CHAPTER TEN. · Part 1

CHAPTER TEN.

GAME AND COOKERY--ARRIVAL AT THE DIGGINGS--LITTLE CREEK--LAW AND ORDER IN THE MINES--NOONING AT LITTLE CREEK--HARD-UP--OUR ADVENTURERS GET CREDIT AND BEGIN WORK--A YANKEE OUTWITTED.

Deer, hares, crows, blackbirds, magpies, and quails, were the creatures that bounded, scampered, hopped, and flew before the eyes of the travellers at every step, as they wended their way pleasantly, beneath a bright morning sun, over the hills and through the lesser valleys of the great vale of the Sacramento. And all of these creatures, excepting the crows and magpies, fell before the unerring and unexpectedly useful blunderbuss of Captain Bunting, passed a temporary existence in the maw of the big iron pot, and eventually vanished into the carnivorous jaws of Ned Sinton and his friends.

Crows were excluded from their bill of fare, because the whole party had an unconquerable antipathy to them; and Larry said he had "aiten many pies in his lifetime, but he had niver aiten magpies, and he'd be shot av he wos goin' to begin now."

The duties of chief hunter devolved upon the captain,--first, because he was intensely fond of shooting; and, secondly, because game was so plentiful and tame, that it was difficult to avoid hitting _something_, if one only fired straight before one. For the same reasons the blunderbuss proved to be more effectual than the rifle. The captain used to load it with an enormous charge of powder and a handful of shot--swan-shot, two sizes of duck-shot, and sparrow-hail, mixed, with an occasional rifle-ball dropped in to the bargain. The recoil of the piece was tremendous, but the captain was a stout buffer--if we may be permitted the expression--and stood the shock manfully.

Stewed squirrels formed one of their favourite dishes, it was frequently prepared by Tom Collins, whose powers in the culinary department proved to be so great that he was unanimously voted to the office of _chef de cuisine_--Bill Jones volunteering, (and being accepted), to assist in doing the dirty work; for it must be borne in mind that the old relations of master and man no longer subsisted amongst any of the travellers now--excepting always the native vaquero. All were equal at starting for the diggings, and the various appointments were made by, and with the consent of the whole party.

Little Creek diggings were situated in a narrow gorge of the mountains, through which flowed a small though turbulent stream. The sides of the hills were in some places thickly clothed with trees, in others they were destitute not only of vegetation but of earth, the rock on the steeper declivities of the hills having been washed bare by the periodical heavy rains peculiar to those regions. Although wild and somewhat narrow, this little valley was, nevertheless, a cheerful spot, in consequence of its facing almost in a southerly direction: while, towards the east, there were several wide and picturesque gaps in the hills which seemed to have been made for the express purpose of letting the sun shine the greater part of the day upon the diggers while they were at work--an advantage, no doubt, when the weather was cool, but rather the reverse when it was hot.

The entrance to Little Creek was about two miles wide, undulating, and beautifully diversified, resembling pleasure grounds rather than a portion of the great wilderness of the far west; but the vale narrowed abruptly, and, about three miles further into the mountains, became a mere gap or ravine through which the streamlet leaped and boiled furiously.

It was an hour before noon when our travellers came suddenly upon the wide entrance to the valley.

"How beautiful!" exclaimed Ned, as he reined up to gaze in admiration over the flowering plain, with its groups of noble trees.

"Ay," said Maxton, enthusiastically, "you may well say that. There may be, perchance, as grand, but I am certain there is not a grander country in the world than America--the land of the brave and free."

Ned did not assent at once to the latter part of this proposition.

"You forget," he said, hesitatingly, as if disinclined to hurt the feelings or prejudices of his new friend, "you forget that it is the land of _slaves_!"

"I confess that I did forget that at the moment," answered Maxton, while the blood mounted to his forehead. "It is the foulest blot upon my country's honour; but I at least am guiltless of upholding the accursed institution, as, also, are thousands of my countrymen. I feel assured, however, that the time is coming when that blot shall be wiped away."

"I am glad, my friend," said Ned, heartily, "to hear you speak thus; to be frank with you, I could not have prevailed upon myself to have held out to you the hand of intimate friendship had you proved to be a defender of slavery."

"Then you'll form few friendships in this country," said Tom Collins, "for many of the Yankees here have been slave-holders in their day, and almost all defend the custom."

The conversation was interrupted at this point by Larry O'Neil uttering a peculiarly Hibernian exclamation, (which no combination of letters will convey,) and pointing in an excited manner to an object a few hundred yards in advance of them.

"What d'ye see, lad!" inquired Bill Jones, shading his eyes with his hand.

The whole party came to a halt, and gazed earnestly before them for a few minutes in silence.

"Och!" said O'Neil, slowly, and with trembling earnestness, "av me two eyes are spakin' truth, it's--it's a _goold digger_!--the first o' the goold-diggers!"--and Larry followed up the discovery with a mingled cheer and war-whoop of delight that rang far and wide over the valley.

At such an unwonted, we might almost say, appalling, sound, the "first o' the goold-diggers,"--who was up to his waist in a hole, quietly and methodically excavating the earth on the river's bank with a pick-axe-- raised his head, and, leaning on the haft of his pick, scrutinised the new arrivals narrowly.

"Hooray, my hearty!" shouted Larry, as he advanced at a gallop, followed by his laughing comrades. "The top o' the mornin' to ye--it's good luck I'm wishin' ye, avic. How are ye gittin' on in the goold way, honey?"

The rough-looking, dusty, and bearded miner, smiled good-humouredly, as he replied, in a gentle tone of voice that belied his looks--"Pretty well, friend; though not quite so well as some of my neighbours. I presume that you and your friends have just arrived at the mines?"

"Tear an' ages! it's a gintleman, I do belave," cried Larry, turning to his companions with a look of surprise.

The miner laughed at the remark, and, leaping out of the hole, did his best to answer the many questions that were put to him in a somewhat excited tone by the party.

"Where's the gold?" inquired Jones, gravely, going down on his knees at the side of the excavation, and peering into it. "I don't see none, wotsomediver."

"The dust is very fine here," answered the miner, "and not easily detected until washed. Occasionally we come upon nuggets and pockets in the dry parts of the river's bed, and the _canons_ of the hills, but I find it most profitable to work steadily down here where the whole earth, below the surface, is impregnated with fine particles of gold. Many of the diggers waste their time in _prospecting_, which word, I suppose you know, means looking out for new diggings; but, according to the proverb of my country, I prefer to remain `contented wi' little, and cantie wi' mair.'"

"Are we far-distant from the other miners in this creek?" inquired Ned.

"No; you are quite close. You will come upon the colony after passing that bluff of trees ahead of you," answered the Scotchman; "but come, I will shew you the way; it is not far from nooning-time, when I usually cease work for a couple of hours."

So saying, the miner threw his pick-axe and shovel into the hole, and led the way towards the colony of Little Creek.

"Ain't you afraid some of the bad-looking scoundrels in these parts may take a fancy to your pick and shovel?" inquired the captain, as they rode along at a foot pace.

"Not in the least. Time was when I would have feared to leave them; for at one time neither life nor property was safe here, where so many ruffians congregated from all parts of the world; but the evil wrought its own cure at last. Murders and robberies became so numerous, that the miners took to Lynch law for mutual protection. Murderers and thieves were hanged, or whipped almost to death, with such promptitude, that it struck terror into the hearts of evil-doers; and the consequence is, that we of this valley are now living in a state of perfect peace and security, while in other districts, where the laws of Judge Lynch are not so well administered, murders and thefts are occasionally heard of. Here, if a man takes a fancy to go prospecting for a time, he has only to throw his pick and shovel into his claim, or upon his heap of dirt, [see note 1] and he will be sure to find them there untouched on his return, even though he should be absent several weeks. Our tents, too, are left unwatched, and our doors unfastened, with perfect safety, though it is well-known that hundreds and thousands of dollars in gold-dust lie within. I do not mean to assert that we have attained to absolute perfection--a murder and a theft do occasionally occur, but such are the exceptions, security is the rule."

"Truly," said Ned Sinton, "you seem to live in a golden age in all respects."

"Not in all," answered the Scot; "the terrors of the law deter from open violence, but they do not enforce morality, as the language and deportment of miners generally too plainly shew. But here we are at the colony of Little Creek."

