Gold Seekers of '49
by Edwin L. Sabin · English · Gutenberg #23192 · 444,004 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: Gold Seekers of '49
Author: Edwin L. Sabin
Illustrator: Charles H. Stephens
Release date: October 25, 2007 [eBook #23192]
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/23192
Credits: Produced by Al Haines
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GOLD SEEKERS OF '49 ***
Produced by Al Haines
[Frontispiece: "You stole those papers"]
GOLD SEEKERS OF '49
HOW IN THE YEAR 1849 CHARLEY ADAMS AND HIS FATHER
SET OUT FOR FAR CALIFORNIA, THERE TO FIND A GOLD MINE;
HOW THEY CROSSED THE TROPICAL ISTHMUS OF PANAMA, BY
CANOE AND BY MULE TO THE PACIFIC SIDE; HOW THEY LANDED
AT LAST IN WONDERFUL SAN FRANCISCO, AND WHAT BEFELL
THEM THERE AND IN THE HIGH SIERRAS; RELATING HOW
THEY ENCOUNTERED FORTUNE AND MISFORTUNE IN THAT
NEW LAND PEOPLED FROM EVERY QUARTER OF THE GLOBE
BY
EDWIN L. SABIN
AUTHOR OF "WITH CARSON AND FRÉMONT," "ON THE PLAINS WITH
CUSTER," "BUFFALO BILL AND THE OVERLAND TRAIL," ETC.
_WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY_
CHARLES H. STEPHENS
_AND MAPS_
PHILADELPHIA & LONDON
J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
COPYRIGHT, 1915,
BY J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
TO
THE AMERICAN BOY
AND
THIS WONDERFUL LAND WHICH IS HIS
IN WHICH TO GROW AND PROSPER
Part of God's providence it was to found
A Nation's bulwark on this chosen ground;
Not Jesuit's zeal nor pioneer's unrest
Planted these pickets in the distant West,
But He who first the Nation's fate forecast
Placed here His fountains sealed for ages past,
Rock-ribbed and guarded till the coming time
Should fit the people for their work sublime;
When a new Moses with his rod of steel
Smote the tall cliffs with one wide-ringing peal,
And the old miracle in record told
To the new Nation was revealed in gold.
--BRET HARTE
FOREWORD
It has taken Americans to build the Panama Canal, and it took the
Americans to build California. These are two great feats of which we
Americans of the United States may well be proud: the building of that
canal, in the strange tropics 2000 miles away across the water, and the
up-rearing of a mighty State, under equally strange conditions, 2000
miles away across plains and mountains.
On the Isthmus men of many nationalities combined like a vast family;
each man, from laborer to engineer, doing his stint, without favoritism
and without graft, toward the big result. So in California likewise a
people collected from practically all the world became Americans
together under the Flag, and working shoulder to shoulder--rich and
poor, old and young, educated and uneducated, no matter what their
manner of life previously--they joined forces to make California worthy
of being a State in the Union.
So hurrah for the Panama Canal, built by American methods which
encourage every man to do his share; and hurrah for California, raised
to Statehood upon the foundation of American equality!
The discovery of gold in California was hailed as an occasion for
getting rich quick; but its purpose proved to be the development of
character. It seems a long, long way back to Forty-nine, when across
the Isthmus and across the plains thousands of men--yes, and not a few
women and children--pluckily forged ahead, bound for the Land of Gold.
Some made their fortunes, but the best that any of them achieved lay in
the towns that they founded, the laws that they enacted, the homes that
they established, and the realization that these things were of more
importance than the mere frenzy for quick wealth.
In not many years the completion of the Canal will also seem a long,
long way back. We Americans will have turned to some other marvelous
accomplishment, but the Canal will continue to exist as a monument to
American energy and democracy.
So we who share in that California which our elders made, by railroad
and canal hurried so comfortably over the trails that they toilsomely
opened in years agone, have a great deal to think about and a great
deal of which to be proud.
