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A Buckeye Hollow
Inheritance
By Bret Harte >? Jl 'Romance of the Early Weft
HE four men on the
I “Zip Coon” Lodge had
not got fairly settled to
their morning’s work.
There was the usual lin
gering hesitation which
is apt to attend the tak
ing up of any regular or
monotonous perform
ance, shown in this in
stance in the prolonged
scrutiny of a pick s
point, the solemn selec
tion of a. shovel, or tho
•‘hefting” or weighing
of a tapping iron or
drill. One member be
coming interested in a
funny "paragraph he found in a scrap of
newspaper wrapped around his noon<la\
cheese, shamelessly sat down to finish it
regardless of the prospecting pan thrown
at him by another. They had taken up
their daily routine of mining life like
school boys at their tasks.
•'Hello!' said Ned Wvngate, joyously
recognizing a possible further interrup
tion. * 1 Jllamed if the express rider ain't
coming here!”
He was shading his eyes with his hand
as he gazed over the broad, sun-baked
expanst of broken **ilat* between them
and the high road. They all looked up
and saw tiie figure of a mounted man
with a courier's bag thrown over his
shoulder galloping toward them. It was
really an event, as their letters were usu
ally left at the grocery at the cross roads.
”J knew something was going to hap
pen,” said W vngate. "I didn't feel a bit
]ik<‘ work this morning.”
Hen- uiu oi their number ran off to
meet the advancing horseman. They
watched until they saw the latter rein
up ami hand brown envelope to their
messenger, who rail breathlessly hack
with it to the Ledge as the horseman gal
loped away again.
"A telegram for Jackson Wells,” lip
said, handing it to the young man, who
had been reading the scrap of paper.
There was a dead silence. Telegrams
were expensive rarities in those days, es
pecially with the youthful bohemian
min.os cr the yro < cor Ledge. They
Were burning with curiosity, yet a sing
ular thing happened. Accustomed as they
bad been to a life of brotherly familiari-
i' and unceremoniousness, this porten
tous message from the outside world of
civilization recalled their old formal po
liteness. They looked steadily away from
tin receiver of the telegram, and he, on
his part, stammered an apologetic, “Ex
cuse me, boys, as lie brol%e the envelope.
There was another pause, which seemed
to be interminable to the waiting partners.
Then the voice of Wells, in quite natural
tones, said: "By gum! That's funny!
Bead that. Dexter—read it out loud.”
Dexter Rice, the foreman, took .the prof
fered telegram from Wells's hand and
read as follows: “Your uncle, Quincy
Wells, died yesterday, leaving you sole
heir. \\ ill attend you tomorrow for in
structions Maker & Twiggs, attorneys,
Sacramento."
The three miners' faces lightened and
tul ed joyously to Wells. But his face
looked puzzled.
“Hay we congratulate you, Mr. Wells,”
said Wvngate with affected politeness,
“or possibly your uncle may have been
English, and a title goes with the. ‘prop.’
and you may be Lord Wells, or Very
Wells—ai least.”
But here Jackson Wells’s youthful face
lost its perplexity, and he began to laugh
long and silently to himself. This was
protracted to such an extent that Dexter
asserted himself, as foreman and senior
partner.
"Look hero. Jack! don't sit there cat.k-
1‘fig like a chuckle-headed magpie—if you
are the heir.”
"■I—cant'—help it.” gasped Jackson, “I
am the heir—but you see, boys, there ain't
any property.”
“What do you mean? Is all that a sell?”
demanded Rice.
“Not much—telegraph's too expensive
for that sort o' feelin'. You see, boys,
I've got an Uncle Quincy—though 1 don’t
know him much—and he may lie dead. But
his whole llxin's consisted of a claim the
size of ours and played out long ago. a
ramshaekled lot o’ sheds called a cottage
and u kind of market garden of about
three acres, where he reared and sold
vegetables. He was always poor and as
for calling it 'property' and me the 'heir!'
—good Lord!”
"A miser as sure as you’re born!” said
Wyngate with optimistic, decision. "That's
always the way. You’ll find every crack
of that blessed oYl shed stuck full of
greenbacks anrl certificates of deposit,
and lots of gold dust and coin buried all
over that cow patch! And, of course, no
one suspected il! And. of course, he lived
all alone, and never let any one get into
his house—and nearly starved himself!
J.ior.1 love yon! There’s hundreds of such
cases. The world is full of 'em!”
“That’s so!” chimed in Pulaski Briggs,
the fourth partner, “and I tell you what!
Jacksy. we’ll come over with you the day
you take possession and just ‘prospect’
the whole blamed shanty, pig styes and
potato patch for fun—and won't charge
you anything.”
