HALF A MILLION OF MONEY.

Westport Times, Volume III, Issue 379, 17 October 1868, Page 2

HALF A MILLION OF MONEY.

BY THE AUTHOR OF " BARBARA'S HISTORY."

CHAPTER I. THE FASSIXG OF A UVX BRED YEARS.

When the princess in the fairy tail went to sleep for a hundred years, everything else in the enchanted palace went to sleep at the same time. The natural course ot things was suspended. Not a hair whitened on any head within those walls. Not a spider spun its webb over the pictures ; not a worm found its way to the books. The very Burgundy in the celler grew none the riper for the century that it had lain there. Nothing decayed, in short, and nothing improved. Very different was it with this progressive England of ours during the hundred years that went by between the spring time of 1760 and that of 1860, one hundred years after. None went to sleep in it. Nothing stood still. All was life, ferment, endeavour. That endeavour, it is true, may not always have been best directed. Sorno cobwebs were spun ; some worms were at work ; some mistakes were committed ; but, at all events, there was no stagnation. En revanche, if, when we remember some of those errors, we cannot help a blush, our hearts beat when we think ot the works of love and charity, the triumphs of science, the heroes and victories which that century brought forth. We lost America, it is true ; but we won Gribaraltar, and we colonised Australia. We fought the French, on almost every sea and shore upon the map, except, thank Cod! our own. We abolished slavery in our colonies. We established the liberty of the press. We lit our great city from end to end with a light only second to that of day. We originated a system of coaching at twelve miles the hour, which was unrivalled in Europe ; and we suspended it by casting a network of iron roads all over the face of the country, along which the traveller has been known to fly at the rate of a mile a minute. Truly a marvellous country ! perhaps the most marvellous which the world has ever known, since that from which our years are dated!

And during the whole of the time, the TrefaMen legacy was fattening at interest, assuming overgrown proportions, doubling, trebling, quadrupling itself over and over and over again. jSTot so the Trefalden family. They had increased and multiplied but scantily, according to the average of human kind.; and had had but little opportunity of fattening, in so far as that term may ho to the riches of the earth. One portion of it had become extinct. Of the other two branches only three representatives remained - We must pause to consider how these things came to pass, but only for a few minutes ; for of all the trees that have ever been cultivated by man, the genealogical tree is the driest It is one ,we may be sure, that had no place in the garden of Eden. Its root is in the grave ; its produce mere Dead Sea Fruit—apples of dust and ashes. The extinct branch of the Trefaldens was that which began and ended in Mr Fred. That ornament to society met his death in a tavern row about eighteen months after the reading of the will He had in the mean while spent the whole of his five thousand pounds, ruined his tailor, and brought an honest eating-house keeper to the verge of bankruptcy. He also died in debt to the amount of seven thousand ponds ; so that, as Mr Horace Walpole was heard to say, he went out of the world with credit.

"William, the youngest of the brothers, after a cautious examination of his prospects from every point of view, decided to carry on, at least, a part of the business. To this end, he entered into partnership with his late father's managing clerk, an invaluable person, who had 'been in old Jacob's confidence for more than thirty years, and, now that his employer was dead, was thought to know more about indigo thau any other man in London. He had also a snug sum in the funds, and an only daughter, who kept house for him at Islington. When Mr Will ascertained the precise value of this young lady's attractions, he proposed a second partnership, and married her. The fruit of this marriage was a son named Charles, born in 1770, who came in time his father's partner and successor, and in whose hands the old Trefalden house flourished bravely. This Charles, marrying late in life, took to wife the second daughter of a .rich East India Director, with twelve

thousand pounds for her fortune. She brought him four sons, the eldest of whom, Edward, born in 1815, was destined to indigo from his cradle. The second and third died in childhood, and the youngest named William, after his grandfather, wa r s born in 1822, and educated for the law.

The father of these youug men died suddenly in 1811 just as old Jacob Trefaiden had died more than eighty years before, ■He was succeeded in Basinghall-street by his eldast son. The new principal was, however, a stout, apathetic.bachelor of self-indul-gent habits, languid circulation, and indolent physique—a mere Itoi Faineant, without a Martele to guide him. He reigned only six years, and died of a flow of turtle soup to the head, in 1850, leaving his affairs hoplessly involved, and his books a mere collection of Sybilline leaves which no accountant in London was Augur enough to decipher. "With him expired the mercantile house of Trefaiden; and his brother the Lawyer, now became the only remaining representative of the yomigest branch of the family. For the elder branch we must go back to 1760.