EDWIN L. SABIN
CALIFORNIA,
June 1, 1915.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
THE STORY OF CALIFORNIA
THE PANAMA CANAL
I. THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER
II. HURRAH FOR THE GOLDEN WEST
III. AN UNWELCOME COMPANION
IV. A FRIEND IN NEED
V. AN ATTACK BY THE ENEMY
VI. THE LANDING AT THE ISTHMUS
VII. A RACE UP THE RIVER
VIII. A TRICK--AND ITS CONSEQUENCES
IX. TIT FOR TAT
X. ALMOST LEFT BEHIND
XI. CHARLEY LOSES OUT
XII. CALIFORNIA HO!
XIII. INTO THE GOLDEN GATE
XIV. ALL ASHORE
XV. THE SIGHTS OF SAN FRANCISCO
XVI. CHARLEY HEARS A CONVERSATION
XVII. ON TO THE DIGGIN'S
XVIII. THE TRAIL OF THE ENEMY
XIX. A GREAT DISCOVERY
XX. ANOTHER GREAT DISCOVERY
XXI. MINERS' JUSTICE
XXII. THE BEST OF ALL
ILLUSTRATIONS
"YOU STOLE THOSE PAPERS" . . . . . . . . . . . . _Frontispiece_
"OVER THEY GO!"
DOWN SLIPPED CHARLEY'S HORSE FROM THE TRAIL
"I'VE LOST THE PAPERS"
BILLY STEPPED ON HIS LEAD ROPE AND LEVELED HIS GUN LIKE LIGHTNING
MAPS
THE MAP FROM THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER
FROM NEW ORLEANS TO SAN FRANCISCO, 1849
THE ROUTE ACROSS THE ISTHMUS IN 1849
THE VOYAGE OF THE SCHOONER "MARY ANN" FROM SAN FRANCISCO
TO THE GOLD FIELDS, 1849
FROM SACRAMENTO TO "THE DIGGIN'S," 1849
THE STORY OF CALIFORNIA
1542--On September 28, 1542, Captain Juan Rodriguez Cabrillo, a
Portuguese navigator in the service of Spain, on a voyage of
exploration along the coast northward from Mexico casts anchor of his
two small ships, the _San Salvador_ and the _Victoria_, in San Diego
Bay. He christens it the Puerta de San Miguel (Port of Saint Michael).
Thence his ships explore north clear to the line of present Oregon.
Mid-voyage he dies from an accident, and is buried on San Miguel
Island, opposite present Santa Barbara. The exploration is continued
by his lieutenant, Bartolome Ferrelo.
1579--In June, 1579, Sir Francis Drake, English adventurer, lands near
the Bay of San Francisco, to overhaul his ship, the _Golden Hind_. He
takes possession of the shore for Queen Elizabeth, christens it New
Albion, and erects a monument. His bay is called Francis Drake's Bay.
1587--The Bay of Monterey visited, according to description, in 1587,
by the Spanish navigator Pedro de Unamunu, in his ship _Nuestra Señora
de la Esperança_ (Our Lady of Hope). He lands and erects a cross, and
christens the place Puerta de San Lucas (Port of Saint Luke), taking
possession for the King of Spain.
1595--In 1595 the Spanish navigator Sebastian Rodriguez Cermeno is
wrecked in Francis Drake's Bay, to which he gives the name Bay of San
Francisco. This was a small bay behind Point Reyes, north of the
entrance to the Golden Gate.
1602--Cabrillo's Port of San Miguel entered in 1602 by the Spanish
navigator Sebastian Vizcaino, with four vessels: the _San Diego_ (Saint
James), the _Santo Tomas_ (Saint Thomas), the _Tres Reyes_ (Three
Kings), and a launch. He christens the bay San Diego. Voyaging
further, he rediscovers the Port of San Lucas, and christens it
Monterey, in honor of the Count of Monterey, the ruler for Spain in
Mexico.
