Читать книгу: «The Comstock Club», страница 15

"I stuck to Jacket until I had not a ghoust of a jacket to me back."

"I made love to Julia. She was more ungrateful than Maggie Murphy."

But between these same pages was found the letter Corrigan had received announcing his mother's death, and this was almost illegible because of the tear stains upon it.

In Brewster's trunk everything was found in the perfect order which had marked all his ways.

A book showed every dollar that he had received since coming to the Comstock; his monthly expenses, the sums he had sent his sister for his children, and his bank book showed exactly how much was to his credit.

Another paper was found giving directions that if anything fatal should happen to him, his body should be returned to Taunton, Massachusetts, and if anything should be left above the necessary expenses of forwarding his body, the amount should be sent to his sister, Mrs. Martha Wolcott, of Taunton, for his children. The paper also contained an order on his banker for whatever money might be to his credit, and a statement that he owed no debts. There were also sealed letters directed to each of his children. Another large package was tied up carefully and endorsed, "My children's letters. Please return them to Taunton without breaking the package."

The bank book showed that there was eleven hundred and sixty-three dollars to his credit.

Brewster was a man that even death could not surprise. He was always ready.

When the examination was completed, Carlin suggested to Ashley that he take the book, call at the bank, see if the amount was correct and if the bank would pay it on the order found in the book.

Ashley hesitated. "There is something else, Carlin, that should be done, but I do not know how to go about it. That sister should be advised of her brother's death, that she may communicate the news to Brewster's children."

"I have been thinking of that ever since yesterday," said Carlin, "but I can not do it."

"I have been thinking of it, too," said Harding, "but by evening we can determine when the body will be sent and can include everything in one dispatch."

Ashley went away, leaving Carlin and Harding together.

"I am not sure," said Harding, "but I begin to believe that the man who invented dealing in stocks was an enemy to his race. Look at the result of Corrigan's life; think what poor Wright had to show for all his years of toil. They could not have fared much worse had they dealt in poker or faro straight."

"And they are only two," responded Carlin. "There are three thousand more miners like them here and a hundred times three thousand other people scattered up and down this coast, trying to get rich in the same way, while here and in San Francisco a dozen men sit behind their counters and draw in the earnings of the coast. It is worse than folly, Harding. It is a kind of lunacy, a sort of an every day financial hari-kari."

By this time it was past eleven o'clock in the forenoon. Suddenly, without a preliminary knock, the door opened and Miller stood before the two men. They sprang to their feet and welcomed him, the tears starting to all their eyes as they shook hands.

"Oh, Miller!" said Harding, "why did you go away? We have had only trouble and sorrow since."

"It was not fair of you, Miller," said Carlin, "You held our friendship at a miserably low price."

"You are awfully good," said Miller; "but you are looking from your standpoint. I looked from mine, and I could not do differently. But tell me about this dreadful business. I saw about Wright, and read the account of this fearful accident of yesterday as I was coming up in the train, but still, there must have been some blundering somewhere."

Everything was explained, and also what had been discovered of the effects of the dead miners.

"Poor grand souls," said Miller. "It was a tough ending. Never before did three such royal hearts stop beating in a single fortnight on the Comstock."

Ashley returned, and, with words full of affectionate reproach, greeted Miller.

Ashley had found everything at the bank as the book indicated, and the undertaker had promised that Brewster's remains should be ready for shipment on the evening of the next day.

Then the question of the dispatch to the family came up again.

"Before deciding upon that," said Miller, "let me tell you something:

"When I took the money to pay the bills, I had, with a little of my own, something over seven hundred dollars. I bought on a margin of only twenty-five per cent. – the broker was my friend – all the Silver Hill that the money would purchase. I thought I had a sure thing. My informant was a Silver Hill miner. I believed I could multiply the money by three within as many days. In five days it fell thirty per cent. What could I do? A note from the broker asking me to call, received the evening before I went away, decided me. I went away, but when I saw by dispatches that Wright had been killed, and I could get nothing to do, I determined to come back.

