LEGENDS AND TALES

By Bret Harte

CONTENTS

THE LEGEND OF MONTE DEL DIABLO

THE ADVENTURE OF PADRE VINCENTIO

THE LEGEND OF DEVIL'S POINT

THE DEVIL AND THE BROKER

THE OGRESS OF SILVER LAND

THE RUINS OF SAN FRANCISCO

A NIGHT AT WINGDAM

LEGENDS AND TALES. 

THE LEGEND OF MONTE DEL DIABLO. 

The cautious reader will detect a lack of authenticity in the followingpages. I am not a cautious reader myself, yet I confess with someconcern to the absence of much documentary evidence in support ofthe singular incident I am about to relate. Disjointed memoranda, theproceedings of ayuntamientos and early departmental juntas, with otherrecords of a primitive and superstitious people, have been my inadequateauthorities. It is but just to state, however, that though thisparticular story lacks corroboration, in ransacking the Spanish archivesof Upper California I have met with many more surprising and incrediblestories, attested and supported to a degree that would have placed thislegend beyond a cavil or doubt. I have, also, never lost faith in thelegend myself, and in so doing have profited much from the examplesof divers grant-claimants, who have often jostled me in their morepractical researches, and who have my sincere sympathy at the scepticismof a modern hard-headed and practical world. 

For many years after Father Junipero Serro first rang his bell inthe wilderness of Upper California, the spirit which animated thatadventurous priest did not wane. The conversion of the heathen wenton rapidly in the establishment of Missions throughout the land. Sosedulously did the good Fathers set about their work, that around theirisolated chapels there presently arose adobe huts, whose mud-plasteredand savage tenants partook regularly of the provisions, and occasionallyof the Sacrament, of their pious hosts. Nay, so great was theirprogress, that one zealous Padre is reported to have administeredthe Lord's Supper one Sabbath morning to "over three hundred heathenSalvages. " It was not to be wondered that the Enemy of Souls, beinggreatly incensed thereat, and alarmed at his decreasing popularity, should have grievously tempted and embarrassed these Holy Fathers, as weshall presently see. 

Yet they were happy, peaceful days for California. The vagrant keels ofprying Commerce had not as yet ruffled the lordly gravity of her bays. No torn and ragged gulch betrayed the suspicion of golden treasure. The wild oats drooped idly in the morning heat, or wrestled with theafternoon breezes. Deer and antelope dotted the plain. The watercoursesbrawled in their familiar channels, nor dreamed of ever shifting theirregular tide. The wonders of the Yosemite and Calaveras were as yetunrecorded. The Holy Fathers noted little of the landscape beyond thebarbaric prodigality with which the quick soil repaid the sowing. A newconversion, the advent of a Saint's day, or the baptism of an Indianbaby, was at once the chronicle and marvel of their day. 

At this blissful epoch there lived at the Mission of San Pablo FatherJose Antonio Haro, a worthy brother of the Society of Jesus. He wasof tall and cadaverous aspect. A somewhat romantic history had given apoetic interest to his lugubrious visage. While a youth, pursuing hisstudies at famous Salamanca, he had become enamored of the charmsof Dona Carmen de Torrencevara, as that lady passed to her matutinaldevotions. Untoward circumstances, hastened, perhaps, by a wealthiersuitor, brought this amour to a disastrous issue; and Father Joseentered a monastery, taking upon himself the vows of celibacy. It washere that his natural fervor and poetic enthusiasm conceived expressionas a missionary. A longing to convert the uncivilized heathen succeededhis frivolous earthly passion, and a desire to explore and developunknown fastnesses continually possessed him. In his flashing eye andsombre exterior was detected a singular commingling of the discreet LasCasas and the impetuous Balboa. 

Fired by this pious zeal, Father Jose went forward in the van ofChristian pioneers. On reaching Mexico, he obtained authority toestablish the Mission of San Pablo. Like the good Junipero, accompaniedonly by an acolyte and muleteer, he unsaddled his mules in a duskycanyon, and rang his bell in the wilderness. The savages--a peaceful, inoffensive, and inferior race--presently flocked around him. Thenearest military post was far away, which contributed much to thesecurity of these pious pilgrims, who found their open trustfulness andamiability better fitted to repress hostility than the presence of anarmed, suspicious, and brawling soldiery. So the good Father Jose saidmatins and prime, mass and vespers, in the heart of Sin and Heathenism, taking no heed to himself, but looking only to the welfare of the HolyChurch. Conversions soon followed, and, on the 7th of July, 1760, thefirst Indian baby was baptized, --an event which, as Father Jose piouslyrecords, "exceeds the richnesse of gold or precious jewels or thechancing upon the Ophir of Solomon. " I quote this incident as bestsuited to show the ingenious blending of poetry and piety whichdistinguished Father Jose's record. 

The Mission of San Pablo progressed and prospered until the piousfounder thereof, like the infidel Alexander, might have wept that therewere no more heathen worlds to conquer. But his ardent and enthusiasticspirit could not long brook an idleness that seemed begotten of sin;and one pleasant August morning, in the year of grace 1770, Father Joseissued from the outer court of the Mission building, equipped to explorethe field for new missionary labors. 

Nothing could exceed the quiet gravity and unpretentiousness of thelittle cavalcade. First rode a stout muleteer, leading a pack-mule ladenwith the provisions of the party, together with a few cheap crucifixesand hawks' bells. After him came the devout Padre Jose, bearing hisbreviary and cross, with a black serapa thrown around his shoulders;while on either side trotted a dusky convert, anxious to show a propersense of their regeneration by acting as guides into the wilds of theirheathen brethren. Their new condition was agreeably shown by the absenceof the usual mud-plaster, which in their unconverted state they assumedto keep away vermin and cold. The morning was bright and propitious. Before their departure, mass had been said in the chapel, and theprotection of St. Ignatius invoked against all contingent evils, butespecially against bears, which, like the fiery dragons of old, seemedto cherish unconquerable hostility to the Holy Church. 

As they wound through the canyon, charming birds disported uponboughs and sprays, and sober quails piped from the alders; the willowywater-courses gave a musical utterance, and the long grass whispered onthe hillside. On entering the deeper defiles, above them towered darkgreen masses of pine, and occasionally the madrono shook its brightscarlet berries. As they toiled up many a steep ascent, Father Josesometimes picked up fragments of scoria, which spake to his imaginationof direful volcanoes and impending earthquakes. To the less scientificmind of the muleteer Ignacio they had even a more terrifyingsignificance; and he once or twice snuffed the air suspiciously, anddeclared that it smelt of sulphur. So the first day of their journeywore away, and at night they encamped without having met a singleheathen face. 

It was on this night that the Enemy of Souls appeared to Ignacio in anappalling form. He had retired to a secluded part of the camp and hadsunk upon his knees in prayerful meditation, when he looked up andperceived the Arch-Fiend in the likeness of a monstrous bear. The EvilOne was seated on his hind legs immediately before him, with his forepaws joined together just below his black muzzle. Wisely conceiving thisremarkable attitude to be in mockery and derision of his devotions, the worthy muleteer was transported with fury. Seizing an arquebuse, he instantly closed his eyes and fired. When he had recovered fromthe effects of the terrific discharge, the apparition had disappeared. Father Jose, awakened by the report, reached the spot only in time tochide the muleteer for wasting powder and ball in a contest with onewhom a single ave would have been sufficient to utterly discomfit. Whatfurther reliance he placed on Ignacio's story is not known; but, incommemoration of a worthy Californian custom, the place was called LaCanada de la Tentacion del Pio Muletero, or "The Glen of the Temptationof the Pious Muleteer, " a name which it retains to this day. 

The next morning the party, issuing from a narrow gorge, came upon along valley, sear and burnt with the shadeless heat. Its lower extremitywas lost in a fading line of low hills, which, gathering might andvolume toward the upper end of the valley, upheaved a stupendous bulwarkagainst the breezy North. The peak of this awful spur was just touchedby a fleecy cloud that shifted to and fro like a banneret. Father Josegazed at it with mingled awe and admiration. By a singular coincidence, the muleteer Ignacio uttered the simple ejaculation "Diablo!"

As they penetrated the valley, they soon began to miss the agreeablelife and companionable echoes of the canyon they had quitted. Hugefissures in the parched soil seemed to gape as with thirsty mouths. Afew squirrels darted from the earth, and disappeared as mysteriouslybefore the jingling mules. A gray wolf trotted leisurely along justahead. But whichever way Father Jose turned, the mountain alwaysasserted itself and arrested his wandering eye. Out of the dry and aridvalley, it seemed to spring into cooler and bracing life. Deep cavernousshadows dwelt along its base; rocky fastnesses appeared midway of itselevation; and on either side huge black hills diverged like massy rootsfrom a central trunk. His lively fancy pictured these hills peopled witha majestic and intelligent race of savages; and looking into futurity, he already saw a monstrous cross crowning the dome-like summit. Fardifferent were the sensations of the muleteer, who saw in those awfulsolitudes only fiery dragons, colossal bears and break-neck trails. The converts, Concepcion and Incarnacion, trotting modestly beside thePadre, recognized, perhaps, some manifestation of their former weirdmythology. 

At nightfall they reached the base of the mountain. Here Father Joseunpacked his mules, said vespers, and, formally ringing his bell, calledupon the Gentiles within hearing to come and accept the Holy Faith. The echoes of the black frowning hills around him caught up the piousinvitation, and repeated it at intervals; but no Gentiles appeared thatnight. Nor were the devotions of the muleteer again disturbed, althoughhe afterward asserted, that, when the Father's exhortation was ended, a mocking peal of laughter came from the mountain. Nothing daunted bythese intimations of the near hostility of the Evil One, Father Josedeclared his intention to ascend the mountain at early dawn; and beforethe sun rose the next morning he was leading the way. 

The ascent was in many places difficult and dangerous. Huge fragmentsof rock often lay across the trail, and after a few hours' climbing theywere forced to leave their mules in a little gully, and continue theascent afoot. Unaccustomed to such exertion, Father Jose often stoppedto wipe the perspiration from his thin cheeks. As the day wore on, astrange silence oppressed them. Except the occasional pattering of asquirrel, or a rustling in the chimisal bushes, there were no signs oflife. The half-human print of a bear's foot sometimes appeared beforethem, at which Ignacio always crossed himself piously. The eye wassometimes cheated by a dripping from the rocks, which on closerinspection proved to be a resinous oily liquid with an abominablesulphurous smell. When they were within a short distance of the summit, the discreet Ignacio, selecting a sheltered nook for the camp, slippedaside and busied himself in preparations for the evening, leavingthe Holy Father to continue the ascent alone. Never was there a morethoughtless act of prudence, never a more imprudent piece of caution. Without noticing the desertion, buried in pious reflection, Father Josepushed mechanically on, and, reaching the summit, cast himself down andgazed upon the prospect. 

