Produced by Ted Garvin, Andre Lapierre and PG Distributed Proofreaders
The Golden Canyon
by
G.A. Henty
New York
Hurst & Company Publishers.
1899
Contents
The Golden Canyon.
Chapter
I. A Run Ashore
II. Dick's Escape
III. The Gold-Seekers
IV. More Plans
V. The Search For The Canyon
VI. The Map Again
VII. The Scarcity Of Water
VIII. The Golden Valley
IX. The Tree On The Peak
X. Watched
XI. Hard At Work
XII. Retreat
XIII. The Redskin
XIV. In The Ravine
XV. Rifle-Shots
XVI. On The Return
XVII. Conclusion
Contents
The Stone Chest.
Chapter
I. A Mystery Of The Storm
II. Off For Zaruth
III. Among The Icebergs
IV. The Escape From The Icebergs
V. The Arctic Island
VI. The Madman
VII. A Fearful Fall
VIII. A Remarkable Story
IX. The Volcano Of Ice
X. The Escape Of The "Dart"
XI. Among A Strange Foe
XII. Bob's Discovery
XIII. The Big Polar Bear
XIV. The Finding Of The Stone Chest
XV. Bob Rescues His Father--Conclusion
Publishers' Introduction
George Alfred Henty has been called "The Prince of Story-Tellers." Tocall him "The Boy's Own Historian" would perhaps be a more appropriatetitle, for time has proved that he is more than a story-teller; he is apreserver and propagator of history amongst boys.
How Mr. Henty has risen to be worthy of these enviable titles is a storywhich will doubtless possess some amount of interest for all hisreaders.
Henty may be said to have begun his preliminary training for hislife-work when a boy attending school at Westminster. Even then the germof his story-telling propensity seems to have evinced itself, for he wasalways awarded the highest marks in English composition.
From Westminster he went to Cambridge, where he was enrolled as astudent at Caius College. It is a decided change of scenery andcircumstances from Cambridge to the Crimea, but such was the changewhich took place in Mr. Henty's career at the age of twenty-one.
An appointment in connection with the commissariat department of theBritish army, took him from the scenes of student life into theexcitement of the Muscovite war.
Previous to this, however, he had written his first novel, which he hascharacterized as "Very bad, no doubt, and was, of course, neverpublished, but the plot was certainly a good one."
Whilst engaged with his duties at the Crimea he sent home severaldescriptive letters of the places, people, and circumstances passingunder his notice. His father, thinking some of those letters were ofmore than private interest, took a selection of them to the editor ofthe _Morning Advertiser_, who, after perusal of them, was so wellpleased with their contents that he at once appointed young Henty as warcorrespondent to the paper in the Crimea.
The ability with which he discharged his duties in the commissariatdepartment at that time soon found for him another sphere of similarwork in connection with the hospital of the Italian forces. After ashort time this was relinquished for engagement in mining work, which hefirst entered into at Wales, and then in Italy.
Ten years after his Crimean correspondence to the _Morning Advertiser_he again took to writing, and at this time obtained the position ofspecial correspondent to the _Standard_. While holding this post, hecontributed letters and articles on the wars in Italy and Abyssinia, andon the expedition to Khiva. Two novels came from his pen during thistime, but his attention was mostly devoted to miscellaneous letters andarticles.
It is a specially interesting incident in the career of Mr. Henty how hecame to turn his attention to writing for boys. When at home, afterdinner, it was his habit to spend an hour or so with his children intelling them stories, and generally amusing them. A story begun one daywould be so framed as "to be continued in the next," and so the samestory would run on for a few days, each day's portion forming a sort ofchapter, until the whole was completed. Some of the stories continuedfor weeks. Mr. Henty, seeing the fascination and interest which thesestories had for his own children, bethought himself that others mightreceive from them the same delight and interest if they were put intobook form. He at once acted upon the suggestion and wrote out a chapterof his story for each day, and instead of telling it to his children inan extempore fashion, read what he had written. When the story wascompleted, the various chapters were placed together and dispatched to apublisher, who at once accepted and published it. It was in this way thelong series of historical stories which has come from his powerful penwas inaugurated, and G.A. Henty was awarded the title of "The Prince ofStory-Tellers."
There is in this incident a glimpse of the character of our author whichendears him to us all. The story of his kindly interest in his ownchildren surely creates a liking for him in the hearts of the childrenof others. The man who can spend an hour in telling stories to hislittle ones, and retain their attention and interest, has an evidentsympathy with, and power over, the youthful nature. Time has proved suchis the case with G.A. Henty, for up to the present he has written closeon fifty stories for boys, which have been received with unbounded joyand satisfaction by all.
As an indication of the reception which his books have met with, thefollowing may be quoted from an English paper:
"G.A. Henty, the English writer of juveniles, is the most popular writerin England to-day in point of sales. Over 150,000 copies of his booksare sold in a year, and in America he sells from 25,000 to 50,000 duringa year."
