GODFREY MORGAN
A CALIFORNIAN MYSTERY
BY
JULES VERNE
LONDON: SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON & COMPANY, -Limited-.
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GODFREY MORGAN.
CHAPTER I.
IN WHICH THE READER HAS THE OPPORTUNITY OF BUYING AN ISLAND IN THE
PACIFIC OCEAN.
"An island to sell, for cash, to the highest bidder!" said Dean Felporg,
the auctioneer, standing behind his rostrum in the room where the
conditions of the singular sale were being noisily discussed.
"Island for sale! island for sale!" repeated in shrill tones again and
again Gingrass, the crier, who was threading his way in and out of the
excited crowd closely packed inside the largest saloon in the auction
mart at No. 10, Sacramento Street.
The crowd consisted not only of a goodly number of Americans from the
States of Utah, Oregon, and California, but also of a few Frenchmen, who
form quite a sixth of the population.
Mexicans were there enveloped in their sarapes; Chinamen in their
large-sleeved tunics, pointed shoes, and conical hats; one or two
Kanucks from the coast; and even a sprinkling of Black Feet,
Grosventres, or Flatheads, from the banks of the Trinity river.
The scene is in San Francisco, the capital of California, but not at the
period when the placer-mining fever was raging--from 1849 to 1852. San
Francisco was no longer what it had been then, a caravanserai, a
terminus, an -inn-, where for a night there slept the busy men who were
hastening to the gold-fields west of the Sierra Nevada. At the end of
some twenty years the old unknown Yerba-Buena had given place to a town
unique of its kind, peopled by 100,000 inhabitants, built under the
shelter of a couple of hills, away from the shore, but stretching off to
the farthest heights in the background--a city in short which has
dethroned Lima, Santiago, Valparaiso, and every other rival, and which
the Americans have made the queen of the Pacific, the "glory of the
western coast!"
It was the 15th of May, and the weather was still cold. In California,
subject as it is to the direct action of the polar currents, the first
weeks of this month are somewhat similar to the last weeks of March in
Central Europe. But the cold was hardly noticeable in the thick of the
auction crowd. The bell with its incessant clangour had brought
together an enormous throng, and quite a summer temperature caused the
drops of perspiration to glisten on the foreheads of the spectators
which the cold outside would have soon solidified.
Do not imagine that all these folks had come to the auction-room with
the intention of buying. I might say that all of them had but come to
see. Who was going to be mad enough, even if he were rich enough, to
purchase an isle of the Pacific, which the government had in some
eccentric moment decided to sell? Would the reserve price ever be
reached? Could anybody be found to work up the bidding? If not, it would
scarcely be the fault of the public crier, who tried his best to tempt
buyers by his shoutings and gestures, and the flowery metaphors of his
harangue. People laughed at him, but they did not seem much influenced
by him.
"An island! an isle to sell!" repeated Gingrass.
"But not to buy!" answered an Irishman, whose pocket did not hold enough
to pay for a single pebble.
"An island which at the valuation will not fetch six dollars an acre!"
said the auctioneer.
"And which won't pay an eighth per cent.!" replied a big farmer, who was
well acquainted with agricultural speculations.
"An isle which measures quite sixty-four miles round and has an area of
two hundred and twenty-five thousand acres!"
"Is it solid on its foundation?" asked a Mexican, an old customer at the
liquor-bars, whose personal solidity seemed rather doubtful at the
moment.
"An isle with forests still virgin!" repeated the crier, "with prairies,
hills, watercourses--"
"Warranted?" asked a Frenchman, who seemed rather inclined to nibble.
"Yes! warranted!" added Felporg, much too old at his trade to be moved
by the chaff of the public.
"For two years?"
"To the end of the world!"
"Beyond that?"
"A freehold island!" repeated the crier, "an island without a single
noxious animal, no wild beasts, no reptiles!--"
"No birds?" added a wag.
"No insects?" inquired another.
"An island for the highest bidder!" said Dean Felporg, beginning again.
"Come, gentlemen, come! Have a little courage in your pockets! Who wants
an island in perfect state of repair, never been used, an island in the
Pacific, that ocean of oceans? The valuation is a mere nothing! It is
put at eleven hundred thousand dollars, is there any one will bid? Who
speaks first? You, sir?--you, over there nodding your head like a
porcelain mandarin? Here is an island! a really good island! Who says an
island?"
"Pass it round!" said a voice as if they were dealing with a picture or
a vase.
And the room shouted with laughter, but not a half-dollar was bid.
However, if the lot could not be passed round, the map of the island was
at the public disposal. The whereabouts of the portion of the globe
under consideration could be accurately ascertained. There was neither
surprise nor disappointment to be feared in that respect. Situation,
orientation, outline, altitudes, levels, hydrography, climatology, lines
of communication, all these were easily to be verified in advance.
