BROWN OF CALAVERAS
Suggested for grades 3-12
A subdued tone of conversation, and the absence of cigar smoke and boot
heels at the windows of the Wingdam stagecoach, made it evident that one
of the inside passengers was a woman. A disposition on the part of loungers
at the stations to congregate before the window, and some concern in regard
to the appearance of coats, hats, and collars, further indicated that she
was lovely. All of which Mr. Jack Hamlin, on the box seat, noted with the
smile of cynical philosophy. Not that he depreciated the sex, but that he
recognized therein a deceitful element, the pursuit of which sometimes drew
mankind away from the equally uncertain blandishments of poker--of which
it may be remarked that Mr. Hamlin was a professional exponent.
So that when he placed his narrow boot on the wheel and leaped down, he
did not even glance at the window from which a green veil was fluttering,
but lounged up and down with that listless and grave indifference of his
class, which was, perhaps, the next thing to good breeding. With his closely
buttoned figure and self- contained air he was a marked contrast to the
other passengers, with their feverish restlessness and boisterous emotion;
and even Bill Masters, a graduate of Harvard, with his slovenly dress, his
overflowing vitality, his intense appreciation of lawlessness and barbarism,
and his mouth filled with crackers and cheese, I fear cut but an unromantic
figure beside this lonely calculator of chances, with his pale Greek face
and Homeric gravity. The driver called "All aboard!" and Mr. Hamlin returned
to the coach. His foot was upon the wheel, and his face raised to the level
of the open window, when, at the same moment, what appeared to him to be
the finest eyes in the world suddenly met his. He quietly dropped down again,
addressed a few words to one of the inside passengers, effected an exchange
of seats, and as quietly took his place inside. Mr. Hamlin never allowed
his philosophy to interfere with decisive and prompt action.
I fear that this irruption of Jack cast some restraint upon the other passengers--particularly
those who were making themselves most agreeable to the lady. One of them
leaned forward, and apparently conveyed to her information regarding Mr.
Hamlin's profession in a single epithet. Whether Mr. Hamlin heard it, or
whether he recognized in the informant a distinguished jurist from whom,
but a few evenings before, he had won several thousand dollars, I cannot
say. His colorless face betrayed no sign; his black eyes, quietly observant,
glanced indifferently past the legal gentleman, and rested on the much more
pleasing features of his neighbor. An Indian stoicism--said to be an inheritance
from his maternal ancestor--stood him in good service, until the rolling
wheels rattled upon the river gravel at Scott's Ferry, and the stage drew
up at the International Hotel for dinner. The legal gentleman and a member
of Congress leaped out, and stood ready to assist the descending goddess,
while Colonel Starbottle, of Siskiyou, took charge of her parasol and shawl.
In this multiplicity of attention there was a momentary confusion and delay.
Jack Hamlin quietly opened the OPPOSITE door of the coach, took the lady's
hand--with that decision and positiveness which a hesitating and undecided
sex know how to admire--and in an instant had dexterously and gracefully
swung her to the ground, and again lifted her to the platform. An audible
chuckle on the box, I fear, came from that other cynic, "Yuba Bill," the
driver. "Look keerfully arter that baggage, Kernel," said the expressman,
with affected concern, as he looked after Colonel Starbottle, gloomily bringing
up the rear of the triumphant procession to the waiting- room.
Mr. Hamlin did not stay for dinner. His horse was already saddled, and awaiting
him. He dashed over the ford, up the gravelly hill, and out into the dusty
perspective of the Wingdam road, like one leaving pleasant fancy behind
him. The inmates of dusty cabins by the roadside shaded their eyes with
their hands and looked after him, recognizing the man by his horse, and
speculating what "was up with Comanche Jack." Yet much of this interest
centered in the horse, in a community where the time made by "French Pete's"
mare in his run from the Sheriff of Calaveras eclipsed all concern in the
ultimate fate of that worthy.