They rounded the projecting spur of one of the hills as he spoke, and the whole extent of the little valley opened up to view. It was indeed a romantic and curious sight. The vale, as we have said, was narrow, but by no means gloomy. The noontide sun shed a flood of light over the glistening rocks and verdant foliage of the hills on the left, and cast the short, rounded shadows of those on the right upon the plain. Through the centre of this the Little Creek warbled on its course; now circling round some wooded knoll, until it almost formed an island; anon dropping, in a quiet cascade, over the edge of a flat rock; in some places sweeping close under the base of a perpendicular cliff; in others shooting out into a lake-like expanse of shallow water across a bright-green meadow, as it murmured on over its golden bed towards the Sacramento.

Higher up the valley the cliffs were more abrupt. Dark pines and cedars, in groups or singly, hung on their sides, and gave point to the landscape, in the background of which the rivulet glittered like a silver thread where the mountains rose in peaks towards the sky.

Along the whole course of this rivulet, as far as the eye could trace it, searchers for gold were at work on both banks, while their white tents, and rude wooden shanties, were scattered, singly or in clusters of various extent, upon the wooded slopes, in every pleasant and suitable position. From the distance at which our party first beheld the scene, it appeared as if the miners were not men, but little animals grubbing in the earth. Little or no sound reached their ears; there was no bustle, no walking to and fro, as if the hundreds there assembled had various and diverse occupations. All were intently engaged in one and the same work. Pick-axe and shovel rose and fell with steady regularity as each individual wrought with ceaseless activity within the narrow limits of his own particular claim, or rocked his cradle beside it. Dig, dig, dig; rock, rock, rock; shovel, shovel, shovel, was the order of the day, as long as day lasted; and then the gold-hunters rested until recruited strength and dawning light enabled them again to go down into the mud and dig, and rock, and shovel as before.

Many, alas! rocked themselves into a fatal sleep, and dug and shovelled their own graves among these golden hills. Many, too, who, although they dug and toiled for the precious metal, had neither made it their god nor their chief good, were struck down in the midst of their heavy toils, and retired staggering to their tents, and there, still clad in their damp garments, laid their fevered heads on their saddles--not unfrequently on their bags of gold-dust--to dream of the distant homes and the loved faces they were doomed to see no more; and thus, dreaming in solitude, or watched, mayhap, by a rough though warm-hearted mate, breathed out their spirits to Him who gave them, and were laid in their last resting-place with wealth untold beneath them, and earth impregnated with gold-dust for their winding-sheet. Happy, thrice happy, the few who in that hour could truly say to Jesus, "Whom have I in heaven but Thee? and there is _none upon earth_ that I desire beside Thee."

Just as our travellers approached the nearest and largest cluster of huts and tents, a sudden change came over the scene. The hour of noon had arrived, and, as if with one consent, the miners threw down their tools, and swarmed, like the skirmishers of an invading host, up from the stream towards the huts--a few of the more jovial among them singing at the full pitch of their lungs, but most of them too wearied to care for aught save food and repose.

Noon is the universal dinner-hour throughout the gold-mines, an hour which might be adopted with profit in every way, we venture to suggest, by those who dig for gold in commercial and legal ledgers and cash-books in more civilised lands. When the new-comers reached a moderately-sized log-cabin, which was the chief hotel of the colony, they found it in all the bustle of preparation for an immediate and simple, though substantial, meal.

"Can we have dinner!" inquired Ned, entering this house of entertainment, while his companions were unsaddling and picketing their horses and mules.

"To be sure ye can, my hearty," answered the smiling landlord, "if ye pay for it."

"That's just the reason I asked the question," answered Ned, seating himself on a cask--all available chairs, stool; and benches having been already appropriated by mud-bespattered miners, "because, you must know, I _can't_ pay for it."

"Ho!" ejaculated mine host, with a grin, "hard-up, eh! got cleaned out with the trip up, an' trust to diggin' for the future? Well, I'll give ye credit; come on, and stick in. It's every man for himself here, an' no favour."

Thus invited, Ned and his friends squeezed themselves into seats beside the long _table d'hote_--which boasted a canvas table-cloth, and had casks for legs--and made a hearty meal, in the course of which they obtained a great deal of useful information from their friend McLeod the Scotchman.

After dinner, which was eaten hurriedly, most of the miners returned to their work, and Ned with his friend; under the guidance of McLeod, went down to the river to be initiated into the mysteries of gold-digging and washing. As they approached several of the claims which their owners were busy working, a Yankee swaggered up to them with a cigar in his mouth, an impudent expression on his face, and a pick-axe on his shoulder.

"Guess you've just come to locate in them diggin's, strangers," he said, addressing the party at large, but looking at Ned, whose superior height and commanding cast of countenance proved him unmistakeably to be a leader.

"We have," replied Ned, who disliked the look of the man.

"Thought so. I'm jest goin' to quit an' make tracks for the coast. 'Bliged to cut stick on business that won't wait, I calc'late. It's plaguey unlucky, too, for my claim's turnin' out no end o' dollars, but I must sell it slick off so I don't mind to let ye have it cheap."

"Is your claim better than the others in the neighbourhood?" inquired Ned.

"Wall, I jest opine it is. Look here," cried the Yankee, jumping into his claim, which was a pit of about eight feet square and three deep, and delving the shovel into the earth, while Ned and his friends, besides several of the other miners, drew near to witness the result. Maxton and Tom Collins, however, winked knowingly at each other, and, with the Scotchman, drew back to the rear of the group.

The first shovelful of earth thrown up was absolutely full of glittering particles of gold, and the second was even more richly impregnated with the precious metal.

Ned and the captain stood aghast with amazement, and Bill Jones opened mouth and eyes to their utmost extent.

"Hooroo! och! goold galore! there it is at last!" shouted Larry O'Neil, tossing up his arms with delight. "Do buy it, Mr Ned, darlint."

"I needn't turn up more, I guess," said the Yankee, carelessly throwing down his shovel, and filling the earth into a tin bowl or pan; "I'll jest wash it out an' shew ye what it's like."

So saying he dipped the pan into the stream gently, and proceeded to wash out the gold. As this was done in the way usually practised by diggers, we shall describe it.

Setting down the tin pan of earth and water, the Yankee dipped both hands into it and stirred its contents about until it became liquid mud, removing the stones in the operation. It was then moved round quickly with a peculiar motion which caused some off the top to escape over the edge of the pan with each revolution; more water was added from time to time, and the process continued until all the earthy matter was washed away, and nothing but a kind of black sand, in which the gold is usually contained, remained at the bottom.

"There you are," cried the man, exultingly, lifting up a handful of the heavy and shining mixture; "fifteen dollars at least in two shovelfuls. I'll sell ye the claim, if ye like, for two hundred dollars."

"I would give it at once," said Ned, feeling at the moment deeply troubled on account of his poverty; "but, to say truth, I have not a farthing in the world."

A peculiar grin rested on the faces of the miners who looked on as he spoke, but before he could inquire the cause, Tom Collins stepped forward, and said:

"That's a first-rate claim of yours. What did ye say was your charge for it?"

"Three hundred dollars down."

"I'll tell ye what," rejoined Tom, "I'll give you _six_ hundred dollars for it, if you take out another shovelful of dirt like _that_!"

This remark was greeted by a general laugh from, the bystanders, which was joined in by the Yankee himself as he leaped out of the hole, and, shouldering his shovel, went off with his friends, leaving Ned and some others of his party staring at each other in astonishment.

"What _does_ it all mean?" he inquired, turning to Tom Coffins, whose laughing countenance shewed that he at least was not involved in mystery.

"It means simply that we were all taken for green-horns, which was quite a mistake, and that we were to have been thoroughly cheated--a catastrophe which has happily been prevented. Maxton and I determined to let the rascally fellow go as far as he could, and then step in and turn the laugh against him, as we have done."

"But explain yourself. I do not yet understand," repeated Ned, with a puzzled look.

