Captain Kiddle

Contents

CHAPTER. PAGE.

II. The Captain, ------ 16

III. The “Boreas” and Crew, - 24

Chapter I. Prelude

Farewell ye mountains drear,

’Mong thee I’ll no longer roam Farewell ye torrents clear That roar, seethe and foam.

Farewell ye deserts bare That I’ve wandered o’er;

Adieu ye skies so fair,

I’ll behold thee no more.

This bit of poetical effusion emanated half voluntarily from my mind, as I sat in reverie before the huge fireplace of my cabin, wherein blazed a warm, cheerful fire consuming a huge nut-pine log, listening to the moaning of a gale that tossed vehemently the branches of a pine, just in front the door. There was nothing remarkable, as I readily acknowledge, in listening to the gale, for it had buzzed in my ear in seasons of storm with doleful accent for the past three years. But this evening in question there was something that caused me to experience a sensation of sadness, for it was the last night I would ever occupy the cabin. On the morrow I intended to break camp and abandon algates, so far as I was able to discern, the nomadic life of a prospector. In the morning, with much reluctance, I would bid adieu to a rudely constructed stone cabin — my home — that stood in a deep canyon on the east slope of Mt. Williamson, one of the loftiest of the Sierras. Down this canyon, four or five yards from my door, dashed a good-sized stream for this side the mountains, furnishing Pap Walker with water to irrigate his ranch, and, besides, a surplus poured into deleterious Owen’s Lake, the Dead Sea of our extensive country. As I have already' stated, my cabin was rudely constructed. Its walls were of undressed stone, laid in adobe mud, after the Mexican fashion of building, dirt roof, and floor hewn from the live rock. It had one door, facing the east, upon which fell the morning sun — that is, soon as old Sol had climbed the logo range of mountains to the east, some twenty odd miles.

At the right of the door was a window, the only one the cabin possessed. It was about twelve by twenty-four inches, nothing more nor less than the sides and ends of a box, that a storekeeper filled with groceries the first Fourth of July that I resided here. I celebrated this day with great ostentation by coming to town clad in a new suit of blue-demin. Instead of a window-pane, a gunny sack was substituted, not on account of transparency, but that I never took trouble to place in a light. Anyhow, it was as good as the window of my nearest neighbor, who, by the way, lived in the next canyon four miles to the north. My cabin was not handsomely furnished, but far from it. The bedstead was of pine saplings tied together with thongs of buck-skin from the back of a deer that once came to drink from the stream before my door. Poor creature ! it must have thought I was away visiting my neighbor, whom I visited frequently and he did me the same. Not till after a ball from my deadly Winchester rifle had pierced its body was it aware of my presence. With a look of amazement it glanced at me, sprang headlong, and dropped dead on the opposite side the stream. At the head of my bed hung a Winchester repeating rifle, breech-loading shotgun, a Colt navy revolver in its, holster, and a hunting knife in its sheath. Thus I was armed, according to, the old saying u to the teeth,” not for the purpose of doing injury to or destroying my fellow-man, but for two goodly reasons : First, to keep myself supplied with game ; for this purpose the shot-gun was undispensable : Second, for protection against wild beasts, such as grizzly bear and mountain lions. The mountains are infested with these ferocious animals. I never killed but one bear, which I slew in the same manner as the deer, taking it unaware. This made me bold ; at least I considered myself so. The next bear I came across, several days afterwards, an old

Prelude.

