LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume III, Issue 226, 1 March 1875, Page 3

LITERATURE.

CALIFORNIA JACKSON. ( Concluded) Yet I now fancied that I had a partial clue to Jackson’s conduct at the operation on that memorable morning. Time passed heavily. 1 helped myself to a cigar from the case which stood on the mantlepiece. My thoughts reverted to the portrait, and until the cold grey light of a drizzly winter morning broke into the apartment, I sat smoking, dreaming, and conjecturing. The morning advanced ; the tramp of an occasional workman going to his labour, or the rattle of a solitary cart or cab, began to disturb the gloomy silence of the street. Then the footsteps and the vehicles became more frequent, until at length the heavy grinding of the social machinery of a great city was in full swing. Miss Vinegar made her appearance, and I had a frugal breakfast, then set out for the hospital, feeling rather seedy, it must be confessed. All that day I had a strong tendency to doze during the lectures ; a circumstance which caused the worthy professors to regard me with a peculiar glance, for I am not usually sleepy headed. In the evening I again found myself at poor J ackson’s lodgings. The doctor had called, and gave Miss Vinegar a very gloomy opinion about the case. Feared that amputation of the hand, even of the arm, might be necessary. Possibility of early fatal termination of the case. Miss V. was to sit up that night; so I went on to my own lodgings, and received the domestic attentions of ‘ old Jenny.’ And in this manner days passed. Poor Jackson’s arm was ripped-up in different places by the surgeon’s knife. Slowly but surely he pulled round, and at length the surgeon pronounced him out of danger. But what a feeble scarecrow he was, poor fellow ! Jackson was a man of iron frame, but it had been terribly tasked. For months he was too feeble to attempt going out of doors, and I was his constant companion, so far as my duties would permit. And in gratitude he gave me his story. Yes, sir, I loved her—loved, her, although she was so young, innocent, and beautiful, and I so old, wicked, and ugly. But I fought hard for her. You see, I was first of all the manager of the silver mines under her father, then I was made a partner. I worked hard. Her father is an Englishman, her mother was of Spanish descent. How beautiful she is ! how good ! One night her father came to me, and said —‘Jackson, you say you love my girl—prove it. ’ I grasped his hand. ‘ Jackson, a rush w'ill be made for the mine to-night. A band of armed desperadoes is prepared to take possession of our treasure. Save it! Think, plan, act! If you are successful, Anna will be yours—take my word; there is my hand.’ Sir, I laid several loads of gunpowder in certain parts of the mine, and I had connecting electric-wires so arranged that the blasts could be fired by a person outside. If the desperadoes got into the mine, I could by a movement of my hand send them into eternity in an instant. But I had to be quick, and to work hard. About twelve midnight I took up my post in a concealed spot outside the mouth of the mine, ready to send an electric spark which would play hell with all inside the workings. It was a moonlit night, but cloudy. About 1 a.m. I saw shadowy figures creeping cautiously up to the mouth of the mine. They were armed. Suddenly a rush was made. The attacking party seemed to expect opposition ; but none was offered, and soon they vanished into the bowels of the earth. I gave them time to get fairly into the mine, and then I—Lord, have mercy upon me—l It was hard work dealing out the mine, and the dead bodies were awfully used up ; but the mine was saved. What horrid dreams I had after that! Time passed. I claimed Anna. Her father kept his word ; but the daughter had a mind of her own. Long and earnestly I urged my love-suit; but the lady was hardhearted. How often have I gone on my knees to her, and prayed with tears in my eyes that she would have mercy upon me ! Once she laughed in my face. Thank Heaven that 1 was without my revolver then, or neither of us would have been alive to-day ! Sometimes I thought that I was mad thus to urge.my love; I, an old man, hardened and seared ; she, a young girl, ignorant and innocent. Surely my love season ended when I fled from the Old World to the New—when I fled, after being jilted by a worthless woman. But the madness returned upon me, I must have Anna, or die ! The alarm was raised. The cry arose, ‘ The Apaches ! Anna’s father rushed to me : ‘ Great Heaven, my daughter! the Indians ! O, save her ?’

Anna had strayed too far into the sagebush. She was self-willed and brave-hearted; she laughed at the Indians ; but her father and I knew better. The Apaches had won the game this time. Yes, we rescued her ; but I got an arrowwound which fevered me for weeks, and a slash from a tomahawk which left this mark on my brow; but I recovered after a long illness. It was a walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death. But Anna nursed me, and that made the Valley of the Shadow of Death to appear as heaven. 0, the ecstacy of gazing on her beauty ! 0, the joy of being tended by such an angel ! I was Sony to get well soon, but I did get well. Then the dream, the happy dream, ended. Anna once more became as cold as ice, and my stout heart died within me. Then the question, arose, Why should I live ? I got to care for nothing, neglected the mine, took to drink ; everything went wrong; then her father came to me and said ; ‘Jackson, what is the matter? This won’t do—everything is going to blazes !’ I said, ‘ You know what is the matter.’ ‘ Well,’ said he, ‘ girls are self-willed. ’ We were silent for a long time ; then he said : * Well, I’ll try again; by Heaven [l’ll make her take you!’ And he was gone. And Anna promised that if the mines prospered well for two years more under my care, and if I then went to the Old Country and graduated in medicine at a British university, she would become my wife. ‘0 Anna,’ I pleaded, ‘you are cruel! Think of the terrible ordeal you assign to me! An old rough silver-miner, accustomed to savage men and savage ways, to go to study medicine at a university ! 0, ’tis