"Why, the fact is, that when strangers arrive at the diggings, full of excitement and expectation, there are always a set of sharpers on the look-out, who offer to sell their claims, as they often say, `for a mere song,' and in order to prove their worth, dig out a little dirt, and wash it, as you have just seen done; taking care beforehand, however, to mingle with it a large quantity of gold-dust, which, of course, comes to light, and a bargain is generally struck on the spot, when the sharper goes off with the price, and boasts of having `done' a green-horn, for which he is applauded by his comrades. Should the fraud be detected before the completion of the bargain, as in our case, he laughs with the rest, and says, probably, he `warn't so 'cute as usual.'"

"Och, the scoundrels!" cried Larry; "an' is there no law for sich doin's?"

"None; at least in most diggings men are left to sharpen their own wits by experience. Sometimes, however, the biter is pretty well bitten. There was a poor Chilian once who was deceived in this way, and paid four hundred dollars for a claim that was scarcely worth working. He looked rather put out on discovering the imposture, but was only laughed at by most of those who saw the transaction for his softness. Some there were who frowned on the sharper, and even spoke of lynching him, but they were a small minority, and had to hold their peace. However, the Chilian plucked up heart, and, leaping into his claim, worked away like a Trojan. After a day or two he hit upon a good layer of blue clay, and from that time he turned out forty dollars a day for two months."

"Ah! good luck to him," cried Larry.

"And did the sharper hear of it?" inquired the captain.

"That he did, and tried to bully the poor fellow, and get his claim back again; but there was a strong enough sense of justice among the miners to cause such an outcry that the scoundrel was fain to seek other diggings."

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Note 1. "Dirt" is the name given among miners, to the soil in which gold is found.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

GOLD-WASHING--OUR ADVENTURERS COUNT THEIR GAINS, AND ARE SATISFIED--THE "R'YAL BANK O' CALYFORNY" BEGINS TO PROSPER--FRYING GOLD--NIGHT VISIT TO THE GRAVE OF A MURDERED MAN--A MURDERER CAUGHT--THE ESCAPE AND PURSUIT.

Having escaped from the Yankee land-shark, as has been related, our adventurers spent the remainder of the day in watching the various processes of digging and washing out gold, in imbibing valuable lessons, and in selecting a spot for their future residence.

The two processes in vogue at Little Creek at that time were the _pan_ and the _cradle_ washing. The former has been already adverted to, and was much practised because the ground at that time was rich in the precious metal and easily wrought; the extreme simplicity, too, of the operation, which only required that the miner should possess a pick, a shovel, and a tin pan, commended it to men who were anxious to begin at once. An expert man, in favourable ground, could gather and wash a panful of "dirt," as it is called, every ten minutes; and there were few places in Little Creek that did not yield half-a-dollar or more to the panful, thus enabling the digger to work out gold-dust to the value of about twenty-five dollars, (five pounds sterling), every day, while occasionally he came upon a lump or nugget, equal, perhaps, to what he could produce by the steady labour of a week or more.

Many of the more energetic miners, however, worked in companies and used cradles, by means of which they washed out a much larger quantity of gold in shorter time; and in places which did not yield a sufficient return by the pan process to render it worth while working, the cradle-owners obtained ample remuneration for their toil.

The cradle is a very simple machine, being a semicircular trough, hollowed out of a log, from five to six feet long by sixteen inches in diameter. At one end of this is a perforated copper or iron plate, with a rim of wood round it, on which the "dirt" is thrown, and water poured thereon by one man, while the cradle is rocked by another. The gold and gravel are thus separated from the larger stones, and washed down the trough, in which, at intervals, two transverse bars, half-an-inch high, are placed; the first of these arrests the gold, which, from its great weight, sinks to the bottom, while the gravel and lighter substances are swept away by the current. The lower bar catches any particles of gold that, by awkward management, may have passed the upper one. Three men usually worked together at a rocker, one digging, one carrying the "dirt" in a bucket, and one rocking the cradle.

The black sand, which, along with the gold, is usually left after all the washing and rocking processes are completed, is too heavy to be separated by means of washing. It has therefore to be blown away from the gold after the mass has been dried over a fire, and in this operation great care is requisite lest the finer particles of gold should be blown off along with it.

The spot fixed on as the future residence of our friends was a level patch of greensward about a stone-cast from the banks of the stream, and twice that distance from the lowest cabin of the colony, which was separated and concealed from them by a group of wide-spreading oaks and other trees. A short distance behind the spot the mountains ascended in steep wooded slopes, and, just in front, the cliffs of the opposite hills rose abruptly from the edge of the stream, but a narrow ravine, that split them in a transverse manner, afforded a peep into the hills beyond. At evening, when the rest of the vale of Little Creek was shrouded in gloom, this ravine permitted the last beams of the setting sun to stream through and flood their encampment with rosy light.

Here the tent was pitched, and a fire kindled by Tom Collins, he being intrusted with the command of the party, whose duty it was to prepare the camp. This party included Bill Jones, Maxton, and the vaquero. Ned, the captain, and Larry O'Neil went, under the guidance of McLeod, to select a claim, and take lessons in washing.

"This seems a likely spot," said the Scotchman, as he led his new acquaintances down to the stream, a few yards below their encampment. "You may claim as much ground as you please, for there is room enough and to spare for all at the Creek yet. I would recommend a piece of ground of ten or twelve feet square for each to begin with."

"Here is a level patch that I shall appropriate, then," said Ned, smiling at the idea of becoming so suddenly and easily a landed proprietor--and to such an extent.

"I suppose we don't require to make out title-deeds!" remarked the captain.

"There's _my_ title dade," cried Larry, driving his pick into the earth.

"You are right, Larry," said McLeod, laughing, "no other deed is required in this delightfully-free country."

"Ah! thin, it's quite to my taste; sure I niver thought to see the swate spot where I could pick out me property an' pick up me fortin' so aisy."

"Don't count your chickens quite so fast," said Ned, "may be it won't be so easy as you think. But let us begin and ascertain the value of our claims; I vote that Larry shall have the honour of washing out the first panful of gold, as a reward for his enthusiasm."

"A very proper obsarvation," remarked the Irishman, as he commenced work without further delay.

In the course of ten minutes part of the layer of surface-earth was removed, revealing the bluish-clay soil in which gold was usually found; the pan was filled with this "pay-dirt," as it was called, in contradistinction to the "surface-dirt," which didn't "pay," and was taken down to the stream, where Larry washed it out under the eye of McLeod; but he did it clumsily, as might be expected, and lost a considerable amount of valuable material. Still, for a first attempt, it was pretty well done, and his companions watched the result with feelings of excited earnestness, that they felt half-ashamed to admit even to themselves. There was mingled with this feeling a sort of vague incredulity, and a disposition to ridicule the idea that they were actually endeavouring to wash gold out of the ground; but when Larry's panful began to diminish, and the black sand appeared, sparkling with unmistakeably-brilliant particles of reddish-yellow metal, they felt that the golden dream was in truth becoming a sober reality.

As the process proceeded, and the precious metal began to appear, Larry's feelings found vent in abrupt remarks.

"Och! av me tshoo eyes--musha! there it is--goold intirely--av it isn't brass. Ah ye purty little stars!--O Larry, it's yerself as'll buy yer owld mother a pig, an' a coach to boot. Hooroo! Mr Scotchman, I misremimber yer name, wot's that?"

Larry started up in excitement, and held up between his fore-finger and thumb what appeared to be a small stone.

"Ha! friend, you're in luck. That's a small nugget," replied McLeod, examining the lump of gold. "It's worth ten dollars at least. I have worked often two or three weeks at a time without coming on such a chunk as that."

"Ye don't mane it! eh! Och! give it me. Hooray!" and the Irishman, seizing the little lump with trembling eagerness, rushed off, shouting and yelling, towards the camp to make his good fortune known to Bill Jones, leaving the pan of black sand unheeded. This Ned took up, and tried his hand at the work of washing. When done, the residue was found to be exceedingly rich, so he and the captain proceeded without loss of time to test their separate claims. Soon after, their obliging friend, the miner, returned to his own claim further down the valley, leaving them hard at work.

That night, when the bright stars twinkled down upon the camp at Little Creek, our gold-hunters, wet and tired, but hearty and hopeful, assembled round the fire in front of their little tent among the oak-trees.

