A Gold-Digger’s Story.
Founded on Fact.
The breeze was fair and the sea was calm,1
And the day’s last crimson gave2
A burnished hue to the sunset sky,3
A light to the sparkling wave.4
“ Hurrah ! for the Golden Gate !” the cry5
Arose from a motley crew,6
As the ship which bore them sailed along7
O’er the ocean field of blue.8
Wild as the waves were the hearts of those9
Whom that crowded vessel bore,10
The homeward-bound who had left that morn11
The rough Californian shore.12
There were joys as keen, and hopes as fresh,13
As air from the mountain crests ;14
And griefs as deep as the deep, deep sea,15
In those throbbing human breasts.16
The sound of their chorus rose and fell,17
The glee of the rover’s lay ;18
The shouts of three hundred men were heard19
Full many a mile away.20
“ We are off—we are off ! San Francisco, farewell !21
We return to Old Europe thy wonders to tell
;22
Farewell to the Sacrament river and plain !23
We have hunted for gold and not hunted in vain.24
We have worked, we have starved, through the long
scorching
day,25
day,25
We have slept like the tiger who lurks near its prey ;26
We have toiled with one hand, with the other hand fought ;27
We have led a strange life, and have found what we sought.28
The feeble in body, the cowards in heart,29
Never know the wild joy of the gold-digger’s start,30
When the bright metal gleams on the smooth shining sand,31
As he stands o’er his prize, a revolver in hand.32
But now we’re all gentlemen, living at ease,33
And we sail like the ship with a favouring breeze.34
We have dreamed of the future—the future is come ;35
Hurrah ! for the gold-digger’s fortune and home.36
Hurrah ! and hurrah ! for the Golden Gate’s
crew,37
Hurrah ! and hurrah ! for her good captain too ;38
Now a cheer for Old Europe, for wealth, and for ease,39
Whilst the Golden Gate flies like a bird o’er the seas.”40
’Twas thus they shouted, thus they sung,41
Until the close of that long day ;42
And then the echoes of their mirth,43
Died in those silent seas away.44
Upon the vessel’s deck, not far45
From that unruly restless throng46
Of men who for the most part bore47
The stamp of passions fierce and strong,48
A woman with pale flaxen hair,49
And eyes that had long ceased to weep,50
Sat edgeways on a narrow seat,51
And hushed a little child to sleep.52
In a low murmuring voice she sang,53
The rippling waves seemed keeping tune,54
A ditty which the girls in France55
Are wont to sing at eve in June,56
It spoke of love, and hope, and joy ;57
It spoke of holy sunset hours ;58
Of children’s voices, maidens’ prayers ;59
Of altars decked with summer flowers.60
It was a strain that filled the mind61
With thoughts and images of peace ;62
And as she bent to kiss the babe63
Who smiled and patted her pale face,64
It seemed as though the well-known words,65
The child’s caress, the sunset sky,66
Had brought a transient gleam of light67
Into her dim and faded eye.68
Not one of the tumultuous crew69
Knew this poor woman’s name, or gave70
More thought to the fair babe and her71
Than to the seaweed on the wave,72
Except a Breton, Jean Brizieux,73
Who, six or seven months before,74
Had seen her gathering golden dust75
Upon the Sacramento’s shore.76
Whose stalwart form and joyous eye,77
Had often with half-envious looks,78
Been noticed by the passers-by.79
Where’er he went, whate’er he did,80
That patient woman still was there,81
His hopes, his toils, his rough-built shed82
To bless, to brighten, and to share.83
She brought him food—she cheered his heart ;84
She nursed her baby by his side ;85
And when a sunstroke laid him low,86
When all was o’er of joy and pride,87
She knelt and looked into his eyes,88
And bore up bravely till he died.89
And afterwards ? ... Alas ! none saw90
The mourner’s lonely agony,91
Or marked how in that silent shed92
The first dread hours of grief went by.93
To her no human comfort came,94
No one had welcomed her before,95
And now, without one farewell word,96
She left the Californian shore.97
****
It was Jean Brizieux wrote the song—98
The bold wild lay the diggers sang ;99
And ’midst the shout which rent the air,100
His voice in joyful accents rang.101
But that pale woman’s face awoke,102
He knew not why, a sadder mood ;103