1769--Sent out by Comandante José de Galvez, inspector general for
Spain in Mexico, in 1769 the first expedition by land ascends from
Lower California of Mexico into Alta (Upper) California. It is in two
parties, one commanded by Captain Rivera y Moncada and accompanied by
the Franciscan priest Padre Juan Crespi, the other commanded by Gaspar
de Portola, governor of the Californias for Spain, and accompanied by
the Franciscan priest Padre Junipero Serra. The object was to
establish three Franciscan missions--one at San Diego, one at Monterey,
one at San Francisco; and at Monterey a town and a fort. By sea set
forth, with another expedition, and with supplies, the ships _San
Carlos_ (Saint Charles), _San Antonio_ (Saint Anthony), and _San José_
(Saint Joseph). The _San José_ was disabled at the start. The meeting
place was to be San Diego. Here, July 16, 1769, the mission of San
Diego de Arcala is founded.
1769--November 2, 1769, the present Bay of San Francisco is discovered,
from a hill, by some soldiers in the party of Gaspar de Portola, who
had led an expedition northward from San Diego, to search for Monterey.
1770--June 3, 1770, the mission of San Carlos Borromeo de Monterey is
founded. Three other missions follow, to September, 1772.
1776--September 17, 1776, the presidio or military station of San
Francisco is founded.
1776--October 9, 1776, the mission of San Francisco de Asis is
dedicated, on the shore of the real San Francisco Bay. By August 23,
1823, twenty-one missions have been placed.
1781--September 4, 1781, the town of Los Angeles is established.
1794--In 1794, as old records say, the first American arrived, landing
from a ship and settling in Santa Barbara. He is called by the
Californians, "Boston Boy."
1804--Upper California is made a separate Spanish province, by royal
decree of August 29, 1804.
1821--By revolt of Mexico against Spain, in 1821 California becomes a
Mexican province.
1826--In 1826 arrive the first Americans by land, being a party of
trappers led from Salt Lake by Jedediah S. Smith.
1832--Captain Benjamin Morrell, Jr., of the American vessel _Tartar_,
after having stopped at California publishes, in 1832, a book upon his
travels, in which he urges the acquisition of California by the United
States.
1835--President Andrew Jackson authorizes Colonel Anthony Butler,
American official in Mexico, to purchase, if possible, for the United
States, "the whole bay of San Francisco." The plan fails.
1839--July 3, 1839, arrives at Monterey Captain John August Sutter, a
Swiss-American. In August he takes up a tract of land on the south
bank of the American River, east from present Sacramento, and there
establishes a trading post which he names New Helvetia, but which
became better known as Sutter's Fort. The post grows to be a rallying
place for American trappers and settlers.
1841--In November, 1841, arrive the first company of American
immigrants, led by J. Bartleson and John Bidwell, from the Missouri
River, along the Oregon Trail to the Salt Lake cut-off, thence down the
Humboldt River and across the Sierra Nevada mountains and down the
Stanislaus River. Numbering thirty-nine, they reach the ranch of Dr.
John Marsh, early American settler, back of the present city of
Oakland, opposite San Francisco.
1841--In October and November, 1841, the Bay of San Francisco, and the
Sacramento and San Joaquin Rivers are surveyed by the Government
exploring expedition under command of Captain Charles W. Wilkes, United
States Navy.
1842--The Honorable Waddy Thompson, United States minister to Mexico,
informs President John Tyler, April 29, 1842, that Mexico is willing to
sell Texas and Upper California. He emphasizes the importance of
California.
1842--October 20, 1842, Commodore Thomas ap Catesby Jones of the United
States Navy raises the American flag over Monterey, thinking that war
with Mexico had been declared. The next day he apologizes; but the
sale of California is interrupted.
1842-43-44--The American immigration overland gradually increases in
1842, 1843, 1844, and alarms the Mexican authorities, who fear the
spread of American influence. The majority of the settlers locate in
Northern California.
1844--In February, 1844, Captain John C. Frémont and party, on
exploring expedition for the War Department at Washington, cross the
Sierra Nevada, to Sutter's Fort, and traverse California from north to
south.