For a moment Jackson’s face had real
ly brightened under the infection of en
thusiasm, but it presently settled into per
plexity again.
“No! You bet the boys around Buck
eye Hollow would have spotted anything
like that long ago.”
“Buckeye Hollow!” repeated Rice and
his partners.
“Yes! Buckeye Hollow—that’s the place;
not twenty miles from here—and a God
forsaken hole—as you know.”
A cloud had settled on Zip Goon Ledge.
They knew of Buckeye Hollow, and it
was evident that no good had ever yet
come out of that Nazareth.
“There’s no use of talking now,” said
Rice conclusively. “You'll draw it all
say it. For he's that tender-hearted and
keerless of money—having his own share
In this Ledge—that cf that girl came
whimperin' to him he’d let her take the
‘prop’—and let the hull thing slide! And
then he'd remember that ho had reward
ed that gal that broke the old man’s
heart—and that would upset him again
in his work. And there you see. is just
where we come in! And we say, ‘Hang
on to that will like grim death!’ ”
The lawyer looked curiously at Rice
and his companions, and then turned to
Wells. “Nevertheless. 1 must look to you
for instructions.” he said drily.
Bv this time Jackson Wells—although
really dubious about supplanting the or
phan-had gathered the sense of his part
ners. and said with a frank show of de
cision. “I think I must stand by the will.”
“Then I’ll have it proved,” said Twiggs,
rising. “In the meantime, if there is any
talk of contesting—”
“If there is. you might say.” suggested
Wyngate. who felt he had not had a fair
show in the little comedy, “ye might say
to that old skeesicks of a wife’s brother
If he wants to nipple In. that there are
four men on the Ledge—and four revolv
ers! We are gin’rally far-minded, peace
ful men, but when an old man's heart is
broken in. sorrow to the grave, so to
sneak, we’re hound to attend the funeral.
Sabe ?”
When Mr. Twiggs had departed again,
accompanied bv a partner to guide him
past the. dangerous shoals of Tomlinson’s
Grocery. Rice clapped his hand on Wells's
shoulder. “If it hadn't been for me. son
ny. that shark would have landed you
into some compromise with that red-
haired gal! T saw you weakenin', and
then I chipped in. I mav have piled up
the agony a little on your love for old
Quince, boat if you aren’t an ungrateful
cub. that’s how you ought to hev been
feelin’. anyhow!” Nevertheless the
youthful Wells, although touched by his
elder partner’s loyalty and convinced of
h:s own disinterestedness, felt a painful
sense of lost chivalrous opportunily.
On mature consideration it was finally
settled that Jackson Wells should make
his preliminary examination of his in
heritance alone, as it might seem incon
sistent with the previous indifferent atti
tude of his partners if they accompanied
Ijim. But he was implored to yield, to no
blandishments of the enemy and to even
make his visit a secret.
He went. The familiar flower-spiked
tree which had given its name to Buck
eye Hollow had never yielded entirely to
improvements and the incursions of min
ing enterprise, and many of them had
even survived 1he disused ditches, the
scarred flats, the discarded levels, ruined
flumes and roofless cabins of the earlier
occupation, so that when Jackson Wells
entered the wide, straggling street of
“Buckeye,” that summer morning was
filled with the radiance of its blossoms
and fragrant with their incense. Tils first
visit there ten years ago had been a pure
ly perfunctory and hasty one, yet he re
membered the ostentatious note), built
In the “flush time" of its prosperity, and
already in a green premature decay; he
recalled the express ofiice and town hall,
also passing away in a kind of similar
green deliquescence: the little zinc church
now overgrown with fern and brambles.
and the two or three fine, substantial
houses in the outskirts which seemed to
have sucked the vitality of the little set
tlement. One of these, he had heen told,
was the property of his rich and wicked
maternal untile—the hated appropriator of
his red-headed cousin’s affections. He
recalled his brief visit to the departed
■ testator's claim and market garden, and
his by no means favorable impression of
the lonely crabbed old man, as well as
his relief that his objectionable cousin,
whom he had not seen since he was a
boy, was then absent at the rival uncle’s.
He made his way across the road to a
sunny slope where the market garden of
three acres seemed to roll like a river of
green rapids to a little “run" or brook,
which, even in the dry season, showed a
trickling rill. But here he was struck by
a singular circumstance. The garden rest
ed in a rich alluvial soil, and under the
quickening Californian sky had developed
far beyond the ability of its late culti
vator to restrain or keep it in order.