"Well, I met my broker this morning. He asked me to call at his place. There he informed me that the day he purchased Silver Hill he met the superintendent and learned from him that there was not yet a development; that the stock was more liable to fall than to rise for two or three weeks to come, the rage being just then for north end stocks. He could not find me, and accordingly, on his own responsibility, he sold the stock, losing nothing but commissions and cost of dispatches.

"There was a little lull in Sierra Nevada that day, and, believing it was good, he bought with my money and on my account. As it shot up he kept buying. At last, a week ago, he had two thousand shares and sold five hundred, and by the sale paid himself all up except $21,000.

"Hearing day before yesterday that I had left the city, he sold the other fifteen hundred shares at $157. This morning he handed me a certificate of deposit in my favor for $213,000, and here it is."

Most heartily did the others congratulate Miller on his good fortune.

But Miller said: "Congratulate yourselves! I used the money of the Club. The profit I always intended should be the Club's. Wright and Corrigan and Brewster are gone, but you are left and Brewster's children are left. If I am correct, $213,000 divided by five, makes exactly $42,600. That is, you each have $42,600 on deposit in the bank, and a like sum is there for two fatherless and motherless children in Massachusetts."

It was useless to try to reason the matter with Miller. He merely said: "It shall be my way. It was a square deal. I meant it so from the first; only," he added, sadly, "I wish Wright and Corrigan and Brewster could have lived to know it." Then turning quickly to Harding, he said: "Harding, how much is that indebtedness which has worried you so long?"

Harding replied that the mortgage was $8,000, while the personal debts amounted to $3,000 more.

"Then," said Miller, "you can pay the debts and have nearly $30,000 more with which to build your house and barns, to stock and fix your place for a home."

The tears came to Harding's eyes, but he could not answer.

"Never mind, old boy," said Miller; "did I not tell you I would make things all right for you?"

Then Carlin got up, went into the adjoining room, brought out the watch which had been Wright's and told Miller how Wright, under the shadow of death, had bequeathed the watch to him.

For the first time Miller broke down and burst into tears.

When he recovered somewhat the command of himself, he said:

"Now, I have a proposition to make. Let us all give up this mining. It is a hard life, and generally ends either in poverty or in a fatal accident. I am going to San Francisco. The place to make money is where there is money, and I am going to try my skill at the other end of the line."

"You are right," said Carlin. "I am never going down into the Comstock again. I made up my mind to that yesterday. I am going back to Illinois."

"And I am going to Pennsylvania," said Ashley.

"I gave up mining yesterday, also," said Harding; "at least on the Comstock. I do not mind the labor or the danger, but it is not a life that fits a man for a contented old age."

Suddenly Miller said: "Harding, were you ever in the Eastern States?"

"No," said Harding; "the present boundary of my life is limited to California and Nevada."

"Well," said Miller, "if we all give ourselves credit for all the good we ever dreamed of doing, still neither of us, indeed, all of us together, are not worthy to be named on the same day with James Brewster. His body must go East, and on its arrival there only an aged woman and two little orphan children await to receive it. I think it would be shabby to send the dust of the great-hearted and great-souled man there unattended. What say you, Ashley and Harding, will you not escort the body to its old home?"

Both at once assented. A dispatch was prepared announcing Brewster's death, and adding that his body would be shipped the next evening escorted by two brother miners, Herbert Ashley and Samuel Harding. This was signed by the superintendent of the Bullion company.

The superintendent also made a written statement that he had examined the effects of Brewster and found that, less the expenses of embalming, transportation, etc., together with $80 due Brewster from the Bullion company, there was left the sum of $840.25. With this statement a bill of exchange on Boston for the $840.25 was enclosed, and Ashley took charge of it.

The bills were all paid. The money due Brewster's orphans, according to Miller's calculation, was also converted into a bill of exchange payable to Mabel and Mildred Brewster. Ashley and Harding took charge of the first and left the second of exchange to be forwarded by Colonel Savage, and before night all preparations for leaving the next day were made.

The next morning Corrigan's funeral took place with all the ostentatious parade which Virginia City was famous for in the flush times when some one who had been a favorite had passed away. At the hall of the Miners' Union Colonel Savage delivered a eulogy which was infinitely more beautiful than some of the orations which have been treasured among the gems of the century.

