Chapter 16

PROBABLY the most important historical event of the year '49was the discovery of gold in California, or rather, the greatWestern Exodus in pursuit of it. A restless desire possessedme to see something of America, especially of the Far West.

　　I had an hereditary love of sport, and had read and heardwonderful tales of bison, and grisly bears, and wapitis. Nobooks had so fascinated me, when a boy, as the 'Deer-slayer,'

　　the 'Pathfinder,' and the beloved 'Last of the Mohicans.'

　　Here then was a new field for adventure. I would go toCalifornia, and hunt my way across the continent. Ruxton's'Life in the Far West' inspired a belief in self-reliance andindependence only rivalled by Robinson Crusoe. If I couldnot find a companion, I would go alone. Little did I dreamof the fortune which was in store for me, or how nearly Imissed carrying out the scheme so wildly contemplated, orindeed, any scheme at all.

　　The only friend I could meet with both willing and able tojoin me was the last Lord Durham. He could not undertake togo to California; but he had been to New York during hisfather's reign in Canada, and liked the idea of revisitingthe States. He proposed that we should spend the winter inthe West Indies, and after some buffalo-shooting on theplains, return to England in the autumn.

　　The notion of the West Indies gave rise to an off-shoot.

　　Both Durham and I were members of the old Garrick, then but asmall club in Covent Garden. Amongst our mutual friends wasAndrew Arcedeckne - pronounced Archdeacon - a character towhom attaches a peculiar literary interest, of which anon.

　　Arcedeckne - Archy, as he was commonly called - was about acouple of years older than we were. He was the owner ofGlevering Hall, Suffolk, and nephew of Lord Huntingfield.

　　These particulars, as well as those of his person, are note-worthy, as it will soon appear.

　　Archy - 'Merry Andrew,' as I used to call him, - owned one ofthe finest estates in Jamaica - Golden Grove. When he heardof our intended trip, he at once volunteered to go with us.

　　He had never seen Golden Grove, but had often wished to visitit. Thus it came to pass that we three secured our cabins inone of the West India mailers, and left England in December1849.

　　To return to our little Suffolk squire. The description ofhis figure, as before said, is all-important, though theworld is familiar with it, as drawn by the pencil of a mastercaricaturist. Arcedeckne was about five feet three inches,round as a cask, with a small singularly round face and head,closely cropped hair, and large soft eyes, - in a word, solike a seal, that he was as often called 'Phoca' as Archy.

　　Do you recognise the portrait? Do you need the help of'Glevering Hall' (how curious the suggestion!). And wouldyou not like to hear him talk? Here is a specimen in hisbest manner. Surely it must have been taken down by ashorthand writer, or a phonograph:

　　MR. HARRY FOKER LOQUITUR: 'He inquired for Rincer and thecold in his nose, told Mrs. Rincer a riddle, asked MissRincer when she would be prepared to marry him, and paid hiscompliments to Miss Brett, another young lady in the bar, allin a minute of time, and with a liveliness and facetiousnesswhich set all these young ladies in a giggle. "Have a drop,Pen: it's recommended by the faculty, &c. Give the youngone a glass, R., and score it up to yours truly."'

　　I fancy the great man who recorded these words was moreafraid of Mr. Harry PHOCA than of any other man in theGarrick Club - possibly for the reason that honest Harry wasnot the least bit afraid of him. The shy, the proud, thesensitive satirist would steal quietly into the room,avoiding notice as though he wished himself invisible. Phocawould be warming his back at the fire, and calling for aglass of 'Foker's own.' Seeing the giant enter, he wouldadvance a step or two, with a couple of extended fingers, andexclaim, quite affably, 'Ha! Mr. Thackry! litary cove! Gladto see you, sir. How's Major Dobbings?' and likely enoughwould turn to the waiter, and bid him, 'Give this gent aglass of the same, and score it up to yours truly!' We havehis biographer's word for it, that he would have winked atthe Duke of Wellington, with just as little scruple.

　　Yes, Andrew Arcedeckne was the original of Harry Foker; and,from the cut of his clothes to his family connection, and tothe comicality, the simplicity, the sweetness of temper(though hardly doing justice to the loveableness of thelittle man), the famous caricature fits him to a T.

　　The night before we left London we had a convivial dinner atthe Garrick - we three travellers, with Albert Smith, hisbrother, and John Leech. It was a merry party, to which allcontributed good fellowship and innocent jokes. The latestarrival at the Zoo was the first hippopotamus that hadreached England, - a present from the Khedive. Someonewondered how it had been caught. I suggested a trout-fly;which so tickled John Leech's fancy that he promised to drawit for next week's 'Punch.' Albert Smith went with us toSouthampton to see us off.

　　On our way to Jamaica we stopped a night at Barbadoes tocoal. Here I had the honour of making the acquaintance ofthe renowned Caroline Lee! - Miss Car'line, as the negroescalled her. She was so pleased at the assurance that herfriend Mr. Peter Simple had spread her fame all the worldover, that she made us a bowl of the most delicious icedsangaree; and speedily got up a 'dignity ball' for ourentertainment. She was rather too much of an armful to dancewith herself, but there was no lack of dark beauties, (not awhite woman or white man except ourselves in the room.) Wedanced pretty nearly from daylight to daylight. The blendingof rigid propriety, of the severest 'dignity,' with thesudden guffaw and outburst of wildest spirits and comichumour, is beyond description, and is only to be met withamongst these ebullient children of the sun.

