CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.
NED'S NEW PROFESSION PAYS ADMIRABLY--HE AND TOM WAX PHILOSOPHICAL--"PAT"COMES FOR A "LANDSCAPE" OF HIMSELF--LYNCH LAW AND THE DOCTORS--NED'SSITTERS--A YANKEE SWELL RECEIVES A GENTLE REBUFF.
The ups and downs, and the outs and ins of life are, as every one isaware, exceedingly curious,--sometimes pleasant, often the reverse, andnot infrequently abrupt.
On the day of their arrival at the settlement, Ned and Tom were almostbeggars; a dollar or two being all the cash they possessed, besides thegold-dust swallowed by the latter, which being, as Tom remarked, sunkmoney, was not available for present purposes.
One week later, they were, as Abel Jefferson expressed it, "driving aroaring trade in pictur's," and in the receipt of fifty dollars, or 10pounds a day! Goods and provisions of all kinds had been suddenlythrown into the settlement by speculators, so that living becamecomparatively cheap; several new and profitable diggings had beendiscovered, in consequence of which gold became plentiful; and theresult of all was that Edward Sinton, esquire, portrait and landscapepainter, had more orders than he could accept, at almost any price hechose to name. Men who every Saturday came into the settlement to throwaway their hard-earned gains in the gambling-houses, or to purchaseprovisions for the campaign of the following week, were delighted tohave an opportunity of procuring their portraits, and were willing topay any sum for them, so that, had our hero been so disposed, he couldhave fleeced the miners to a considerable extent. But Ned was not sodisposed, either by nature or necessity. He fixed what he consideredfair remunerative prices for his work, according to the tariff of thediggings, and so arranged it that he made as much per day as he wouldhave realised had he been the fortunate possessor of one of the best"claims" in the neighbourhood.
Tom Collins, meanwhile, went out prospecting, and speedily discovered aspot of ground which, when wrought with the pan, turned him in twentydollars a day. So that, in the course of a fortnight, our adventurersfound themselves comparatively rich men. This was satisfactory, and Nedadmitted as much one morning to Tom, as he sat on a three-legged stoolin his studio--i.e. a dilapidated log-hut--preparing for a sitter, whilethe latter was busily engaged in concluding his morning repast ofdamper, pork, and beans.
"There's no doubt about it, Tom," said he, pegging a sheet ofdrawing-paper to a flat board, "we are rapidly making our fortunes, myboy; but d'you know, I'm determined to postpone that desirable event,and take to rambling again."
"There you go," said Tom, somewhat testily, as he lit a cigar, and laydown on his bed to enjoy it; "you are never content; I knew it wouldn'tlast; you're a rolling stone, and will end in being a beggar. Do youreally mean to say that you intend to give up a lucrative profession andbecome a vagrant?--for such you will be, if you take to wandering aboutthe country without any object in view."
"Indeed, I do," answered Ned. "How often am I to tell you that I don'tand _won't_ consider the making of money the chief good of this world?Doubtless, it is an uncommonly necessary thing, especially to those whohave families to support; but I am firmly convinced that this life wasmeant to be enjoyed, and I mean to enjoy it accordingly."
"I agree with you, Ned, heartily; but if every one enjoyed life as youpropose to do, and took to rambling over the face of the earth, therewould be no work done, and nothing could be had for love or money--except what grew spontaneously; and that would be a joyful state ofthings, wouldn't it?"
Tom Collins, indulging the belief that he had taken up an unassailableposition, propelled from his lips a long thin cloud of smoke, and smiledthrough it at his friend.
"Your style of reasoning is rather wild, to say the least of it,"answered Ned, as he rubbed down his colours on the bottom of a brokenplate. "In the first place, you assume that I propose to spend _all_ mylife in rambling; and, in the second place, you found your argument onthe absurd supposition that everybody else must find their soleenjoyment in the same occupation."
"How I wish," sighed Tom Collins, smoking languidly, "that there was nosuch thing as reasoning. You would be a much more agreeable fellow,Ned, if you didn't argue."
"It takes two to make an argument," remarked Ned. "Well, but couldn'tyou _converse_ without arguing?"
"Certainly, if you would never contradict what I say, nor make anincorrect statement, nor draw a wrong conclusion, nor object to beingcontradicted when I think you are in the wrong."
Tom sighed deeply, and drew comfort from his cigar. In a few minutes heresumed,--"Well, but what do you mean by enjoying life?"