He was followed by Strong in a eulogy that touched every heart. Here is a sample:

"Gentle and unpretentious was Barney Corrigan. There was no disguise in his nature. Could his heart have been worn outside his breast, and could it, every moment, have thrown off pictures of the emotions that warmed it, to those who knew him well, those pictures would have thrown no new light on his nature.

"Generous and true was he; true as a man, a friend a citizen. His walk through life was an humble one, but it was, nevertheless, grand. So brave was he that he performed heroic acts as a matter of course, and all unconscious that he was a hero.

"So he toiled on, his path lighted by his own genial eyes, and strewn behind him with generous deeds.

"When death came to him the blessed anæsthetic which made him indifferent to his sufferings was the thought that in a little while he would rescue a friend in peril, or feel the grasp of the spirit hand of his mother.

"Noble was his life; consecrated will be the ground that receives his mortal part. The world was better that he lived; it is sadder that he has died.

"With tears we part with him; our souls send tender 'all hails and farewells' out to his soul that has fled, and we pray that his sleep may be sweet."

The Colonel, Professor and Alex, with Miller, Carlin, Ashley and Harding, rode in the mourning carriages. These were followed by a long line of carriages and quite one thousand miners on foot. At the grave the services were simply a prayer and a hymn sung by the Cornish quartette. They made his grave close beside that of Wright's; they ordered a duplicate stone to be placed above it, and left him to his long sleep.

Yap Sing was paid off and a handsome present made him, the furniture and food in the Club house was distributed among poor families in the neighborhood, and on the evening train the four living men, with the body of their dead friend, moved out of Virginia City.

A great crowd was at the depot to see them off, and the last hands wrung were those of the Professor, the Colonel and Alex.

On the way to Reno, Carlin said to Miller: "One thing I cannot understand, Miller; whatever possessed that broker to turn over that money to you when he was not compelled to?"

"I have no idea in the world," said Miller, "except that we are old friends."

"But did you never do him any great favor, Miller – any particularly great favor?" asked Carlin.

"No," said Miller, "I cannot think of any." But after a moment's silence he added: "By the way, come to think of it, I did do him a little favor once. I saved his life."

"How was it?" asked Carlin. "Why," answered Miller, "he and myself had a running fight with a band of renegade Indians. There were seven or eight of them at first, and we got them reduced to four, when one of them killed the broker's horse. It was a very close game then. It required the promptest kind of work. When the horse fell the broker was thrown violently on his shoulder and the side of his head and was too stunned to gather his wits together for a few minutes. I had a gentle horse, so sprang down from him and let him go. I got behind a low rock and succeeded in stopping two of the Indians, when the others concluded it was no even thing and took the back track. But the broker was "powerful" nervous when I got up to him. The worst of all was, I had to ride and tie with him for seventeen miles, and he was so badly demoralized that I had to do all the walking."

At Reno Miller bade the others good-bye and took the west-bound train. Carlin sent a dispatch to an Illinois town. Late in the night the east-bound Overland express came in; the body of Brewster was put on board, the three friends entered a sleeper and the long ride began.

CHAPTER XIX

Following a long established habit our three travelers were up next morning shortly after dawn.

The train was then thundering over the desert northeast of Wadsworth. Carlin noticed the country and said:

"This must be almost on the spot where poor Wright saw his wonderful mirage."

As he spoke the bending rays of the rising sun swept along the sterile earth, and a shimmer in the air close to the ground revealed how swiftly the heat waves were advancing.

"It is as Wright said; the desert grows warm at once, so soon as the morning sun strikes it," said Harding. "Heavens, how awful a desolation. It is as though the face-cloth had been lifted from a dead world."

"Do you remember what Wright told us, about the appalling stillness of this region?" asked Ashley. "One can realize a little of it by looking out. Were the train not here what would there be for sound to act upon?"

"Is it not pitiful," said Harding, "to think of a grand life like Wright's being worn out as his was? He met the terrors here when but a boy. From that time on there was but blow after blow of this merciless world's buffetings until the struggle closed in a violent and untimely death."

