The Golden Dream: Adventures in the Far West by R. M. Ballantyne (book recommendations for teens .TXT) đ
- Author: R. M. Ballantyne
Book online «The Golden Dream: Adventures in the Far West by R. M. Ballantyne (book recommendations for teens .TXT) đ». Author R. M. Ballantyne
âWhat say you to a stroll!â said Ned, rising.
âBy all means,â replied Captain Bunting, jumping up, and laying down his pipe. Larry preferred to remain where he was; so the two friends left him to enjoy his cheroot, and wandered away, where fancy led, to see the town. There was much to be seen. It required no theatrical representation of life to amuse one in Sacramento at that time. The whole city was a vast series of plays in earnest.
Every conceivable species of comedy and farce met the eye at every turn. Costumes the most remarkable, men the most varied and peculiar, and things the most incomprehensible and unexpected, presented themselves in endless succession. Here a canvas restaurant stood, or, rather leaned against a log-store. There a tent spread its folds in juxtaposition to a deck-cabin, which seemed to have walked ashore from a neighbouring brig, without leave, and had been let out as a grog-shop by way of punishment. Chinamen in calico jostled sailors in canvas, or diggers in scarlet flannel shirts, or dandies in broad-cloth and patent-leather, or red Indians in nothing! Bustle, and hurry, and uproar, and joviality prevailed. A good deal of drinking, too, unfortunately, went on, and the results were occasional melodramas, and sometimes serious rows.
Tragedies, too, were enacted, but these seldom met the eye; as is usually the case, they were done in the dark.
âWhat have we here?â cried Captain Bunting, stopping before a large placard, and reading. ââGrand concert, this eveningâwonderful singerâMademoiselle Nelina, first appearanceâEthiopian serenaders.â I say, Ned, we must go to this; Iâve not heard a song for ages that was worth listening to.â
âAt what hour?â inquired Nedââoh! seven oâclock; well, we can stroll back to the hotel, have a cup of coffee, and bring Larry OâNeil with us. Come along.â
That evening our three adventurers occupied the back seat of a large concert-room in one of the most crowded thoroughfares of the town, patiently awaiting the advent of the performers. The room was filled to overflowing, long before the hour for the commencement of the performances, with every species of mortal, except woman. Women were exceedingly rare creatures at that timeâthe meetings of all sorts were composed almost entirely of men, in their varied and motley garbs.
Considering the circumstances in which it was got up, the room was a very creditable one, destitute, indeed, of ornament, but well lighted by an enormous wooden chandelier, full of wax candles, which depended from the centre of the ceiling. At the further end of the room was a raised stage, with foot-lights in front, and three chairs in the middle of it. There was a small orchestra in front, consisting of two fiddles, a cornopian, a trombone, a clarionet, and a flute; but at first the owners of these instruments kept out of sight, wisely reserving themselves until that precise moment when the impatient audience wouldâas all audiences do on similar occasionsâthreaten to bring down the building with stamping of feet, accompanied with steam-engine-like whistles, and savage cries of âMusic!â
While Ned Sinton and his friends were quietly looking round upon the crowd, Larry OâNeilâs attention was arrested by the conversation of two men who sat just in front of him. One was a rough-looking miner, in a wide-awake and red-flannel shirt; the other was a negro, in a shirt of blue-striped calico.
âWho be this Missey Nelina?â inquired the negro, turning to his companion.
âI dun know; but I was here last night, anâ Iâd take my davy, I saw the little gal in the ranche of a feller away in the plains, five hundred miles to the eastâard, two months ago. Her father, poor chap, was killed by a wild horse.â
âHow was dat?â inquired the negro, with an expression of great interest.
