Digging for Gold: Adventures in California

On reaching the tavern, in front of which grew a large oak-tree—one of the limbs of which was much chafed as if by the sawing of a rope against it—the stranger, whose comrades called him Dick, stood up on a stump, and said—

“I tell you what it is, mates, I’m as sure that he did it as I am of my own existence. The man met his death at the hands of this murderer Bradling; ha! he knows his own name, you see! He is an escaped convict.”

“And what are you?” said Bradling, turning on him bitterly.

“That is no man’s business, so long as I hurt nobody,” cried Dick passionately. “I tell you,” he continued, addressing the crowd, which had quickly assembled, “I found this fellow skulking in the bush close to where the body was found, and I know he did it, because he all but murdered me not many months ago, and there,” he continued, with a look of surprise, pointing straight at our hero, “is a man who can swear to the truth of what I say!”

All eyes were at once turned on Frank, who stepped forward, and said—

“I can certainly testify to the fact that this man Bradling did attempt to shoot the man whom you call Dick, but I know nothing about the murder which seems to have been perpetrated here, and—”

“It’s a young feller as was a quiet harmless sort o’ critter,” said one of the bystanders, “who was found dead under a bush this morning with his skull smashed in; and it’s my opinion, gentlemen, that, since this stranger has sworn to the fact that Bradling tried to murder Dick, he should swing for it.”

“I protest, gentlemen,” said Frank energetically, “that I did not swear at all! I did not even say that Bradling tried to murder anybody: on the contrary, I think the way in which the man Dick handled his gun at the time when Bradling fired was very susp—”

A shout from the crowd drowned the remainder of this speech.

“String him up without more ado,” cried several voices.

Three men at once seized Bradling, and a rope was quickly flung over the bough of the oak.

“Mercy! mercy!” cried the unhappy man, “I swear that I did not murder the man. I have made my pile down at Bigbear Gully, and I’ll give it all—every cent—if you will wait to have the matter examined. Stay,” he added, seeing that they paid no heed to him, “let me speak one word, before I die, with Mr Allfrey. I want to tell him where my gold lies hid.”

“It’s a dodge,” cried one of the executioners with a sneer, “but have your say out. It’s the last you’ll have a chance to say here, so look sharp about it.”

Frank went forward to the man, who was trembling, and very pale, and begged those who held him to move off a few paces.

“Oh! Mr Allfrey,” said Bradling, “I am innocent of this; I am an escaped convict, it is true, and I did try to kill that man Dick, who has given me provocation enough, God knows, but, as He shall be my judge at last, I swear I did not commit this murder. If you will cut the cords that bind my hands, you will prevent a cold-blooded murder being committed now. You saved my life once before. Oh! save it again.”

The man said all this in a hurried whisper, but there was something so intensely earnest and truthful in his bearing that Frank, under a sudden and irresistible impulse, which he could not afterwards account for, drew his knife and cut the cords that bound him.

Instantly Bradling bounded away like a hunted deer, overturning several men in his flight, and being followed by a perfect storm of bullets from rifles and revolvers, until he had disappeared in the neighbouring wood. Then the miners turned with fury on Frank, but paused abruptly on seeing that he and Joe Graddy stood back to back, with a revolver in each hand.

Of course revolvers and rifles were instantly pointed at them, but fortunately the miners in their exasperation had discharged all their fire-arms at Bradling—not a piece remained loaded!

Several therefore commenced hurriedly to re-load, but Frank shouted, in a voice that there was no misunderstanding—

“The first who attempts to load is a dead man!”