People were not buying a pig in a poke, and most undoubtedly there could
be no mistake as to the nature of the goods on sale. Moreover, the
innumerable journals of the United States, especially those of
California, with their dailies, bi-weeklies, weeklies, bi-monthlies,
monthlies, their reviews, magazines, bulletins, &c., had been for
several months directing constant attention to the island whose sale by
auction had been authorized by Act of Congress.
The island was Spencer Island, which lies in the west-south-west of the
Bay of San Francisco, about 460 miles from the Californian coast, in 32°
15' north latitude, and 145° 18' west longitude, reckoning from
Greenwich. It would be impossible to imagine a more isolated position,
quite out of the way of all maritime or commercial traffic, although
Spencer Island was relatively, not very far off, and situated
practically in American waters. But thereabouts the regular currents
diverging to the north and south have formed a kind of lake of calms,
which is sometimes known as the "Whirlpool of Fleurieu."
It is in the centre of this enormous eddy, which has hardly an
appreciable movement, that Spencer Island is situated. And so it is
sighted by very few ships. The main routes of the Pacific, which join
the new to the old continent, and lead away to China or Japan, run in a
more southerly direction. Sailing-vessels would meet with endless calms
in the Whirlpool of Fleurieu; and steamers, which always take the
shortest road, would gain no advantage by crossing it. Hence ships of
neither class know anything of Spencer Island, which rises above the
waters like the isolated summit of one of the submarine mountains of the
Pacific. Truly, for a man wishing to flee from the noise of the world,
seeking quiet in solitude, what could be better than this island, lost
within a few hundred miles of the coast? For a voluntary Robinson
Crusoe, it would be the very ideal of its kind! Only of course he must
pay for it.
And now, why did the United States desire to part with the island? Was
it for some whim? No! A great nation cannot act on caprice in any
matter, however simple. The truth was this: situated as it was, Spencer
Island had for a long time been known as a station perfectly useless.
There could be no practical result from settling there. In a military
point of view it was of no importance, for it only commanded an
absolutely deserted portion of the Pacific. In a commercial point of
view there was a similar want of importance, for the products would not
pay the freight either inwards or outwards. For a criminal colony it was
too far from the coast. And to occupy it in any way, would be a very
expensive undertaking. So it had remained deserted from time immemorial,
and Congress, composed of "eminently practical" men, had resolved to put
it up for sale--on one condition only, and that was, that its purchaser
should be a free American citizen. There was no intention of giving away
the island for nothing, and so the reserve price had been fixed at
$1,100,000. This amount for a financial society dealing with such
matters was a mere bagatelle, if the transaction could offer any
advantages; but as we need hardly repeat, it offered none, and competent
men attached no more value to this detached portion of the United
States, than to one of the islands lost beneath the glaciers of the
Pole.
In one sense, however, the amount was considerable. A man must be rich
to pay for this hobby, for in any case it would not return him a
halfpenny per cent. He would even have to be immensely rich for the
transaction was to be a "cash" one, and even in the United States it is
as yet rare to find citizens with $1,100,000 in their pockets, who would
care to throw them into the water without hope of return.
And Congress had decided not to sell the island under the price. Eleven
hundred thousand dollars, not a cent less, or Spencer Island would
remain the property of the Union.
It was hardly likely that any one would be mad enough to buy it on the
terms.
Besides, it was expressly reserved that the proprietor, if one offered,
should not become king of Spencer Island, but president of a republic.
He would gain no right to have subjects, but only fellow-citizens, who
could elect him for a fixed time, and would be free from re-electing him
indefinitely. Under any circumstances he was forbidden to play at
monarchy. The Union could never tolerate the foundation of a kingdom, no
matter how small, in American waters.
This reservation was enough to keep off many an ambitious millionaire,
many an aged nabob, who might like to compete with the kings of the
Sandwich, the Marquesas, and the other archipelagoes of the Pacific.
In short, for one reason or other, nobody presented himself. Time was
getting on, the crier was out of breath in his efforts to secure a
buyer, the auctioneer orated without obtaining a single specimen of
those nods which his estimable fraternity are so quick to discover; and
the reserve price was not even mentioned.
However, if the hammer was not wearied with oscillating above the
rostrum, the crowd was not wearied with waiting around it. The joking
continued to increase, and the chaff never ceased for a moment. One
individual offered two dollars for the island, costs included. Another
said that a man ought to be paid that for taking it.
And all the time the crier was heard with,--
"An island to sell! an island for sale!"
And there was no one to buy it.
"Will you guarantee that there are flats there?" said Stumpy, the grocer
of Merchant Street, alluding to the deposits so famous in alluvial
gold-mining.
"No," answered the auctioneer, "but it is not impossible that there are,
and the State abandons all its rights over the gold lands."