　　On our arrival at Golden Grove, there was a great turn-out ofthe natives to welcome their young lord and 'massa.' Archywas touched and amused by their frantic loyalty. But theirmode of exhibiting it was not so entirely to his taste. Notonly the young, but the old women wanted to hug him. 'Eigh!

　　Dat you, Massa? Dat you, sar? Me no believe him. Out o' deway, you trash! Eigh! me too much pleased like devil.' Theone constant and spontaneous ejaculation was, 'Yah! Massa toomuchy handsome! Garamighty! Buckra berry fat!' The latterattribute was the source of genuine admiration; but theobject of it hardly appreciated its recognition, and wavedoff his subjects with a mixture of impatience and alarm.

　　We had scarcely been a week at Golden Grove, when my twocompanions and Durham's servant were down with yellow fever.

　　Being 'salted,' perhaps, I escaped scot-free, so helpedArchy's valet and Mr. Forbes, his factor, to nurse and tocarry out professional orders. As we were thirty miles fromKingston the doctor could only come every other day. Theresponsibility, therefore, of attending three patientssmitten with so deadly a disease was no light matter. Thefactor seemed to think discretion the better part of valour,and that Jamaica rum was the best specific for keeping hisup. All physicians were SANGRADOS in those days, and whenthe Kingston doctor decided upon bleeding, the hystericalstate of the darky girls (we had no men in the bungalowexcept Durham's and Archy's servants) rendered them worsethan useless. It fell to me, therefore, to hold the basinwhile Archy's man was attending to his master.

　　Durham, who had nerves of steel, bore his lot with the grimstoicism which marked his character. But at one time thedoctor considered his state so serious that he thought hislordship's family should be informed of it. Accordingly Iwrote to the last Lord Grey, his uncle and guardian, statingthat there was little hope of his recovery. Poor Phoca wasat once tragic and comic. His medicine had to beadministered every, two hours. Each time, he begged andprayed in lacrymose tones to be let off. It was doing him nogood. He might as well be allowed to die in peace. If wewould only spare him the beastliness this once, on his honourhe would take it next time 'like a man.' We were inexorable,of course, and treated him exactly as one treats a child.

　　At last the crisis was over. Wonderful to relate, all threebegan to recover. During their convalescence, I amusedmyself by shooting alligators in the mangrove swamps atHolland Bay, which was within half an hour's ride of thebungalow. It was curious sport. The great saurians wouldlie motionless in the pools amidst the snake-like tangle ofmangrove roots. They would float with just their eyes andnoses out of water, but so still that, without a glass,(which I had not,) it was difficult to distinguish theirheads from the countless roots and rotten logs around them.

　　If one fired by mistake, the sport was spoiled for an hour tocome.

　　I used to sit watching patiently for one of them to showitself, or for something to disturb the glassy surface of thedark waters. Overhead the foliage was so dense that the heatwas not oppressive. All Nature seemed asleep. The deathlikestillness was rarely broken by the faintest sound, - thoughunseen life, amidst the heat and moisture, was teemingeverywhere; life feeding upon life. For what purpose? Towhat end? Is this a primary law of Nature? Does cannibalismprevail in Mars? Sometimes a mocking-bird would pipe itsweird notes, deepening silence by the contrast. But besidespestilent mosquitos, the only living things in sight werehumming-birds of every hue, some no bigger than a butterfly,fluttering over the blossoms of the orchids, or darting fromflower to flower like flashes of prismatic rays.

　　I killed several alligators; but one day, while stalking whatseemed to be an unusual monster, narrowly escaped anaccident. Under the excitement, my eye was so intently fixedupon the object, that I rather felt than saw my way.

　　Presently over I went, just managed to save my rifle, and, tomy amazement, found I had set my foot on a sleeping reptile.

　　Fortunately the brute was as much astonished as I was, andplunged with a splash into the adjacent pool.

　　A Cambridge friend, Mr. Walter Shirley, owned an estate atTrelawny, on the other side of Jamaica; while the invalidswere recovering, I paid him a visit; and was initiated intothe mysteries of cane-growing and sugar-making. As the greatsplit between the Northern and Southern States on thequestion of slavery was pending, the life, condition, andtreatment of the negro was of the greatest interest. Mr.

　　Shirley was a gentleman of exceptional ability, and full ofvaluable information on these subjects. He passed me on toother plantations; and I made the complete round of theisland before returning to my comrades at Golden Grove. Afew weeks afterwards I stayed with a Spanish gentleman, theMarquis d'Iznaga, who owned six large sugar plantations inCuba; and rode with his son from Casilda to Cienfuegos, fromwhich port I got a steamer to the Havana. The ride affordedabundant opportunities of comparing the slave with the freenegro. But, as I have written on the subject elsewhere, Iwill pass to matters more entertaining.