The Comstock Club Part 37

When it came time to go to the church, I supposed, of course, the young men would offer to escort the girls. Besides Mildred, Mabel and myself, Aunt Abigail, James' wife's grandmother had come down to the funeral. You know she is old now--past 73; she never was very pretty and coming down from the country her dress and bonnet--good land, she was a sight.

Mabel could not conceal her mortification, and I must say I should have been glad if she had not come.

As we stood up to go, the younger miner said gently: "Ashley, will you not see to Mrs. Wolcott?" and then he went up to Aunt Abigail and with as much kindly politeness as I ever saw displayed, asked her to lean upon him in the walk to the church. The other one gave me his arm, at the same time saying: "The young ladies are the nearer relatives, they should walk in front." His face was fair, but the arm I took was as hard as iron.

I said: "No matter, Mildred take the other arm of Mr. Ashley and Mabel take that of Mr. Harding!" This was done except that somehow in the confusion Mildred took the arm of Harding and Mabel sought the disengaged arm of Ashley.

At the church we were seated in the front pew, of course. You never saw such a crowd at a funeral. I noticed as we worked our way up the aisle, men there that had not been in a church before for years.

There were, besides, the Brown, the Smith and the Jones families who were never before known to attend an ordinary funeral.

I mention this merely to show how much James was respected.

The services were most impressive. The organ was played as we entered the church. When we were seated there was a short prayer, then a chant with organ accompaniment was rendered.

Professor Van d.y.k.e, the music teacher at the seminary, presided at the organ and Jane Emerson led the sopranos. She sang her best and people do tell me that they have paid money to hear women sing in concerts that could not sing as well as Jane Emerson. If Jane was only a little better looking and knew how to dress in better style and if her father only belonged to a better family, there would not be a young woman in Taunton with brighter prospects than hers.

Mr. Ashman's main prayer was a most touching one and it moved many in the congregation to tears. He preached from John, the fourteenth chapter and eighteenth verse.

"I will not leave you comfortless, I will come to you."

It was generally conceded that the sermon was one of the minister's best efforts since be preached in Taunton. Miss Hume who was present says she never heard a finer discourse in Boston.

The burden of the sermon was that the promise to send a comforter to the disciples was a promise made for all time, to those in sorrow, that if they would but ask, the comforter would come to them. When the sermon was over and the choir had sung again; the minister said, as many persons present would like to know the particulars of James' death he would read the account from the _Territorial Enterprise_, a paper published in Virginia City only a few miles from the Nevada mines. He said further that the report was written by a Mr. De Quille, who he presumed was a descendant of the distinguished family of France of that name, that the account showed that he was a very learned man and graphic writer, and such a man could only be retained by the receipt of an enormous salary.

He further explained that where the word shaft was used it meant a hole like a well which men sunk in order to get the rock out from underground that had silver in it, that drifts were places in the mines where the rock that had the silver in it lay in ridges like snow drifts; that stations were where men kept lunch stands for the miners, that tunnels were holes made in the shape of a funnel to get air down in the mine, that a winze was a corruption for windla.s.s, and cages were simply elevators, like those in use in hotels, but made like cages so that men could not fall out, that run up and down in the well.

You never at a revival saw a congregation so excited as that one was during the reading of that account. They tell me that men were as pale as death all over the house while the sobbing of women could be heard above the reading.

But our two miners never showed a bit of emotion and never seemed conscious that every eye in the church was on them. The only things I noticed were that during the singing the older one was softly beating time on his hymn book, and both moved a little uneasily in their seats when the minister was explaining the mining terms.

After the children had looked for the last time on their father's face, the young men who had been standing at the foot of the coffin, walked up to the head, one on each side. After a long gaze at James' face they turned facing each other and stretching out their hands, clasped hands a moment over the coffin. I suppose that is a custom among miners in the west.

Brother's body was buried beside that of his wife.

The young men remained in Taunton two weeks after the funeral.

We all went on a little excursion to Buzzards Bay and to Cape Cod. I never saw better behaved men, even those that come down from Boston, than those two miners. They received a great many attentions, too, here in Taunton and every day were obliged to decline invitations to dinner.

There is a story going around, but I do not believe it is true, that one morning early they went to a livery stable and asked for two wild horses, regular furies, that had thrown their riders the previous day, that they mounted them and the horses reared and plunged awfully but they rode rapidly out of town; that they were gone an hour and a half and when they returned the horses were covered with foam and seemed perfectly gentle.

