Poor fellow! we could not help laughing at his simplicity, though we condemned the selfish cunning that would stoop to take advantage of it. In the spring, Brushhouse joined himself to two Dutchmen to go up into the mountains, and the three together bought a mule to transport their luggage. But just before reaching Coloma the wary mynheers demanded of him a certain sum for freight, and because he had nothing to pay, having exhausted his all in his previous preparations, they took his share of the mule and departed, leaving the unlucky dwarf sitting by the roadside, trying in vain to find out how it happened that he had to buy a mule and then pay freight besides.
Greybeard, who was "a good portly man i' faith, and a corpulent, his age some fifty, or by'r lady inclining to three-score," used often to come in on a rainy afternoon, on which occasions the following conversation invariably took place:
"Well, sir, and how do you feel to-day?" one of us would say, with a full assurance of what was to follow.
"Oh! I don't know," he would reply, with a long-drawn sigh, and placing his hand on his heart; "I feel so weak about here, it seems as if I could hardly breathe. I shall never be any better as long as I stay in the mines. I was never sick before in my life. When I left the ship I weighed a hundred and eighty, now I don't weigh a hundred and fifty. I can't sleep more'n half the night, and there's that Glass—he'll lie there and snooze—he don't care, and I took him in. The whole tent and everything in it is mine. I knew his father, at home; he's a nice likely man, but none of his boys take after him. He was sick a long time and couldn't help himself, and I had to take the whole care of him. I had a claim at the time that was paying more'n an ounce a day, and I lost it; and now he's got well, he won't do a thing. He made some soup t'other day, and 'twas all burnt so't I couldn't taste a mouthful. How much room you seem to have here! I declare I don't see how 'tis, our tent is a'most as big as yours, and we've hardly room to turn round. But there's that Glass—I told him, when he was fixing his bed, 'toughtn't to be way out in the middle—I should ha' fixed things different, but there's that Glass—I could chop faster when I wan't more'n ten years old, but he don't know nothing—his father's a nice likely man, but none of his sons take after him. Your stove seems to work first-rate—ours smokes awfully. I knew 'twould;—but there's that Glass"—and here he had to stop for want of breath.
The effect of this long series of anathemas was infinitely enhanced by that artful dropping of the last syllable, by which his indignation seemed to be condensed and compressed into tenfold bitterness. If he had simply said, "There's that Glassford," it would have been nothing; but there's that Glass, was positively awful. It at once curtailed the unfortunate object of his spleen of half his fair proportions, and reduced him to a minim of a man. It was as good as conjuring. It reminded me of some scene in Arabian story where a fairy first transformed her enemy into a monkey, and then slew him with a bodkin. "There's that Glass" at length became with us a household word, which was constantly applied when any one attempted to shift the burden of his own remissness on to the shoulders of another.
Other sources of amusement were not wanting. A checkerboard, made on a box-cover with chalk and charcoal, wiled away many a heavy hour; and Tertium now and then passed nearly a whole day tramping over the hills in search of deer, and was sometimes so fortunate as to catch a glimpse of their tails as they went whisking past. The keen sportsmanlike zest with which he used to enlarge upon his success, reminded me of that devoutest of anglers who, after waiting patiently in one spot from morn till noon, from noon to dewy eve, was at last rewarded by a glorious nibble.
But there were places at no great distance from the island where more skilful hunters had little difficulty in securing their game. A regular business was carried on in this way, and for several months our market was supplied with an abundance of venison, which was usually sold for forty cents a pound. Now and then a deer, ignorant of the changes a single year had wrought in his hitherto undisturbed domain, came boldly to drink in the same river where he and his fathers had quenched their thirst for centuries; but now found every pass guarded by lurking foes. A fine buck ran one morning directly before our door: he had evidently been hard pressed by the hunters, and his heavy sobs confessed his fatigue; but a hundred enemies starting up on every side compelled him once more to plunge into his native solitudes.
There was so little to distinguish Sunday from other days in the week that I sometimes thought we should have to resort to the same expedient practised by Crusoe, and notch the time upon a post. Most of the miners, it is true, ceased on that day from their ordinary labours, but it was far from being on that account a day of rest. The stores were all open, and three times as busy as usual. The gambling houses were thronged—the bars drained dry—the week's wages wasted in a day's debauch. Those who avoided these vices, filled up the time with a great variety of occupations. First, their clothes were to be washed, but this was speedily accomplished, as all they had to do was to tie them to a rope, and let them swim half a day in the river. Then there were letters to write, tools to mend, walking, hunting, and prospecting, for which last many considered the day especially lucky. If there were several rainy days during the week, some of the more skilful casuists among the miners counted them as Sunday, and went to work on that day without scruple. Others who would not have made this transfer wittingly, were sometimes betrayed into it through ignorance.
Walking one Sunday half a mile up the river, I found our little friend Brushhouse hard at work in a small ravine.