The sweating flanks of his gray at length recalled him to himself. He checked
his speed, and, turning into a by-road, sometimes used as a cutoff, trotted
leisurely along, the reins hanging listlessly from his fingers. As he rode
on, the character of the landscape changed and became more pastoral. Openings
in groves of pine and sycamore disclosed some rude attempts at cultivation--a
flowering vine trailed over the porch of one cabin, and a woman rocked her
cradled babe under the roses of another. A little farther on Mr. Hamlin
came upon some barelegged children wading in the willowy creek, and so wrought
upon them with a badinage peculiar to himself that they were emboldened
to climb up his horse's legs and over his saddle, until he was fain to develop
an exaggerated ferocity of demeanor, and to escape, leaving behind some
kisses and coin. And then, advancing deeper into the woods, where all signs
of habitation failed, he began to sing--uplifting a tenor so singularly
sweet, and shaded by a pathos so subduing and tender, that I wot the robins
and linnets stopped to listen. Mr. Hamlin's voice was not cultivated; the
subject of his song was some sentimental lunacy borrowed from the Negro
minstrels; but there thrilled through all some occult quality of tone and
expression that was unspeakably touching. Indeed, it was a wonderful sight
to see this sentimental blackleg, with a pack of cards in his pocket and
a revolver at his back, sending his voice before him through the dim woods
with a plaint about his "Nelly's grave" in a way that overflowed the eyes
of the listener. A sparrow hawk, fresh from his sixth victim, possibly recognizing
in Mr. Hamlin a kindred spirit, stared at him in surprise, and was fain
to confess the superiority of man. With a superior predatory capacity, HE
But Mr. Hamlin presently found himself again on the highroad, and at his
former pace. Ditches and banks of gravel, denuded hillsides, stumps, and
decayed trunks of trees, took the place of woodland and ravine, and indicated
his approach to civilization. Then a church steeple came in sight, and he
knew that he had reached home. In a few moments he was clattering down the
single narrow street that lost itself in a chaotic ruin of races, ditches,
and tailings at the foot of the hill, and dismounted before the gilded windows
of the "Magnolia" saloon. Passing through the long barroom, he pushed open
a green-baize door, entered a dark passage, opened another door with a passkey,
and found himself in a dimly lighted room whose furniture, though elegant
and costly for the locality, showed signs of abuse. The inlaid center table
was overlaid with stained disks that were not contemplated in the original
design. The embroidered armchairs were discolored, and the green velvet
lounge, on which Mr. Hamlin threw himself, was soiled at the foot with the
red soil of Wingdam.
Mr. Hamlin did not sing in his cage. He lay still, looking at a highly colored
painting above him representing a young creature of opulent charms. It occurred
to him then, for the first time, that he had never seen exactly that kind
of a woman, and that if he should, he would not, probably, fall in love
with her. Perhaps he was thinking of another style of beauty. But just then
someone knocked at the door. Without rising, he pulled a cord that apparently
shot back a bolt, for the door swung open, and a man entered.
The newcomer was broad-shouldered and robust--a vigor not borne out in the
face, which, though handsome, was singularly weak, and disfigured by dissipation.
He appeared to be also under the influence of liquor, for he started on
seeing Mr. Hamlin, and said, "I thought Kate was here," stammered, and seemed
confused and embarrassed.
Mr. Hamlin smiled the smile which he had before worn on the Wingdam coach,
and sat up, quite refreshed and ready for business. "You didn't come up
on the stage," continued the newcomer, "did you?"
"No," replied Hamlin; "I left it at Scott's Ferry. It isn't due for half
an hour yet. But how's luck, Brown?" Damn bad," said Brown, his face suddenly
assuming an expression of weak despair; "I'm cleaned out again, Jack," he
continued, in a whining tone that formed a pitiable contrast to his bulky
figure, "can't you help me with a hundred till tomorrow's cleanup? You see
I've got to send money home to the old woman, and--you've won twenty times
that amount from me."
The conclusion was, perhaps, not entirely logical, but Jack overlooked it,
and handed the sum to his visitor. "The old-woman business is about played
out, Brown," he added, by way of commentary; "why don't you say you want
to buck agin' faro? You know you ain't married!"
