Майн Рид
Lost Lenore: The Adventures of a Rolling Stone

Volume One – Chapter Twenty Seven.
Ann

I had been much interested in Stormy’s story of his early life; and the next evening, I went over to his tent, and taking a seat upon the ground, requested him to continue it.

“All right, Rowley, my boy,” said he, in answer to my appeal. “I believe that I left off last night, where the girl, after my having worked nine years for her, had begun to treat me with coldness.

“Well, on becoming sure of this, I determined to find out the reason. I knew there must be something wrong; and I made up my mind to find out what it was – though it might lead to the breaking up of all my fine prospects. One day, when my ship was about to start on a new trip to Charleston, I settled scores with the captain, and left her. Ann was under the belief, that I had gone off in the vessel; but she was mistaken. I had stopped behind, to keep an eye on herself. A few months before, I had given her some money – to enable her to go into partnership with a widow, in keeping a little stationery and toy shop – and she was now in that business. My scheme was to keep an eye on the shop; and see what was going on. I had not been very long playing spy, before I found out the lay of the land. A young fellow of a swellish appearance, used to pay visits to the shop, nearly every day of the week. He came in the evening; and Ann would go out with him to theatres and dancing places.

“I watched the fellow to his home, or to his lodgings – for he lived in a two-pair back; and from there I tracked him to his place of business. I found that he was what in London is called a ‘clerk.’ He was a thing unworthy of Ann; but, of course, that being the case, he did not know it; and I could see from his vain looks that he thought sufficiently of himself – too much to marry Ann. From what I saw, I had no doubt that he was deceiving her.

“I scarce knew what to do: for there was no use in telling the girl that she was being deceived. She would not have believed me.

“If she had believed me, and given the puppy up, it would not have made much difference to me. My confidence in her was gone. I could have had it no more. She had acted ungrateful to me – by giving her preference to a conceited swell – who took her about to places of amusement, where men do not take young girls, whom they intend afterwards to marry. Ann had proved herself unworthy of a love like mine. I had toiled for her, and loved her, for nine long years; and this was the return.

“My good resolutions all forsook me – by the shock which her ingratitude gave me; and ever since that time, I’ve been only Stormy Jack, and nothing more. You know what he is.” Stormy once more relapsed into silence, as if his story had been concluded. More deeply interested than ever, I desired to know more. In answer, to my request, he resumed his narrative.

“Well,” continued he. “My next voyage was a long one. I made the trip to India, and was gone fourteen months; but on my return, at the end of that time, I had not forgotten Ann. I still loved her – although I knew that she could never be my wife. Even had she consented, my pride would not allow of my marrying her now.

“When I got back from India, I went to the little shop to enquire for her. She was no longer there. I found her in the work-house – the same from which she had been taken when a child. She was the mother of a child, seven months old; and had never been married. I determined to teach her manners. You may think it strange, Rowley, but I was now, more than ever, resolved she should love me. It would be some satisfaction for what I had suffered on her account. I knew my motive wasn’t altogether as it ought to have been, but I could not help doing as I did.

“When paid the wages, owing me by the East Indiaman, I had about twenty-five pounds to the good; and, with this money, I took Ann out of the work-house, and placed her in a comfortable home. I acted, to all appearance, as kindly to her, and seemed as affectionate as I had ever been; and I even gave her more of my company than I had ever done before. When she came to contrast my conduct with that of the heartless villain who had ruined and deserted her, she could not help loving me. On her knees, and with tears in her eyes, she confessed her folly, and sorrow for the past; and prayed for me to forgive her.

“‘Of course, I forgive you, Ann,’ said I, ‘or I would not have returned to you.’

“‘And will you love me as much as you once did?’ she then asked.

“‘Certainly I will.’

“‘John,’ she said, ‘you are the most noble-minded man in the world; and I only begin to know your real worth. Oh! what a fool I have been, not to have known it before! You are better than all other men on the earth!’

“Ann had got over the folly of her girlhood. The sorrows which she had suffered during the last few months, had taught her wisdom, and brought repentance; and she now believed, that such love as I had offered her was of some value.

“I visited her every day; and appeared to take such an interest in the welfare, both of herself and her child, that I, at length, became certain that she loved me. She could not have helped it, had she tried. Poor girl! she fancied she was going to be happy again; but she was mistaken.

“When my money was all spent, I prepared to take leave of her. Before going, I told her the truth, that I had loved her, ever since she was a child; and that I ever would; but that I could never make her my wife. After what had transpired, I could never be happy as her husband.

“‘I shall never forget you, Ann,’ said I. ‘Whenever I have a pound in my pocket, you are welcome to fifteen shillings of it; but my happiness, for this world, you have entirely destroyed; and I can never marry you, as I once intended to do. You know the many years that I toiled for you; and was that not proof that I loved you dearly? All that I have done, I am willing to do again; but what I had hoped to do, is no longer possible. You have not proved worthy of my love, and can never be my wife.’