"All the world" is the sphere from which Mr. Henty draws his picturesand characters for the pleasure of the young. Almost every country inthe world has been studied to do service in this way, with the resultthat within the series of books which Mr. Henty has produced for theyoung we find such places dealt with as Carthage, Egypt, Jerusalem,Scotland, Spain, England, Afghanistan, Ashanti, Ireland, France, India,Gibraltar, Waterloo, Alexandria, Venice, Mexico, Canada, Virginia, andCalifornia. Doubtless what other countries remain untouched as yet arebut so many fields to be attacked, and which every lad hopes to seeconquered in the same masterly way in which the previous ones have beenhandled.
As a rule much of what boys learn at school is left behind them whenclasses are given up for the sterner work of the world. Unless there isa special demand for a certain subject, that subject is apt to become athing of the past, both in theory and practice. This, however, is notlikely to be the case with history, so long as G.A. Henty writes booksfor boys, and boys read them. History is his especial forte, and that heis able to invest the dry facts of history with life, and make themattractive to the modern schoolboy, says not a little for his power as astory-teller for boys. It is questionable if history has any bettermeans of fixing itself in the minds of youthful readers than as it isread in the pages of G.A. Henty's works. There is about it an attractionwhich cannot be resisted; a most unusual circumstance in connection withsuch a subject. All this of course means for Mr. Henty a vast amount ofresearch and study to substantiate his facts and make his situations,characters, places, and points of time authentic. To the reader it meansa benefit which is incalculable, not only as a means of passing apleasant hour, but in reviving or imparting a general knowledge of thehistory and geography, the manners and customs of our own and otherlands.
There
is a noticeable element of "Freedom" which runs through Mr.Henty's books, and in this may be said to lie their influence. From themlads get an elevating sense of independence, and a stimulus to patrioticand manly endeavor. His pages provide the purest form of intellectualexcitement which it is possible to put into the hands of lads. They arealways vigorous and healthy, and a power for the strengthening of themoral as well as the intellectual life.
In the present work, "The Golden Canyon," a tale of the gold mines, Mr.Henty has fully sustained his reputation, and we feel certain all boyswill read the book with keen interest.
The Golden Canyon
Chapter I.--A Run Ashore.
In the month of August, 1856, the bark _Northampton_ was lying in theharbor of San Diego. In spite of the awning spread over her deck theheat was almost unbearable. Not a breath of wind was stirring in theland-locked harbor, and the bare and arid country round the townafforded no relief to the eye. The town itself looked mean andpoverty-stricken, for it was of comparatively modern growth, andcontained but a few buildings of importance. Long low warehouses fringedthe shore, for here came for shipping vast quantities of hides; as SanDiego, which is situated within a few miles of the frontier between theUnited States and Mexico, is the sole sheltered port available forshipping between San Francisco and the mouth of the Gulf of California.Two or three other ships which were, like the _Northampton_, engaged inshipping hides, lay near her. A sickening odor rose from the half-curedskins as they were swung up from boats alongside and lowered into thehold, and in spite of the sharp orders of the mates, the crew workedslowly and listlessly.
"This is awful, Tom," a lad of about sixteen, in the uniform of amidshipman, said to another of about the same age as, after the lastboat had left the ship's sides, they leaned against the bulwarks; "whatwith the heat, and what with the stench, and what with the captain andthe first mate, life is not worth living. However, only another two orthree days and we shall be full up, and once off we shall get rid of agood deal of the heat and most of the smell."
"Yes, we shall be better off in those respects, Dick, but unfortunatelywe shan't leave the captain and mate behind."
"No, I don't know which I like worst of them. It is a contrast to ourlast sip, Tom. What a good time we had of it on board the _Zebra_! Thecaptain was a brick, and the mates were all good fellows. In fact, wehave always been fortunate since the day we first came on board togetherup to now. I can't think how the owners ever appointed Collet to thecommand; he is not one of their own officers. But when Halford was takensuddenly ill I suppose they had no others at home to put in his place,so had to go outside. My father said that Mr. Thompson had told him thatthey heard that he was a capital sailor, and I have no doubt he is. Hecertainly handled her splendidly in that big storm we had rounding theCape. I suppose they did not inquire much farther, as we took nopassengers out to San Francisco, and were coming out to pick up a cargoof hides here for the return journey; but he is a tyrant on board, andwhen I get back I will tell my father, and he will let Thompson know thesort of fellow Collet is. It doesn't do one any good making complaintsof a captain, but my father is such friends with Thompson that I know hewill tell the other partners that he hears that Collet isn't the sort ofman they care about having commanding their ships, without my namecoming into it. If he does I can't help it. I know Thompson will seethat I don't sail with Collet again, anyhow, and will get you with me,as he has often met you at my father's, and knows what chums we are.Collet brought Williams with him, and they were a nice pair. I believethe second and third are just as disgusted as we are, and as Allen is anephew of one of the partners he will put a spoke in their wheel too,when he comes back."
"Well, we might be worse off in some respects, Dick. We have two goodofficers out of the four, and we have a very fair crew, and we have goodgrub; and the company always victual their ships well, and don't put theofficers' messing into the hands of the captain, as they do in someships."
