Lost Lenore Part 29

The bully had been brought to bay.

"Gentlemen!" said he, addressing the crowd who had gathered around, "what am I to do? I was driven yesterday to an act I now regret; and here is another man forcing me into a quarrel in the same way. Take my advice," said he, turning to me, "and leave the house, before my blood gets up."

"There is not the least danger of your blood getting up," said I; "your heart's gone down into your heels. If I was so drunk, as to be just able to keep my legs, no doubt you would have the courage to attack me.

You haven't got it now."

The greatest coward in the world can be driven to an exhibition of courage--whether sham or real; and Adkins, seeing that he could no longer in California lay claim to the t.i.tle of a _dangerous man_, without doing something to deserve it, cried out--

"d.a.m.nation! if you want it, you shall have it!"

As the words pa.s.sed from his lips, I saw him stoop suddenly--at the same time jerking his foot upward from the floor. I divined his intention, which was to draw his bowie out of his boot; and while his leg was still raised, and before he could fairly lay hold of the knife, I dealt him a blow that sent him sprawling upon the floor. The knife flew out of his hand; and, before he could regain his feet, I stepped between him and the place where it was lying.

I have neglected to tell the reader, that I could no longer with propriety be called "The _little_ Rolling Stone," though Stormy still continued to address me occasionally by that appellation. At the time of this--my last encounter with Adkins--I was six feet _without_ my boots; and was strong and active in proportion. I have called it my _last_ encounter with this ruffian--it was so. Before he was in a position to attack me a second time, I drew my own knife from its sheath; and threw it on the floor alongside his. I did this, to show that I scorned to take any advantage of an unarmed man--as my cowardly opponent had done with poor Stormy Jack. I did not at the moment think of the wrongs Adkins had done to myself--of my imprisonment in a common gaol--of the falsehoods he had told to Mrs Hyland--of his attempt to win Lenore. I thought only of poor Stormy.

Adkins again rushed on me; and was again knocked down. This time he showed a disposition for remaining on the floor--in the hopes that some of his friends might come between us, and declare the fight to be over; but I kicked him, until he again got up, and once more closed with me.

I met the third attack, by picking him up in my arms--until his heels were high in the air, and then I allowed him to fall down again on the crown of his head. He never rose after that fall--his neck was broken.

Before I left the room, every man in it came up and shook hands with me--as they did so, telling me that I had done a good thing.

Volume Two, Chapter VIII.

STORMY TRANQUIL AT LAST.

When I returned to Stormy he was worse; and I saw that he had not much longer to live. He was not in so much pain as when I left him; but it was evident he was sinking rapidly.

"Stormy," said I, "what would you wish me to do to the man, who has brought you to this?"

"Nothing," he answered; "he's a bad man--but let him go. Promise me that you will not try to teach him manners--let the Lord do it for us."

"All right, comrade," said I, "your wishes shall be obeyed: for I cannot harm him now. He has gone."

"I'm glad of that," said the dying man, "for it shows that he knew himself to be in the wrong. By his running away, others will know it too; and will not say that I desarved what I've got."

"But he has _not_ run away," said I, "he is dead. I went to the house, where you met him yesterday. I found him there. Before I came out, he died."

Stormy's expressive features were lit up with a peculiar smile.

It was evident that he comprehended the full import of my ambiguous speech, though he made no comment, further than what gave me to understand, that his object, in making me promise not to harm Red Ned, was only from fear that I might get the worst of it. I could tell, however, by the expression upon his features, that he was rather pleased I had not left to the Lord the work of teaching manners to his murderer.

I remained by the bedside of my dying comrade--painfully awaiting the departure of his spirit. My vigil was not a protracted one. He died early in the afternoon of that same day, on which his murder had been avenged.

There was no inquest held, either upon his body, or that of his a.s.sa.s.sin. Perhaps the latter might have been brought to trial, but for the judgment that had already fallen upon him. This being deemed just by all the respectable people in the place, there were no farther steps taken in the matter, than that of burying the bodies of the two men--who had thus fallen a sacrifice to the play of unfortunate pa.s.sions.

I have seen many gold-diggers undergo interment, by being simply rolled up in their blankets, and thrust under ground without any ceremony whatever, all this, too, only an hour or two after the breath had departed from their bodies. Such, no doubt, would have been the manner in which the body of Stormy Jack would have been disposed of, had there not been by him in his last hour a friend, who had been acquainted with him long, and respected him much.

I could not permit his remains to be thus rudely interred. I had a good coffin made to contain them; and gave the old sailor the most respectable burial I had ever seen among the miners of California.

