Youve made a most successful beginning, Larry. Have you any more knives like that one?
Sorrow a wanmores the pity. But thats only a small bit o me speckilations. I found six owld newspapers in the bottom o me chist, and, would ye belave it, I sowld em, ivery wan, for half-a-dollar the pace; and I dont rightly know how much clear goold Ive got by standin all mornin at the post-office.
Standing at the post-office! What do you mean?
Nother more or less nor what I say. I suppose ye know the mails comed in yisterday morning; so says I to myself this mornin, Yeve got no livin sowl in the owld country thats likely to write to ye, but ye better go, for all that, an ax if theres letters. Maybe there is; who knows? So away I wint, and sure enough I found a row o men waitin for their letters; so I crushes forardoch! but I thought theyd ha hung me on the spot,and I found it was a rule that first come first sarvedfair play and no favour. They wos all standin wan behind another in a line half-a-mile long av it wos a fut, as patient as could be; some readin the noosepapers, and some drinkin coffee and tay and grog, that wos sowld by men as went up an down the line the whole mornin. So away I goes to the end o the line, an took my place, detarmined to stand it out; and, in three minutes, I had a tail of a dozen men behind me. Faix, Larry, says I, its the first time ye iver comminced at the end of a thing in order to git to the beginnin.
Well, when I wos gittin pretty near the post-office windy, I hears the chap behind me a-sayin to the fellow behind him that he expected no letters, but only took up his place in the line to sell it to them what did. An sure enough I found that lots o them were there on the same errand. Just then up comes a miner, in big boots and a wide-awake.
Och, says he, wholl sell me a place? and with that he offered a lot o pure goold lumps.
Guess its too little, says the man next me.
Ah, ye thievin blackguard! says I. Here, yer honer, Ill sell ye my place for half the lot. I can wait for me letter, more be token Im not sure there is wan. For, ye see, I wos riled at the Yankees greed. So out I steps, and in steps the miner, and hands me the whole hed offered at first.
Take them, my man, says he; youre an honest fellow, and its a trate to meet wan here.
Capital, cried Ned, laughing heartily; and you didnt try for a letter after all?
Porter there? shouted a voice from the quay.
Thats me, yer honer. Here ye are, replied the Irishman, bounding away with a yell, and shouldering a huge leathern trunk, with which he vanished from the scene, leaving Ned to pursue the train of thought evoked by his account of his remarkable experiences.
We deem it necessary here to assure the reader that the account given by Larry ONeil of his doings was by no means exaggerated. The state of society, and the eccentricities of traffic displayed in San Francisco and other Californian cities during the first years of the gold-fever, beggars all description. Writers on that place and period find difficulty in selecting words and inventing similes in order to convey anything like an adequate idea of their meaning. Even eye-witnesses found it almost impossible to believe the truth of what they heard and saw; and some have described the whole circle of life and manners there to have been more like to the wild, incongruous whirl of a pantomime than to the facts of real life.
Even in the close and abrupt juxtaposition of the ludicrous and the horrible this held good. Ned Sinton had scarcely parted from his hilarious shipmate, when he was attracted by shouts, as if of men quarrelling, in a gaming-house; and, a few moments later, the report of a pistol was heard, followed by a sharp cry of agony. Rushing into the house, and forcing his way through the crowd, he reached the table in time to see the bloody corpse of a man carried out. This unfortunate had repeatedly lost large sums of money, and, growing desperate, staked his all on a final chance. He lost; and, drawing his bowie-knife, in the heat of despair, rushed at the president of the table. A dozen arms arrested him, and rendered his intended assault abortive; nevertheless, the president coolly drew a revolver from under the cloth, and shot him dead. For a few minutes there was some attempt at disturbance, and some condemned, while others justified the act. But the body was removed, and soon the game went on again as if nothing had occurred.
Sickened with the sight, Ned hurried from the house, and walked rapidly towards the shores of the bay, beyond the limits of the canvas town, where he could breathe the free ocean air, and wander on the sands in comparative solitude.
The last straggling tent in that quarter was soon behind bun, and he stopped by the side of an old upturned boat, against which he leaned, and gazed out upon the crowded bay with saddened feelings. As he stood in contemplation, he became aware of a sound, as if of heaving, plethoric breathing under the boat. Starting up, he listened intently, and heard a faint groan. He now observed, what had escaped his notice before, that the boat against which he leaned was a human habitation. A small hole near the keel admitted light, and possibly, at times, emitted smoke. Hastening round to the other side, he discovered a small aperture, which served as a doorway. It was covered with a rag of coarse canvas, which he lifted, and looked in.
Whos there? inquired a voice, as sharply as extreme weakness would allow. Have a care! Theres a revolver pointing at your head. If you come in without leave, Ill blow out your brains.
I am a friend, said Ned, looking towards the further end of the boat, where, on a couch of straw, lay the emaciated form of a middle-aged man. Put down your pistol, friend; my presence here is simply owing to the fact that I heard you groan, and I would relieve your distress, if it is in my power.
You are the first that has said so since I lay down here, sighed the man, falling back heavily.
Ned entered, and, advancing as well as he could in a stooping posture, sat down beside the sick mans pallet, and felt his pulse. Then he looked anxiously in his face, on which the hand of death was visibly placed.
My poor fellow! said Ned, in a soothing tone, you are very ill, I fear. Have you no one to look after you?
Ill! replied the sick man, almost fiercely, I am dying. I have seen death too often, and know it too well, to be mistaken. His voice sank to a whisper as he added, It is not far off now.
For a few seconds Ned could not make up his mind what to say. He felt unwilling to disturb the last moments of the man. At last he leaned forward, and repeated from memory several of the most consoling passages of Scripture. Twice over he said, Though thy sins be as scarlet, they shall be white as wool, and, Him that cometh unto Me, (Christ), I will in no wise cast out.
The man appeared to listen, but made no reply. Suddenly he started up, and, leaning on his elbow, looked with an awfully earnest stare into Neds face.
Young man, gold is goodgold is goodremember that, if you dont make it your god.
After a pause, he continued, I made it my god. I toiled for it night and day, in heat and cold, wet and dry. I gave up everything for it; I spent all my time in search of itand I got itand what good can it do me now? I have spent night and day here for weeks, threatening to shoot any one who should come near my goldHa! he added, sharply, observing that his visitor glanced round the apartment, youll not find it here. No, look, look round, peer into every corner, tear up every plank of my boat, and youll find nothing but rotten wood, and dust, and rusty nails.