And thoughts came crowding fast and thick,104
As on the gangway’s side he stood,105
Of those who dwelt at Keir Anna,106
The home he left five years before,107
Bewitched by stories sailors told108
Of San Francisco’s golden shore.109
He braved the dangers, liked the life110
In those strange regions, those wide fields,111
Where keen, exciting, breathless Toil,112
A sense of wild enjoyment yields.113
No heed the ardent stripling took114
Of weeks, and months, and even years ;115
Each day increased his store of gold,116
He knew no sorrows, felt no fears.117
But letters came from France which threw118
A darkness o’er those golden dreams ;119
The French Conscription law recalled120
The wanderer from his sunny dreams.121
Alas ! by strong temptation urged,122
His young rebellious spirit rose ;123
To linger o’er the time he chose.124
Unmindful of disgrace at home,125
Forgetful of the pains which wait126
On all who faithless to its call,127
By absence dare to cheat the State.128
And then he sang “ Farewell to France !129
A brighter prospect woos me here130
Than service—call it bondage—there.131
One more, and then another year,132
And I have gold enough to fling,133
In any country like a king.”134
And from that day the reckless boy135
Became a man, and worked more hard ;136
And though his spirits still were high,137
His laugh was not so often heard.138
“ Well, there are fairer lands than France !139
And gold is gold, and life is life !”140
These words were on the exile’s lips,141
But in his breast a secret strife.142
About ten thousand francs he made,143
And then resolved to sail away144
To England or to Germany.145
’Twas something for a youth to say146
His fortune he had made himself.147
In Jean’s prophetic vision rose148
The goodly fabric time would show,149
A merchant prince, if he but chose,150
In London, Frankfort, or New York.151
Sewn in his belt his treasure lay,152
And neither in the day or night153
He ventured e’er to put away154
The precious girdle’s heavy weight.155
“ Well, there are fairer lands than France,156
And gold is gold, and life is life !”157
Once more he hummed those words, and grasped158
The handle of his bowie-knife.159
’Twas then the widow’s careworn face,160
The looks of love she gave her child,161
Brought back his thoughts to Keir Anna,162
And his own mother’s visage mild ;163
To all the love, to all the prayers,164
To all the hopes of childhood’s years,—165
And in the wanderer’s eyes there rose,166
A mist that looked almost like tears.167
****
****
The breeze had fallen as the sun went down
;168
The vessel glided over a waveless sea,169
O’er which the moon her silvery light had thrown—170
A night more beautiful could scarcely be.171
The dim faint outline of St. Margaret’s Isle172
Showed in the distance through a misty haze.173
The songs and shouts so boisterous erewhile174
Had ceased, and sleep o’er every traveller’s eye175
Its spell had cast, and a profound repose176
Above, below, on earth and in the sky,177
Reigned undisturbed. The steersman and the mate178
Alone were watching in the Golden Gate.179
Hark to that sound !— that low, sharp, crackling noise180
Breaking the stillness of the noiseless night !181
Is it the stamping of the men and boys,182
Or the planks groaning ’neath the shipload’s weight ?183
“ Hoy ! call the captain, Bill,” the steersman cries,184
The boatswain in a drowsy voice replies,185
“ Why, he’s asleep ! He’s been in bed this hour.”186
“ See—see ! the blaze ! O God, the ship’s on fire !”187
****
Then did the waveless sea, the tranquil night,188
And the calm heavens’ cloudless majesty,189
Look down upon a scene of wild affright—190
Of fierce despair and speechless agony.191
The flames burst forth on every side, and threw192
A lurid light on the surrounding woe.193
Groans, prayers, and curses ring upon the deck—194
The ship has now become one blazing wreck.195
But some can swim, and land is near—196
And hope is strong, and so is fear ;197
And men dash down the vessel’s side,198
Or clinging to a rope they glide199
Beneath that burning vessel’s lea200
Into the waters, calm and free.201
Straight to the hazy shore they swim,202
With all the strength of will and limb,203
And love of life, which most can brace,204
A man who sees death face to face.205