Below him lay a succession of valleys opening into each other likegentle lakes, until they were lost to the southward. Westerly thedistant range hid the bosky canada which sheltered the mission of SanPablo. In the farther distance the Pacific Ocean stretched away, bearinga cloud of fog upon its bosom, which crept through the entrance of thebay, and rolled thickly between him and the northeastward; the same foghid the base of mountain and the view beyond. Still, from time to timethe fleecy veil parted, and timidly disclosed charming glimpses ofmighty rivers, mountain defiles, and rolling plains, sear with ripenedoats, and bathed in the glow of the setting sun. As Father Jose gazed, he was penetrated with a pious longing. Already his imagination, filledwith enthusiastic conceptions, beheld all that vast expanse gatheredunder the mild sway of the Holy Faith, and peopled with zealousconverts. Each little knoll in fancy became crowned with a chapel; fromeach dark canyon gleamed the white walls of a mission building. Growingbolder in his enthusiasm, and looking farther into futurity, he behelda new Spain rising on these savage shores. He already saw the spiresof stately cathedrals, the domes of palaces, vineyards, gardens, andgroves. Convents, half hid among the hills, peeping from plantations ofbranching limes; and long processions of chanting nuns wound through thedefiles. So completely was the good Father's conception of thefuture confounded with the past, that even in their choral strain thewell-remembered accents of Carmen struck his ear. He was busied inthese fanciful imaginings, when suddenly over that extended prospectthe faint, distant tolling of a bell rang sadly out and died. It was theAngelus. Father Jose listened with superstitious exaltation. The missionof San Pablo was far away, and the sound must have been some miraculousomen. But never before, to his enthusiastic sense, did the sweetseriousness of this angelic symbol come with such strange significance. With the last faint peal, his glowing fancy seemed to cool; the fogclosed in below him, and the good Father remembered he had not had hissupper. He had risen and was wrapping his serapa around him, when heperceived for the first time that he was not alone. 

Nearly opposite, and where should have been the faithless Ignacio, agrave and decorous figure was seated. His appearance was that of anelderly hidalgo, dressed in mourning, with mustaches of iron-graycarefully waxed and twisted around a pair of lantern-jaws. Themonstrous hat and prodigious feather, the enormous ruff and exaggeratedtrunk-hose, contrasted with a frame shrivelled and wizened, allbelonged to a century previous. Yet Father Jose was not astonished. Hisadventurous life and poetic imagination, continually on the lookoutfor the marvellous, gave him a certain advantage over the practical andmaterial minded. He instantly detected the diabolical quality of hisvisitant, and was prepared. With equal coolness and courtesy he met thecavalier's obeisance. 

"I ask your pardon, Sir Priest, " said the stranger, "for disturbingyour meditations. Pleasant they must have been, and right fanciful, Iimagine, when occasioned by so fair a prospect. "

"Worldly, perhaps, Sir Devil, --for such I take you to be, " said the HolyFather, as the stranger bowed his black plumes to the ground; "worldly, perhaps; for it hath pleased Heaven to retain even in our regeneratedstate much that pertaineth to the flesh, yet still, I trust, not withoutsome speculation for the welfare of the Holy Church. In dwelling uponyon fair expanse, mine eyes have been graciously opened with propheticinspiration, and the promise of the heathen as an inheritance hathmarvellously recurred to me. For there can be none lack such diligencein the True Faith, but may see that even the conversion of thesepitiful salvages hath a meaning. As the blessed St. Ignatius discreetlyobserves, " continued Father Jose, clearing his throat and slightlyelevating his voice, "'the heathen is given to the warriors of Christ, even as the pearls of rare discovery which gladden the hearts ofshipmen. ' Nay, I might say--"

But here the stranger, who had been wrinkling his brows and twistinghis mustaches with well-bred patience, took advantage of an oratoricalpause:--

"It grieves me, Sir Priest, to interrupt the current of your eloquenceas discourteously as I have already broken your meditations; but the dayalready waneth to night. I have a matter of serious import to make withyou, could I entreat your cautious consideration a few moments. "

Father Jose hesitated. The temptation was great, and the prospectof acquiring some knowledge of the Great Enemy's plans not the leasttrifling object. And if the truth must be told, there was a certaindecorum about the stranger that interested the Padre. Though well awareof the Protean shapes the Arch-Fiend could assume, and though free fromthe weaknesses of the flesh, Father Jose was not above the temptationsof the spirit. Had the Devil appeared, as in the case of the pious St. Anthony, in the likeness of a comely damsel, the good Father, with hiscertain experience of the deceitful sex, would have whisked her awayin the saying of a paternoster. But there was, added to the security ofage, a grave sadness about the stranger, --a thoughtful consciousness asof being at a great moral disadvantage, --which at once decided him on amagnanimous course of conduct. 

The stranger then proceeded to inform him, that he had been diligentlyobserving the Holy Father's triumphs in the valley. That, far frombeing greatly exercised thereat, he had been only grieved to see soenthusiastic and chivalrous an antagonist wasting his zeal in a hopelesswork. For, he observed, the issue of the great battle of Good and Evilhad been otherwise settled, as he would presently show him. "It wantsbut a few moments of night, " he continued, "and over this interval oftwilight, as you know, I have been given complete control. Look to theWest. "

As the Padre turned, the stranger took his enormous hat from his head, and waved it three times before him. At each sweep of the prodigiousfeather, the fog grew thinner, until it melted impalpably away, and theformer landscape returned, yet warm with the glowing sun. As Father Josegazed, a strain of martial music arose from the valley, and issuingfrom a deep canyon, the good Father beheld a long cavalcade of gallantcavaliers, habited like his companion. As they swept down the plain, they were joined by like processions, that slowly defiled from everyravine and canyon of the mysterious mountain. From time to time the pealof a trumpet swelled fitfully upon the breeze; the cross of Santiagoglittered, and the royal banners of Castile and Aragon waved over themoving column. So they moved on solemnly toward the sea, where, in thedistance, Father Jose saw stately caravels, bearing the same familiarbanner, awaiting them. The good Padre gazed with conflicting emotions, and the serious voice of the stranger broke the silence. 

"Thou hast beheld, Sir Priest, the fading footprints of adventurousCastile. Thou hast seen the declining glory of old Spain, --declining asyonder brilliant sun. The sceptre she hath wrested from the heathen isfast dropping from her decrepit and fleshless grasp. The children shehath fostered shall know her no longer. The soil she hath acquired shallbe lost to her as irrevocably as she herself hath thrust the Moor fromher own Granada. "

The stranger paused, and his voice seemed broken by emotion; at the sametime, Father Jose, whose sympathizing heart yearned toward the departingbanners, cried in poignant accents, --

"Farewell, ye gallant cavaliers and Christian soldiers! Farewell, thou, Nunes de Balboa! thou, Alonzo de Ojeda! and thou, most venerable LasCasas! Farewell, and may Heaven prosper still the seed ye left behind!"

Then turning to the stranger, Father Jose beheld him gravely draw hispocket-handkerchief from the basket-hilt of his rapier, and apply itdecorously to his eyes. 

"Pardon this weakness, Sir Priest, " said the cavalier, apologetically;"but these worthy gentlemen were ancient friends of mine, and havedone me many a delicate service, --much more, perchance, than these poorsables may signify, " he added, with a grim gesture toward the mourningsuit he wore. 

Father Jose was too much preoccupied in reflection to notice theequivocal nature of this tribute, and, after a few moments' silence, said, as if continuing his thought, --

"But the seed they have planted shall thrive and prosper on thisfruitful soil. "

As if answering the interrogatory, the stranger turned to the oppositedirection, and, again waving his hat, said, in the same serious tone, --

"Look to the East!"

The Father turned, and, as the fog broke away before the waving plume, he saw that the sun was rising. Issuing with its bright beams throughthe passes of the snowy mountains beyond, appeared a strange and motleycrew. Instead of the dark and romantic visages of his last phantomtrain, the Father beheld with strange concern the blue eyes and flaxenhair of a Saxon race. In place of martial airs and musical utterance, there rose upon the ear a strange din of harsh gutturals and singularsibilation. Instead of the decorous tread and stately mien of thecavaliers of the former vision, they came pushing, bustling, panting, and swaggering. And as they passed, the good Father noticed that gianttrees were prostrated as with the breath of a tornado, and the bowelsof the earth were torn and rent as with a convulsion. And Father Joselooked in vain for holy cross or Christian symbol; there was but onethat seemed an ensign, and he crossed himself with holy horror as heperceived it bore the effigy of a bear. 

"Who are these swaggering Ishmaelites?" he asked, with something ofasperity in his tone. 

The stranger was gravely silent. 

"What do they here, with neither cross nor holy symbol?" he againdemanded. 

"Have you the courage to see, Sir Priest?" responded the stranger, quietly. 

Father Jose felt his crucifix, as a lonely traveller might his rapier, and assented. 

"Step under the shadow of my plume, " said the stranger. 

Father Jose stepped beside him, and they instantly sank through theearth. 

When he opened his eyes, which had remained closed in prayerfulmeditation during his rapid descent, he found himself in a vast vault, bespangled overhead with luminous points like the starred firmament. Itwas also lighted by a yellow glow that seemed to proceed from a mightysea or lake that occupied the centre of the chamber. Around thissubterranean sea dusky figures flitted, bearing ladles filled with theyellow fluid, which they had replenished from its depths. From this lakediverging streams of the same mysterious flood penetrated like mightyrivers the cavernous distance. As they walked by the banks of thisglittering Styx, Father Jose perceived how the liquid stream at certainplaces became solid. The ground was strewn with glittering flakes. Oneof these the Padre picked up and curiously examined. It was virgin gold. 

An expression of discomfiture overcast the good Father's face at thisdiscovery; but there was trace neither of malice nor satisfaction in thestranger's air, which was still of serious and fateful contemplation. When Father Jose recovered his equanimity, he said, bitterly, --

"This, then, Sir Devil, is your work! This is your deceitful lure forthe weak souls of sinful nations! So would you replace the Christiangrace of holy Spain!"

"This is what must be, " returned the stranger, gloomily. "But listen, Sir Priest. It lies with you to avert the issue for a time. Leave mehere in peace. Go back to Castile, and take with you your bells, yourimages, and your missions. Continue here, and you only precipitateresults. Stay! promise me you will do this, and you shall not lack thatwhich will render your old age an ornament and a blessing;" and thestranger motioned significantly to the lake. 

