I.
“Allen, come out! Hang it, man, it’s not before your time! Why, it’s five o’clock.”
“But the boss——”
“Blow the boss! He didn’t buy your body and soul for eight-six-eight a-month?”
“But suppose I lose my billet——”
“That’s what I want you for. Look here! Life’s not worth living at this rate. If it wasn’t for my wife I’d have chucked it long ago, for I’m sick to death of stocks and shares: there’s no excitement when you make a hit, because you don’t win enough, and it’s no fun losing, because you always lose too much.”
“Yes. It’s all very well for you, Benion,—you can afford it; but if I had half your money, I’d steer clear of specs. altogether.”
“No, you wouldn’t, my boy! The only fun of having money left one is to try to make it grow. I expect you chuck some of your wretched screw away betting on these beggarly races where every horse is run crooked.”
“Why, how much do you suppose I have over after paying for my living?” asked the younger man, indignantly.
“I know, old chap. Can’t think how you manage to live on it as it is. Now, look here! Can you keep your mouth shut?”
“No.”
“Don’t play the fool. I think you can,” said Benion, examining him doubtfully. “I always liked your looks, or I shouldn’t want now to make your fortune. I suppose you’d stick to me if I made your fortune?”
“Better try!” laughed Allen.
Benion, with a great air of mystery, drew him out of Macquarie Street among the trees that grew in that part of Sydney which is now called Hyde Park. When they were a hundred yards from any possible listener he unburdened his soul in a hoarse whisper. “There will never be a chance like this again. A schooner came in last night from Honolulu in ballast, and the two chaps that own her talk of fitting her out for a trading voyage in the islands—in a devil of a hurry too. There was a lot of talk about it, and all sorts of yarns flying about, because people going to the islands aren’t, as a rule, in a hurry, and don’t mind being asked questions.”
“What sort of looking chaps are they?”
“Oh, Yankees, I expect; but they are burnt as dark as niggers, and wear red sashes round their waists with belts over them,—the rig they wear in the islands, they say. Anyhow, when men want a shipload of goods in a hurry, and do the mystery-man about where they’re going to, it’s pretty clear that there’s money in it, and that they don’t want any one else to get before them. But I mean to be before them.”
“What——”
“You’ve come here to listen and not to ask questions. If I let you into this thing, which will be worked, mind, with my capital, what will you give in return?”
“Can’t give anything but my work.”
“Exactly. Well, then, it’s this way. I’ll make you my partner on a quarter share of all that’s made out of it; you on your side promise to work all you know until we break partnership by mutual consent. A quarter share ought to make your fortune if we have luck; but when I want a man to work I don’t believe in starving him. Now will you work, and will you keep your mouth shut, and will you stick to me? I don’t want any paper—your word will do.”
“Of course I will, Benion. I’ll swear if you like.”
“No. A man’s word is as good as his oath. If he breaks the one he’s bound to break the other.”
The two had come to a stand-still facing each other, but now Benion took his companion’s arm, and began to walk rapidly away from the houses.
“This morning,” he went on, “I made friends with one of the schooner’s crew. He was just going aboard, but when I talked of drinks he turned back with me. The poor devil had been kept pretty short on board. He wouldn’t talk at first, but put the liquor away until at last he got to think I was his oldest friend. He’d deserted from a whaler in Honolulu, and the owners of this schooner got him to sail on double wages at two hours’ notice. ‘And all to trade in the islands?’ I said. ‘Islands, be blowed!’ he said; ‘it’s something better than that!’ ‘Ah, well, I wish you luck,’ I said, getting up as if to go; but he didn’t want to move, and said, ‘And suppose it was trading—what then?’ ‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘Wal, do yer call gold nothing?’ he said, winking with one of his wicked eyes. ‘Don’t come one of your sailor’s yarns over me,’ I said. ‘It’s true, so help me,’ he answered; and then he looked round to see that no one was listening, and leaned forward till I could scarcely bear the smell of gin and tobacco-quid, and whispered, ‘They’ve found gold in Californy, and they’re stuck up for all kinds of trade. The ship that brought the news was leaking like a sieve, and my owners, as keeps a store in Honolulu, bought this schooner and got a crew together in less than a day, and we’re to fill up and get away to-day so as to be the first in the field. If they gets a week’s start they won’t have to keep store any more, ’cos bloomin’ nuggets of gold is the only money they use over in Californy, and they can stick it on ’cos the diggers is starving.’ ‘They’ll be getting stuff round from New York,’ I said. ‘That’s what they’re scared of,’ he said, ‘only they think that ships from New York are likelier to bring more diggers than stores.’