The entire party was assembled there, and they were gazing earnestly, as might be expected of hungry men, into the frying-pan. But they did not gaze at _supper_. No, that night the first thing they fried was a mixture of black sand and gold. In fact, they were drying and blowing the result of their first day's work at the diggings, and their friend the Scotch miner was there to instruct them in the various processes of their new profession, and to weigh the gold for them, in his little pair of scales, when it should be finally cleared of all grosser substances.

As each panful was dried and blown, the gold was weighed, and put into a large white breakfast cup, the bottom of which was soon heaped up with shining particles, varying in size from the smallest visible speck, to little lumps like grains of corn.

"Bravo!" exclaimed McLeod, as he weighed the last pan, and added the gold to that already in the cup. "I congratulate you, gentlemen, on your success. The day's work is equal to one hundred and eighty dollars--about thirty dollars per man. Few men are so lucky their first day, I assure you, unless, as has been the case once or twice they should hit upon a nugget or two."

"That being the case, we shall have supper," cried Ned Sinton; "and while we are about it, do you go, Larry, to mine host of the hotel, and pay for the dinner for which he gave us credit. I don't wish to remain an hour in debt, if I can avoid it."

"Mister McLeod," slowly said Bill Jones--who, during the whole operation of drying and weighing the gold, had remained seated on a log, looking on with an expression of imbecile astonishment, and without uttering a word--"Mister McLeod, if I may make bold to ax, how much is one hundred and eighty dollars?"

Bill's calculating powers were of the weakest possible character.

"About thirty-six pounds sterling," replied McLeod. Bill's eyes were wide open before, but the extent to which he opened them on hearing this was quite alarming, and suggested the idea that they would never close again. The same incapacity to calculate figures rendered him unable to grasp correlative facts. He knew that thirty-six pounds in one day was a more enormous and sudden accumulation of wealth than had ever entered into his nautical mind to conceive of. But to connect this with the fact that a voyage and journey of many months had brought him there; that a similar journey and voyage would be required to reconduct him home; and that in the meantime he would have to pay perhaps five pounds sterling for a flannel shirt, and probably four pounds or more for a pair of boots, and everything else in proportion, was to his limited intellectual capacity a simple impossibility. He contented himself with remarking, in reference to these things, that "w'en things in gin'ral wos more nor ord'nar'ly oncommon, an' w'en incomprehensibles was blowin' a reg'lar hurricane astarn, so that a man couldn't hold on to the belayin'-pins he'd bin used to, without their breakin' short off an' lettin' him go spin into the lee-scuppers,--why wot then? a wise man's course wos to take in all sail, an' scud before it under bare poles."

Next day all the miners in the colony were up and at work by dawn. Ned and his friends, you may be sure, were not last to leave their beds and commence digging in their separate claims, which they resolved to work out by means of pan-washing, until they made a little ready cash, after which they purposed constructing two rockers, and washing out the gold more systematically and profitably.

They commenced by removing the surface-soil to the depth of about three feet, a work of no small labour, until the subsoil, or "pay-dirt," was reached. Of this they dug out a small quantity, and washed it; put the produce of black sand and gold into leathern bags, and then, digging out another panful, washed it as before. Thus they laboured till noon, when they rested for an hour and dined. Then they worked on again until night and exhaustion compelled them to desist; when they returned to camp, dried and blew away the sand, weighed the gold, which was put carefully into a general purse--named by Larry the "R'yal Bank o' Calyforny"--after which they supped, and retired to rest.

The gold was found at various depths, the "dirt" on the bed-rock being the richest, as gold naturally, in consequence of its weight, sinks through all other substances, until arrested in its downward career by the solid rock.

Of course, the labour was severe to men unaccustomed to the peculiar and constant stooping posture they were compelled to adopt, and on the second morning more than one of the party felt as if he had been seized with lumbago, but this wore off in the course of a day or two.

The result of the second day was about equal to that of the first; the result of the third a good deal better, and Bill, who was fortunate enough to discover a small nugget, returned to camp with a self-satisfied swagger that indicated elation, though his visage expressed nothing but stolidity, slightly tinged with surprise. On the fourth day the cradles were made, and a very large portion of their gains thereby swept away in consequence of the unconscionable prices charged for every article used in their construction. However, this mattered little, Maxton said, as the increased profits of their labour would soon repay the outlay. And he was right. On the fifth day their returns were more than trebled, and that evening the directors of the "R'yal Bank o' Calyforny" found themselves in possession of capital amounting to one thousand one hundred and fifty dollars, or, as Tom Collins carefully explained to Bill, about 230 pounds.

On the sixth day, however, which was Saturday, Larry O'Neil, who was permitted to work with the pan in the meantime, instead of assisting with the cradles, came up to dinner with a less hearty aspect than usual, and at suppertime he returned with a terribly lugubrious visage and a totally empty bag. In fact his claim had become suddenly unproductive.

"Look at that," he cried, swaggering recklessly into camp, and throwing down his bag; "I haven't got a rap; faix the bag's as empty as my intarior."

"What! have you worked out your claim already!" inquired Maxton.

"Troth have I, and almost worked out me own body too."

"Well, Larry, don't lose heart," said Ned, as he dried the last panful of sand over the fire, "there are plenty more claims beside your present one. We, too, have not been as successful as before. I find the result is only fifty dollars amongst us all."

"That's a sudden falling off," remarked Tom Collins; "I fear the `pay-dirt' is not deep near us, nevertheless it pays well enough to keep us going for some time to come. I shall mark off a new space on Monday."

"By the way, Maxton," asked Ned, handing over the frying-pan to Collins, who soon filled it with a less valuable, but at that time not less needful commodity than gold-dust--namely, pork and beef--"how do the miners spend the Sabbath here? I suppose not much better than in the cities."

"Here comes McLeod, who will be better able to answer than I am," replied Maxton.

The Scot strode into the camp as he spoke, and, saluting the party, seated himself beside the fire.

"I've come to tell you a piece of news, and to ask advice," he said; "but before doing so, I may tell you, in answer to your question, that the Sabbath here is devoted to drinking, gambling, and loafing about."

"I am not surprised to hear it," said Captain Bunting; "but pray what's i' the wind? Any new diggin's discovered?"

"A new digging certainly has been discovered," replied McLeod, with a peculiar smile, "but not precisely such a digging as one is wont to search for. The fact is, that in prospecting along the edge of the woods about a mile from this to-day, I came upon the body of a murdered man. It was covered with stones and branches of trees, which I removed, and I immediately recognised it to be that of a poor man who used to work not far from my own claim. I had missed him for more than a week past, but supposed that he had either gone to other diggings, or was away prospecting."

"Poor fellow!" said Ned; "but how, in such a matter, can _we_ help you with advice?"

"Well, you see I'm in difficult circumstances," rejoined the Scot, "for I feel certain that I could point out the murderer, yet I cannot _prove_ him to be such, and I want your advice as to what I should do."

"Let it be known at once that you have discovered the murdered man at any rate," said Maxton.

"That I have done already."

"Who do you think was the murderer?" inquired Ned.

"A man who used to live in the same tent with him at one time, but who quarrelled with him frequently, and at last went off in a rage. I know not what was the cause, but I heard him vow that he would be revenged. He was a great coarse fellow, more like a brute than a man, with a black beard, and the most forbidding aspect I think I ever saw."

"Wot wos his name?" inquired Bill Jones, while the party looked at each other as if they knew of such a character.

"Smith was the name he went by oftenest, but the diggers called him Black Jim sometimes."

"Ha! Smith--black beard--forbidding aspect! It strikes me that I too have seen the man," said Ned Sinton, who related to McLeod the visit paid to them in their camp by the surly stranger. While he was speaking, Larry O'Neil sat pondering something in his mind.

"Mister McLeod," said he, when Ned concluded, "will ye shew me the body o' this man? faix, I'm of opinion I can prove the murder; but, first of all, how is the black villain to be diskivered?"

"No difficulty about that. He is even now in the colony. I saw him in a gambling-house half-an-hour since. My fear is that, now the murder's out, he'll bolt before we can secure him."

"It's little trouble we'd have in preventin' that," suggested Larry.

