Confessions Of Con Cregan Part 55

One of the party advanced towards Seth to arrange preliminaries, while the rest lighted their cigars and began smoking,--an example I deemed it wise to imitate; at least, it looked cool.

As I sat, affecting to admire the landscape, and totally careless of what was going on behind me, I overheard Seth in a warm altercation on the subject of my sabre, which the villano's friend insisted was at least eight or nine inches too long. Seth, however, was equally obstinate in a.s.serting that I had always used it, had fought repeated duels with it; and if we could not call the princ.i.p.als as witnesses, it was for certain cogent reasons that need not be mentioned. How I chuckled at this bit of boastfulness! how I prayed that it might terrify the enemy! Nothing of the kind; the semi-savage stepped out into the circle, with his shirt-sleeve rolled up to the shoulder, displaying an arm whose muscular development was like knotted cordage. As if to give a foretaste of what he intended for me, he clove down the stout branch of an elm-tree with a single stroke and with the ease of a man slicing a cheese. Never did I think so meanly of a fandango as at that moment; never was I in a mood less lenient to female coquetry!

"All's ready, Con, my hearty," whispered Seth, leaning over my shoulder; "here's the tool."

If I had followed the instinct then strongest, I should have treated my "friend" Seth to the first of my maiden sword. But for him--But it was too late for regrets; and already the group had retired, leaving the villano standing in a position of formidable defence alone in the circle.

[Ill.u.s.tration: 450-102]

I can remember that I walked calmly and slowly forward to the spot a.s.signed me. I can remember the word being given to draw swords, and I even yet can see the flashing steel as it glistened, and hear the clang of the scabbards as we flung them from us; but of the encounter itself I have only the vaguest impression. Cuts, thrusts, parries, advances and retirings, feints and guards, are all blended up with the exclamations of the bystanders as, in praise or censure, they followed the encounter.

At last, without knowing why, after a warm rally, my antagonist uttered a faint cry, and tottering a few paces back, let fall his sword, and sank heavily to the earth. I sprang forward in dread anxiety; but two of the others held me back while they cried out, "Basta--Basta, Senhor!" I tried to force my way past them, but they held me fast; and all that I could see was one of the group take up the villano's arm and let it go again, when it fell heavily to the ground with a dull bang I shall never forget! They then threw his cloak over him, and I saw him no more.

"What are ye waitin' for, lad?" whispered Seth. "You don't want to attend his funeral, I reckon?"

"Is he--is he------?" I could n't get the word out for worlds.

"By course he is; and so will you be, if ye don't make a bolt of it."

I have some recollection of an angry altercation between Seth and myself,--I refusing, and he insisting on my instant flight; but it ended somehow in my finding myself galloping along the Guajuaqualla road at a furious pace, and, to my extreme surprise, feeling now as eager about my safety as before I had been indifferent to it.

I became conscious of this from the sense of uneasiness I experienced as each horseman neared me, and the danger of pursuit aroused in me the instinct of self-preservation.

A rude sign-post at the foot of a rugged mountain path apprised me where the "miners' trail" led off to Guajuaqualla; so, dismounting from my "mustang," now wearied and blown by a pretty sharp pace for above seven miles, I turned the animal loose and set off on foot. I know of no descent so great in life as from the "saddle" to the "sole!" from the inspiriting pleasure of being carried along at will, to the plodding slowness of mere pedestrianism. In the one case you "shoot your sorrows flying;" in the other, they jog alongside of you all the way, halting with you when you lie down at noon, and taking share of the spring from which your parched lips are refreshed. Like an underbred acquaintance, they will not be denied; they are always "going _your_ way;" and in their cruel civility they insist on bearing you company.

At a little cabaret of the very humblest order, I obtained some breakfast and made purchase of a stock of bread and a gourd of wine, as I learned that nothing was to be had before I reached "Sanchez," the hut of an old miner, which was reckoned halfway to Guajuaqualla. This done, again I set forth on my journey.

The scenery was wild, without being grand. There was bareness and desolation, but no sublimity. It was evidently a tract of such inferior fertility that few in a land so rich as this would select it for a resting-place; and, accordingly, I came upon no signs of habitation other than the shealings the shepherds raise at certain seasons when migrating with their flocks among the mountains.

It was exactly the character of landscape likely to increase and thicken the gloom of sad thoughts; and, indeed, mine wanted little a.s.sistance.

This last exploit left a weight like lead upon my heart. All my sophistry about self-defence and wounded honor, necessity, and the like could not cover the fact that I had taken away a man's life in a foolish brawl, from the very outset of which the whole fault lay on _my_ side.