"You forget," said Ashley, "that a self-contained soul and royal heart like his, are their own comforters. He had joys that the selfish men of this world never know."

All that day the conversation was only awakened at intervals and then was not long continued. Not only the sorrow in their hearts was claiming their thoughts and imposing the silence which real sorrow covets; but the swift changes wrought in the week just passed, had really resulted in an entire revolution in all their thoughts and plans.

It was to them an epoch. The breakfast station came, later the dinner, later the supper station. All the day the train swept on up the Humboldt valley. Along the river bottom were meadows, but about the only change in the monotonous scenery, was from desert plains to desert mountains and back again to the plains.

Night came down in Eastern Nevada. When they awoke next morning the train was skirting the northwest shore of Great Salt Lake and the rising sun was painting the splendors that, with lavish extravagance, the dawn always pictures there on clear days, and no spot has more clear days during the year.

Ogden was reached at nine o'clock in the morning, the transfer to the Union Pacific train was made; breakfast eaten, and toward noon, the beauties of Echo Canyon began to unfold. Green River was crossed in the gloaming; in the morning Laramie was passed, at noon Cheyenne, and the train was now on a down grade toward the East. With the next morning men were seen gathering their crops; the desert had been left behind and the travelers were now entering the granary of the Republic.

Late that night the train entered Omaha. The usual delay was made; the transfers effected and early next morning the journey across Iowa, so wonderful to one who has been long in the desert, began. Ashley darted from side to side of the coach that he might not lose one bit of the view; but Harding sat still, by the window, hardly moving, but straining his eyes over the low waves of green, which, in the stillness of the summer day, seemed like a sea transfixed.

Carlin was strangely restless. He did not seem to heed the scenery around him. He studied his guidebook and every quarter of an hour looked at his watch. When spoken to, he answered in an absent-minded way; it was plain that he was absorbed by some overmastering thought.

Noon came at length, then one o'clock, then two; the train gave a long whistle, slackened speed, and in a moment was brought to a standstill in front of a station.

With the first signal Carlin had sprang from his seat and walked rapidly toward the end of the car.

"What can the matter be with Carlin?" asked Harding. "He has been half wild all day and altogether different from his usual self."

"He will be home sometime to-night," replied Ashley. "He has been absent a long time, and I do not wonder at his unrest. I expect to have my attack next week when the southern hills of Pennsylvania lift up their crests, and the old familiar haunts begin to take form."

"Look! Look!" said Harding. "Carlin's unrest is taking a delicious form, truly."

Two ladies were standing on the platform. Carlin had leaped from the train while yet it was moving quite rapidly. He bent and kissed the first lady, but the second one he caught in his arms, held her in a long embrace and kissed her over and over again.

"He has struck a bonanza," said Ashley.

"And the formation is kindly," said Harding.

"The indications are splendid," said Ashley. "Mark the trend of the vein; it is exquisite."

"It does not seem to be rebellious or obstinate ore to manipulate either. Carlin's process seems to work like a fire assay," said Harding.

"Just by the surface showing the claim is worth a thousand dollars a share," said Ashley. "I wonder if Carlin has secured a patent yet?"

"And I wonder," said Harding, "if we are not a pair of blackguards to be talking this way. Let us go and meet them."

The friends arose and started for the platform, but were met half way by Carlin and the ladies. There were formal introductions to Mrs. and Miss Richards. Under the blushes of the young lady could be traced the lineaments of the "Susie Dick" that Carlin had shown to the Club in the photograph.

Crimson, but still smiling, the young lady said: "Gentlemen, did you see Mr. Carlin at the station, before a whole depot of giggling ninnies, too? Was ever anything half so ridiculous?" Then glancing up at Carlin with a forgiving look, but still in a delicious scolding tone, she added: "I really had hoped that the West had partly civilized him."

Harding and Ashley glanced at each other with a look which said plainly enough, "Carlin has proved up without any contest; even if the patent is not already issued, his title is secure."

