by Mayne Reid
emphatically a crooked river. It appeared to me thatin going down it, we passed Mount Diablo at least seven times. Vessels,that we had already met, could be soon after seen directly ahead of us,while those appearing astern would in a few minutes after, encounter usin the channel of the stream!
A "Down-easter," who chanced to be aboard, made the characteristicobservation:--that "the river was so crooked, a bird could not flyacross it: as it would be certain to alight on the side from which ithad started!"
Crooked as was the San Joaquin it conducted us to the capital ofCalifornia--which we reached at a late hour of the night.
So impatient was I to obtain the information, which had brought me toSan Francisco, that on the instant of my arrival I went in search of thetavern, kept by Mr Wilson.
I succeeded in finding it, though not without some difficulty. It was adirty house in a dirty street--the resort of all the worthlesscharacters that could have been collected from the low neighbourhoodaround it, chiefly runaway convicts, and gay women, from Sydney. It wasjust such a hostelrie, as I might have expected to be managed by aquondam companion of Mr Leary.
Mr Wilson was at "home," I was at once ushered into his presence; and,after a very informal introduction, I commenced making him acquaintedwith my business.
I asked him, if, while at Sydney, he had the pleasure of beingacquainted with a man named Mathews.
"Mathews! Let me see!" said he, scratching his head, and pretending tobe buried in a profound reflection; "I've certainly heard that name,somewhere," he continued, "and, perhaps, if you were to tell me what youwant, I might be able to remember all about it."
I could perceive that my only chance of learning anything from MrWilson was to accede to his proposal, which I did. I told him, that aman named Mathews had been hung a few weeks before on the Stanislaus,that it was for the murder of a young girl, with whom he had eloped fromAustralia; and that I had reason to believe, that the man had left awife behind him in Sydney. I had heard that he, Mr Wilson, had knownMathews; and could perhaps tell me, if such had been the case.
"If it was the Mathews I once knew something about," said thetavern-keeper, after listening to my explanation, "he could not haveleft any money, or property, behind him: he hadn't a red cent to leave."
"I didn't say that he had," I answered. "It is not for that I make theinquiry."
"No!" said the tavern-keeper, feigning surprise. "Then what can be yourobject, in wanting to know whether he left a wife in Sydney?"
"Because that wife, if there be one, is my mother."
This answer was satisfactory; and Mr Wilson, after healing it, becamecommunicative.
He had no objections to acknowledge acquaintance with a man who had beenhung--after my having admitted that man's wife to be my mother; and,freely confessed, without any further circumlocution, that he had beenintimate with a man named Mathews, who had eloped from Sydney with ashopkeeper's daughter. He supposed it must be the same, that I claimedas my stepfather.
Wilson's Mathews had arrived in Sydney several years before. About ayear after his arrival he was followed by his wife from Dublin--withwhom he had lived for a few weeks, and then deserted her.
Wilson had seen this woman; and from the description he gave me of her,I had no doubt that she was my mother.
The tavern-keeper had never heard of her, after she had been deserted byMathews, nor could he answer any question: as to whether she had broughtmy children to the colony. He had never heard of her children.
This was the sum and substance of the information I obtained from MrWilson.
My mother, then, had actually emigrated to Australia; and there, to hermisfortune, no doubt, had once more discovered the ruffian who hadruined her.
Where was she now? Where were her children? My brother William, and mylittle sister Martha, of whom I was once so fond and proud?
"I must visit Australia," thought I, "before going back to England.Until I have recovered my relatives I am not worthy to stand in thepresence of Lenore!"
Volume Two, Chapter X.
THE PARTNER OF THE IMPATIENT MAN.
As my return to Liverpool and Lenore was now indefinitely postponed, Iwas in less haste to leave San Francisco. I wished to see something ofthis singular city, which had grown up, as it were, in a single day.
The citizens of the Californian capital--composed of the young andenterprising of all nations--were at that time, perhaps, the fastestpeople on record; and more of real and active life was to be seen in thestreets of San Francisco in a single week, than in any other city in amonth--or, perhaps, in a year.
The quick transformation of the place--from a quiet little seaport to alarge commercial city--astonished, even those who had witnessed itsgrowth, and played a part in the history of its development.
Half of the present city is built upon ground, which was once a portionof the bay, and under the water of the sea. Boats used to ply wheresplendid buildings now stand--in the very centre of the town!
On my visit to San Francisco on this occasion, I saw fine substantialhouses, where, only one year before, wild bushes were growing--on thebranches of which the bachelors of the place used to dry their shirts!Mountains had been removed--carried clear into the bay--and hundreds ofacres had been reclaimed from the encroachments of the sea.
Twice, too--within a period of only two years--the city had been burneddown, and rebuilt; and for all this work that had been done, prices hadbeen paid, that would seem extravagant beyond belief--at least, whencompared with the small wages of labour, in any other country thanCalifornia.
The amusements, manners, and customs, of almost every nation upon earth,could, at this time, have been witnessed in San Francisco. There was aSpanish theatre patronised by Chilians, Peruvians, and Mexicans. Forthe amusement of these people there was also a "Plaza de Toros," oramphitheatre for their favourite pastime--the bull fight.
In visiting these places of amusement--or the French and Italian operahouses--or some of the saloons where Germans met to continue the customsof their "Faderland"--one could scarce have supposed himself within thelimits of a country, whose citizens were expected to speak English.
I paid a visit to all the afore-mentioned spectacles, and many others--not wholly for the sake of amusement; but to learn something of thevaried phases of life there presented to observation. I could havefancied, that, in one evening, I had been in Spain, France, Italy,Germany, China, and over all parts of both North and South America!
For several days I wandered about the streets of San Francisco, withoutmeeting a single individual I had ever seen before.
I was beginning to feel as if I knew no one in the world, when oneafternoon I was accosted by a person bearing a familiar face.
It was Farrell, whom I had known at the diggings of the Stanislaus--thepartner of the impatient man, who used to worry the postmaster ofSonora; and who had gone home in such haste, after learning of the deathof his wife.
"Come along with me," cried Farrell, "I have got a queer story to tellyou."
I accompanied him to the "Barnum House," where he was staying; and wesat down to have a talk and a drink.
"You were quite right about that fellow Foster," said he, as soon as wehad got settled in our chairs; "a more treacherous deceitful villainnever trod Californian turf--nor any other, for that matter."
"You are a little mistaken." I replied, "I never accused him of beingeither treacherous, or deceitful."
"Do you not remember our having a talk about him, the evening before hestarted home; and my telling you, that he was an honest, plain-speakingfellow?"
"Yes; and I remember telling you, that if your statement, of the reasonof his anxiety to get his letters, was true, he could not be so verydeceitful, or he would have had the decency to have concealed the causeof that anxiety even from you."
"I have never been more deceived in my life, than I was in that man,"continued Farrell. "Do you know why he was so desirous to hear of hiswife's death?"
"You sai
d something about another woman."
"I did. Who do you suppose that other woman was?"
"I haven't the slightest idea."
"I'll tell you then. _It was my wife_! He wanted his own wife to die,so that he could go home and elope with mine. It's a fact--_and he'sdone it too_. That's who the second epistle he used to get, was from.I have just got a letter from my brother, giving me the whole news.It's interesting, isn't it?"
"Yes; what are you going to do?"
"Find them, and kill them both!" said Farrell, hissing the words throughhis teeth.
"I should not do that. A man is fortunate in getting rid of a wife, whowould treat him after that fashion. Your thanks are rather due to yourfair-dealing friend, for relieving you of any further trouble with sucha