“As I said this, she was nearly distracted; and declared that she would never accept another shilling from me. She promised to do for me all that I had done for her: to work for me, and let me live in idleness. I had at last succeeded in winning her love.

“Perhaps I was wrong in having done so; but the manner in which I had been myself wronged, rendered me incapable of acting honest. I could not help taking this way to larn her a little manners. There was another I intended larning a lesson to, before I left London; but I determined to teach him in a very different way. It was the swell that had ruined Ann.

“I looked out for him; and found him in the street, on the way to his place of business. I laid one o’ my flippers on his shoulder, to keep him from escaping, while I gave him his lesson with the other. I flattened his nose, nearly tore off one of his ears; and did him some other damage besides. The police pulled me off o’ him; and I was taken away to the station, and next day brought before a magistrate.

“I only got two months for giving the conceited snob his lesson, which I didn’t much regret, for I was just as well off in the gaol as anywhere else. My time or my liberty was worth nothing more to me. When again set free, I made another voyage to India, and got back in fourteen months.

“When I returned, Ann was dead. She had died in the same work-house, in which she was born.

“Since then, there has been no particular reason why I should behave myself; and I have been, as you see me, old Stormy Jack. I never again thought of getting married. I could only love but one; and that one it was not my fate to be spliced to. I suppose it was never intended I should get married. At all events, I don’t mean to try. I made one girl miserable by not marrying her; and I might make another miserable if I did.”

With this hypothetical reflection, Stormy concluded his sad story.

End of Volume One

Volume Two – Chapter One.
A Strange Summons from Stormy

As already stated, I had left the northern diggings with the design of going to the Tuolumne river; and that on my way to the latter place I had met Guinane – who had induced me to relinquish my design, and stop awhile on the Stanislaus.

Now that Guinane was gone, and the claim in which we had been partners worked out, there was nothing to hinder me from carrying out my original intention; and I resolved, to leave the Stanislaus’ diggings, and proceed onward to the Tuolumne.

Stormy Jack, who stayed behind, promised to join me, as soon as he should have worked out his claim on the Stanislaus – which he expected to do in about three weeks.

On reaching the Tuolumne, I proceeded to Jacksonville – a little mining village, where, after looking about a couple of days, I purchased two shares in a claim that lay upon the bank of the river.

Not liking the sort of work required to be done on this claim – which was wet – I employed men to work it for me. I could afford to do this: for, having toiled hard ever since my arrival in the diggings, and not having been either unsuccessful or extravagant, I had begun to believe that Lenore might yet be mine. The brighter this hope became, the more value did I set on my life; and was therefore careful not to endanger my health by working in a “wet claim.”

Another change had taken place in my domestic arrangements. I no longer lived in a miner’s tent, nor did I continue to act as my own cook and washer-woman. I was worth several hundred pounds; and began to have a better opinion of myself than ever before. So proud was I of possessing such a sum of money, that had I been in Liverpool at that time, I should not have hesitated to talk of love to Lenore.

The life of most gold-diggers is wretched beyond belief. The inconveniences and hardships they endure are but poorly repaid, by their freedom from the irksome regulations and restraints of more civilised life. I have seen miners eating bread that had been kneaded in a hat, and baked in the hot ashes of their camp fire! I have seen them suffering many hardships – even hunger itself – at the very time they were encumbered with ponderous bags of gold!

In the days when gold-digging was romantic and fashionable, I have seen learned lawyers, skilled physicians, and eloquent divines – who had been seduced by the charms of a miner’s life – passing the Sabbath day at the washtub, or seated outside their tents, needle in hand, stitching the torn seams of their ragged and scanty clothing. I had myself been following this rude manner of life, ever since my arrival at the diggings; but it had now lost its charms, and after reaching the Tuolumne, I took up my residence in a French boarding-house.

My two shares in the claim I had purchased soon began to yield a rich return, so that I was able to purchase several more, and also employ more men in working them.

One day I received a visit from Stormy Jack, who had come over from the Stanislaus, as he said, “to take bearings before sailing out from Sonora.”

He saw how comfortably I was living in Jacksonville; and that I was making money without much hard work.

“I’ll come and live like you,” said he, “for I am getting too rich myself to go on as I’ve been doing. I won’t stand hard work any longer.”

After spending the day with me, he returned to Sonora – with the intention of selling out his claims on the Stanislaus, and coming to reside at Jacksonville.

The day after he had gone away – which chanced to be Saturday – at a late hour of the evening, I received a letter from him. He had written it that morning, and sent it to me by a shopkeeper who chanced to be returning to Jacksonville. So badly was the letter written, that I was occupied all the rest of the evening deciphering it; but after spending much time, patience, and ingenuity upon the epistle, I arrived at a tolerable understanding of the intelligence it was intended to convey.