"The consequences might be more serious, however, than you imagine. Suppose you were to seize and accuse him, and fail to prove the murder, the jury would acquit him, and the first thing he would do, on being set free, would be to shoot you, for which act the morality of the miners would rather applaud him than otherwise. It is only on cold-blooded, unprovoked murder and theft that Judge Lynch is severe. It is a recognised rule here, that if a man, in a row, should merely make a _motion_ with his hand towards his pistol, his opponent is entitled to shoot him first if he can. The consequence is, that _bloody_ quarrels are very rare."

"Niver a taste do I care," cried Larry; "they may hang me tshoo times over, but I'll prove the murder, an' nab the murderin' blackguard too."

"Have a care," said Ned; "you'll get yourself into a scrape."

"Make sure you are right before you act," added Maxton. Larry O'Neil paid no attention to these warnings. "Are ye ready to go, Mister McLeod?" said he, impatiently.

"Quite," replied the other.

"Then come along." And the two left the camp together, armed with their rifles, knives, revolvers, and a shovel.

It was a dark night. Heavy clouds obscured the face of the sky, through which only one or two stars struggled faintly, and rendered darkness visible. The two men passed rapidly along the little footpath that led from the colony to the more open country beyond. This gained, they turned abruptly to the right, and, entering a narrow defile, proceeded at a more cautious pace into the gloomy recesses of the mountains.

"Have a care, Larry O'Neil," whispered the Scotchman, as they advanced; "the road is not so safe here, owing to a number of pits which have been made by diggers after gold--they lie close to the edge of the path, and are pretty deep."

"All right; I'm lookin' out," replied Larry, groping his way after his comrade, at the base of a steep precipice.

"Here is the place," said McLeod, stopping and pushing aside the bushes which lined the path. "Keep close to me--there is no road."

"Are ye sure o' the spot?" inquired Larry, in an undertone, while a feeling of awe crept over him at the thought of being within a few yards of a murdered man in such a dark, wild place.

"Quite sure. I have marked the trees. See there!" He pointed to a white spot on the stem of a tree, where a chip had been cut off, and close to which was a mound of earth and stones. This mound the two men proceeded to break up, and in less than ten minutes they disentombed the body from its shallow grave, and commenced to examine the fatal wound. It was in an advanced state of decomposition, and they hurried the process by the light of a bright solitary star, whose flickering rays pierced through the overspreading branches and fell upon the ghastly countenance of the murdered man.

While thus occupied, they were startled by the sound of breaking twigs, as if some one were slowly approaching; whispering voices were also heard.

"It must be hereabouts," said a voice in a low tone; "he pointed out the place."

"Ho!" cried McLeod, who, with Larry, had seized and cocked his rifle, "is that you, Webster?"

"Halloo! McLeod, where are you?"

In another moment a party of miners broke through the underwood, talking loudly, but they dropped their voices to a whisper on beholding the dead body.

"Whist, boys," said Larry, holding up his hand. "We've jist got hold o' the bullet. It's flattened the least thing, but the size is easy to see. There's a wound over the heart, too, made with a knife; now that's wot I want to get at the bottom of, but I don't like to use me own knife to cut down."

As none of the others felt disposed to lend their knives for such a purpose, they looked at each other in silence.

"Mayhap," said the rough-looking miner who had been hailed by McLeod as Webster--"mayhap the knife o' the corpse is lyin' about."

The suggestion was a happy one. After a few minutes' search the rusty knife of the murdered man was discovered, and with this Larry succeeded in extracting from the wound over the heart of the body a piece of steel, which had evidently been broken off the point of the knife, with which the poor wretch had been slain. Larry held it up with a look of triumph.

"I'll soon shew ye who's the murderer now, boys, av ye'll help me to fill up the grave."

This was speedily accomplished; then the miners, hurrying in silence from the spot, proceeded to the chief hotel of the place, in the gambling-saloon of which they found the man Smith, _alias_ Black Jim, surrounded by gamblers, and sitting on a corner of the monte table watching the game. Larry went up to him at once, and, seizing him by the collar, exclaimed--"I've got ye, have I, ye murderer, ye black villain! Come along wid ye, and git yer desarts--call a coort, boys, an' sot up Judge Lynch."

Instantly the saloon was in an uproar. Smith turned pale as death for a moment, but the blood returned with violence to his brazen forehead; he seized Larry by the throat, and a deadly struggle would speedily have taken place between the two powerful men had not Ned Sinton entered at the moment, and, grasping Smith's arms in his Herculean gripe, rendered him helpless.

"What, comrades," cried Black Jim, with an oath, and looking fiercely round, "will ye see a messmate treated like this? I'm no murderer, an' I defy any one to prove it."

There was a move among the miners, and a voice was heard to speak of rescuing the prisoner.

"Men," cried Ned, still holding Smith, and looking round upon the crowd, "men--"

"I guess there are no men here," interrupted a Yankee; "we're all _gentlemen_."

"Being a man does not incapacitate one from being a gentleman," said Ned, sharply, with a look of scorn at the speaker, who deemed it advisable to keep silence.

After a moment's pause, he continued--"If this _gentleman_ has done no evil, I and my friends will be answerable to him for what we have done; but my comrade, Larry O'Neil, denounces him as a murderer; and says he can prove it. Surely the law of the mines and fair play demand that he should be tried!"

"Hear! hear! well said. Git up a bonfire, and let's have it out," cried several voices, approvingly.

The miners rushed out, dragging Black Jim along with them to an open level space in front of the hotel, where stood a solitary oak-tree, from one of whose sturdy arms several offenders against the laws of the gold-mines had, at various times, swung in expiation of their crimes. Here an immense fire was kindled, and hither nearly all the miners of the neighbourhood assembled.

Black Jim was placed under the branch, from which depended part of the rope that had hanged the last criminal. His rifle, pistols, and knife, were taken from him, amid protestations of innocence, and imprecations on the heads of his accusers. Then a speech was made by an orator who was much admired at the place, but whose coarse language would scarcely have claimed admiration in any civilised community. After this Larry O'Neil stepped forward with McLeod, and the latter described all he knew of the former life of the culprit, and his conduct towards the murdered man. When he had finished, Larry produced the bullet, which was compared with the rifle and the bullets in Smith's pouch, and pronounced similar to the latter. At this, several of the miners cried out, "Guilty, guilty; string him up at once!"

"There are other rifles with the same bore," said Smith. "I used to think Judge Lynch was just, but he's no better I find than the land-sharks elsewhere. Hang me if you like, but if ye do, instead o' gittin' rid o' one murderer, ye'll fill the Little Creek with murderers from end to end. My blood will be on _your_ heads."

"Save yer breath," said Larry, drawing Smith's knife from its scabbard. "See here, boys, sure two dovetails niver fitted closer than this bit o' steel fits the pint o' Black Jim's knife. Them men standin' beside me can swear they saw me take it out o' the breast o' the morthered man, an' yerselves know that this is the murderer's knife."

Almost before Larry had concluded, Smith, who felt that his doom was sealed, exerted all his strength, burst from the men who held him, and darted like an arrow towards that part of the living circle which seemed weakest. Most of the miners shrank back--only one man ventured to oppose the fugitive; but he was driven down with such violence, that he lay stunned on the sward, while Smith sprang like a goat up the steep face of the adjacent precipice. A dozen rifles instantly poured forth their contents, and the rocks rang with the leaden hail; but the aim had been hurried, and the light shed by the fire at that distance was uncertain.

The murderer, next moment, stood on the verge of the precipice, from which he wrenched a mass of rock, and, shouting defiance, hurled it back, with a fearful imprecation, at his enemies. The rock fell into the midst of them, and fractured the skull of a young man, who fell with a groan to the earth. Smith, who paused a moment to witness the result of his throw, uttered a yell of exultation, and darted into the mountains, whither, for hours after, he was hotly pursued by the enraged miners. But one by one they returned to the Creek exhausted, and telling the same tale--"Black Jim had made his escape."

CHAPTER TWELVE.

SABBATH AT THE DIGGINGS--LARRY O'NEIL TAKES TO WANDERING, AND MEETS WITH ADVENTURES--AN IRISH YANKEE DISCOVERED--TERRIBLE CALAMITIES BEFALL TRAVELLERS ON THE OVERLAND ROUTE.

There is no country in our fallen world, however debased and morally barren, in which there does not exist a few green spots where human tenderness and sympathy are found to grow. The atmosphere of the gold-regions of California was, indeed, clouded to a fearful extent with the soul-destroying vapours of worldliness, selfishness, and ungodliness, which the terrors of Lynch law alone restrained from breaking forth in all their devastating strength.

