Lost Lenore: The Adventures of a Rolling Stone Page 26

Bay.

  "Tell me where I can find my mother!" I again asked, nearly franticwith rage.

  At this moment the slack end of the lazo, that had been passed over thebranch and then slung back among the crowd, was instantly seized by ahundred hands. The condemned man seemed not to notice the movement,while, in answer to my question, the malignant expression upon hisfeatures became stronger and deeper.

  "Away!" I cried, scarcely conscious of what I said or did, "Away withhim!"

  Those holding the rope sprang outward from the tree, and up rose MrLeary.

  A few faint kicks, and his body hung motionless from the limb of thelive oak.

  An empty sardine box was nailed to the tree, on which the murderer washanging. Above it was pinned a piece of paper--on which were writtenthe words, "For the orphan."

  Many miners stepped up to the spot, opened their purses; and slipped afew dollars' worth of gold dust into the box.

  Their example was followed by Stormy Jack; and from the quantity ofyellow dust I saw him drop into the common receptacle, I could tell thathis purse must have been three or four ounces lighter, when he came awayfrom the tree!

  Volume Two, Chapter IV.

  THE ORPHAN.

  Shortly after the termination of the melancholy drama, in which I hadtaken so prominent a part, Stormy Jack and I went to see the child--nowleft without either father or mother.

  We found it in the keeping of a young married couple--who had latelyarrived from Australia; and who had there been acquainted with itsunfortunate mother.

  They told us, that the murdered woman was the daughter of a respectableshopkeeper in Sydney, that she had run away with Mr Mathews--the nameunder which Leary had passed in Australia--and that her parents had beenvery unwilling she should have anything to do with him.

  She was an only daughter; and had left behind a father and mother sorelygrieved at her misconduct. Everybody that knew her had thought herbehaviour most singular. They could not comprehend her infatuation inforsaking a good home and kind parents for such a man as Mathews--who,to say nothing of his dissipated habits, was at least twenty years olderthan herself.

  Perhaps it was strange, though I had learnt enough to think otherwise.Experience had told me, that such occurrences are far from beinguncommon, and that one might almost fancy, that scoundrels like Learypossess some peculiar charm for fascinating women--at least, those ofthe weaker kind.

  The orphan was shown to us--a beautiful bright-eyed boy, about a yearold; and bearing a marked resemblance to its mother.

  "I shall take this child to its grandfather and grandmother in Sydney,"said the young woman who had charge of it; "they will think all theworld of it: for it is so like their lost daughter. May be it will dosomething to supply her place?"

  From the manner in which the young couple were behaving towards thechild, I saw that it would be safe in their keeping; and added my mite,to the fund already contributed for its support.

  In hopes of learning whether my mother had ever reached Sydney, I askedthem if they had been acquainted with Mathews there; or knew anything ofhis previous history. On this point they could give me no information.They had had no personal acquaintance with Mathews in Australia; and allthat they knew or had ever heard of him was unfavourable to hischaracter. In Sydney, as elsewhere, he had been known as a dissolute,intemperate man.

  Before we left the house, three men came in--bringing with them the goldthat had been for the orphan.

  It was weighed in the presence of the young man and his wife, and theamount was fifty ounces--in value near two hundred pounds of Englishmoney. My own contribution increased it to a still greater sum. Themarried couple had some scruples about taking charge of the gold,although they had none in regard to encumbering themselves with thechild!

  "I will go with you to an Express Office," said the man to thedeputation who brought the money, "and we will send it to Mr D--, inSan Francisco. He is a wholesale merchant there, and came from Sydney.He is acquainted with the child's grandparents; and will forward themoney to them. As for the child, I expect soon to return to Sydneymyself--when I can take it along with me, and give it up to those whohave the right to it."

  This arrangement proving agreeable to all parties concerned, the goldwas at once carried to the Express Office, and deposited there--withdirections to forward it to Mr D--, the merchant.