It was here, the legend discreetly relates, that the Devil showed--as healways shows sooner or later--his cloven hoof. The worthy Padre, sorelyperplexed by his threefold vision, and, if the truth must be told, a little nettled at this wresting away of the glory of holy Spanishdiscovery, had shown some hesitation. But the unlucky bribe of the Enemyof Souls touched his Castilian spirit. Starting back in deep disgust, he brandished his crucifix in the face of the unmasked Fiend, and in avoice that made the dusky vault resound, cried, --

"Avaunt thee, Sathanas! Diabolus, I defy thee! What! wouldst thou bribeme, --me, a brother of the Sacred Society of the Holy Jesus, Licentiateof Cordova and Inquisitor of Guadalaxara? Thinkest thou to buy me withthy sordid treasure? Avaunt!"

What might have been the issue of this rupture, and how complete mighthave been the triumph of the Holy Father over the Arch-Fiend, who wasrecoiling aghast at these sacred titles and the flourishing symbol, we can never know, for at that moment the crucifix slipped through hisfingers. 

Scarcely had it touched the ground before Devil and Holy Fathersimultaneously cast themselves toward it. In the struggle they clinched, and the pious Jose, who was as much the superior of his antagonist inbodily as in spiritual strength, was about to treat the Great Adversaryto a back somersault, when he suddenly felt the long nails of thestranger piercing his flesh. A new fear seized his heart, a numbingchillness crept through his body, and he struggled to free himself, butin vain. A strange roaring was in his ears; the lake and cavern dancedbefore his eyes and vanished; and with a loud cry he sank senseless tothe ground. 

When he recovered his consciousness he was aware of a gentle swayingmotion of his body. He opened his eyes, and saw it was high noon, andthat he was being carried in a litter through the valley. He felt stiff, and, looking down, perceived that his arm was tightly bandaged to hisside. 

He closed his eyes and after a few words of thankful prayer, thought howmiraculously he had been preserved, and made a vow of candlesticks tothe blessed Saint Jose. He then called in a faint voice, and presentlythe penitent Ignacio stood beside him. 

The joy the poor fellow felt at his patron's returning consciousnessfor some time choked his utterance. He could only ejaculate, "A miracle!Blessed Saint Jose, he lives!" and kiss the Padre's bandaged hand. Father Jose, more intent on his last night's experience, waited for hisemotion to subside, and asked where he had been found. 

"On the mountain, your Reverence, but a few varas from where he attackedyou. "

"How?--you saw him then?" asked the Padre, in unfeigned astonishment. 

"Saw him, your Reverence! Mother of God, I should think I did! And yourReverence shall see him too, if he ever comes again within range ofIgnacio's arquebuse. "

"What mean you, Ignacio?" said the Padre, sitting bolt-upright in hislitter. 

"Why, the bear, your Reverence, --the bear, Holy Father, who attackedyour worshipful person while you were meditating on the top of yondermountain. "

"Ah!" said the Holy Father, lying down again. "Chut, child! I would beat peace. "

When he reached the Mission, he was tenderly cared for, and in a fewweeks was enabled to resume those duties from which, as will be seen, not even the machinations of the Evil One could divert him. The newsof his physical disaster spread over the country; and a letter to theBishop of Guadalaxara contained a confidential and detailed account ofthe good Father's spiritual temptation. But in some way the story leakedout; and long after Jose was gathered to his fathers, his mysteriousencounter formed the theme of thrilling and whispered narrative. Themountain was generally shunned. It is true that Senor Joaquin Pedrilloafterward located a grant near the base of the mountain; but as SenoraPedrillo was known to be a termagant half-breed, the Senor was notsupposed to be over-fastidious. 

Such is the Legend of Monte del Diablo. As I said before, it may seemto lack essential corroboration. The discrepancy between the Father'snarrative and the actual climax has given rise to some scepticism on thepart of ingenious quibblers. All such I would simply refer to that partof the report of Senor Julio Serro, Sub-Prefect of San Pablo, beforewhom attest of the above was made. Touching this matter, the worthyPrefect observes, "That although the body of Father Jose doth showevidence of grievous conflict in the flesh, yet that is no proof thatthe Enemy of Souls, who could assume the figure of a decorous elderlycaballero, could not at the same time transform himself into a bear forhis own vile purposes. "

THE ADVENTURE OF PADRE VINCENTIO

A LEGEND OF SAN FRANCISCO. 

One pleasant New Year's Eve, about forty years ago, Padre Vicentio wasslowly picking his way across the sand-hills from the Mission Dolores. As he climbed the crest of the ridge beside Mission Creek, his broad, shining face might have been easily mistaken for the beneficent image ofthe rising moon, so bland was its smile and so indefinite its features. For the Padre was a man of notable reputation and character; hisministration at the mission of San Jose had been marked with cordialityand unction; he was adored by the simple-minded savages, and hadsucceeded in impressing his individuality so strongly upon them that thevery children were said to have miraculously resembled him in feature. 

As the holy man reached the loneliest portion of the road, he naturallyput spurs to his mule as if to quicken that decorous pace which theobedient animal had acquired through long experience of its master'shabits. The locality had an unfavorable reputation. Sailors--desertersfrom whaleships--had been seen lurking about the outskirts of the town, and low scrub oaks which everywhere beset the trail might have easilyconcealed some desperate runaway. Besides these material obstructions, the devil, whose hostility to the church was well known, was said tosometimes haunt the vicinity in the likeness of a spectral whaler, whohad met his death in a drunken bout, from a harpoon in the hands of acompanion. The ghost of this unfortunate mariner was frequently observedsitting on the hill toward the dusk of evening, armed with his favoriteweapon and a tub containing a coil of line, looking out for some belatedtraveller on whom to exercise his professional skill. It is relatedthat the good Father Jose Maria of the Mission Dolores had been twiceattacked by this phantom sportsman; that once, on returning from SanFrancisco, and panting with exertion from climbing the hill, he wasstartled by a stentorian cry of "There she blows!" quickly followed bya hurtling harpoon, which buried itself in the sand beside him; that onanother occasion he narrowly escaped destruction, his serapa havingbeen transfixed by the diabolical harpoon and dragged away in triumph. Popular opinion seems to have been divided as to the reason for thedevil's particular attention to Father Jose, some asserting that theextreme piety of the Padre excited the Evil One's animosity, and othersthat his adipose tendency simply rendered him, from a professionalview-point, a profitable capture. 

Had Father Vicentio been inclined to scoff at this apparition as aheretical innovation, there was still the story of Concepcion, theDemon Vaquero, whose terrible riata was fully as potent as the whaler'sharpoon. Concepcion, when in the flesh, had been a celebrated herder ofcattle and wild horses, and was reported to have chased the devil inthe shape of a fleet pinto colt all the way from San Luis Obispo to SanFrancisco, vowing not to give up the chase until he had overtaken thedisguised Arch-Enemy. This the devil prevented by resuming his ownshape, but kept the unfortunate vaquero to the fulfilment of hisrash vow; and Concepcion still scoured the coast on a phantom steed, beguiling the monotony of his eternal pursuit by lassoing travellers, dragging them at the heels of his unbroken mustang until they wereeventually picked up, half-strangled, by the roadside. The Padrelistened attentively for the tramp of this terrible rider. But nofootfall broke the stillness of the night; even the hoofs of his ownmule sank noiselessly in the shifting sand. Now and then a rabbitbounded lightly by him, or a quail ran into the bushes. The melancholycall of plover from the adjoining marshes of Mission Creek came to himso faintly and fitfully that it seemed almost a recollection of the pastrather than a reality of the present. 

To add to his discomposure one of those heavy sea-fogs peculiar to thelocality began to drift across the hills and presently encompassedhim. While endeavoring to evade its cold embraces, Padre Vicentioincautiously drove his heavy spurs into the flanks of his mule as thatpuzzled animal was hesitating on the brink of a steep declivity. Whetherthe poor beast was indignant at this novel outrage, or had been for sometime reflecting on the evils of being priest-ridden, has not transpired;enough that he suddenly threw up his heels, pitching the reverend manover his head, and, having accomplished this feat, coolly dropped on hisknees and tumbled after his rider. 

Over and over went the Padre, closely followed by his faithless mule. Luckily the little hollow which received the pair was of sand thatyielded to the superincumbent weight, half burying them without furtherinjury. For some moments the poor man lay motionless, vainly endeavoringto collect his scattered senses. A hand irreverently laid upon hiscollar, and a rough shake, assisted to recall his consciousness. As thePadre staggered to his feet he found himself confronted by a stranger. 

Seen dimly through the fog, and under circumstances that to say theleast were not prepossessing, the new-comer had an inexpressiblymysterious and brigand-like aspect. A long boat-cloak concealed hisfigure, and a slouched hat hid his features, permitting only his eyesto glisten in the depths. With a deep groan the Padre slipped from thestranger's grasp and subsided into the soft sand again. 

"Gad's life!" said the stranger, pettishly, "hast no more bones in thyfat carcass than a jellyfish? Lend a hand, here! Yo, heave ho!" and hedragged the Padre into an upright position. "Now, then, who and what artthou?"

The Padre could not help thinking that the question might have moreproperly been asked by himself; but with an odd mixture of dignity andtrepidation he began enumerating his different titles, which were by nomeans brief, and would have been alone sufficient to strike awe in thebosom of an ordinary adversary. The stranger irreverently broke in uponhis formal phrases, and assuring him that a priest was the very personhe was looking for, coolly replaced the old man's hat, which had tumbledoff, and bade him accompany him at once on an errand of spiritualcounsel to one who was even then lying in extremity. "To think, " saidthe stranger, "that I should stumble upon the very man I was seeking!Body of Bacchus! but this is lucky! Follow me quickly, for there is notime to lose. "

Like most easy natures the positive assertion of the stranger, andwithal a certain authoritative air of command, overcame what slightobjections the Padre might have feebly nurtured during this remarkableinterview. The spiritual invitation was one, also, that he darednot refuse; not only that; but it tended somewhat to remove thesuperstitious dread with which he had begun to regard the mysteriousstranger. But, following at a respectful distance, the Padre could nothelp observing with a thrill of horror that the stranger's footstepsmade no impression on the sand, and his figure seemed at times to blendand incorporate itself with the fog, until the holy man was obliged towait for its reappearance. In one of these intervals of embarrassment heheard the ringing of the far-off Mission bell, proclaiming the hour ofmidnight. Scarcely had the last stroke died away before the announcementwas taken up and repeated by a multitude of bells of all sizes, andthe air was filled with the sound of striking clocks and the pealing ofsteeple chimes. The old man uttered a cry of alarm. The stranger sharplydemanded the cause. "The bells! did you not hear them?" gasped PadreVicentio. "Tush! tush!" answered the stranger, "thy fall hath set triplebob-majors ringing in thine ears. Come on!"