she one with cubs, I fired upon Without deliberate aim l Lo ! I missed her by ten yards to the left. After me came bruin with mouth wide open, and after her the cubs. Fortune favored me, as my course homeward was down the canyon, and aided by a pair of long legs which are always useful in such an emergency, I soon left my dangerous foe behind. This important adventure so disheartened me, that I am willing under almost any consideration not to molest bears. My table was a large box, on both sides of which was stenciled “ Our Taste Bacon,” and my chair a small box, once containing chow-chow. Now a few lines concerning my cooking utensils. The most important was a large iron pot that once belonged to a cooking-range. It was a ponderous concern. I thought it almost as large and heavy as the huge kettle my grandmother used to make soft-soap in What excellent soap she made ! If I only had the contents of that kettle now, I would drop this pen with which I am writing and soft-soap my way to Congress; My frying-pan was originally a piece of boiler-plate which I managed to beat oval, and it resembled the shield Mars wore at the siege of Troy. By giving it 'a slight flip, I could turn a pancake over twice. Had I then the discretion that I possess now, I would have got it patented as a pancake turner. My coffee-pot was a tomato can, and teapot a can that once contained Cove oysters. I drank from each one, Ignoring the use of a cup, which I believe is not good etiquette. My environments were picturesque. High above me, close to the mountain’s crest, smiled “ Sleeping Beauty,” the name given a projecting mass of rock forming the profile of a woman’s face, which is distinctly visible for many miles on each side the range. Back of the cabin not more than two rods rose a solid wall of granite, to the height of nearly one thousand feet, whose face is grim with the storms of centuries. About one third the way up, from a fissure gushes a brook, ice-cold, fed by the melting of perpetual snow. In its abrupt descent, instead of a roar as if angry at its headlong plunge, it produces a sort of strange, sweet music, to which I have often listened and thought I heard music’s whole diapason, as if some invisible hand was striking a harp attuned by a habitant of heaven. Pure, cold water of crystal clearness, like the River of Life. From this many a time I slaked my thirst and cooled my heated

Captain Kiddle.

brow. In my mountain home I had been happy exceedingly, so completely infatuated by the Nepenthes, the name I gave to a small gold-bearing lode or ledge. Ah, Nepenthes ! It was here I was positive that Mammon had fabulous riches locked up in one of his granite safes, to be unlocked only by the miner’s pick. Yes, forsooth, I thought that riches, and riches alone, would be my Nepenthes. By experience I have learned that sorrow, strife, turmoil, discontent, and all that tends to make life miserable, harass the rich as well as the poor. If there is a Nepenthes at all in this life, it is in the beatitudes showered upon us through the mitigation of the woes of our fellow beings. The fire had burned nearly out, and as I rose to replenish it, I heard the roar of a furious gale sweeping up the canyon. On opening the door, I beheld the ground white with snow. The sight of snow did not surprise me in the least. For several days it had threatened to storm, and as it was late in November, of course it meant snow in the mountains. As I was about to close the door, round a corner came Moses and Miriam, my companions. Rather strange companions I must say — two long-eared donkeys. Both of them, as well as myself, knew that a furious storm was close at hand. They insisted on getting in doors. My first impulse was to close the door against them. Then, realizing how faithfully they had borne their burdens over rough mountain trails and across scorching deserts, I concluded to admit them. Said I, “Well, donkeys, we are about one of a kind, anyhow.”

The storm burst forth, raging as it rages only in the high Sierras. Thought I, what must it be like on the summit of Mount Whitney ? Ah, that noble mountain! highest point of our glorious Republic ! Never shall I forget the thrill of admiration that seemed to wing my soul up to the heights of Eternal Day as I stood upon the crest of this mountain, one August afternoon, gazing down, as I reluctantly confess, with contempt on all that lay beneath. It was sort of the same exhilaration that often enthused me in my juvenile days, when imagining myself at early manhood, as a famous author, upon the giddy pinnacle of fame, which is sharper than the tip of a lightning rod, as I have often been told by those who trod the sacred heights. Jurists, statesmen, and even the President, would, in my

Prelude.

estimation, be only as pancakes with a little butter and Vermont maple syrup in a depression or two, while I, a huge pyramid cake topped with half a dozen candy hearts, far sweeter to the taste than was the sight of my first sweetheart to my eyes. Those illusions are gone — a mere chimera. Now, instead of being as a pyramid cake, I am only an ill-cooked pancake without the least butter or Vermont maple syrup spread over me. From the summit of this mighty mountain my imagination suddenly descended into Death Valley, three hundred feet, in the lowest place, below the level of the sea. Truly, it is the Valley of Death. Then, I plodded my way through heavy sands, and under burning skies almost hot as those overhanging the regions of eternal torment. Presently a footstep at the door broke upon my reverie. The door opened, a fancy silk handkerchief, highly perfumed, went up before a prominent nose, a scanty mustache rose, and a voice exclaimed,

“ Here are the two donkevs, and I wonder what has become of the third one.”