"Haven't you got a volcano?" asked Oakhurst, the bar-keeper of
Montgomery Street.
"No volcanoes," replied Dean Felporg, "if there were, we could not sell
at this price!"
An immense shout of laughter followed.
"An island to sell! an island for sale!" yelled Gingrass, whose lungs
tired themselves out to no purpose.
"Only a dollar! only a half-dollar! only a cent above the reserve!" said
the auctioneer for the last time, "and I will knock it down! Once!
Twice!"
Perfect silence.
"If nobody bids we must put the lot back! Once! Twice!
"Twelve hundred thousand dollars!"
The four words rang through the room like four shots from a revolver.
The crowd, suddenly speechless, turned towards the bold man who had
dared to bid.
It was William W. Kolderup, of San Francisco.
CHAPTER II.
HOW WILLIAM W. KOLDERUP, OF SAN FRANCISCO, WAS AT LOGGERHEADS WITH J. R.
TASKINAR, OF STOCKTON.
A man extraordinarily rich, who counted dollars by the million as other
men do by the thousand; such was William W. Kolderup.
People said he was richer than the Duke of Westminster, whose income is
some $4,000,000 a year, and who can spend his $10,000 a day, or seven
dollars every minute; richer than Senator Jones, of Nevada, who has
$35,000,000 in the funds; richer than Mr. Mackay himself, whose annual
$13,750,000 give him $1560 per hour, or half-a-dollar to spend every
second of his life.
I do not mention such minor millionaires as the Rothschilds, the
Vanderbilts, the Dukes of Northumberland, or the Stewarts, nor the
directors of the powerful bank of California, and other opulent
personages of the old and new worlds whom William W. Kolderup would have
been able to comfortably pension. He could, without inconvenience, have
given away a million just as you and I might give away a shilling.
It was in developing the early placer-mining enterprises in California
that our worthy speculator had laid the solid foundations of his
incalculable fortune. He was the principal associate of Captain Sutter,
the Swiss, in the localities, where, in 1848, the first traces were
discovered. Since then, luck and shrewdness combined had helped him on,
and he had interested himself in all the great enterprises of both
worlds. He threw himself boldly into commercial and industrial
speculations. His inexhaustible funds were the life of hundreds of
factories, his ships were on every sea. His wealth increased not in
arithmetical but in geometrical progression. People spoke of him as one
of those few "milliardaires" who never know how much they are worth. In
reality he knew almost to a dollar, but he never boasted of it.
At this very moment when we introduce him to our readers with all the
consideration such a many-sided man merits, William W. Kolderup had 2000
branch offices scattered over the globe, 80,000 employés in America,
Europe, and Australia, 300,000 correspondents, a fleet of 500 ships
which continually ploughed the ocean for his profit, and he was spending
not less than a million a year in bill-stamps and postages. In short, he
was the honour and glory of opulent Frisco--the nickname familiarly
given by the Americans to the Californian capital.
A bid from William W. Kolderup could not but be a serious one. And when
the crowd in the auction room had recognized who it was that by $100,000
had capped the reserve price of Spencer Island, there was an
irresistible sensation, the chaffing ceased instantly, jokes gave place
to interjections of admiration, and cheers resounded through the saloon.
Then a deep silence succeeded to the hubbub, eyes grew bigger, and ears
opened wider. For our part had we been there we would have had to hold
our breath that we might lose nothing of the exciting scene which would
follow should any one dare to bid against William W. Kolderup.
But was it probable? Was it even possible?
No! And at the outset it was only necessary to look at William W.
Kolderup to feel convinced that he could never yield on a question where
his financial gallantry was at stake.
He was a big, powerful man, with huge head, large shoulders, well-built
limbs, firmly knit, and tough as iron. His quiet but resolute look was
not willingly cast downwards, his grey hair, brushed up in front, was as
abundant as if he were still young. The straight lines of his nose
formed a geometrically-drawn right-angled triangle. No moustache; his
beard cut in Yankee fashion bedecked his chin, and the two upper points
met at the opening of the lips and ran up to the temples in
pepper-and-salt whiskers; teeth of snowy whiteness were symmetrically
placed on the borders of a clean-cut mouth. The head of one of those
true kings of men who rise in the tempest and face the storm. No
hurricane could bend that head, so solid was the neck which supported
it. In these battles of the bidders each of its nods meant an additional
hundred thousand dollars.
There was no one to dispute with him.
"Twelve hundred thousand dollars--twelve hundred thousand!" said the
auctioneer, with that peculiar accent which men of his vocation find
most effective.
"Going at twelve hundred thousand dollars!" repeated Gingrass the crier.
"You could safely bid more than that," said Oakhurst, the bar-keeper;
"William Kolderup will never give in."
"He knows no one will chance it," answered the grocer from Merchant
Street.