The Padre was only too glad to accept the explanation conveyed inthis discourteous answer. But he was destined for another singularexperience. When they had reached the summit of the eminence now knownas Russian Hill, an exclamation again burst from the Padre. The strangerturned to his companion with an impatient gesture; but the Padre heededhim not. The view that burst upon his sight was such as might well haveengrossed the attention of a more enthusiastic temperament. The foghad not yet reached the hill, and the long valleys and hillsides of theembarcadero below were glittering with the light of a populouscity. "Look!" said the Padre, stretching his hand over the spreadinglandscape. "Look, dost thou not see the stately squares and brilliantlylighted avenues of a mighty metropolis. Dost thou not see, as it were, another firmament below?"

"Avast heaving, reverend man, and quit this folly, " said the strange;dragging the bewildered Padre after him. "Behold rather the starsknocked out of thy hollow noddle by the fall thou hast had. Prithee, getover thy visions and rhapsodies, for the time is wearing apace. "

The Padre humbly followed without another word. Descending the hilltoward the north, the stranger leading the way, in a few moments thePadre detected the wash of waves, and presently his feet struck thefirmer sand of the beach. Here the stranger paused, and the Padreperceived a boat lying in readiness hard by. As he stepped into thestern sheets, in obedience to the command of his companion, he noticedthat the rowers seemed to partake of the misty incorporeal texture ofhis companion, a similarity that became the more distressing when heperceived also that their oars in pulling together made no noise. Thestranger, assuming the helm, guided the boat on quietly, while the fog, settling over the face of the water and closing around them, seemed tointerpose a muffled wall between themselves and the rude jarring ofthe outer world. As they pushed further into this penetralia, the Padrelistened anxiously for the sound of creaking blocks and the rattling ofcordage, but no vibration broke the veiled stillness or disturbed thewarm breath of the fleecy fog. Only one incident occurred to break themonotony of their mysterious journey. A one-eyed rower, who sat in frontof the Padre, catching the devout father's eye, immediately grinnedsuch a ghastly smile, and winked his remaining eye with such diabolicalintensity of meaning that the Padre was constrained to utter a piousejaculation, which had the disastrous effect of causing the marineCocles to "catch a crab, " throwing his heels in the air and his headinto the bottom of the boat. But even this accident did not disturb thegravity of the rest of the ghastly boat's crew. 

When, as it seemed to the Padre, ten minutes had elapsed, the outline ofa large ship loomed up directly across their bow. Before he could utterthe cry of warning that rose to his lips, or brace himself against theexpected shock, the boat passed gently and noiselessly through the sidesof the vessel, and the holy man found himself standing on the berth deckof what seemed to be an ancient caravel. The boat and boat's crew hadvanished. Only his mysterious friend, the stranger, remained. By thelight of a swinging lamp the Padre beheld him standing beside ahammock, whereon, apparently, lay the dying man to whom he had been somysteriously summoned. As the Padre, in obedience to a sign from hiscompanion, stepped to the side of the sufferer, he feebly opened hiseyes and thus addressed him:--

"Thou seest before thee, reverend father, a helpless mortal, strugglingnot only with the last agonies of the flesh, but beaten down and tossedwith sore anguish of the spirit. It matters little when or how I becamewhat thou now seest me. Enough that my life has been ungodly and sinful, and that my only hope of absolution lies in my imparting to thee asecret which is of vast importance to the holy Church, and affectsgreatly her power, wealth, and dominion on these shores. But the termsof this secret and the conditions of my absolution are peculiar. Ihave but five minutes to live. In that time I must receive the extremeunction of the Church. "

"And thy secret?" said the holy father. 

"Shall be told afterwards, " answered the dying man. "Come, my time isshort. Shrive me quickly. "

The Padre hesitated. "Couldst thou not tell this secret first?"

"Impossible!" said the dying man, with what seemed to the Padre amomentary gleam of triumph. Then, as his breath grew feebler, he calledimpatiently, "Shrive me! shrive me!"

"Let me know at least what this secret concerns?" suggested the Padre, insinuatingly. 

"Shrive me first, " said the dying man. 

But the priest still hesitated, parleying with the sufferer until theship's bell struck, when, with a triumphant, mocking laugh from thestranger, the vessel suddenly fell to pieces, amid the rushing of waterswhich at once involved the dying man, the priest, and the mysteriousstranger. 

The Padre did not recover his consciousness until high noon the nextday, when he found himself lying in a little hollow between the MissionHills, and his faithful mule a few paces from him, cropping the sparseherbage. The Padre made the best of his way home, but wisely abstainedfrom narrating the facts mentioned above, until after the discovery ofgold, when the whole of this veracious incident was related, with theassertion of the padre that the secret which was thus mysteriouslysnatched from his possession was nothing more than the discovery ofgold, years since, by the runaway sailors from the expedition of SirFrancis Drake. 

THE LEGEND OF DEVIL'S POINT. 

On the northerly shore of San Francisco Bay, at a point where the GoldenGate broadens into the Pacific stands a bluff promontory. It affordsshelter from the prevailing winds to a semicircular bay on the east. Around this bay the hillside is bleak and barren, but there are tracesof former habitation in a weather-beaten cabin and deserted corral. Itis said that these were originally built by an enterprising squatter, who for some unaccountable reason abandoned them shortly after. The"Jumper" who succeeded him disappeared one day, quite as mysteriously. The third tenant, who seemed to be a man of sanguine, hopefultemperament, divided the property into building lots, staked off thehillside, and projected the map of a new metropolis. Failing, however, to convince the citizens of San Francisco that they had mistaken thesite of their city, he presently fell into dissipation and despondency. He was frequently observed haunting the narrow strip of beach at lowtide, or perched upon the cliff at high water. In the latter positiona sheep-tender one day found him, cold and pulseless, with a map of hisproperty in his hand, and his face turned toward the distant sea. 

Perhaps these circumstances gave the locality its infelicitousreputation. Vague rumors were bruited of a supernatural influence thathad been exercised on the tenants. Strange stories were circulated ofthe origin of the diabolical title by which the promontory was known. Bysome it was believed to be haunted by the spirit of one of Sir FrancisDrake's sailors who had deserted his ship in consequence of stories toldby the Indians of gold discoveries, but who had perished by starvationon the rocks. A vaquero who had once passed a night in the ruined cabin, related how a strangely dressed and emaciated figure had knocked atthe door at midnight and demanded food. Other story-tellers, of morehistorical accuracy, roundly asserted that Sir Francis himself hadbeen little better than a pirate, and had chosen this spot to concealquantities of ill-gotten booty, taken from neutral bottoms, and hadprotected his hiding-place by the orthodox means of hellish incantationand diabolic agencies. On moonlight nights a shadowy ship was sometimesseen standing off-and-on, or when fogs encompassed sea and shore thenoise of oars rising and falling in their row-locks could be heardmuffled and indistinctly during the night. Whatever foundation theremight have been for these stories, it was certain that a more weird anddesolate-looking spot could not have been selected for their theatre. High hills, verdureless and enfiladed with dark canadas, cast theirgaunt shadows on the tide. During a greater portion of the day the wind, which blew furiously and incessantly, seemed possessed with a spirit offierce disquiet and unrest. Toward nightfall the sea-fog crept withsoft step through the portals of the Golden Gate, or stole in noiselessmarches down the hillside, tenderly soothing the wind-buffeted faceof the cliff, until sea and sky were hid together. At such times thepopulous city beyond and the nearer settlement seemed removed to aninfinite distance. An immeasurable loneliness settled upon the cliff. The creaking of a windlass, or the monotonous chant of sailors onsome unseen, outlying ship, came faint and far, and full of mysticsuggestion. 

About a year ago a well-to-do middle-aged broker of San Francisco foundhimself at nightfall the sole occupant of a "plunger, " encompassed ina dense fog, and drifting toward the Golden Gate. This unexpectedtermination of an afternoon's sail was partly attributable to his wantof nautical skill, and partly to the effect of his usually sanguinenature. Having given up the guidance of his boat to the wind and tide, he had trusted too implicitly for that reaction which his businessexperience assured him was certain to occur in all affairs, aquaticas well as terrestrial. "The tide will turn soon, " said the broker, confidently, "or something will happen. " He had scarcely settled himselfback again in the stern-sheets, before the bow of the plunger, obeyingsome mysterious impulse, veered slowly around and a dark object loomedup before him. A gentle eddy carried the boat further in shore, untilat last it was completely embayed under the lee of a rocky point nowfaintly discernible through the fog. He looked around him in the vainhope of recognizing some familiar headland. The tops of the high hillswhich rose on either side were hidden in the fog. As the boat swungaround, he succeeded in fastening a line to the rocks, and sat downagain with a feeling of renewed confidence and security. 

It was very cold. The insidious fog penetrated his tightly buttonedcoat, and set his teeth to chattering in spite of the aid he sometimesdrew from a pocket-flask. His clothes were wet and the stern-sheets werecovered with spray. The comforts of fire and shelter continually rosebefore his fancy as he gazed wistfully on the rocks. In sheer despair hefinally drew the boat toward the most accessible part of the cliff andessayed to ascend. This was less difficult than it appeared, and ina few moments he had gained the hill above. A dark object at a littledistance attracted his attention, and on approaching it proved to be adeserted cabin. The story goes on to say, that having built a roaringfire of stakes pulled from the adjoining corral, with the aid of a flaskof excellent brandy, he managed to pass the early part of the eveningwith comparative comfort. 

There was no door in the cabin, and the windows were simply squareopenings, which freely admitted the searching fog. But in spite of thesediscomforts, --being a man of cheerful, sanguine temperament, --he amusedhimself by poking the fire, and watching the ruddy glow which the flamesthrew on the fog from the open door. In this innocent occupation a greatweariness overcame him, and he fell asleep. 