Just before going away they came over one day to my house and telling the girls that they had received so many kindnesses from so many people that they wanted to make a little picnic festival in Mr. Hartwell's grounds, asked them to help suggest names for the invitations. The festival was to be the next afternoon. What do you think? That morning carpenters came and fixed benches and tables on the grounds, the three o'clock train brought the ---- Cornet Band from Boston, and at five o'clock in the afternoon the waiters in the ---- Hotel appeared, set the tables and waited on the guests. They had sent up to Boston for the dinner and I never saw anything like it in my life.

Mr. Hartwell says the expense must have been at least two hundred and twenty-five dollars. Those Western men are awfully extravagant.

Next morning they went away. The older one to Pennsylvania, where he will live hereafter, and the other one to California, where he has property. We have been real lonesome ever since they went away.

Mildred left us yesterday to return to school, and will graduate next June, she says on the day she is eighteen. Mabel, you know, was eighteen and a half when she graduated last June, but Mildred always was a little the most forward scholar of her age. Since the funeral the girls have purchased some beautiful clothing, and it would do your heart good to see them. My letter is pretty long but I could tell you as much more if I had time.

Your loving sister,

MARTHA WOLCOTT.

P. S.--I want to tell you a secret. I think that Ashley, the older miner, and Mabel have a liking for each other, though I don't know, except that I saw Ashley kiss Mabel as he was going away. All I can say is that if they should make a match, there would not be a handsomer couple in Ma.s.sachusetts. It is only a surmise on my part that they are fond of each other. After the young men had been gone for several hours I asked Mabel if there were any serious relations between her and Ashley, and she answered: "Not the least serious auntie, our relations are altogether pleasant."

M. W.

The next letter from Mrs. Wolcott to Mrs. Roberts read like this:

TAUNTON, Sept. 13th, 1879.

MY DEAR SISTER:--It is now almost a year since I wrote you the letter telling you of brother James' funeral and that I half suspected a fondness had sprung up between one of the men who came with the remains of James and Mabel. Well, I was correct in my suspicion for last Thursday they were married and left by the evening train for their future home in Pennsylvania. He has an iron mine in the mountains and reduction works at Pittsburg and is making money very fast. Their home is in Pittsburg.

I thought at first that I was mistaken because no letters came to Mabel, but it seems Mabel made a confident of her cousin George who is a conductor on a train which runs between here and Providence, he hired a box in the postoffice there, Mabel's letters were sent to that postoffice and George brought them to her. This was done to thwart the curiosity of the wife of the postmaster here. The postmaster himself is a good meaning man, but his wife is a real gossip and had frequent letters come from one place to Mabel the whole town would have known it in no time. When it was known that the girls had received a large amount of money the Browns, the Smiths and the Proctors, who had never called before, all came and begged Mabel, now that she had graduated, (look at the hypocrisy) to come out more in the world. Young Henry Proctor called several times and in less than a fortnight asked Mabel if he might not sit up with her on Sat.u.r.day nights. He is a very proud young man and it is said he will have twelve thousand dollars when he goes out for himself next year, but Mabel declined any particular attentions from him. She did the same thing with half a dozen more young men of the best families. I was perplexed. Of course I was in no hurry for Mabel to marry, but good opportunities for girls are none too plenty, so many young men go West, and when I saw her throw away chance after chance, and some of them so eligible, I was afraid she would be sorry sometime, for careless as girls are, they all expect sometime to be married. It went on so until six weeks ago when suddenly one evening Mabel said: "Auntie come go with me to Boston to-morrow." "What are you going to Boston for?" I asked. "There is a young man coming here to carry me away in a few weeks, Aunty, and I need a few things," said she.

"And who is the young man, Mabel?" I asked. "Herbert Ashley,"

was the answer, and then she fell on her knees and burying her face in my lap sobbed for joy. I cried a little, too, it was so sudden. "But when were you engaged?" I asked after she grew a little composed. "We have had a perfect understanding since the week after father's funeral," said she, and then added: "My heart followed him out of the house on that first day when I had only looked once in his eyes. Is he not grand, Auntie?"

"But why have you never told me?" I asked. Then she put her arms around me and said: "Because, dear Aunty, you know you could not have kept my secret." I was hurt at this, because every body knows how close mouthed I am. But I went to Boston and, what do you think? that girl spent over seven hundred dollars just for clothes. I remonstrated, but she cut me short, saying, "I am going with my king, and I must not disgrace his court." Did you ever hear such talk? When I was married I had just two merino dresses, one brown and one blue, four muslin dresses and some plain underclothing. But I had a beautiful feather bed that I had made myself, four comforters, two quilted bed spreads in small patterns, and a full set of dishes that cost six dollars and a half in Portland. Things are greatly changed since I was a girl. Well, Mr. Ashley came; he is a splendid man. Mabel slipped away with her cousin and went down to Providence to meet him. He brought Mabel jewelry that the best judges here think cost as much as a thousand dollars.