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  Having passed the remainder of the day in the company of Stormy Jack, Ireturned to my home on the Tuolumne, but little better informed aboutwhat I desired to know, than when I left it. I had seen Mr Leary forthe last time; but I was as ignorant as ever of the fate of myrelatives.

  Leary was now gone out of the world, and could trouble my mother nomore--wherever she might be. It was some satisfaction to be certain ofthat.

  As I walked homeward my reflections were sufficiently unpleasant: Ireproached myself with having too long neglected the duty on which I hadstarted out--the search after my relations.

  Nor was I without some regret, as I suffered my mind to dwell on thespectacle just past. The criminal was my stepfather. I had, thoughhalf unconsciously, given the word, that had launched his body from thescaffold, and his soul into eternity!

  My regrets could not have been very deeply felt. They were checked bythe reflection, that he could have given me some information concerningmy mother, and that he had died apparently happy with the thought, thathe had disappointed me by withholding it!

  Mr Leary had been my mother's husband--my own stepfather--yet withoutshame I have recorded the fact, that he died an ignominious death. I amnot responsible for his actions. I stand alone; and the man who maythink any the less of me, for my unfortunate relationship with amurderer, is one whose good will I do not think worth having.

  Volume Two, Chapter V.

  STORMY'S LAST SPREE.

  Shortly after my return to the Tuolumne, I was joined by Stormy Jack,who came to Jacksonville, as he had promised he would, with thedetermination to take the world a little easier.

  Since his childhood Stormy had never spent a whole week in idleness--atleast not at a single spell--and such a life he soon found, did not helphim to that supreme happiness he had been anticipating from it.

  In the little town of Jacksonville an idle man could only findamusement, in some place where strong drink was sold; and to be, dayafter day, continually called upon to resist the temptation to drink,was a trial too severe for Stormy's mental and physical constitution.Both had to yield. He got drunk frequently; and on several occasions sovery drunk, as to be affected both in his head and legs at the sametime!

  He was himself somewhat surprised at finding himself so often in thiscondition of "double drunkenness,"--as he termed it. It was not oftenin his life he had been so. It was a serious affair; and he made somesort of a resolution that it should not occur again.

  To avoid its recurrence, he saw that he must employ himself in some way;and he purchased a rifle, with the design of transforming himself into ahunter.

  By following this profession he could combine business with amusement,as there were other hunters making a very good thing of it, by supplyingthe citizens of Jacksonville with venison and bear meat.

  Stormy prosecuted his new calling for about three days. At the end ofthat time he had been taught three things. One was, that hunting washard work--harder, if possible, than mining. Secondly, he discoveredthat the amusement of the chase was, after all, not so grand--especiallywhen followed as a profession, or by a man of peculiar inclinations,altogether different to his own. Finally, Stormy arrived at theconclusion, that the business didn't pay.

  The truth is, Stormy was no marksman; and could only hit a barn, bygoing inside, and closing the door before firing off his piece.

  The calling of a hunter was not suited to the old "salt," nor was it ofthe kind he required, to keep him from backsliding into his bad habit.He therefore determined to give it up, and take to
some other.

  While deliberating on what was to be done, he again yielded to the oldtemptation; and got gloriously drunk.

  Alas, for poor Stormy! It proved the last intoxication of his life!

  The story of his death is too sad to be dismissed in a few words; andwhen heard, will doubtless be thought deserving of the "full andparticular" account here given of it. I record the facts, in all theexactitude and minuteness, with which memory has supplied them tomyself.

  At that time there was staying in Jacksonville a man known by the name,or soubriquet, of "Red Ned." I had casually heard of the man, though Ihad not seen him, as he had only arrived in the place a few days before;and was stopping at one of the gambling taverns, with which that miningvillage was abundantly provided.

  I had heard that Red Ned was a "dangerous man,"--a title of which he wasno little vain; and, probably, ever since his arrival in the place, hehad been looking for an opportunity of distinguishing himself by somedeed of violence.