He was awakened at midnight by a loud "halloo, " which seemed to proceeddirectly from the sea. Thinking it might be the cry of some boatman lostin the fog, he walked to the edge of the cliff, but the thick veil thatcovered sea and land rendered all objects at the distance of a few feetindistinguishable. He heard, however, the regular strokes of oars risingand falling on the water. The halloo was repeated. He was clearing histhroat to reply, when to his surprise an answer came apparently from thevery cabin he had quitted. Hastily retracing his steps, he was the moreamazed, on reaching the open door, to find a stranger warming himself bythe fire. Stepping back far enough to conceal his own person, he took agood look at the intruder. 

He was a man of about forty, with a cadaverous face. But the oddityof his dress attracted the broker's attention more than his lugubriousphysiognomy. His legs were hid in enormously wide trousers descendingto his knee, where they met long boots of sealskin. A pea-jacket withexaggerated cuffs, almost as large as the breeches, covered his chest, and around his waist a monstrous belt, with a buckle like a dentist'ssign, supported two trumpet-mouthed pistols and a curved hanger. He worea long queue, which depended half-way down his back. As the firelightfell on his ingenuous countenance the broker observed with some concernthat this queue was formed entirely of a kind of tobacco, known aspigtail or twist. Its effect, the broker remarked, was much heightenedwhen in a moment of thoughtful abstraction the apparition bit off aportion of it, and rolled it as a quid into the cavernous recesses ofhis jaws. 

Meanwhile, the nearer splash of oars indicated the approach of theunseen boat. The broker had barely time to conceal himself behind thecabin before a number of uncouth-looking figures clambered up the hilltoward the ruined rendezvous. They were dressed like the previous comer, who, as they passed through the open door, exchanged greetings witheach in antique phraseology, bestowing at the same time somefamiliar nickname. Flash-in-the-Pan, Spitter-of-Frogs, Malmsey Butt, Latheyard-Will, and Mark-the-Pinker, were the few sobriquets the brokerremembered. Whether these titles were given to express some peculiarityof their owner he could not tell, for a silence followed as they slowlyranged themselves upon the floor of the cabin in a semicircle aroundtheir cadaverous host. 

At length Malmsey Butt, a spherical-bodied man-of-war's-man, witha rubicund nose, got on his legs somewhat unsteadily, and addressedhimself to the company. They had met that evening, said the speaker, inaccordance with a time-honored custom. This was simply to relieve thatone of their number who for fifty years had kept watch and ward overthe locality where certain treasures had been buried. At this point thebroker pricked up his ears. "If so be, camarados and brothers all, "he continued, "ye are ready to receive the report of our excellent andwell-beloved brother, Master Slit-the-Weazand, touching his search forthis treasure, why, marry, to 't and begin. "

A murmur of assent went around the circle as the speaker resumed hisseat. Master Slit-the-Weazand slowly opened his lantern jaws, and began. He had spent much of his time in determining the exact location of thetreasure. He believed--nay, he could state positively--that its positionwas now settled. It was true he had done some trifling little businessoutside. Modesty forbade his mentioning the particulars, but he wouldsimply state that of the three tenants who had occupied the cabin duringthe past ten years, none were now alive. [Applause, and cries of "Go to!thou wast always a tall fellow!" and the like. ]

Mark-the-Pinker next arose. Before proceeding to business he had a dutyto perform in the sacred name of Friendship. It ill became him to passan eulogy upon the qualities of the speaker who had preceded him, forhe had known him from "boyhood's hour. " Side by side they had wroughttogether in the Spanish war. For a neat hand with a toledo he challengedhis equal, while how nobly and beautifully he had won his present titleof Slit-the-Weazand, all could testify. The speaker, with some showof emotion, asked to be pardoned if he dwelt too freely on passages oftheir early companionship; he then detailed, with a fine touch ofhumor, his comrade's peculiar manner of slitting the ears and lips of arefractory Jew, who had been captured in one of their previous voyages. He would not weary the patience of his hearers, but would brieflypropose that the report of Slit-the-Weazand be accepted, and that thethanks of the company be tendered him. 

A beaker of strong spirits was then rolled into the hut, and cansof grog were circulated freely from hand to hand. The health ofSlit-the-Weazand was proposed in a neat speech by Mark-the-Pinker, andresponded to by the former gentleman in a manner that drew tears to theeyes of all present. To the broker, in his concealment, this momentarydiversion from the real business of the meeting occasioned much anxiety. As yet nothing had been said to indicate the exact locality of thetreasure to which they had mysteriously alluded. Fear restrained himfrom open inquiry, and curiosity kept him from making good his escapeduring the orgies which followed. 

But his situation was beginning to become critical. Flash-in-the-Pan, who seemed to have been a man of choleric humor, taking fire during somehotly contested argument, discharged both his pistols at the breast ofhis opponent. The balls passed through on each side immediately belowhis arm-pits, making a clean hole, through which the horrified brokercould see the firelight behind him. The wounded man, without betrayingany concern, excited the laughter of the company, by jocosely puttinghis arms akimbo, and inserting his thumbs into the orifices of thewounds, as if they had been arm-holes. This having in a measure restoredgood-humor, the party joined hands and formed a circle preparatory todancing. The dance was commenced by some monotonous stanzas hummed ina very high key by one of the party, the rest joining in the followingchorus, which seemed to present a familiar sound to the broker's ear. 

 "Her Majestie is very sicke, Lord Essex hath ye measles, Our Admiral hath licked ye French-- Poppe! saith ye weasel!"

At the regular recurrence of the last line, the party discharged theirloaded pistols in all directions, rendering the position of the unhappybroker one of extreme peril and perplexity. 

When the tumult had partially subsided, Flash-in-the-Pan called themeeting to order, and most of the revellers returned to their places, Malmsey Butt, however, insisting upon another chorus, and singing at thetop of his voice:--

 "I am ycleped J. Keyser--I was born at Spring, hys Garden, My father toe make me ane clerke erst did essaye, But a fico for ye offis--I spurn ye losels offeire; For I fain would be ane butcher by'r ladykin alwaye. "

Flash-in-the-Pan drew a pistol from his belt, and bidding some one gagMalmsey Butt with the stock of it, proceeded to read from a portentousroll of parchment that he held in his hand. It was a semi-legaldocument, clothed in the quaint phraseology of a bygone period. After along preamble, asserting their loyalty as lieges of Her most bountifulMajesty and Sovereign Lady the Queen, the document declared that theythen and there took possession of the promontory, and all the treasuretrove therein contained, formerly buried by Her Majesty's most faithfuland devoted Admiral Sir Francis Drake, with the right to search, discover, and appropriate the same; and for the purpose thereof they didthen and there form a guild or corporation to so discover, searchfor, and disclose said treasures, and by virtue thereof they solemnlysubscribed their names. But at this moment the reading of the parchmentwas arrested by an exclamation from the assembly, and the brokerwas seen frantically struggling at the door in the strong arms ofMark-the-Pinker. 

"Let me go!" he cried, as he made a desperate attempt to reach the sideof Master Flash-in-the Pan. "Let me go! I tell you, gentlemen, thatdocument is not worth the parchment it is written on. The laws ofthe State, the customs of the country, the mining ordinances, are allagainst it. Don't, by all that's sacred, throw away such a capitalinvestment through ignorance and informality. Let me go! I assure you, gentlemen, professionally, that you have a big thing, --a remarkably bigthing, and even if I ain't in it, I'm not going to see it fall through. Don't, for God's sake, gentlemen, I implore you, put your names to sucha ridiculous paper. There isn't a notary--"

He ceased. The figures around him, which were beginning to grow fainterand more indistinct, as he went on, swam before his eyes, flickered, reappeared again, and finally went out. He rubbed his eyes and gazedaround him. The cabin was deserted. On the hearth the red embers ofhis fire were fading away in the bright beams of the morning sun, thatlooked aslant through the open window. He ran out to the cliff. Thesturdy sea-breeze fanned his feverish cheeks, and tossed the whitecaps of waves that beat in pleasant music on the beach below. A statelymerchantman with snowy canvas was entering the Gate. The voices ofsailors came cheerfully from a bark at anchor below the point. Themuskets of the sentries gleamed brightly on Alcatraz, and the rollingof drums swelled on the breeze. Farther on, the hills of San Francisco, cottage-crowned and bordered with wharves and warehouses, met hislonging eye. 

Such is the Legend of Devil's Point. Any objections to its reliabilitymay be met with the statement, that the broker who tells the story hassince incorporated a company under the title of "Flash-in-the-Pan Goldand Silver Treasure Mining Company, " and that its shares are alreadyheld at a stiff figure. A copy of the original document is said to be onrecord in the office of the company, and on any clear day the localityof the claim may be distinctly seen from the hills of San Francisco. 

THE DEVIL AND THE BROKER

A MEDIAEVAL LEGEND

The church clocks in San Francisco were striking ten. The Devil, who hadbeen flying over the city that evening, just then alighted on the roofof a church near the corner of Bush and Montgomery Streets. It will beperceived that the popular belief that the Devil avoids holy edifices, and vanishes at the sound of a Credo or Pater-noster, is long sinceexploded. Indeed, modern scepticism asserts that he is not averse tothese orthodox discourses, which particularly bear reference to himself, and in a measure recognize his power and importance. 

I am inclined to think, however, that his choice of a resting-place wasa good deal influenced by its contiguity to a populous thoroughfare. When he was comfortably seated, he began pulling out the joints of asmall rod which he held in his hand, and which presently proved to be anextraordinary fishing-pole, with a telescopic adjustment that permittedits protraction to a marvellous extent. Affixing a line thereto, heselected a fly of a particular pattern from a small box which he carriedwith him, and, making a skilful cast, threw his line into the verycentre of that living stream which ebbed and flowed through MontgomeryStreet. 

Either the people were very virtuous that evening or the bait was not ataking one. In vain the Devil whipped the stream at an eddy in frontof the Occidental, or trolled his line into the shadows of theCosmopolitan; five minutes passed without even a nibble. "Dear me!"quoth the Devil, "that's very singular; one of my most popular flies, too! Why, they'd have risen by shoals in Broadway or Beacon Streetfor that. Well, here goes another. " And, fitting a new fly from hiswell-filled box, he gracefully recast his line. 

For a few moments there was every prospect of sport. The line wascontinually bobbing and the nibbles were distinct and gratifying. Onceor twice the bait was apparently gorged and carried off in the upperstories of the hotels to be digested at leisure. At such times theprofessional manner in which the Devil played out his line would havethrilled the heart of Izaak Walton. But his efforts were unsuccessful;the bait was invariably carried off without hooking the victim, andthe Devil finally lost his temper. "I've heard of these San Franciscansbefore, " he muttered; "wait till I get hold of one, --that's all!" headded malevolently, as he rebaited his hook. A sharp tug and a wrigglefoiled his next trial, and finally, with considerable effort, he landeda portly two-hundred-pound broker upon the church roof. 