The speaker did not observe me, as Moses stood between him and me.

“ The fourth one has just entered,” exclaimed I, rising to my feet. “ Goodness, William Ramsey,” (that was my visitor’s name — my nearest neighbor also,) “what brought you out such a night as this?”

“ Oh,” replied he, flourishing his handkerchief perfumed anew. “I have no wood at home. Few days ago I ran out of perfumery, went to town after some, and have just returned.”

With a? serious countenance, somewhat exotic, inquired he, “And is it really true that you intend to leave the country ? ”

“ Yes ; in the morning I depart for San Francisco. I am completely disheartened over the Nepenthes.”

“ If you have no serious objections I should like to go also,” replied my visitor, giving his handkerchief several vigorous flourishes.

Of course I could raise not an objection, as I was always pleased with his society. Permit me, kind reader, to pen a few words concerning my friend, Mr. Ramsey, and should he chance to read my opinion of him in print, I hope

Captain Kiddle.

he will not think me animadverting in the least. Of all mortals that it has been my lot to associate with, I think Mr. Ramsey approached nearest the acme of a gentleman. Born of goodly parents and well-off in worldly possessions ; and, besides, he possessed grandeur of soul which would have made him a peerless bard had he been endowed with a jot more of ambition, thereby prompting him to pen hisinspirations. Alas ! they were left “ to blush unseen.’* He, like myself, was fond of roaming the world over. For the sake of a romantic life he had deteriorated from a high position in society — rather he was a self-exile from society — to the humble nomadic life of a prospector. Even if he had stumbled upon a hidden treasure, his first impulse would have been to give it to some unfortunate one strug^ gling manfully onward beneath the eternal frowns of. Mammon. He was generous ten times beyond prudence. Once I saw him give his Prince Albert dress-coat to an Indian, lo, poor Indian, who chanced to pass his cabin one chilly October morning. When donning his dress suit he had to wear a tattered gray blanket in place of the coat. He had his failings, and who has not? If perfection was at all attainable in this life, we would become as seraphs, and no doubt possess a passport to and from Empyrea. Occasionally he took a social glass of wine, smoked a cigarette and played a game or two at “ seven up.” I never heard him blaspheme or use vulgar language. When angry he always counted one hundred before speaking. I believe the old marine says, “ When angry, count ten before you speak.” Therefore Mr. Ramsey was tenfold wiser than the author of this proverb, as he counted ten times the amount before speaking. He possessed another failing — a feminine one — the love of perfumery. He would always have the same, no matter what odds were against him.

The night was a stormy one. The wind blew harder than I ever knew it to do during my residence in the mountains. In the morning I perceived that the snow was not of a very heavjr fall, though badly drifted. The storm seemed to be heaviest in the mountain tops. So far as I could discern, the canyons were almost drifted full.

“ What a lovely sight ! ” said I to Mr. Ramsey as we stood just without the cabin door observing the mountain tops clad in a perfect tailor-fitting robe of daisy white.

Prelude.

They stood out boldly against the serene sky, and seemed almost resplendent in the morning sun. Turning my eyes toward Mt. Whitney, the grim, bald-headed old Titan, I beheld it with a white cap and cloak on. It appeared to have put on a celestial-hued robe to minister to spirits that may have hovered round its crest. The scene seemed a phantasy but I knew it to be a reality, for I had seen the same the fall before, the winter through, and, in fact, till the hot July sun bade it show its bald-head again. There was a slight pain of selfishness in my heart, as I realized that others, perchance numerous as the sands of the sea, centuries and centuries of thousands of years, ago, may have beheld the same sight. Who can tell but what the Moses of a mighty nation, lost amid the wrecks of Time may have ascended to the summit of this mountain and received from the hand of the Almighty a decalogue ! This mountain may have been a Jacob’s Ladder for the faithful, after having laid aside their mortality, to ascend into heaven. The seasons come and go bidding this mountain to put on its white cap and cloak, doff them for a brief season, and become green — rather a strange aspect for so gray and venerable an object to assume.