Stormy commenced by stating, that I must excuse all faults: for it was the first letter he had written for a period of more than thirty years. In fact, all correspondence of an epistolary kind on Stormy’s part had been discontinued on the death of Ann!

I was then informed, in the old sailor’s characteristic fashion, that a murder had just been committed on the Stani. A woman had been killed by her husband; and the husband had been summarily tried, and found guilty of the crime.

The next day, at noon, the miners were going to teach the murderer “manners,” by hanging him to a tree. I was advised to come over, and be a spectator of the lesson – for the reason that Stormy believed we had both seen the guilty man before. Stormy was not sure about this. The murderer bore a name, that he had never heard me make use of; but a name was nothing. “I’ve a bit of a fancy in my head,” wrote Stormy, “that I have seen the man many years ago; and that you will know who he is – though I can’t be sartain. So come and see for yourself. I’ll expect you to be at my tent, by eleven o’clock in the mornin’.”

Who could the murderer be, that I should know him? Could Stormy be mistaken? Had he been drinking; and this time become affected in the brain, instead of the legs?

I could hardly think it was drink. He would not have taken the trouble to write, his first epistle in thirty years, without some weighty reason.

I went to see the store-keeper who had brought the letter. From him I learnt that a murder had been committed by a man from Sydney, and that the murderer was to be hung on the following day.

As I continued to reflect on the information I thus received, a horrid thought came into my mind. Could the murderer be Mr Leary? Could his victim have been my mother?

There was a time when this thought would have produced on me a different effect from what it did then, a time when, dark as might have been the night, such a suspicion would have caused me to spring to my feet and instantaneously take the road to Sonora.

It did not then. I now felt less interest in the mystery I had so long been endeavouring to solve. Time, with the experience it brought, had rendered me less impulsive, if not less firm in purpose. I could not, however, sleep upon the suspicion; and after passing a wretched night, I was up before the sun.

Sonora was about thirteen miles distant from the Tuolumne diggings. It would be a pleasant morning walk; and I determined to go afoot. The exercise would only give me an appetite – so that I should enjoy my breakfast after reaching the Stanislaus. I could take plenty of time on the way, and still be there by nine o’clock – two hours sooner Stormy expected me.

I started along the road – meditating as I walked onward, what course I should pursue, supposing the murderer should turn out to be Leary, and supposing the murdered woman to be my mother!

Mr Leary was the husband of my mother. He was my stepfather. Should I allow him to be hung?

Such thoughts coursed rapidly through my mind, as I proceeded along the solitary path. I could not check them, by the reflection that, after all, the man might not be Mr Leary. Why I had thought of him at all, was because I could think of no other man that Stormy and I had both known before – at least, none who was likely to have committed a murder. But my correspondent might still be mistaken; and the condemned criminal be a stranger to both of us?

When I had walked about a mile along the main road to Sonora I left it – knowing that I could make a shorter cut by a path, leading over the ridge that separates the valleys of the Stanislaus and Tuolumne.

I had got, as I supposed, about half-way to Sonora; and was passing near a chapperal thicket, when a large grizzly bear rushed out of the bushes, and advanced straight towards me.

Fortunately a large live oak tree was growing near, with limbs that extended horizontally. I had just time to climb up among the branches. A second more, and I should have been grasped by the claws of the grizzly. Unlike his congener the brown bear, the grizzly cannot climb a tree, and knowing this I fancied myself safe.

Taking a seat on one of the limbs of the live oak, I proceeded to contemplate the interesting position in which I was placed. The bear had a brace of cubs playing in the chapperal near by. I could hear them sniffing and growling; and soon after got sight of them, engaged in their uncouth, bearish frolics. It would have been pleasant enough to watch these creatures; but the prospect of how I was to regain my liberty soon became the sole subject of my thoughts – by no means a pleasant one.

I saw that, the bear was not inclined to leave the tree, while her interesting family was so near. That seemed certain. The chance of any person passing, near that lonely place, was one against a hundred. The path was very little used, and only by an occasional pedestrian like myself.

To ensure the safety of her offspring, the bear might keep me up that tree until her cubs had arrived at the age of discretion, and be able to take care of themselves. Under the circumstances, I could not subsist so long.

Always having allowed myself to believe, that a civil tongue, a good bowie-knife, and the sense to mind my own business, were a much better protection than fire-arms, I seldom carried a revolver – as most people in California, at that time, were in the habit of doing. I now found need of the weapon, when I had it not.

I was not, however, wholly unprovided with what might console me in my dilemma: for I had some good cigars and a flask of brandy, – that happened to have been put into my pocket the night before. To aid me in calculating the chances of regaining my liberty, I took a pull at the flask, and then lighted a cigar.

