CHAPTER VI

The Ruined Wife—The Banker’s Marriage.

They walked forward amid the darkness till they came to a house in Sacramento street, where instead of the sound of merry voices which they had expected, their ears were saluted by the most violent oaths and denunciations.

‘How is this?’ said Monteagle, ‘is it a ring fight to which you are conveying me?’

‘You may well ask that,’ replied Blodget, stopping to listen; ‘these are unusual sounds to proceed from this house. Here seems to be more of Mars than Venus.’

As they came to the door it was violently thrown open, and several females ran screaming into the street.

‘Go in there!’ cried one of the girls, recognizing Blodget; ‘for God’s sake go in, or there will be murder done.’

Blodget and Monteagle hastened to the apartment from which the noise proceeded, and there they beheld a table overturned and China ware scattered about the floor, while a stout, middle-aged man, with every appearance of a gentleman, lay on the floor, and another, equally respectable in appearance, was kneeling on his breast, with a revolver in his hand, and aimed at the throat of the prostrate man.

‘What! gentlemen!’ exclaimed Monteagle, ‘forbear!’ and he was proceeding to the relief of the fallen man when Blodget caught him by the arm, and whispered, ‘Let them alone. It is all right. I know them both!’

‘You know them?’ cried Monteagle, struggling to throw off his friend’s firm grasp, ‘but is that any reason that they should murder each other?’

‘That fellow seduced his wife!’ cried Blodget.

‘Promise, villain! promise!’ roared the man with a pistol. ‘Promise, or I finish you on the spot.’

‘Help, I say,’ cried the undermost man, frothing with rage and pale with terror—‘Release me from this madman.’

‘Madman!’ cried he with the pistol. ‘Is it mad that I am when I claim that you shall marry the woman whom you have stolen away from home and happiness. Gentlemen, you see here a villain—a banker of this city—who bloated with pride, and presuming on his wealth, seduced my wife and brought her to this city. I procured a divorce in such a manner that my ruined wife can marry again. I followed her and her paramour to this city, and here I find him rioting in a house of ill fame, while the woman that he has blasted—my late wife—pines in solitude at home, where she is scarcely allowed the necessaries of life. Now, you villain, see if these gentlemen will aid you.’

‘No,’ said Monteagle. ‘We cannot interfere here; but pray don’t shoot the villain in cold blood.’

‘His life is safe, if he promises to marry the woman,’ cried the wronged husband; ‘Otherwise he dies! Promise!’ and he thrust the muzzle of the pistol against the seducer’s forehead.

‘Murder—help!’ cried the man, struggling desperately to regain his feet.

‘Promise, rascal, promise to marry the woman, and I release you.’

Perhaps with the hope of making his escape if he consented, the banker at length said, ‘Let me up, and I will marry the—’

‘Call no names for she is your wife.’ cried the other, suffering the banker to regain his feet, but no sooner was he up than he made a rush for the door—the outraged husband levelled a pistol at his head, and in order to save his life, Monteagle and Blodget seized the seducer, and in spite of his struggles, held him fast. The divorced husband then begged our two friends to lead the banker forward. Being concerned for his life, and thinking their presence necessary to his safety, Monteagle and Blodget led the man down the street, the husband leading the way, pistol in hand. In an obscure street, they entered a low-roofed building, where they found the unfaithful wife attended by a clergyman.

The banker started, as this vision met his gaze, and he would fain have retreated; but he was held by his two conductors as in a vice.

‘Here,’ said the injured husband to the seducer—‘here is the woman whom you are to marry. I have procured a divorce from her, and left her free. You took her from me—from a good home—you have had her as long as it suited your convenience, but have now almost entirely cast her off in a strange land.—You shall marry her.’

The clergyman and all the others present said that it was no more than justice. Finding there was no other way, the banker yielded and married the woman whom he had seduced.

After witnessing the ceremony, and receiving the hearty thanks of the late husband, Blodget and Monteagle withdrew.

‘What do you think of this scene?’ said Blodget to Monteagle, as soon as they were alone together in the street.