Honest Captain Jacob, upon whom had now devolved the responsibility of perpetuating the Trefaiden name, took his five thousand pounds with a sigh ; wisely relinquished alt thought of disputing the will; sold his commission ; emigrated to a remote corner of Switzerland; bought land, and herds, and a quaint little mediaeval chateau surmounted by a whole forrest of turrets, gable-ends, and fantastic weather cocks; and embraced the patriarchal life of his adopted country. Switzerland was at that time the most peaceful, the best governed, and the least expensive spot in Europe. Captain Jacob, with his five thousand pounds, was a millionnaire in the Canton Grisons. He was entitled to a seat in the diet, if he chose to take it; and a vote, if he chose to utter it; and he interchanged solemn half-yearly civilities with the stiffest old republican aristrocrats in Chur and Thusis But it was not for these advantages that he valued his position in that primitive place. He loved ease, and liberty, and the open air. He loved the simple, pastoral, homely life of the people. He loved to be rich enough to help his poorer neighbours—to be able to give the pastor a new cassock, or the church

a new font, or the young riflemen of

the district a silver watch to shoot for, when the annual Schiitzen Fest came

round. He could not have done all this

in England, heavily taxed as England then was, upon two hundred and fifty pounds a year. So the good soldier framed his commission, hung up his sword to rust over the dining room chimney-piece, and planted and drained sowed and reaped, shot an occasional chamois, and settled down for life as a Swiss country gentleman. Living thus, with a wife of his choice, and enjoying the society of a few kindly neighbours, he became the happy father of a son and two daughters, between whom, at his death, he divided his little fortune, share and share alike, according to his own simple notions of justice and love. The daughters married and settled far away, the one in Italy, the other on the borders of G-ermany. The son, who was called Henry, a,nd born in 1762, inherited his third of the matrimony, became a farmer, and married at twenty years of age. He was necessarily a much poorer man than his father. Twothirds of the best land had been sold

to pay off his sisters' shares in the property ; but he kept the old chateau (though he dwelt in only a corner of it), and was none the less respected by his neighbours. Here he lived frugally and industriously, often di'iving his own plow, and branding his own sheep; and here he brought up his two sons, Saxton and Martin, the first of whom was born in 1783, and the second in 1783. They were all the family he reared. Other children were born to

him from time to time, and played about his hearth, and gladdened the half-doserfced little chateau with their baby laughter • but they all died in earliest infancy, and the violets grew thickly over their little graves in the churchyard on the hill. jSTow Henry Trefalden knew right well that one of these boys, or a descendent of one of these boys, must inherit the great legacy by-and-by. He knew, too, that it was his duty to fit them for that gigantic trust as well as his poor means would allow, and he devoted himself to the task with a love and courage that never wearied. To make them honest,moderate, chr ritable, and self-denying ; to teach them (theoretically) the true uses of wealth; to instruct them thoroughly in the history and laws of England ; to bring them up, if possible, with English sympathies ; to keep their English accen; pure; to train them in the fear of

G-od, the love of knowledge, and the desire of excellence—this was Henry Trefalden's life-long task, and he fulfilled it nobly. His boys throve alike in body and in mind. They were both fine fellows; brave, simple, and true. Neither of them would have told a lie to save his life. Saxon was fair, as a Saxon should be. Martin was dark-eyed and olive-skined, like his mother. Saxton was the more active and athletic; Martin the more studious. As they grew older, Saxon became an expert mountaineer, rifle-shot, and chamoishunting ; Martin declared his wish to enter the Lutheran church. So the elder brother stayed*at home, ploughing and planting, sowing and reaping, shooting and fishing, like his father aud grandfather before him ; and the younger trudged away one morning with his Alpenstock in his hand, ana his wollet on his back, bound for Geneva.

Time went on. Henry Trefalden died; young Saxon became the head of the family; and Martin returned from the university to accept a curacy distant about eight miles from home. By-and-by, the good old priest, who had been the boys, schoolmaster long years before, also passed away; and Martin became pastor in his native place. The brothers now lived with their mother in the dilapidated chateau, fulfilling each his little round of duties, and desiring nothing beyond them. They were very happy. That quiet valley was their world. Those Alps bounded all their desires. They knew there was a great legacy accumulating in England, which might fall to Saxon's share some day, if he lived long enough; but the time was so far distant, and the whole story seemed so dim and fabulous, that unless to laugh over it together in the evening, when they sat smoking their _ long pipes side by side under the trellised vines, the brothers never thought or spoke of the wealth which _ might yet be theirs. Thus more time went on, and old Madame Trefalden died, and the bachelor brothers were left alone in the little grey chateau. It was now 1830. In thirty more years the great legacy would fall due, and which of them might be living to inherit it? Saxon was already a florid bald-headed mountaineer of forty-seven ; Martin a greyhaired priest of forty-four. What was to be done ?