The friends had the drawing room and a section outside. With a quick instinct Ashley seated the elder lady in the section, bade Harding entertain her, then swinging back the drawing room door, said: "Miss Richards, I know that you want to scold Carlin for the next hour, and he deserves it. Right in here is the best place on the car for the purpose. Please walk in." Saying which he stepped back and seated himself beside Harding.

The elder lady was a charming traveling companion. She wanted to know all about the West. She knew all about the region they were passing through, and the whole afternoon ride was a delight.

During the journey Harding and Ashley had been begging Carlin to accompany them to Massachusetts, and he had finally promised to give them a positive answer that day. After a while he emerged from the drawing room and said: "I am sorry, but I cannot go East with you. These ladies have been good enough to come out and meet me. We will all go on as far as Chicago and see you off, but we cannot very well extend the journey further. Indeed, Miss Susie intimates that I am too awkward a man to be safe east of Chicago."

The others saw how it was and did not further importune him. Next day they separated, Carlin's last words being, "If you ever come within five hundred miles of Peoria stop and stay a month."

The grand city was passed. The train swung around the end of Lake Michigan, leaving the magical city in its wake. Through the beautiful region of Southern Michigan it hurried on. Detroit was reached and passed; the arm of the Dominion was crossed, and finally, when in the early morning the train stopped, the boom of Niagara filled the air, and the enchantment of the picture which the river and the sunlight suspend there before mortals, was in full view. Next the valley of the Genesee was unfolded, and with each increasing mile more and more distinct grew the clamors of toiling millions, jubilant with life and measureless in energy. Swifter and more frequent was the rush of the chariots on which modern commerce is borne, and all the time to the eyes of the men of the desert the lovely homes which fill that region flitted by like the castles of dreamland.

Later in the day the panorama of the Mohawk Valley began to unroll and was drawn out in picture after picture of rare loveliness.

Ashley and Harding were enchanted. It was as though they had emerged into a new world.

"Think of it, Ashley," said Harding. "It is but eight days – at this very hour – since we were having that wrestle with death in the depths of the Bullion mine. Think of that and then look around upon these serene homes and the lavish loveliness of this scenery."

"I know now how Moses felt, when from the crest of Pisgah he looked down to where the Promised Land was outstretched before him," was the reply. "I feel as I fancy a soul must feel, when at last it realizes there is a second birth."

Said Harding: "I dread more and more to meet these people where we are going. How uncouth we will seem to them and to ourselves."

"Our errand will plead our excuses," said Ashley; "besides they will be too much absorbed with something else to pay much attention to us. Moreover they will know that our lives of late have been passed mostly under ground, and they will not expect us to reflect much light."

"What are your plans, Ashley, for the near future, after this business which we have in hand shall be over?" asked Harding.

"A home in old Pennsylvania is to be purchased," said Ashley, "and then a trial with my fellow men for a fortune and for such honors as may be fairly won. And you Harding, what have you marked out?"

Said Harding: "My father's estate is to be redeemed; after that, whatever a strong right arm backing an honest purpose, can win. But one thing we must not forget. We must be the semi-guardians of those children of Brewster, until they shall pass beyond our care."

"You are very right, my boy," said Ashley. "Brewster was altogether grand and his children must ever be our concernment."

In the early night the Hudson was crossed and the train plunged on through the hills beyond. At Walpole early next morning the train was boarded by three gentlemen who searched out Harding and Ashley and introduced themselves as old friends of Brewster and his family. They had come out to escort the body of Brewster to Taunton, now only a few miles off. The names of these men were respectively Hartwell, Hill and Burroughs.

Hartwell explained that the remains would be taken to an undertaker, and examined to see if it would be possible for the children and Mrs. Wolcott, the sister of Brewster, to look upon their father's and brother's face. He also said the funeral would be on the succeeding day. Then the particulars of the accident were asked.

A full and graphic account of the whole affair had been published in the Virginia City papers.

Copies of these were produced and handed over as giving a full idea of the calamity.

The statement made by the superintendent of the Bullion including the smaller certificate of deposit, also the other effects of Brewster, all but the money obtained from Miller, were transferred to Mr. Hartwell.