As the victim lay there gasping, it was evident that the Devil was inno hurry to remove the hook from his gills; nor did he exhibit in thisdelicate operation that courtesy of manner and graceful manipulationwhich usually distinguished him. 

"Come, " he said, gruffly, as he grasped the broker by the waistband, "quit that whining and grunting. Don't flatter yourself that you're aprize either. I was certain to have had you. It was only a question oftime. "

"It is not that, my lord, which troubles me, " whined the unfortunatewretch, as he painfully wriggled his head, "but that I should have beenfooled by such a paltry bait. What will they say of me down there? Tohave let 'bigger things' go by, and to be taken in by this cheap trick, "he added, as he groaned and glanced at the fly which the Devil wascarefully rearranging, "is what, --pardon me, my lord, --is what gets me!"

"Yes, " said the Devil, philosophically, "I never caught anybody yet whodidn't say that; but tell me, ain't you getting somewhat fastidiousdown there? Here is one of my most popular flies, the greenback, " hecontinued, exhibiting an emerald-looking insect, which he drew from hisbox. "This, so generally considered excellent in election season, hasnot even been nibbled at. Perhaps your sagacity, which, in spite ofthis unfortunate contretemps, no one can doubt, " added the Devil, witha graceful return to his usual courtesy, "may explain the reason orsuggest a substitute. "

The broker glanced at the contents of the box with a supercilious smile. "Too old-fashioned, my lord, --long ago played out. Yet, " he added, with a gleam of interest, "for a consideration I might offersomething--ahem!--that would make a taking substitute for these trifles. Give me, " he continued, in a brisk, business-like way, "a slightpercentage and a bonus down, and I'm your man. "

"Name your terms, " said the Devil, earnestly. 

"My liberty and a percentage on all you take, and the thing's done. "

The Devil caressed his tail thoughtfully, for a few moments. He wascertain of the broker any way, and the risk was slight. "Done!" he said. 

"Stay a moment, " said the artful broker. "There are certaincontingencies. Give me your fishing-rod and let me apply the baitmyself. It requires a skilful hand, my lord; even your well-knownexperience might fail. Leave me alone for half an hour, and if you havereason to complain of my success I will forfeit my deposit, --I mean myliberty. "

The Devil acceded to his request, bowed, and withdrew. Alightinggracefully in Montgomery Street, he dropped into Meade & Co. 's clothingstore, where, having completely equipped himself a la mode, he salliedforth intent on his personal enjoyment. Determining to sink hisprofessional character, he mingled with the current of human life, and enjoyed, with that immense capacity for excitement peculiar to hisnature, the whirl, bustle, and feverishness of the people, as a purelyaesthetic gratification unalloyed by the cares of business. What he didthat evening does not belong to our story. We return to the broker, whomwe left on the roof. 

When he made sure that the Devil had retired, he carefully drew fromhis pocket-book a slip of paper and affixed it on the hook. The linehad scarcely reached the current before he felt a bite. The hook wasswallowed. To bring up his victim rapidly, disengage him from the hook, and reset his line, was the work of a moment. Another bite and the sameresult. Another, and another. In a very few minutes the roof was coveredwith his panting spoil. The broker could himself distinguish thatmany of them were personal friends; nay, some of them were familiarfrequenters of the building on which they were now miserably stranded. That the broker felt a certain satisfaction in being instrumental inthus misleading his fellow-brokers no one acquainted with human naturewill for a moment doubt. But a stronger pull on his line caused himto put forth all his strength and skill. The magic pole bent like acoach-whip. The broker held firm, assisted by the battlements of thechurch. Again and again it was almost wrested from his hand, and againand again he slowly reeled in a portion of the tightening line. At last, with one mighty effort, he lifted to the level of the roof a strugglingobject. A howl like Pandemonium rang through the air as the brokersuccessfully landed at his feet--the Devil himself!

The two glared fiercely at each other. The broker, perhaps mindfulof his former treatment, evinced no haste to remove the hook from hisantagonist's jaw. When it was finally accomplished, he asked quietlyif the Devil was satisfied. That gentleman seemed absorbed in thecontemplation of the bait which he had just taken from his mouth. "Iam, " he said, finally, "and forgive you; but what do you call this?"

"Bend low, " replied the broker, as he buttoned up his coat ready todepart. The Devil inclined his ear. "I call it WILD CAT!"

THE OGRESS OF SILVER LAND;

OR, THE DIVERTING HISTORY OF PRINCE BADFELLAH AND PRINCE BULLEBOYE. 

In the second year of the reign of the renowned Caliph Lo there dweltin SILVER LAND, adjoining his territory, a certain terrible ogress. Shelived in the bowels of a dismal mountain, where she was in the habit ofconfining such unfortunate travellers as ventured within her domain. Thecountry for miles around was sterile and barren. In some places it wascovered with a white powder, which was called in the language of thecountry AL KA LI, and was supposed to be the pulverized bones of thosewho had perished miserably in her service. 

In spite of this, every year, great numbers of young men devotedthemselves to the service of the ogress, hoping to become her godsons, and to enjoy the good fortune which belonged to that privileged class. For these godsons had no work to perform, neither at the mountainnor elsewhere, but roamed about the world with credentials of theirrelationship in their pockets, which they called STOKH, which wasstamped with the stamp and sealed with the seal of the ogress, and whichenabled them at the end of each moon to draw large quantities of goldand silver from her treasury. And the wisest and most favored of thosegodsons were the Princes BADFELLAH and BULLEBOYE. They knew all thesecrets of the ogress, and how to wheedle and coax her. They were alsothe favorites of SOOPAH INTENDENT, who was her Lord High Chamberlain andPrime Minister, and who dwelt in SILVER LAND. 

One day, SOOPAH INTENDENT said to his servants, "What is that whichtravels the most surely, the most secretly, and the most swiftly?"

And they all answered as one man, "LIGHTNING, my lord, travels the mostsurely, the most swiftly, and the most secretly!"

Then said SOOPAH INTENDENT, "Let Lightning carry this message secretly, swiftly, and surely to my beloved friends the Princes BADFELLAH andBULLEBOYE, and tell them that their godmother is dying, and bidthem seek some other godmother or sell their STOKH ere it becomesbadjee, --worthless. "

"Bekhesm! On our heads be it!" answered the servants; and they ran toLightning with the message, who flew with it to the City by the Sea, and delivered it, even at that moment, into the hands of the PrincesBADFELLAH and BULLEBOYE. 

Now the Prince BADFELLAH was a wicked young man; and when he hadreceived this message he tore his beard and rent his garment and reviledhis godmother, and his friend SOOPAH INTENDENT. But presently he arose, and dressed himself in his finest stuffs, and went forth into thebazaars and among the merchants, capering and dancing as he walked, andcrying in a loud voice, "O, happy day! O, day worthy to be marked with awhite stone!"

This he said cunningly, thinking the merchants and men of the bazaarswould gather about him, which they presently did, and began to questionhim: "What news, O most worthy and serene Highness? Tell us, that wemake merry too!"

Then replied the cunning prince, "Good news, O my brothers, for I haveheard this day that my godmother in SILVER LAND is well. " The merchants, who were not aware of the substance of the real message, envied himgreatly, and said one to another: "Surely our brother the PrinceBADFELLAH is favored by Allah above all men;" and they were about toretire, when the prince checked them, saying: "Tarry for a moment. Here are my credentials, or STOKH. The same I will sell you for fiftythousand sequins, for I have to give a feast to-day, and need muchgold. Who will give fifty thousand?" And he again fell to capering anddancing. But this time the merchants drew a little apart, and some ofthe oldest and wisest said: "What dirt is this which the prince wouldhave us swallow? If his godmother were well, why should he sell hisSTOKH? Bismillah! The olives are old and the jar is broken!" When PrinceBADFELLAH perceived them whispering, his countenance fell, and his kneessmote against each other through fear; but, dissembling again, he said:"Well, so be it! Lo, I have much more than shall abide with me, for mydays are many and my wants are few. Say forty thousand sequins for mySTOKH and let me depart in Allah's name. Who will give forty thousandsequins to become the godson of such a healthy mother?" And he againfell to capering and dancing, but not as gayly as before, for his heartwas troubled. The merchants, however, only moved farther away. "Thirtythousand sequins, " cried Prince BADFELLAH; but even as he spoke theyfled before his face, crying: "His godmother is dead. Lo, the jackalsare defiling her grave. Mashalla! he has no godmother. " And they soughtout PANIK, the swift-footed messenger, and bade him shout through thebazaars that the godmother of Prince BADFELLAH was dead. When he heardthis, the prince fell upon his face, and rent his garments, and coveredhimself with the dust of the market-place. As he was sitting thus, aporter passed him with jars of wine on his shoulders, and the princebegged him to give him a jar, for he was exceeding thirsty and faint. But the porter said, "What will my lord give me first?" And the prince, in very bitterness of spirit, said, "Take this, " and handed him hisSTOKH, and so exchanged it for a jar of wine. 

Now the Prince BULLEBOYE was of a very different disposition. When hereceived the message of SOOPAH INTENDENT he bowed his head, and said, "It is the will of God. " Then he rose; and without speaking a wordentered the gates of his palace. But his wife, the peerless MAREEJAHANN, perceiving the gravity of his countenance, said, "Why is mylord cast down and silent? Why are those rare and priceless pearls, his words, shut up so tightly between those gorgeous oyster-shells, hislips?" But to this he made no reply. Thinking further to divert him, she brought her lute into the chamber and stood before him, and sangthe song and danced the dance of BEN KOTTON, which is called IBRAHIM'sDAUGHTER, but she could not lift the veil of sadness from his brow. 

When she had ceased, the Prince BULLEBOYE arose and said, "Allah isgreat, and what am I, his servant, but the dust of the earth! Lo, thisday has my godmother sickened unto death, and my STOKH become as awithered palm-leaf. Call hither my servants and camel-drivers, and themerchants that have furnished me with stuffs, and the beggars who havefeasted at my table, and bid them take all that is here, for it is mineno longer!" With these words he buried his face in his mantle and weptaloud. 