Jean Brizieux was the first to leap206
Into the dark and awful deep.207
E’en ’midst that bold athletic throng,208
He was the strongest of the strong ;209
And, spite the heavy weight he felt210
From the gold sewn within his belt,211
He had no fear ; he saw the strand—212
Life, hope, and safety were at hand ;213
And darting forwards towards the coast,214
He was the foremost of that host.215
What was that faint cry calling “ Hold !”216
So faint and yet so piercing ?217
What is that white form on the wave,218
That gesture so appealing ?219
Oh ! turn not back, bold swimmer now !220
More than your gold—your life’s at stake !221
That voice again—more faint and low—222
“ Oh ! for the Blessed Virgin’s sake,223
Whose Son died for us, take the child !”224
A strong hand grasped the babe ; a wild,225
Impassioned blessing—last farewell—226
Came sounding in the swimmer’s ears,227
As the ship’s blazing rafters fell,228
And linger’s in his brain for years.229
The waves closed o’er the mother’s breast,230
Her arms were cross’d as if at rest ;231
Deeper and deeper sank her head,232
Pillow’d upon its ocean-bed.233
That floating form no more was seen,234
Till on the shore next day, at e’en,235
’Twas found the tide had wafted there236
A fair white corpse with flaxen hair.237
Whilst o’er the sea a lurid light238
The raging conflagration threw,239
Their desperate way the swimmers make240
Across the waters dark and blue.241
With throbbing brow and heaving chest,242
Why lags behind them Jean Brizieux ?243
And why from his pale livid lips244
Breaks forth the cry, “ Mon Dieu !— Mon Dieu !”245
The child ! the gold ! They drag him down ;246
The twofold burthen who could bear !247
“ Ay, gold is gold, and life is life !”248
His own words thunder in his ear.249
’Tis vain ! his arm no longer cleaves250
With wonted strength the yielding waves.251
The baby’s tightening grasp around252
His gasping throat the swimmer feels,253
And heavier near his heart the belt254
Which holds his gold ; one look he steals255
At the sweet smiling infant face ;256
One glance at Fortune’s sunny gleams ;257
One short brief struggle .... no, not that !258
He never for one instant dreams259
From his own shelt’ring arms to fling260
In the cold waves that living thing.261
The belt is loosed—the gold is gone !262
The man and child swim on alone !263
****
****
The deed which that true man had done264
Approving eyes had seen ;265
Full well ’twas felt by all how great266
The sacrifice had been.267
And when the wreck’d and ruin’d band268
Met on the lonely coast,269
They gather’d round their comrade brave,270
And made it all their boast,271
That one amongst them had preferr’d272
A human life to gold ;273
And vow’d that wheresoe’er they roved,274
Tho story should be told.275
More than a hundred fathers found276
The rescued babe that day.277
They called him “ Moses ;” all the crew278
Delight in turn to play279
With their new plaything—their new pet—280
Their little living toy ;281
’Twas strange how all those rude men loved282
The curly-headed boy.283
They fed him from their scanty stores—284
Their scraps of precious food,285
Brought from the burning ship whilst yet286
Her blacken’d rafters stood.287
And baby had the best, and ruled288
O’er all his nurses rough,289
Who never thought the little sprite290
Had care or love enough.291
They bore him in their arms each day,292
As o’er the desert strand293
They marched to San Gregorio’s port294
A sobered, saddened band.295
Jean Brizieux sailed direct for France,296
And worked his passage there ;297
His golden dreams were banished, all298
His castles in the air.299
A poorer, yet a richer man,300
He felt himself to be,301
His only wealth the little child302
He rescued from the sea.303
And when foreboding thoughts arose304
Of shame and durance vile,305
Of long dull prison days and nights,306
Uncheered by baby’s smile ;307
He gave the boy a hug, and said,308
“ Bah ! alors, comme alors !”309
And laughed to see the urchin crawl310
About the cabin-floor.311
****
Pour your snowy blossoms forth,312
Peach and pear and almond trees ;313
Hang your rosy garlands o’er,314
Wave them with yon waving breeze ;315
Follow, follow, gather flowers—316
Flowers of every shape and hue.317
Deck the church, and deck the bowers ;318