"So much," said I, "for trying to be a 'gentleman'. Every step in this disastrous pursuit would seem to have a penalty attached to it; and, after all, I am just as far from the goal as when I set out."

That day seemed a year in length; and were I to attempt to chronicle it, the reader would confess himself convinced before I had half finished; so that, for both our sakes, I 'll not "file my bill of particulars," as my respected father would have said, but at once come to the hour when the sun approached the horizon, and yet not anything like a human dwelling came in sight; and I still plodded along, sad and weary, and anxious for rest. If the events which I am about to record have little in them of extraordinary interest, they at least were the turning-points in my humble destiny, and therefore, kind reader, with your permission, we 'll give them a chapter to themselves.

CHAPTER XXVI. THE DISCOVERY

I had walked now for nearly twelve hours without discovering any appearance of Sanchez's cabin, in which I had hoped to pa.s.s the night.

My prairie experience a.s.sured me that I had not lost the "trail," and yet if any light were burning for miles around, the elevated spot on which I stood should make it visible. Although much fatigued, there was nothing for it but to proceed, and at length I found myself in a narrow valley which Seth had heard described as the situation in which the miner's hut stood. It was dark and gloomy; but the hope that I was nearing the spot cheered me, and I walked on, footsore and tired as I was. Once or twice I thought I heard the bark of a dog. I stopped to listen; I shouted aloud, I whistled, but to no end. After an interval, however, the sounds were repeated, and now I could detect,--not the bark,--but the low, plaintive wail of an animal seemingly in pain. As it not unfrequently happens that the sheep-dogs are attacked by wolves, it immediately occurred to me such might be the present case; so I looked to the caps of my revolver, and hastened on in the direction of the cries.

The wailing sounds grew fuller and louder as I advanced, and now I could distinguish that they were the cries of an animal in grief, and not of one in bodily pain. I increased my speed to the utmost, and suddenly I felt the warm tongue of a dog touch my hand, and his tail brush my legs, in sign of friendly welcome. I stopped to pat and caress him, but the poor creature uttered another cry so full of sorrow that all other thoughts were routed on the instant.

He now preceded me, turning at each moment as if to see that I followed, and whining in a low, faint tone, as before. We had not long proceeded thus, when he stopped suddenly, and set up a cry the most shrill and heart-thrilling. I saw that we were in front of a miserable shealing, the door of which lay open; but all was dark within. I struck a light with my flint, and lighted a little taper. To my surprise, the hut contained several articles of furniture; but I had not more than time to notice them, when the dog, darting forward, placed his fore-paws upon a low settle-bed, and gave a dismal howl. I turned and beheld the figure of a very old man, his white beard hanging down to his chest, as he lay in what seemed a heavy sleep. I touched him; he was cold. I placed my hand on his heart; it was still. I tried to detect breathing; there was none--he was quite dead!

The poor dog appeared to watch me with intense interest, as, one by one, I tried these different signs of life; but when he saw the hand fall heavily from my own, he again set up his cries, which now lasted for several minutes. The scene was a sad and touching one. The poor old miner,--for such his dress and the scattered implements of the craft bespoke him,--forgotten by all the world save by his dog, lay in all the seeming calm of sleep. A cup of water stood near him, and a little wooden crucifix lay on the bed, where probably it had fallen from his fingers. Everything around betokened great poverty. The few articles of furniture seemed as if they had been fashioned by himself, being of the rudest workmanship: his lamp was a dried gourd, and his one chair had been a stump, hollowed out with a hatchet. The most striking feature of all was a number of printed paragraphs cut from old newspapers and magazines and nailed against the planking of the hut; and these seemed to convey a little history of the old miner, so far, at least, as the bent and object of his life were implied. They were all, without exception, exaggerated and high-flown accounts of newly discovered "Placers,"--rich mines of gold,--some in the dark plains of the Ukraine, some in the deep forests of Mexico, some in the interior of Africa and on the far-away sh.o.r.es of the Pacific. Promises of golden harvest, visions of wealth rolling in vast abundance, great oceans of gain before the parched and thirsting lips of toil and famine I Little thought they who, half in the wantonness of fancy, colored these descriptions, what seeds they were sowing in many a rugged nature! what feverish pa.s.sions they were engendering! what lures to wile men on and on, through youth and manhood and age, with one terrible fascination to enslave them!