"Fact, sir," said Brown, with a sudden gravity, as if the mere contact of
the gold with the palm of the hand had imparted some dignity to his frame.
"I've got a wife--a damned good one, too, if I do say it--in the States.
It's three year since I've seen her, and a year since I've writ to her.
When things is about straight, and we get down to the lead, I'm going to
send for her." "And Kate?" queried Mr. Hamlin, with his previous smile.
Mr. Brown of Calaveras essayed an archness of glance, to cover his confusion,
which his weak face and whisky-muddled intellect but poorly carried out,
"Damn it, Jack, a man must have a little liberty, you know. But come, what
do you say to a little game? Give us a show to double this hundred."
Jack Hamlin looked curiously at his fatuous friend. Perhaps he knew that
the man was predestined to lose the money, and preferred that it should
flow back into his own coffers rather than any other. He nodded his head,
and drew his chair toward the table. At the same moment there came a rap
upon the door. "It's Kate," said Mr. Brown.
Mr. Hamlin shot back the bolt, and the door opened. But, for the first time
in his life, he staggered to his feet, utterly unnerved and abashed, and
for the first time in his life the hot blood crimsoned his colorless cheeks
to his forehead. For before him stood the lady he had lifted from the Wingdam
coach, whom Brown-- dropping his cards with a hysterical laugh--greeted
as: "My old woman, by thunder!"
They say that Mrs. Brown burst into tears, and reproaches of her husband.
I saw her, in 1857, at Marysville, and disbelieve the story. And the WINGDAM
CHRONICLE, of the next week, under the head of "Touching Reunion," said:
"One of those beautiful and touching incidents, peculiar to California life,
occurred last week in our city. The wife of one of Wingdam's eminent pioneers,
tired of the effete civilization of the East and its inhospitable climate,
resolved to join her noble husband upon these golden shores. Without informing
him of her intention, she undertook the long journey, and arrived last week.
The joy of the husband may be easier imagined than described. The meeting
is said to have been indescribably affecting. We trust her example may be
followed." Whether owing to Mrs. Brown's influence, or to some more successful
speculations, Mr. Brown's financial fortune from that day steadily improved.
He bought out his partners in the "Nip and Tuck" lead, with money which
was said to have been won at poker, a week or two after his wife's arrival,
but which rumor, adopting Mrs. Brown's theory that Brown had forsworn the
gaming-table, declared to have been furnished by Mr. Jack Hamlin. He built
and furnished the "Wingdam House," which pretty Mrs. Brown's great popularity
kept overflowing with guests. He was elected to the Assembly, and gave largess
to churches. A street in Wingdam was named in his honor. Yet it was noted
that in proportion as he waxed wealthy and fortunate, he grew pale, thin,
and anxious. As his wife's popularity increased, he became fretful and impatient.
The most uxorious of husbands, he was absurdly jealous. If he did not interfere
with his wife's social liberty, it was because it was maliciously whispered
that his first and only attempt was met by an outburst from Mrs. Brown that
terrified him into silence. Much of this kind of gossip came from those
of her own sex whom she had supplanted in the chivalrous attentions of Wingdam,
which, like most popular chivalry, was devoted to an admiration of power,
whether of masculine force or feminine beauty. It should be remembered,
too, in her extenuation that since her arrival, she had been the unconscious
priestess of a mythological worship, perhaps not more ennobling to her womanhood
than that which distinguished an older Greek democracy. I think that Brown
was dimly conscious of this. But his only confidant was Jack Hamlin, whose
INFELIX reputation naturally precluded any open intimacy with the family,
and whose visits were infrequent.
It was midsummer, and a moonlit night; and Mrs. Brown, very rosy, large-eyed,
and pretty, sat upon the piazza, enjoying the fresh incense of the mountain
breeze, and, it is to be feared, another incense which was not so fresh,
nor quite as innocent. Beside her sat Colonel Starbottle and Judge Boompointer,
and a later addition to her court in the shape of a foreign tourist. She
was in good spirits.
"What do you see down the road?" inquired the gallant Colonel, who had been
conscious, for the last few minutes, that Mrs. Brown's attention was diverted.