Sprigs of broom and pansies blue,319
Poppies, harebells, cowslips bright,320
Starry daisies, pink and white,321
With green leaves in garlands weave,322
’Tis the Annunciation Eve.323
Girls in snow-white caps are flying324
O’er the orchards, o’er the fields ;325
Boys in hills and woods are running ;326
Nature all her treasure yields.327
’Tis the great Feast of the Sisters ;328
’Tis the Annunciation Eve ;329
Garlands for St. Vincent’s altar,330
Hearts and hands unite to weave.331
“ O Sister Vincent ! sister dear,332
Come, sister, you are wanted here ;333
A weary footsore man has brought334
A child he picked up out at sea—335
The fairest, sweetest boy that e’er336
Your eyes or mine did ever see.”337
It was a touching sight to see338
Jean Brizieux’s honest face the while,339
The sisters gathered round the babe,340
And chafed its hands and made it smile.341
That baby bore a charmèd life ;342
Upon the distant desert shore,343
A hundred fathers he had found,—344
And now as many mothers more !345
Jean told his tale ; the sisters grieved,346
For the poor soul who died at sea ;347
Ma Sœur,* with her bright tranquil look,348
So calmly gay, so sweetly free,349
Into her own arms took the boy,350
Who laughed and played with her black beads.351
“ ’Tis Mary’s gift,” she said, and smiled,352
As one accustomed to good deeds.353
And Jean went on and slept that night354
Within a prison’s narrow cell ;355
And on his saddened ear next day356
The words of his hard sentence fell.357
To be imprisoned for twelve months,358
And then of martial service due,359
With heavy heart and blighted name,360
The weary, lengthy term go through.361
He bowed his head in mute assent,362
He urged no plea, made no defence,363
And owned it just the man should pay364
For the unheeding youth’s offence,365
But then, an aged grey-haired man—366
One of the veterans known to fame,367
A soldier of the “ Grande armée,”368
Whose title-deeds are in their name—369
Arose to plead the conscript’s cause.370
He did not do much more than tell371
His story as ’twas told to him ;372
He told it briefly, told it well.373
In a short speech he set against374
The boy’s offence, the man’s good deed ;375
He carried with him the whole court,376
And Jean’s acquittal was decreed.377
Loud deafening cheers the verdict hailed,378
And as the prisoner walked along,379
A thousand hearts, a thousand hands,380
Were raised to bless him ’midst that throng.381
In every mouth were words of praise,382
* In the order of St. Vincent de Paul, the Superior is distinguished by
the simple title of “Ma Sœur.”
the simple title of “Ma Sœur.”
And tears in every mother’s eyes.383
When round about St. Vincent’s home,384
The crowd have gathered, lustier cheers385
Break forth, “ Long live the sisters all !386
Long live the servants of the poor !387
Long live the man who spurned the gold,388
And brought the orphan child ashore.”389
Then Breton homes were open thrown390
To the good youth who did this deed,391
And scarce a man in all the town392
But craved to aid him in his need.393
Subscriptions were soon raised in Vannes,394
And all throughout the Morhiban,395
To pay a substitute, and stock396
A farm for the brave conscript Jean.397
It was a grand day when he made398
His entrance in his native place ;399
The news as quick as lightning spread,400
Joy beamed in every kindred face.401
The bells of the old church were rung,402
The youths went out with flag and band,403
The men all waved their hats and grasped,404
With rough goodwill, the wanderer’s hand.405
And maidens stood at cottage doors,406
To see Jacques Brizieux’s handsome son ;407
And hear and tell, with smile and blush,408
The generous deed the youth had done.409
And Marie Jeanne, “ la jolie blonde,”410
The village heiress, vowed that day,411
Did he but woo, to wed the man412
Who flung the glittering dross away.413
His father’s joys, his mother’s tears,414
’Tis not for lightsome verse to tell,415
Nor the deep thanksgivings offered416
In the church he loved so well.417
Hid beneath life’s common surface,418
Undiscerned by human eye,419
Depths of meaning strangely woven,420
In men’s stories often lie.421
Starting points, decisive hours,422
Stand as landmarks in their way,423
And eternity foreshadowed,424
Turns upon one act or day.425