Roughing It
go well. He would be smiling along pleasantly enough, when a sudden
spasm of his disease would take him and he would go out of his smile
into a perfect fury. He would groan and wail and howl with the anguish,
and fill up the odd chinks with the most elaborate profanity that strong
convictions and a fine fancy could contrive. With fair opportunity he
could swear very well and handle his adjectives with considerable
judgment; but when the spasm was on him it was painful to listen to him,
he was so awkward. However, I had seen him nurse a sick man himself and
put up patiently with the inconveniences of the situation, and
consequently I was willing that he should have full license now that his
own turn had come. He could not disturb me, with all his raving and
ranting, for my mind had work on hand, and it labored on diligently,
night and day, whether my hands were idle or employed. I was altering
and amending the plans for my house, and thinking over the propriety of
having the billard-room in the attic, instead of on the same floor with
the dining-room; also, I was trying to decide between green and blue for
the upholstery of the drawing-room, for, although my preference was blue
I feared it was a color that would be too easily damaged by dust and
sunlight; likewise while I was content to put the coachman in a modest
livery, I was uncertain about a footman—I needed one, and was even
resolved to have one, but wished he could properly appear and perform
his functions out of livery, for I somewhat dreaded so much show; and
yet, inasmuch as my late grandfather had had a coachman and such things,
but no liveries, I felt rather drawn to beat him;—or beat his ghost, at
any rate; I was also systematizing the European trip, and managed to get
it all laid out, as to route and length of time to be devoted to
it—everything, with one exception—namely, whether to cross the desert
from Cairo to Jerusalem per camel, or go by sea to Beirut, and thence
down through the country per caravan. Meantime I was writing to the
friends at home every day, instructing them concerning all my plans and
intentions, and directing them to look up a handsome homestead for my
mother and agree upon a price for it against my coming, and also
directing them to sell my share of the Tennessee land and tender the
proceeds to the widows’ and orphans’ fund of the typographical union of
which I had long been a member in good standing. [This Tennessee land
had been in the possession of the family many years, and promised to
confer high fortune upon us some day; it still promises it, but in a
less violent way.]
287.jpg (69K)
When I had been nursing the Captain nine days he was somewhat better,
but very feeble. During the afternoon we lifted him into a chair and
gave him an alcoholic vapor bath, and then set about putting him on the
bed again. We had to be exceedingly careful, for the least jar produced
pain. Gardiner had his shoulders and I his legs; in an unfortunate
moment I stumbled and the patient fell heavily on the bed in an agony of
torture. I never heard a man swear so in my life. He raved like a
maniac, and tried to snatch a revolver from the table—but I got it. He
ordered me out of the house, and swore a world of oaths that he would
kill me wherever he caught me when he got on his feet again. It was
simply a passing fury, and meant nothing. I knew he would forget it in
an hour, and maybe be sorry for it, too; but it angered me a little, at
the moment. So much so, indeed, that I determined to go back to
Esmeralda. I thought he was able to get along alone, now, since he was
on the war path. I took supper, and as soon as the moon rose, began my
nine-mile journey, on foot.
Even millionaires needed no horses, in those days, for a mere nine-mile
jaunt without baggage.
As I “raised the hill” overlooking the town, it lacked fifteen minutes
of twelve. I glanced at the hill over beyond the canyon, and in the
bright moonlight saw what appeared to be about half the population of
the village massed on and around the Wide West croppings. My heart gave
an exulting bound, and I said to myself, “They have made a new strike
to-night—and struck it richer than ever, no doubt.” I started over
there, but gave it up. I said the “strick” would keep, and I had climbed
hill enough for one night. I went on down through the town, and as I was
passing a little German bakery, a woman ran out and begged me to come in
and help her. She said her husband had a fit. I went in, and judged she
was right—he appeared to have a hundred of them, compressed into one.
Two Germans were there, trying to hold him, and not making much of a
success of it. I ran up the street half a block or so and routed out a
sleeping doctor, brought him down half dressed, and we four wrestled
with the maniac, and doctored, drenched and bled him, for more than an
hour, and the poor German woman did the crying. He grew quiet, now, and
the doctor and I withdrew and left him to his friends.
It was a little after one o’clock. As I entered the cabin door, tired
but jolly, the dingy light of a tallow candle revealed Higbie, sitting
by the pine table gazing stupidly at my note, which he held in his
fingers, and looking pale, old, and haggard. I halted, and looked at
him. He looked at me, stolidly. I said:
“Higbie, what—what is it?”
“We’re ruined—we didn’t do the work—THE BLIND LEAD’S RELOCATED!”
288.jpg (57K)
It was enough. I sat down sick, grieved—broken-hearted, indeed. A minute
before, I was rich and brimful of vanity; I was a pauper now, and very
meek. We sat still an hour, busy with thought, busy with vain and
useless self-upbraidings, busy with “Why _didn’t_ I do this, and why
_didn’t_ I do that,” but neither spoke a word. Then we dropped into
mutual explanations, and the mystery was cleared away. It came out that
Higbie had depended on me, as I had on him, and as both of us had on the
foreman. The folly of it! It was the first time that ever staid and
steadfast Higbie had left an important matter to chance or failed to be
true to his full share of a responsibility.