“So then I made my friend as drunk as he could carry, and saw him down to the quay, and I went off to find out what the owners had been up to. I found out that they’d been to some of the wholesale houses, buying up tools and clothing and provisions, and I heard from Jakes that they’d been inquiring for a timber-yard. Well, you know Hathaway’s a friend of mine, and when I got to him I found sure enough that my friends had been ordering timber, for a frame-house in the islands, they said, but old Hathaway said there were doors and locks enough for a prison. So I gave the old man the tip not to deliver the order before the end of the week. Didn’t give any reasons, and he didn’t ask any,—said it would be the devil’s own job anyway to get the stuff off to-morrow as the island chaps wanted.”
“Then are we going with them?” asked Allen.
“Not much, my boy; we’re going without ’em.”
“What! Take their vessel, d’you mean?” said the younger man, with open mouth.
“No. There are better vessels than theirs: just listen, and don’t ask questions. After I’d seen Hathaway I went to Thorne. I’ve done a goodish bit of business with him lately. Got him to give me a list of vessels he has lying idle,—seven of them, a bark, two brigs, and the rest schooners: told him a friend of mine wanted a fast boat for the island trade, but the old chap ’d got wind o’ something and asked me whether my friend was Mr Wilson of Honolulu. When he saw that I wouldn’t be pumped he doubled the charter. But we came to terms. He will let me have the Amaranth, the smartest thing in port, bark-rigged, seven hundred tons register. She’s just discharged, and will be ready for sea as soon as her cargo’s aboard. After that I went the round of the wholesale houses. I know some one in each of them, and by a little manœuvring I squared it to have my stuff delivered before Wilson’s. Then I saw Hathaway again, and doubled Wilson’s order,—mine, of course, to have preference. And, last of all, I engaged the Amaranth’s skipper, and got him to pick up a crew to sign indentures this afternoon,—not a bad day’s work!”
Allen’s bewilderment had been growing at each sentence of his companion’s story. “But what will it all cost?” he asked.
“Never you mind about that, my boy. You haven’t got to pay for it. If we’re quick enough and keep our mouths shut your share ought to be more than all this racket will cost me. Our only danger is a slow passage. The whole town’s talking about the business, and even if we get away before the Reindeer—Wilson’s schooner—the chances are that the thing will leak out and the whole town be after us. Now you go home and give your boss notice, and come and breakfast with me to-morrow. We’ll go on board in the morning and out with the afternoon ebb-tide, cleared at the Customs for a trading voyage in the islands. Once outside the Heads we can laugh at the Customs and everybody else, for nothing but a steamer could catch us.”
Allen found the Benion establishment in a state of disruption. A cart was at the door, and his friend in his shirt-sleeves, none too clean, was sitting on the lid of a box in the hall trying to snap the hasp.
“Just in time, my boy,” he shouted; “just sit down here and save me from breaking the Third Commandment again.”
Mrs Benion, harassed and red-eyed, was bustling about breakfast. When she had left them her husband whispered, “Talk as if we were coming back in a couple of months. She don’t half like my going. Says she dreamt she saw me in the water swimming for my life, and thinks she won’t see me again, so we must let her down easy.”
It was a miserable breakfast. The poor wife pretended that she had a cold to disguise her tears, and Benion poured forth a flood of artificial and forced gaiety that deceived no one. But it was over at last, and Allen went out to the street-door to leave the man and wife together. At last Benion pushed past him with his head down, saying, “She wants to say good-bye to you, Allen; go in, like a good fellow, and then follow me down.”
He found the dining-room door open. She was standing near the table repressing her sobs with evident effort. She looked him full in the eyes. “You will take care of him,” she said passionately, “and not let him run into danger,—he is so rash. I can trust you, for he has been so good to you, hasn’t he?”
“Of course I will, Mrs Benion; don’t be afraid. We’ll be back safe enough with our fortunes made before you’ve had time to miss us.” And he left her, hearing her first sob as he reached the door. Inwardly he thanked the fates that he was not married, for he felt vaguely that Benion was doing wrong in going. But of course he would come back safely, or, if anything were to happen, he himself would never return to Sydney to face the sorrow in that woman’s eyes.
