he your husband, inquired the stranger in a subdued voice? No, sir, my brother. Does he like to have the Bible read to him? Sometimes, but before his voice failed he was always crying out for the praise. He's a Catholic, sir, though I'm not warm myself, and thanks he can't be saved unless he saves the praise. The stranger took up the Bible and turning towards the man whose bright eyes were fixed earnestly upon him, read, in a low impressive voice, several of those passages in which a free salvation to the chief of sinners is offered through Jesus Christ. He did not utter a word of comment, but he read with deep solemnity and paused ever in a non to look in the face of the sick man as he read the blessed words of comfort. The man was not in a state either to listen to arguments or to answer questions, so the stranger wisely avoided both and gently quitted the hut after offering up a brief prayer and repeating twice the words. Jesus says, him that cometh to me, I will in no wise cast out.  Have you no friends or relations here but him, inquired the stranger? Not one. There was one man as came to see us often when we stayed in a lonesome glen farther up the creek, but we've not seen him since we came here. Morby Tolkien he didn't know we were going to leave, and we went off in a hurry for my poor brother was impatient and thought the change would do him good. Take this, you'll be the better of it. The stranger thrust a quantity of silver indicates hand and sprang upon his horse. I don't need it, thank ye, said Kate hurriedly, but you may need it at any rate he does. Stay, what was the name of the man who used to visit you? O' Nail, sir. Larry O' Nail. Indeed! He is one of my mates. My name is Sinton, Edward Sinton. You will hear from me again, Air Long. Ned put spurs to his horse as he spoke and in another moment was out of sight. Chapter 24 Ned decides on visiting San Francisco Larry pays a visit and receives a severe disappointment. The road and the city. Unexpected news. Few joys in this life are altogether without alloy. The delight experienced by Larry O' Nail and Captain Bunting when they heard the hearty tones of Ned Sinton's voice, and the satisfaction with which they beheld his face when, in their anxiety to prevent his falling headlong into the hole, they both sprang out of the tent and rushed into his arms, were somewhat damped on their observing that Tom Collins was not with him. But their anxieties were speedily relieved on learning that Tom was at Sacramento City, and it was to be hoped, doing well. As Ned had eaten nothing on the day of his arrival since early morning, the first care of his friends was to cook some food for him, and Larry took special care to brew for him, as soon as possible, a stiff tumbler of hot brandy and water, which as he was wet and weary was particularly acceptable. While enjoying this over the fire in front of the tent, Ned related the adventures of himself and Tom Collins circumstantially. In the course of which narration he explained what the reader does not yet know, how that after Tom had recovered from his illness sufficiently to ride, he had conducted him by easy stages to the banks of the great San Joaquin River, down which they had proceeded by boat until they reached Sacramento. Here Ned saw him comfortably settled in the best room of the best hotel in the town, and then, purchasing the largest and strongest horse he could find, he set off in spite of the rains to let his comrades know that they were both safe, and in Ned's case, at least, sound. And now, with reference to that letter. Ah, that letter, echoed the captain, that's what I've been wanting you to come to. What can it mean? I am as ignorant of that as yourself, answered Ned. If it had only been you who were mentioned in the letter, I could have supposed that your old ship had been relaunched and refitted, and had made a successful voyage to China during your absence. But as I left no property of any kind in San Francisco, and had no speculations afloat, I cannot conceive what it can be. Maybe, suggested Larry, they've hired our remarkable talents up here in the Dickens, and they've been successful in getting us appointed to expanseable situations in the new government I've heard they're sucking up down there. I wouldn't object to be prime minister myself if they'd only allow me enough clerks to do the work. And did you say you were all ready for a start tomorrow, Captain, inquired, Ned? Quiet, we've disposed of the claims and tools for fifteen hundred dollars, and we sold on while along with a lot. That's to say he remains a fixture at the same wage, and the little we meant to take with us is stowed away in our saddlebags. You see, I couldn't foresee that you plumped down on us in this fashion, and I felt that the letter was urgent and ought to be acted on at once. You did quite right, returned Ned. What a pity I missed seeing Bill Jones at Sacramento. But the city has grown so much and become so populist in a few months that two friends might spend a week in it unknown to each other without chanting the meat. And now, as to the gold, have you been successful since I left? Oi, broken Larry, that have we. It's a great country entirely for men whose bones and muscles are made of iron. Wave dug forty thousand dollars, eight thousand pounds, out of that seam-hold in the tent, for by spraying in the ankles and when I break in the legs are eight or ten miners. It's sorry I'll bet I'll leave it, but after all it's a sickly place, so I'm content to go. By the way, Larry, that reminds me, I met a friend of yours at the other end of the settlement. Oi, Bolivia, answered Larry, every man in the creeks, my friend. They'd do it for me they would if I only axed them. I, but a particular friend, named Kate who, ah, you don't mean it, cried the Irishman starting up with an anxious look. Sure, they lived up in the dark glen there, and they went off one fine day and I've never been able to hear of them since. They are not very far off, continued Ned, detailing his interview with the brother and sister, and expressing a conviction that the former could not now be in life. We'll go down to Noyce, said Larry, drawing on his heavy boots. You better wait till tomorrow, suggested the Captain. The poor thing will be in no humor to see any one tonight, and we can make a halt near the hut for an hour or so. Larry, with some reluctance, agreed to this delay, and the rest of the evening was spent by the little party in making preparations for a start on the following day. But difficulties arose in the way of settling with the purchasers of their claims, so that another day passed ere they got fairly off in their journey towards Sacramento. On reaching the mouth of the little creek, Larry O'Neill galloped ahead of his companions and turned aside at the little hut, the locality of which Stanton had described to him minutely. Springing off his horse, he threw the reins over a bush and crossed the threshold. It is easier to conceive than to describe his amazement and consternation on finding the place empty. Dashing out, he vaulted into the saddle and almost galloped through the doorway of the nearest hut in his anxiety to learn what had become of his friend. Hello, stranger! shouted a voice from within. No thoroughfare this way, and I wouldn't advise you for to go and try for to like one. Oh, concherman, where is the Sikh Irishman and his sister going that lived close to you here? Well, I ain't a concherman of your own, I guess, but I can answer a civil question. They're gone. The man's dead and the gal took him away in a cart day before yesterday. Gone? Took him away in a cart? echoed Larry while he looked aghast at the man. Are y'all sure? Well, I couldn't be sure. I made the coffin for him and helped lift it into the cart. But where have they gone to? To Sacramento, I guess. I advised her not to go, but she mumbled something about not having him buried in such a wild place and laying him in a churchyard. So I gave her the loan of fifty dollars. It was all I could spare, for she had in a wrap. She borrowed the horse and cart from a concherman who was going to Sacramento at any rate.  Give us your hand, me boy. Oh, then your parents were always shall be bound. No, here's your fifty dollars back again with compound interest aboot, though I don't know exactly what that is. I didn't ask him for the fifty dollars to demand somewhat angrily. Who are you that offers him? Oymour, her friend, answered Larry in some confusion. Her intimate friend. Oymour almost sails out a distant relation. Only not quite that. Well, if that's all, I guess I'm as much a friend as you, said the man re-entering his cabin and shutting the door with a bang. Larry's side dropped the fifty dollars into his leather purse and galloped away. The journey down to Sacramento owing to the flooded state of the country was not an easy one. It took the party several days hard riding to accomplish it, and during all that time Larry kept a vigilant lookout for Kate Morgan and the cart, but neither of them did he see. Each day he felt certain he would overtake them, but each evening found him trying to console himself with the reflection that a stern chase is proverbially a long one, and that next day would do it. Thus they struggled on, and finally arrived at the city of Sacramento without having set eyes on the wanderer. Poor Larry little knew that having gone with a man who knew the road thoroughly, Kate, although she traveled slowly, had arrived there the day before him, while Ned had lengthened the road by unwittingly making a considerable and unnecessary detour. Still less did he know that at the very hour he arrived in the city, Kate, with her sad charge, embarked on board a small river steamer and was now on her way to San Francisco. As it was, Larry proposed to start back again, supposing they must have passed them, but on second thoughts he decided to remain where he was and make inquiries. So the three friends pushed forward to the city hotel to make inquiries after Tom Collins. Mr. Collins said the waiter bowing to Sinton. He's gone, sir, about a week ago. Gone? exclaimed Ned, turning pale. Yes, sir, gone down to San Francisco. He saw some advertisement or other in the newspaper and started off by the next steamer. Ned's heart beat freely again. Was he well when he left? Yes, sir, pretty well. He would have been the better of a longer rest, but he was quite fit to travel, sir. Captain Bunting, who during this colloquy had been standing with his legs apart and his eyes glaring at the waiter as if he had been mad, gave a prolonged whistle but made no further remark. At this moment Larry, who had been conversing with one of the under-waiters, came rushing in with a look of desperation on his countenance. What job I'll leave it! he cried, throwing himself down on a splendid crimson sofa that seemed very much out of keeping with the dress of the rough miners whom it was meant to accommodate. What job I'll leave it! they're gone! Who are gone, and where to? inquired Ned. Kate and Anna Coffin.  