Repeated cries of "Hush!" told the two worthy tradesmen to be quiet. All
wished to hear. All hearts palpitated. Dare any one raise his voice in
answer to the voice of William W. Kolderup? He, magnificent to look
upon, never moved. There he remained as calm as if the matter had no
interest for him. But--and this those near to him noticed--his eyes were
like revolvers loaded with dollars, ready to fire.
"Nobody speaks?" asked Dean Felporg.
Nobody spoke.
"Once! Twice!"
"Once! Twice!" repeated Gingrass, quite accustomed to this little
dialogue with his chief.
"Going!"
"Going!"
"For twelve--hundred--thousand--dollars--Spencer--Island--com--plete!"
"For twelve--hundred--thousand--dollars!"
"That is so? No mistake?"
"No withdrawal?"
"For twelve hundred thousand dollars, Spencer Island!"
The waistcoats rose and fell convulsively. Could it be possible that at
the last second a higher bid would come? Felporg with his right hand
stretched on the table was shaking his ivory hammer--one rap, two raps,
and the deed would be done.
The public could not have been more absorbed in the face of a summary
application of the law of Justice Lynch!
The hammer slowly fell, almost touched the table, rose again, hovered
an instant like a sword which pauses ere the drawer cleaves the victim
in twain; then it flashed swiftly downwards.
But before the sharp rap could be given, a voice was heard giving
utterance to these four words,--
"Thirteen--hundred--thousand--dollars!"
There was a preliminary "Ah!" of general stupefaction, then a second
"Ah!" of not less general satisfaction. Another bidder had presented
himself! There was going to be a fight after all!
But who was the reckless individual who had dared to come to dollar
strokes with William W. Kolderup of San Francisco?
It was J. R. Taskinar, of Stockton.
J. R. Taskinar was rich, but he was more than proportionately fat. He
weighed 490 lbs. If he had only run second in the last fat-man show at
Chicago, it was because he had not been allowed time to finish his
dinner, and had lost about a dozen pounds.
This colossus, who had had to have special chairs made for his portly
person to rest upon, lived at Stockton, on the San Joachim. Stockton is
one of the most important cities in California, one of the depôt centres
for the mines of the south, the rival of Sacramento the centre for the
mines of the north. There the ships embark the largest quantity of
Californian corn.
Not only had the development of the mines and speculations in wheat
furnished J. R. Taskinar with the occasion of gaining an enormous
fortune, but petroleum, like another Pactolus, had run through his
treasury. Besides, he was a great gambler, a lucky gambler, and he had
found "poker" most prodigal of its favours to him.
But if he was a Croesus, he was also a rascal; and no one would have
addressed him as "honourable," although the title in those parts is so
much in vogue. After all, he was a good war-horse, and perhaps more was
put on his back than was justly his due. One thing was certain, and that
was that on many an occasion he had not hesitated to use his
"Derringer"--the Californian revolver.
Now J. R. Taskinar particularly detested William W. Kolderup. He envied
him for his wealth, his position, and his reputation. He despised him as
a fat man despises a lean one. It was not the first time that the
merchant of Stockton had endeavoured to do the merchant of San Francisco
out of some business or other, good or bad, simply owing to a feeling of
rivalry. William W. Kolderup thoroughly knew his man, and on all
occasions treated him with scorn enough to drive him to distraction.
The last success which J. R. Taskinar could not forgive his opponent
was that gained in the struggle over the state elections.
Notwithstanding his efforts, his threats, and his libels, not to mention
the millions of dollars squandered by his electoral courtiers, it was
William W. Kolderup who sat in his seat in the Legislative Council of
Sacramento.
J. R. Taskinar had learnt--how, I cannot tell--that it was the intention
of William W. Kolderup to acquire possession of Spencer Island. This
island seemed doubtless as useless to him as it did to his rival. No
matter. Here was another chance for fighting, and perhaps for
conquering. J. R. Taskinar would not allow it to escape him.
And that is why J. R. Taskinar had come to the auction room among the
curious crowd who could not be aware of his designs, why at all points
he had prepared his batteries, why before opening fire, he had waited
till his opponent had covered the reserve, and why when William W.
Kolderup had made his bid of--
"Twelve hundred thousand dollars!"
J. R. Taskinar at the moment when William W. Kolderup thought he had
definitely secured the island, woke up with the words shouted in
stentorian tones,--
"Thirteen hundred thousand dollars!"
Everybody as we have seen turned to look at him.
"Fat Taskinar!"
The name passed from mouth to mouth. Yes. Fat Taskinar! He was known
well enough! His corpulence had been the theme of many an article in the
journals of the Union.
I am not quite sure which mathematician it was who had demonstrated by
transcendental calculations, that so great was his mass that it actually
influenced that of our satellite and in an appreciable manner disturbed
the elements of the lunar orbit.