Ned Sinton pondered the question a few seconds, and then replied--
"I mean this:--the way to enjoy life is to do all the good you can, byworking just enough to support yourself and your family, if you haveone; to assist in spreading the gospel, and to enable you to help afriend in need; and to alleviate the condition of the poor, the sick,and the destitute. To work for more than this is to be greedy; to workfor less is to be reprehensibly lazy. This amount of work being done,men ought to mingle with their fellow-creatures, and wander abroad asmuch as may be among the beautiful works of their Creator."
"A very pretty theory, doubtless," replied Tom; "but, pray, in whatmanner will your proposed ramble advance the interests of religion, orenable you to do the extra ordinary amount of good you speak of?"
"There you go again, Tom; you ask me the abstract question, `What do youmean by enjoying life?' and when I reply, you object to the answer asnot being applicable to the present case. Of course, it is not. I didnot intend it to be. The good I mean to do in my present ramble ischiefly, if not solely, to my own body and mind--"
"Stop, my dear fellow," interrupted Tom, "don't become energetic! Iaccept your answer to the general question; but how many people, thinkyou, can afford to put your theory in practice?"
"Very, very few," replied Ned, earnestly; "but that does not affect thetruth of my theory. Men _will_ toil night and day to accumulate gold,until their bodies and souls are incapable of enjoying the good thingswhich gold can purchase, and they are infatuated enough to plumethemselves on this account, as being diligent men of business; whileothers, alas! are compelled thus to toil in order to procure the barenecessaries of life; but these melancholy facts do not prove theprinciple of `grind-and-toil' to be a right one; much less do theyconstitute a reason for my refusing to enjoy life in the right way whenI have the power."
Tom made no reply, but the vigorous puffs from his cigar seemed toindicate that he pondered these things deeply. A few minutesafterwards, Ned's expected sitter entered. He was a tall burlyIrishman, with a red-flannel shirt, open at the neck, a pair of hugelong boots, and a wide-awake.
"The top o' the mornin' to yees," said the man, pulling off his hat ashe entered.
"Good-morning, friend," said Ned, as Tom Collins rose, shouldered hispick and shovel, and left the hut. "You are punctual, and deservecredit for so good a quality. Pray, sit down."
"Faix, then, I don't know what a `quality' is, but av it's a good thingI've no objection," replied the man, taking a seat on the edge of thebed which Tom had just vacated. "I wos wantin' to ax ye, sir, av yecould put in me pick and shovel in the lan'scape."
"In the landscape, Pat!" exclaimed Ned, addressing his visitor by thegeneric name of the species; "I thought you wanted a portrait."
"Troth, then, I don't know which it is ye call it; but I wants a pictur'o' meself all over, from the top o' me hat to the sole o' me boots.Isn't that a lan'scape?"
"No, it's a portrait."
"Then it's a porthraite I wants; an' if ye'll put in the pick andshovel, I'll give ye two dollars a pace for them."
"I'll put them in, Pat, for nothing," replied Ned, smiling, as hecommenced his sketch. "I suppose you intend to send this to some fairone in old Ireland?"
Pat did not reply at once. "Sure," said he, slowly, "I niver thought ofher in that way before, but maybe she was fair wance, though she's beena'most as black as bog-oak for half-a-cintury. It's for me grandmotherI want it."
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sp; "Your grandmother! that's curious, now; the last man I painted meant tosend the likeness to his mother."
"Not so cur'ous neither," replied the man, with some feeling; "it's myopinion, the further a man goes from the owld country, and the rougherhe becomes wi' scrapin' up and down through the world, the more tinderhis heart gits when he thinks o' his mother. Me own mother died whin Iwos a bit spalpeen, an' I lived wi' me grandmother, bliss her heart,ever since,--at laste till I took to wanderin', which was tin yearspast."
"So long! Pat, you must have wandered far in that time. Have you everbeen away far into the interior of this country, among the mountains, inthe course of your wanderings!"
"Among the mountains, is it? Indeed I have, just; an' a mosttree-mendous beautiful sight it is. Wos ye goin' there?"
"I've been thinking about it. Is the shooting good?"
"Shootin', ah! av ye'd bin wi' me an' Bill Simmons, two summers ago,ye'd have had more nor enough o' shootin'. The grizzlies are thick aspaes, and the buffaloes swarm in the valleys like muskaitoes, not tomintion wolves, and beavers, and badgers, and deer, an' sich like--forbythe red Injuns; we shot six o' them critters about the legs an' arms inself defence, an' they shot us too--they put an arrow dane through thepint o' Bill's nose, an' wan ripped up me left arm, it did." (Pat baredthe brawny limb, and exhibited the wound as he spoke.) "Shootin', is it?faix there's the hoith o' shootin' there, an' no end o' sainery."