If many of these contained interesting sc.r.a.ps of adventure and enterprise in remote and strange countries, others were merely dry and succinct notices of the discovery of gold in particular places, announcements which nothing short of an innate devotion to the one theme could possibly have dwelt upon; and these, if I were to judge from the situations they occupied, were the most favored paragraphs, and those most frequently read over; they were the daily food with which he fed his hope, through, doubtless, long years of suffering and toil. It was the oil which replenished the lamp when the wick had burned to the very socket!

How one could fancy the old Gambusino as he sat before his winter fire, half dozing in the solitude of his uncompanionable existence, revelling in all the illusions with which his mind was filled! With what sympathy must he have followed his fellow-laborers in every far-away quarter of the globe! how mourned over their disappointments, how exulted in their successes! These little sc.r.a.ps and sentences were the only links that tied him to the world--they were all that spoke to him of his own species!

As I went about the hut, the appearance of the greatest poverty and privation struck me on every side: his clothing, worn to very tatters, had been mended by skins of beasts and patches of canvas; the tools with which he worked showed marks of rude repair that proved how "he to himself sufficed," without aid from others.

I pa.s.sed the night without sleep, my mind full of the melancholy picture before me. When day broke, I walked forth into the cool air to refresh myself, and found, to my astonishment, that the spot had been a Placer of once great repute,--at least so the remains around attested. The ruined framework of miners' huts; the great ma.s.sive furnaces for smelting; huge cradles, as they are called, for gold-sifting; long troughs, formed of hollowed trunks, for washing,--lay scattered on all sides. The number of these showed what importance the spot had once possessed, and the rotten condition in which they now were proved how long it had been deserted by all save him who was now to take his rest where, for many a weary year, he had toiled and labored.

A little cross, decorated with those insignia of torture so frequently seen in Catholic countries,--the pincers, the scourge, and the crown of thorns,--showed where Piety had raised an altar beside that of Mammon; and underneath this I resolved to lay the poor old Gambusino's bones, as in a Christian grave. I could not divest my mind of the impression that some power, higher than mere chance, had led me to the spot to perform those last offices to the poor outcast. Having eaten my breakfast, which I shared with the dog, I set to work to fashion something that should serve as a coffin. There was timber in abundance, and the old miner's tools sufficed for all I needed. My labor, however, was only completed as night closed in, so that I was obliged to wait for morning to finish my task.

Wearied by my exertions, I slept soundly, and never awoke till the bright sunbeams pierced through the c.h.i.n.ks of the log-hut, and streamed in amidst its dusky atmosphere; then I arose, and placed the old man in his coffin. I sat down beside it, and as I looked at the calm, cold features I could not help reflecting that even he had not been more an outcast from his fellows than I was myself. If fate had cast _his_ lot in the solitude of this dreary region, he was not more alone in the world than _I_, who had neither home nor family. How strange was it, too, that it should have devolved upon _me_ to pay him these last rites.

No, no; this could not be accident. The longer I dwelt upon this theme, the more strongly was I impressed by this one conviction; and now, looking back, after the lapse of years, that feeling is but more confirmed by time.

Taking the shovel and the pick, I set forth to dig the grave, the poor dog following at my heels, as though knowing in what cause I was laboring. The earth was hard and stony, so that at first I made but little progress; but soon I reached a clayey soft soil, which again was succeeded by a dense, firm stratum of stones, impacted closely together, like a pavement made by hands; indeed, it was difficult to conceive it otherwise, the stones being so nearly of the same size, and laid down with a regularity so striking and purposelike. I proceeded to loosen them with the barreta, but, to my surprise, no sooner had I displaced this layer than another exactly similar displayed itself underneath. If this be "Nature's handiwork," thought I, "it is the strangest thing I ever saw." I labored hard to remove this second tier, and now came down upon a light gravelly soil, into which the barreta pa.s.sed easily. Shall I own that it was with a sense of disappointment that I perceived this?

It was not that my expectations had taken any distinct or palpable form, but their vagueness somehow had not excluded hope!

As I struck down the iron barreta into the light earth, I sat down and fell into a musing fit, from which the dog aroused me by licking my hands and looking up into my face, as though reproaching me for deserting my task. I arose at once, and set to work in right earnest.