But it was not J. R. Taskinar's physical composition which interested
the spectators in the room. It was something far different which excited
them; it was that he had entered into direct public rivalry with William
W. Kolderup. It was a fight of heroes, dollar versus dollar, which had
opened, and I do not know which of the two coffers would turn out to be
best lined. Enormously rich were both these mortal enemies! After the
first sensation, which was rapidly suppressed, renewed silence fell on
the assembly. You could have heard a spider weaving his web.
It was the voice of Dean Felporg which broke the spell.
"For thirteen hundred thousand dollars, Spencer Island!" declaimed he,
drawing himself up so as to better command the circle of bidders.
William W. Kolderup had turned towards J. R. Taskinar. The bystanders
moved back, so as to allow the adversaries to behold each other. The
man of Stockton and the man of San Francisco were face to face, mutually
staring, at their ease. Truth compels me to state that they made the
most of the opportunity. Never would one of them consent to lower his
eyes before those of his rival.
"Fourteen hundred thousand dollars," said William W. Kolderup.
"Fifteen hundred thousand!" retorted J. R. Taskinar.
"Sixteen hundred thousand!"
"Seventeen hundred thousand!"
Have you ever heard the story of the two mechanics of Glasgow, who tried
which should raise the other highest up the factory chimney at the risk
of a catastrophe? The only difference was that here the chimney was of
ingots of gold.
Each time after the capping bid of J. R. Taskinar, William W. Kolderup
took a few moments to reflect before he bid again. On the contrary
Taskinar burst out like a bomb, and did not seem to require a second to
think.
"Seventeen hundred thousand dollars!" repeated the auctioneer. "Now,
gentlemen, that is a mere nothing! It is giving it away!"
And one can well believe that, carried away by the jargon of his
profession, he was about to add,--
"The frame alone is worth more than that!" When--
"Seventeen hundred thousand dollars!" howled Gingrass, the crier.
"Eighteen hundred thousand!" replied William W. Kolderup.
"Nineteen hundred thousand!" retorted J. R. Taskinar.
"Two millions!" quoth William W. Kolderup, and so quickly that this time
he evidently had not taken the trouble to think. His face was a little
pale when these last words escaped his lips, but his whole attitude was
that of a man who did not intend to give in.
J. R. Taskinar was simply on fire. His enormous face was like one of
those gigantic railway bull's-eyes which, screened by the red, signal
the stoppage of the train. But it was highly probable that his rival
would disregard the block, and decline to shut off steam.
This J. R. Taskinar felt. The blood mounted to his brows, and seemed
apoplectically congested there. He wriggled his fat fingers, covered
with diamonds of great price, along the huge gold chain attached to his
chronometer. He glared at his adversary, and then shutting his eyes so
as to open them with a more spiteful expression a moment afterwards.
"Two million, four hundred thousand dollars!" he remarked, hoping by
this tremendous leap to completely rout his rival.
"Two million, seven hundred thousand!" replied William W. Kolderup in a
peculiarly calm voice.
"Two million, nine hundred thousand!"
"Three millions!"
Yes! William W. Kolderup, of San Francisco, said three millions of
dollars!
Applause rang through the room, hushed, however, at the voice of the
auctioneer, who repeated the bid, and whose oscillating hammer
threatened to fall in spite of himself by the involuntary movement of
his muscles. It seemed as though Dean Felporg, surfeited with the
surprises of public auction sales, would be unable to contain himself
any longer.
All glances were turned on J. R. Taskinar. That voluminous personage was
sensible of this, but still more was he sensible of the weight of these
three millions of dollars, which seemed to crush him. He would have
spoken, doubtless to bid higher--but he could not. He would have liked
to nod his head--he could do so no more.
After a long pause, however, his voice was heard; feeble it is true, but
sufficiently audible.
"Three millions, five hundred thousand!"
"Four millions," was the answer of William W. Kolderup.
It was the last blow of the bludgeon. J. R. Taskinar succumbed. The
hammer gave a hard rap on the marble table and--
Spencer Island fell for four millions of dollars to William W. Kolderup,
of San Francisco.
"I will be avenged!" muttered J. R. Taskinar, and throwing a glance of
hatred at his conqueror, he returned to the Occidental Hotel.
But "hip, hip, hurrah," three times thrice, smote the ears of William W.
Kolderup, then cheers followed him to Montgomery Street, and such was
the delirious enthusiasm of the Americans that they even forgot to
favour him with the customary bars of "Yankee Doodle."
CHAPTER III.
THE CONVERSATION OF PHINA HOLLANEY AND GODFREY MORGAN, WITH A PIANO
ACCOMPANIMENT.
William W. Kolderup had returned to his mansion in Montgomery Street.
