Part 4

Jim’s field of operation was necessarily such that I did not often come in contact with him. I had endeavored to cultivate him at first, but he seemed to be decidedly averse to continuing my acquaintance and even appeared to avoid me, much to my bewilderment. I often wondered why he should have conducted himself so strangely, and also why his appearance and ways seemed so familiar. I sometimes wished I might have the opportunity of conversing with him, but he so persistently avoided me that I finally gave up all hope of ever learning more about him.

Time passed quickly in Jacksonville, and in the pressure of work that was forced upon me by numerous cases of rheumatism and other effects of exposure during the stormy weather of the winter season, I found plenty to occupy my attention, hence I heard very little of the affairs of our people at large, for some time. I was therefore quite surprised one evening to find that my fellow citizens were in a state of rather pronounced excitement, and, incidentally, greatly concerned about the moral status of our community.

It seemed that a wave of moral purification had been gradually passing through the mining region from one town and camp to another and the fever of moral reaction had finally struck Jacksonville.

At a more or less informal meeting held at the Tuolumne House, at which Tennessee Dick presided with more enthusiasm than knowledge of parliamentary law, it was finally decided that the gambling element of Jacksonville was a superfluous and dangerous quantity in the body social, and must therefore be removed--and that quickly. With the gambling fraternity there was included in a sweepingly condemnatory resolution, certain other unwholesome elements in our primitive social system--of the feminine persuasion.

It was noticeable that those of our citizens whose losses at the gambling table were largest and most recent, or whose morals in other directions were least worthy of commendation, were the noisiest champions of social reform. As is usually the case with meetings where the dominant impulse is to pretend a virtue though one has it not, the party of reform--and noise--carried the day.

The meeting was well timed, for the only man who might have interposed an objection to the sweeping tone of the final resolution was absent from town--Toppy had been in Stockton for several weeks. Poor fellow! He remained in blissful ignorance of the social revolution that menaced the safety of Poker Jim, until long after it was too late to defend his friend--in this world at least.

Public opinion developed into concerted popular action very quickly in California mining towns, and by the following morning, due notice had been served on every individual who was in any way identified with the undesirable element of the population, to leave town within twenty-four hours.

Most of the persons who were ordered to move on, had been in similar straits before, and were constantly on the _qui vive_ of expectation of some such emergency. As practice makes perfect, and delay is not healthful after one has been told to leave a mining town for the good of its morals, the majority of the tabooed ones took time by the forelock and decamped early. Indeed, by nightfall, everybody who had been given the ultimatum by the citizens, had departed--with one exception.

* * * * *

It was nearly midnight of the day of the exodus. A large party of our citizens were congregated in the bar-room of the Tuolumne House, discussing the important event that had so effectually cleared the moral atmosphere of our town. The subtle essence of sanctity apparently had already pervaded our social fabric.

Mutual congratulations had been in order for some time, and the resultant libations had considerably disturbed the equilibrium of the crowd. Each man, however, felt that he was a thoroughly good fellow, and that everybody else present was pretty good. There was not a man in the crowd who did not feel that he was a modern Hercules, jubilating after the successful accomplishment of a task beside which his ancient prototype’s experience as chambermaid in the Augean Stables, was but a trifling thing indeed. Commingled with the self-congratulations of these moral reformers, were boastful remarks expressive of the awful things the speakers would have done, had not the persons who had contaminated the very air of our little burg, opportunely left in good season after having received their “notice to quit.”

The proceedings of the extempore mutual-admiration society-of-social-purists were at their height, and our citizens were fast becoming inflated to a superlative degree, when a step was heard on the hotel porch, the door opened, and there on the threshold, with a smile of mocking gravity upon his handsome face, stood--Poker Jim!

He had evidently been riding hard, for his boots and clothing were covered with the red dust of the Tuolumne roads, and his long curly hair was in a condition of dusty confusion that was totally unlike his usual immaculateness.

The sudden quiet that fell upon the noisy crowd was something phenomenal, and as a disinterested observer I was duly impressed by it. My fellow townsmen were not cowards, but they were now face to face with a quality of bravery which was more than physical indifference to danger. Poker Jim was a man whose presence conveyed the impression of great intellectual and moral power--and it was not without pronounced effect upon those rude miners.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” said Jim, blandly, “I hope I’m not intruding on this scene of festivity and rejoicing”--and he looked about him somewhat sarcastically. “As you do not seem at all disturbed by my presence,” he continued, “I conclude that my company is at least unobjectionable, and with your permission I will join your party,” and Jim strode up to the Bar, his huge spurs clinking a merry defiance as he walked.