The three friends looked at each other. Wider, said Captain Bunting in a solemn voice. Bear chops for three, pops and backie for six, and a brandy smash for one. And do you hear, let it be stiff. Yes, sir. A loud laugh from Ned and Larry relieved their overexcited and pent-up feelings, and both agreed that under the circumstances the captain's order was the best that could be given at that stage of their perplexities. Having ascertained that there was not another steamer to San Francisco for a week, they resolved to forget their anxieties as much as possible, and enjoy themselves in the great city of Sacramento during the next few days while they instituted inquiries as to what had become of their comrade Bill Jones, who they concluded must still be in the city, as they had not met him on the way down. CHAPTER 25 GOLD, NOT ALL POWERFUL Remarkable growth of Sacramento, new style of bringing a hotel into notice, a surprising discovery, death of a Mexican horse tamer, the concert and another discovery, Mademoiselle Melina creates a sensation. It is said that gold can accomplish anything, and in some respects the saying is full of truth. In some points of view, however, the saying is altogether wrong. Gold can indeed accomplish almost anything in the material world. It can purchase stone and metal and timber, and muscles, bones, fumes and sinews with life in them to any extent. It can go a step further. It can purchase brains, intellect, genius, and throwing the whole together material and immaterial. It can cut and carve and mold the world to such an extent that its occupants of fifty years ago, where they permitted to return to earth, would find it hard to recognize the scene of their brief existence. But there are things and powers which gold cannot purchase. That worn out old millionaire would give tons of it for a mere tithe of the health that Yonder Plowman enjoys. Youth cannot be bought with gold. Time cannot be purchased with gold. The prompt obedience of thousands of men and women may be bought with that precious metal, but one powerful throb of a loving heart could not be procured by all the yellow gold it ever did or ever will enrich the human family. But we are verging towards digression. Let us return to the simple idea with which we intended to begin this chapter, the wonder-working power of gold. In no country in the wide world be ventured to affirm has this power been exemplified so strikingly as in California. The knowledge of the discovery of gold was so suddenly and widely disseminated over the earth that human beings glowed into the formerly uninhabited wilderness like a mighty torrent while thousands of ships flooded the markets with the necessaries of life. Then gold was found to be so abundant and at first so easily procured that the fever was kept up at white heat for several years. The result of this was, as we have remarked elsewhere, that changes worthy of Aladdin's lamp or Harlequin's wand were wrought in the course of a few weeks, sometimes in a few days. The city of Sacramento was one of the most remarkable of the many strange and sudden growths in the country. The river on which it stands is a beautiful stream, from two to three hundred yards wide and navigable by large craft to a few miles above the city. The banks, when our friends were there, were fringed with rich foliage and the wild trees of the forest itself stood growing in its streets. The city was laid out in the form of a square with streets crossing each other at right angles. A forest of masts along the Embarcadero attested the growing importance and wealth of the place, and nearly ten thousand inhabitants swarmed in its streets. Many of those streets were composed of canvas tents or erections scarcely more durable. Yet here, little more than a year before, there were only four thousand in the place. Those who chanced to be in possession of the land here were making fortunes. Lots, twenty feet by seventy in the best situations, brought upwards of thirty five hundred dollars. Rents too were enormous. One hotel paid thirty thousand dollars, six thousand pounds per annum, another thirty five thousand dollars. Small stores fetched ten and twelve thousand dollars a year, while board at the best hotels was five dollars a day. Truly, if gold was plentiful it was needed. For the common necessaries of life, though plentiful, were bought and sold at fabulous prices. The circulation of gold was enormous and the growth of the city did not suffer a check even for a day, although the cost of building was unprecedented, and this commercial prosperity continued in spite of the fact that the place was unhealthy, being a furnace in summer and in winter little better than a swamp. It's a capital hotel, remarked Captain Bunting to his companions as they sat round their little table enjoying their pipes after dinner. I wonder if they make a good thing out of it. Sure if they don't, said Larry, tilting his chair on its hind legs and calmly blowing a cloud of smoke towards the roof, it's a losing game they're playing for they starve out the grove at a tear in pace. They are doing well, I doubt not, said Ned Sinton, and they deserve to. For the owner, or owners, I don't know how many or few there are, made a remarkable and enterprising start. How was that? asked the Captain. I heard of it when I was down here with Tom, continued Sinton. You must know that this was the first regular hotel opened in the city, and it was considered so great an event that it was celebrated by salvos of artillery, and on the part of the proprietors by a great unlimited feast to all who chose to come. What, cried Larry, fray, grotesque, for nothing? I, for nothing. It was done in magnificent style, I assure you. Anyone who chose came and called for what he wanted and got it at once. The attendance was prompt and as cheerfully given as though it had been paid for. Gin slings, cocktails, mint julips, and brandy smashes went round like a circular storm, even champagne flowed like water. In venison, wild fowl, salmon, grizzly bear steaks, and pastry, all the delicacies of the season, in short, were literally to be had for the asking. What it cost the spirited proprietors, I know not, but certainly it was a daring stroke of genius that deserved patronage. Fie it, did, said Larry emphatically, and they shall have it, too. Here, waiter, a brandy smash in the charoute, and be as he as to the cost. Oh, it think me, Bankels, stand it? What say you to a stroll, said Ned Rising? While all lanes replied Captain Bunting jumping up and laying down his pipe, Larry preferred to remain where he was, so the two friends left him to enjoy his charoute and wandered away, where fancy led to see the town. There was much to be seen. It required no theatrical representation of life to amuse one in Sacramento at that time. The whole city was a vast series of plays in earnest. Every conceivable species of comedy and farce met the eye at every turn. Costumes the most remarkable, men the most varied and peculiar, and things the most incomprehensible and unexpected presented themselves in endless succession. Here a canvas restaurant stood, or rather leaned against a log store. There a tent spread its folds and juxtapositioned to a deck cabin, which seemed to have walked ashore from a neighboring brig without leave, and had been let out as a grog shop by way of punishment. Chinaman and Calico jostled sailors in canvas or diggers in scarlet flannel shirts or dandies in broadcloth and patent leather or red Indians in nothing. Bustle and hurry and uproar and joviality prevailed. A good deal of drinking, too, unfortunately, went on, and the results were occasional melodramas and sometimes serious rouse. Tragedies, too, were enacted, but these seldom met the eye. As is usually the case, they were done in the dark. What have we here? cried Captain Bunting, stopping before a large placard and reading. Grand Concert this evening. Wonderful singer. Mademoiselle Nalina, first appearance. Ethiopian Serenaders. I say, Ned, we must go to this. I have not heard a song for ages that was worse listening to. At what hour, inquired Ned? Oh, seven o'clock. Well, we can stroll back to the hotel, have a cup of coffee, and bring Larry O'Neill with us. Come along. That evening our three adventurers occupied the back seat of a large concert room in one of the most crowded thoroughfares of the town, patiently awaiting the advent of the performers. The room was filled to overflowing long before the hour for the commencement of the performances with every species of mortal except woman. Women were exceedingly rare creatures at that time. The meetings of all sorts were composed almost entirely of men in their varied and motley garbs. Considering the circumstances in which it was got up, the room was a very creditable one, destitute indeed of ornament, but well lighted by an enormous wooden chandelier full of wax candles, which depended from the center of the ceiling. At the further end of the room was a raised stage with foot lights in front and three chairs in the middle of it.  