cruel! It is unfair ! I must surely fail ; I am overweighted in the race. Be merciful I I’ll do anything at mining; but at college learning I have little change. ’ Then she turned on me with her proud imperious beauty and haughty dign'ty. ‘ Sir, if you do as I have said, I shall marry you —not till then !’ There was a flash and a rustling of silk, and her father and I were alone. * And here I am working hard to become a doctor. Another year, and I hope to be in a position to claim Anna for my wife. Lovely Anna ! Oh, how good she is ! ‘ Yes, you have guessed right. That poor woman who was to get her hand amputated was so like Anna that I could not stand it. That was the reason why I ran away.’ I thought over his story as I traversed the gas-lit city streets on my way to my lodgings. I thought long and deeply on the tender tale—for tender it was—and all the more affecting that Jackson was so stern and rugged himself. Ugly * old Jenny’ let me in and gave me my frugal tea. I went to bed, feeling as if a dream and been realised. Time passed, and at length Jackson and I found ourselves at the end of our medical curriculum at the close of our last session, and preparing to go up to pass our final examination. In the meantime poor Jackson had not recruited very well after his terrible illness. He still remained pale, shrunken, and emaciated. I could not help frequently thinking that this bad state of health was due more to mental than to physical suffering. Of one thing I was quite sure while he seemed to be continually writing and posting letters to California, very few were sent to him from that part of the world. At times, I almost fancied that poor old Jackson’s stout heart was being slowly broken. I could read a terrible agony in his cold gray eyes. ’Twas indeed seldom that he received a note from Anna, and I had reason to know that the few which she did send were very short. One day I found Jackson sitting poring over one of them as if in a trance. I imagined that he was trying to extract a kindness from it which the words of the message did not express. In spite of all this, however, my friend made, most marvellous progress in his studies. He did not work like other students—he seemed to be possessed. He was ill, he was anxious, yet 1 was conscious that his attainments far exceeded mine, although I also worked very hard and constantly, and possessed many advantages which he lacked. Then came that anxious and terrible day on which we must stand the trial of the final examination. In the evening we would either fbe ‘plucked’ or graduates of our university, and qualified to practise our profession. Jackson and I had read a great deal together and ground each other well, and we were both conscious of having worked honestly; still I confess to a very considerable degree of nervous apprehension when the day dawned which was to test our attainments. I need not detail that day’s doings ; suffice it to say that both Jackson and I were pretty well satisfied with ourselves when we came to compare notes in the evening. A week must elapse before the result would be publicly announced—week of misery. But one day Jackson and I, rushing up to the blackboard in the first quadrangle, found the list of ‘ passed ’ men affixed thereon. With throbbing heart and swimming eye I devoured, rather than scanned, the roll; there, blessed joy, O happy relief, O proud satisfaction!—there was my own name among the successful men; and a grunt from Jackson told me that he was all right. Then we pointed out our names to each other, took a last longing look, then arm-in-arm walked away with feelings beyond description. That evening Jackson wrote and posted a letter to Anna informing her of his success; then he scanned the shipping advertisements to see the earliest opportunity which he would have of getting back to California to claim his bride; and, having settled those affairs, he accompanied me home to my lodgings. We enjoyed ourselves to the full—drinking toddy, smoking cigars, chatting or indulging in happy dreamy silence till two o’clock in the morning. Then we parted, with mutual congratulations and good wishes. To my utter amazement and indignation, just as I was in the act of going to bed, ‘ old Jenny’ thrust her mahogany countenance into my room, and indulged in a prophecy to the effect that something ‘no canny’ would happen to ‘ Maister Jackson,’ for she had just had an ‘ awful dream’ about him, from which she was awakened by the noise of his departure. I was somewhat puzzled at first to decide whether this was a sort of revenge for the annoyange we might have given her, or whether it was a sly and roundabout way to come at her share of the toddy. At any rate, I ended by laughing and telling her to take a ‘nip.’ She thanked me, said she would; then, asking if I was all right in bed, coolly turned off the gas and walked out of the room, leaving a strong impression on my mind that she had walked off with the whisky bottle in the dark. Next morning I had a fearful headache, and felt utterly prostrate. Bottles of sodawater and cups of tea formed my only sustenance, and I kept my bed all day. It was a long dismal day to me, but through it all I had the happy consciousness that I had ‘ passed. ’ The day had been wet; in the evening it cleared up a little. 1 had just fallen into a light but refreshing sleep when ‘ old Jenny’ half hopped, half limped, into the room, and screamed out: ‘ Just as I told ye ! He’s deed ! Committed shuiside wi’ a pistol! Miss Vinegar has sent ower for ye! The pollis are in !’ My heart faltered for a moment, then stopped. I gasped—it gave two great thumps, then fluttered. Gradually 1 recovered so as to be able to ask: ‘ Who is dead, woman ? ‘ Yer freen—Mr Jackson ?’ ‘ Heaven have mercy upon us ! Jackson ! Impossible !’ ‘Ay,’ said Jenny. ‘ But it’s a fact for a’ that. ’ As if acting in a horrid nightmare, I arose and dressed; then walked to Jackson’s lodgings. I found the dreadful news to be only too true. The police were in possession. Poor Jackson lay on his back on the floor—dead ! In one hand he grasped the fatal pistol—in the other was clutched a foreign newspaper. A paragraph in the paper was marked with a heavy cross, as if to call attention to it. The ink was scarcely dry. The paragraph, which was in the marriage column, ran thus: — ‘At ‘The Pines,’ Pocky Valley, California, on the 26th inst, by the Pev Silas Prool, Anna, only daughter of Joseph Fageland, Esq., to Harry Vardeut, M.D.’