Philosopher Jack

“Come into the tent. Now then, darling,” said the captain; “sit on my knee, and tell me all about it. Polly has seen something in her rambles that has made her cry,” he explained to Jack, Wilkins, and the rest of the party who chanced to come in while he was speaking. “Let us hear about it.”

“Oh! it is so sad,” said Polly, whimpering. “You know that good kind man Jacob Buckley, who lives up in Redman’s Gap with his sick brother Daniel, who is so fond of me; well, I went up to the Gap this afternoon, when I had done cleaning up, to sit with the sick brother for a little. I found him in great anxiety and very ill. He told me that Jacob, who had always been such a good nurse to him, is much cast down by his bad luck, and has taken to drink, and that he has lost or spent all his money, and can’t get credit at the store. He went out quite drunk last night, and has not returned since. Of course poor Daniel has had nothing to eat, for he can’t leave his bed without help, and even if he could, there isn’t a morsel of food in the house.”

This story created much sympathy in the hearts of Polly’s hearers.

“Well now, messmates, what’s to be done in this case?” asked Captain Samson, looking round.

“Make a c’lection,” said O’Rook.

“Here you are,” said Watty, taking up his cap and dropping several small nuggets into it as he handed it to Jack.

The philosopher contributed a pretty large nugget, which, in his heart, he had intended to stake at the gaming-table. “Well,” said he, “we are reduced to low enough circumstances just now, but we are rich compared with poor Buckley.”

The entire party at that time numbered only nine, including Polly, Bounce, and Badger, the other members of the crew of the Lively Poll having separated soon after leaving San Francisco. But as all of them were men of generous spirit, Watty’s cap soon contained a very creditable “c’lection,” which was made up forthwith into a bag, and carried with some cooked provisions by Polly to Redman’s Gap, under the safe escort of her father and Baldwin Burr.

The following evening, after supper, Philosopher Jack quietly put his last bag of gold into his pocket and went off with it to Higgins’ store. On the way up he entered into a debate with himself as to the rectitude of gambling. He seemed to himself to be composed of two persons, one of whom condemned, while the other defended gambling. But Jack had a strong will of his own. He was not to be lightly turned from a purpose, either by the disputants within him or by the arguments of his friend Wilkins. Being a good reasoner, our philosopher found that the condemner of gambling within him was rapidly getting the best of the argument; he therefore brought the matter to a point by suddenly exclaiming aloud, “Now, the question is, shall I do it?”

“Don’t?” said his old, brusque, but faithful friend Conscience, with a promptitude that made him quite uncomfortable.

“Or,” continued Jack slowly, “shall I go back and wait to see whether things will turn and mend?”

“Do!” answered his friend at once.

If Jack had put more questions, he would have received clear and emphatic replies, but he merely said, “Pooh!” and when a man says “pooh!” to conscience, he is in a very bad way indeed.

At Higgins’ store gold-miners assembled to buy and sell, to talk and drink and gamble. As the necessaries of life were procured there, miners of all sorts, from the steady to the disreputable, were to be found assembled at times, but it was chiefly the latter who “hung about” the place. No notice was taken of Jack as he mingled with the crowd, except by one or two acquaintances, who gave him a passing nod of recognition.

At the bar there was assembled a boisterous group, who were laughing heartily at something. Jack joined it, and found a tall, half-tipsy man offering to bet with another. When men are smitten with the gambling spirit anything that affords a “chance” will serve their turn.

“See here, now,” said the tall man, looking round, “I repeat, that I’ll bet any man ten dollars—all I have in the world—that there’s not any four of the men in this store can prevent my lifting this tumbler of water to my lips.”

He held out a tumbler in his right hand as he spoke, and straightened his long sinewy arm.

Some of those present laughed, but one, a short, thick-set, powerful fellow, said “Done!” at once, and stepped forward.

“Well, stranger,” said the tall man, with a smile, “lay hold. You ought to be strong enough to prevent me by yourself, but come on some more of you.”

Three strong fellows rose and laughingly grasped the man’s arm, while several of the lookers-on began to bet on the event.

“Now, hold fast,” said the tall man, giving his arm a slight but vigorous shake, which had the effect of causing those who held it to tighten their grip powerfully.

“Oh! you’re not strong enough,” he added; “come, another of you!” Hereupon a fifth man rose, and laid hold of the arm amid much laughter.