I must no longer parley with depression, and I fear, kind reader, 1 have already tasked your patience severely. It was late in the forenoon before we got started. The snow greatly impeded our progress, but, however, we managed to reach Mr. Ramsey’s cabin at dark. Here we stopped two days waiting for the snow to settle. As Mr. Ramsey stated, there was no firewood at hand. The first thing we did was to demolish the furniture, making fuel of it, which was a grade or two better than my own. On arriving at Keeler, which we reached on the evening of the day we left Mr. Ramsey’s cabin, we turned the donkeys loose, givingthem their freedom, boarded the train, and within three days and one half arrived in San Francisco.

Captain Kiddle.

CHAPTER IT.

THE CAPTAIN.

As we, Mr. Ramsey and I stepped from the ferry-boat just •over from Oakland, I was much bewildered. What crowds on every hand ! Bus men shouting, freight wagons rattling, and a multitude of other noises all exotic to my ear. I must confess that I was the country greenhorn personified. There I stood staring about, not knowing which way to look or go. Mr. Ramsey, so self-possessed, took out his handkerchief freshly perfumed, wiped a drop or two of perspiration from his brow, and then ogled a handsome young lady accompanied by a harsh-looking old woman, •evidently the young lady’s maiden aunt. Said he, tapping me on the shoulder with a kid glove which he was on the point of putting on, 44 How would you like that crow for a mother-in-law ? ”

The old lady, angered on hearing the remark, replied with a supercilious toss of the head, “ You impudent fop, were it possible for me to be your mother-in-law, you would get such a piece of my mind that you would know enough to keep your mouth closed. I have a great mind to begin on you anyhow.”

She really meant it and would have begun had not her companion dragged her forward, at the same time remarking, 44 Auntie, never mind.”

Soon as they disappeared among the crowd, Mr. Ramsey inquired if I had lost anything.

Replied I, “ Am looking for a suitable camping-place.”

Being so embarrassed I forgot that I was in the city ; which accounts for my absurd reply.

44 Come, and we will camp up yonder, ” pointing out the Palace Hotel.

Of all things I abhor is a home at a hotel. What would I do at a hotel — one like Mr. Ramsey intended I should sojourn ? Having dwelt aloof so long from civilization, my

IT

The Captain.

deportment had become rude. Once Mr. Ramsey told me I behaved like a grizzly bear. That was just after the old she-bear chased me. Shortly after this harsh criticism he said there was a marked affinity between me and my donkeys. W ere he not my bosom friend I should have been, extremely angry with him.

At length replied I, “ Mr. Ramsey, you may go there, but I must seek quarters more congenial to my idiosyncracies.”

He was determined that I should go thence, and for the first time I failed to comply with his desires. The last I saw of him for the following week was as he entered a free ’bus to the hotel in question. At length I managed to get quartered in the fourth story of a second-rate lodging house, No. 13 — Mission St., and took my meals at an excellent restaurant one block further up the street. My inert mode of life and comfortably furnished apartments filled me with discontent. After one week’s residence in the city, I made up my mind to return to the mountains and herd sheep (a sheep-owner having made me a fair offer), but my plans were reversed by my friend, Mr. Ramsey, whom I met one afternoon on Market St. with a handsome young lady on each arm. I was afraid he would introduce me to his fair companions, so I turned round and began walking rapidly away. I had taken perhaps half a dozen steps where he called out saying — “ Hold on, old bear.”

He often addressed me thus. I was much afraid he might apply his othjer appellation — old donkey. Goodness \ how I would have felt had he done so in the presence of those young ladies.