"Dust," said Mrs. Brown, with a sigh. "Only Sister Anne's 'flock of sheep.'"
The Colonel, whose literary recollections did not extend farther back than
last week's paper, took a more practical view. "It ain't sheep," he continued;
"it's a horseman. Judge, ain't that Jack Hamlin's gray?"
But the Judge didn't know; and as Mrs. Brown suggested the air was growing
too cold for further investigations, they retired to the parlor.
Mr. Brown was in the stable, where he generally retired after dinner. Perhaps
it was to show his contempt for his wife's companions; perhaps, like other
weak natures, he found pleasure in the exercise of absolute power over inferior
animals. He had a certain gratification in the training of a chestnut mare,
whom he could beat or caress as pleased him, which he couldn't do with Mrs.
Brown. It was here that he recognized a certain gray horse which had just
come in, and, looking a little farther on, found his rider. Brown's greeting
was cordial and hearty, Mr. Hamlin's somewhat restrained. But at Brown's
urgent request, he followed him up the back stairs to a narrow corridor,
and thence to a small room looking out upon the stable yard. It was plainly
furnished with a bed, a table, a few chairs, and a rack for guns and whips.
"This yer's my home, Jack," said Brown, with a sigh, as he threw himself
upon the bed, and motioned his companion to a chair. "Her room's t'other
end of the hall. It's more'n six months since we've lived together, or met,
except at meals. It's mighty rough papers on the head of the house, ain't
it?" he said, with a forced laugh. "But I'm glad to see you, Jack, damn
glad," and he reached from the bed, and again shook the unresponsive hand
of Jack Hamlin. "I brought ye up here, for I didn't want to talk in the
stable; though, for the matter of that, it's all round town. Don't strike
a light. We can talk here in the moonshine. Put up your feet on that winder,
and sit here beside me. Thar's whisky in that jug." Mr. Hamlin did not avail
himself of the information. Brown of Calaveras turned his face to the wall
and continued: "If I didn't love the woman, Jack, I wouldn't mind. But it's
loving her, and seeing her, day arter day, goin' on at this rate, and no
one to put down the brake; that's what gits me! But I'm glad to see ye,
Jack, damn glad."
In the darkness he groped about until he had found and wrung his companion's
hand again. He would have detained it, but Jack slipped it into the buttoned
breast of his coat, and asked, listlessly, "How long has this been going
"Ever since she came here; ever since the day she walked into the Magnolia.
I was a fool then; Jack, I'm a fool now; but I didn't know how much I loved
her till then. And she hasn't been the same woman since.
"But that ain't all, Jack; and it's what I wanted to see you about, and
I'm glad you've come. It ain't that she doesn't love me any more; it ain't
that she fools with every chap that comes along, for, perhaps, I staked
her love and lost it, as I did everything else at the Magnolia; and, perhaps,
foolin' is nateral to some women, and thar ain't no great harm done, 'cept
to the fools. But, Jack, I think--I think she loves somebody else. Don't
move, Jack; don't move; if your pistol hurts ye, take it off.
"It's been more'n six months now that she's seemed unhappy and lonesome,
and kinder nervous and scared-like. And sometimes I've ketched her lookin'
at me sort of timid and pitying. And she writes to somebody. And for the
last week she's been gathering her own things--trinkets, and furbelows,
and jew'lry--and, Jack, I think she's goin' off. I could stand all but that.
To have her steal away like a thief--" He put his face downward to the pillow,
and for a few moments there was no sound but the ticking of a clock on the
mantel. Mr. Hamlin lit a cigar, and moved to the open window. The moon no
longer shone into the room, and the bed and its occupant were in shadow.
"What shall I do, Jack?" said the voice from the darkness.
The answer came promptly and clearly from the window-side: "Spot the man,
and kill him on sight."
"He's took the risk!"
"But will that bring HER back?"
Jack did not reply, but moved from the window toward the door.
"Don't go yet, Jack; light the candle, and sit by the table. It's a comfort
to see ye, if nothin' else."