1845--Negotiations for the purchase of California are resumed in 1845
by President James K. Polk. The American consul at Monterey, Thomas O.
Larkin, is appointed "confidential agent" for the United States, and is
instructed to keep watch against any scheming by France or Great
Britain, and to influence the California people to unite themselves
with the Republic.
1845--In the winter of 1845-1846 Frémont again leads a party to
Sutter's Fort, and on toward the coast. He is ordered out; proceeds up
for Oregon, and is recalled, May 8, 1846, into California by a naval
officer with dispatches for him.
1846--June, 1846, American settlers and adventurers, in the
neighborhood of Sutter's Fort, revolt against the Mexican government of
California; June 14 they capture Sonoma, north of San Francisco, where
they raise the Bear Flag and proclaim California to be an independent
republic. Frémont aids the revolution.
1846--Following news of war between the United States and Mexico, on
July 7, 1846, Commodore John D. Sloat raises the American flag over
Monterey; on July 9 it is raised over San Francisco and Sonoma; on July
11, over Sutter's Fort; on August 13, Los Angeles is invested, and the
flag raised there.
1847--After several engagements between the American forces and the
Californians, on January 13, 1847, by the treaty of Cahuenga the
Californians agree to lay down their arms.
1848--By the treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo between the United States and
Mexico, at the close of the Mexican War, and ratified at Washington,
March 16, 1848, California is ceded to the United States.
1848--James Marshall, in the employ of Captain Sutter, while washing
out a mill-race at Coloma, on the American River, about thirty miles
west of Sutter's Fort, on January 24, 1848, discovers flakes of gold.
The news spreads; it reaches Monterey, the capital, May 29, and creates
intense excitement. In December the news officially reaches
Washington, by communication from General Richard B. Mason and former
consul James O. Larkin, and is included in President Polk's message to
Congress. During 1848 $10,000,000 in gold is gathered by miners in
California.
1849--In the spring of 1849 20,000 people are collected at the Missouri
River, prepared to start overland 2000 miles to the California gold
fields. More than 30,000 people make the land pilgrimage this year.
Others sail around Cape Horn. Many others choose to cross the Isthmus
of Panama, and reach the Pacific that way. The first shipload of gold
seekers arrive in San Francisco February 28, 1849. San Francisco,
formerly the hamlet of Yerba Buena (Good Herb), leaps from a population
of 500 to one of 15,000, and the harbor has 500 vessels at anchor,
flying all flags. In 1849 $40,000,000 of gold is taken from the soil
by the miners.
1849--September 1, 1849, a convention to frame a State Constitution
assembles at Monterey, the capital. On October 10 the constitution is
adopted.
1850--September 9, 1850, California is admitted as a State, into the
Union, without having been a Territory. Since then she has forged to
the front as one of the richest members of the Republic. Her soil has
been found to yield greater treasures than gold, and her people pride
themselves upon being among the most progressive of all between the two
oceans.
THE PANAMA CANAL
1513--September 25, the young Spanish navigator Vasco Nunez de Balboa
and party, from the Atlantic, exploring afoot the Isthmus of Panama
(first called the Isthmus of Darien), on the mountain divide sight the
Pacific Ocean. This they reach and claim for the King of Spain. They
were the first white men to cross the Isthmus, and they discovered the
Pacific Ocean.
1516--Balboa again crosses the Isthmus, transporting the material for
four ships from the Atlantic to the Pacific. Two thousand native
Indians die by the hard labor of jungle travel.
1520-1529--Various other explorations are made by Spain, in hopes of
finding a water-way clear through the Isthmus.
1521--Charles the Fifth of Spain orders a Royal Road constructed across
the Isthmus between Nombre de Dios on the Atlantic side and Panama on
the Pacific side. It crossed the Chagres River at Las Cruces.
1530--Vessels begin to navigate the Chagres up to Gorgona and Cruces,
and there connect with the Royal Road from Panama.