On reaching Taunton a great number of sympathizing friends were in waiting, for Brewster had lived there all his life until he went West three years before, and he was much esteemed. The manner of his death added to the general sympathy.

A hearse in waiting, at once took the body away. The young men were taken to his home by Mr. Hartwell. They begged to be permitted to go to a hotel, but the request would not be listened to.

On examination it was found that the work of the embalmer had been most thorough. The face of Brewster was quite natural and placid, as though in sleep.

Breakfast was in waiting for the young men, and when it was disposed of they were shown again to the parlors and introduced to a score of people who had gathered in to hear the story of Brewster's death from the lips of the men who had taken his body from the deep pit and brought it home for burial.

In the conversation which followed two or three hours were consumed.

When the callers had gone, Hartwell said:

"Gentlemen, I advise you to go to your rooms and try and get some rest. In two or three hours I shall want you to go and make a call with me, if the poor family of my friend can bear it."

Late that afternoon Hartwell knocked on the door of the sitting room, which, with sleeping apartments on either side, had been given Harding and Ashley, and when the door was opened, he said:

"Gentlemen, please come with me, the children of James Brewster desire to see you!"

The young men arose and followed their host. Brewster had always referred to his daughters as his "little girls;" the man who had the young men to go and meet them, spoke of them as "the children of James Brewster." Both Harding and Ashley, as they followed Hartwell, were mentally framing words of comfort to speak to school misses just entering their teens, who were in sorrow.

When then, they were ushered into the presence of two thoroughly accomplished young women, and when these ladies, with tears streaming down their faces, came forward, shook their hands, and, in broken words of warmest gratitude, thanked them for all they had done and were doing, and for all they had been to their father in life and in death, the men from the desert were lost in surprise and astonishment.

As Harding said later: "I felt as though I was in a drift on the 2,800-foot level, into which no air pipe had been carried."

This apparition was all the more startling to them, because during the two or three years that they had been at work on the Comstock, the very nature of their occupation forbade their mingling in the society of refined women to any but a most limited extent.

From the papers given the family by Hartwell that day, matters were fully understood by the sister of Brewster and the young ladies, so no explanations were asked. At first the conversation was little more than warm thanks on the part of the young ladies and modest and half incoherent replies.

The ladies were in the humble home of their father's widowed sister, Mrs. Wolcott. That they were all poor was apparent from all the surroundings. This fact at length forced its way through the bewildered brain of Harding and furnished him a happy expedient to say something without advertising himself the idiot that he, in that hour, would have been willing to make an affidavit that he was. Said he:

"Ladies, amid all the sorrows that we bring to you, we have, what but for your grief would be good news. Tell them, Ashley!"

"Oh, yes," said Ashley, "we have something which is yours, and which, while no balm for sorrow like yours, will, we sincerely hope, be the means of driving some cares from your lives."

Taking a memorandum from his pocket, he continued:

"Your father left more property than he himself knew of. How it was Harding and myself will explain at some other time, if you desire. At present it is only necessary to say that the amount is forty-two thousand and six hundred dollars, for which we have brought you a bill of exchange." With that he extended the paper to Miss Brewster. Then these brave girls began to tremble and quake indeed. "It can not be," said Mabel. "There must be some mistake," said Mildred.

"Indeed, there is no mistake," said Harding. "See, it is a banker's order on a Boston bank, and is payable to your joint order. No one can draw it until you have both endorsed it, for it is yours."

Then these girls fell into each others arms and sobbed afresh.

As soon as they could the miners retired.

Mabel Brewster was tall, of slender form and severely classic face. She had blue eyes, inherited from her mother, and that shade of hair which is dusky in a faint light, but which turns to gold in sunlight. Her complexion was very fair, her hands and arms were exquisite and her manners most winsome.

Mildred, her sister, was of quite another type. A year and a half younger than Mabel, she looked older than her sister. She had her father's black eyes, and like him, a prominent nose and resolute mouth. She was lower of statue and fuller of form than her sister. She had also a larger hand and stronger arm. Over all was poised a superb head, crowned with masses of tawny hair.