Sitting bjr their own warm hearth one bleak winter's evening, the two old bachelors took these questions into grave consideration. On the table between them lay a faded parchment copy of the alderman's last will and testament. It was once the property of worthy Captain Jacob, and had remained in the family ever since. They had brought this out to aid their deliberations, and bad read it through carefully, from beginning to end—without, perhaps, being much the wiser. ' It would surely go to thee, Martin, if I died first,' said the elder brother.

' Thou'lt not die first,' replied the younger, confidently. 'Thou'rt as young, Sas, as thou wert twenty years ago.' ' But in the course of nature -' ' In the course of nature the stronger stuff outlasts the weaker. See how much heartier you are. than myself!' Saxon Trefalden shook his head. ' That's not the question,' said he. 'Thereal point is, would the money fall to thee ? I think it would. It says here, ■ in, total exclusion of the younger brandies of my family and their descendants? Mark that—' the younger branches,' Martin. Thou'rt not a younger branch. Thou'rt of the elder branch.'

' Ay, brother, but what.runs before ? G-o back a line, and thou'lt see it says ' to the direct heir male of the eldest son of my eldest son.' Now, thou'rt the eldest son of the eldest son, and I am not the direct male hair. lam only thy younger brother.' , That's true,' replied Saxon. 'lt seems to read both ways.' ** All law matters seem to read both ways, Sax,' said the Priest; 'and are intended to read both ways, 'tis my belief, for the confusion of the world. But why puzzle ourselves about it at all? We can only understand the plain fact that thou art the direct heir, and that the fortune must be thine, thirty years hence, if thou'rt alive to claim it.'

Saxon shrugged his broad shoulders, and lit his pipe with a fragment of blazing pine- wood picked from the fire.

' Pish! at seventy-seven years of age, if lam alive!' he exclamed. 'Of what good would it be to me?'

Martin made no reply, and they were both silent for several minutes". Then the pastor stole a furtive glance at his brother, eaughed,. stared steadily at the fire, and said.

' There is but one course for it, Sax Thou must marry.' (To he Continued.')

GREAT FRESH IN THE RIVER.

DESTRUCTION OF THE WHARF

WORKS

In our issue of "Wednesday, we mentioned the fact of a fresh having set in, and that is was becoming heavier towards nightfall. The incessant rain cf the previous twelve hours, slackened during the afternoon and evening, and somo hopes were at one time entertained of the weather clearing, but as the night wore on, these hopes were dissipated. The rain came down in torrents, and quite irrespective of high or low tide, the river continued steadily to rise. That such was the case was however rather inferred, than actually known, for the intense blackness of I the night enveloped the river and I everything in utter darkness ; but though the river could not be seen, the mighty rush of its waters, was plainly to be heard above all the ordinary noises of wind and rain. It was a very stormy night, and many of those, who probably were kept awake by anxiety or other causes, doubtless thought of the perilous condition of the wharf, and of the long line of unfinished protective works facing the river bank. The fate of these unfortunate structures was not to be very long kept in suspense. The first point that gave way was the upper jetty alongside of which the Ceres lay moored. About 3 a.m. the whole of it was swept away en bloc, by the continually increasing strength of the flood. The vessel herself being securely fastened to stumps of trees well merely shifted her position closer in, and lay there all day rubbing her side against the bank, pretty safe from any danger of being carried forcibly to sea, but running the risk of being impaled on broken piles when the water subsided. The fall of the upper jetty opened the way to the destruction of the faacines and other protective works along the face of the river bank, and to the ruin of the G-overnment shed and lower wharf, commonly known as Powell's wharf. The water gradually eating its way into the bank, soon undermined the shed, which stood immediately adjacent to the wharf, and it fell with a crash into the river about 7 a.m., but was not carried away by the stream, being jammed between the jetty and the weir. The water which had got behind the latter work now began to work into the firm ground, thereby creating a widening gulf between it and the wharf, the sluicing action of the water being aided by the wreck of the shed diverting it towards the bank. This was to some extent remedied by the exertions of Mr Lowe, the District Engineer, Captain Leech, Mr Sloane, and others, who promptly lent their assistance, and by the free use of axes, and by hauling on ropes made fast to parts of the building the obstruction was soon cleared away. An effort was next made to secure the weir, and thereby the wharf from utter destruction, by attaching to it a strong chain, the other end .of which was well fastened on shore. This operation was so far successful that up to the present time of writing the wharf and weir are still standing, though greatly damaged. The row of piles on the lower side of this wharf soon began to show signs of weakness, but being well strung together and stayed, they remained in their places, though hanging loosely, owing to their foundations being scoured away by the fresh. Stanley wharf, the lowest of all stood well, and it is no disparagement to the strength of its construction to say that this was no doubt partly due to its position in a shallower part of the river, and to. its being to some extent sheltered from the full force of the current, by Powell's wharf. Throughout the day there was little, if any, diminution in the volume or speed of the mighty torrent which rushed seawards. Towards the time of low tide, about mid-day, the level of the river fell about two or three feet but rose again as the tide made, though not to its former height. By noon the river had encroached upon its back some twenty feet, and this operation continued though at a lesser rate, during the afternoon. A great alteration has consequently been made in the line of the river bank. The bend about mid-way bet ween, the upper and lower wharf, which before was scarcely perceptible, is now so much increased, that the direction of the river if allowed to pursue its own course, would appear to be strait through G-ladstone street, about the spot where the Empire Hotel now stands. At one o'clock p.m., the Ceres was lying some distance inside of where, only a few hours before, the wharf was standing, and so rapidly was the bank being washed away, that her crew were kept actively employed shifting her mooring tackle to fastenings further inland, as