‘I think it is a hard case in every view of it,’ returned the youth. ‘The man has lost his wife—the seducer has married one whom he cannot love, and the new wife will doubtless have a hard time of it with the fellow.’

‘The husband was bent on revenge,’ said Blodget, ‘and in riveting the two criminals together, I think he has punished both. It is not likely the wife will ever live to inherit the banker’s wealth. He will either dot her or kill her with unkindness.’

‘But shall we not go back to the house?’ inquired Monteagle.

Blodget perceived that the young clerk’s feelings had been too highly wrought up by the contemplation of female beauty to admit of his returning peaceably home without first becoming better acquainted with one of the inmates of the house which they had last visited. He was not averse to returning to the temple of pleasure, and accordingly he replied in the affirmative.

But on returning to the house, they found the light out, and the parties retired for the night, for the dawn of day was not far off.

It was enough for Blodget that he had inducted Monteagle into the downward path. He did not doubt that, hereafter the young man would take rapid strides towards the point whither he was so desirous of directing his steps.

Monteagle separated from his companion and returned home, where he was soon in the land of dreams.

He awoke late in the morning and felt a little confused after his night’s career; for while he was not really intoxicated, he had been a little merry, and even that was a rare thing for Lorenzo Monteagle. His employers were not Puritans, and consequently they observed nothing peculiar in his manner or appearance. Mr. Brown, however, was very sociable with Monteagle on that day, and the latter imagined that he knew the cause. He supposed that the young man was in a fair way to marry Julia, and accordingly the former rose in his estimation. Brown was one of those worthies who worship the rising sun. He as well as Blodget thought that Monteagle was ‘a lucky dog.’ Indeed, he would have been glad to be in his place. Monteagle saw into all this, but did not act as if he perceived it.

In his hours of calm reflection, after dinner, Monteagle thought upon the events of the preceding night, how he had twice been prevented from associating with one of the seductive young girls at the houses of pleasure to which Blodget had conveyed him. In the first instance, a nun or something of the kind, had come to snatch Maria from his arms,—at the second house, the affray occurred between the banker and the injured husband. But he had also had a singular dream during the night, which he had scarcely had time to think of during business. It now came up vividly to his recollection. The details were as follows: He seemed to be sitting with Julia Vandewater, in her father’s garden, in pleasant conversation, when suddenly the heavens became overcast and the thunder rolled heavily over his head. Julia started up and bestowing upon him a contemptuous frown, exclaimed, ‘I love you no longer. I will tell my uncle of you and get you discharged from his service.’ She then abruptly left him, while he was much revolted and displeased by the revengeful and unladylike look that she cast back at him as she retired. Still the lightning flashed and the thunder rolled, till, immediately after a tremendous crash, he observed that the mansion of Mr. Vandewater was on fire. It had been struck by lightning. For a time all was confusion in his mind, till he seemed to be again ascending the ladder to rescue a young lady from the flames. Again he heard the shouts of the intrepid firemen below him, and the roaring of the flames as he approached the window where, as he supposed, Julia Vandewater was standing. But no sooner had he reached her than she proved to be the nun who had given the note to Maria at the house of assignation. He seized her around the waist, and then the stifling smoke seemed to smother him. His mind was again confused till he found himself in a wilderness, fainting with heat, and seeking for a refuge from the burning sun. No shade was near, and he was about to lie down and surrender himself up to death, when _Inez Castro_, riding on an elephant, came that way, attended by a large number of very black slaves. On seeing him, Inez immediately descended to the ground, and commanding a huge basin to be brought, bathed his temples with a cooling and refreshing liquid, which restored all his powers and filled him with unspeakable pleasure. Soft music floated around him, the atmosphere was filled with the most delightful odors, and he finally sank into a sweet slumber upon the rounded bosom of the beautiful maid.

Such was his dream, and he now pondered upon it deeply, for it seemed to be fraught with meaning, as if it was something more than the effects of his night’s adventures.