But he had never seen my note till this moment, and this moment was the
first time he had been in the cabin since the day he had seen me last.
He, also, had left a note for me, on that same fatal afternoon—had
ridden up on horseback, and looked through the window, and being in a
hurry and not seeing me, had tossed the note into the cabin through a
broken pane. Here it was, on the floor, where it had remained
undisturbed for nine days:
“Don’t fail to do the work before the ten days expire. W. has passed
through and given me notice. I am to join him at Mono Lake, and we shall
go on from there to-night. He says he will find it this time, sure.
CAL.”
“W.” meant Whiteman, of course. That thrice accursed “cement!”
That was the way of it. An old miner, like Higbie, could no more
withstand the fascination of a mysterious mining excitement like this
“cement” foolishness, than he could refrain from eating when he was
famishing. Higbie had been dreaming about the marvelous cement for
months; and now, against his better judgment, he had gone off and “taken
the chances” on my keeping secure a mine worth a million undiscovered
cement veins. They had not been followed this time. His riding out of
town in broad daylight was such a common-place thing to do that it had
not attracted any attention. He said they prosecuted their search in the
fastnesses of the mountains during nine days, without success; they
could not find the cement. Then a ghastly fear came over him that
something might have happened to prevent the doing of the necessary work
to hold the blind lead (though indeed he thought such a thing hardly
possible), and forthwith he started home with all speed. He would have
reached Esmeralda in time, but his horse broke down and he had to walk a
great part of the distance. And so it happened that as he came into
Esmeralda by one road, I entered it by another. His was the superior
energy, however, for he went straight to the Wide West, instead of
turning aside as I had done—and he arrived there about five or ten
minutes too late! The “notice” was already up, the “relocation” of our
mine completed beyond recall, and the crowd rapidly dispersing. He
learned some facts before he left the ground. The foreman had not been
seen about the streets since the night we had located the mine—a
telegram had called him to California on a matter of life and death, it
was said. At any rate he had done no work and the watchful eyes of the
community were taking note of the fact. At midnight of this woful tenth
day, the ledge would be “relocatable,” and by eleven o’clock the hill
was black with men prepared to do the relocating. That was the crowd I
had seen when I fancied a new “strike” had been made—idiot that I was.
290.jpg (141K)
[We three had the same right to relocate the lead that other people had,
provided we were quick enough.] As midnight was announced, fourteen men,
duly armed and ready to back their proceedings, put up their “notice”
and proclaimed their ownership of the blind lead, under the new name of
the “Johnson.” But A. D. Allen our partner (the foreman) put in a sudden
appearance about that time, with a cocked revolver in his hand, and said
his name must be added to the list, or he would “thin out the Johnson
company some.” He was a manly, splendid, determined fellow, and known to
be as good as his word, and therefore a compromise was effected. They
put in his name for a hundred feet, reserving to themselves the
customary two hundred feet each. Such was the history of the night’s
events, as Higbie gathered from a friend on the way home.
Higbie and I cleared out on a new mining excitement the next morning,
glad to get away from the scene of our sufferings, and after a month or
two of hardship and disappointment, returned to Esmeralda once more.
Then we learned that the Wide West and the Johnson companies had
consolidated; that the stock, thus united, comprised five thousand feet,
or shares; that the foreman, apprehending tiresome litigation, and
considering such a huge concern unwieldy, had sold his hundred feet for
ninety thousand dollars in gold and gone home to the States to enjoy it.
If the stock was worth such a gallant figure, with five thousand shares
in the corporation, it makes me dizzy to think what it would have been
worth with only our original six hundred in it. It was the difference
between six hundred men owning a house and five thousand owning it. We
would have been millionaires if we had only worked with pick and spade
one little day on our property and so secured our ownership!
It reads like a wild fancy sketch, but the evidence of many witnesses,
and likewise that of the official records of Esmeralda District, is
easily obtainable in proof that it is a true history. I can always have
it to say that I was absolutely and unquestionably worth a million
dollars, once, for ten days.
A year ago my esteemed and in every way estimable old millionaire
partner, Higbie, wrote me from an obscure little mining camp in
California that after nine or ten years of buffetings and hard striving,
he was at last in a position where he could command twenty-five hundred
dollars, and said he meant to go into the fruit business in a modest
way. How such a thought would have insulted him the night we lay in our
cabin planning European trips and brown stone houses on Russian Hill!
CHAPTER XLII.
What to do next?
It was a momentous question. I had gone out into the world to shift for
myself, at the age of thirteen (for my father had endorsed for friends;
and although he left us a sumptuous legacy of pride in his fine
Virginian stock and its national distinction, I presently found that I