But at first the owners of these instruments kept out of sight, wisely reserving themselves until that precise moment when the impatient audience would, as all audiences do on similar occasions, threaten to bring down the building with stamping of feet, accompanied with steam engine-like whistles and savage cries of MUSIC. While Ned Stanton and his friends were quietly looking round upon the crowd, Larry O'Neill's attention was arrested by the conversation of two men who sat just in front of him. One was a rough-looking minor in a wide-awake and red-blannel shirt. The other was a negro in a shirt of blue-striped calico. Who be this Missy Nalina? inquired the negro turning to his companion. I done know, but I was here last night, and I'd take my day, because I saw the little gal in the ranch of a fella away in the plains, five hundred miles to the Aasterd, two months ago. Her father poor chap was killed by a wild horse. How was that? inquired the negro with an expression of great interest. Well, it was this way it happened, replied the other, putting a quid of tobacco into his cheek, such as only a sailor would venture to masticate. I was up at the Diggins about six months without getting more gold than just kept me in life. For you see, I was always an unlucky dog. When one day I goes down to my claim and at the very first lick dug up two chunks of gold as big as your fists. So I sold my claim and shovel and come down here for a spray. Well, as I was saying, I come to the ranch of a fella called Banjir Banjir Banjir, some sort of bang with a G at the end of it. He was clapping his little gal on the head when I come up and said goodbye to her. I didn't rightly hear what she said, but I was so taken with her pretty face that I couldn't help asking if the little thing was his own. Yes, says he far. He was a Mexican and couldn't come round the English lingo. She me daughter. I found the man was going to catch a wild horse, so says I. I go with you and says he come along. So away we went slapping over the plains at a great rate. Him and me and a Yankee, a friend of his and three or four servants after I drove a wild horse that had been seen that morning near the house. Well, away we went after the wild horses. Oh, it was grand sport. The man had let me one of his beasts and it went at such a spanking pace I could scarce keep my seat and had to hold on by the saddle. Not being used to riding much, do you say? We soon picked out a horse, a splendid looking fella with curved neck and free gallop and wide nostrils. My eye, how he did snort and plunge when the Mexican threw the lasso. It went right over his head the first cast, but the wild horse pulled the rope out of his grip. It's all up thought I put never a bit. The Mexican put spurs to his horse and while that full gallop made a dive with his body and actually caught the end of the line as it trailed over the ground and recovered his seat again, it was done in a crack. And I believe he held on by means of his spurs, which were big enough, I think, to make wheels for a small carolade. Taken a turn of the line round the horn of his saddle, he reigned in a bit and then gave the spurs for another spurt and soon after reigned in again. In fact, he just played the wild horse like a trout until he well not choked him. And in an hour or less, he was led steaming and starting and jumping into the corral where the man kept his other horses. At this point in the narrative the cries for music became so deafening that the sailor was obliged to pause to the evident annoyance of the negro who seemed intensely interested in what he had heard and also to the regret of Larry who had listened eagerly the whole time. In a few minutes the music came in in the shape of two bald-headed Frenchmen, a wild-looking bearded German, and several lean men who might, as far as appearance went, have belonged to almost any nation and who would have, as far as musical ability went, been repudiated by every nation, except perhaps the Chinese. During the quarter of an hour in which these performers quieted the impatient audience with sweet sounds, the sailor continued his antidote. Well, you see, said he to the negro while Larry bent forward to listen, the Mexican mounted and raced and spurred him for about an hour. But just at the last, the wild horse gave a tremendous leap and a plunge, and we noticed the rider fall forward as if he got a sprain. The Yankee and one of the servants ran up and caught the horse by the head, but its rider didn't move. He was stoned dead and was held in his seat by the spurs sticking in the saddlecloth. The last bound must have ruptured some blood vessel inside, for there was no sign of her to pull on him anywhere. You don't say that, said the negro with a look of horror. Gee do I, and we took the poor fellow home where his little daughter cried for him as if she'd break her heart. I asked Yankee what we should do, but he looked at me somewhat offended, like and said he was a relation of the dead man's wife and could manage the affairs of the family without help. So I bid him good morning and went my way. But I believe in my heart he was telling a lie, and that he's no right to go hawking the poor gal about the country in this fashion. Larry was deeply interested in this narrative and felt so strong a disposition to make further inquiries that he made up his mind to question the sailor, and was about to address him when a small bell tinkled, the music ceased, and three Ethiopian minstrels banjo in hand, advanced to the footlights, made their bow, and then seated themselves on the three chairs, with that intensity of consummate, impudent, easy familiarity peculiar to the ebony sons of song. Go to it, darkies! shouted an enthusiastic individual in the middle of the room. Three cheers for the niggers! roared a sailor who had just returned from a twelve-month cruise at the mines, and whose delight at the prospect of once more hearing a good song was quite irrepressible. The audience responded to the call with shouts of laughter, and a cheer that would have done your heart good to listen to, while the niggers showed their teeth in acknowledgment of the compliment. The first song was Lily Dale, and the men who we need scarcely say were fictitious negroes, sang it so well that the audience listened with breathless attention and evident delight, and encored it vociferously. The next song was O MASSA HOW HE WAPPED ME, a diddy of quite a different stamp, but equally popular. It also was encored, as indeed was every song sung that evening, but the performers had counted on this. After the third song there was a hornpipe, in the performance of which the dancer's chief aim seemed to be to show in what a variety of complex ways he could shake himself to pieces if he chose. Then there was another trio, and then a short pause, in order duly to prepare the public mind for the reception of the great Conta Triche, Mademoiselle Nalina. When she was led to the footlights by the tallest of the three negroes there was a momentary pause as if men caught their breath. Then there was a prolonged cheer of enthusiastic admiration, and little wonder for the creature that appeared before these rough minors seemed more like an angelic visitant than a mortal. There was nothing strikingly beautiful about the child, but she possessed that inexpressibly sweet character of face that takes the human heart by storm at first sight, and this added to the fact that she was almost the only one of her sex who had been seen for many months by any of those present, that she was fair, blue-eyed, delicate, modestly dressed, and innocent, filled them with an amount of enthusiasm that would have predisposed them to call a scream melodious had it been uttered by Mademoiselle Nalina. But the voice which came timidly from her lips was in harmony with her appearance. There was no attempted execution, and the poor child was too frightened to succeed in imparting much expression to the simple ballad which she warbled. But there was an inherent richness in the tones of her voice that entranced the air and dwelt for weeks and months afterwards on the memory of those who heard it that night. It is needless to add that all her songs were encored with rapturous applause. The second song she sang was the popular one, Aaron My Country, and it created quite a furor among the audience, many of whom were natives of the Green Isle. Oh, ye party creature, sing it again, do! yelled an Irishman in the front seats, while he waved his hat and cheered in mad enthusiasm. The multitude shedded encore, and the song was sung for the third time. While it was singing, Larry O'Neill sat with his hands clasped before him, his bosom heaving, and his eyes riveted on the child's face. Mr. Sinton, he said in a deep earnest tone, touching net on the shoulder, as the last sweet notes of the air were drowned in the thunder of applause that followed mademoiselle Melina off the stage. Mr. Sinton, I'd lend me life that it's her. Who, inquired Ned, smiling at the serious expression of his comrades' face. Who but Nilly Morgan, of course. She's a born image of Kate. There is like as two pays. Sure, if it's her, I'll know it, I will. When I'll make that black thief of a Yankee captain, explain how I come to