Over the Rocky Mountains: Wandering Will in the Land of the Redskin by Ballantyne (desktop ebook reader .txt) đ
- Author: Ballantyne
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Note: Plan of this Miscellany.
There is a vast amount of interesting information, on almost all subjects, which many people, especially the young, cannot attain to because of the expense, and, in some instances, the rarity of the books in which it is contained.
To place some of this information, in an attractive form, within the reach of those who cannot afford to purchase expensive books, is the principal object of this Miscellany.
Truth is stranger than fiction, but fiction is a valuable assistant in the development of truth. Both, therefore, shall be used in these volumes. Care will be taken to insure, as far as is possible, that the facts stated shall be true, and that the impressions given shall be truthful.
As all classes, in every age, have proved that tales and stories, are the most popular style of literature, each volume of the series (with, perhaps, one or two exceptions) will contain a complete tale, the heroes and actors in which, together with the combination of circumstances in which they move, shall be more or less fictitious.
In writing these volumes, the author has earnestly endeavoured to keep in view the glory of God and the good of man.
It was late on a winter evening when our hero, William Osten, arrived in England, in company with his two friends and former messmates, Bunco and Larry OâHale.
When a youth returns to his native land, after a long absence which commenced with his running away to sea, he may perhaps experience some anxieties on nearing the old home; but our hero was not thus troubled, because, his father having died during his absence, and his mother having always been tender-hearted and forgiving, he felt sure of a warm reception.
Our hero was so anxious to see his mother, that he resolved to travel by the night-coach to his native town of Bâ, leaving his companions to follow by the mail in the morning. Railways, although in use throughout the country, had not at that time cut their way to the town of Bâ. Travellers who undertook to visit that part of the land did so with feelings somewhat akin to those of discoverers about to set out on a distant voyage. They laid in a stock of provisions for the journey, and provided great supply of wraps for all weathers. When Will Osten reached the coach-office, he found that all the inside places were taken.
âYouâll have to go aloft, sir,â said the coachman, a stout and somewhat facetiously inclined individual, who, observing something of the sailor in Willâs costume and gait, suited his language to his supposed character; âthereâs only one berth left vacant, on the fogsâl âlongside oâ myself.â
âWell, Iâll take it,â said Will.
Five minutes afterwards the guard shouted âall right,â and they set off.
âDo you happen to know many of the people in the town of Bâ?â said Will to the coachman, as they emerged from the suburbs and dashed out upon a long tract of moorland.
âKnow many of âem, sir,â said the man, tipping the off-leader on the flank by way of keeping his hand in; âI should âope I does; itâs two year, this very day, since I came to this âere part oâ the country, and Iâve got married in Bâ to a âooman as knows everythink and everybody, so, of course, I knows everythink and everybody, too.â
âThen you have heard of a Mrs Osten, no doubt, a widow lady?â said Will.
âWot, the widder oâ that grumpy old genâlman as died last year, leavinâ, they say, a big estate in furrin parts?â
Will felt a tendency to seize the man by the throat, and tumble him off his box into the road, but on second thoughts he restrained himself and saidâ
âShe is the widow of a gentleman with whom I was intimately acquainted. I did not know anything about his having estates abroad.â
âI axe your pardon, sir,â said the man, a little abashed by Willâs grave manner; âdidnât know they wos friends of yours. No offence, I âope. The old lady is raither low since her husbandâs deathâfor it wos somewhat suddenâanâ they do say sheâs never got over the runninâ away of her only sonâat least so my wife says, anâ she ought to know, for sheâs bin intimate with the family for many years, anâ knows the ooman as nussed the boyââ
âWhat, Maryann?â exclaimed Will.
âThe same. You seems to know âem all, sir.â
âYes, I know them well. Is Maryann still with myâwith Mrs Osten?â
âYes, sir, she is, anâ wotâs more, she aint likely to quit in a âurry. Wây, sir, that âooman âas âad no fewer than six hoffers of marriage, anâ âas refused âem all for love of the old lady. My wife, she says to me the other night, when she wos a-washinâ of the baby in the big bread canâyou see, sir, the washinâ tubâs gone and sprung a leak, anâ so weâre redoosed to the bread canâWell, as I wos a-sayinâ, my wife says to meââRichards,â says she, âitâs my belief that Marryhann will never marry, for her âart anâ soul is set upon Mrs Osten, anâ sheâs got a strange feelinâ of sartinty that Master Will, as she calls the runaway boy, will come back to comfort âis mother anâ look arter the furrin estates. No, Richards, mark my words, Maryhann will never marry.ââ
ââIt may be so, Jemimar,â says I,âDid you speak, sir?â said the coachman, turning sharp round on hearing Will utter an exclamation of surprise.