“Call at the Palace this evening. I have something important to import to you.”

“Will do so,” replied I, glancing over my shoulder, the right one I think, and saw the trio enter a drug store. I knew that this meant buying perfumery.

“ What can he want of me?” I asked myself over and over again. I called, and Mr. Ramsey met me at the gentlemen’s entrance with handkerchief in hand, saturated with the most ambrosial perfumery the market afforded. He extended his hand, which I grasped eagerly, as in days gone by in the mountains, on meeting after a long separation. The handkerchief went to his nose three times, and then disappeared in a pocket in the tail of his coat.

44 Old chum,” began he , 44 you know you have dabbled in book- writing a little.”

44 Yes,” replied I, demurely ; 44 but my success was about the same as prospecting.”

44 Am sure I can be instrumental in procuring you a capital subject for a book, which, when complete, would be a book of fact.”

44 How so ? ” I asked, half in doubt.

44 Do you see that man reading a newspaper, back toward us, and with both feet upon the table ? ”

He pointed out an individual who looked no larger than an ordinary lad of twelve, with both feet upon a table that stood near the centre of the reading-room.

44 That,” continued he 44 is Captain John D. Kiddle, sole survivor of the ill-fated whaler 44 Boreas.” He avers that he reached the North Pole. If you could obtain an account of his adventures and publish the same as your own production, your reputation as an author would be unquestionably established. Then you could afford perfumery like this ” (here he placed his handkerchief to my nose) 44 on your everyday handkerchief.”

The Captain removed his feet from their elevated position, laid down his newspaper, and looked directly at me, as I thought at the time. However, afterwards I learned he was watching the door to see if any more newspaper reporters entered. That day no less than twenty had called upon him hoping to obtain information regarding that long disputed subject — the North Pole. For some reason he would not divulge a single word. Then, what hope would there be for me when individuals had failed who seemed to obtain information from a coffee-mill or grindstone ; who could make the wind from a bellows articulate on almost any subject, the tongue of a fire-bell rattle away like an angry mother’s-in-law, and the hands of a clock write Chinese? On gazing at the door several moments, the Captain rose, fixed his eyes upon the ceiling as if trying to recall something to memory. Though only a boy in stature,. barely five feet tall, weight probably one hundred and five pounds, he possessed one of the most intelligent heads I ever beheld. Forehead high and broad, which, however, was disfigured by a large purple tattoo slightly resembling a cross or an +, in fact it was more like

The Captain.

the imprint of a crow’s foot in the sand. Face perfect as if wrought by a sculptor’s chisel, but slightly wrinkled. Probably Father Time had drawn his fingers fifty times annually athwart his countenance in engendering these wrinkles. Hair brown, a little gray, and so was the scanty beard. Eyes large, dark, and keen. The longer I gazed at him, larger and grander he seemed to grow'.

“ I will introduce you,” said Mr. Ramsey at length.

We stepped forward. The Captain, mistaking me for a newspaper reporter, sat down at the table and resumed his paper.

44 Captain,” said Mr. Ramsey.

The Captain pretended not to hear.

“ Captain,” continued Mr. Ramsey in the way of an introduction which I expected him to perform with several low bows and few flourishes of the handkerchief, 44 1 have brought a friend of mine who is anxious to learn something of your adventures.”

The Captain glanced at me, shut one eye, and replied : ‘‘Young man, you are the twenty-first applicant to-day who has sought information concerning my hardships in boreal regions. Jay Gould will run a pleasure party to the North Pole every day before I w'ould inform you quizzing pack of reporters of anything.”

44 Captain,” said I hesifatingly. 44 1 am not of the class you mention.”

He gave me a prolix look, and ejaculated. 44 Then what interest could my adventures be to you ? ”

44 Thought I could make a tolerable good book of them.”

44 Ah, ah,” (with a sarcastic sneer) 44 you aspire to authorship, do you? Young man, ninety-nine times out of every hundred authorship is the figure-head looking straight toward the poorhouse. However, call in the morning and I might gratify your desires, though only under certain conditions. Good-evening.”