1534--The Spanish authorities of this New Spain undertake a survey of
the Isthmus, in order to construct a water-way from ocean to ocean.
The project fails.
1535-1814--Nothing more has been accomplished toward bettering
communication across the Isthmus, although a water route by way of Lake
Nicaragua has been much discussed.
1814--Spain authorizes the construction of a canal through the Isthmus,
but by a revolution loses her Central America provinces.
1825--The Republic of Central America requests the assistance of the
United States in the construction of a canal through Nicaragua.
1826--Aaron H. Palmer, of New York, contracts with the Republic of
Central America for the construction of a canal across Nicaragua. This
project also fails, and so does an English plan.
1827--President Bolivar of the Republic of Colombia (formed by the
States of New Granada, Ecuador and Venezuela, and thus embracing the
Isthmus) commissions J. A. Lloyd to survey the Isthmus with a view to a
rail-and-water route across. Lloyd recommends a canal from Limon Bay
to the Chagres River (as now), the river route as far on as possible,
and a railroad thence to the Pacific coast.
1835-1841--The United States further debates the subject of a ship
canal across the Isthmus or up through Nicaragua. Commissioners report
in favor of the Nicaragua route.
1838--A French company obtains from New Granada a concession to open a
route by land or water across the Isthmus. Although many surveys are
made, and a canal from Limon Bay to the vicinity of Panama is mapped
out, no actual construction work is done.
1847--The Republic of New Granada grants the right to a French
syndicate to build a railroad across the Isthmus. The right expired in
1848.
1848--Spurred on by the acquisition of California, the United States
secures from New Granada the right of passage across the Isthmus.
1849--The United States secures from Nicaragua the right to construct
communication of any sort between the Caribbean Sea and the Pacific
Ocean.
1840--The American, Atlantic and Pacific Ship Canal Company, headed by
Cornelius Vanderbilt, is formed, to build across Nicaragua. The
company makes fresh surveys of value, but does no construction work,
and in 1856 its concession is recalled by Nicaragua.
1849--The Panama Railroad Company is formed by John Lloyd Stevens,
William Henry Aspinwall and Henry Chauncy of New York, to build across
the Isthmus. Work is started.
1855--After tremendous labor in the jungles and swamps, and the loss of
thousands of lives, the railroad is finished. On January 27, 1855, the
first locomotive crosses from ocean to ocean. Reconstructed to conform
to the canal, the railroad is in operation to-day.
1866--The United States Senate requests the Secretary of the Navy to
supply it with all available information upon the feasibility of a
canal across the Isthmus.
1867--Nineteen canal and seven railroad projects for the Isthmus region
are submitted in the report to the Senate. The report recommends that
a route be found through Panama.
1869--President Grant recommends to Congress the building of an
American canal across the Isthmus. Resolutions are adopted.
1872--An Interoceanic Canal Commission authorized by Congress begins
various surveys throughout the Isthmus country. Its final report
(1876) unanimously recommends the route through Nicaragua, instead of
through Panama.
1875--France forms a company to secure from the Republic of Colombia,
which again controls the Isthmus, the rights to build a canal across,
and to operate it for ninety-nine years. Lieutenant Lucien B. Wyse of
the French Navy makes a survey and a report.
1879--An International Congress of 135 delegates, eleven being from the
United States, is held at Paris, to discuss the route for a canal.
Ferdinand de Lesseps, French engineer who had built the Suez Canal,
presides. The route selected is that through Panama, between Colon and
Panama. The Universal Company of the Panama Interoceanic Canal is
incorporated. De Lesseps is made chief engineer. He calculates that
the canal can be built in eight years, at a cost of $127,000,000.
Shares in the company are widely sold.
1881--Work on the French canal is started.
1892--The French company has already spent eight years and
$260,000,000, and has accomplished little actual headway. An enormous
amount of money has been wasted. The company is declared insolvent and
a receiver is appointed by the French court.
1894--The company is reorganized as the New Panama Canal Company. In
five years it expends $8,000,000, in work on about two-fifths of the
canal.