It is shameful, the extravagance of those Western men. Why, he gave the minister that married them fifty dollars, which you know yourself was a clear waste of forty-five dollars. Five dollars is certainly enough for five minutes work of a minister, especially if he and his wife are also given a fine supper. Mr. Ashley also gave Mildred some beautiful jewelry. It must have cost two hundred and fifty dollars, and he was most generous to me, too. On his wedding day he got five dispatches from the West; one from Illinois, two from Virginia City, Nevada, and two from California, congratulating him, and they must have cost the senders as much as fifty dollars. Thank goodness, they all came marked "paid." The wedding was in the church in the evening. It had been whispered around and the church was full. Land sakes, but they were a lovely couple.

Mabel's dress was white satin with princesse train of brocaded satin. The front of the skirt was trimmed with lace flounces, headed with garlands of lilies of the valley and orange blossoms. She wore also a long tulle veil, with orange blossoms in the hair. Her dress cost one hundred and fifty-three dollars and thirty-seven cents. I did not think the train was necessary and there was no need of a veil, leastwise not so long a one, but it was Mabel's wish to have them, so I did not object. Mrs.

White said she never saw a handsomer bride in Boston nor a more manly looking groom. I confess I was proud of them both. We had a quiet little party at my house and a supper, and at ten o'clock they went away by special train to Providence. Think of the foolishness of hiring a special train, when the regular train would have come by next morning. Mr. Ashley wanted to have what he called a "boss wedding;" wanted to ask half the town and, as he said, "shake up Taunton for once," but Mabel coaxed him out of the idea. He wanted me to sell or rent my place and with Mildred go and make his home mine, but I don't think that is the best way. Young married folks want to be let alone mostly, while they are getting acquainted with each other. Mildred has been home since she graduated in June. I think she has discouraged more men since she came home than ever Mabel did. She has improved greatly in her personal appearance and is a girl of most decided character. When she first came home we used to tease her about her beaux, but we do not any more. When the young men were here last year, after we got pretty well acquainted, one day when they had called Mildred took a sheet of paper and pen and going to Mr. Harding, said: "Mr. Harding, please write an inscription to put upon Father's monument." He took the pen and wrote: "The truest, best of men." Well, one day about a month ago Mildred had gone down town for something when Mabel wanting scissors, or thimble or something which she had mislaid, went to Mildred's work basket to get hers. There under some soft wools that Mildred had been working upon Mabel saw the end of a ribbon and picking it up drew out a locket which was attached to it. She could not control her curiosity but brought it to me. I gave Mabel liberty to open it though my sense of perfect justice was a good deal shocked. To tell the truth I was dying to see what was in it. Mabel opened it and inside there was nothing but that bit of paper with the words in Harding's hand-writing: "The truest, best of men." There were some stains on the paper but whether they were made by kisses or tears we could not make out though I put on my gold-rimmed spectacles, which are powerful magnifiers, and looked my best. Mabel put the locket back, but to this day there has not been a word said to give me any idea whether there is anything like an engagement or not.

Mildred is so quiet and self-contained that if her heart was breaking I do not believe she would say a word. I should be glad to think they were engaged, for privately, I liked Mr.

Harding a little the best, but if they had been it seems to me he would have been here to the wedding. I don't know when I have been so worked up about anything. If I was fifteen years younger, and I thought the majority of men in the West were like the two that I have seen, I would sell my place and go West, too.

Your affectionate sister,

MARTHA WOLCOTT.

P. S.--When Mr. Ashley was here he took the girls out to James'

grave. We had put up a plain stone but Mr. Ashley did not like it. When he came in he ordered the finest monument in the marble works. Those that have seen it say it is real Italian marble, and that it is handsomer than the one that the banker Sherman erected over his wife and that cost over five hundred and fifty dollars.

M. W.

This letter explains itself:

LOS ANGELES, Cal., March 20, 1880.

MY DARLING SISTER:--We reached our home here last night. While I write the perfume of almonds and orange blossoms, of climbing vines, and roses shedding their incense in lavish fragrance steals in through the open window. A mocking bird is mimicking an oriole's warblings, and I fancy I feel at this moment as do ransomed souls when amid the mansions of the redeemed they open their eyes and know that for them joy is to be eternal. You have always called me "Old Matter-of-Fact." Well, then, just imagine me sitting here half blinded by the tears of happiness that I can not restrain.

