DESMOND THE SPECULATOR.

by James Davenport Whelpley
(1817-1872)

IN the summer of 1856, while traveling in the interior of New England, I found myself in company with a person looking forty years of age, who had evidently passed a considerable portion of his life in California and Mexico. Being travelers of leisure on our way to the White Mountains, a sort of transient intimacy grew up. My companion entertained me with stories of Mexican and border life which would have made the fortune of a magazine writer; but among them all, being myself a man of some business, I was chiefly interested in a sketch of the life and character of the celebrated Royal Desmond, the prince of gamblers and speculators, and who was a trader in Mexico before the discovery of gold in California.

      "I was among the first," said my companion, "who looked for gold in the interior, and after six months of variable fortune accidentally met Desmond. He was then rapidly becoming rich, and controlled a considerable portion of the interior trade of Mexico. After a few days' acquaintance in the mines, I became aware that my new friend was the most extraordinary gambler on record, inasmuch as he played deeper than any, used no method of fraud, and almost invariably rose a winner. He seldom played, and always with men of acknowledged wealth. Five days and nights, without sleeping an hour, Desmond played in my store-cabin with Farquhar the old trader, who had amassed a fortune at Santa Fé. At midnight on the fifth day, Farquhar drew a pistol and killed himself. He had played away all his Mexican sheep, three hundred horses at Santa Fé, five thousand head of cattle in Chihuahua, houses and land in St. Louis, stores in New York, a steamer at New Orleans, piles of gold dust and silver coin which he had with him — in all four hundred thousand dollars. Being myself a lawyer and duly-elected magistrate in the camp, I executed the deeds of the conveyance and passed them one by one, hour by hour, to Desmond. They paid me one hundred dollars each time I witnessed Farquhar's signature. There was nothing terrible or exciting about this scene. Desmond was grave and pleasant; when he lost, which he did several times in the fortune of the game sums exceeding one hundred thousand dollars, he seemed rather to grow more cheerful, while the trembling old Scotchman was drinking to keep himself awake. Desmond seemed to sleep a moment, holding the cards in his hand. Farquhar drew the pistol so suddenly it was impossible to stop him. Desmond showed no surprise. He assisted me to take the body of Farquhar into a back room, went down to the river and washed his powerful limbs, mounted Farquhar's horse and rode off at two in the morning. The affair made no noise; my testimony was credited, and in a day every thing was forgotten.

      "Desmond attached no value to money except as a means toward the accomplishment of some grand scheme of business. In person he was cool, quiet, and abstemious, rather free in his relation to the other sex, but not a swearer nor a drunkard. All things with him were subjects of calculation, except his loves and his friendships. His attachments were warm, close, and exclusive. There was nothing loose, desperate, or defiant in the man: whatever he did seemed to be right for the time; if you condemned Desmond you had first to overthrow his system, for in all things his conduct squared with his philosophy. You smile; nevertheless your Mexican or Santa Fé trader has principles of his own, and he will explain to you his system of conduct with clearness and precision; in the city this is done to hand for you by the clergyman and professor; in the desert each man is his own philosopher and preacher.

      "I said that Desmond was cheerful when he lost large sums. Yes — though it seems incredible. It was a part of his system never to play for small or single stakes, but the whole of his against the whole of his antagonist's; his credit being unlimited and unfailing, it was as easy for him to draw bills for a million as for an hundred thousand, and on this principle he played against any thing a little less weighty than himself, and his courage rose with the amount that had seemingly gone out of him, when in fact it was merely a step backward for a longer leap. 'This,' he would say, 'is merely the credit system — moral against material. Your men of business have no interest in the material they sell or buy, but only in its effects as a representative of values. Now, in playing with such men as Farquhar, who have money, I trade with the pure principle of trade, disencumbered of the substance.'"

      "After all," said I, interrupting the narrative of my traveled friend, which a crowd of eager listeners were drinking in, "did you not look upon your friend Royal Desmond — by-the-by, is that the real name?"

      "No."

      "Well — did you not regard this prince of gamblers as a prince of rascals?"

      "He never cheated. All rascals cheat."

      "Go on, then, let us hear the rest."

      "A week after Farquhar's death Desmond entered my cabin, threw himself upon a bed without a word, and slept twelve hours; he had ridden three hundred and fifty miles, killing three or four horses.

      "I was sitting near him mending a pair of corduroy pants, when he opened his eyes. He watched the operation for a little while, and then said: 'How much money have you?'

      "'About five thousand dollars, in gold dust.'

