The Golden Dream by Robert Michael Ballantyne (speld decodable readers TXT) 📖

up which they meant to proceed to the "diggings."

With the exception of O'Neil and Jones, who had already reached the diggings in their dreams, the whole crew, sixteen in all, levanted, leaving Captain Bunting to navigate the ship back to Old England as he best might.

It is easier to conceive than to describe the feelings of the captain, when, on the following morning, he discovered that his crew had fled. He stamped, and danced, and tugged his hair, and pursed up his lips so tight that nothing but an occasional splutter escaped them! Then he sat down on the cabin skylight, looked steadily at Ned, who came hurriedly on deck in his shirt and drawers to see what was wrong, and burst into a prolonged fit of laughter.

"Hallo, captain! what's up!"

"Nothin', lad, ha! ha! Oh yes, human flesh is up, Ned; sailors is riz, an' we've been sold;--we have--uncommon!"

Hereupon the captain roared again; but there was a slight peculiarity in the tone, that indicated a strong infusion of rage with the seeming merriment.

"They're all gone--every man, Jack," said Jones, with a face of deep solemnity, as he stood looking at the captain.

"So they are, the blackguards; an' that without biddin' us good mornin', bad luck to them," added O'Neil.

At first, Ned Sinton felt little disposed to take a comic view of the affair, and urged the captain strongly to take the lightest boat and set off in pursuit; but the latter objected to this.

"It's of no use," he said, "the ship can't be repaired here without heavy expense; so, as I don't mean to go to sea again for some time, the desertion of the men matters little after all."

"Not go to sea again!" exclaimed Ned, in surprise. "What, then, do you mean to do?"

"That's more than I can tell. I must see first how the cargo is to be disposed of; after that, it will be time enough to concoct plans for the future. It is quite clear that the tide of luck is out about as far as it can go just now; perhaps it may turn soon."

"No doubt of it, captain," cried his young _protege_ with a degree of energy that shewed he had made up his mind as to what _his_ course should be, in the event of things coming to the worst. "I'll go down and put on a few more articles of clothing, and then we'll have a talk over matters."

The "talk," which was held over the breakfast-table in the cabin, resulted in the captain resolving to go ashore, and call on a Scotch merchant, named Thompson, to whom he had a letter of introduction. Half-an-hour later this resolve was carried out. Jones rowed them ashore in the smallest boat they had, and sculled back to the ship, leaving O'Neil with them to assist in carrying up two boxes which were consigned to Mr Thompson.

The quay on which they stood was crowded with men of all nations, whose excited looks, and tones, and "go-ahead" movements, testified to the high-pressure speed with which business in San Francisco was transacted.

"It's more nor I can do to carry them two boxes at wance," said Larry O'Neil, regarding them with a puzzled look, "an' sorra a porter do I see nowhere."

As he spoke, a tall, gentlemanly-looking young man, in a red-flannel shirt, round-crowned wide-awake, long boots, and corduroys, stepped forward, and said, "I'll help you, if you like."

"D'ye think ye can lift it!" inquired Larry, with a dubious look.

The youth replied by seizing one of the boxes, and lifting it with ease on his shoulder, shewing that, though destitute of fat, he had more than the average allowance of bone and sinew.

"I doubt if you could do it better than that yourself, Larry," said Ned, laughing. "Come along, now, close at our heels, lest we get separated in the crowd."

The young porter knew the residence of Mr Thompson well, and guided them swiftly through the crowded thoroughfares towards it. Passing completely through the town, he led them over the brow of one of the sand-hills beyond it, and descended into a little valley, where several neat villas were scattered along the sides of a pleasant green slope, that descended towards another part of the bay. Turning into the little garden in front of one of these villas, he placed the box on the wooden platform before the door, and said, "This is Mr Thompson's house."

There was something striking in the appearance of this young porter; he seemed much above his station in life; and Ned Sinton regarded his bronzed and handsome, but somewhat haggard and dissipated countenance, with interest, as he drew out his purse, and asked what was to pay.

"Two dollars," answered the man.

Ned looked up in surprise. The idea of paying eight shillings for so slight a service had never entered his imagination. At that moment the door opened, and Mr Thompson appeared, and invited them to enter. He was a shrewd, business-like man, with stern, but kind expression of countenance.

"Come in, come in, and welcome to California," he said, on perusing the captain's letter of introduction. "Glad to see you, gentlemen. You've not had breakfast, of course; we are just about to sit down. This way," he added, throwing open the door of a comfortable and elegantly-furnished parlour. "Bring the boxes into the passage--that will do. Here, Lizette, pay the men, dear; two dollars a-piece, I fancy--"

"Excuse me," interrupted Captain Bunting, "only one bas to be paid, the other is one of my sailors."