But MAREE JAHANN, his wife, plucked him by the sleeve. "Prithee, mylord, " said she, "bethink thee of the BROKAH or scrivener, who besoughtthee but yesterday to share thy STOKH with him and gave thee his bondfor fifty thousand sequins. " But the noble Prince BULLEBOYE, raising hishead, said: "Shall I sell to him for fifty thousand sequins that which Iknow is not worth a SOO MARKEE? For is not all the BROKAH'S wealth, evenhis wife and children, pledged on that bond? Shall I ruin him to savemyself? Allah forbid! Rather let me eat the salt fish of honest penury, than the kibobs of dishonorable affluence; rather let me wallow inthe mire of virtuous oblivion, than repose on the divan of luxuriouswickedness. "

When the prince had given utterance to this beautiful and edifyingsentiment, a strain of gentle music was heard, and the rear wall of theapartment, which had been ingeniously constructed like a flat, openedand discovered the Ogress of SILVER LAND in the glare of blue fire, seated on a triumphal car attached to two ropes which were connectedwith the flies, in the very act of blessing the unconscious prince. When the walls closed again without attracting his attention, PrinceBULLEBOYE arose, dressed himself in his coarsest and cheapest stuffs, and sprinkled ashes on his head, and in this guise, having embracedhis wife, went forth into the bazaars. In this it will be perceivedhow differently the good Prince BULLEBOYE acted from the wicked PrinceBADFELLAH, who put on his gayest garments to simulate and deceive. 

Now when Prince BULLEBOYE entered the chief bazaar, where the merchantsof the city were gathered in council, he stood up in his accustomedplace, and all that were there held their breath, for the noble PrinceBULLEBOYE was much respected. "Let the BROKAH, whose bond I hold forfifty thousand sequins, stand forth!" said the prince. And the BROKAHstood forth from among the merchants. Then said the prince: "Here is thybond for fifty thousand sequins, for which I was to deliver unto theeone half of my STOKH. Know, then, O my brother, --and thou, too, O Aga ofthe BROKAHS, --that this my STOKH which I pledged to thee is worthless. For my godmother, the Ogress of SILVER LAND, is dying. Thus do I releasethee from thy bond, and from the poverty which might overtake thee as ithas even me, thy brother, the Prince BULLEBOYE. " And with that the noblePrince BULLEBOYE tore the bond of the BROKAH into pieces and scatteredit to the four winds. 

Now when the prince tore up the bond there was a great commotion, andsome said, "Surely the Prince BULLEBOYE is drunken with wine;"and others, "He is possessed of an evil spirit;" and his friendsexpostulated with him, saying, "What thou hast done is not the customof the bazaars, --behold, it is not BIZ!" But to all the prince answeredgravely, "It is right; on my own head be it!"

But the oldest and wisest of the merchants, they who had talked withPrince BADFELLAH the same morning, whispered together, and gatheredaround the BROKAH whose bond the Prince BULLEBOYE had torn up. "Harkye, " said they, "our brother the Prince BULLEBOYE is cunning as ajackal. What bosh is this about ruining himself to save thee? Sucha thing was never heard before in the bazaars. It is a trick, O thoumooncalf of a BROKAH! Dost thou not see that he has heard good newsfrom his godmother, the same that was even now told us by the PrinceBADFELLAH, his confederate, and that he would destroy thy bond for fiftythousand sequins because his STOKH is worth a hundred thousand! Be notdeceived, O too credulous BROKAH! for this what our brother the princedoeth is not in the name of ALLAH, but of BIZ, the only god known in thebazaars of the city. "

When the foolish BROKAH heard these things he cried, "Justice, O Agaof the BROKAHS, --justice and the fulfilment of my bond! Let the princedeliver unto me the STOKH. Here are my fifty thousand sequins. " But theprince said, "Have I not told that my godmother is dying, and thatmy STOKH is valueless?" At this the BROKAH only clamored the more forjustice and the fulfilment of his bond. Then the Aga of the BROKAHSsaid, "Since the bond is destroyed, behold thou hast no claim. Go thyways!" But the BROKAH again cried, "Justice, my lord Aga! Behold, Ioffer the prince seventy thousand sequins for his STOKH!" But the princesaid, "It is not worth one sequin!" Then the Aga said, "Bismillah! Icannot understand this. Whether thy godmother be dead, or dying, orimmortal, does not seem to signify. Therefore, O prince, by the lawsof BIZ and of ALLAH, thou art released. Give the BROKAH thy STOKH forseventy thousand sequins, and bid him depart in peace. On his own headbe it!" When the prince heard this command, he handed his STOKH to theBROKAH, who counted out to him seventy thousand sequins. But the heartof the virtuous prince did not rejoice, nor did the BROKAH, when hefound his STOKH was valueless; but the merchants lifted their hands inwonder at the sagacity and wisdom of the famous Prince BULLEBOYE. For none would believe that it was the law of ALLAH that the princefollowed, and not the rules of BIZ. 

THE RUINS OF SAN FRANCISCO

Towards the close of the nineteenth century the city of San Franciscowas totally ingulfed by an earthquake. Although the whole coast-linemust have been much shaken, the accident seems to have been purelylocal, and even the city of Oakland escaped. Schwappelfurt, thecelebrated German geologist, has endeavored to explain this singularfact by suggesting that there are some things the earth cannotswallow, --a statement that should be received with some caution, asexceeding the latitude of ordinary geological speculation. 

Historians disagree in the exact date of the calamity. Tulu Krish, thewell-known New-Zealander, whose admirable speculations on the ruinsof St. Paul as seen from London Bridge have won for him the attentiveconsideration of the scientific world, fixes the occurrence in A. D. 1880. This, supposing the city to have been actually founded in 1850, as asserted, would give but thirty years for it to have assumed thesize and proportions it had evidently attained at the time of itsdestruction. It is not our purpose, however, to question the conclusionsof the justly famed Maorian philosopher. Our present business lies withthe excavations that are now being prosecuted by order of the Hawaiiangovernment upon the site of the lost city. 

Every one is familiar with the story of its discovery. For many yearsthe bay of San Francisco had been famed for the luscious quality ofits oysters. It is stated that a dredger one day raked up a large bell, which proved to belong to the City Hall, and led to the discovery ofthe cupola of that building. The attention of the government was at oncedirected to the spot. The bay of San Francisco was speedily drained by asystem of patent siphons, and the city, deeply embedded in mud, broughtto light after a burial of many centuries. The City Hall, Post-Office, Mint, and Custom-House were readily recognized by the large full-fedbarnacles which adhered to their walls. Shortly afterwards the firstskeleton was discovered; that of a broker, whose position in theupper strata of mud nearer the surface was supposed to be owing to theexceeding buoyancy or inflation of scrip which he had secured about hisperson while endeavoring to escape. Many skeletons, supposed to be thoseof females, encompassed in that peculiar steel coop or cage which seemsto have been worn by the women of that period, were also found inthe upper stratum. Alexis von Puffer, in his admirable work on SanFrancisco, accounts for the position of these unfortunate creaturesby asserting that the steel cage was originally the frame of aparachute-like garment which distended the skirt, and in the submersionof the city prevented them from sinking. "If anything, " says Von Puffer, "could have been wanting to add intensity to the horrible catastrophewhich took place as the waters first entered the city, it would havebeen furnished in the forcible separation of the sexes at this tryingmoment. Buoyed up by their peculiar garments, the female populationinstantly ascended to the surface. As the drowning husband turned hiseyes above, what must have been his agony as he saw his wife shootingupward, and knew that he was debarred the privilege of perishing withher? To the lasting honor of the male inhabitants, be it said that butfew seemed to have availed themselves of their wives' superior levity. Only one skeleton was found still grasping the ankles of another intheir upward journey to the surface. "

For many years California had been subject to slight earthquakes, moreor less generally felt, but not of sufficient importance to awakenanxiety or fear. Perhaps the absorbing nature of the San Franciscans'pursuits of gold-getting, which metal seems to have been valuable inthose days, and actually used as a medium of currency, rendered theinhabitants reckless of all other matters. Everything tends to show thatthe calamity was totally unlooked for. We quote the graphic language ofSchwappelfurt:--

"The morning of the tremendous catastrophe probably dawned uponthe usual restless crowd of gold-getters intent upon their severalavocations. The streets were filled with the expanded figures of gaylydressed women, acknowledging with coy glances the respectful salutationsof beaux as they gracefully raised their remarkable cylindricalhead-coverings, a model of which is still preserved in the HonoluluMuseum. The brokers had gathered at their respective temples. Theshopmen were exhibiting their goods. The idlers, or 'Bummers, '--a termapplied to designate an aristocratic, privileged class who enjoyedimmunities from labor, and from whom a majority of the rulersare chosen, --were listlessly regarding the promenaders from thestreet-corners or the doors of their bibulous temples. A slightpremonitory thrill runs through the city. The busy life of this restlessmicrocosm is arrested. The shopkeeper pauses as he elevates the goodsto bring them into a favorable light, and the glib professionalrecommendation sticks on his tongue. In the drinking-saloon the glassis checked half-way to the lips; on the streets the promenaders pause. Another thrill, and the city begins to go down, a few of the morepersistent topers tossing off their liquor at the same moment. Beyond aterrible sensation of nausea, the crowds who now throng the streets donot realize the extent of the catastrophe. The waters of the bay recedeat first from the centre of depression, assuming a concave shape, theouter edge of the circle towering many thousand feet above the city. Another convulsion, and the water instantly resumes its level. The cityis smoothly ingulfed nine thousand feet below, and the regular swellof the Pacific calmly rolls over it. Terrible, " says Schwappelfurt, inconclusion, "as the calamity must have been, in direct relation to theindividuals immediately concerned therein, we cannot but admire itsartistic management; the division of the catastrophe into threeperiods, the completeness of the cataclysms, and the rare combination ofsincerity of intention with felicity of execution. "

A NIGHT AT WINGDAM. 

I had been stage-ridden and bewildered all day, and when we swept downwith the darkness into the Arcadian hamlet of "Wingdam, " I resolvedto go no farther, and rolled out in a gloomy and dyspeptic state. Theeffects of a mysterious pie, and some sweetened carbonic acid knownto the proprietor of the "Half-Way House" as "lemming sody, " stilloppressed me. Even the facetiae of the gallant expressman who kneweverybody's Christian name along the route, who rained letters, newspapers, and bundles from the top of the stage, whose legs frequentlyappeared in frightful proximity to the wheels, who got on and off whilewe were going at full speed, whose gallantry, energy, and superiorknowledge of travel crushed all us other passengers to envious silence, and who just then was talking with several persons and manifestly doingsomething else at the same time, --even this had failed to interest me. So I stood gloomily, clutching my shawl and carpet-bag, and watched thestage roll away, taking a parting look at the gallant expressman as hehung on the top rail with one leg, and lit his cigar from the pipe of arunning footman. I then turned toward the Wingdam Temperance Hotel. 