The conversation was interrupted at this point by the door being burstviolently open, and several men rushing into the hut. They grasped theIrishman by the arms, and attempted to drag him out, but Pat seized holdof the plank, on the edge of which he sat, and refused to move at first.
"Come along, boy," cried one, boisterously; "we're goin' to lynch adoctor, an' we want you to swear to him."
"Ay, an' to swear _at_ him too, if ye like; he's a rig'lar cheat; binkillin' us off by the dozen, as cool as ye like, and pretendin' to be anM.D. all the time."
"There's more than wan," cried another man, seizing Pat again by thearm; "won't ye come, man?"
"Och! av coorse I will; av it's to do any good to the public, I'm yerman. Hooray! for the people, an' down wi' the aristock-racy."
This sentiment was received with a shout of delight, and severalexclamations of "Bah!" as the party hurried in a body from the studio.Ned, having thus nothing to do, rose, and followed them towards thecentre of the settlement, where a large crowd was collecting to try theunhappy doctors above referred to.
There were six of them, all disreputable-looking rascals, who had set upfor doctors, and had carried on a thriving business among the sickminers,--of whom there were many at that time,--until a genuine doctorarrived at the place, and discovered and exposed them. The miners werefortunately not bloodthirsty at this time, so the six self-dubbed M.D.s,instead of being hanged, were banished for ever from the settlement.Half-an-hour later the miners were busy in their respective claims, andNed Sinton was again seated before his "lan'scape" of the Irishman.
Just as he was completing the sketch, the door opened slowly, and a veryremarkable man swaggered into the room, and spat on the centre of thefloor. He was dressed in the extreme of the fashion then prevalent inthe Eastern States. A superfine black coat, silk vest, superfine blacktrousers, patent-leather boots, kid gloves, and a black silk hat! Amore unnatural apparition at the diggings could not well be imagined.Ned Sinton could hardly credit his eyes, but no rubbing of them woulddispel the vision. There he stood, a regular Broadway swell, whose loveof change had induced him to seek his fortune in the gold-regions ofCalifornia, and whose vanity had induced him to retain his drawing-roomcostume.
This man, besides being possessed of a superabundance of superciliousimpudence, also possessed a set of digging tools, the handles of whichwere made of polished oak and walnut, with bright brass ferrules. Withthese he proposed to dig his fortune in a leisurely way; meanwhile,finding the weather rather hot, he had made up his mind to have hisportrait done.
Thrusting his hands into his pockets, this gentleman shut the door withhis heel, turned his back to the fire-place--from the mere force ofhabit, for there was no fire--and again spat upon the floor, after whichhe said:
"I say, stranger, what's your charge for a likeness?"
"You will excuse me, sir," answered Ned, "if, before replying to thatquestion, I beg of you not to spit on my floor."
The Yankee uttered an exclamation of surprise, and asked, "Why not,stranger?"
"Because I don't like it."
"You wouldn't have me spit in my hat, would you?" inquired the dandy.
"Certainly not."
"Where then?"
Ned pointed to a large wooden box which stood close to the fire-place,and said, "There--I have provided a box for the accommodation of thosesitters who indulge in that disagreeable practice. If you can't avoidspitting, do it there."
"Wall, now, you Britishers are strange critters. But you haven't toldme your price for a portrait."
"I fear that I cannot paint you at any price," replied Ned, withoutlooking up from his paper, while Pat listened to the conversation with acomical leer on his broad countenance.
"Why not, stranger?" asked the dandy, in surprise.
"Because I'm giving up business, and don't wish to take any moreorders."
"Then I'll set here, I guess, an' look at ye while ye knock off thatone," said the man, sitting down close to Ned's elbow, and againspitting on the floor. Whether he did so intentionally or not we cannottell, probably not, but the effect upon Ned was so strong that he rosedeliberately, opened the door, and pointed to the passage thus set free,without uttering a word. His look, however, was quite sufficient. Thedandy rose abruptly, and walked out in silence, leaving Ned to shut thedoor quietly behind him and return to his work, while the Irishmanrolled in convulsions of laughter on Tom Collins's bed.
Ned's sitters, as we have hinted, were numerous and extremely various.Sometimes he was visited by sentimental and home-sick miners, andoccasionally by dandy miners, such as we have described, but his chiefcustomers were the rough, hearty men from "old England," "owld Ireland,"and from the Western States; with all of whom he had many a pleasant andprofitable hour's conversation, and from many of whom, especially thelatter, he obtained valuable and interesting information in reference tothe wild regions of the interior which he longed so much to see.