Poor Stormy! Often, when thinking of him, I am reminded of how much the destiny of an individual may be influenced by circ.u.mstances.

Stormy Jack was naturally a man of powerful intellect. He possessed generosity, courage, a love of justice, and truth--in short, all the requisites that const.i.tute a n.o.ble character. But his intellect had remained wholly uncultivated; and circ.u.mstances had conducted him to a calling, where his good qualities were but little required, and less appreciated. Had he been brought up and educated to fill some higher station in society, history might have carried his name--which to me was unknown--far down into posterity. In the proportion that Nature had been liberal to him, Fortune had been unkind; and he died, as he had lived, only Stormy Jack--unknown to, and uncared for, by the world he might have adorned.

After having performed the last sad obsequies over his body, I recalled the advice he had given me, along with his gold, to return to Lenore.

I resolved to follow a counsel so consonant with my own desires. I found no difficulty in disposing of my mining shares; and this done, I made arrangements for travelling by the stage conveyance then running between Sonora and Stockton.

Before leaving the Stanislaus, I paid a visit to the young couple, who had been entrusted with the care of Leary's child.

My object in going to see them was to learn, if possible, something more of that gentleman's doings in Australia.

It was true, they had said, that they were unacquainted with him there; but there were several questions I wished to ask them--by which I hoped to learn something concerning my mother, and whether she had followed Leary to the colonies.

I found the guardians of the child still living where I had seen them, on the day the murderer was executed. The orphan was no longer in their keeping. They had sent it to its grandparents in Sydney, in charge of a merchant--who had left California for the Australian colonies some weeks before.

Though I obtained from the man and his wife all the information they were capable of giving, I learnt but little of what I desired to know.

They thought it likely, that in San Francisco, I might hear more about the subject of my enquiries. They knew a man named Wilson--who had come from Sydney in the same ship with them; and who was now keeping a public-house in San Francisco. Wilson, they believed, had been well acquainted with Mathews--for this was the name which Leary had a.s.sumed in the colonies.

Such was the scant information I succeeded in obtaining from the friends of the late Mrs Leary; and with only this to guide me, I commenced my journey for the capital of California.

Volume Two, Chapter IX.

A ROUGH RIDE.

The stage, by which I travelled from Sonora to Stockton, was nothing more than a large open waggon, drawn by four Mexican horses.

We started at six o'clock in the morning, on a journey of eighty-four miles. This we should have to perform before four o'clock in the afternoon of the same day--in order to catch the steamer, which, at that hour, was to start from Stockton for San Francisco.

Notwithstanding that the road over most of the route was in reality no road at all, but an execrable path, we made the eighty-four miles within the time prescribed: for the stage arrived at Stockton more than twenty minutes before the time appointed for the sailing of the steamer!

In spite of this rapidity of transit, I did not at all enjoy the journey between Sonora and Stockton. I was all the time under an impression that my life was in imminent danger; and, as I was at last on my way to Lenore, I did not wish to be killed by the overturning of a Californian stage coach--behind four half-wild horses, going at the top of their speed.

Sometimes we would be rushing down a steep hill, when, to keep the horses out of the way of the waggon they were drawing, the driver would stand up on his box, and fling the "silk" at them with all the energy he could command. On such occasions there would be moments when not a wheel could be seen touching the ground; and not unfrequently the vehicle would bound through the air, to a distance equalling its own length!

We were fortunate enough to reach Stockton, without breaking either the wheels of the waggon, or the bones of any of the pa.s.sengers, which to me at the time seemed something miraculous.

I do not relish describing scenes of a sanguinary character; but, to give the reader some idea of the state of society in California, at the time I write of, I shall mention a circ.u.mstance that transpired during my twenty minutes' sojourn in Stockton--while waiting for the starting of the steamer.

Just as we were getting out of the stage waggon, several pistol-shots were heard, close to the spot where we had stopped. They had been fired inside the gambling room of a public-house, on the opposite side of the street; and several men were seen rushing out of the house, apparently to escape the chances of being hit by a stray bullet.

As soon as the firing had ceased, the retreating tide turned back again; and re-entered the house--along with a crowd of others, who had been idling outside.

I walked over; and went in with the rest. On entering the large saloon, in which the shots had been fired, I saw two men lying stretched upon separate tables--each attended by a surgeon, who was examining his wounds.

I could see that both were badly--in fact mortally--wounded; and yet each was cursing the other with the most horrible imprecations I had ever heard!

One of the surgeons, addressing himself to the man upon whom he was attending, said:--