It may have been the weather, or it may have been the pie, but I was notimpressed favorably with the house. Perhaps it was the name extendingthe whole length of the building, with a letter under each window, making the people who looked out dreadfully conspicuous. Perhaps it wasthat "Temperance" always suggested to my mind rusks and weak tea. It wasuninviting. It might have been called the "Total Abstinence" Hotel, from the lack of anything to intoxicate or inthrall the senses. It wasdesigned with an eye to artistic dreariness. It was so much too largefor the settlement, that it appeared to be a very slight improvementon out-doors. It was unpleasantly new. There was the forest flavor ofdampness about it, and a slight spicing of pine. Nature outraged, but not entirely subdued, sometimes broke out afresh in little round, sticky, resinous tears on the doors and windows. It seemed to me thatboarding there must seem like a perpetual picnic. As I entered the door, a number of the regular boarders rushed out of a long room, and setabout trying to get the taste of something out of their mouths, bythe application of tobacco in various forms. A few immediately rangedthemselves around the fireplace, with their legs over each other'schairs, and in that position silently resigned themselves toindigestion. Remembering the pie, I waived the invitation of thelandlord to supper, but suffered myself to be conducted into thesitting-room. "Mine host" was a magnificent-looking, heavily beardedspecimen of the animal man. He reminded me of somebody or somethingconnected with the drama. I was sitting beside the fire, mutelywondering what it could be, and trying to follow the particular chordof memory thus touched, into the intricate past, when a littledelicate-looking woman appeared at the door, and, leaning heavilyagainst the casing, said in an exhausted tone, "Husband!" As thelandlord turned toward her, that particular remembrance flashed beforeme in a single line of blank verse. It was this: "Two souls with but onesingle thought, two hearts that beat as one. "

It was Ingomar and Parthenia his wife. I imagined a different denouementfrom the play. Ingomar had taken Parthenia back to the mountains, andkept a hotel for the benefit of the Alemanni, who resorted there inlarge numbers. Poor Parthenia was pretty well fagged out, and did allthe work without "help. " She had two "young barbarians, " a boy and agirl. She was faded, but still good-looking. 

I sat and talked with Ingomar, who seemed perfectly at home and toldme several stories of the Alemanni, all bearing a strong flavor ofthe wilderness, and being perfectly in keeping with the house. How he, Ingomar, had killed a certain dreadful "bar, " whose skin was just up"yar, " over his bed. How he, Ingomar, had killed several "bucks, " whoseskins had been prettily fringed and embroidered by Parthenia, and evennow clothed him. How he, Ingomar, had killed several "Injins, " and wasonce nearly scalped himself. All this with that ingenious candor whichis perfectly justifiable in a barbarian, but which a Greek might feelinclined to look upon as "blowing. " Thinking of the wearied Parthenia, Ibegan to consider for the first time that perhaps she had better marriedthe old Greek. Then she would at least have always looked neat. Then shewould not have worn a woollen dress flavored with all the dinners ofthe past year. Then she would not have been obliged to wait on the tablewith her hair half down. Then the two children would not have hung abouther skirts with dirty fingers, palpably dragging her down day by day. Isuppose it was the pie which put such heartless and improper ideas inmy head, and so I rose up and told Ingomar I believed I'd go to bed. Preceded by that redoubtable barbarian and a flaring tallow candle, Ifollowed him up stairs to my room. It was the only single room he had, he told me; he had built it for the convenience of married parties whomight stop here, but, that event not happening yet, he had left it halffurnished. It had cloth on one side, and large cracks on the other. Thewind, which always swept over Wingdam at night-time, puffed through theapartment from different apertures. The window was too small for thehole in the side of the house where it hung, and rattled noisily. Everything looked cheerless and dispiriting. Before Ingomar left me, he brought that "bar-skin, " and throwing it over the solemn bier whichstood in one corner, told me he reckoned that would keep me warm, andthen bade me good night. I undressed myself, the light blowing out inthe middle of that ceremony, crawled under the "bar-skin, " and tried tocompose myself to sleep. 

But I was staringly wide awake. I heard the wind sweep down themountain-side, and toss the branches of the melancholy pine, and thenenter the house, and try all the doors along the passage. Sometimesstrong currents of air blew my hair all over the pillow, as with strangewhispering breaths. The green timber along the walls seemed to besprouting, and sent a dampness even through the "bar-skin. " I felt likeRobinson Crusoe in his tree, with the ladder pulled up, --or like therocked baby of the nursery song. After lying awake half an hour, Iregretted having stopped at Wingdam; at the end of the third quarter, Iwished I had not gone to bed; and when a restless hour passed, I got upand dressed myself. There had been a fire down in the big room. Perhapsit was still burning. I opened the door and groped my way along thepassage, vocal with the snores of the Alemanni and the whistling ofthe night wind; I partly fell down stairs, and at last entering the bigroom, saw the fire still burning. I drew a chair toward it, poked itwith my foot, and was astonished to see, by the upspringing flash, thatParthenia was sitting there also, holding a faded-looking baby. 

I asked her why she was sitting up. 

"She did not go to bed on Wednesday night before the mail arrived, andthen she awoke her husband, and there were passengers to 'tend to. "

"Did she not get tired sometimes?"

"A little, but Abner" (the barbarian's Christian name) "had promised toget her more help next spring, if business was good. "

"How many boarders had she?"

"She believed about forty came to regular meals, and there was transientcustom, which was as much as she and her husband could 'tend to. But HEdid a great deal of work. "

"What work?"

"O, bringing in the wood, and looking after the traders' things. "

"How long had she been married?"

"About nine years. She had lost a little girl and boy. Three childrenliving. HE was from Illinois. She from Boston. Had an education (BostonFemale High School, --Geometry, Algebra, a little Latin and Greek). Mother and father died. Came to Illinois alone, to teach school. Saw HIM--yes--a love match. " ("Two souls, " etc. , etc. ) "Married andemigrated to Kansas. Thence across the Plains to California. Always onthe outskirts of civilization. HE liked it. 

"She might sometimes have wished to go home. Would like to on accountof her children. Would like to give them an education. Had taught thema little herself, but couldn't do much on account of other work. Hopedthat the boy would be like his father, strong and hearty. Was fearfulthe girl would be more like her. Had often thought she was not fit for apioneer's wife. "

"Why?"

"O, she was not strong enough, and had seen some of his friends' wivesin Kansas who could do more work. But he never complained, --was sokind. " ("Two souls, " etc. )

Sitting there with her head leaning pensively on one hand, holding thepoor, wearied, and limp-looking baby wearily on the other arm, dirty, drabbled, and forlorn, with the firelight playing upon her features nolonger fresh or young, but still refined and delicate, and even in hergrotesque slovenliness still bearing a faint reminiscence of birth andbreeding, it was not to be wondered that I did not fall into excessiveraptures over the barbarian's kindness. Emboldened by my sympathy, shetold me how she had given up, little by little, what she imagined to bethe weakness of her early education, until she found that she acquiredbut little strength in her new experience. How, translated to abackwoods society, she was hated by the women, and called proud and"fine, " and how her dear husband lost popularity on that account withhis fellows. How, led partly by his roving instincts, and partly fromother circumstances, he started with her to California. An account ofthat tedious journey. How it was a dreary, dreary waste in her memory, only a blank plain marked by a little cairn of stones, --a child'sgrave. How she had noticed that little Willie failed. How she had calledAbner's attention to it, but, man-like, he knew nothing about children, and pooh-poohed it, and was worried by the stock. How it happened thatafter they had passed Sweetwater, she was walking beside the wagon onenight, and looking at the western sky, and she heard a little voice say"Mother. " How she looked into the wagon and saw that little Willie wassleeping comfortably and did not wish to wake him. How that in a fewmoments more she heard the same voice saying "Mother. " How she cameback to the wagon and leaned down over him, and felt his breath upon herface, and again covered him up tenderly, and once more resumed her wearyjourney beside him, praying to God for his recovery. How with her faceturned to the sky she heard the same voice saying "Mother, " and directlya great bright star shot away from its brethren and expired. And howshe knew what had happened, and ran to the wagon again only to pillowa little pinched and cold white face upon her weary bosom. The thin redhands went up to her eyes here, and for a few moments she sat still. Thewind tore round the house and made a frantic rush at the front door, and from his couch of skins in the inner room--Ingomar, the barbarian, snored peacefully. 

"Of course she always found a protector from insult and outrage in thegreat courage and strength of her husband?"

"O yes; when Ingomar was with her she feared nothing. But she wasnervous and had been frightened once!"

"How?"

"They had just arrived in California. They kept house then, and hadto sell liquor to traders. Ingomar was hospitable, and drank witheverybody, for the sake of popularity and business, and Ingomar got tolike liquor, and was easily affected by it. And how one night there wasa boisterous crowd in the bar-room; she went in and tried to get himaway, but only succeeded in awakening the coarse gallantry of thehalf-crazed revellers. And how, when she had at last got him in the roomwith her frightened children, he sank down on the bed in a stupor, whichmade her think the liquor was drugged. And how she sat beside him allnight, and near morning heard a step in the passage, and, looking towardthe door, saw the latch slowly moving up and down, as if somebody weretrying it. And how she shook her husband, and tried to waken him, butwithout effect. And how at last the door yielded slowly at the top (itwas bolted below), as if by a gradual pressure without; and how a handprotruded through the opening. And how as quick as lightning she nailedthat hand to the wall with her scissors (her only weapon), but the pointbroke, and somebody got away with a fearful oath. How she never told herhusband of it, for fear he would kill that somebody; but how on one daya stranger called here, and as she was handing him his coffee, she saw aqueer triangular scar on the back of his hand. "

She was still talking, and the wind was still blowing, and Ingomar wasstill snoring from his couch of skins, when there was a shout highup the straggling street, and a clattering of hoofs, and rattling ofwheels. The mail had arrived. Parthenia ran with the faded baby toawaken Ingomar, and almost simultaneously the gallant expressman stoodagain before me addressing me by my Christian name, and inviting meto drink out of a mysterious black bottle. The horses were speedilywatered, and the business of the gallant expressman concluded, and, bidding Parthenia good by, I got on the stage, and immediately fellasleep, and dreamt of calling on Parthenia and Ingomar, and beingtreated with pie to an unlimited extent, until I woke up the nextmorning in Sacramento. I have some doubts as to whether all this was nota dyspeptic dream, but I never witness the drama, and hear that noblesentiment concerning "Two souls, " etc. , without thinking of Wingdam andpoor Parthenia.