âWell, it was this way it happened,â replied the other, putting a quid of tobacco into his cheek, such as only a sailor would venture to masticate. âI was up at the digginâs about six months, without gittinâ more gold than jist kepâ me in lifeâfor, ye see, I was always an unlucky dogâwhen one day I goes down to my claim, and, at the very first lick, dug up two chunks oâ gold as big as yer fists; so I sold my claim and shovel, and came down here for a spree. Well, as I was sayinâ, I come to the ranche oâ a feller called Bangi, or Bongi, or Bungi, or some sort oâ bang, with a gi at the end oâ ât. He was clappinâ his little gal on the head, when I comed up, and said good-bye to her. I didnât rightly hear what she said; but I was so taken with her pretty face that I couldnât help axinâ if the little thing was hisân. âYees,â says heâfor he was a Mexican, and couldnât come round the English lingoââshe me darter.â I found the man was goinâ to catch a wild horse, so, says I, âIâll go with ye,â anâ, says he, âcome âlong,â so away we went, slappinâ over the plains at a great rate, him and me, and a Yankee, a friend oâ his and three or four servants, after a drove oâ wild horses that had been seen that morninâ near the house. Well, away we went after the wild horses. Oh! it was grand sport! The man had lent me one of his beasts, anâ it went at such a spankinâ pace, I could scarce keep my seat, and had to hold on by the saddleânot beinâ used to ridinâ much, dâye see. We soon picked out a horseâa splendid-lookinâ feller, with curved neck, and free gallop, and wide nostrils. My eye! how he did snort and plunge, when the Mexican threw the lasso, it went right over his head the first cast, but the wild horse pulled the rope out oâ his grip. âItâs all up,â thought I; but never a bit. The Mexican put spurs to his horse, anâ while at full gallop, made a dive with his body, and actually caught the end oâ the line, as it trailed over the ground, and recovered his seat again. It was done in a crack; anâ, I believe, he held on by means of his spurs, which were big enough, I think, to make wheels for a small carronade. Takinâ a turn oâ the line round the horn of his saddle, he reined in a bit, and then gave the spurs for another spurt, and soon after reined in againâin fact, he jist played the wild horse like a trout, until he well-nigh choked him; anâ, in an hour, or less, he was led steaminâ, and startinâ, and jumpinâ, into the corral, where the man kept his other horses.â
At this point in the narrative, the cries for music became so deafening, that the sailor was obliged to pause, to the evident annoyance of the negro, who seemed intensely interested in what he had heard; and, also, to the regret of Larry, who had listened eagerly the whole time. In a few minutes the âmusicâ came in, in the shape of two bald-headed Frenchmen, a wild-looking bearded German, and several lean men, who might, as far as appearance went, have belonged to almost any nation; and who would have, as far as musical ability went, been repudiated by every nation, except, perhaps, the Chinese. During the quarter of an hour in which these performers quieted the impatient audience with sweet sounds, the sailor continued his anecdote.
âWell, you see,â said he to the negro, while Larry bent forward to listen, âthe Mexican mounted, and raced and spurred him for about an hour; but, just at the last, the wild horse gave a tremendous leap and a plunge, and we noticed the rider fall forward, as if heâd got a sprain. The Yankee anâ one oâ the servants ran up, and caught the horse by the head, but its rider didnât moveâhe was stone dead, and was held in his seat by the spurs sticking in the saddle-cloth. The last bound must have ruptured some blood-vessel inside, for there was no sign of hurt upon him anywhere.â
âYou donâ say dat?â said the negro, with a look of horror.
ââDeed do I; anâ we took the poor feller home, where his little daughter cried for him as if sheâd break her heart. I asked the Yankee what we should do, but he looked at me somewhat offended like, anâ said he was a relation oâ the dead manâs wife, and could manage the affairs oâ the family without help; so I bid him good morninâ, and went my way. But I believe in my heart he was tellinâ a lie, and that heâs no right to go hawkinâ the poor gal about the country in this fashion.â
Larry was deeply interested in this narrative, and felt so strong a disposition to make further inquiries, that he made up his mind to question the sailor, and was about to address him when a small bell tinkled, the music ceased, and three Ethiopian minstrels, banjo in hand, advanced to the foot-lights, made their bow, and then seated themselves on the three chairs, with that intensity of consummate, impudent, easy familiarity peculiar to the ebony sons of song.
âGo it, darkies!â shouted an enthusiastic individual in the middle of the room.
âThree cheers for the niggers!â roared a sailor, who had just returned from a twelvemonthâs cruise at the mines, and whose delight at the prospect of once more hearing a good song was quite irrepressible.
The audience responded to the call with shouts of laughter, and a cheer that would have done your heart good to listen to, while the niggers shewed their teeth in acknowledgment of the compliment.
The first song was âLilly Dale,â and the men, who, we need scarcely say, were fictitious negroes, sang it so well that the audience listened with breathless attention and evident delight, and encored it vociferously. The next song was âOh! Massa, how he wopped me,â a ditty of quite a different stamp, but equally popular. It also was encored, as indeed was every song sting that evening; but the performers had counted on this. After the third song there was a hornpipe, in the performance of which the dancerâs chief aim seemed to be to shew in what a variety of complex ways he could shake himself to pieces if he chose. Then there was another trio, and then a short pause, in order duly to prepare the public mind for the reception of the great cantatrice Mademoiselle Nelina. When she was led to the foot-lights by the tallest of the three negroes, there was a momentary pause, as if men caught their breath; then there was a prolonged cheer of enthusiastic admiration. And little wonder, for the creature that appeared before these rough miners seemed more like an angelic visitant than a mortal.
There was nothing strikingly beautiful about the child, but she possessed that inexpressibly sweet character of face that takes the human heart by storm at first sight; and this, added to the fact that she was almost the only one of her sex who had been seen for many months by any of those present,âthat she was fair, blue-eyed, delicate, modestly dressed, and innocent, filled them with an amount of enthusiasm that would have predisposed them to call a scream melodious, had it been uttered by Mademoiselle Nelina.
But the voice which came timidly from her lips was in harmony with her appearance. There was no attempt at execution, and the poor child was too frightened to succeed in imparting much expression to the simple ballad which she warbled; but there was an inherent richness in the tones of her voice that entranced the ear, and dwelt for weeks and months afterwards on the memory of those who heard it that night.
It is
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