possess stolen goods. Ned and the captain at first expressed doubts as to Larry's being able to swear to the identity of one whom he had never seen before. But the earnest assurances of the Irishman convinced them that he must be right, and they at once entered into his feelings and planned in an eager undertone how the child was to be communicated with. It won't do, said Ned, to tax the man right out with his villainy. The miners would say we wanted to get possession of the child to make money by her. But if the child herself admitted that the man was not her relative, suggested Captain Monting, perhaps, returned Ned, she might at the same time admit that she didn't like the appearance of the strangers who made such earnest inquiries about her and preferred to remain with her present guardian. Never fear, said Larry in a hoarse whisper. She'll not say that if I tell her I know her sister Kate and can take her to her. Besides, hasn't she got an Irish heart? And don't I know the way to touch it? Just stay where you are, both of you, and I'll go behind the scenes. The niggers are coming on again, so I'll try. Maybe there's nobody there but herself. Before they could reply, Larry was gone. In a few minutes he reached the front seats and, leaning his back against the wall, as if he were watching the performers, he gradually edged himself into the dark corner where the side curtain shut off the orchestra from the public. To his great satisfaction he found that this was only secured to the wall by one or two nails, which he easily removed, and then, in the midst of an uproarious laugh caused by a joke of the serenaders, he pushed the curtain aside and stood before the astonished gaze of Mademoiselle Molina, who sat on a chair with her hands clasped and resting on her knee. Unfortunately for the success of Larry's enterprise, he also stood before the curtain raiser, a broad, sturdy man and rough miner's costume whose back was turned towards him, but whose surprised visage instantly faced him on hearing the muffled noise caused by his entry. There was a burly negro also in the place, seated on a small stool who looked at him with unqualified astonishment. Hello, what do you want? exclaimed the curtain raiser. Ah, tearing ages, cried Larry in amazement. May I never! Sure, it's dreaming I am, and the ghost of Bill Jones has come to see me. It was indeed no other than Bill Jones who stood revealed before him, but no friendly glance of recognition did his old comrade vouchsafe him. He continued after the first look of surprise to frown steadily on the intruder. You've the advantage of me, young man, said Bill in a stern, though subdued tone, for he feared to disturb the men on the stage. Moreover, you've come in where you've no right to be. When a man goes where he should not to, and things looks as if they wouldn't all square. In them circumstances, blow high or blow low, I always go straight forward and shoves him out. If he don't shove easy, why, put on more steam, that's what I say. But sure you don't forget me, Bill, pleaded Larry in amazement. Well, perhaps I don't, and perhaps I do. When I last enjoyed the dishonor of your acquaintance, you was a blackguard. It ain't likely you're improved, so be good enough to back your top sails and clear out. Bill Jones pointed as he spoke to the opening through which Larry had entered, but suddenly changing his mind he said, Hold on, there's a back door, and it'll be easier to kick you through that than through the concert room. So saying, Bill seized Larry O'Neill by the collar and led that individual in a state of helpless and wandering consternation through a back door, where, however, instead of kicking him out, he released him and suddenly changed his tone to an eager whisper. Oh, Larry Ladd, I'm glad to see you. Where ever did you come from? I've no time to speak. Uncle Nedd's just buried and Jim Crowe comes on in three minutes. I had to pretend you know, because it wouldn't do to let Jim see I know you. That was him on the stool.  Where do you stop? Larry's surprise just permitted him to gas out the words, city hotel, when a roar of laughter and applause met their ears, followed by the tinkle of a small bell. Bill sprang through the doorway and slammed the door in his old comrade's face. It would be difficult to say, looking at that face on that particular time, whether the owner thereof was mad or drunk or both, so strangely did it wrinkle and contort as it gradually dawned upon its owner that Bill Jones, true to his present profession, was acting apart, that he knew about the mystery of Mademoiselle Nelina, was now acquainted with his, Larry's, place of abode, and would infallibly find him out after the concert was over. As these things crossed his mind, Larry smote his thigh so often and so vigorously that he ran the risk of being taken up for unwarrantably discharging his revolver in the streets, and he whistled once or twice so significantly that at least five stray dogs answered to the call. At last he hitched up the band of his trousers and hastening round to the front door, essayed to re-enter the concert room. "'Pay here, please,' cried the money-taker, in an extremely nasal tone as he passed the little hole in the wall. "'We've paid already,' answered Larry. "'Show your check, then.' "'Sure, I don't know what that is.' The doorkeeper smiled contemptuously and shut down with a bang the bar that kept off the public. Larry doubled his fist and flushed crimson. Then he remembered the importance of the business he had on hand, and quietly drew the requisite sum from his leather purse. "'Come along,' said he to Ned Sinton on re-entering the room. "'Oye, Cedar.' "'I'm Bill Jones, too.' "'Bill Jones?' cried Ned and the captain simultaneously. "'Sit, Larry. Don't be making people observe us. "'Come along home, it's all right. We'll tell you all about it when we're out.' In another minute the three friends were in the street conversing eagerly and earnestly as they hastened to their quarters through the thronged and noisy streets of Sacramento. End of Chapter 25. Chapter 26 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 26 Deep Plots and Plans As Larry had rightly anticipated, Bill Jones made his appearance at the City Hotel the moment the concert was over and found his old comrades waiting anxiously for him. It did not take long to tell him how they had discovered the existence of Nellie Morgan as we shall now call her, but it took much longer to drag from Bill the account of his career since they last met and the explanation of how he came to be placed in his present circumstances. "'Yes, see, friends,' said he, puffing at a pipe from which to look at him one would suppose he derived most of his information. This is how it happened. When I set sail from the Diggins to come here for Grubb, I had a pleasant trip at first, but after a little things began to look bad, the feller that stared us lost his reckoning, and so we took two or three wrong turns by way of making shortcuts. That's always how it is. There's a proverb somewhere. In Milton, maybe, or Napier's book of logarithms suggested Captain Bunting. Perhaps it was, and perhaps it wasn't. Retoy to Bill, stuffing the end of his little finger, if such a diminutive may be used in reference to any of his fingers, into the bowl of his pipe. I raider think myself it was in Bill's life or the royal almanac. However, that's what it is. When you've got a short road to go, don't try to make it shorter, say I. And when you've got a long story to tell, don't try to make it longer, interrupted Larry, winking at his comrade through the smoke of his pipe. Well, as I was saying, continued Bill doggedly, we didn't get on so well after a bit, but somehow or other we got here at last and cast anchor in this very hotel. Off I goes at once and buys a cart and a mule, and then I sets to work to lay in provisions. Now, do you see, lads, it would have been better if I had bought the provisions first, and the mule and the cart after, for I had to pay ever so many dollars a day for their keep. At last I got it all square, packed tight and tied up in the cart, barrels of flour and kegs of pork and beans and brandy and whatnot, in a way I went alone, for do you see, I carry a compass, and when I've once made a voyage, I never need to be told how to steer. But my troubles began soon. There's a fort across the river here, which I was told I'd have to cross, and sure enough, so I did. But it's as bad as not agrar, if not worse, and when I get halfway over, we was capsized and went down the river keel up. I don't know yet very well how I got ashore, but I did somehow. And did the cart go for it, inquired Captain Bunning aghast. Nope, the cart didn't. She stranded half a mile further down on a rock where she lies to this hour, with a wheel smashed and a bottom out in about 3,000 tons of water swashing right through her every hour. But all the provisions and the mule went slapped down the Sacramento, and if they haven't been picked up on the way, they're cruising off the port of San Francisco by this time. The unfortunate seaman stopped at this point to relight his pipe, while his comrades laughingly commented on his misadventure. Ah, you may laugh, but I can tell you it weren't a thing to be laughed at. And at this hour I've scarce one dollar to rub against another. Never mind, my boy, said Ned, as he and the others laughed loud and long at the lugubrious visage of their comrade. We've got well-lined pockets, I assure you, and of course we have your share of the profits of our joint concern to hand over whenever you wish it.  Well, my story's short now. I've come back here and by chance fell in with this feller, this Yankee nigger, who offered me five dollars a day to haul up the curtain and do a lot of dirty work such as bill sticking and lighting the candles and sweeping the floor.  