And this is not to be wondered at, for Europe and America naturally poured the flood of their worst inhabitants over the land, in eager search for that gold, the _love of which_, we are told in Sacred Writ, "is the root of all evil." True, there were many hundreds of estimable men who, failing, from adverse circumstances, to make a livelihood in their native lands, sought to better their fortunes in the far west; but, in too many cases, the gold-fever which raged there soon smote them down; and men who once regarded gold as the means to an end, came at last to esteem gold to be the end, and used every means, fair and foul, to obtain it. Others there were, whose constitutions were proof against the national disease; whose hearts deemed _love_ to be the highest bliss of man, and doing good his greatest happiness.

But stilling and destructive though the air of the gold-mines was, there were a few hardy plants of moral goodness which defied it--and some of these bloomed in the colony of Little Creek.

The Sabbath morning dawned on Ned Sinton and his friends--the first Sabbath since they had begun to dig for gold. On that day the miners rested from their work. Shovel and pick lay quiet in the innumerable pits that had been dug throughout the valley; no cradle was rocked, no pan of golden earth was washed. Even reckless men had come to know from experience, that the Almighty in His goodness had created the Sabbath for the special benefit of man's _body_ as well as his soul, and that they wrought better during the six days of the week when they rested on the seventh.

Unfortunately they believed only what _experience_ taught them; they kept the Sabbath according to the letter, not according to the spirit; and although they did not work, they did not refrain from "thinking their own thoughts and finding their own pleasure," on God's holy day. Early in the morning they began to wander idly about from hut to hut, visited frequently the grog-shops, and devoted themselves to gambling, which occupation materially marred even the physical rest they might otherwise have enjoyed.

"Comrades," said Ned Sinton, as the party sat inside their tent, round the napkin on which breakfast was spread, "it is long since we have made any difference between Saturday and Sunday, and I think it would be good for us all if we were to begin now. Since quitting San Francisco, the necessity of pushing forward on our journey has prevented our doing so hitherto. How far we were right in regarding rapid travelling as being _necessary_, I won't stop to inquire; but I think it would be well if we should do a little more than merely rest from work on the Sabbath. I propose that, besides doing this, we should read a chapter of the Bible together as a family, morning and evening on Sundays. What say you?"

There was a pause. It was evident that conflicting feelings were at work among the party.

"Perhaps you're right," said Maxton; "I confess that I have troubled myself very little about religion since I came out here, but my conscience has often reproached me for it."

"Don't you think, messmates," said Captain Bunting, lighting his pipe, "that if it gets wind the whole colony will be laughin' at us?"

"Sure they may laugh," said Larry O'Neil, "an' after that they may cry, av it'll do them good. Wot's the differ to us?"

"I don't agree with you, Ned," said Tom Collins, somewhat testily; "for my part I like to see men straightforward, all fair and above-board, as the captain would say. Hypocrisy is an abominable vice, whether it is well meaning or ill meaning, and I don't see the use of pretending to be religious when we are not."

"Tom," replied Ned, in an earnest voice, "don't talk lightly of serious things. I don't _pretend_ to be religious, but I do _desire_ to be so: and I think it would be good for all of us to read a portion of God's Word on His own day, both for the purpose of obeying and honouring Him, and of getting our minds filled, for a short time at least, with other thoughts than those of gold-hunting. In doing this there is no hypocrisy."

"Well, well," rejoined Tom, "I'll not object if the rest are agreed."

"Agreed," was the unanimous reply. So Ned rose, and, opening his portmanteau, drew forth the little Bible that had been presented to him by old Mr Shirley on the day of his departure from home.

From that day forward, every Sabbath morning and evening, Ned Sinton read a portion of the Word of God to his companions, as long as they were together; and each of the party afterwards, at different times, confessed that, from the time the reading of the Bible was begun, he felt happier than he did before.

After breakfast they broke up, and went out to stroll for an hour or two upon the wooded slopes of the mountains. Ned and Tom Collins went off by themselves, the others, with the exception of Larry, walked out together.

That morning Larry O'Neil felt less sociable than was his wont, so he sallied forth alone. For some time he sauntered about with his hands in his pockets, his black pipe in his mouth, a thick oak cudgel, of his own making, under his arm, and his hat set jauntily on one side of his head. He went along with an easy swagger, and looked particularly reckless, but no man ever belied his looks more thoroughly. The swagger was unintentional, and the recklessness did not exist. On the contrary, the reading of the Bible had brought back to his mind a flood of home memories, which forced more than one tear from his susceptible heart into his light-blue eye, as he wandered in memory over the green hills of Erin.

But the scenes that passed before him as he roamed about among the huts and tents of the miners soon drew his thoughts to subjects less agreeable to contemplate. On week-days the village, if we may thus designate the scattered groups of huts and tents, was comparatively quiet, but on Sundays it became a scene of riot and confusion. Not only was it filled with its own idle population of diggers, but miners from all the country round, within a circuit of eight or ten miles, flocked into it for the purpose of buying provisions for the week, as well as for the purpose of gambling and drinking, this being the only day in all the week, in which they indulged in what they termed "a spree."

Consequently the gamblers and store-keepers did more business on Sunday than on any other day. The place was crowded with men in their rough, though picturesque, bandit-like costumes, rambling about from store to store, drinking and inviting friends to drink, or losing in the gaming-saloons all the earnings of a week of hard, steady toil--toil more severe than is that of navvies or coal-heavers. There seemed to be an irresistible attraction in these gambling-houses. Some men seemed unable to withstand the temptation, and they seldom escaped being fleeced. Yet they returned, week after week, to waste in these dens of iniquity the golden treasure gathered with so much labour during their six working days.

Larry O'Neil looked through the doorway of one of the gambling-houses as he passed, and saw men standing and sitting round the tables, watching with eager faces the progress of the play, while ever and anon one of them would reel out, more than half-drunk with excitement and brandy. Passing on through the crowded part of the village, which looked as if a fair were being held there, he entered the narrow footpath that led towards the deeper recesses at the head of the valley. O'Neil had not yet, since his arrival, found time to wander far from his own tent. It was therefore with a feeling of great delight that he left the scene of riot behind him, and, turning into a bypath that led up one of the narrow ravines, opening into the larger valley, strolled several miles into deep solitudes that were in harmony with his feelings.

The sun streamed through the entrance to this ravine, bathing with a flood of light crags and caves and bush-encompassed hollows, that at other times were shrouded in gloom. As the Irishman stood gazing in awe and admiration at the wild, beautiful scene, beyond which were seen the snowy peaks of the Sierra Nevada, he observed a small solitary tent pitched on a level patch of earth at the brow of a low cliff. Curiosity prompted him to advance and ascertain what unsociable creature dwelt in it. A few minutes sufficed to bring him close upon it, and he was about to step forward, when the sound of a female voice arrested him. It was soft and low, and the accents fell upon his ear with the power of an old familiar song. Being at the back of the tent, he could not see who spoke, but, from the monotonous regularity of the tone, he knew that the woman was reading. He passed noiselessly round to the front, and peeping over the tops of bushes, obtained a view of the interior.

The reader was a young woman, whose face, which was partially concealed by a mass of light-brown hair as she bent over her book, seemed emaciated and pale. Looking up just as Larry's eye fell upon her, she turned towards a man whose gaunt, attenuated form lay motionless on a pile of brushwood beside her, and said, tenderly:

"Are ye tired, Patrick, dear, or would you like me to go on?"

Larry's heart gave his ribs such a thump at that moment that he felt surprised the girl did not hear it. But he could not approach; he was rooted to the earth as firmly, though not as permanently, as the bush behind which he stood. An Irish voice, and an Irish girl, heard and seen so unexpectedly, quite took away his breath.

The sick man made some reply which was not audible, and the girl, shutting the book, looked up for a few moments, as if in silent prayer, then she clasped her hands upon her knees, and laying her head upon them, remained for some time motionless. The hands were painfully thin, as was her whole frame. The face was what might have been pretty at one time, although it was haggard enough now, but the expression was peculiarly sorrowful.

