CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.
THE RAINY SEASON, AND ITS EFFECTS--DISEASE AND MISERY AT LITTLE CREEK--REAPPEARANCE OF OLD FRIENDS--AN EMIGRANT'S DEATH--AN UNEXPECTED ARRIVAL.
Captain Bunting, after two days' serious consideration, made up his mindto go down alone to San Francisco, in order to clear up the mystery ofthe letter, and do all that he could personally in the absence of hisfriend. To resolve, however, was easy; to carry his resolution intoeffect was almost impracticable, in consequence of the inundated stateof the country.
It was now the middle of November, and the rainy season, which extendsover six months of the year, was in full play. Language is scarcelycapable of conveying, to those who have not seen it, an adequate idea ofhow it rained at this period of the year. It did not pour--there wereno drops--it roared a cataract of never-ending ramrods, as thick as yourfinger, straight down from the black sky right through to the veryvitals of the earth. It struck the tents like shot, and spirted throughthe tightest canvas in the form of Scotch-mist. It swept down cabinchimneys, and put out the fires; it roared through every crevice, andrent and seam of the hills in mad cataracts, and swelled up the LittleCreek into a mighty surging river.
All work was arrested; men sat in their tents on mud-heaps that meltedfrom below them, or lay on logs that well-nigh floated away with them;but there was not so much grumbling as one might have expected. It wastoo tremendous to be merely annoying. It was sublimely ridiculous,--somen grinned, and bore it.
But there were many poor miners there, alas! who could not regard thatseason in a light manner. There were dozens of young and middle-agedmen whose constitutions, although good, perhaps, were not robust, andwho ought never to have ventured to seek their fortunes in thegold-regions. Men who might have lived their full time, and have servedtheir day and generation usefully in the civilised regions of the world,but who, despite the advice of friends, probably, and certainly despitethe warnings of experienced travellers and authors, rushed eagerly toCalifornia to find, not a fortune, but a grave. Dysentery, scurvy inits worst and most loathsome type, ague, rheumatism, sciatica,consumption, and other diseases, were now rife at the diggings, cuttingdown many a youthful plant, and blasting many a golden dream.
Doctors, too, became surprisingly numerous, but these disciples ofEsculapius failed to effect cures, and as their diplomas, when soughtfor, were not forthcoming, they were ultimately banished _en masse_ bythe indignant miners. One or two old hunters and trappers turned out inthe end to be the most useful doctors, and effected a good many cureswith the simple remedies they had become acquainted with among thered-men.
What rendered things worse was that provisions became scarce, and,therefore, enormously dear. No fresh vegetables of any kind were to behad. Salt, greasy and rancid pork, bear's-meat, and venison, were allthe poor people could procure, although many a man there would havegiven a thousand dollars--ay, all he possessed--for a single meal offresh potatoes. The men smitten with scurvy had, therefore, no chanceof recovering. The valley became a huge hospital, and the banks of thestream a cemetery.
There were occasional lulls, however, in this dismal state of affairs.Sometimes the rain ceased; the sun burst forth in irresistiblesplendour, and the whole country began to steam like a caldron. A cart,too, succeeded now and then in struggling up with a load of freshprovisions; reviving a few sinking spirits for a time, and almost makingthe owner's fortune; but, at the best, it was a drearily calamitousseason,--one which caused many a sick heart to hate the sight and nameof gold, and many a digger to resolve to quit the land, and all itstreasures, at the first opportunity.
Doubtless, too, many deep and earnest thoughts of life, and its aims andends, filled the minds of some men at that time. It is often in seasonsof adversity that God shews to men how mistaken their views of happinessare, and how mad, as well as sinful, it is in them to search for joy andpeace apart from, and without the slightest regard for, the Author ofall felicity. Yes, there is reason to hope and believe that many seedsof eternal life were sown by the Saviour, and watered by the HolySpirit, in that disastrous time of disease and death,--seed which,perhaps, is now blessing and fertilising many distant regions of theworld.
In one of the smallest and most wretched of the huts, at the entrance ofthe valley of Little Creek, lay a man, whose days on earth wereevidently few. The hut stood apart from the others, in a lonely spot,as if it shrank from observation, and was seldom visited by the miners,who were too much concerned about their own misfortunes to care much forthose of others. Here Kate Morgan sat by the couch of her dyingbrother, endeavouring to soothe his last hours by speaking to him in themost endearing terms, and reading passages from the Word of God, whichlay open on her knee. But the dying man seemed to derive little comfortfrom what she said or read. His restless eye roamed anxiously round thewretched hut, while his breath came short and thick from between hispale lips.
"Shall I read to ye, darlin'?" said the woman, bending over the couch tocatch the faint whisper, which was all the poor man had strength toutter.
Just then, ere he could reply, the clatter of hoofs was heard, and abronzed, stalwart horseman was seen through the doorless entrance of thehut, approaching at a brisk trot. Both horse and man were of immensesize, and they came on with that swinging, heavy tread, which gives theimpression of irresistible weight and power. The rider drew upsuddenly, and, leaping off his horse, cried, "Can I have a draught ofwater, my good woman?" as he fastened the bridle to a tree, and strodeinto the hut.
Kate rose hurriedly, and held up her finger to impose silence, as shehanded the stranger a can of water. But he had scarcely swallowed amouthful when his eye fell on the sick man. Going gently forward to thecouch, he sat down beside it, and, taking the invalid's wrist, felt hispulse.
"Is he your husband?" inquired the stranger, in a subdued voice.
"No, sir,--my brother."
"Does he like to have the Bible read to him?"
"Sometimes; but before his voice failed he was always cryin' out for thepriest. He's a Catholic, sir, though I'm not wan meself and thinks hecan't be saved unless he sees the priest."
The stranger took up the Bible, and, turning towards the man, whosebright eyes were fixed earnestly upon him, read, in a low impressivevoice, several of those passages in which a free salvation to the chiefof sinners is offered through Jesus Christ. He did not utter a word ofcomment; but he read with deep solemnity, and paused ever and anon tolook in the face of the sick man as he read the blessed words ofcomfort. The man was not in a state either to listen to arguments or toanswer questions, so the stranger wisely avoided both, and gentlyquitted the hut after offering up a brief prayer, and repeating twicethe words--
"Jesus says, `Him that cometh to _Me_, I will in no wise cast out.'"
Kate followed him out, and thanked him earnestly for his kindness, whiletears stood in her eyes.
"Have you no friends or relations here but him!" inquired the stranger.
"Not wan. There was wan man as came to see us often when we stayed in alonesome glen further up the Creek, but we've not seen him since we camehere. More be token he didn't know we were goin' to leave, and we wintoff in a hurry, for my poor brother was impatient, and thought thechange would do him good."
"Take this, you will be the better of it."
The stranger thrust a quantity of silver into Kate's hand, and sprangupon his horse.
"I don't need it, thank 'ee," said Kate, hurriedly.
"But you _may_ need it; at any rate, _he_ does. Stay, what was the nameof the man who used to visit you?"
"O'Neil, sir--Larry O'Neil."
"Indeed! he is one of my mates. My name is Sinton--Edward Sinton; youshall hear from me again ere long."
Ned put spurs to his horse as he spoke, and in another moment was out ofsight.
The Golden Dream: Adventures in the Far West Page 23