Everything had grown luxuriously and in
monstrous size and profusion. The gar
den had even trespassed its bounds and
impinged upon the open road, the desert
ed claims and the ruins of the past. Stim
ulated by the little cultivation Quincy
Wells had found time to give it, it had
leaped its three acres and rioted through
the hollow. There were scarlet runners
crossing the abandoned siuiees, peas
climbing the courthouse wall, strawber
ries matting the trail, while the seeds and
pollen of Its few homely eastern flowers
had been blown far and wide through the
woods. By a grim satire nature seemed to
Continued on last pa^e
The Southern Yacht Club of
New Orleans ^
Jocclinda's muflang caught by the saddle Its unfortunate miflrexs
lying upon the strawberry bed.
from that lawyer shark who's coming here
tomorrow, and you can bet your life he
wouldn’t have taken this trouble if there
wasn’t suthin’ in it. Anyhow, we’ll knock
off work now and call it half a day—in
honor of our distinguished young friend’s
accession to his baronial estates of Ruck-
eye Hollow. We’ll just toddle down to
Tomlinson’s at the Cross Roads and have
a nip and a quiet game of old sledge at
Jacksey’s expense—I reckon the estate’s
good for that,” he added with severe
gravity. “And, speaking as a fair-minded
man and the president of yer company,
if Jackson would occasionally take out
and air that telegraphic dispatch of his
while we're at Tomlinson’s, it might do
something for that company's credit—with
Tomlinson! We’re wantn’ some new blast
ing plant bad!”
Oddly enough, the telegram—accident
ally—shown at Tomlinson's produced a
gratifying effect—and the Zip Coon Ledge
materially advanced in public estimation.
With this possible infusion of new capital
into its resources, the company was beset
by offers of machinery and goods and
it was deemed expedient by the sapient
Riee that to prevent the dissemination of
any more accurate information regarding
Jackson's property the next day, the law
yer should be met at the stage office by
one of the members, and conveyed se
cretly past Tomlinson's to the Ledge. “I'd
let you go,” he said to Jackson, “only
it won't do for that d—d skunk of a law
yer to think you're ino anxious—sabe?
We want to rub into him that we are in
the habit out yer of havin’ things left
to us—and a fortin’, more or less, falling
into us now and then ain’t nothin’ along
side of the Zip Coon claim. It won’t hurt
ye to keep up a big bluff on that hand
of yours. Nobody would dare to ‘can’
you.”
Indeed, this idea was carried nut with
such elaboration the next day that Mr.
Twiggs, the attorney, was considerably
impressed both by the conduct of Ins
guide who (although burning with curios
ity) expressed absolute indifference, and
the calmness of Jackson himself, who
had to Ire ostentatiously called from his
work on the Ledge to meet him and who
even gave him an audience in the hearing
of his partners. Forced into an apolo
getic attitude, he expressed his regret
at being obliged to bother Mr. Wells with
an affair of such secondary importance,
but lie was obliged to carry out the for
malities of the law.
“What do you suppose the estate is
worth?” asked Wells carelessly.
“I should not think that the house, the
claim and the land would bring more
than $1,500.” .replied Twiggs submissively.
To the impecunious owners of Zip Coon
Ledge it seemed a large sum, but they
did not show it. “You see.” continued
Mr. Twiggs, “it’s really a case 'of ‘will
ing away’ property from its obvious or
direct inheritors—instead of a beneficial
grant. 1 take it that you and your uncle
were not particularly intimate, at least
so I gathered when I made tin* will, and
his simple object was to disinherit his
only daughter with whom he had some
quarrel, and who had left him to live
with his late wife's brother. Air. Morley
Brown, who is quite wealthy and resid
ing in the. same township. Perhaps you
remember the young lady?”
Jackson Wells had a dim recollection
of this cousin—a hateful, red-haired
schoolgirl—and an equally unpleasant
memory of this other uncle, who was
pi rse proud, had never taken any notice
of him. lie answered affirmatively.
“There may be some attempt to con
test the will,” continued Air. Twiggs, “as
the disinheriting of an only child and a
daughter offends the sentiment o? the
people and of judges and jury, and the
law makes such a will invalid, unless a
reason is given. Fortunately your uncle
has placed Ills reasons on record. I have
a copy of the will here, and can show
you the clause.” He took it from his
pocket and read as follows; “I exclude my
daughter. Jocelinda Wells, from any
benefit or provision of this, my last will
and testament, for the reason that she
has voluntarily abandoned her father's
roof for the house of her mother's broth
er. Morley Brown; has preferred the
fieshpots of Egypt to the virtuous fru
galities of her own home, and has dis
carded the humble friends of her youth
and tlie associates of her father for the
meretricious and slavish sympathy of
wealth and position. In lieu thereof, and
j as compensation therefor. I do hereby
give and bequeath to her my full and
free permission to gratify her frequently
expressed wish for another guardian in
place of myself, and to become the
adopted daughter of the said Morley
Brown with the privilege of assuming
tin name of Brown as aforesaid." “You
see." he continued, “as the young lady’s
present position is a better one than it
would be if she were in her father's
house, and was evidently a compromise,
the sentimental consideration of her be
ing left homeless and penniless falls to
the ground. However, as the inheritance
is small, and might be of little account
to you, if you choose to waive it I dare-
sav we may make some arrangement.”