      "'By mining?'

      "'No, by trading — all.'

      "'I will give you five thousand more — don't interrupt me. Here is a draft upon St. Louis. Take this and the rest of your money; turn all into coin at San Francisco; go by the first vessel to Acapulco, and thence to Guanajuato, in Mexico. I will write by you to the Padre Gerraez, informing him that I will give two hundred thousand dollars for the silver-mine of Cantaranas which he owns; he is poor and wants money; the mine is worth a million. The padre knows me, and will do as I request. Will you go?'

      "'Yes.'

      "'How soon?'

      "To-morrow.'

      "'Very well, I will be with you at the hacienda of Cantaranas in six months. I shall take the land route through Mexico.'

*       *       *       *       *      *

      "The hacienda of Cantaranas crowns with its vast white walls the bare summit of a desolate mountain, down which a number of winding paths lead toward the various richly-wooded valleys of the province or department of Guanajuato.

      "The mountain itself is called the 'Hill of Groans or Lamentation,' from a gloomy legend connected with the early colonization of Mexico by the Spaniard. It is said that soon after the conquest, four hundred women and children, who had taken refuge there while the invader was laying waste the populous valleys, destroyed themselves by a mutual massacre at the suggestion of a priest. Whether this story is to be credited or not, I can not tell, but the natural features of the mountain are sufficiently formidable without the aid of legendary horrors. On the side facing southeast, a precipice descends sheer down two hundred fathoms; the torrent of the Rio Mitro, thundering at the base, is inaudible at the summit. One wall of the hacienda rests upon the edge of the precipice. It is of white porous rock, hewn into cubes four feet in diameter, and evidently of great antiquity. Traces of ancient sculpture still exist on the outer face of this wall overhanging the cliff.

      "The mineral or mining district, on the southern side, which is less precipitous, has many veins of silver and other metals; but the great vein called the Cobra, opened and worked three centuries ago, is much the most remarkable. It is said that more than ten millions in silver were taken from the Cobra during the first century of Spanish dominations, at the expense of many thousand lives, the natives being worked as slaves under the lash, and turned out to die as soon as they became weak or incapable. Desmond being well-known at Cantaranas, I was cordially received as his representative, after presenting my letter to the Padre Gerraez, who seemed to be in ecstasies with the prospect of selling the mines for so large a sum. The time passed away slowly while we awaited the arrival of Desmond, and was, I think, the dullest period of my life. Had it not been for the great confidence I reposed in Desmond, and a secret faith in his destiny, no ordinary inducements would have kept me so long in the dreary hacienda. The wind blew continually from the northeast with great violence, and we kept fires burning night and day to preserve an agreeable temperature.

      "The director or engineer of the mines was an Englishman named Clifford, who, though he had been two years in Mexico, appeared to be ignorant of the Spanish language, and conducted all his business with the padre in French, or through a young Cuban who acted as his clerk and interpreter. This man delighted me with his intelligent conversation. He represented himself to have been a younger son of a poor but noble family in England, and educated in a mining school in Paris. His knowledge of metallurgy was exact and profound, and he soon informed me confidentially that the mine had long since been a poor speculation for the padre, the expenses of raising the ores from the deep shafts consuming nearly all the profits. After watching Clifford's operations for a month or more, I became satisfied that his statements were correct, and I would have written to Desmond, dissuading him from the purchase, had not a secret awe of his superior sagacity restrained me.

      "Clifford passed only a portion of his time at the hacienda. Every Sunday morning he mounted a powerful black horse, descending the mountain on the north side, and I saw nothing of him until Wednesday following. His clerk, the Cuban, conducted all necessary business in the interval. These periodical absences excited my curiosity to such a degree that I could not forbear betraying it to him. He said something about a wealthy Mexican woman whom he hoped to marry, but as he went away roughly dressed, and appeared travel-worn on his return, I became satisfied that love-making was not the only motive of his absence.

      "At length, punctual to the day, Desmond made his appearance, accompanied by a train of one hundred and thirty pack mules bearing merchandise, wines, and three hundred thousand dollars in gold and silver coin. A party of thirty Mexican guerrillas escorted him to the gate of the hacienda, and were hospitably received by the padre, who entertained them for the night, and welcomed Desmond with the most extravagant protestations of friendship.