  In my wanderings over the world I have encountered many of those menknown as "bullies." Notwithstanding the infamy attached to theappellation, I have found some of them--perhaps unfortunately forthemselves--endowed with genuine courage, while others were merecowardly wretches--ever seeking to keep up their spurious reputation, bysuch opportunities as are offered in quarrelling with half-grown lads,and men under the influence of drink.

  Such swaggerers may be met with in all parts of the world; but nowherein such numbers, as in California--which for a country so thinlypeopled, appears to be more than ordinarily afflicted with thepropensity for "bullyism." At least, it was so, at the period of whichI am writing.

  At that time, a man, who was known to have killed three or four of hisfellow-creatures, was looked upon with admiration by many, with fear byas many more, and with abhorrence by a very few indeed.

  Quarrels in California, three times out of every four, terminatedfatally for one or other of the combatants; and the survivor of severalsuch sanguinary affairs was certain to obtain among his fellows areputation of some kind--whether of good or evil--and for this,unhappily, the majority of mankind are but too eager to strive.

  Where society exists in a state of half civilisation--such as was thatof California fifteen years ago--it is not so strange that many shouldbe met, who prefer having the reputation of a bully to having noreputation at all.

  It was the unfortunate fate of my old comrade, to encounter one of thesecontemptible creatures--who combine the bully with the coward--in theperson of Red Ned.

  Stormy, after giving up the calling of the chase, had found himself oncemore afloat, and in search of some business that would be more suited tohis tastes and abilities. While beating about, as already stated, hehad once more given way to his unfortunate propensity for strong drink;and had got intoxicated both in his mind and his limbs.

  While in this state, he had involved himself in a coffee-house quarrelwith the man above mentioned; and who, no doubt, well understood thehelpless condition of his adversary: for it was Red Ned himself whoprovoked the quarrel.

  When unmolested by others, I never knew a man of a more harmless,inoffensive disposition than was the old sailor.

  Even when under the influence of liquor, he never, to my knowledge,commenced a dispute; but when in that state, he was inclined to "teachmanners" to any one who might interfere with him.

  Red Ned had met Stormy in one of the gambling taverns, where the latterwas carrying on his carouse; and perceiving that the old sailor washelplessly intoxicated, and moreover, that he was only a sailor--whom hecould affront, without offending any of the company present--hisbullying propensity would not permit him to let pass such a fineopportunity of gaining the distinction he coveted.

  In Stormy's state of inebriety there was but little danger to be dreadedfrom any personal conflict with him, for although he was still able tokeep his feet, his legs had reached a degree of drunkenness, that causedhim occasionally to reel and stagger over the floor of the bar-room.

  The ruffian, perfectly conscious of all this, made some slurringremark--intended to reflect upon Stormy's condition, and loud enough forthe latter to hear it.

  As might have been expected, the old sailor did not take the slur ingood part; but in return poured forth his displeasure in his usual frankand energetic manner.

  Stormy, when excited by drink, was somewhat extravagant in the use ofvituperative language; and there can be no doubt that the bully wascompelled to listen to some plain-speaking that he did not much relish.

  He submitted to the storm for a while; and then rushing upon Stormy, hestruck the old sailor a slap with his open hand.

  Stormy, of course, returned the blow with closed fists, and thenproceeded to defend himself, by throwing his body, as well as itsintoxicated legs would allow him, into a boxing attitude.

  But the bully had no intention to continue the fight in that cowardlyfashion--as he would have called it; and drawing his bowie-knife out ofhis boot, he closed suddenly upon Stormy, and buried its blade in theold sailors side.

  Of course this terminated the strife; and the wounded man was conveyedto his lodgings.

  Volume Two, Chapter VI.

  RED NED.

  At the time that Stormy was teaching, or rather receiving, that terriblelesson of manners, I was not in the village. I had gone some two orthree miles up the river, to look after my miners at their work.