But the more he reflected, the more he became puzzled, for there seemed to be no rational interpretation to a dream so fraught with contradictions, and split up into separate portions, which seemed to have no agreement with each other. ‘It is one of those jumbled visions caused by excitement and champagne,’ said he—‘late hours caused it; but I must give up late hours and be more steady—’ he paused, for he knew in the secret of his heart that he should hail the appearance of Blodget with pleasure, and that he had more than once looked at the sun declining in the West. Once, at least, he must solace himself with beauty.

The hour had nearly arrived for leaving off all business, and shutting up store, when Mr. Brown, who had been absent a couple of hours, thrust a note into Monteagle’s hand. He opened it and read—

‘Friend M,—Unexpected business will prevent me from waiting on you this evening, as was agreed upon. To-morrow night I shall be free to attend you.

_Ever yours, BLODGET.’_

‘The deuce!’ cried the youth, ‘then I will go alone.’ He paused, and smiled as he remembered the good resolution he had been on the point of forming when he had no doubt of Blodget’s coming. The feeling of disappointment which he experienced convinced him that it would be no easy matter to put his good resolution in practice.

He slowly crawled over the hill toward the house of Mr. Vandewater. When he sat down to supper with the family, he observed that Julia was in much better spirits than usual. Instead of regarding him with that heavy, mournful look that had been habitual to her for some months past, he caught her in glancing covertly towards him several times, with sparkling eyes and something like a glow of excitement on her cheeks.

‘Mr. Brown called this afternoon, I understand,’ remarked Vandewater in the course of conversation.

‘Yes, sir,’ returned his lady; ‘he made himself very agreeable to your hopeful young lady here.’

‘Now aunt, you are provoking,’ said Julia, with an ill-concealed smile of pleasure. ‘I was thinking if he was a jug what a fine handle his huge Roman nose would make.’

Vandewater roared as usual on such occasions. Monteagle smiled. A thought, however, had instantly struck him. He knew that Brown was a great talker, and like many great talkers, often said those things to his listeners which he thought would interest them rather than those things which were founded in fact. He imagined that in the glances which Julia had given him, at the supper table, there was a look of triumph as well as pleasure. Could it be that Brown, knowing Julia’s secret, had made up a story about himself—had told her that Monteagle was truly in love with her, but only played shy for fear of the uncle? Was it not quite possible that Brown had misunderstood the doctor; and that he believed Vandewater was opposed to the match, and had advised his niece to conquer her passion on _that_ account, instead of doing it because her passion was hopeless?

Nothing seemed more likely to Monteagle than this, especially as Blodget had so understood the matter, and Blodget had received his information from Brown. Besides, might not Brown have seen Blodget that day, and as the youth had become suddenly silent when the ‘great secret’ was told him, had not Blodget interpreted this silence as despair of success and consequently melancholy, and so reported it to Brown?

All that evening, Julia was extremely lively, and sometimes her aunt regarded her with surprise if not disapprobation, so piquant were her sallies and so pointed was her ridicule. Monteagle was more than usually grave; not only from his want of sleep on the preceding night, but because he thought he had detected the source of Julia’s gaiety, and the mistake under which she labored.

At length, when Monteagle rose to retire, Julia contrived to place herself near the door, and as he went out, half asleep, and feeling very dull, she softly whispered the one word ‘Hope!’

Monteagle started as if struck by an arrow at this confirmation of his fears. The poor girl had mistaken his gravity and dullness for that despair which Brown had taught her to believe he was laboring under, and had ventured to tell him that he might hope!

As Monteagle hurried off to his chamber, he knew not whether to laugh or cry.

There was something very comic in this mistake. The blundering Brown, with his big nose, getting hold of his story at the wrong end, and hurrying off to banter Julia about her conquest was ridiculous enough: but then the unfortunate girl who had suffered herself to be so readily deluded into the belief that her love was returned, and undertaking to cheer his supposed melancholy by a kind word, called forth his sincerest sympathy.

In the morning early, Monteagle met Julia in the garden.

‘You are an early riser, sir,’ said she, ‘as well as myself. I think the morning is the best part of the day.’

‘I am of your mind,’ returned Monteagle, ‘and so are many others, who rise early to get their morning bitters.’