44 Good-evening, Captain.”

As I reached the door where Mr. Ramsey stood waiting with handkerchief in hand, and on placing it to his nose, said, 44 1 know the Captain has taken a fancy to you, and unquestionably you are the fortunate one.”

44 How do you know that he is favorably disposed tow'ard me?”

Captain Kiddle.

“ I did not notice that purple tattoo turn black as it seemed to do when everybody else solicited information. What a horrible disfigurement it is. Hideous as the Creator’s mark on the brow of Cain.”

Mr. Ramsey accompanied me to my quarters, and before he had been in the house five minutes, was engaged in conversation with the lodging mistress’s daughter without an introduction. As for myself, I had not spoken to her yet. My friend tarried with me till just midnight. The clock struck the hour as he passed through the door. He entertained me delightfully in narrating what he had observed and experienced while in the city. He knew the name of every street and of almost every business house, drug stores especially. He was ever perfumery shopping. How stupid I was. Had even forgotten the name of the street I lived on and the number of the house I lodged in. When out, and wanting to reach home, I sighted out a great dark building that stood on the opposite side the street I resided on, and made for it. If I chanced to go amiss, generally inquired of a policeman if he could show me the trail to the Summit House (the name of my lodging house). I should have said the wap but the word trail recalled those happy days I spent in the mountains. After my friend took his departure I opened a large gunny sack, my mountain Saratoga trunk, and took therefrom writing materials, intending to ansvVer several correspondents in the East, but fell asleep. Soon as entering the tranquil halls of Somnus* where assemble the king, subject, landlord, tenant, rich and poor, all mankind and creatures,, to enjoy the beatitude of Nature’s kindest god, Morpheus, that voluptuous and hideous nightmare inspiring god paid me a visit. His wiles made me an author. With a voluminous manuscript under my arm I entered a book publishing house, and the indvidual who decides whether a manuscript will be published or consigned to the waste-basket frowned ominously on me.

“ Sir,” said I, “ here is a manuscript that I wish you to examine.”

Replied he, frowning ominously, and at the same time pointing to a large pile of manuscripts, containing at least one hundred : “ This vast amount is ahead of yours.

However, if you will assist me in getting through this one, yours will be considered next.”

I took a seat at his table and began assisting him. It was the manuscript of a novel by a Miss Amy Jones, entitled, “ How I Chose and Tamed my Husband.” How the spinster ever obtained so much information on this subject without ever having a husband, is a mystery. While speculating over the matter the individual I was assisting disappeared through a door near which he sat. As he took his departure a crowd, such a motley crowd of authors, came forward holding their productions at arm’s length and crying, “ Me first, me first.” Then they began tossing their parcels at my head. Soon I was buried completely and almost suffocated. How I wished the art of printing had never been invented. I wished that every mortal, myself included, could only write X when required to sign his name. Presently, however, I woke up, the candle had overturned, and a portion of my writing material was ablaze.

Next morning, at 9 o’clock, I entered the Palace Hotel, and a clerk conducted me to the Captain’s room, No. 101 on the second floor, one of the best furnished apartments in the Palace. The Captain was in a dressing gown, with a fancy silk cap on. At first I thought it Mr. Ramsey’s silk handkerchief, as the cap and handkerchief were alike. The captain, looking up from a large memorandum-book that had the appearance of having been badly water-soaked, bade me be seated. Then he absorbed his attention in the book. For fully one hour he was thus preoccupied, constantly turning its soiled, warped leaves. At times I noticed tears appear in his eyes. Again he gnashed his teeth, and. brought his fist, little larger than a woman’s, down on the table, and lastly, he laughed. His laughter was dry and peculiar.

“You must not pay any attention to my ebullitions of joy, sorrow, or anger,” remarked he, slowly turning the leaves, “ for this carries me back to the scenes that I am about to narrate. Would to God I could expunge some of them from my memory, but Mnemonic keeps them incessantly before my eyes both day and night. You see this memorandum ? ”