"Ah! very good; which is he?"

Larry O'Neil stepped forward, hat in hand.

"Go in there, my man, and cook will attend to you."

Larry passed through the doorway pointed out with a pleasant, fluttering sensation at the heart, which was quickly changed to a feeling of considerable disappointment on discovering that "cook" was a negro.

Meanwhile Lizette took two dollars from her purse, and bowing modestly to the strangers as she passed out of the room, advanced with them towards the young porter.

Now, Lizette was _not_ beautiful--few women are, in the highest sense of the term, and the few who are, are seldom interesting; but she was pretty, and sweet, and innocent, and just turned sixteen. Fortunately for the male part of the world, there are many such. She had light-brown hair, which hung in dishevelled curls all round, a soft fair complexion, blue eyes, and a turned-up nose--a pert little nose that said plainly, "I _will_ have my own way; now see if I don't." But the heart that animated the body to which that nose belonged, was a good, kind, earnest one; therefore, the nose having its own way was rather a blessing than otherwise to those happy individuals who dwelt habitually in the sunshine of Lizette's presence.

At this particular time, ladies were scarce in California. The immense rush of men from all parts of the earth to the diggings had not been accompanied as yet by a corresponding rush of women, consequently the sight of a female face was, as it always ought to be, a source of comfort to mankind. We say "comfort" advisedly, because life at the gold-mines was a hard, riotous, mammon-seeking, rugged, and, we regret to say it, ungodly life; and men, in whom the soft memories of "other days" were not entirely quenched, had need, sometimes, of the comforting reflection that there still existed beings on the earth who didn't rant, and roar, and drink, and swear, and wear beards, and boots, and bowie-knives.

There was double cause, then, for the gaze of respectful admiration with which the young porter regarded Lizette, as she said, "Here is your fare, porter," and put the money into his hand, which he did not even thank her for, but continued to hold extended as if he wished her to take it back again.

Lizette did not observe the gaze, for she turned away immediately after giving him the money, and re-entered the parlour, whereupon the youth thrust both hands into his breeches-pockets, left the house, and returned slowly to the city, with the expression on his countenance of one who had seen a ghost.

Meanwhile Captain Bunting and Ned Sinton sat down with their host and hostess to a second breakfast, over which the former related the circumstances of the double loss of his crew and cargo.

"You are unfortunate," said Mr Thompson, when the captain paused; "but there are hundreds in nearly the same predicament. Many of the fine-looking vessels you see in the harbour have lain helplessly there for months, the crews having taken French leave, and gone off to the diggings."

"It's awkward," said the captain, with a troubled expression, as he slowly raised a square lump of pork to his mouth; "what would you advise me to do?"

"Sell off the remnant of the cargo, and set up a floating boarding-house."

The square lump of pork disappeared, as the captain thrust it into his cheek in order to say, "What?" with a look of intense amazement.

Lizette laughed inadvertently, and, feeling that this was somewhat rude, she, in her effort to escape, plunged deeper into misfortune by turning to Sinton, with a blushing countenance, and asking him to take another cup of tea--a proposal that was obviously absurd, seeing that she had a moment before filled up his second cup.

Thus suddenly appealed to, Ned stammered, "Thank you--if you--ah!--no, thank you, not any more."

"Set up a floating boarding establishment," reiterated the merchant, in a tone of decision that caused them all to laugh heartily.

"It may sound strange," he continued, "but I assure you it's not a bad speculation. The captain of an American schooner, whose crew deserted the very day she arrived, turned his vessel into a floating boarding-house, about two months ago, and I believe he's making a fortune."

"Indeed," ejaculated the captain, helping himself to another mass of pork, and accepting Lizette's proffer of a third cup of tea.

"You have no idea," continued the merchant, as he handed the bread to Ned, and pressed him to eat--"you have no idea of the strange state of things here just now, and the odd ways in which men make money. Owing to the rush of immigrants everything is enormously dear, and house-room is not to be had for love or money, so that if you were to fit up your ship for the purpose you could fill it at once. At the various hotels in the city an ordinary meal at the _table d'hote_ costs from two to three dollars--eight and twelve shillings of our money--and there are some articles that bear fabulous prices. It's a fact that eggs at this moment sell at a shilling each, and onions and potatoes at the same price; but then wages are enormously high. How long this state of things will last no one can tell; in the meantime, hundreds of men are making fortunes. Only the other day a ship arrived from New York, and one of the passengers, a `'cute' fellow, had brought out fifteen hundred copies of several newspapers, which he sold for a dollar each in less than two hours! Then, rents are tremendous. You will scarcely believe me when I tell you that the rent paid by the landlord of one of the hotels here is 110,000 dollars--about 22,000 pounds--a year, and