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*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OVER THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS *** Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
R.M. Ballantyne "Over the Rocky Mountains"
Preface.

Note: Plan of this Miscellany.

There is a vast amount of interesting information, on almost all subjects, which many people, especially the young, cannot attain to because of the expense, and, in some instances, the rarity of the books in which it is contained.

To place some of this information, in an attractive form, within the reach of those who cannot afford to purchase expensive books, is the principal object of this Miscellany.

Truth is stranger than fiction, but fiction is a valuable assistant in the development of truth. Both, therefore, shall be used in these volumes. Care will be taken to insure, as far as is possible, that the facts stated shall be true, and that the impressions given shall be truthful.

As all classes, in every age, have proved that tales and stories, are the most popular style of literature, each volume of the series (with, perhaps, one or two exceptions) will contain a complete tale, the heroes and actors in which, together with the combination of circumstances in which they move, shall be more or less fictitious.

In writing these volumes, the author has earnestly endeavoured to keep in view the glory of God and the good of man.

Chapter One. Describes Home-Coming, and shows that Matters whispered in the Drawing-Room are sometimes loudly proclaimed Below-Stairs.

It was late on a winter evening when our hero, William Osten, arrived in England, in company with his two friends and former messmates, Bunco and Larry Oā€™Hale.

When a youth returns to his native land, after a long absence which commenced with his running away to sea, he may perhaps experience some anxieties on nearing the old home; but our hero was not thus troubled, because, his father having died during his absence, and his mother having always been tender-hearted and forgiving, he felt sure of a warm reception.

Our hero was so anxious to see his mother, that he resolved to travel by the night-coach to his native town of Bā€”, leaving his companions to follow by the mail in the morning. Railways, although in use throughout the country, had not at that time cut their way to the town of Bā€”. Travellers who undertook to visit that part of the land did so with feelings somewhat akin to those of discoverers about to set out on a distant voyage. They laid in a stock of provisions for the journey, and provided great supply of wraps for all weathers. When Will Osten reached the coach-office, he found that all the inside places were taken.

ā€œYouā€™ll have to go aloft, sir,ā€ said the coachman, a stout and somewhat facetiously inclined individual, who, observing something of the sailor in Willā€™s costume and gait, suited his language to his supposed character; ā€œthereā€™s only one berth left vacant, on the fogsā€™l ā€™longside oā€™ myself.ā€

ā€œWell, Iā€™ll take it,ā€ said Will.

Five minutes afterwards the guard shouted ā€œall right,ā€ and they set off.

ā€œDo you happen to know many of the people in the town of Bā€”?ā€ said Will to the coachman, as they emerged from the suburbs and dashed out upon a long tract of moorland.

ā€œKnow many of ā€™em, sir,ā€ said the man, tipping the off-leader on the flank by way of keeping his hand in; ā€œI should ā€™ope I does; itā€™s two year, this very day, since I came to this ā€™ere part oā€™ the country, and Iā€™ve got married in Bā€” to a ā€™ooman as knows everythink and everybody, so, of course, I knows everythink and everybody, too.ā€

ā€œThen you have heard of a Mrs Osten, no doubt, a widow lady?ā€ said Will.

ā€œWot, the widder oā€™ that grumpy old genā€™lman as died last year, leavinā€™, they say, a big estate in furrin parts?ā€

Will felt a tendency to seize the man by the throat, and tumble him off his box into the road, but on second thoughts he restrained himself and saidā€”

ā€œShe is the widow of a gentleman with whom I was intimately acquainted. I did not know anything about his having estates abroad.ā€

ā€œI axe your pardon, sir,ā€ said the man, a little abashed by Willā€™s grave manner; ā€œdidnā€™t know they wos friends of yours. No offence, I ā€™ope. The old lady is raither low since her husbandā€™s deathā€”for it wos somewhat suddenā€”anā€™ they do say sheā€™s never got over the runninā€™ away of her only sonā€”at least so my wife says, anā€™ she ought to know, for sheā€™s bin intimate with the family for many years, anā€™ knows the ooman as nussed the boyā€”ā€

ā€œWhat, Maryann?ā€ exclaimed Will.

ā€œThe same. You seems to know ā€™em all, sir.ā€

ā€œYes, I know them well. Is Maryann still with myā€”with Mrs Osten?ā€

ā€œYes, sir, she is, anā€™ wotā€™s more, she aint likely to quit in a ā€™urry. Wā€™y, sir, that ā€™ooman ā€™as ā€™ad no fewer than six hoffers of marriage, anā€™ ā€™as refused ā€™em all for love of the old lady. My wife, she says to me the other night, when she wos a-washinā€™ of the baby in the big bread canā€”you see, sir, the washinā€™ tubā€™s gone and sprung a leak, anā€™ so weā€™re redoosed to the bread canā€”Well, as I wos a-sayinā€™, my wife says to meā€”ā€˜Richards,ā€™ says she, ā€˜itā€™s my belief that Marryhann will never marry, for her ā€™art anā€™ soul is set upon Mrs Osten, anā€™ sheā€™s got a strange feelinā€™ of sartinty that Master Will, as she calls the runaway boy, will come back to comfort ā€™is mother anā€™ look arter the furrin estates. No, Richards, mark my words, Maryhann will never marry.ā€™ā€

ā€œā€˜It may be so, Jemimar,ā€™ says I,ā€”Did you speak, sir?ā€ said the coachman, turning sharp round on hearing Will utter an exclamation of surprise.