‘So I have been told,’ said Julia, with a gay laugh. ‘Am I to understand that Mr. Monteagle—’

‘Oh, no. I am not one of them,’ replied the youth. ‘Instead of bitters, I fall in with _sweets_, it seems.’

‘Yes, the flowers are fragrant,’ said Julia, looking about her, and evading the compliment with the pleased and rather triumphant air of one who, _now_, felt secure of the affections of him who offered it.

Monteagle observed all this and condemned himself for having inadvertently helped along the deception; yet it seemed too cruel to dash her new-fledged hopes to the ground, as he might have done by a single word. Candor would have dictated an immediate explanation,—but the youth gave heed to the more tender pleadings of mercy, and even said to himself—‘Time may cure her partiality for me; and another lover may supplant me in her affections; so I will let her rest in happy ignorance. I have no prospect of marrying at present, and why should I dispel a vision which, although baseless, pleases the poor, deluded girl?’

At the breakfast table, the liveliness of Julia, and her merry laugh, drew the attention of Mr. Vandewater, who looked first at his niece and then at Monteagle, as if he supposed an explanation had taken place between the young people, and that all was as Julia desired it to be.

On reaching the store, Monteagle was surprised to see a crowd of people about the door. Officers were there asking questions and noting down the replies.—Mr. Brown was flying about among the spectators, making himself so very busy that the youth almost suspected he had lost his wits.

‘Oh, Monteagle, is that you? Where’s Mr. Vandewater?’

‘I left him conversing with Julia in the breakfast parlor.’

‘Ah, yes—yes—fine girl that!’ cried Mr. Brown, tapping the youth jocosely on the shoulder. ‘But do you know what’s happened?’

‘Heavens! No!’

‘Robbed!’

‘The store been robbed, do you say?’

‘Yes,’ replied Brown, ‘it was robbed early this morning.’

‘At what time?’

‘Why, at about four—at what time do you ask? Well, to judge of the exact time in which the store was broken open, you must, I think, inquire of those who were here. Ha! ha! ha!’

‘They cannot have taken much,’ said Monteagle, ‘or you could not be so—that is, you could not speak so lightly on the occasion.’

‘That safe’s gone!’

‘What! the little safe that we rescued the other day?’

‘The same which was taken from the skiff by Vandewater himself.’

‘Why, Mr. Brown, that’s a serious loss. There was money in that safe—’

‘Or the thieves would not have carried it off, to be sure, ha! ha! ha!’

‘But how did he get in?’

‘That’s the puzzle,’ said Charley, coming up and joining in the conversation. ‘Nothing is broken. The rascals must have had false keys.’

‘Rather _true_ keys, than false ones,’ replied Monteagle, while Brown gave a sudden start and slightly colored.

‘Ha! ha! Yes, true ones, or they would not have answered the purpose,’ said the latter.

‘Yet it is strange,’ continued Monteagle, ‘for the doors were otherwise secured, as you know, Mr. Brown, by certain secret fastenings which must have been broken before any one could have got in from the outside, unless he was well acquainted with the premises.’

‘Oh, the Sydney ducks make themselves well acquainted with all these matters,’ cried Charley. ‘All we have to do now is to trace out the villains—’

‘And begin by searching the police,’ said Brown. ‘Half the thefts and robberies are committed by them.’

Mr. Vandewater arrived soon after, and was also surprised to find his store robbed without the rupture of a single fastening. He advised an immediate search of the premises, as the robbers might have left something behind them that would have led to their detection. Some persons who had gone into the loft to search, soon came running down with the intelligence that a man was up stairs, fast asleep. All ran up at once, and there Monteagle discovered, between two bales, the bulky form of the Irishman, Jamie. He was snoring melodiously, and seemed to have no idea that the sun was already up.

Mr. Vandewater uttered an exclamation of joy and surprise, for he thought discovery of the whole affair was now certain.

Monteagle shook the sleeping man with his foot. Jamie slowly opened his eyes, and on perceiving there were persons present, said hastily—‘How—what—is time, Mr. Brown? Is it time?’

As Mr. Brown was not present, the by-standers were puzzled by these singular words.

‘What do you want with Mr. Brown?’ said Vandewater sternly.