You're not good at a bargain, I fear, remarked sentin'. But what of the little girl? Well, I was coming to that. You see, I felt sure from some things I overheard that she wasn't the man's daughter, so one day I asked her who she was, and she said she didn't know, except that her name was Nellie Morgan. So it comes across me that Morgan was the name of the Irish family you was so thick with up at the diggings, Larry, and I was going to ask if she knowed them when Jolly, that's the name of the get-her-up-of-the-concerts, catched me talkin' and he took her away sharp and said he'd thank me to leave the girl alone. I've been watchin' to have another talk with her, but Jolly's too sharp for me and I haven't spoken to her yet. Larry manifested much disappointment at this termination for he had been fully prepared to hear that the girl had made Bill her competent and would be ready to run away with him at a moment's notice. However, he consoled himself by saying that he would do the thing himself, and after arranging that Bill was to tell Nellie that a friend of his knew where her sister was and would like to speak with her, they all retired to rest, at least to rest as well as they could in a house which, like all the houses in California, swarmed with rats. Next night Bill Jones made a bold effort and succeeded in conveying Larry's message to Nellie very adroitly as he thought while she was standing close to him waiting for Mr. Jolly to lead her to the footlight. The consequence was that the poor child trembled like a leaf when she attempted to sing and finally fainted on the stage to the consternation of a crowded house. The point was gained, however. Nellie soon found an opportunity of talking in private with Bill Jones and appointed to meet Larry in the street next morning, early near the city hotel. It was with trembling eagerness mixed with timidity that she took the Irishman's arm when they met and asked if he really knew where her sister was. Oh, how I've longed for her, but are you sure you know her? said Larry with a smile. Do I know myself? This argument was unanswerable, so Nellie made no reply and Larry went on. Yes, I know her and I hope to know her better. But here's her picture for you. Larry then gave the earnest listener at his side a graphic description of her sister Kate's personal appearance and described her brother also, but he did not at that time acquaint her with the death of the latter. He also spoke of Black Jim and described the circumstances of her being carried off. So you see, darling, said he, I know all about you, and no I want you to tell me what happened to you after that.  Then she told rapidly how she had been forsaken by those to whom she had been entrusted and left to perish in the mountain snow, and how in her extremity God had sent help, how another party of immigrants found her and carried her on, how one by one they all died till she was left alone a second time, and how a Mexican horseman found her and carried her to his home and kept her there as his adopted daughter till he was killed while taming a wild horse. After that Nellie's story was a repetition of what Larry had already overheard accidentally in the concert room. No, dear, said Larry, we haven't time to waste. We go with me to San Francisco. The tones of the rough man's voice, rather than his words, had completely won the confidence of the poor child, so she said, yes, without hesitation. But how am I to escape from Mr. Jones, she added. He has begun to suspect Mr. Jones, I say quite well. Lave that to me, darling, and do you cape as much as you can in the house the next day or two, and be looking out for what may turn up. Good day to you, Maverine. We must part here for fear of a simple and elinxoid blackguard. Cape up your heart. Nellie walked quickly away, half laughing at and half perplexed by the ambiguity of her new friend's parting advice. The four friends now set themselves to work to outwit Mr. Jolly and Robin of Mademoiselle, Nelina. At last they hit up on a device which did not indeed say much for the ingenuity of the party, but which, like many other bold plans, succeeded admirably. A steamer was to start in three days for San Francisco. One of those splendid new vessels, which, like floating palaces, had suddenly made their appearance on these distant waters, having made the long and dangerous voyage from the United States around the Horn. Before the steamer started, Larry contrived to obtain another interview with Nellie Morgan and explained their plan, which was as follows. On the day of the steamer sailing, a few hours before the time of starting, Mr. Jolly was to receive the following letter, dated from a well-known ranch 30 miles up the river. Sir, I trust that you will forgive a perfect stranger addressing you, but the urgency of the case must be my excuse. There is a letter lying here for you, which I have reason to know contains information of the utmost importance to yourself, but which, owing to circumstances that I dare not explain in a letter that might chance to fall into wrong hands, must be opened here by your own hands. It will explain all when you arrive. Meanwhile, as I am a perfect stranger to the state of your finances, I send you a sufficient quantity of gold dust by the bearer to enable you to hire a horse and come up. Pray excuse the liberty I take and believe me to be your obedient servant, Edward Sinton. At the appointed time Larry delivered this epistle and the bag of gold into Mr. Jolly's hands and, saying that no answer was required, hurried away. If Mr. Jolly had been suddenly informed that he had been appointed Secretary of State to the King of Ashanti, he could not have looked more astonished than when he perused this letter and weighed the bag of gold in his hand. The letter itself, had it arrived alone, might, very likely, would have raised his suspicions, but accompanied as it was by a bag of gold of considerable value, it commended itself as a genuine document, and the worthy musician was in the saddle half an hour later. Before starting he cautioned Nelly not to quit the house on any account whatever, the caution which she heard but did not reply to. Three hours later Mr. Jolly reached his destination and had the following letter put into his hands. Sir, by the time you receive this your late charge, Madam Azell Nalina, will be on her way to San Francisco, where you are welcome to follow her and claim her from her sister if you feel so disposed. I am, sir, etc., Edward Sinton. We need not repeat what Mr. Jolly said or try to imagine what he felt on receipt of this letter. About the time it was put into his hands a magnificent steamer at the Embarcadero gave a shrill whistle, then it panted violently, the paddles revolved, and our adventurers were soon steaming swiftly down the noble river on their way to San Francisco. CHAPTER XXVII 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. Ballantyne. CHAPTER XXVII. San Francisco again. A terrible misfortune, an old friend in surprisingly new circumstances, several remarkable discoveries, and new lights. There is no time or place perhaps more suitable for indulging in ruminations, cogitations, and reminiscences than the quiet hours of a calm night out upon the sea when the watchful stars looked down upon the bosom of the deep and twinkle at their reflections in placid brilliancy. Late at night when all the noisy inmates of the steamer had ceased to eat and drink and laugh, and had sought repose in their birth, Edward Sitton walked the deck alone, meditating on the past, the present, and the future. When he looked up at the serene heavens and down at the tranquil sea, whose surface was unruffled, saved by the long pure white track of the vessel, he could scarcely bring himself to believe that the whirl of incident and adventure in which he had been involved during the last few and short months was real. It seemed like a brilliant dream. As long as he was on shore it all appeared real enough, and the constant pressure of something to be done, either immediately or in an hour or to-morrow, kept his mind perpetually chained down to the consideration of visible and tangible and passing events, but now the court of connection with land had been suddenly and completely severed. The very land itself was out of sight. Nothing around him tended to recall recent events, and as he had nothing in the world to do but wait until the voyage should come to an end, his mind was left free to bound over the recent past into the region of the long past and revel there at pleasure. But Ned Sitton was not altogether without anxieties. He felt a little uneasy as to the high-handed manner in which he had carried off Nellie Morgan from her late guardian, and he was a good deal perplexed as to what the important affairs could be for which he had so hastily overturned all the gold-digging plans of his whole party. With these thoughts mingled many philosophic inquiries as to the amount of advantage that lay, if indeed there was any advantage at all, in making one's fortune suddenly and at the imminent hazard of one's life. Overpowering sleep at last put an end to Ned's wandering thoughts, and he too bade the stars good night and sought his pillow. In due course the vessel cast anchor off the town of San Francisco. There is many a slip between the cup and the lip. It is an old proverb that, but one which is proved by frequent use on the part of authors in all ages to be a salutary reminder to humanity. Its truth was unpleasantly exemplified on the arrival of the steamer, as the tide was out at the time the captain ordered the boats to be lowered in order to land the passengers. The moment they touched the water they were filled by impatient miners who struggled to be the first to shore. The boat into which Ned and his friends got was soon overloaded with passengers and the captain ordered her to be shoved off.  