This was an utterly unexpected idea to
the Zip Coon Company and Jackson
Wells was for a moment silent. But
Dexter ltice was equal to the emergency
anil turned to the astonished lawyer with
severe dignity. “You'il excuse me for
interferin’, but as the senior partner of
this y. r Ledge, and Jackson Wells yer.
bein' a most important member, what af
fects his usefulness on this claim, affects
us. And we propose to carry out this yer
will, with all its dips and spurs and an
gles!"
As the surprised Twiggs turned from
one tu the other Rice continued: “Ez far
as we kin understand this little game it's
the just punishment of a high-flying girl
as breaks her pore old father’s heart and
the reward of a young feller ez has bin
to out knowledge ez devoted a nephew as
they make ’em. Time and time again,
silting around our campfire at night,
we've hearil Jacksy say. kinder to him
self and kinder to us. ‘Now T wonder
what’s gone o’ old Uncle Quincy?’ and he
never sat down to a square meal or ever
rose from a square game, but what he
alius said. ‘If old Uncle Quince was only
here now. boys. I’d die happy. 1 leave it
to you. gentlemen, if that wasn’t Jack-
son Wells’ gait till the time? There was
a prolong/i murmur of assent and an af-
licting corroboration from Ned Wyn-
gate of. ‘That was him—that was Jacksy
all the time.”
“Indeed, indeed.” said the lawyer, ner
vously. “1 had quite the idea that there
was very little fondness—”
Not. on your side—not on youir side.”
said Riee. quickly. “Uncle Quincy may
not have anted up in this matter o’ feel-
ln nor seer, his nephew’s rise. You know
j how it is yourself in these things—Itelng
ti lawyer and a far-minded man— it’s all
on one side, ginerally! There's always
one who loves and sacrifices and ail that,
and there s always one who rakes in the
Pt>‘! That’s the way o’ the world, and
that s why.” continued Rice, abandoning
his slightly philosophical attitude and
laving his hand tenderly and yet with a
singularly significant grip on Wells’s arm,
“we say to him, ‘Hang on to that will and
Uncle Quincy’s memory. And we hev to
rrattas bring
N the Southern Yacht
Club New Orleans has
tho oldest, largest and
most successful organi
zation of the kind on
the gulf coast. Both as a
yacht club and as a so
cial organization the
Southern Is a great
success, and it contrib
utes materially to tho
pleasures of summer
lifa in Now Orleans.
Its weekly' receptions,
“hop” and other enter
tainments are- among
the. most enjoyable fes-
v: ST.TTiiYu r. and its re-
yachts not only from
all points on the gulf const, but from
New York and the north Atlantic sea-
coast cities, and its cruises along the
gulf coast of Louisiana, Alississinpi, Ala
bama anfi Florida aril even to Cuba af-
li.rd a week or more of tho most exquis
ite delight to hundreds of people.
In this respect of a yacht club New Or
leans Is probably better situated than
any city in the world. Lying as it does
liet,went two bodies of water—the Atissis-
sippi river and Lake Pontchartrain—there
is no conflict between commerce and
pleasure, between vessels employed in
trade and the yachts and other vessels
for enjoyment. Its commercial vessels
lie along the river front; tHe rear of the
city on the lake is given up to yachting,
fishing, rowing and sport generally. The
Southern Yacht‘Club building lies at the
mouth of tiie new canal, at West End,
the Coney Island of the city. It is less
than six miles from the heart of the city,
anti can be reached in a few minutes by
the West End trolley line or over the
famous “shell road,” if one prefers driv
ing. or one can sail from the city direct
by way of the new canal near it, and
only a few hundred feet away is West
End, with its numerous hotels, restau
rants, summer theaters, etc., and opposite
it are the boathouses of the Louisiana, St.
John, West End and other rowing clubs.
In stimmer the Revetment levee, which
stretches front the new canal to the
city limits! fronting Lake Pontchartrain,
and laid out as a garden, with ever
green trees and shrubbery, is crowded
with people, and the scene is as gay and
bright as can be found anywhere, in the*
world.