This thoroughfare is the Regent Street, the Broadway, the Boulevard des
Italiens of San Francisco. Throughout its length, the great artery which
crosses the city parallel with its quays is astir with life and
movement; trams there are innumerable; carriages with horses, carriages
with mules; men bent on business, hurrying to and fro over its stone
pavements, past shops thronged with customers; men bent on pleasure,
crowding the doors of the "bars," where at all hours are dispensed the
Californian's drinks.
There is no need for us to describe the mansion of a Frisco nabob. With
so many millions, there was proportionate luxury. More comfort than
taste. Less of the artistic than the practical. One cannot have
everything.
So the reader must be contented to know that there was a magnificent
reception-room, and in this reception-room a piano, whose chords were
permeating the mansion's warm atmosphere when the opulent Kolderup
walked in.
"Good!" he said. "She and he are there! A word to my cashier, and then
we can have a little chat."
And he stepped towards his office to arrange the little matter of
Spencer Island, and then dismiss it from his mind. He had only to
realize a few certificates in his portfolio and the acquisition was
settled for. Half-a-dozen lines to his broker--no more. Then William W.
Kolderup devoted himself to another "combination" which was much more to
his taste.
Yes! she and he were in the drawing-room--she, in front of the piano;
he, half reclining on the sofa, listening vaguely to the pearly
arpeggios which escaped from the fingers of the charmer.
"Are you listening?" she said.
"Of course."
"Yes! but do you understand it?"
"Do I understand it, Phina! Never have you played those 'Auld Robin
Gray' variations more superbly."
"But it is not 'Auld Robin Gray,' Godfrey: it is 'Happy Moments.'"
"Oh! ah! yes! I remember!" answered Godfrey, in a tone of indifference
which it was difficult to mistake. The lady raised her two hands, held
them suspended for an instant above the keys as if they were about to
grasp another chord, and then with a half-turn on her music-stool she
remained for a moment looking at the too tranquil Godfrey, whose eyes
did their best to avoid hers.
Phina Hollaney was the goddaughter of William W. Kolderup. An orphan, he
had educated her, and given her the right to consider herself his
daughter, and to love him as her father. She wanted for nothing. She was
young, "handsome in her way" as people say, but undoubtedly fascinating,
a blonde of sixteen with the ideas of a woman much older, as one could
read in the crystal of her blue-black eyes. Of course, we must compare
her to a lily, for all beauties are compared to lilies in the best
American society. She was then a lily, but a lily grafted into an
eglantine. She certainly had plenty of spirit, but she had also plenty
of practical common-sense, a somewhat selfish demeanour, and but little
sympathy with the illusions and dreams so characteristic of her sex and
age.
Her dreams were when she was asleep, not when she was awake. She was not
asleep now, and had no intention of being so.
"Godfrey?" she continued.
"Phina?" answered the young man.
"Where are you now?"
"Near you--in this room--"
"Not near me, Godfrey! Not in this room! But far far away, over the
seas, is it not so?"
And mechanically Phina's hand sought the key-board and rippled along a
series of sinking sevenths, which spoke of a plaintive sadness,
unintelligible perhaps to the nephew of William W. Kolderup.
For such was this young man, such was the relationship he bore towards
the master of the house. The son of a sister of this buyer of islands,
fatherless and motherless for a good many years, Godfrey Morgan, like
Phina, had been brought up in the house of his uncle, in whom the fever
of business had still left a place for the idea of marrying these two to
each other.
Godfrey was in his twenty-third year. His education now finished, had
left him with absolutely nothing to do. He had graduated at the
University, but had found it of little use. For him life opened out but
paths of ease; go where he would, to the right or the left, whichever
way he went, fortune would not fail him.
Godfrey was of good presence, gentlemanly, elegant--never tying his
cravat in a ring, nor starring his fingers, his wrists or his
shirt-front with those jewelled gimcracks so dear to his
fellow-citizens.
I shall surprise no one in saying that Godfrey Morgan was going to
marry Phina Hollaney. Was he likely to do otherwise? All the proprieties
were in favour of it. Besides, William W. Kolderup desired the marriage.
The two people whom he loved most in this world were sure of a fortune
from him, without taking into consideration whether Phina cared for
Godfrey, or Godfrey cared for Phina. It would also simplify the
bookkeeping of the commercial house. Ever since their births an account
had been opened for the boy, another for the girl. It would then be only
necessary to rule these off and transfer the balances to a joint account
for the young couple. The worthy merchant hoped that this would soon be
done, and the balances struck without error or omission.
But it is precisely that there had been an omission and perhaps an error
that we are about to show.
An error, because at the outset Godfrey felt that he was not yet old
enough for the serious undertaking of marriage; an omission, because he
had not been consulted on the subject.