“You see, gentlemen,” he continued, “I have a very important engagement which will temporarily necessitate my absence from town, and as I start early in the morning, I thought I would drop in and bid my fellow citizens good bye. It will save you the trouble of sending a committee to see me off--I prefer that you should not give yourselves any trouble on my account. Should you, however, appoint a committee to escort me back to town again, I shall not object. Indeed, I should feel obliged to you if you would turn out _en masse_ and greet me with a brass band. And, now, fellow townsmen, friends and former patrons, have a parting drink with me. I see your hand but cannot call you.”

Whether it was because liquor was just then _en régle_, the spontaneous revival of Jim’s popularity, or his cool, sarcastic assurance, is an open question, but the crowd fell to with a will, and everybody, with the exception of one man, drank with him. For the moment it seemed as though our citizens had forgotten that Jim was under the ban.

Among the party which had been celebrating the reform movement of our enterprising town, was a fellow by the name of Jeff Hosking, a comparatively recent addition to our population, who hailed from Murphy’s Camp. Whether Hosking had an old time grudge to settle with Poker Jim, no one ever knew, but it was afterward rumored that a feud of long standing had existed between them.

From whatever cause, however, the gentleman from Calaveras remained conspicuously apart from his sociable companions, insolently shaking his head in refusal of Jim’s proffered hospitality. To accentuate his discourtesy--for such conduct was considered the acme of rudeness in our little community--he smiled in a manner that was an unpleasant combination of superciliousness and contempt.

The assembled company looked at Jeff in open mouthed astonishment for a few seconds, but Jim affected not to notice the implied insult, much to the bewilderment of the rest of the party.

The situation was, to say the least, embarrassing, and Dixie, with a pardonable desire to smooth things over, said--

“Well, Jeff, what’s the matter; hev y’u lost yer appetite fer licker?”

“No sirree, Mister Dixie!” replied Hosking, “but I ain’t drinkin’ with no gamblers jest now, ’specially them that ain’t on the squar’, an’ some folks that I knows of, hain’t improved much since they was chased outer Murphy’s.”

“Drink your liquor, gentlemen,” said Jim, quietly, “and then we will investigate this very interesting affair!”

The liquor having been disposed of, Jim lounged leisurely toward his insulter, looked him steadily in the eye for a moment and then said--

“And some people’s manners have not greatly improved since _they_ left Murphy’s. As for my squareness, that’s a matter for argument, but one which you are hardly competent to pass an opinion upon, unless you have changed greatly in the last few years. Now, Mr. Hosking, I’m going to tell you something that may interest you.

“At nine o’clock this morning, I was notified to change my location within twenty-four hours. I propose to get away from town as quietly and pleasantly as possible. Let me inform you, however, that until nine o’clock to-morrow morning, I am a citizen of Jacksonville, and shall stand for my rights and self-respect accordingly.”

Emboldened by Jim’s apparent indisposition to begin a row, and, like all bullies, mistaking conservatism for cowardice, Hosking replied:

“Y’u make a mighty purty speech, mister man, but y’u aint on the squar’ jest the same, an’ I--”

We never knew what Hosking was going to say; his mouth was slapped so quickly that his intentions became a matter for conjecture.

It was impossible to see exactly what happened next--the two men sprang at each other so fiercely. There was a short, sharp struggle, a shot from Hosking’s revolver, that sped harmlessly over the heads of the crowd, lodging in the wall, and Jim, bowie in hand, was bounding toward the open door, leaving his insulter lying upon the floor with a clean cut in his chest through which his life was ebbing away as fast as the escaping blood could carry it!

As Jim ran, some one in the crowd fired a shot after him. Everybody rushed to the door, but he was in the saddle and away, amid a shower of pistol balls, which, much to my relief, apparently flew wide of their mark.

I was so interested in the safety of the fugitive that I forgot poor Jeff, and, with a pang of remorse, I hastened back to his side, only to find that Poker Jim’s work had been too skillful for any surgeon to undo. The man was dead!

* * * * *

With the killing of Hosking, well deserved though it may have been, Poker Jim’s popularity was a thing of the past. While under the ban of public sentiment, he had killed a reputable citizen of Jacksonville in a quarrel--he was now an outlaw, upon whose head a price was set. But he was not to be caught.

No one supposed that Jim would be mad enough to venture near his cabin, even to see his wife and child, yet the citizens set a watch over the place as a matter of ordinary precaution, and for the purpose of learning her destination whenever his wife should undertake to follow and join her husband. I, meanwhile, saw that Jim’s family wanted for nothing, a duty in which the sentiment of the town duly supported me, for, rude as they were, our people were tender-hearted to a fault. With uncouth yet delicate discernment the boys kept away from the little cabin, hence no visitor but myself ever crossed the threshold.