Let me in first! There's no room! cried several voices. Shove off! There's room enough! cried the man with a nose at the same time seizing the rope. If you do come down, said a sailor sternly, I'll pitch you overboard. William growled the man, and the next instant he sprang upon the edge of the boat which upset and left its freight struggling in the water. The other boats immediately picked them all up, and beyond getting a wedding there were physically none the worse. But alas! the bags of gold which our adventurers were carrying ashore with them sank to the bottom of the sea. They were landed on the wharf at San Francisco as penniless as they were on the day of their arrival in California. This reverse of fortune was too tremendous to be realized in a moment. As they stood on the wharf, dripping wet and gazing at each other in dismay, they suddenly as if by one consent burst into a loud laugh. But the laugh had a strong dash of bitterness in its tone, and when it passed the expression of their countenances was not cheerful. Bill Jones was the first to speak as they wandered almost helplessly through the crowded streets while little Nelly ever in the non looked wistfully up into Larry's face as he led her by the hand. It's a stunning smash, said Bill fetching a deep sigh. But when a thing's done, and can't be undone, then it's impossible, that's what it is, and what's impossible there's no use of trying for to do. Cause why? It only wastes your time and frets your spirit, that's my opinion. Not one of the party ventured to smile as was their want in happier circumstances at the philosophy of their comrade's remark. They wandered on in silence till they reached, they scarce knew how or why, the center plaza of the town. It's of no use giving way to it, said Ned Centon, at last, making a mighty effort to recover. We must face our reverses like men, and after all it might have been worse, we might have lost our lives as well as our gold, so we ought to be thankful instead of depressed. What shall we do now, inquired Captain Bunting, in a tone that proves sufficiently that he, at least, could not benefit by Ned's advice? Sure, we'll have to go and work, Captain, replied Larry, in a tone of facetious desperation. But first of all we'll have to go and see Mr. Thompson, and get dry clothes for Nelly-Poor thing. Are ya cold, darling? No, not in the least, answered the child sadly. I think my things will dry soon if we walk in the sun. Nelly's voice seemed to rouse the energies of the party more effectually than Ned's moralizing. Yes, cried the latter, let us away to old Thompson's. His daughter, Lizette, will put you all to right-steer in a short time. Come along. So, saying, Ned led the way and the whole party speedily stood at the door of Mr. Thompson's cottage. The door was merely fastened by a latch, and as no notice was taken of their first knock, Ned lifted it and entered the hall, then advancing to the parlor door he opened it and looked in. The sight that met his gaze was well calculated to make him open his eyes, and his mouth, too, if that would in any way have relieved his feelings. Seated in old Mr. Thompson's easy chair with one leg stretched upon an ottoman and the other reposing on a stool, reclined Tom Collins, looking perhaps a little paler than was his want, as he is still suffering from the effects of a recent illness, but evidently quite happy and comfortable. Beside Tom on another stool with her arm resting on Tom's knee and looking up in his face with a quiet smile sat Elizabeth Thompson. Tom! Miss Thompson! cried Ned's sentence, sanding absolutely aghast. Miss Thompson sprang up with a face of crimson, but Tom sat coolly still and said while a broad grin overspread his handsome countenance. No, Ned, not Miss Thompson, Mrs. Collins, who I know is rejoiced to see you. You are jesting, Tom, said Ned as he advanced quickly and took the lady's hand, while Tom rose and heartily welcomed his old companion. Not a bit of it, my dear fellow, he repeated.  Pray, dear Lisette, corroborate my statement, else our friends won't believe me.  Go, Lisette, get them something to eat. I knew you would make your appearance air long. Old Thompson's letter. Hello? Why, what's this? You're wet. And who's this? A wet little girl? Bye, you may well be surprised, Mr. Tom, said Larry, for we're all wet beggars, every one of us, without a dollar to bless ourselves with. Tom Collins looked perplexed as he turned from one to the other. Stay, he shouted, wife, come here, there's a mystery going on. Take this moist little one to your room, and there, he added, throwing open a door, you fellows will all find dry apparel to put on, though I don't say to fit.  Ned did as he was desired, and in the course of a lengthened conversation, detailed to Tom the present condition of himself and his friends. It's unfortunate, said Tom after a pause. Ill luck seems to follow us wherever we go. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, cried Ned, for saying so considering the wife you have got. True, my boy, replied the other. I ought indeed to be ashamed, but I spoke in reference to money-manners. What say you to the fact that I am as much a beggar as yourself? Outward appearances would seem to contradict you. Nevertheless, it is true, I assure you. When you left me, Ned, in the hotel at Sacramento, I became so lonely that I grew desperate. And, feeling much stronger in body, I set off for this town in the new steamer, that in which you arrived. I came straight up here, reintroduced myself to Mr. Thompson, and two days after, for I count it folly to waste time in such matters when one's mind is made up, I proposed to Lizette and was accepted conditionally. Of course the condition was that Papa should be willing, but Papa was not willing. He said that three thousand dollars all I possessed was a capital sum, but not sufficient to marry on, and that he could not risk his daughter's happiness, etc., etc., you know the rest. Well, the very next day news came that one of Thompson's best chips had been wrecked off Cape Horn. This was a terrible blow for the old man's affairs were in a rickety condition at any rate, and this sank him altogether. His creditors were willing enough to wait, but one rascal refused to do so and swore he would sequestrate him. I found that the sum doing was exactly three thousand dollars, so I paid him the amount in full, and handed Thompson the discharged account. Now, said I, I'm off to the digging, so good-bye. For you see, Ned, I felt that I could not urge my suit at that time, as it would be like putting on the screw, taking an unfair advantage of him.  That I'm off to-morrow, replied I. That you must not do, said he. Why not, said I? Because, said he, now that things are going smooth, I must go to England by the first ship that sails and get my affairs there put on a better footing, so you must stay here to look after my business, and to—to take care of Lisette. Uh, what, said I? What do you mean, you know that is impossible? Not at all, boy, if you marry her. Of course I could not refuse, and so to cut it short, we were married right off, and here we are, the representatives of the great firm of Thompson and Company of California. Then, do you mean to say that Thompson is gone, inquired Ned, with a look of horror? Near the horn, I should think by this time, but why so anxious? Because, sighed Ned, sitting down on the edge of the bed with a look of despair, I came here by his invitation and— Oh, it's all right, interrupted Tom. I know all about it, and am commissioned by him to settle the affair for you. But what is the affair, inquired Ned, eagerly? Ah, my dear boy, do try to exercise patience. If I tell you everything before we go down to our comrades, I fear we shall have to send a message to say that we are not coming till tomorrow morning. Tom rose as he spoke and led the way to the parlor, where bread and cheese were spread out for them. The only drawback to my felicity, whispered Tom to senten as they entered, is that I find Thompson's affairs far worse than he himself was aware of. And it's a fact that at this moment I can scarcely draw enough out of the business to supply the necessaries of life. There was a slight bitterness in Tom's tone as he said this, but the next moment he was jesting with his old companions as lightheartedly as ever. During the meal he refused, however, to talk business, and when it was concluded he proposed that they should go out for a stroll through the town. By the way remarked Ned as they walked along, what of Captain Bunting's old ship? I, echoed the captain, that's the uppermost thing in my mind, but Master Tom seems determined to keep us in the dark. I do believe the roving best has been burned, and he's afraid to tell us.  