In fact, when he had finished his studies Godfrey had displayed a quite
premature indifference to the world, in which he wanted for nothing, in
which he had no wish remaining ungratified, and nothing whatever to do.
The thought of travelling round the world was always present to him. Of
the old and new continents he knew but one spot--San Francisco, where he
was born, and which he had never left except in a dream. What harm was
there in a young man making the tour of the globe twice or
thrice--especially if he were an American? Would it do him any good?
Would he learn anything in the different adventures he would meet with
in a voyage of any length? If he were not already satiated with a life
of adventure, how could he be answered? Finally, how many millions of
leagues of observation and instruction were indispensable for the
completion of the young man's education?
Things had reached this pass; for a year or more Godfrey had been
immersed in books of voyages of recent date, and had passionately
devoured them. He had discovered the Celestial Empire with Marco Polo,
America with Columbus, the Pacific with Cook, the South Pole with Dumont
d'Urville. He had conceived the idea of going where these illustrious
travellers had been without him. In truth, he would not have considered
an exploring expedition of several years to cost him too dear at the
price of a few attacks of Malay pirates, several ocean collisions, and a
shipwreck or two on a desert island where he could live the life of a
Selkirk or a Robinson Crusoe! A Crusoe! To become a Crusoe! What young
imagination has not dreamt of this in reading as Godfrey had often, too
often done, the adventures of the imaginary heroes of Daniel de Foe and
De Wyss?
Yes! The nephew of William W. Kolderup was in this state when his uncle
was thinking of binding him in the chains of marriage. To travel in this
way with Phina, then become Mrs. Morgan, would be clearly impossible! He
must go alone or leave it alone. Besides, once his fancy had passed
away, would not she be better disposed to sign the settlements? Was it
for the good of his wife that he had not been to China or Japan, not
even to Europe? Decidedly not.
And hence it was that Godfrey was now absent in the presence of Phina,
indifferent when she spoke to him, deaf when she played the airs which
used to please him; and Phina, like a thoughtful, serious girl, soon
noticed this.
To say that she did not feel a little annoyance mingled with some
chagrin, is to do her a gratuitous injustice. But accustomed to look
things in the face, she had reasoned thus,--
"If we must part, it had better be before marriage than afterwards!"
And thus it was that she had spoken to Godfrey in these significant
words.
"No! You are not near me at this moment--you are beyond the seas!"
Godfrey had risen. He had walked a few steps without noticing Phina,
and unconsciously his index finger touched one of the keys of the piano.
A loud C# of the octave below the staff, a note dismal enough, answered
for him.
Phina had understood him, and without more discussion was about to bring
matters to a crisis, when the door of the room opened.
William W. Kolderup appeared, seemingly a little preoccupied as usual.
Here was the merchant who had just finished one negotiation and was
about to begin another.
"Well," said he, "there is nothing more now than for us to fix the
date."
"The date?" answered Godfrey, with a start. "What date, if you please,
uncle?"
"The date of your wedding!" said William W. Kolderup. "Not the date of
mine, I suppose!"
"Perhaps that is more urgent?" said Phina.
"Hey?--what?" exclaimed the uncle--"what does that matter? We are only
talking of current affairs, are we not?"
"Godfather Will," answered the lady. "It is not of a wedding that we are
going to fix the date to-day, but of a departure."
"A departure!"
"Yes, the departure of Godfrey," continued Phina, "of Godfrey who,
before he gets married, wants to see a little of the world!"
"You want to go away--you?" said William W. Kolderup, stepping towards
the young man and raising his arms as if he were afraid that this
"rascal of a nephew" would escape him.
"Yes; I do, uncle," said Godfrey gallantly.
"And for how long?"
"For eighteen months, or two years, or more, if--"
"If--"
"If you will let me, and Phina will wait for me."
"Wait for you! An intended who intends until he gets away!" exclaimed
William W. Kolderup.
"You must let Godfrey go," pleaded Phina; "I have thought it carefully
over. I am young, but really Godfrey is younger. Travel will age him,
and I do not think it will change his taste! He wishes to travel, let
him travel! The need of repose will come to him afterwards, and he will
find me when he returns."
"What!" exclaimed William W. Kolderup, "you consent to give your bird
his liberty?"
"Yes, for the two years he asks."
"And you will wait for him?"
"Uncle Will, if I could not wait for him I could not love him!" and so
saying Phina returned to the piano, and whether she willed it or no,
her fingers softly played a portion of the then fashionable "Départ du
Fiancé," which was very appropriate under the circumstances. But Phina,
without perceiving it perhaps, was playing in "A minor," whereas it was
written in "A major," and all the sentiment of the melody was
transformed, and its plaintiveness chimed in well with her hidden
feelings.
But Godfrey stood embarrassed, and said not a word. His uncle took him
by the head and turning it to the light looked fixedly at him for a
moment or two. In this way he questioned him without having to speak,
and Godfrey was able to reply without having occasion to utter a
syllable.