  A messenger brought me the news; and, in breathless haste, I hurriedhomewards.

  On arriving at the house where Stormy lived, I found him stretched uponhis bed--with a doctor bending over him.

  "Rowley, my boy, it's all over with me," said he. "The doctor says so;and for the first time in my life I believe one."

  "Stormy! Stormy! my friend, what has happened?" I asked, as across mysoul swept a wave of anguish more painful than words can describe.

  "Never mind any explanation now," interrupted the doctor, turning to me,and speaking in a low voice. "Do not excite your friend, by making himconverse. You can learn the particulars of his misfortune from some oneelse."

  The doctor was in the act of leaving; and, interpreting a sign he gaveme, I followed him out. I was told by him, that Stormy had beenstabbed, and that his wound would prove mortal. The man of medicineimparted some other details of the affair, which he had collected fromthe spectators who had witnessed it.

  On parting from me, the surgeon gave me warning, that the wounded manmight live two days--certainly not longer.

  "He has received an injury," said he, "that must cause his death withinthat time. You can do nothing, beyond keeping him as quiet aspossible."

  After pronouncing this melancholy prognosis, the surgeon took hisdeparture, with a promise to call again in the morning.

  I returned to the bedside of my doomed comrade.

  He would talk, in spite of all I could do, or say, to prevent him.

  "I _will_ talk," said he, "and there's no use in your trying to stop me.I've not much longer to live; and why should I pretend to be dead,before I really am?"

  I saw it was no use to attempt keeping him either quiet or silent. Itonly excited him all the more; and would, perhaps, do more harm to himthan letting him have his way--which I at length did. He proceeded toinform me of all the particulars of the affair. His account slightlydiffered from that given me by the doctor, who had doubtless heard aone-sided statement, from the friends of the bully.

  "I don't know whether I've been sarved right or not," said Stormy, afterconcluding his account. "I sartinly called the man some ugly names; andevery one about here is likely to say that it was right for him to teachme manners. But why did he stab me with a knife? My legs werestaggering drunk; and he might have thrashed me without that!"

  On hearing Stormy's statement, I became inspired with a feeling of fellindignation against the scoundrel, who had acted in such a cowardlymanner: a determination, that my old comrade should be avenged.

  I knew it would be idle to go before a m
agistrate, for the purpose ofgetting the bully punished, for the two men had come to blows, _before_the knife had been used.

  The affair would be looked upon as an affray--in which either, or both,had the right to use whatever weapons they pleased--and Stormy would bethought deserving of his fate, for not protecting himself in a moreefficient manner!

  I knew that he was drunk; and that even if sober he would not have useda deadly weapon in a bar-room row; but although I knew this, otherswould tell me, that my friend's being drunk was not the fault of the manwho had stabbed him; and that if he had not chosen to defend himselfaccording to custom, he must bear the consequences.

  Impelled by my excited feelings, I left Stormy in the care of a minerwho had come in to see him; and stepped over to the tavern, where thehorrible deed had taken place.

  About forty people were in the bar-room when I entered. Some wereseated around a table where "Monte" was being dealt, while others werestanding at the bar, noisily swilling their drinks.

  Without making remark to any one, I listened for a few minutes to theconversation. As the affair had occurred only that afternoon, I knewthat they would be talking about it in the bar-room--as in reality theywere. Several men were speaking on the subject, though not disputing.There was not much difference of opinion among them. They all seemed toregard the occurrence, as I expected they would, in the same light.

  Two men had got into a quarrel, and then come to blows. One had stabbedthe other--in California an everyday occurrence of trifling interest.That was all the bar-room loungers were disposed to make of it.

  I differed in opinion with them; and told them, in plain terms, that thefight they were talking about had not been a fair one, that the man whohad stabbed the other had committed a crime but little less than murder.

  A dozen were anxious to argue with me. How could I expect a man to becalled hard names in a public room without his resenting it?

  "But why did the