ā€œIs your wifeā€™s name Jemima?ā€

ā€œYes, it is; dā€™you ā€™appen to know her, too?ā€

ā€œWell, I think I do, if she is the same person who used to attend upon Mrs Ostenā€”a tall andā€”thinā€”and andā€”somewhatā€”ā€

ā€œStiff sort of womanā€”hout with it, sir, youā€™ll not ā€™urt my feelins. I didnā€™t marry Jemimar for her beauty, no, nor yet for her money nor her youth, for she aint young, sirā€”older than myself a long way. I took her for her worth, sir, her sterlinā€™ qualities. You know, sir, as well as I do, that it aint the fattest anā€™ youngest ā€™osses as is the best. Jemimar is a trump, sir, without any nonsense about her. Her capacity for fryinā€™ ā€™am, sir, anā€™ bilinā€™ potatoes is marvellous, anā€™ the way she do dress up the baby (weā€™ve only got one, sir) is the hadmiration of the neighbourā€™ood.ā€

ā€œYou said something just now about the deceased Mr Ostenā€™s estate. Can you tell me how he came by it?ā€

ā€œNo, sir, I canā€™t. Thatā€™s the only thing that my wife ā€™as failed to fathom. Thereā€™s somethink mysterious about it, I think, for Missis Hosten she wonā€™t speak to Marryhann on the subjecā€™, anā€™ all she knows about it is that the lawyer says thereā€™s an estate somewheres in furrin parts as needs lookinā€™ arter. The lawyer didnā€™t say that to Maryhann, sir, of course, but sheā€™s got a ā€™abit of hairinā€™ ā€™er ears at keyā€™oles anā€™ overā€™ears things now anā€™ then.ā€

Further conversation on this point was here stopped by the arrival of the coach at the end of a stage, and when the journey was resumed with fresh horses, Will felt inclined to sleep. He therefore buttoned up his coat tight to the chin, fixed his hat well down on his brows, and put himself into one of those numerous attitudes of torture with which ā€œoutsidesā€ were wont to beguile the weary hours of night in coaching days. When the sun rose next morning, Will was still in that state of semi-somnolence which causes the expression of the countenance to become idiotic and the eyes owlish. At last the chimneys of his native town became visible, and in a short time he found himself standing before the well-remembered house tapping at the old door, whose panelsā€”especially near the footā€”still bore the deep marks of his own juvenile toes.

It is not necessary to drag the reader through the affecting scene of meeting between mother and son. Two days after his arrival we find them both seated at tea in the old drawing-room drinking out of the old mug, with the name ā€œWilliamā€ emblazoned on it, in which, in days gone by, he was wont to dip his infantine lips and nose. Not that he had selected this vessel of his own free will, but his mother, who was a romantic old lady, insisted on his using it, in order to bring back to her more vividly the days of his childhood, and Will, in the fulness of his heart, said he would be glad to drink tea out of the coal-scuttle if that would give her pleasure. The good lady even sent to the lumber-room for the old arm-chair of his babyhood, but as neither ingenuity nor perseverance could enable him to squeeze his stout person into that, he was fain to content himself with an ordinary chair.

ā€œNow, dear mother,ā€ said Will, commencing the fifth slice of toast, under pressure (having eaten the fourth with difficulty), ā€œyou have not yet told me about this wonderful estate which everybody seems to know of except myself.ā€

ā€œAh! darling Will,ā€ sighed Mrs Osten, ā€œI have avoided the subject as long as possible, for I know it is to be the cause of our being separated again. But there is no help for it, because I promised your dear father when he was dying that I would tell you his wishes in regard to it, and that I would not attempt to dissuade you from doing your duty. Well, you remember uncle Edward, I suppose?ā€

ā€œHis nameā€”yes,ā€ said Will, ā€œbut I never knew anything else about him. I had nothing to remember or to forget, except, indeed, that he got the name of being a wild scapegrace, something like myself!ā€

ā€œLike yourself, darling,ā€ exclaimed the old lady, with a look of indignationā€”ā€œno indeed! Have not you repented and come back, like a good prodigal son; and didnā€™t the dear beautiful letter that you wrote from that awful islandā€”whatā€™s its nameā€”where you were all but eaten aliveā€”ā€

ā€œThe coral island,ā€ suggested Will.

ā€œYes, the coral islandā€”didnā€™t that dear letter give more delight to your beloved father than any letter he ever received in his life, and more than made up to him for your running away, and cheered him to his last hour, whereas uncle Edward was wicked to the lastā€”at least so it is said, but I donā€™t know, and itā€™s not right to speak ill of the dead. Well, as I was going to say, uncle Edward died in some outlandish place in North America, I never can remember the name, but itā€™s in the papers, so youā€™ll see itā€”somewhere on the other side of the something mountainsā€”I forgetā€”ā€

ā€œRocky, perhaps.ā€

ā€œYes, thatā€™s it, the Rocky Mountains, and I wish they were not so rocky, for your sake, darling, for youā€™ve got to go there and take possession (or serve yourself heir to, or something of that sort) of the property. Not that itā€™s large, so they say (I wish with all my heart it did not exist at all), but they tell me there is gold on it, though whether it is lying on the fields or down in holes Iā€™m sure I donā€™t know, and oh dear, I donā€™t care, for it entails your going away again, my darling boy.ā€

Here the poor old lady broke down, and, throwing her arms round Willā€™s neckā€”regardless of the fact that in so doing she upset and broke one of her best china tea-cupsā€”wept upon his bosom.

Such was the manner of the announcement of the news in the drawing-room.

In the kitchen the same subject was being discussed by a select party, consisting of Maryann, Mr Richards the coachman, his spouse Jemimaā€”formerly Scrubbinsā€”the baby Richardsā€”who has already been referred to as being reduced in the

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