And the lamentations of the "Départ du Fiancé" continued their sorrowful
theme, and then William W. Kolderup, having made the turn of the room,
returned to Godfrey, who stood like a criminal before the judge. Then
raising his voice,--
"You are serious," he asked.
"Quite serious!" interrupted Phina, while Godfrey contented himself with
making a sign of affirmation.
"You want to try travelling before you marry Phina! Well! You shall try
it, my nephew!"
He made two or three steps and stopping with crossed arms before
Godfrey, asked,--
"Where do you want to go to?"
"Everywhere."
"And when do you want to start?"
"When you please, Uncle Will."
"All right," replied William W. Kolderup, fixing a curious look on his
nephew.
Then he muttered between his teeth,--
"The sooner the better."
At these last words came a sudden interruption from Phina. The little
finger of her left hand touched a G#, and the fourth had, instead of
falling on the key-note, rested on the "sensible," like Ralph in the
"Huguenots," when he leaves at the end of his duet with Valentine.
Perhaps Phina's heart was nearly full, she had made up her mind to say
nothing.
It was then that William W. Kolderup, without noticing Godfrey,
approached the piano.
"Phina," said he gravely, "you should never remain on the 'sensible'!"
And with the tip of his large finger he dropped vertically on to one of
the keys and an "A natural" resounded through the room.
CHAPTER IV.
IN WHICH T. ARTELETT, OTHERWISE TARTLET, IS DULY INTRODUCED TO THE
READER.
If T. Artelett had been a Parisian, his compatriots would not have
failed to nickname him Tartlet, but as he had already received this
title we do not hesitate to describe him by it. If Tartlet was not a
Frenchman he ought to have been one.
In his "Itinéraire de Paris à Jérusalem," Chateaubriand tells of a
little man "powdered and frizzed in the old-fashioned style, with a coat
of apple green, a waistcoat of drouget, shirt-frill and cuffs of muslin,
who scraped a violin and made the Iroquois dance 'Madeleine Friquet.'"
The Californians are not Iroquois, far from it; but Tartlet was none the
less professor of dancing and deportment in the capital of their state.
If they did not pay him for his lessons, as they had his predecessor in
beaver-skins and bear-hams, they did so in dollars. If in speaking of
his pupils he did not talk of the "bucks and their squaws," it was
because his pupils were highly civilized, and because in his opinion he
had contributed considerably to their civilization.
Tartlet was a bachelor, and aged about forty-five at the time we
introduce him to our readers. But for a dozen years or so his marriage
with a lady of somewhat mature age had been expected to take place.
Under present circumstances it is perhaps advisable to give "two or
three lines" concerning his age, appearance, and position in life. He
would have responded to such a request we imagine as follows, and thus
we can dispense with drawing his portrait from a moral and physical
point of view.
"He was born on the 17th July, 1835, at a quarter-past three in the
morning.
"His height is five feet, two inches, three lines.
"His girth is exactly two feet, three inches.
"His weight, increased by some six pounds during the last year, is one
hundred and fifty one pounds, two ounces.
"He has an oblong head.
"His hair, very thin above the forehead, is grey chestnut, his forehead
is high, his face oval, his complexion fresh coloured.
"His eyes--sight excellent--a greyish brown, eyelashes and eyebrows
clear chestnut, eyes themselves somewhat sunk in their orbits beneath
the arches of the brows.
"His nose is of medium size, and has a slight indentation towards the
end of the left nostril.
"His cheeks and temples are flat and hairless.
"His ears are large and flat.
"His mouth, of middling size, is absolutely free from bad teeth.
"His lips, thin and slightly pinched, are covered with a heavy moustache
and imperial, his chin is round and also shaded with a many-tinted
beard.
"A small mole ornaments his plump neck--in the nape.
"Finally, when he is in the bath it can be seen that his skin is white
and smooth.
"His life is calm and regular. Without being robust, thanks to his great
temperance, he has kept his health uninjured since his birth. His lungs
are rather irritable, and hence he has not contracted the bad habit of
smoking. He drinks neither spirits, coffee, liqueurs, nor neat wine. In
a word, all that could prejudicially affect his nervous system is
vigorously excluded from his table. Light beer, and weak wine and water
are the only beverages he can take without danger. It is on account of
his carefulness that he has never had to consult a doctor since his life
began.
"His gesture is prompt, his walk quick, his character frank and open.
His thoughtfulness for others is extreme, and it is on account of this
that in the fear of making his wife unhappy, he has never entered into
matrimony."
Such would have been the report furnished by Tartlet, but desirable as
he might be to a lady of a certain age, the projected union had hitherto
failed. The professor remained a bachelor, and continued to give lessons
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562
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