Presently Mr. Allen, the second officer, came up with the two lads.
"I am going ashore in an hour, Preston," he said to Dick; "if you like,you can come with me."
"Thank you, sir; I should like it very much."
"I wish you were coming too, Tom," he went on when the officer movedaway. "That is one of the nuisances, Collet never letting us go ashoretogether."
"It is a nuisance," the other said, heartily. "Of course, Allen is avery good fellow, but one can't have any larks as one could have if wewere together."
"Well, there are not many larks to be had here, at any rate, Tom. It isabout the dullest place I ever landed at. It is a regular Mexican town,and except that they do have, I suppose, sometimes, dances and that sortof thing, there is really nothing to be done when one does go ashore,and the whole place stinks of hides. Even if one could get away for aday there is no temptation to ride about that desert-looking country,with the sun burning down on one; no one but a salamander could standit. They are about the roughest-looking lot I ever saw in the town.Everyone has got something to do with hides one way or the other. Theyhave either come in with them from the country, or they pack them in thewarehouses, or they ship them. That and mining seem the only two thingsgoing on, and the miners, with their red shirts and pistols and knives,look even a rougher lot than the others. I took my pistol when last Iwent ashore; I will lend it you this evening."
"Oh, I don't want a pistol, Tom; there is no chance of my getting into arow."
"Oh, it is just as well to carry one, Dick, when you know that everyoneelse has got one about him somewhere, and a considerable number of themare drunk; it is just as well to take one. You know, it is small, andgoes in my breast pocket."
"I will take my stick, the one I bought at San Francisco; it has got anounce of lead in the knob. I would rather have that than a pistol anyday."
However, as Dick was standing with the second officer at the top of thegangway, Tom Haldane, as he passed by, slipped the pistol into his handand then walked on. Dick thrust it into his pocket, and then descendedthe ladder. It was almost dark now.
"I have two or three places to go to, Preston, and do not know how longI shall be detained. It is just nine o'clock now. Suppose you meet mehere at the boat at half-past ten. It will be pleasanter for you tostroll about by yourself than to be waiting about outside houses forme."
"Very well, sir. I don't think there is much to see in the town, but Iwill take a bit of a stroll outside. It is cool and pleasant after theheat of the day."
They walked together to the first house that Mr. Allen had to visit;then Dick strolled on by himself. The place abounded with wine-shops.Through the open doors the sound of the strumming of mandolins, snatchesof Spanish song, and occasionally voices raised in dispute or anger,came out. Dick felt no inclination to enter any of them. Had his chumbeen with him he might have looked in for a few minutes for the fun ofthe thing, but alone he would be the object of remark, and might perhapsget involved in a quarrel. Besides the freshness of the air was sopleasant that he felt disposed for a walk, for the moon was shiningbrightly, the stars seemed to hang from the skies, and after having beenpent up in the ship for the last four days it was pleasant to stretchthe limbs in a brisk walk. In ten minutes he was outside the town, andfollowed the road for half an hour.
"It is a comfort," he said to himself, "to have got rid of the smell ofhides. If ever cholera comes this way I should think it would make aclean sweep of San Diego."
Turning, he walked leisurely back; he entered the town, and had gone buta hundred yards or two when he heard a shout, followed by a pistol shot,and then, in English, a cry for help.
He dashed down the street toward a group of people who, he could see inthe moonlight, were engaged in a sharp struggle. One man was defendinghimself against four, and the oaths and exclamations of these showedthat they were Mexicans. Just as he reached them the man they wereattacking was struck down, and two of his assailants threw themselvesupon him.
Dick rushed upon the men, and felled one with a sweepin
g blow of hisstick. The other man who was standing up sprang at him, knife in hand,with a savage oath.
So quick was the action that he was upon Dick before he had time tostrike a blow with his stick. He threw up his left arm to guard hishead, but received a severe gash on the shoulders. At the same moment hestruck out with his right, full into the face of the Mexican, who, as hestaggered back, fell across the three men on the ground. Dick seized theopportunity to draw his pistol, dropping his stick as he did so, as hisleft arm was disabled. It was a double-barreled pistol and as the threenatives rose and rushed at him, he shot the first. The other two sprangat him and he received a blow that almost paralyzed him. He staggeredagainst the wall, but had strength to raise his arm and fire again, justas the man was about to repeat his blow; he fell forward on his face,and his other assailant took to his heels. A moment later Dick himselfsank to the ground.
Chapter II.--Dick's Escape.
When Dick opened his eyes it was broad daylight. He was lying in abarely furnished room. A surgeon was leaning over him bandaging hiswounds, while on the other side of the bed stood three red-shirted men,whose rough beards and belts with bowie knives and pistols showed themto be miners. One of them had his face strapped up and his arm in asling. An exclamation of satisfaction burst from him as Dick's eyesopened.
"That is right, lad. You will do now. It has been touch and go with youall night. My life aint no pertik'lar value to nobody, but such as it isyou have saved it. But I won't talk of that now. Which ship do youbelong to? We will let them know at once."
"The _Northampton_," Dick said in a whisper.