Toppy’s description of Jim’s wife had not been overdrawn--she was indeed beautiful, and as charming a woman as I ever met. She was plucky too--she was apparently not at all uneasy about her husband, and seemed to have perfect confidence in his ability to take care of himself. The child, a boy, resembled his father, and was such a sweet, pretty little fellow that I fell quite in love with him. The little one vaguely recalled to my mind a little curly-headed boy baby that I used to tote about when I was a lad, and who, I thought, was the cutest little brother that a boy ever had. I resolved that Jim’s family should not want a friend as long as I could care for them. Toppy’s loyalty I well knew, and I was therefore sure of being ably seconded on his return from Stockton.

But our towns-people were soon to have more important matters to think about than the capture of Poker Jim.

* * * * *

The latter part of the winter of 1860, and the early spring of 1861, will never be forgotten by the inhabitants of the Tuolumne valley. I certainly have reason to remember it as long as I may live.

As I have already intimated, the spring freshets of the California valleys were a matter of yearly experience. The inhabitants had become accustomed to them and had usually been able to escape serious disaster, hence they had never quite realized what the elements could do at their worst.

The winter had been a hard one; there had been an excessive rainfall, and reports from the mountain towns showed a greater amount of snow than had ever before been experienced in that region. When the mountain snows began to melt, therefore, and the terrific storms characteristic of the breaking up of the winter season came on, an enormous volume of water began pouring down into the valleys, which was as alarming as it was unprecedented.

We had heard vague rumors of serious trouble in the valleys of the Sacramento and San Joaquin, and, as the Tuolumne had risen to a point hitherto unheard of, the oldest settlers became somewhat uneasy.

Fearing lest the Tuolumne--which was fast becoming a raging torrent--might eventually become impassable, I saw that “Mrs. Jim,” as I used to call her, was well supplied with necessaries. I knew that the water rise would be of short duration--for so tradition had it--hence I was not uneasy about my interesting charges.

The river had finally risen to a point nearly two feet beyond the highest water mark ever known; it then began to subside and we felt much easier--the end was apparently in sight. But we deceived ourselves most thoroughly.

The people of Jacksonville, congratulating themselves on the beginning of the end of the greatest freshet in their experience, retired one night to sleep in fancied security, only to be rudely awakened the following morning by the surging of the waters of the Tuolumne against the very beds on which they slept. The water was seeking its revenge--a revenge that was soon to be fully accomplished.

Within twenty-four hours there was but one safe point in the entire town--the high ground upon which stood the Tuolumne House. Practically every other building in town, save one, was washed away. One sturdy miner upon whom fortune had smiled, had built himself a pretty little cottage, which he determined to save. He passed a cable through a door and a window at the corner of the house, and guyed it to a huge tree upon a hill opposite. The cottage swung about at the end of the rope until the waters subsided, when the triumphant miner anchored it in a new location, this time on higher ground--the original site of his home having gently slipped into the river. But Nelson was an exception; his brother miners were not so fortunate.

The hotel was full to overflowing and tents were at a premium. Mining was a forgotten industry. The chief occupation of the citizens was counting noses to see who was missing, and fishing up such articles of value as they could from amid the debris of the flood. For entertainment they counted the buildings and studied the wreckage that the waters brought down from the towns and camps higher up the valley. An occasional corpse was seen floating along among the flotsam and jetsam carried past by the raging river--a ghastly reminder of the seriousness of the situation.

Almost directly opposite the Tuolumne House was a dam in the river. There were times during the dry season when the Tuolumne was so low that one could walk across via this dam. Now, however, it was a veritable Niagara. It was interesting, as well as harrowing, to watch the destruction of the buildings as they toppled over the brink and broke up. Occasionally a house, larger than the rest, would lodge at the dam for some time before going over. At one point quite a mass of debris had collected and bade fair to remain indefinitely blocked up against a projecting part of the dam.

Just beyond the further end of the dam I could see Toppy’s little cabin, gleaming white and clearly cut against the dark green background of the hillside whereon it stood, far out of the way of all possible danger from the rising waters.

A group of our citizens was standing on safe ground near the hotel, quietly discussing the apparently hopeless misery and total destruction that had befallen our industrious little town, when our attention was attracted by a house, larger than any we had yet seen, which came drifting rapidly down the stream in full view.

As the house came nearer, Dixie called out--“By G--d, boys! thar’s a man in the winder!”

And so there was, and a badly frightened one at that! As he came well within sight, he could be seen waving a garment of some kind in wild and emphatic signals of distress. His voice could soon be heard, calling for assistance in a series of wild yells that would have done credit to an Indian war-dance.

There was great excitement among my fellow citizens for a few moments, and groans of despair at our inability to rescue the stranger were plentiful, when suddenly some one in the crowd yelled--

“Oh, h--l! It’s a d--d Chinaman, ez sure ez shootin’!”

And so it proved to be.

I trust that the philanthropy of my fellow townsmen will not be underestimated, if I frankly state that an unmistakable sigh of relief went up from the crowd when it was discovered that the poor devil whose fate it had just been bewailing, was a despised Mongolian.