At that moment a big, rough miner pushed his way through the crowd and demanded to know “what was up.” On being told, he drew a bag from his pocket and exclaimed, “I’ll bet you this bag of dust if you can match it, that these five men will prevent you easily. They are strong enough to hold Goliath himself, if he were here.”

“Sorry that I can’t match your bag, stranger,” replied the tall man; “I’m only game for ten dollars, and that’s already staked.”

“But I can match it,” exclaimed Philosopher Jack, suddenly producing his bag, which was much the same size as that of the big miner.

“Now, then, hold fast, but don’t break the bone if you can help it,” said the tall man, giving his arm another shake.

The laugh with which this was received was changed into a roar of delight, when the tall man passed his left arm over the heads of those who held him, and with his left hand conveyed the tumbler to his lips.

There was a good deal of disputation immediately, as to the justice of paying up bets on what was obviously a “sell,” but it was ruled that in this case they had been fairly lost and won, so that the big miner turned his back on his bag of gold, and, with a deep curse, left the store.

Never before had Edwin Jack felt so thoroughly ashamed of himself as when he went forward and took up the two bags of gold. He did it, how ever, and, hurriedly quitting the store, returned to his tent.

There was a small portion of the tent curtained off at the farther extremity, as a chamber for Polly Samson. Jack was relieved, on arriving, to find that she had retired to it for the night. He was also glad to observe that all his tired companions were asleep, with the exception of O’Rook. That worthy was busy clearing up his pots and pans for the night.

“It’s late you are to-night,” remarked O’Rook with a yawn.

“Yes, I’ve been to the store,” said Jack; “hand me that candle; thanks.”

Turning his back on his comrade, he opened the bag which he had won, and looked in. The first thing that met his astonished gaze was the identical nugget which he had contributed the evening before to the sick miner at Redman’s Gap. There was a name inside the bag. Holding it near the candle, he read— “Buckley!”

“They must have been robbed!” he muttered to himself; then, rising, said to O’Rook, “I’ve taken a fancy to go up to the Gap to see the Buckleys. Don’t mistake me for a thief when I return.”

“No mistake at all if I did,” returned O’Rook, “for you’re stealin’ a march on us all just now, an’ isn’t it robbin’ yourself of your night’s rest you are? ah! then, a wilful man must have his way; good luck go with ye.”

Before the sentence and the yawn that followed it were finished, Jack was on his way to the Gap. He found the elder Buckley seated on a log by his brother’s couch, with his face buried in his hands. A glance showed him that the sick man was dying. Jacob looked up quickly. His face was haggard from the combined effects of dissipation, grief, and watching. He seemed rather annoyed than pleased by Jack’s visit.

“I’m grieved to see Daniel so ill,” said Jack in a low voice, which, however, roused the attention of the invalid.

“Dying,” said Jacob sternly, though in a voice that was scarcely audible. “What have you got there?” he added, almost fiercely, as he observed, and at once recognised, the bag in his visitor’s hand.

“Your property,” answered Jack. “Have you not missed it? I conclude, of course, that it has been stolen from you, because it was gambled away by a big rough fellow at Higgins’ store this evening.”

A peculiar smile flitted for a moment across the rugged face of Jacob Buckley as he said, “No, he didn’t steal it. Not being able to leave my brother myself, I sent him with it to the store, to try his luck. It was my last throw, contained all I had, includin’ the dust and nuggets you and your comrades sent me last night.”

He said this in a hard, reckless, defiant manner, then looked suddenly in Jack’s eyes, and inquired with an expression of curiosity how he came by the bag.

“I won it, God forgive me,” said Jack, a deep flush of shame overspreading his face, “and I now come to return what I had no right to win.”

A sound from the dying man attracted their attention at that moment.

“He wants to speak to you,” said Jacob, who had stooped down to listen.

Jack bent over the sick man, who said in a low whisper, with occasional pauses for breath, for his strength was almost gone.

“God bless you! You’ve saved his life. He said if he lost that gold that he’d blow out his brains—and he’d have done it—he would; I know Jacob—he’d have done it. Read to me—the Word—the only true gold.”

Jack looked round. Jacob had sat down, and again covered his face with his hands.

“I have not my Bible with me,” said Jack, “but I can repeat passages from memory.”

He began with the words, “They that trust in Him shall never be put to confusion,” when the dying man roused himself, and with a strong effort whispered, “O, sir, I do trust in Him! Will you try to save my brother from gambling and drink. Speak!—promise!”

“I will!” whispered Jack in his ear.