      "Desmond opened a package of merchandise, and distributed presents to the native and foreign miners, who crowded into the hacienda to make friends with the long-expected proprietor. Wine and ardent spirit flowed like water, and the night waned in extravagant jollity. Padre Gerraez and his children passed hours in counting the two hundred thousand dollars and replacing it in the bags. Their excitement amounted almost to insanity. They wept and prayed, kissed Desmond and myself, and when, after a sleepless night, they took leave of us and started for the city of Mexico the next morning, they fairly sobbed themselves into silence, and could only wave an adios to the stranger who had made them all free and happy for the rest of their lives.

      "No sooner had the last mule of the departing family disappeared down the winding path than Desmond took me with him into a private room and locked the door. He detailed the incidents of his journey. He looked haggard and care-worn: his complexion had assumed a leaden hue, as if suffering from internal disease.

      "'I should not have reached you,' he said, 'had I not been impelled and aided by motives at once singular and to you incredible. I have acted under advice, and yet no living man has been my counselor.'

      "'Desmond,' I replied, 'your mind is unsettled with excessive fatigue and want of sleep. Let us talk of this to-morrow.'

      "'No,' said he; 'I have seen my father. I met him in a pass of the mountain near Santa Fé.'

      "'Your father is then living?'

      "'No; he has been dead these twenty years. But he laid his hand on my shoulder, and said, in his old natural voice:

      "'Royal, do you know me?'

      "'Yes, father,' I said, 'but I thought you were dead long ago.'

      "He only smiled, and continued addressing me, with his eyes fixed upon mine, as he used when I was a boy:

      "'Go to Cantaranas,' said he. 'Do not fail. Your friend will be there waiting for you. Give him one-tenth of the produce of the mine.'

      "'You may be sure I was not unmoved by this adventure. In fact I fainted, and remained insensible I know not how long; and when I arrived in Santa Fé, the women asked me if I had seen a spirit, I looked so pale and haggard.'

      "Feeling persuaded that the intellect of Desmond was unsettled, perhaps by abstinence and fatigue, as I knew his habits of old, I refused absolutely to converse with him until the day following. I then introduced him to Clifford, whom he regarded with evident dislike. I had already detailed all that I knew of the habits of the Englishman.

      "'Mr. Clifford,' said Desmond, coldly, 'you will remain constantly at the mine or in the hacienda, if you engage in my service, except when absent by special agreement. I will give you one thousand dollars a month, twice the salary given by the padre, but I expect you to be occupied all the time in my business.'

      "Clifford pleaded his affair with the Mexican heiress. It was useless.

      "'If,' said Desmond, 'you expect a fortune, devote yourself to her; but that is not my affair. I require exclusive services, or none.'

      "Clifford agreed unwillingly, and nothing more was said of the matter.

      "In less than a month we had three hundred miners engaged, new drifts were opened at the base of the hill at points indicated by Desmond, whose knowledge of the localities astonished every one, but none more than Clifford. Vast quantities of silver were taken out. Desmond now showed me papers in which all these secret localities were described. A few days after the death of Farquhar, while on his way to Santa Fé, he met a poorly-dressed and half-starved Mexican on the road, who offered him these papers for a thousand dollars. 'Not believing them to be of any value,' said Desmond, 'I gave him one hundred and a mule. He represented that he had formerly been a proprietor of the mine but was driven off by a revolution. I took the papers, more out of respect to the feelings of the man than from any faith in their value. But the next night I had a wonderful dream. I thought that my father came to me, and advised me that the papers were of value, and that I should send you to the Padre Gerraez to make an agreement. This was a dream, but the second appearance to me was at noonday. It is my luck to be so met half-way by good fortune. In ten years I shall be worth ten millions, and one of these I shall get from this mine.' While Desmond talked with me I regarded him steadily. His large gray eyes shone not with the lurid fire of insanity but with the mild and steady light of a profound enthusiasm. His countenance was the type of rugged sense, deep cunning, and a wisdom which it was impossible to circumvent or elude. The vast cheek-bones stood out like ragged rocks, and the span-wide forehead displayed the largest powers of perception and combination. There may have been in his composition a mixture of the Hebrew, but I have seen American heads with aquiline contours of the same outline. . . . . . .

      "At the end of the seventh month seven hundred thousand dollars in silver had been sent away from the mine after paying all the expenses.

      "Desmond never appeared to be excited or astonished when the monthly balances were announced to him. He gave his orders for the sale of the crude silver, and the disposition of the proceeds in foreign cities, with the coolness of an ordinary counting-house clerk. He would often check my exultation by some such remark as 'True, this may be riches to you, but to myself, who require ten millions for a specific purpose not to be accomplished by a smaller sum, it is mere poverty and destitution. Men are happy or unhappy as they have or have not the means to accomplish their ends.'