This caused them to hesitate, for in those times men, when desperate, were wont to be more prompt to act than to threaten. Still, there were some present who would have run the risk, and it is certain that our hero and his friend would have then and there terminated their career, had not a backwoods hunter stepped forward and said:

“Well now, ye air makin’ a pretty noise ’bout nothin’! See here, I know that feller Bradling well. He didn’t kill the man. It was a Redskin as did it; I came up in time to see him do it, and killed the Redskin afore he could get away. In proof whereof here is his gun, an’ you’ll find his carcase under the bank where the murder was committed, if ye’ve a mind to look for it. But Bradling is a murderer. I knows him of old, an’ so, although he’s innocent of this partikler murder, I didn’t see no occasion to try to prevent him gittin’ his desarts. It’s another matter, hows’ever, when you’re goin’ to scrag the men as let him off. If ye’ll take the advice of an old hunter as knows a thing or two, you’ll go to work on yer claims slick off, for the rains are comin’ on, and they will pull ye up sharp, I guess. You’ll make hay while the sun shines if you’re wise.”

The opportune interference of this hunter saved Frank and Joe, who, after thanking their deliverer, were not slow to mount their mules and hasten back to Bigbear Gully, resolved more firmly than ever to wind up their affairs, and bid a final adieu to the diggings.

Chapter Nine.

Conclusion

When they arrived at Bigbear Gully they found the condition of the people most deplorable, owing to scarcity of provisions, prevailing sickness, and the total absence of physic or medical attendance. To make matters worse, there were indications that the rainy season was about to set in; an event that would certainly increase the violence of the disease which had already swept away so many of the miners, not a few of whom fell down in the holes where they were digging for gold, and thus, in digging their own graves, ended their golden dreams, with gold-dust for their winding-sheets.

In California there may be said to be only two seasons—a wet one and a dry. The wet season is from November to March, during which period foggy weather and cold south-west winds prevail. During the remaining months of the year, arid scorching north-east winds blow so frequently and so long that everything green becomes parched and shrivelled up. Of course this state of things is modified in different localities by the proximity or absence of mountains, rivers, and sandy plains, and there are various periods throughout the year during which the climate is delightful; but on the whole it is considered bad—especially during the rains, when water comes down in such continuous deluges that gold-digging and all other work is much interfered with—sometimes stopped altogether. At midday in this season there is frequently July heat, while in the morning and evening there is January cold.

Anxious to escape before the weather became worse, Frank went at once to Jeffson’s store to obtain supplies, settle up accounts, and inquire for his friend Meyer. He found Jeffson looking very ill—he having recently had a severe attack of the prevailing complaint, but “Company” had recovered completely, and was very busy with the duties of his store, which (“Company” being a warm-hearted man) included gratuitous attendance on, and sympathy with, the sick.

“It’ll ruin us intirely,” he was wont to say, “for we can’t stand by and see them die o’ sickness an’ intarvation mixed, an’ the poor critters has nothin’ wotever to pay. Hows’ever, vartue is its own reward, an’ we makes the tough miners pay handsome for their supplies, which makes up for the sick wans, an’ kapes us goin’ on hearty enough.”

“And what of Meyer?” asked Frank, somewhat anxiously.

Instead of answering, Jeffson put on his hat, and bidding him follow, went out of the store. He led him and Joe towards a large pine-tree, at the root of which there was a low mound, carefully covered with green turf. Pointing to it, the Yankee store-keeper said with some emotion—

“There he lies, poor fellow; and a better, more kind-hearted, or honester man, never drove pick and shovel into the airth.”

In compliance with the request of Frank, who was deeply moved, Jeffson told how that, after the departure of his friends, the poor German’s spirits sank; and while he was in this state, he was prevented from rallying by a severe attack of dysentery which ended in his death.

“I trust that he was not pressed by poverty at the last,” said Frank.

“He would have been,” replied the Yankee, “if he had been allowed to have ’is own way; for, being unable to work, of course he ran out o’ gold-dust, and nothing would persuade him to touch the nugget you left in my charge. I hit upon a plan, however, which answered very well. I supplied him all through his illness with everything that he required to make him as comfortable as could be, poor fellow, tellin’ him it was paid for in full by a friend of his, whose name I couldn’t and wouldn’t mention. ‘Jeffson,’ says he, startin’ up like a livin’ skeleton, and lookin’ at me so serious with his hollow eyes; ‘Jeffson, if it bees you dat give me de tings, I vill not have dem. I vill die first. You is poor, an’ ve cannot expect you keep all de dyin’ miners vor noting.’