The grave was now full five feet in depth, and needed only to be made a little longer. It was after about an hour's hard labor, and my task was all but completed, when the barreta struck a stone which it was requisite to move; it was a large and heavy one, and much more firmly impacted in the earth than I at first supposed, and it was only by splintering it with the iron "crow" that I was able to succeed. As I lifted the fragments and threw them away, my hands came in contact with a soft substance underneath, that, to the feel, at least, resembled the skin of a beast with the wool or hair on. I cleared away the earth, and saw to my astonishment what I at once knew to be a piece of buffalo hide, smeared over with a peculiar oil the Indians use to prevent rotting or decomposition. I drew forth my knife and ripped it open; a strong skin of undressed buck was now laid bare; again I applied my knife vigorously to this, and as the sharp steel ran freely along, a glittering heap of gold disclosed itself before me, and rolled in fragmente to my feet!

I cannot attempt to describe the emotions of that moment, as, with a heart bursting with delight, I ran my fingers through the heaps of shining metal, many of them larger than my closed fist. I pulled off my cap and filled it; I opened my handkerchief, and in a few moments that also was crammed; I stuffed my pockets; but the treasure seemed inexhaustible. I arose, and hastened to the hut for the great canvas bag in which the poor miner used to keep his chestnuts, and, oh, the terror that came over me now, lest I should be seen, lest any other should discover me! With the speed that fear alone can supply I soon filled the sack, not alone with gold, but also with several little leather bags, which I discovered contained gems and precious stones, emeralds princ.i.p.ally, with opals, sapphires, and rubies, some of a size and color I had never seen equalled before. There were eight of these bags, marked with some enigmatical letters, of which I did not know the meaning, nor, in good truth, did I puzzle myself to discover. The wealth, unbounded as it seemed, needed no explanation; there it lay glittering upon the gra.s.s beneath the morning sun, and there I sat amidst it, as Aladdin might have sat amidst the treasures of his mine.

As I opened the bags one after another, in eager impatience, I came upon one filled with papers, and these I quickly discovered were receipts for deposits of large sums placed at various times in the hands of Don Xafire Hijaros, banker, at Guajuaqualla, by Menelaus Crick! Yes, these were the hidden treasures for which the Black Boatswain of Anticosti had endured the tortures of the burning iron and the steel, the terrible agonies of the flesh pincers, and the slow, lingering pains of paralysis. These, then, were the visions that haunted his dotage in the very night I had seen him, as he struggled in some imaginary conflict, and patted the ground in some fancied act of concealment! A sudden chill ran through me as I thought by what horrible deeds of crime and blood all this treasure might--nay, must--have been ama.s.sed! What terrible acts of murder and a.s.sa.s.sination! Many of the gems were richly set, and showed that they had been worn. Some of the emeralds had been extracted from ornaments, or taken from the hilts of daggers or swords. Violence and blood had stained them all, there could not be a doubt of it; and now there arose within me a strange conflict, in which the thirst for wealth warred with a feeling of superst.i.tion that whispered, "No luck could go with gain so bought!" The perspiration rolled in great drops down my face; my heart swelled and throbbed with its emotions; the arteries of my temples beat with a force that seemed to smite the very brain as I canva.s.sed this vital question, "Dare I touch wealth so a.s.sociated with deeds of infamy?"

If my wishes arranged themselves on one side, all my fears were marshalled on the other; and what foes can wage a more terrible conflict! The world, with its most attractive pleasures, its thousand fascinations, all the delusions that gold can buy and convert into realities, beckoned here. Horrible fancies of an unknown vengeance, a Nemesis in crime unexpiated, menaced there! May I never have to preside in a court where the evidence is so strongly opposed, where the facts are so equally balanced! If, at one instant, I beheld myself the gorgeous millionnaire, launching forth into the wide ocean of unexplored enjoyment, at the next I saw myself crawling upon the earth, maimed and crippled like the old negro slave; a curse upon me; the cries of widowed mothers ringing in my ears; the curses of ruined fathers tracking me wherever I went! I cannot tell what verdict my poor empanelled conscience might have brought in at last, but suddenly a new witness appeared in the court and gave a most decided turn to the case. This was no less than "the Church," whose testimony gently insinuated that if the matter were one of difficulty, it was not yet without a solution. "It is true, Master Con," whispered she, "that these treasures have an odor of rapine; but let us see if the Church cannot purify them. A silver lamp to the Virgin can throw a l.u.s.tre upon deeds that have not 'loved the light.' An embroidered petticoat can cover a great many small sins, and the incense that rises from a gold censer, offered by pious hands, will do much to correct the pungency of even the sal test tears."