      "'What, then, do you propose to do with ten millions?'

      "'That is my secret.'

      "'Have you reflected, then, by what means you will achieve the other eight, since you will have but two in all at the end of this enterprise?'

      "'Money-making, like the art of war, is an affair of will, intellect, and fortune. I possess all the elements of success, and am consequently sure of the result. I am not avaricious, I never engage where I can not conquer, and I succeed with men by inspiring a confidence that is never violated. Look at a million as you do at a thousand. It is not difficult to convert two thousands into ten!'

      "'But the details of so immense a business!'

      "'There is your error. Napoleon governed an army of five hundred thousand men by the application of certain rules which you call principles. Can not you lift a spade full of sand without counting the single particles of sand?'

      "A few days after this I accidentally overheard a private conversation between the clerk and Gilbert Clifford the engineer. It was in the Spanish language, of which Clifford had always professed himself ignorant. When I reported this to Desmond, and also informed him that Clifford had been twice absent for two successive days from the mine, he became thoughtful and disturbed. Soon after Clifford was again absent, and a Mexican whom we sent to follow him reported that he saw the engineer enter the houses of the Padre Garcia and of the commandante, twenty miles distant from Cantaranas, and that Clifford, the padre, and the commandante were in deep conference in the padre's garden.

      "There was only one part of the miner's business to which Desmond gave close attention, and that was to ascertain the quantity of ore taken out every week from the drifts and pits. This ore was passed to Clifford, who became responsible for the returns in crude silver.

      "One evening at the beginning of the eighth month, while Desmond and I were sitting together, about sunset, on a Sunday evening, the Padre Garcia made his appearance, bowing and smiling with his usual benignity. He was a thin, brown, voluble Mexican, tolerably rich, and passionately fond of gaming and cock-fighting. Desmond often sent him presents of fighting cocks, and whenever he and the commandante made us a visit, it was a point with us to lose a few hundreds at monte to keep them in good-humor.

      "The padre, after a short visit, would have gone away alone, but Desmond ordered horses, and we accompanied him, apparently for politeness, a few miles on his way home. The road was steep and rugged, winding along the mountain side, and had it not been for the brightness of a full moon we should not willingly have attempted it. Several times Desmond advised the padre to return, but he seemed anxious to get away, and annoyed because we would not leave him to go on alone.

      "Two miles from the hacienda we reached a point where the path almost overhung the very verge of the precipice. I was riding in advance, the padre next, and Desmond behind. It was impossible for the padre to turn or pass either of us. Desmond ordered a halt. 'Padre Garcia,' said he, it is three hundred yards deep if you were to fall from this cliff. At the bottom there is a torrent.' 'Mercy, good Señor Desmond!' cried the padre, 'God has informed you.' He let drop the bridle of his mule, which stood still, clinging with its sharp hoofs to the slippery rock, crossed himself rapidly, and prayed aloud.

      "'Padre Garcia,' continued Desmond, speaking in a mild, compassionate voice, 'it would be more effectual than prayer for your safety to give me a list of the conspirators who wish to rob me of my life and property at Cantaranas.' The padre drew a paper from his bosom, and, taking a pencil, wrote several names upon the back of it, and turning on his saddle, passed it to Desmond, and then we rode on. At the foot of the mountain stood a small adobé cottage of one room, used by travelers as a place of rest and shelter. Another road went off to the right from this cottage by a circuitous route to the hacienda. The padre, an old mountaineer, had taken the shorter and more dangerous path. As we approached the cottage a rifle-shot fired from a shed in the rear passed through Desmond's saddle and tore the back of his horse, which started and screamed with pain. I dismounted, drew a pistol, and rushed into the cottage. A second shot, apparently from a revolver, struck my hat and inflicted a slight wound upon my forehead; and I saw a man escape from the shed into the undergrowth behind, which was thorny and almost impenetrable. I soon gave up the pursuit, after tearing myself severely with the thorns, and returned to Desmond. The padre and he had dismounted and were talking together, the padre entreating and supplicating. Desmond took the saddle from his horse, washed the wound at a brook and we rode back in silence to the hacienda, leaving the hypocrite Garcia to go his way homeward.