“‘Well,’ says I, ‘I won’t go for to say I’m over rich, for times air raither hard just now; but it ain’t me as is the friend. I assure you I’m paid for it in full, so you make your mind easy.’

“With that he lay down an’ gave a long sigh. He was exhausted, and seemed to have dismissed the subject from his mind, for he never spoke of it again.”

“I rather suspect,” said Frank, “that you did not tell him the exact truth.”

“I guess I did,” replied the Yankee.

“Who, then, was the friend?”

“Yourself,” said Jeffson, with a peculiar smile. “I intend to keep payment of it all off your nugget, for you see it is a fact that we ain’t in very flourishing circumstances at present; and I knew you would thank me for not deserting your friend in his distress.”

“You did quite right,” said Frank earnestly; “and I thank you with all my heart for your kindness to poor Meyer, as well as your correct estimate of me.”

Frank did not forget that his own resources were at a low ebb just then, and that he had been counting on the nugget for the payment of his expenses to the coast, and his passage to England, but he made no mention of the fact. His comrade, Joe Graddy, however, could not so easily swallow his disappointment in silence.

“Well,” said he, turning his quid from one cheek to the other—for Joe was guilty of the bad habit of chewing tobacco,—“well, it’s not for the likes o’ me to put my opinion contrairy to yourn, an’ in coorse it’s all very right that our poor messmate should have been looked arter, an I’m very glad he wos. Notwithstandin’, I’m bound for to say it is raither okard as it stands, for we’re pretty nigh cleaned out, an’ have got to make for the coast in the rainy season, w’ich, it appears to me, is very like settin’ sail in a heavy gale without ballast.”

“Come, Joe,” interposed Frank, “we’re not quite so hard up as that comes to. There is a little ballast left,—sufficient, if we only turn to, and wash out a little more gold, to take us home.”

“Sorry to hear you’re in such a fix,” said Jeffson, still regarding his friends with a peculiar smile on his cadaverous countenance; “but I think I can get ye out of it. See here,” he added, leading them to another grave not far distant from that of Meyer; “can you guess who lies under the sod there? He was a friend of yours; though perhaps you would scarcely have acknowledged him had he been alive. You remember Bradling—”

“What! our old travelling companion!” exclaimed Frank.

“The same.”

“Why, I saved his life only a few days ago.”

“I know it,” said Jeffson, “He came here late one night, all covered with blood; and, flinging himself down on a bench in my store, said that he was done for. And so he was, I guess,—all riddled with bullets, none of which, however, had given him a mortal wound; but he had lost so much blood by the way that he had no chance of recovering. I did my best for him, poor fellow, but he sank rapidly. Before he died he told me how you had saved him from being scragged, and said that he wanted to make you his heir.”

“Poor fellow,” said Frank with a sad smile, “it was a kind expression of gratitude that I did not expect of him, considering his reputation.”

“I s’pose,” said Joe Graddy, with a sarcastic laugh, “that you’ll be goin’ to set up your carriage an’ four, an’ make me your coachman, mayhap?”

“I think I may promise that with safety,” replied Frank.

“Indeed you may,” said Jeffson, “for Bradling has been one of the most successful diggers in Bigbear Gully since you left it, and has made his fortune twice over. The value of gold-dust and nuggets left by him in my charge for you is about ninety-six thousand dollars, which, I believe, is nigh twenty thousands pounds sterling of your money.”

“Gammon!” exclaimed Joe.

“You are jesting,” said Frank.

“That I am not, as you shall see, if you will come with me to the store. When he felt sure that he was dying, Bradling asked me to call together a few of the honest and trustworthy men in the diggings. I did so, and he told us the amount of his gatherings, and, after explaining how you had helped him in his hour of need, said that he took us all solemnly to witness that he left you his heir. He got one of the miners to write out a will for him and signed it, after which he directed us to a tree, under which, he said, his gold was hid. We thought at first that he was raving, but after he was dead we went to the tree, and there, sure enough, we found the gold, just as he had described it, and, on weighing it, found that it amounted to the sum I have named—so, Mr Allfrey, I guess that I may congratulate you on your good fortune. But come, I will show you the will and the witnesses.”