Could you not suppose that I wanted to give you a surprise by showing you how curiously she has been surrounded by houses since you last saw her? You'll think nothing of it now that I have told you. Boy, where are you going? cried Larry as Tom turned up a street that led a little away from the shore towards which they had been walking. Tom made no reply but let on. They were now in that densely crowded part of the town where shops were less numerous, warehouses more plentiful, and disagreeable odors more abundant than elsewhere. A dense mass of buildings lay between them and the sea, and in the center of these was a square or plaza, on one side of which stood a large hotel, out of the roof of which rose a gigantic flagstaff. A broad and magnificent flight of wooden steps led up to the door of this house of entertainment, over which, on a large board, was written its name, the Roving Best Tavern. Dear me, that's a strange coincidence, exclaimed the captain, as his eye caught the name. Terrainages, yelled Larry, off it isn't the old ship. Don't I know the missing master as well as I know me right leg? The Roving Best Tavern, muttered Captain Bunting while his eyes stared incredulously at the remarkable edifice before him. Bill Jones, who up to this point had walked beside his comrades in silent meditation, here lost presence of mind and putting both hands to his mouth, sang out in true stentorium boatswain tones. All hands ahoy, tumble up there, tumble up. Aye, aye, sir roared half a dozen jack-tars, who chanced to be regaling themselves within, and who rushed out hat in hand, ready for his spree at the unexpected but well-known summons. Major Whitlaw, said Tom Collins, bringing up the steps and addressing a tall, cadaverous looking Yankee. Allow me to introduce you to your landlord, Captain Bunting. Your tenant, Captain. I daresay you have almost forgotten each other. The captain held out his hand mechanically, and gazed at his tenant, unbelievingly, while the Major said, Glad to see you, Captain, I guess. Wanted you for a long time, couldn't come to terms with old Thompson. Won't you step in and take a cocktail or a ginsling? I'd like to have a private talk this way. The landlord of the Roving Best Tavern led the captain to what was once his own cabin and begged him to be seated on his own locker at the head of his own table. He accepted these civilities, staring round him in mute wonder all the time, as if he thought it was a dream, out of which he should waken due course. While from all parts of the tavern came sounds of mirth, and clatter of knives and forks and dishes, and odours of ginslings and bare steaks and pork pies. Just sit there a minute, said the Yankee, till I see to your friends being fixed off comfortable. Of course Mr. Collins may stay for he knows all about it. When he was gone the captain rose and looked into his old berth. It had been converted into a pantry, so he shut the door quickly and returned to his seat. Tom, said he in a low whisper as if he feared to break the spell. How did they get her up here? She's never been moved since you left her, answered Tom, laughing. The town has gradually surrounded her, as you see, and crept out upon the shore, filling up the sea with rubbish till it has left her nearly a quarter of a mile inland. The captain's eyes opened wider than ever, but before he could find words again to speak, Major Whitlaw returned. They're all square now, gentlemen, so if you please we'll proceed to business.  He certainly has, replied the captain who accepted the phrase literally. Well, I reckon your properties risked since you were here. Now if you give me leave to make the alterations I want you, I'll give you one thousand dollars a month payable in advance. You better tell Captain Bunting what the alterations you refer to are, suggested Tom Collins, who saw that the captain's state of mind rendered him totally incapable of transacting business. That's soon done, I'll give it to Slickoff. I want to cut away the companion hatch and run up a regular stair to the deck. Then it's advisable to cut away at least half of the main deck to heighten the gaming saloon. But I guess the main point is to knock out half a dozen windows in the hold, for Gaslight is plaguey dear when it's going full blast day and night. Besides, I must cut the entrance door down to the ground, for this treemen just fly to stairs will be the ruin of the business. It's only a week since a man was shot by a comrade here in the cabin and as they rushed out after him, two customers fell down the stair and broke their arms. And I calculate the gentleman that's overtaken by a liquor every night won't stand it much longer. There isn't a single man that quits this house after twelve p.m., but goes down that flight head foremost. If you don't sanction that change I'll guess I'll have to get impatted and spread feather beds at the foot. Now, Captain, if you agree to this right off I'll give this sum named. Captain Bunting's astonishment had now reached that point at which extremes are supposed to meet and a reaction began to take place. How much did you propose he inquired taking out a pencil and an old letter as if you were about to make notes at the same time knitting his brows and endeavoring to look intensely sagacious? $1,000 a month answered the Yankee. I really can't stand more. Let me see, muttered the Captain slowly in an undertone while he pressed his forehead with his forefinger. $1,000, 200 pounds sterling. Equal to about 2,400 pounds a year. Well, he added raising his voice. I don't mind if I do. I suppose, Tom, it's not much below the thing as rents go. It's a fair offer, said Tom carelessly. We might perhaps get a hire, but major wit law is in possession and is besides a good tenant. Then I'll conclude the bargain. Pray get pan ink and paper. While the major turned for a moment to procure writing materials the Captain looked at Tom and winked expressively. Then a document was drawn up signed and witnessed and then the Captain, politely declining a brandy smash or any other smash whatever, left the roving best tavern with his friends and with two hundred pounds the first month's rent in his pocket. It is needless to remark that his comrades congratulated him heartily and that the worthy Captain walked along the streets of San Francisco chuckling. In a few minutes Tom Collins stopped before a row of immense warehouses. There was one gap in the row, a space of several yards square that might have held two good-sized houses. Four wooden posts stood at the corners of the plot and an old boat turned keel up lay in the middle of it. I know it, cried Ned Sinton, laughing in gleeful surprise. It's my old boat, isn't it? Well, I can scarcely credit my eyes. I saw it last on the seashore and now it's a quarter of a mile into the town. More than that, Ned, said Tom Collins, the plot of ground is worth ten thousand dollars at this moment. Had it been a little further south it would have been worth ten times that sum. And more than that still the Irish family you lent the boat to? You remember them? Well, they dug up a bag from under the boat which contained five thousand dollars. The honest people at once gave it up and Mr. Thompson rewarded them well, but they did not live to enjoy it long. They're all dead now. So, you see, Ned, you're just three thousand pounds richer than you thought you were this morning. It's a great day, remarked Larry O'Neill looking round upon his comrades, who received all this information with an expression of doubting surprise. A great day, entirely. Fine, I'm only hoping we won't waken up and find it's on a drain. Larry's companions quite agreed with him. They did not indeed say so, but as they returned home after that stroll, talking eagerly of future plans and prospects, the ever-recurring sentiment broke from their lips in every style of phrase. It's a great day, entirely. Chapter 28 More unexpected discoveries. Captain Bunting makes Bill Jones a first mate. Larry O'Neill makes himself a first mate. The parting. Ned Sinton proves himself a second time to be a friend in need and in deed. It never rains, but it pours, sayeth the proverb. We are fond of proverbs, we confess to a weakness that way. There is a depth of meaning in them which courts investigation from the strongest intellects. Even when they are nonsensical, which is not infrequently the case, their nonsense is unfathomable, and therefore infested with all the zest which attaches, metaphysically speaking, to the incomprehensible. Astonishing circumstances have been raining for some time past around our bewildered adventurers, and latterly they have begun to pour. On the afternoon of the day, the events of which have been recorded in the last chapter, there was, metaphorically speaking, a regular thunder-plump. No sooner had the party returned to old Mr. Thompson's cottage than down it came again, heavy as ever. On entering the porch, the Zet ran up to Tom in that pretty tripping style peculiar to herself and whispered in his ear. Well, you baggage, said he. I'll go with you, but I don't like secrets. Walk into the parlour, friends. I'll be with you in a minute.  You can't guess what an interesting discovery I've made. Of course I can't, replied Tom with affected impatience. Now pray don't ask me to try else I shall leave you instantly.  Only think I have discovered that my maid whom we hired only two days ago has bolted with the black cook or somebody else and married him, interrupted Tom with a look of horror as he threw himself into an easy chair. Not at all, rejoined Lizette hurriedly. Nothing of the sort. She has discovered that the little girl Mr. Sintin brought with him is her sister. What? Kate Morgan's sister, cried Tom with a look of surprise. I knew it. I was sure I had heard the name before, but I couldn't remember when or where. I see it. Now she must be the girl Larry O'Neill used to talk about up at the diggings. But as I never saw her there, of course I couldn't know her. Well, I don't know about that. I suppose you're right, replied Lizette. But isn't it nice they're kissing and hugging each other and crying in the kitchen at this moment.  