In a few minutes she looked up again, and spread the ragged blanket more carefully over the shoulders of the sick man, and Larry, feeling that he was at that time in the questionable position of an eavesdropper, left his place of concealment, and stood before the tent.

The sick man saw him instantly, and, raising himself slightly, exclaimed, "Who goes there? Sure I can't git lave to die in pace!"

The familiar tones of a countryman's voice fell pleasantly on Larry's ear as he sprang into the tent, and, seizing the sick man's hand, cried, "A blissin' on the mouth that said that same. O Pat, darlint! I'm glad to mate with ye. What's the matter with ye? Tell me now, an' don't be lookin' as if ye'd seen a ghost."

"Kape back," said the girl, pushing Larry aside, with a half-pleased, half-angry expression. "Don't ye see that ye've a'most made him faint? He's too wake intirely to be--"

"Ah! then, cushla, forgive me; I wint and forgot meself. Blissin's on yer pale face! sure yer Irish too."

Before the girl could reply to this speech, which was uttered in a tone of the deepest sympathy, the sick man recovered sufficiently to say--

"Sit down, friend. How comed ye to larn me name? I guess I never saw ye before."

"Sure, didn't I hear yer wife say it as I come for'ard to the tint," answered Larry, somewhat staggered at the un-Irish word "guess."

"He is my brother," remarked the girl.

"Troth, ye've got a dash o' the Yankee brogue," said Larry, with a puzzled look; "did ye not come from the owld country?"

The sick man seemed too much exhausted to reply, so the girl said--

"Our father and mother were Irish, and left their own country to sittle in America. We have never seen Ireland, my brother nor I, but we think of it as almost our own land. Havin' been brought up in the woods, and seein' a'most no one but father and mother for days an' weeks at a time, we've got a good deal o' the Irish tone."

"Ah! thin, ye have reason to be thankful for that same," remarked Larry, who was a little disappointed that his new friends were not altogether Irish; but, after a few minutes' consideration, he came to the conclusion, that people whose father and mother were natives of the Emerald Isle could no more be Americans, simply because they happened to be born in America, than they could be fish if they chanced to be born at sea. Having settled this point to his satisfaction, he proceeded to question the girl as to their past history and the cause of their present sad condition, and gradually obtained from her the information that their father and mother were dead, and that, having heard of the mines of California, her brother had sold off his farm in the backwoods, and proceeded by the overland route to the new land of gold, in company with many other western hunters and farmers. They reached it, after the most inconceivable sufferings, in the beginning of winter, and took up their abode at Little Creek.

The rush of emigration from the western states to California, by the overland route, that took place at this time, was attended with the most appalling sufferings and loss of life. Men sold off their snug farms, packed their heavy waggons with the necessaries for a journey, with their wives and little ones, over a wilderness more than two thousand miles in extent, and set off by scores over the prairies towards the Ultima Thule of the far west. The first part of their journey was prosperous enough, but the weight of their waggons rendered the pace slow, and it was late in the season ere they reached the great barrier of the Rocky Mountains. But severe although the sufferings of those first emigrants were, they were as nothing compared with the dire calamities that befell those who started from home later in the season. All along the route the herbage was cropped bare by those who had gone before; their oxen broke down; burning sandy deserts presented themselves when the wretched travellers were well-nigh exhausted; and when at length they succeeded in reaching the great mountain-chain, its dark passes were filled with the ice and snow of early winter.

Hundreds of men, women, and children, fell down and died on the burning plain, or clambered up the rugged heights to pillow their dying heads at last on wreaths of snow. To add to the unheard-of miseries of these poor people, scurvy in its worst forms attacked them; and the air of many of their camping places was heavy with the stench arising from the dead bodies of men and animals that had perished by the way.

"It was late in the season," said Kate Morgan, as Larry's new friend was named, "when me brother Patrick an' I set off with our waggon and oxen, an' my little sister Nelly, who was just able to run about, with her curly yellow hair streamin' over her purty shoulders, an' her laughin' blue eyes, almost spakin' when they looked at ye."

The poor girl spoke with deep pathos as she mentioned Nelly's name, while Larry O'Neil sat with his hands clasped, gazing at her with an expression of the deepest commiseration.

"We got pretty well on at first," she continued, after a pause, "because our waggon was lighter than most o' the others; but it was near winter before we got to the mountains, an' then our troubles begood. First of all, one o' the oxen fell, and broke its leg. Then darlin' Nelly fell sick, and Patrick had to carry her on his back up the mountains, for I had got so weak meself that I wasn't fit to take her up. All the way over I was troubled with one o' the emigrants that kep' us company-- there was thirty o' us altogether--he was a very bad man, and none o' us liked him. He took a fancy to me, an' asked me to be his wife so often that I had to make Patrick order him to kape away from us altogether. He wint off in a black rage, swearin' he'd be revenged,--an' oh!" continued Kate, wringing her hands, "he kept his word. One day there was a dispute between our leaders which way we should go, for we had got to two passes in the mountains; so one party went one way, and we went another. Through the night, my--my lover came into our camp to wish me good-bye, he said, for the last time, as he was goin' with the other party. After he was gone, I missed Nelly, and went out to seek for her among the tents o' my neighbours, but she was nowhere to be found. At once I guessed he had taken her away, for well did he know I would sooner have lost my life than my own darlin' Nell."

Again the girl paused a few moments; then she resumed, in a low voice--

"We never saw him or Nelly again. It is said the whole party perished, an' I believe it, for they were far spent, and the road they took, I've been towld, is worse than the one we took. It was dead winter when we arrived, and Patrick and me came to live here. We made a good deal at first by diggin', but we both fell sick o' the ague, and we've been scarce able to kape us alive till now. But it won't last long. Dear Patrick is broken down entirely, as ye see, and I haven't strength a'most to go down to the diggin's for food. I haven't been there for a month, for it's four miles away, as I dare say ye know. We'll both be at rest soon."

"Ah! now, don't say that again, avic," cried Larry, smiting his thigh with energy; "ye'll be nothin' o' the sort, that ye won't; sure yer brother Pat is slaipin' now like an infant, he is, an' I'll go down meself to the stores and git ye medicines an' a doctor, an' what not. Cheer up, now--"

Larry's enthusiastic efforts to console his new friend were interrupted by the sick man, who awoke at the moment, and whispered the word "food."

His sister rose, and taking up a small tin pan that simmered on the fire in front of the tent, poured some of its contents into a dish.

"What is it ye give him?" inquired Larry, taking the dish from the girl's hands and putting it to his lips. He instantly spat out the mouthful, for it was soup made of rancid pork, without vegetables of any kind.

"'Tis all I've got left," said the girl. "Even if I was able to go down for more, he wouldn't let me; but I couldn't, for I've tried more than once, and near died on the road. Besides, I haven't a grain o' goold in the tent."

"O morther! Tare an' ages!" cried Larry, staring first at the girl and then at her brother, while he slapped his thighs and twisted his fingers together as if he wished to wrench them out of joint.

"Howld on, faix I'll do it. Don't give it him, plaze; howld on, _do_!"

Larry O'Neil turned round as he spoke, seized his cudgel, sprang right over the bushes in front of the tent, and in two minutes more was seen far down the ravine, spurning the ground beneath him as if life and death depended on the race.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

KINDNESS TO STRANGERS IN DISTRESS--REMARKS IN REFERENCE TO EARLY RISING--DIGGINGS WAX UNPRODUCTIVE--NED TAKES A RAMBLE, AND HAS A SMALL ADVENTURE--PLANS FORMED AND PARTLY DEVELOPED--REMARKABLE HUMAN CREATURES DISCOVERED, AND STILL MORE REMARKABLE CONVERSE HELD WITH THEM.

"I'll throuble ye for two pounds of flour," cried Larry O'Neil, dashing into one of the stores, which was thronged with purchasers, whom he thrust aside rather unceremoniously.

"You'll have to take your turn, stranger, I calculate," answered the store-keeper, somewhat sharply.

"Ah thin, avic, plaze do attind to me at wance; for sure I've run four miles to git stuff for a dyin' family--won't ye now?"

The earnest manner in which Larry made this appeal was received with a laugh by the bystanders, and a recommendation to the store-keeper to give him what he wanted.

"What's the price?" inquired Larry, as the man measured it out.