Then, for the water, the lake at the
Southern Yacht Club house Is deep enough
for the largest pleasure yacht afloat. Al
most landlocked, it affords a splendid
sailing ground, for it is some forty miles
long by twenty-five miles broad, and al
most wholly free frem commercial ves
sels that would interfere with yachting.
Through Bayou Alancl-ae north one sails
into Lake Alaurcpa; to the south through
the Rigolets into Lake Borgue, and thence,
into Alississinpi sound. All along the
coast are attractive watering places—
Mandevllle. Lanserug, Madisonville, Bay
St. Louis. Waveland, Pass Christian,
Biloxi, Scranton and a host of others—at
which pleasant stops can be made, for
all are well provided with hotels, and ire
very gay in summer with people from
New Orleans, Mobile and th ? south; and
in the winter with visiters from the north
and northwest, who come to the gjir
coast to enjoy its warm and invigorating
breeze.
Yvitli these advantages, it is doubtful if
any other city is so favorably placed for
yachting as New Orleans; and it is not
to be wondered at that yachting should
be so popular a sport there.
The Southern Yacht Club is the oldest
organization of its kind In the country,
with the single exception of the New York
A'acht Club; and it will this year cele
brate Its fifty-second birthday. It is
1 radically even older, for it is the legiti
mate successor of the Stingaree Club,
composed of a number of Orleanans who,
in the early forties, were in the habit of
making yachting cruises along the gulf
coast. So pleasant and enjoyable was
the cruise taken by these gentlemen In
1849, that they resolved to change their
cruising club into a regular yacht club,
and with the balance they had accumula
ted to buy boats. Thus, on July 21, 1849,
v.as organized the Southern Yacht Club,
Harry Sarestud^
First Comiaodori of S C
with Ilarry Rarestude as its first commo
dore.
The c!ul) was a success from the very
start, and soon numbered many fast-
sailing yachts. It devoted itself, how
ever. mainly to cruises, after the style
of the old Stingaree Club, rather titan
to regattas. These cruises were taken
in Alay. and either along the Louisiana or
Alississippi coast. The size of the yachts
and pleasure boats was much smaller
than they are today, and the appoint
ments would bo very meager compared
with the luxurious yacht life of today.
The civil war naturally suspended
yachting in New Orleans, although the
Southern Yacht Club continued its ex
istence; but soon after the war it
closed. It was in 1S78, however, that it
received its greatest impetus. West Plttd
had just been built up and had become
a great pleasure resort for tiie people of
New Orleans. The Southeith Yacht Club
appreciated the situation and built a
splendid clubhouse at the end of the
New canal along the West End levee.
This clubhouse was large, commodious
and splendidly adapted to its purpose, and
was one of the finest in the country. It
made way in 18.99 for the present new
and magnificent building erected in honor
of the semi-centennial of the organiza
tion of the club. The new building stands
on the same spot as the old one, erected
on piles over the water, and reached by a
wide board way, also over the water, ex
tending from the West End music plat-
fur;.'..
The construction of a clubhouse with
commodious halls, reception rooms, dining
A Baiwin
Com in .ore of S Y C
saloons and immense "galleries” from
which the regatta could bo witnessed gave
the club a great impetus. It became, too.
a powerful social factor in New Oilcans,
for not only were the ladies given fre
quent yachting parties from the club
house. but once a week during summer
the club threw open its doors to its in
vited guests for music, or a dance, with
refreshments. The yacht club receptions
were the best attended in New Orleans,
and were much sought for by the belies
of the city.
The membership of the club rose to 375.
and it boasted of the ownership of seven
ty-five vessels of various kinds.
Mr. E. J. O’Brien, a cotton merchant
of New Orleans, was the first commo
dore under the new' regime, for the erec
tion of a clubhouse brought about the
reorganization of the club. The position
of commodore was much sought after by
men of the highest social position. Air.
A. A. Ataginnis became commodore in
1SS2. Mr. E. J. O’Brien retired in 1SS4, suc
ceeded bv Commodore R. S. Day in 1887,
W. A. Gordon in 1891. Thomas Sully in
1892, Lawrence O’Donnell in 1894. Walton
Glennv in 1897. and Albert Baldwin, pres
ident of the New Orleans National bulk,
and one of the leading merchants and
business men of the south. Air. Baldwin
is commodore today.
In 1899. the club being then half a cen
tury old. it was resolved to erect a new
clubhouse in honor of the event, not that
the old building was unsuitable, but that
the increase in the membership of the
club called for a larger building. The
new clubhouse was thrown open for the
Continued on last page