Saying this he led them into the store, where he showed the will to Frank and Joe, who were at first sceptical, and afterwards began to doubt the evidence of their senses. But when the witnesses were called, and had confirmed Jeffson’s statements, and, above all, when the bags of gold-dust and nuggets were handed over to him, Frank could no longer question the amazing fact that he had suddenly come into possession of a comfortable fortune!

Need we say, reader, that he insisted on sharing it with Joe Graddy, without whose prompt and vigorous aid the rescue of Bradling could not have been effected? and need we add that the two friends found their way to the sea-coast as quickly as possible, and set sail for England without delay? We think not. But it may be as well to state that, on his arrival in England, Frank found his old uncle in a very sour condition of mind indeed, having become more bilious and irascible than ever over his cash-books and ledgers,—his own special diggings—without having added materially to his gold.

When Frank made his appearance, the old gentleman was very angry, supposing that he had returned to be a burden and a bore to him, but, on learning the true state of the case, his feelings towards his successful nephew were wonderfully modified and mollified!

It was very difficult at first to convince him of the truth of Frank’s good fortune, and he required the most incontestable proofs thereof before he would believe. At length, however, he was convinced, and condescended to offer his nephew his hearty congratulations.

“Now, uncle,” said Frank, “I shall build a house somewhere hereabouts, and live beside you.”

“You could not do better,” said the old gentleman, who became suddenly and wonderfully amiable!

“And I don’t intend to bother myself with business, uncle.”

“Quite right, my boy; you have no occasion to do so.”

“But I intend to devote much of my time to painting.”

“A most interesting occupation,” said the tractable old gentleman.

“And a good deal of it, also,” continued Frank, “to the consideration of the cases of persons in sickness and poverty.”

“H’m! a most laudable purpose, though it has always appeared to me that this is a duty which devolves upon the guardians of the poor. Nevertheless the intention is creditable to you; but I am surprised to hear you, who are so young, and can have seen so little of poverty or sickness, talk of giving much of your time to such work.”

“You are wrong, uncle, in supposing that I have seen little. During my wanderings in foreign lands I have seen much, very much, of poverty and sickness, and have felt something of both, as my friend Joe Graddy can testify.”

Joe, who was sitting by, and had been listening to the conversation with much interest, bore testimony forthwith, by stoutly asserting that “that was a fact,” and slapping his thigh with great vehemence, by way of giving emphasis to the assertion.

“The fact is, sir,” continued Joe, kindling with enthusiasm, “that your nephy has gone through a deal o’ rough work since he left home, an’ I’m free for to say has learned, with myself, a lot o’ walooable lessons. He has made his fortin at the gold-mines, kooriously enough, without diggin’ for it, an’ has come for to know that it’s sometimes possible to pay too high a price for that same metal, as is proved by many an’ many a lonely grave in the wilds of Californy. Your nephy an’ me, sir, has comed to the conclusion that distributin’ gold is better than diggin’ for it, so we intends to set up in that line, an’ hopes that your honour will go into pardnership along with us.”

Mr Allfrey, senior, received Joe’s invitation with a benignant and patronising smile, but he did not accept it, neither did he give him any encouragement to suppose that he sympathised with his views on that subject. There is reason to believe, however, that his opinions on this head were somewhat modified in after years. If report speaks truly, he came to admit the force of that text in Scripture which says, that as it is certain man brings nothing into the world, so he takes nothing out of it, and that therefore it was the wisest policy to do as much good with his gold as he could while he possessed it.

Acting on these convictions, it is said, he joined the firm of Allfrey and Graddy, and, making over his cash-books and ledgers to the “rising generation,” fairly and finally, like his new partners, renounced his ancient habit of digging for gold.

The End