The nationality of the hapless passenger in the floating house and the hopelessness of an attempt at rescue, even, if our citizens had been so disposed, served to silence the spectators of the Chinaman’s fate. In justice to my old friends, I will state that I have never doubted that an effort to save the luckless Mongolian would have been made, had any means of rescue been at hand. Not a boat was left in town, and even had there been a hundred at our disposal, it looked like certain death to attempt to traverse the terrific torrent that confronted us.

The Chinaman was apparently clearly doomed, and the end was only a question of minutes, a fact which the poor fellow himself appreciated even more keenly than we did, as was shown by the renewed vigor of his frantic cries for assistance, as he caught sight of the dam that his strange craft was so rapidly nearing.

But, as Big Brown was wont to say, “Nobody hez sich good luck ez er fool, ’ceptin’ a d--d Chinaman.” The house in which the luckless voyager was making his unwilling and terrible journey, caught upon the debris that had accumulated near the center of the dam! Here it remained poised for an instant, almost upon the very verge of destruction, then swinging squarely about in the rushing current, it lodged broad-side to, in such a manner that it came to a full stop and remained motionless.

The unfortunate Chinaman now redoubled his cries for assistance, and the crowd, in silent awe, awaited the giving way of the temporary obstruction and the inevitable destruction of the house and its unhappy tenant.

A moment later, a man was seen to emerge from the scrub pines near the water’s edge upon the opposite side of the river, some distance below Toppy’s cabin. He was dragging a small boat, that had evidently been concealed among the trees.

The man pushed his little craft into the swift running water, sprang in, and pulled boldly away from the bank! As he did so, he stood upright for a moment and turned his features squarely toward us. Even at that distance there was no mistaking that magnificent physique and fearless bearing!

“It’s Poker Jim, by G--d!” cried a number of men simultaneously. Almost automatically, several among the crowd drew their pistols and fired at the far-distant figure--a useless feat of bravery, as their target was probably beyond rifle-shot, to say nothing of trying to hit a man at that distance with a six-shooter.

“Hold on, boys!” cried Big Brown, in astonishment. “If he aint goin’ arter that d--d Chinaman I’ll eat my hat! Well, I’ll be kerflummuxed! If that don’t beat h--l!”

If there was anything the early settlers of the diggings worshipped, it was reckless, fool-hardy bravery. From that moment Jim was a hero, a Bayard, _sans peur et sans reproche_, before whose chivalry every man who saw his courageous act was ready to bow down to the very earth.

The crowd silently watched Jim for a moment, and then broke out in a chorus of “bravos!” and hand clappings which, although they impressed the object of their admiration not at all--even if he noticed them, which is doubtful--expressed in unmistakable language a sudden change in the sentiment of our towns-people toward him whom they had so recently outlawed.

The first burst of applause over with, we watched the brave fellow in almost breathless anxiety, as he skilfully directed his little boat toward the house, the Chinaman meanwhile having stopped his yelling for the moment, in anticipation of the approach of his rescuer.

Whether Jim had intended to bring up against the side of the house that lay up-stream, as seemed wisest, would be difficult to say; if such was his intention however, he certainly miscalculated, for his boat disappeared behind the end of the house which was farthest away from us.

The rest of the tragedy we could not see, for we had hardly lost sight of Jim before the obstructing debris gave way and the house shot over the dam, sweeping everything before it!

So died a hero!

A searching party went out a short time afterward, and, at great risk, found and secured the body of Poker Jim, battered and bruised, but still classically handsome and debonair, even in death. As the boys were sorrowfully returning to town with the body of the man whom a few hours before they had tried to kill, they spied upon a mass of wreckage that had lodged in a partially submerged tree-top a few feet from shore, a badly frightened but still yelling individual, at the sight of whom Big Brown almost collapsed.

It was the Chinaman!

* * * * *

Early the next morning, a cortége composed of every citizen who was able to walk, climbed slowly and sorrowfully up the road leading to the little cemetery, just back of town. At the head of the solemn procession were six stout miners, hat in hand, bearing upon a rude stretcher the body of Poker Jim. Just behind the body, another party was carrying a rough coffin, composed of pieces of wreckage, hastily thrown together.

By no means the least sorrowful feature of the funeral was the fact that we had no means of communication with the dead man’s wife, nor did we indeed, even know whether or not she had witnessed his death.

The cemetery reached, and the body having been laid in the clumsy coffin beside the grave which the kind-hearted miners had already dug, there was an embarrassing pause--

I had been asked to say a few words, in lieu of a clergyman, and had agreed to do so, on condition that some one else was selected to say something in behalf of the mining population proper. Dixie was selected to coöperate with me, but was evidently waiting for me to give him his cue, so I was obliged to open the services as well as I could.