The Amaranth was taking in the last of her cargo when they boarded her. She was full to the hatches, but a small deck-load of timber had to be stowed before they weighed anchor. About three o’clock she ran down to the Heads with the ebb-tide, and dropped her pilot before dark. Once clear of the land, Benion was in the wildest spirits; for they had at least a day’s start of the Reindeer, and they were a faster vessel and a bigger one. After dinner the captain was taken into their confidence; but the vision of gold-fields failed to tempt him, and he became restive. He not unnaturally wanted to know why he had not been told before. It was ten to one, he said, that his crew would desert, and where was he to get another? But Benion was prepared for this argument. If the gold-fields were good enough to make the crew desert, they were probably better than captain’s wages. Besides, he would be answerable to the owners. The crew had been got together in a hurry, and as there had been no selection, there was more than the usual proportion of grumblers. The wages were high, for it would have taken more than a day to get a complement for a cruise among the islands at the ordinary wages; but the islands were unpopular, and the men were half-hearted. When Benion had argued the captain into tacit acquiescence, he suggested that the crew should be let into the secret. “They’ve got to know it some time,” he said, “and why not now? When they know about the gold they’ll be as keen about the voyage as we are.”
He was right. From the time the announcement was made the work of the ship went like clockwork, and the voyage ended happily, and without any more grumbling: for since the days of the Argonauts, gold, whether in fleece or nugget, has ever had a powerful hold upon the imagination of sailors.
They made the land at sunrise. It was a perfect morning, fresh, but not cold. Before them were two mountain-ranges separated by a valley which, together with all the low-lying land, was filled with woolly vapour, absolutely motionless, and so level that it looked like the waters of a lake from which the mountain-tops emerged distinct in the clear air like islands. Then the rising sun struck them and crept down their sides in a flood of light till it touched the surface of the lake of vapour, tinging it with gold; and, as if by magic, the whole lake was set in motion, and rolled up the valley, where it was caught by the sea-breeze and whirled in great convolutions into the higher air, where it vanished.
They steered for two low promontories, upon one of which stood a ruinous fort bearing the Mexican flag. As they neared it the swell increased, for they were approaching the bar. The sea, so calm outside, broke angrily upon a sunken reef on their left, but the flood-tide helped them, and in a moment they were floating in calm water beyond the fort, with a magnificent view before them,—a broad sheet of water indented with coves and backed with pasture and woodland of the brightest green. The foreshore was less beautiful, for the tide was still low, and the beach was a waste of mud, from which a fetid steam had begun to rise that set the landscape a-dance. They dropped anchor between two barks that had every appearance of being deserted. Their running-gear was hanging loose, their yards were braced all ways as for a funeral, and their decks were littered with stores and rubbish as if the crew had left them in haste. Stranded on the mud was the hull of a schooner, her top-hamper touching the ground as she lay careened over. On shore the only dwellings to be seen were some ruined walls, round which a number of rough shanties of packing-cases, wreckage, and ships’ copper were clustered, and beyond these some hundreds of tents gleamed white in the morning sunlight from the fringe of forest trees. Such was the city of San Francisco in 1849.
Benion and Allen lost no time in going on shore. They stepped from the boat into a crowd of the hangers-on of the gold-field,—surely the strangest seething of humanity that the modern world can show! There were men of every nation and shade of colour, of every grade of society, of every creed and occupation, all flung together with the burning fever of gold-hunting hot upon them. And there were besides the ministers to their pleasures, their necessities, and their vices: storekeepers, without stores to sell; faro-bank keepers; saloon-keepers, cleared of their stock-in-trade; and the ministers to yet lower vices. Hundreds of new arrivals, unprovided with the few stores necessary to support life, and unable to buy at the famine prices of the place, were still awaiting the arrival of a ship.
As soon as it became known that Benion had brought stores he was set upon by the storekeepers and liquor-sellers, but he had made a stern resolve to retail everything himself and let no middleman profit from him. But the Reindeer might be in at any moment to compete with him, so that, after fixing upon a site for his tent, he sent part of his cargo ashore that very afternoon, and ensconced Allen as storeman.
So Allen bartered goods for gold-dust; and as their hoard increased, the friendship that is born of hardships endured in common grew between them.