If Lizette was happy she took a strange way to show it for she sat down beside Tom and began to sob. While the above conversation was going on upstairs, another conversation, interesting enough to deserve special notice, was going on in the parlor. Sure, don't I know me on Phelan's best remarked Larry addressing Ned Sintin. It's all very well at the diggings, but when it comes to drawing rooms and porters, I feel, and so does Bill Jones here, that we're out of place. In the matter of digging we're all equals, no doubt, but we fail that we ain't gentlemen born, and that it's awkward to the lady to be having such rough customers at our table. So Bill and me has agreed to make the most of ourselves in the kitchen. Larry, you're talking nonsense. We have messed together on equal terms for many months, and whatever course we may follow after this, you must sup with us tonight as usual. I know Tom will be angry if you don't. Ah, sir, but it ain't as usual, suggest that Bill Jones turning the quid in his cheek. It's quite unusual for the lark to us to sup with the lady. That's it, shunned in Larry. So, Mr. Ned, you just place to make our excuses to Mrs. Tom, and tell her where we've gone to locate, as the Yankee say. Come away, Bill. Larry took his friend by the arm, and leading him out of the room shut the door. Five seconds after that there came an appalling female shriek, and a dreadful masculine yell from the region of the kitchen, accompanied by a subdued squeak of such extreme sweetness that it could have come only from the throat of Mademoiselle Molina. Ned and the captain sprang to the door, and dashed violently against Tom and his wife, whom they unexpectedly met also rushing towards the kitchen. In another moment a curious and deeply interesting tableau vivante was revealed to their astonished gaze. In the middle of the room was Larry O'Neill down on one knee, while with both arms he supported the feigning form of Kate Morgan.  That's your sort, cried Bill, and ecstatic glee. When a thing comes all right and tight and ship-shape, well, what then? In course it's all square. That's what I say. She's coming, too, whispered Larry. Ah, then speck won't you, darling? It'll do you good, maybe, and help to open your two party eyes. Kate Morgan recovered. We need scarcely tell our reader that. And Nelly dried her eyes, and that evening was spent in a fashion that conduced to the well-being and comfort and good humor of all parties concerned. Perhaps it is also needless to inform our reader that Larry O'Neill and Bill Jones carried their point. They supped in the kitchen that night. Our informant does not say whether Kate Morgan and her sister Nelly supped with them. But we rather think they did. A week afterwards Captain Bunting had matured his future plans. He resolved to purchase a clipper-brick that was lying at that time useless in the harbor and embark in the coasting trade of California. He made Bill Jones his first mate and offered to make Larry O'Neill his second, but Larry wanted to mate himself and decline the honor. So the Captain gave him five hundred pounds to set him up in any line he chose. Ned sent and sold his property and also presented his old comrade with a goodly sum of money, saying that as he, Ned, had been the means of dragging him away from the diggings, he felt bound to assist him in the hour of need. So Kate Morgan became Mrs. O'Neill the week following, and she, with her husband and her little sister, started off for the interior of the country to look after a farm. About the same time Captain Bunting, having completed the lading of his brig, succeeded in manning her by offering a high wage and bidding adieu to Ned and Tom, set sail for the Sacramento. Two days afterwards Ned got a letter from old Mr. Shirley, the first that he had received since leaving England. It began thus. My dearest boy, what has become of you? I have written six letters at least, but have never got a single line in reply. You must come home immediately as affairs here require your assistance, and I'm getting too old to attend the business matters. Do come at once, my dear Ned, unless you wish me to reprove you. Moxon says only a young and vigorous man of business can manage things properly, but when I mentioned you he shook his head gravely. Too wild and absurd in his notions, said he. I stopped him, however, by saying that I was fully aware of your faults. The letter then went rambling on in a quaint, prosy but interesting style, and Ned sat long in his room in old Mr. Thompson's cottage pouring over its contents and gradually maturing his future plans. It's awkward, soliloquized he, resting his head on both hands. I shall have to go at once, and so won't have a chance of seeing Bunting again to tell him of poor Tom's circumstances. He would only be too glad to give him a helping hand, but I know Tom will never let him know how hard up he is. There's nothing else for it, he added determinedly. My uncle will laugh at my profitless tour, but... Nemport, I have learned much. Come in. This last remark was addressed to someone who would tap gently at the door. It's only me, Ned. Can I come in? I fear I interrupt you, said Tom as he entered the room. Not at all. Sit down, my boy. I have just been perusing a letter from my good old uncle, Shirley. He writes so urgently that I fear I must return to England by the first homeward-bound ship. Return to England? exclaimed Tom in surprise. What? Leave the Goldfields just as the sun is beginning to shine on you? Even so, Tom. My dear Ned, you are mad. This is a splendid country. Just see what fortunes we should have made, but for the unfortunate accidents that have happened. Tom sighed as he spoke. I know it, replied his friend with sudden energy. This is a splendid country. Gold exists all over it. Not only in the streams but on the hillsides, and even on hill-tops, as you and I know from personal experience, but Gold, Tom, is not everything in this world, and the getting of it should not be our chief aim. Moreover, I have come to the conclusion that digging Gold ought to be left entirely to such men as are accustomed to dig ditches and throw up railway embankments. Men whose intelligence is of a higher order ought not to ignore the faculties that have been given to them and devote their time, too often alas their lives, to a species of work that the merest savage is equally capable of performing. Navies may work at the mines with propriety, but educated men who devote themselves to such work are eye-fair among the number of those to whom Scripture specially speaks when it says, Make not haste to be rich. But there are other occupations here besides digging for Gold, said Tom. I know it, and I would be happy and proud to rank among the merchants and engineers in such men of California. But duty calls me home. And, to say truth, added Ned with a smile, inclination points the way. Tom Collins still for some time attempted to dissuade his friend from quitting the country and his sweet little wife, Lisette, seconded his efforts with much earnestness. But Ned's sentence was immovable. He took passage in the first ship that sailed for England. The night before he sailed, Ned, after retiring to his room for the last time in his friend's house, locked his door and went through a variety of little pieces of business that would have surprised his host had they seen him. He placed a large, strong box on the table and cautiously drew from under his bed a carpet bag, which from the effort made to lift it seemed to be filled with some weighty substance. Unlocking the bag he proceeded to lift out handful, after handful, of shining dollars and gold pieces interspersed here and there with massive nuggets. These he transferred into the wooden box until it was full. This was nearly the whole of Ned's fortune. It amounted to a little more than 3,000 pounds sterling. Having completed the transfer, Ned counted the surplus left in the bag and found it to be about five hundred pounds. This he secured in a leather purse and then sat down to write a letter. The letter was short when finished, but it took him long to write for he meditated much during the writing of it and several times laid his head on his hands. At last it was completed, put into the box and the lid screwed down above it. Then Ned read a chapter in the Bible as was his want and retired to rest. Next day Tom and Lisette stood on the wharf to see him embark for England. Long and earnest was the converse of the two friends as they were about to part probably forever, and then for the first time they became aware how deep was the attachment which each had formed for the other. At last the mate of the ship came up and touched his hat. Now, sir, boat's ready, sir, and we don't wish to lose the first of the ebb. Good-bye, Lisette, good-bye, Tom.  Stay, I had almost forgotten. Tom, you will find a box on the table in my room. You can keep the contents, a letter in it will explain. Farewell. Tom's heart was too full to speak. He squeezed his friend's hand in silence and, turning hurriedly around, walked away with Lisette. The instant the boat left the shore. Late in the evening Tom and his wife remembered the box and went upstairs to open it. They're surprised that its rich contents may be imagined. Both at once understood its meaning, and Lisette sat down and covered her face with her hands to hide the tears that flowed while her husband read the letter. It ran thus. My dearest Tom, you must not be angry with me for leaving this trifle. It is a trifle compared with the amount of gold I would give you if I had it. But I need not apologize. The spirit of love in which it is given demands that it shall be unhesitatingly received in the same spirit. May God, who has blessed us and protected us in all our wanderings together, cause your worldly affairs to prosper, and especially may He bless your soul. Seasoned continents may separate us, but I shall never forget you, Tom, or your dear wife. But I must not write as if I were saying farewell. I intend this epistle to be the opening of a correspondence that shall continue as long as we live. You shall hear from me again, Air Long.  At the time Tom Collins was reading the above letter to Lisette in a broken husky voice, our hero was seated on the taff rail of the ship—