The Irishman rubbed his eyes, and perceiving in whose presence he stood, answered, ‘Why, Jim Brown, to be sure, the eating-house man, he was to call me up in time to go down the Bay.’

‘Indeed! and so you slept here, did you?’ said Mr. Vandewater sternly. ‘But how did you get in?’

‘How did I get in, is it? Och, and wasn’t I working for Jim all day, and took a little of the mountain dew, and comed in here in the afternoon—and where is it, sure, that I am? Can you tell me at all, at all?’

‘Who is this Jim Brown?’ said Vandewater turning to Charley. ‘Can you lead me to him?’ asked Vandewater, quickly.

‘Och, faith, and it’s I can do that, same,’ put in Jamie. ‘I’ll take you to him, right off, jist, if you’ll show the way out of this—what do yees call it? A church is it?’

The Irishman affected such blind stupidity that Vandewater was inclined to believe that his being in the store on the night of the robbery was altogether accidental—that he had blundered in while drunk and got asleep. Nevertheless, he said to Monteagle, ‘Keep that fellow in custody till I return.’

As Mr. Vandewater went out with Charley, he descried Mr. Brown, his partner, examining the fastenings, and he observed that the face of the latter was very pale.

‘Poor fellow,’ thought Vandewater to himself, ‘he takes this matter hard.’

On arriving at the shop of Jim Brown, that worthy was found at home, although he had just returned from some expedition, and was covered with dust.

Charley introduced Mr. Vandewater.

Jim hung down his head a moment as if brushing the dirt from his leggings.

‘I want to ask you, Mr. Brown, if you have contemplated an excursion lately?’

‘Sir?’ said Jim with a stare.

‘He don’t savez—give me leave, sir,’ put in Charley. ‘Jim, we want to know if you have had any business out of town, lately?’

Jim looked first at one and then the other. He was a little short man, with squint eyes, and looked as if he had not shaved in a month.

‘I goes sometimes to see my folks that I trade with. I was at a rancho yesterday.’

‘How late did you stay, Jim?’

‘I am but just got home.’

‘What time did you start to go away?’ ‘I didn’t look at the clock,’ replied Jim, in a surly manner.

‘Come as near as you can, Jim, and give us a true answer as you value the safety of your bacon,’ said Charley sternly.

Jim looked up rather fiercely, but he saw that Charley was in earnest, and replied, ‘Well, I don’t know what time it was. It may be ’twas eleven o’clock and may be it was only ten.’

‘And you have just returned?’

‘I told you so once before.’

‘So you did. When have you seen Irish Jamie, last?’

Jim looked keenly at his interrogators before he replied, ‘Well, I can’t rightly tell. Not in a fortnight, I should say p’raps, three weeks.’

‘It’s all a cock and a bull story, that of Jamie,’ said Charley. ‘You see there’s no truth in it. He must be arrested.’

Jim Brown turned away his face and his manner was suspicious upon hearing these words.

As Vandewater and Charley walked back to the store, the latter said. ‘We must see the keeper of the rancho and find out from him if Jim Brown has been there.’

‘Why do you suspect this Brown of having been engaged in the robbery?’

‘It is strange,’ said Charley, ‘that the Irishman, before he had time to think, should have addressed Brown as one that had agreed to call him at a certain hour. We must make sure that Brown was at the rancho; and if he was, a Philadelphia lawyer would be puzzled to account for Jamie’s exclamation when starting out of a sound sleep, and expecting to find Brown at his side.’

‘True,’ said Vandewater.

‘Leave it to me,’ continued Charley. ‘I will find out what ranch Jim Brown visited yesterday. I will call there, and learn when he arrived, and when he left, if the fellow was there at all.’

On returning to the store, they found Jamie standing outside the door, and surrounded by Monteagle, Mr. Brown and several of the neighboring dealers.

‘So, sirrah,’ said Vandewater, ‘that Brown you spoke of, says that he hasn’t seen you for a fortnight, and he has just returned from visiting a friend out of the town.’