Jack hesitated, and then complied. He drew a pack of cards from his pocket
and shuffled them, glancing at the bed. But Brown's face was turned to the
wall. When Mr. Hamlin had shuffled the cards, he cut them, and dealt one
card on the opposite side of the table and toward the bed, and another on
his side of the table for himself. The first was a deuce, his own card,
a king. He then shuffled and cut again. This time "dummy" had a queen, and
himself a four-spot. Jack brightened up for the third deal. It brought his
adversary a deuce, and himself a king again. "Two out of three," said Jack,
"What's that, Jack?" said Brown.
Then Jack tried his hand with dice; but he always threw sixes, and his imaginary
opponent aces. The force of habit is sometimes confusing.
Meanwhile, some magnetic influence in Mr. Hamlin's presence, or the anodyne
of liquor, or both, brought surcease of sorrow, and Brown slept. Mr. Hamlin
moved his chair to the window, and looked out on the town of Wingdam, now
sleeping peacefully--its harsh outlines softened and subdued, its glaring
colors mellowed and sobered in the moonlight that flowed over all. In the
hush he could hear the gurgling of water in the ditches, and the sighing
of the pines beyond the hill. Then he looked up at the firmament, and as
he did so a star shot across the twinkling field. Presently another, and
then another. The phenomenon suggested to Mr. Hamlin a fresh augury. If
in another fifteen minutes another star should fall-- He sat there, watch
in hand, for twice that time, but the phenomenon was not repeated.
The clock struck two, and Brown still slept. Mr. Hamlin approached the table
and took from his pocket a letter, which he read by the flickering candlelight.
It contained only a single line, written in pencil, in a woman's hand:
"Be at the corral, with the buggy, at three."
The sleeper moved uneasily, and then awoke. "Are you there Jack?" "Yes."
"Don't go yet. I dreamed just now, Jack--dreamed of old times. I thought
that Sue and me was being married agin, and that the parson, Jack, was--who
do you think?--you!"
The gambler laughed, and seated himself on the bed--the paper still in his
"It's a good sign, ain't it?" queried Brown.
"I reckon. Say, old man, hadn't you better get up?" The "old man," thus
affectionately appealed to, rose, with the assistance of Hamlin's outstretched
Brown mechanically took the proffered cigar.
Jack had twisted the letter into a spiral, lit it, and held it for his companion.
He continued to hold it until it was consumed, and dropped the fragment--a
fiery star--from the open window. He watched it as it fell, and then returned
to his friend.
"Old man," he said, placing his hands upon Brown's shoulders, "in ten minutes
I'll be on the road, and gone like that spark. We won't see each other agin;
but, before I go, take a fool's advice: sell out all you've got, take your
wife with you, and quit the country. It ain't no place for you, nor her.
Tell her she must go; make her go, if she won't. Don't whine because you
can't be a saint, and she ain't an angel. Be a man--and treat her like a
woman. Don't be a damn fool. Good-by."
He tore himself from Brown's grasp, and leaped down the stairs like a deer.
At the stable door he collared the half-sleeping hostler and backed him
against the wall. "Saddle my horse in two minutes, or I'll--" The ellipsis
was frightfully suggestive.
"The missis said you was to have the buggy," stammered the man.
"Damn the buggy!"
The horse was saddled as fast as the nervous hands of the astounded hostler
could manipulate buckle and strap.
"Is anything up, Mr. Hamlin?" said the man, who, like all his class, admired
the elan of his fiery patron, and was really concerned in his welfare.
The man fell back. With an oath, a bound, and clatter, Jack was into the
road. In another moment, to the man's half-awakened eyes, he was but a moving
cloud of dust in the distance, toward which a star just loosed from its
brethren was trailing a stream of fire. But early that morning the dwellers
by the Wingdam turnpike, miles away, heard a voice, pure as a skylark's,
singing afield. They who were asleep turned over on their rude couches to
dream of youth and love and olden days. Hard-faced men and anxious gold-seekers,
already at work, ceased their labors and leaned upon their picks, to listen
to a romantic vagabond ambling away against the rosy sunrise.