âIs your wifeâs name Jemima?â
âYes, it is; dâyou âappen to know her, too?â
âWell, I think I do, if she is the same person who used to attend upon Mrs Ostenâa tall andâthinâand andâsomewhatââ
âStiff sort of womanâhout with it, sir, youâll not âurt my feelins. I didnât marry Jemimar for her beauty, no, nor yet for her money nor her youth, for she aint young, sirâolder than myself a long way. I took her for her worth, sir, her sterlinâ qualities. You know, sir, as well as I do, that it aint the fattest anâ youngest âosses as is the best. Jemimar is a trump, sir, without any nonsense about her. Her capacity for fryinâ âam, sir, anâ bilinâ potatoes is marvellous, anâ the way she do dress up the baby (weâve only got one, sir) is the hadmiration of the neighbourâood.â
âYou said something just now about the deceased Mr Ostenâs estate. Can you tell me how he came by it?â
âNo, sir, I canât. Thatâs the only thing that my wife âas failed to fathom. Thereâs somethink mysterious about it, I think, for Missis Hosten she wonât speak to Marryhann on the subjecâ, anâ all she knows about it is that the lawyer says thereâs an estate somewheres in furrin parts as needs lookinâ arter. The lawyer didnât say that to Maryhann, sir, of course, but sheâs got a âabit of hairinâ âer ears at keyâoles anâ overâears things now anâ then.â
Further conversation on this point was here stopped by the arrival of the coach at the end of a stage, and when the journey was resumed with fresh horses, Will felt inclined to sleep. He therefore buttoned up his coat tight to the chin, fixed his hat well down on his brows, and put himself into one of those numerous attitudes of torture with which âoutsidesâ were wont to beguile the weary hours of night in coaching days. When the sun rose next morning, Will was still in that state of semi-somnolence which causes the expression of the countenance to become idiotic and the eyes owlish. At last the chimneys of his native town became visible, and in a short time he found himself standing before the well-remembered house tapping at the old door, whose panelsâespecially near the footâstill bore the deep marks of his own juvenile toes.
It is not necessary to drag the reader through the affecting scene of meeting between mother and son. Two days after his arrival we find them both seated at tea in the old drawing-room drinking out of the old mug, with the name âWilliamâ emblazoned on it, in which, in days gone by, he was wont to dip his infantine lips and nose. Not that he had selected this vessel of his own free will, but his mother, who was a romantic old lady, insisted on his using it, in order to bring back to her more vividly the days of his childhood, and Will, in the fulness of his heart, said he would be glad to drink tea out of the coal-scuttle if that would give her pleasure. The good lady even sent to the lumber-room for the old arm-chair of his babyhood, but as neither ingenuity nor perseverance could enable him to squeeze his stout person into that, he was fain to content himself with an ordinary chair.
âNow, dear mother,â said Will, commencing the fifth slice of toast, under pressure (having eaten the fourth with difficulty), âyou have not yet told me about this wonderful estate which everybody seems to know of except myself.â
âAh! darling Will,â sighed Mrs Osten, âI have avoided the subject as long as possible, for I know it is to be the cause of our being separated again. But there is no help for it, because I promised your dear father when he was dying that I would tell you his wishes in regard to it, and that I would not attempt to dissuade you from doing your duty. Well, you remember uncle Edward, I suppose?â
âHis nameâyes,â said Will, âbut I never knew anything else about him. I had nothing to remember or to forget, except, indeed, that he got the name of being a wild scapegrace, something like myself!â
âLike yourself, darling,â exclaimed the old lady, with a look of indignationââno indeed! Have not you repented and come back, like a good prodigal son; and didnât the dear beautiful letter that you wrote from that awful islandâwhatâs its nameâwhere you were all but eaten aliveââ
âThe coral island,â suggested Will.
âYes, the coral islandâdidnât that dear letter give more delight to your beloved father than any letter he ever received in his life, and more than made up to him for your running away, and cheered him to his last hour, whereas uncle Edward was wicked to the lastâat least so it is said, but I donât know, and itâs not right to speak ill of the dead. Well, as I was going to say, uncle Edward died in some outlandish place in North America, I never can remember the name, but itâs in the papers, so youâll see itâsomewhere on the other side of the something mountainsâI forgetââ
âRocky, perhaps.â
âYes, thatâs it, the Rocky Mountains, and I wish they were not so rocky, for your sake, darling, for youâve got to go there and take possession (or serve yourself heir to, or something of that sort) of the property. Not that itâs large, so they say (I wish with all my heart it did not exist at all), but they tell me there is gold on it, though whether it is lying on the fields or down in holes Iâm sure I donât know, and oh dear, I donât care, for it entails your going away again, my darling boy.â
Here the poor old lady broke down, and, throwing her arms round Willâs neckâregardless of the fact that in so doing she upset and broke one of her best china tea-cupsâwept upon his bosom.
Such was the manner of the announcement of the news in the drawing-room.
In the kitchen the same subject was being discussed by a select party, consisting of Maryann, Mr Richards the coachman, his spouse Jemimaâformerly Scrubbinsâthe baby Richardsâwho has already been referred to as being reduced in the
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