But let me tell you of my journey. You remember that though the sky was bright overhead--as bright as it can be in Pittsburg--on the morning that we were married, when we took the train in the evening it was snowing hard. Before morning the train was delayed by the snow. We worried along, however, and the next evening arrived at Peoria, Illinois. Here an old friend of my husband (is not that word husband lovely?) your husband and father's, with his wife met us at the depot and we had to go home with them and stay two days. The man's name is Carlin and he is "a splendid fellow," as they say out this way.

He was one of the Club to which our husbands belonged. He has a mill, store and farm a few miles from Peoria and seems to be the first man in that region. He has, too, a charming wife whom he calls "Susie d.i.c.k," and a six months' old baby which he calls "Brewster Miller Carlin." They are as hearty people in their friends.h.i.+p as I ever met. They asked all about your husband, and yourself, and I had to get out your photograph to convince them that you were far more beautiful than myself.

When we arrived Mr. Carlin sent out and got in some twenty couples, and to use his own expression, "we made a night of it," and "painted the town red," that is until midnight. They made me sing and play, and one old gentleman present made me proud, by telling me "you beat ord'nary primer donners." After the company retired Mr. Carlin asked me how I liked the old gentleman's p.r.o.nunciation, and then husband said the old gentleman knew as much about music as our minister in Taunton did about mining. Then he told Mr. Carlin what Mr. Ashman said about tunnels, drifts, stations, etc., and the man laughed until the tears ran down his cheeks. Well, at length, with blessings, presents, and packed lunch baskets, we got away. All through Illinois and Iowa the world was hid by the snow, we pa.s.sed Omaha, crossed Nebraska, climbed the Rocky Mountains and came down on this side, and swept across the desert of Nevada to Reno. Here we stopped and next day went to Virginia City. I wanted to visit the place where our father died. In Virginia City--which is a city on a desert mountain side--you cannot conceive of such a place--the wind was blowing a hurricane; blowing as at the old home, it comes in sometimes from the ocean in a southeaster. Husband took me to the fatal Bullion shaft. The men were just then changing s.h.i.+ft as they call it; the men who had worked eight hours were coming out of the mine, those who were to work the next eight hours were going down.

The shaft is half a mile deep and the cage loaded with nine men shoots up out of the dreadful gloom or drops back into it as though it were nothing. Many of the miners greeted husband warmly, and were hearty in their welcomes to me, though they were not enc.u.mbered by any great amount of clothing. I turned away from the shaft almost in a panic, I could not bear to took at it. But Virginia City is a wonderful place, I would tell you more of it, if you had not some one near you who can tell it much better than I can. We met a great many pleasant people there, especially a lawyer named Col. Savage, a journalist, a Mr. Strong and a Professor Stoneman. They met us like brothers and spoke of your Herbert as another brother. We left that same evening and returning to Reno started up the Sierras. I confess that a feeling of something like desolation took possession of me. The region was so dreary, it seemed to me that only my husband was between me and chaos. After leaving Reno a couple of hours, we entered the snow sheds and I went to sleep with a thought that I was under a mountain of snow. I wakened next morning in Sacramento and when I looked out the birds were singing and flowers were blooming around me. Before noon we reached San Francisco and drove to the Palace. There we were met by a gentleman named Miller, the one that made for father our money. He is very rich. He told husband that he had been "coppering" the market ever since he came to the city and had "taken every trick." Later I asked husband what "coppering"

meant and he smiled and said: "betting that it will not win." I do not quite understand it yet, but I know it is right for husband says so. This Mr. Miller told husband that he was going to make me a present and that he must not say a word at which Sammy said "go ahead." Then he handed me a little package but said I must not open it until I reached home. What do you think? It is a diamond cl.u.s.ter which the cost of must have been fifteen hundred dollars. In San Francisco I found the most delicious flowers I ever saw. Tell aunty, too, that there are no such hotels, as one or two in San Francisco, "not even in Boston." There are splendid churches and theatres. The Bay is beautiful, the park is going to be grand, the ladies dress most richly. We sailed over to Saucelito and San Rafael, looked out through the Golden Gate--in short, ran around for a week. Then we came directly home, reaching this place last night.

A charming supper was in waiting, and, all smiles, the Chinaman who prepared it was in attendance. His name is Yap Sing, and he has been with husband ever since his first return from the East. He was the cook for the Club which you have heard our husbands talk about, and of course knew father. He fairly ran over with joy at our coming, and such a cook as he is. I would like to hear what Aunt Martha would say to one of his dinners.

But husband pays him forty dollars a month. Is not that a dreadful price for a cook?

We have received good news since coming home. Husband's mine in Arizona is yielding him for his one-half interest twelve hundred and fifty dollars per month.

My house is a beautiful cottage, with broad halls and verandas, and is furnished elegantly all through.