      "As we entered the stone-archway, Clifford came out of his room into the court-yard undressed, as if for some trifling occasion, half asleep. He said, in a drowsy way, 'What were those shots fired at the foot of the mountain?' 'You have sharp ears,' I replied. 'We were attacked from the Casa Mignon.' 'That is the third time people have been fired upon there,' replied Clifford, as he re-entered his room. 'We ought to pull down the casa; it is a mere shelter for robbers.' About two in the morning Desmond rose from his bed (we slept in the same room), and went out by the back door into the garden. In ten minutes he returned. 'I have examined Clifford's horse,' said he. 'The horse is running loose in the corral. He has been carefully rubbed down, but I detected several fresh scratches of hooked thorns on his flanks, which he must have received to-night, near the Casa Mignon, as there are none others in the neighborhood. It was Clifford who fired upon us. You know it is impossible to hear the sound of a rifle or pistol at that distance, not less than two miles and the mountain intervening. Get up and see that your pistols are in order, and sleep no more to-night. He may possibly attempt to kill us if we sleep.' I rose and dressed myself quickly. Desmond struck a light, and bringing his books from the escritoir showed me that not less than two hundred thousand dollars in value of crude silver had been stolen during the seven months preceding. He ascertained this by knowing the amount of ores taken out, and by the confession of the padre Garcia, who admitted that he had divided one hundred thousand between himself and the commandante, and that Clifford had hidden one hundred thousand in bars, in a well near the foot of the mountain. This he had learned by the information of spies whom he had kept to watch Clifford, on his own account, intending at some convenient time to appropriate the whole.

      "The next morning Desmond sent for the Cuban clerk, who was also one of the conspirators. Clifford came with him, and opening his books, explained that seven hundred thousand was the entire profit, the expenses not having exceeded three hundred thousand in all. Desmond, who had been attentively studying the accounts, turned from the table, and requesting him to be seated, 'Mr. Clifford,' said he, 'the ores taken from the mine ought to have yielded two hundred thousand more; how much have you given to the Padre Garcia, how much to the commandante, and how much more is concealed in the well of Signora Aloya?'

      "Clifford made no reply. His thick lips quivered and his tongue refused him utterance. This man, powerful, solid, and full of hot-red blood, became pale and feeble for a moment under the terrible gaze of Desmond, whose eyes flashed unearthly fires.

      "'You are a thief, Mr. Clifford, as well as a conspirator and assassin; you fired upon us last night from the Casa Mignon.'

      "Clifford rose from his chair, stepped backward, and drew his revolver.

      "'You have forgotten to cap your pistol,' said Desmond, smiling. 'I will give you time.'

      "I had drawn a bead upon the head of the villain and would have killed him at the word, but a look from Desmond restrained me.

      "Clifford had recovered his presence of mind, capped his pistol, and raised it; but before he could get an aim Desmond fired off-hand, and he fell dead, shot through the heart.

      "'That,' said Desmond, 'is much better than hanging. I would give a wolf one chance for his life.'

      "Not long after this affair we sold the mine for a sum which fully realized our expectations, and left Mexico well satisfied with the fruit of the year's labor. I parted from Desmond at New Orleans, where he was making preparations to fulfill large contracts for the overland interior trade of Mexico. His Sante Fé and Mexican property was all converted and reinvested in a wonderfully brief space of time; and when I took leave of him for a three years' tour in the Old World, he was confident of being the master of at least five millions on my return."

      My traveled friend paused in his narrative. We were sitting, six or eight of us, listening with deep interest to his sketches and anecdotes of the great financier.

      "Pray, Sir," said an amiable old lady in spectacles, "is Mr. Desmond married?"

      "Yes, madam; he has a wife and two children somewhere in the West. He sees them once a year."

      "Who is this Desmond?" asked a red-faced judge of the circuit.

      The stranger made no reply.

      "I should think," said a green Yankee, "that he would be satisfied with less. He can't make no use o' ten millions."

      "How much capital, friend, do you require to set up a wooden bowl manufactory?"

      "Abeout eight hundred dollars."

      "You couldn't do it for less, could you?"

      "Not easy, I guess," said the Yankee, seriously.

      "Well, then, Desmond requires ten millions."

      "What's the natur' uv the bis'ness," squeaked an old speculating country doctor, who had been leaning over with his hands upon his knees, winking and grinning at us, while the stranger was relating the adventure.

      "A cotton operation?" suggested a Meredith man, who stood by.

      Every one had his guess: iron, wool, lard, cloths, ocean steamers, telegraph lines. The stranger shook his head.

      "Perhaps you don't know yourself," said the Yankee.

      The stranger smiled.

      "You don't mean to tell, anyhow, dew yeou?" continued the persevering Yankee.

      "Not just now," said the stranger.

(THE END)