the stumps she was at one time made fast to, became loosened and tumbled into the river. All the other craft in port, were safe in the lagoon on the South side of the river, which on this, as on many other similar occasions afforded a good harbour of refuge. The flood though stated by some of the oldest inhabitants to be the highest ever yet experienced at the Buller, had no effect on the town. At the lower end of the Esplanade, towards the Spit, the river overflowed on to some low ground to the depth in some places of three or four feet, but no actual damage resulted. The old hospital building was surrounded by the water, which rose nearly to the floor, and caused considerable inconvenience to the patients as well as to the warder, but it did not continue thus for any length of time. One feature of the days proceedings which was watched with some interest by the crowds of persons who from time to time visited the river bank, was the slow progression of an enourmos snag, which foot by foot was forced down stream, in spite apparently of its utmost efforts to take root in the river bed. Eventnally it stuck fast in mid-channel, opposite to Powell's wharf, and seems likely to remain there, until attended to by Captain Leach. The fresh began to abate towards evening, and by midnight had considerably subsided. We expect however, when morning arrives to see that further encroachments have been made upon the narrow strip of ground which is all that divides the river from the houses of the town. It is difficult to estimate the extent of loss occasioned by this fresh. Not only are the wharves and protective works, upon which some thousands of pounds have been spent, destroyed, but the loss sustained in the many hundred tons of solid bank swept away, i 3 most serious, being one in fact which it is practically impossible to replace. There can be no doubt whatever, that these losses might have been in a great measure, if not altogether avoided if matters had only been conducted as they should have been. The key of the whole position, viewed in regard to the sufficiency of the works to protect the river bank, lay in the upper weir and jetty. Had these been made thoroughly staunch and secure in such a way as to successfully defy any efforts of the water to creep in between them and tiie main bank, they would have gone far to protect the remainder of the works. As it was, in consequence of an order issued by the Government, the whole of the works were suddenly abandoned and, left in an exposed and unprotected state to be swept away by the first fresh. The reasou for such hasty determination has yet to be explained, but how r ever plausible it may turn out to be, there is no gainsaying the fact of the results being most disastrous.

Perhaps it would be well to make use of the past tense, and call it the late fresh, in eontra distinction to another which is very likely to happen by the time this is published, if the present downfall of rain continues. We can only hope that such will not be the case, for the effects of the fresh just passed has been sufficiently disastrous. In yesterday's issue, we mentioned the destruction of the various wharves, and so called protective works, and the rapid encroachment which the river was making upon "Wharf street. Since then matters have remained pretty much the same. Powell's wharf, or rather what remains of it, is still standing, though separated by a wide gulph from the main land. Stanley wharf suffered little injury, and appears quite strong: enough to be able to resist another attack. The points which have suffered most are, first, the bank between the upper and lower wharf, and second, the made ground at the corner of Morey's National Hotel. A very large slice has been taken out of the former, and little more than the width of the metalled roadway is all that is now left of what was formerly a broad Esplanade. The state of things at Morey's corner is still more critical. This point is exposed to the wash of the swell which ordinarily enters the river in rough weather, and which in this case proved more destructive in carrying away the ground than the action of the current. Only some six feet remained in front of the hotel yesterday afternoon, when Mr Morey set to work, and by close-boarding the face of the piles which still stood up in line along the bank, effectually, for the time being at least, prevented any further damage from that cause. The Ceres continued yesterday in her old berth alongside the river bank, and is in a position of comparative safety; beyond being a little strained she appears to be uninjured. From the South Spit we learn that a considerable portion of the river bank has been washed away, this how-

ever is not of much consequence. Constable Doris, who is stationed in that quarter reports that a number of hogsheads and quarter casks, some coutaining beer and others being emptywere washed up on the sea beach, and were in course of being quietly appropriated by the natives, when he interfered. This beer, it appears, is the property of Mr Leslie, and is part of a large stock which the fresh very summarily cleared out of the cellars of his brewery.