‘Och, the lying villain,’ exclaimed Jamie, in a tone of virtuous indignation. ‘Och, the lying, thaving, murthering scoundrel, and wasn’t it his own silf that tould me to go into the store and take a nap till mornin’, and—’

He was interrupted by the appearance of Jim Brown himself, who rushed into the crowd, and confronting Jamie, cried ‘How’s this? What have you been telling about me?’

‘About _you_, is it?’ cried Jamie, with all the assurance imaginable, ‘and is it you, you thafe o’ the w-o-r-r-r-l-d, that’s come to lie me down, and try to hang his friend widout judge or jury, and widout binifit of clargy, too. Och, you thunderin’ wilyun! didn’t you tell me to go in here, and slape a bit, just till the morning, when you was to call me up, sure?’

‘Sir,’ said Jim Brown, addressing Vandewater, ‘When you called at my shop, I didn’t understand your object, and as your questions seemed very odd, I wasn’t well pleased with them; but I’ve been told since that this man pretends I had an engagement with him. It is a lie. I’ve no intercourse with the man when I can help it.’

‘Hear the lying thafe,’ cried Jamie, in a towering passion, and before he could be prevented, he had slipped a long knife out of his sleeve, with which he rushed upon Jim Brown and stabbed him to the heart.

Brown fell dead at the feet of Monteagle. The murder was committed so quick and unexpectedly that it was some minutes before the people collected there were apprized of what had happened! No sooner had the sad tale been told than the inhabitants came running in from all directions; a large mob was collected, a rope procured, and it was with great difficulty that Charley and his aids could prevent the populace from hanging up Jamie on the spot.

Mr. Brown also tried hard to rescue Jamie from the fangs of the incensed and vindictive crowd.

‘Let the law take its proper course!’ vociferated he, while Jamie kept crying, ‘Och now, be aisy, you spalpeens—for there’s more nor me you’ll have to hang, when yees once begins that game, and some that’s your betters, too, and as good as—’

‘Let the law take its course!’ roared Mr. Brown, so loudly as to drown the voice of the Irishman. ‘Take him away, Charley, as soon as possible. See what a crowd is collecting around here. I’m afraid of a riot.’

Jamie was finally carried down the street, in the centre of a tumultuous mob, some pushing one way, and some another, with fierce hootings, yells, and hisses, that were fairly deafening.

A singular impression was left upon the mind of Monteagle by these proceedings, and he commenced the business of the day with a determination to watch closely every thing which was transpiring near him, and to propose to Mr. Vandewater that, in future, some person should sleep in the store every night.

Jamie, who had at length, completed the circle of crime by the committing of murder, was lodged in prison, and Monteagle felt somewhat relieved on account of it, as he believed that the man was for some reason, his deadly enemy. He had not yet recognized this man as the one who shot him down in the barge.

On that evening, Blodget called upon Monteagle, and appeared to be more affable than ever, talked with him about the robbery and made very minute inquiries about Jamie, whom he thought innocent of any intent to rob.

‘It is not possible that a man bent on robbery should lie down and get to sleep in the store, or that he should be left by his accomplices,’ said Blodget; ‘and with regard to his stupid lie about Brown, the man whom he killed, it was probably told because he did not know anything else to say.’

‘But,’ replied Monteagle, ‘in that case why did he address somebody as Brown when first starting from his sleep, and before he had time for premeditation?’

‘There is something in _that_,’ said Blodget, fixing his eyes very keenly upon those of Monteagle. ‘It would seem as if he expected to be called at a certain hour by this Brown.’

‘And why should he have been worked up to such a pitch of madness as to murder this Brown, if he did not feel that he was playing him false—’

‘No—no—Monteagle. You are reasoning for civilized people now. You don’t know these wild, unscrupulous fellows, who like Jamie had prowled about in the wilderness where no moral or religious instruction can reach them. I tell you that a man left wild, a prey to passions, is more to be feared than the tiger or the catamount.’

‘You seem to think very hard of this Irishman,’ said Monteagle.

‘Is he not a murderer?’

The youth was silent. Many things rushed upon his remembrance, and all through there was running a thread of mystery which induced him to say to himself, ‘How little do you know of what is going on in the world.’

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