Daily Kennebec journal. [microfilm reel] (Augusta, Me.) 1870-1975, 1871-04-07
Gales and Sketthes.
A TULE SKETCH.
BY LEONARD KIP.

than their ordinary measure of brightness ;
and softly tinting the earth with a pleasant
glow, as though of twilight far advanced
into evening. left little cause to cavil at the
absence of the inconstant moon. The
sluggish San Joaquin slowly and with
gentle murmur crept along between its
low banks toward the bay below, with
surface so composed and unruffled by any
breath of breeze that the stars stood mir
rored in it as perfectly as in the cloudless
vault above, and every reed that bent over
1t could count, as in a mirror, each reflect
ed leaf and joint. Far rs the eye could
reach in all directions lay the broad tule
marsh; every twig and point of grass
standing in that calm air as fixed and
motionless as steel spears planted in the
ground--a vast and seemingly boundless
waste-apparently altogether liteless and
solitary, except where, in one corner near
the waters edge, party of six or seven
men sat, or lazily reclined, beside their
smoldering campfire.
Their boat-an ordinary whale boat, so
loaded down with rolled-up tents and
packages of ro2gh clothing that when the
men were aboardit must have been weight
ed nearly to the waters edge-sat notion
less upon the rivers surface, its bows
drawn closely in among the reeds, and
there securely fastened with chain around
an oar thrust upright into the oozy bank
the curving sides and stern reflected clear
ly in the quiet flow, except where the
sharp edge of the swinging rudder cut the
water asunder, and for foot or two, with
faint ripple, disturbed the stiffness and let
the momehtarily decreasing drift of tide
he seen In this littla boat for twO dave
past, the men had been rowing their way
down from Stockton; and now they had
come on shore, tor few hours rest and
relief from their cramped position. 1t
was known to one of them that this was a
proper place at which to stop and kindle
their fire, for here and there, in the curve
of the shore, the tides had swept together
some random bits of drift-wood, and in
asmuch as the already; slackening current
would soon turn and flow inward once
more, they had resolved to pass the night
here in pleasant inactivity, and await the
more favorable ebb-tide of the early morn
ing. Therefore, with something of the
jovial animation of school-boys at picnic
though camping out was, indeed, an old
story to all of them-they had kindled
their fire and placed upon it the old, bat
lSiSt SOhSO-pOt, dud ludOC tuClI CNCuluS
meal of slapjacks and coffee; and now,
lighting their pipes, had stretched them
selves out in lazy content, absorbed in
dreamy reverie, or, where more socially
inclined. exchanging the ordinary conf
dences about their good or bad past for
tune, and their better hopes for the future.
They were strong. athletic, heavily
bearded men, whose limbs, even through
those coarse, rough, misshapen clothes.
seemed to speak of iron bone and muscle
all except one, indeed who lay at a little
distance from the others, and whose pinch
ed face and wasted limbs spoke too elo.
quently of disease. Judged by the tenor
Of their conversation, in which the merest
illusions were taken up and comprehended
at once by all the others, they were well
acquainted and boon companions-all ex-
cept that one. He was in truth stranger
to them. They having worked in the
same company at the mines, together also
had chartered that little boat for their
voyage down the river; and having casual
ly met him at Stockton. poor in health and
torlorn for want of companionship had
charitably taken him into their party, and
turn by turn among themselves had per-
formed his duty at the oar.
Quiet and composed he now lay, some
six or eight feet off; stout blanket un-
der him, another one folded beneath his
head for pillow. his wasted face looking
straight up at the stars. Not at all inclin-
ed, at the moment, for conversation-in
which, indeed. by reason of want of ac-
quaintanceship, he could hardly be expect.
ed to engage with relish-and therefore he
would have preferred to sleep; but a,
that moment he felt unusually wakeiul
No matter about that, however-for. il
awake, at least he was free from the ac-
customed pain. Somehow, those shoot.
ing pangs which had so long made sport
of his limbs and chest, passing without
seeming reason or regularity from one to
the other for many months, and making
each whisper of wind or fall of dew an in
strument of torture, had left him at last,
and but for the unusual chill, he seemed
as well as ever Perhaps, after all, he
might recover-ior stranger things than
that had often happened and it might be,
indeed, that the doctor of Mokelumne Hill
had advised him wrongly, and that rest
and change of air would prove all that
were necessary Any how, he would not
cloud that unexpected season of present
ease with such idle expectations, If he
could help it; but, enjoying his wakeful-
ness, would give himself INCREASINGLY to
the calm contentment of the hour, and
think-of what, indeed, after all
So many there are, who, in their waking
moments can pleasantly think about home
and the things belonging to it: but to him,
alas there was no home. So many there
are who can crowd their waking dreams
with the bright faces of well-loved and
loving friends; but for him there now
seemed none such left. To almost all in
the world, indeed, at mere beck or whis-
per of the heart. will gather such cluster
ings of soft associations and genial mem
ories, but how few of such could his life
now bring to him. To every one, in fact,
it seems as though somewhere there must
be some record of good in life, to be in
dulged in as pleasant memento, even
though all else may be dark and dreary
and profitless but where for him was ev-
en- that one bright spotp Only lifetime
and its advantages and abilities wasted
away as thoroughly as his poor body was
wasted-that was all. Would it not, in
deed, be better to fall asleep at once, rath-
er than thus lie with face tnrned nm IN the