"Two dollars a pound," answered the man.

"Musha! I've seed it chaiper."

"I guess so have I; but provisions are gittin' up, for nothin' has come from Sacramento for a fortnight."

"Tay an' sugar'll be as bad, no doubt!"

"Wuss, they are; for there's next to none at all, I opine, in this here location."

"Faix, I'll have a pound o' both, av they wos two dollars the half-ounce. Have ye got raisins an' sago?"

"Yes."

"Give me a pound o' that, aich."

These articles having been delivered and paid for, Larry continued--

"Ye'll have brandy, av coorse?"

"I guess I have; plenty at twenty dollars a bottle."

"Och, morther, it'll brake the bank intirely; but it's little I care. Hand me wan bottle, plaze."

The bottle of brandy was added to his store, and then the Irishman, shouldering his bundle of good things, left the shop, and directed his steps once more towards the ravine in which dwelt Kate Morgan and her brother Pat.

It was late when the Irishman returned from his mission of kindness, and he found the fire nearly out, the tent closed, and all his comrades sound asleep, so, gently lifting the curtain that covered the entrance, he crept quietly in, lay down beside Bill Jones, whose nasal organ was performing a trombone solo, and in five minutes was sound asleep.

It seemed to him as if he had barely closed his eyes, when he was roused by his comrades making preparations to resume work; nevertheless, he had rested several hours, and the grey hue of early day that streamed in through the opening of the tent warned him that he must recommence the effort to realise his golden dreams. The pursuit of gold, however engrossing it may be, does not prevent men from desiring to lie still in the morning, or abate one jot of the misery of their condition when they are rudely roused by _early_ comrades, and told that "it's time to get up." Larry O'Neil, Tom Collins, and Maxton groaned, on receiving this information from Ned, turned, and made as if they meant to go to sleep. But they meant nothing of the sort; it was merely a silent testimony to the fact of their thorough independence--an expressive way of shewing that they scorned to rise at the bidding of any man, and that they would not get up till it pleased themselves to do so. That this was the case became evident from their groaning again, two minutes afterwards, and turning round on their backs. Then they stretched themselves, and, sitting up, stared at each other like owls. A moment after, Maxton yawned vociferously, and fell back again quite flat, an act which was instantly imitated by the other two. Such is the force of bad example.

By this time the captain and Jones had left the tent, and Ned Sinton was buckling on his belt.

"Now, then, get up, and don't be lazy," cried the latter, as he stepped out, dragging all the blankets off the trio as he took his departure, an act which disclosed the fact that trousers and flannel shirts were the sleeping garments of Maxton and Tom, and that Larry had gone to bed in his boots.

The three sprang up immediately, and, after performing their toilets, sallied forth to the banks of the stream, where the whole population of the place was already hard at work.

Having worked out their claims, which proved to be pretty good, they commenced new diggings close beside the old ones, but these turned out complete failures, excepting that selected by Captain Bunting, which was as rich as the first. The gold deposits were in many places very irregular in their distribution, and it frequently happened that one man took out thirty or forty dollars a day from his claim, while another man, working within a few yards of him, was, to use a mining phrase, unable "to raise the colour;" that is, to find gold enough to repay his labour.

This uncertainty disgusted many of the impatient gold-hunters, and not a few returned home, saying that the finding of gold in California was a mere lottery, who, if they had exercised a little patience and observation, would soon have come to know the localities in which gold was most likely to be found. There is no doubt whatever, that the whole country is impregnated more or less with the precious material. The quartz veins in the mountains are full of it; and although the largest quantities are usually obtained in the beds of streams and on their banks, gold is to be found, in smaller quantities, even on the tops of the hills.

Hitherto the miners at Little Creek had found the diggings on the banks of the stream sufficiently remunerative; but the discovery of several lumps of gold in its bed, induced many of them to search for it in the shallow water, and they were successful. One old sea-captain was met by Bill Jones with a nugget the size of a goose-egg in each hand, and another man found a single lump of almost pure gold that weighed fourteen pounds. These discoveries induced Ned Sinton to think of adopting a plan which had been in his thoughts for some time past; so one day he took up his rifle, intending to wander up the valley, for the double purpose of thinking out his ideas, and seeing how the diggers higher up got on.

As he sauntered slowly along, he came to a solitary place where no miners were at work, in consequence of the rugged nature of the banks of the stream rendering the labour severe. Here, on a projecting cliff; which overhung a deep, dark pool or eddy, he observed the tall form of a naked man, whose brown skin bespoke him the native of a southern clime. While Ned looked at him, wondering what he could be about, the man suddenly bent forward, clasped his hands above his head, and dived into the pool. Ned ran to the margin immediately, and stood for nearly a minute observing the dark indistinct form of the savage as he groped along the bottom. Suddenly he rose, and made for the shore with a nugget of gold in his hand.

He seemed a little disconcerted on observing Ned, who addressed him in English, French, and Spanish, but without eliciting any reply, save a grunt. This, however, did not surprise our hero, who recognised the man to be a Sandwich Islander whom he had met before in the village, and whose powers of diving were well-known to the miners. He ascertained by signs, however, that there was much gold at the bottom of the stream, which, doubtless, the diver could not detach from the rocks during the short period of his immersion, so he hastened back to the tent, determined to promulgate his plan to his comrades. It was noon when he arrived, and the miners were straggling from all parts of the diggings to the huts, tents, and restaurants.

"Ha! Maxton, glad I've found you alone," cried Ned, seating himself on an empty box before the fire, over which the former was engaged in culinary operations. "I have been thinking over a plan for turning the course of the stream, and so getting at a portion of its bed."

"Now that's odd," observed Maxton, "I have been thinking of the very same thing all morning."

"Indeed! wits jump, they say. I fancied that I had the honour of first hitting on the plan."

"_First_ hitting on it!" rejoined Maxton, smiling. "My dear fellow, it has not only been hit upon, but hit off, many months ago, with considerable success in some parts of the diggings. The only thing that prevents it being generally practised is, that men require to work in companies, for the preliminary labour is severe, and miners seem to prefer working singly, or in twos and threes, as long as there is good `pay-dirt' on the banks."

"Well, then, the difficulty does not affect us, because we are already a pretty strong company, although our vaquero has left us, and I have seen a place this morning which, I think, will do admirably to begin upon; it is a deep pool, a few miles up the stream, under--"

"I know it," interrupted Maxton, putting a large slice of pork into the frying-pan, which hissed delightfully in the ears of hungry men. "I know the place well, but there is a much better spot not a quarter of a mile higher up, where a Chinaman, named Ah-wow, lives; it will be more suitable, you'll find, when I shew it you."

"We'll go and have a look at it after dinner," observed Ned; "meanwhile, here are our comrades, let us hear what they have to say about the proposal."

As he spoke, Collins, Jones, Larry, and the captain advanced in single file, and with disconsolate looks, that told of hard toil and little reward.

"Well, what have you got, comrades?"

"Nothin'," answered Bill Jones, drawing forth his comforter. Bill's comforter was black and short, and had a bowl, and was at all times redolent of tobacco.

"Niver a speck," cried Larry O'Neil, setting to with energy to assist in preparing dinner.

"Well, friends, I've a plan to propose to you, so let us take the edge off our appetites, and I'll explain."

Ned sat down tailor-fashion on the ground with his companions round him, and, while they devoted themselves ravenously and silently to tea, flour-cake, salt-pork, and beans, he explained to them the details of his plan, which explanation, (if it was not the dinner), had the effect of raising their spirits greatly. Instead, therefore, of repairing to their profitless claims after dinner, they went in a body up the stream to visit the Chinaman's diggings. Captain Bunting alone remained behind, as his claim was turning out a first-rate one.

"Sure, there's a human!" cried Larry, as they turned a projecting point, about an hour and a half later, and came in sight of Ah-wow's "lo-cation," as the Yankees termed it.

"It may be a human," remarked Ned, laughing, "but it's the most inhuman one I ever saw. I think yonder fellow must be performing a surgical operation on the Chinaman's head."

Ah-wow was seated on a stone in front of his own log-hut, with his arms resting on his knees, and an expression of supreme felicity on his yellow face, while a countryman, in what appeared a night-gown, and an immense straw hat, dressed his tail for him.