Volume Two – Chapter Two.
A Grizzly on Fire

During all this time, the bear had been energetically trying to pull down, or eat up, the tree; and I only felt secure, when I saw that she had not the ability to do either.

But the business upon which I was bound to Sonora now came before my mind. It seemed to have become greatly magnified in importance, so much so, that I began to fancy, that all my hopes for the future depended on my finding Stormy Jack before twelve o’clock. Time was rapidly passing, without my making any progress towards the place of appointment.

“What shall I do?” was the thought that seemed to run like hot lead through my skull.

The excited state I was in hindered the enjoyment I usually have in smoking a good cigar; and the fire of the one I had lit soon became extinguished.

Imbued with the belief that smoking tranquillises an agitated mind, and brings it to a fitter state for contemplation, I relighted the cigar.

I knew from the implacable disposition of the grizzly bear, that the old she that besieged me was not likely to leave the tree so long as I was in it; and the length of my captivity would probably depend on which of us could longest resist the demands of hunger.

My cigars – unlike some that I have often been compelled to smoke – could not be used as substitute for food: since they were composed neither of turnip tops nor cabbage leaves.

The day was intensely hot; and I had grown thirsty – a sensation that brandy would not remove. The longer I kept my perch, the more my impatience pained me, indeed, life seemed not worth possessing, unless I met Stormy at the time he had appointed. I felt the terrible exigency; but could not think of a way to respond to it. There was every probability of the next day finding me no nearer Sonora, but much nearer death, than I was then. The agony of thirst – which the feverish anxiety caused by my forlorn condition each moment increased – would of itself make an end of me.

The idea of descending from the tree, and fighting the bear with my bowie-knife, was too absurd to be entertained for a moment. To do so would be to court instant death.

I have already stated that at the time of which I write, California was disgraced by such spectacles as combats between a grizzly bear and a bull.

I had witnessed three such exhibitions; and the manner in which I had seen one of the former knock down and lacerate a bull with a single blow of its paw, was enough to make me cautious about giving the old she an opportunity of exhibiting her prowess upon myself.

The remembrance of such scenes was enough to have made me surrender myself to positive despair. I had not, however, quite come to that.

A scheme for regaining my liberty at length suggested itself; and I believe it was through smoking the cigar that the happy idea occurred to me.

To the branch on which I was sitting was attached a tuft of a singular parasitive plant. It was a species of “Spanish moss,” or “old man’s beard,” so called, from the resemblance of its long white filamentary leaves to the hairs of a venerable pair of whiskers.

The plant itself had long since perished, as I could tell from its withered appearance. Its long filaments hung from the limb, crisp and dry as curled horse-hair.

Reaching towards it, I collected a quantity of the thread-like leaves, and placed them, so that I could conveniently lay hands upon them when wanted.

My next move was to take out the stopper of my brandy flask – which done, I turned the flask upside down, and spilled nearly the whole of its contents upon the back of the bear. What was left I employed to give a slight moistening to the bunch of Spanish moss.

I now drew forth my lucifers – when, to my chagrin, I saw that there was but one match left in the box!

What if it should miss fire, or even if igniting, I should fail with it to light the dry leaves?

I trembled as I dwelt upon the possibility of a failure. Perhaps my life depended upon the striking of that one match? I felt the necessity of being careful. A slight shaking of the hand would frustrate my well-contrived scheme.

Cautiously did I draw the match over the steel filings on the box, too cautiously, for no crackling accompanied the friction.

I tried again; but this time, to my horror, I saw the little dump of phosphorus that should have blazed up, break from the end of the stick, and fall to the bottom of the tree!

I came very near falling myself, for the bright hope that had illumed my mind was now extinguished; and the darkness of despondency once more set over my soul.

Soon, however, a new idea came into my mind – restoring my hopes as suddenly as they had departed. There was fire in the stump of the cigar still sticking between my lips.

The match was yet in my hand; and I saw that there remained upon it a portion of the phosphoric compound.

I applied its point to the coal of the cigar; and had the gratification of beholding it blaze upwards.

I now kindled the Spanish moss, which, saturated with the brandy, soon became a blaze; and this strange torch I at once dropped on the back of the bear.

Just as I had expected, the brandy, with which I had wetted the shaggy coat of the bear, became instantly ignited into a whishing, spluttering flame, which seemed to envelope the whole body of the animal!

But I was not allowed to have a long look at the conflagration I had created: for the moment the bear felt the singeing effects of the blaze, she broke away from the bottom of the tree, and retreated over the nearest ridge, roaring as she went like a tropical hurricane!

Never before had I beheld a living creature under such an elevated inspiration of fear.

Her cries were soon answered by another grizzly, not far away; and I knew that no time was to be squandered in making my escape from the place.

I quickly descended from the tree; and the distance I got over, in the succeeding ten minutes, was probably greater than I had ever done before in twice the time.