Build a chapel, Con; endow a nunnery,--or, if you don't like shutting up young ladies, let it be a "monkery;" make an investment in hair-cloth shirts and cord girdles; buy shares in the grand Purgatory scheme, and take out "next world scrip," in the shape of ma.s.ses, jubilees, and novenas. You can keep a bishop, without feeling the cost, and have a whole candle manufactory perpetually at the service of "Our Lady,"

without being obliged to curtail one of your own wax-lights. What a revulsion did this bright thought give to all my previous doubtings!

not only satisfying my scruples here, but suggesting very comfortable a.s.sociations for hereafter. By this proceeding, Con, thought I, you are "hedging against hereafter;" you may be a Sardanapalus while you live, and a saint after death: it's betting upon the "double event," with all the odds in your favor.

I must say, for the sake of my credit, that I resolved to "do the thing handsomely." I determined that a finer virgin should not be seen than mine, and that if a "Saint Cregan" could be discovered in the catalogue, I'd adopt him as my patron, at any cost. Neither would I forget the poor old miner in my pious offerings: he should have ma.s.ses said for him for a full twelvemonth to come, and I 'd offer a silver pickaxe to any of the calendar who would deign to accept it. In a word, there was nothing that money could do (and what can it not?) that I would not engage to perform, so that the Church should consent to take me into partnership.

Never was a poor head exposed to such a conflict of discordant thoughts.

Plans of pleasures and pilgrimages; gorgeous visions of enjoyment warring with fancies of sackcloth and scourges; sumptuous dinners, equipages, theatres, b.a.l.l.s, and festivities mingling with fastings, processions, and mortifications, made up a chaos only a shade above downright insanity.

The day wore on, and it was late in the afternoon ere I bethought me of the poor Gambusino, beside whose open grave I still sat, lost in speculation. "Poor fellow!" said I, as I hoisted his coffin on my shoulder, "you have got a rich pall-bearer for one who died in such poverty; you little thought you would be borne to the grave by a millionnaire!" As I said this--I shame to own it--there was a tinge of self-commendation in the notion, as though inferring, "See what a n.o.ble fellow I am! with gold and gems such as an emperor might envy, and yet look at me, carrying a poor old miner's body to the grave just as if we were equals!"

"It's very handsome of you, Con,--that I must say!" whispered I to myself; but, somehow, the poor dog did not appear to take the same exalted notion of my magnanimity, but was entirely engrossed by his sorrow; for he lay crouching upon the earth, uttering cries the most piteous and heartrending at each shovelful I threw in the grave.

"Cheer up, poor fellow!" said I, patting him, "you shall have a gold collar and a clasp of real emerald." How naturally does a rich man recur to wealth as the cure for every affliction! How difficult for him to believe that gold is not a sovereign remedy for all disorders!

As for the dog, poor brute! he took no more heed of my consolation than he noticed my altered condition,--of which, by his familiarity, he showed himself totally unconscious. How differently had he behaved, thought I, had he been a man! What sudden respect had he felt for me; what natural reluctance to obtrude himself on me; how honored by my notice, how distinguished by my favor! It is plain the dog is a very inferior animal; his perceptions are not fine enough to distinguish between the man of wealth and the pauper!

These and very similar reflections engaged me while I completed my task, after which I carried my precious burdens off, and deposited them within the hut. By this time I was very hungry, but had nothing to eat save the fragments that remained from my breakfast,--a singular meal for one who, in a fitting place, could have dined sumptuously and off vessels of gold and silver! I had the appet.i.te of a poor man, however, and eat heartily; and then, taking my gourd of wine, sat down beside a little spring that issued from the rock, to think over my future.

Perhaps my whole life--not wanting in hours of pleasure and enjoyment--never presented anything so truly delightful as that evening.

The season of gratification which I had dreamed of, sighed, panted, and prayed for, was now to be mine. I was at last to be a "gentleman,"--so far, at least, as immense wealth and a very decided taste for spending it could make me. But were these, I flatteringly asked myself, all my qualifications? Was I not master of three or four languages? Had I not become an expert shot, an excellent rider, a graceful dancer, with some skill upon the guitar and the mandolin? Could I not contend in most exercises where strength and activity were required, with any? Had I not travelled and seen something of the world and its ways? Ay, marry, and a little more of both than was usual for young gentlemen of fortune!

Of personal advantages it might not become me to speak; but the truth requires me to say that Nature had dealt very handsomely by me. And now I ask of the fair reader,--the unfair one I put out of court on the occasion,--"Are not these very pretty chances with which to woo fortune?" Less sanguine spirits would perhaps have sighed for more, and asked for a hundred gifts, of whose use and value I knew nothing,--such as birth, family influence, and the like. As for me, I was content with the "hand of trumps" Fate had dealt me; I owned frankly that if I lost the game, it must be for lack of skill, and not of luck.