1899--By authority of Congress President McKinley appoints an Isthmian
Canal Commission to investigate the property of the French company and
see by what methods it can be purchased. The commission in its report
recommends a route up through Nicaragua. Estimates are made that
$102,000,000 and ten years' work will be required.
1901--The question of a Panama canal or a Nicaragua canal is debated in
Congress. Expert opinion from engineers and shipping interests favors
the Panama route.
1902--By authorizing the purchase of the French company's property and
franchises for $40,000,000 the United States declares its purpose to
build a Panama canal itself. The Secretary of War is instructed to
make plans upon an expense basis not to exceed $130,000,000.
1903-1904--The United States formally takes over the French rights and
concludes a canal treaty with Panama, the canal to be completed in
fourteen years.
1904--The Canal Commission appointed by the President and under
supervision of the Secretary of War, William H. Taft, arrives on the
Isthmus to pursue the building of the canal. John F. Wallace is
engineer-in-chief. The commission decides on a lock canal, instead of
a sea-level canal as originally planned.
1905--John F. Stevens succeeds Mr. Wallace as chief engineer.
1906--The foreign members of an International Board of Consulting
Engineers which visits the canal at the invitation of the United States
report in favor of a sea-level canal; American members, in the
minority, report in favor of the lock canal.
1906--In his message to Congress President Roosevelt supports the
minority report favoring the lock canal. Congress adopts the minority
report.
1907--Engineer Stevens resigns. The canal work is placed under the
direction of the War Department. Lieutenant-Colonel George W.
Goethals, Corps of Engineers, U. S. A., is made engineer-in-chief. He
estimates the cost of a lock canal at $375,000,000; of a sea-level
canal, $563,000,000.
1913--October 10 (the anniversary of the day upon which Balboa took
possession of the Pacific Ocean) the Gamboa dike, marking the division
between the canal waters of the Atlantic and the Pacific, is blown open
when President Wilson presses an electric button at the White House.
This year a mud scow passes through the canal from the Atlantic to the
Pacific.
1914--January 7, the steam crane boat Alexander la Valley, 1200 tons,
makes the passage--the first vessel by steam. February 1 the ocean tug
Reliance, Captain R. C. Thompson, having steamed around the Horn
returns to the Atlantic through the canal--the first commercial vessel
to pass.
1914--The annual report of Colonel Goethals states that the cost of
constructing the canal to date, has been $353,559,049, including
fortifications.
1915--The great canal is formally opened. Including the $40,000,000
paid to France, and the $10,000,000 paid to the Republic of Panama, the
outlay represented by the canal as built by the United States totals
about $400,000,000, of which not a cent was misused.
GOLD SEEKERS OF '49
I
THE MYSTERIOUS STRANGER
Charley Adams was trudging up to his knees in snow, on his way home
from down town. It was Washington's Birthday, 1849, and winter had
sent St. Louis a late valentine in shape of a big snowstorm. As this
occurred seventy-five years ago, there were no street-cars in St. Louis
(or in any other American city, for that matter); and even had there
been street-cars they doubtless would have been tied up. At all
events, Charley had walked down, and now he was trudging back with the
mail.
His father was very anxious to see that mail. It contained the Eastern
papers, and these probably would add to the tidings printed in the St.
Louis papers, from the marvelous gold fields of California.
Since January, when President Polk's annual message to Congress had
been read in St. Louis, in the papers, St. Louis people, like the whole
population of the United States, had been crazy over the California
gold. It was claimed that as far back as January, 1848, a man named
Marshall, while digging a mill-race somewhere in interior Upper
California, for a Captain Sutter of Sutter's Fort ranch, on the
emigrant trail over the Sierra Nevada mountain-range down to
Sacramento, had washed into plain sight an unlimited supply of gold
flakes.
However, when the news first had reached Washington and New York and
had filtered back to St. Louis, it was several months old and seemed
scarcely worth attention, California being such a long way off. But
now the President himself was authority for the fact that gold actually
was lying around loose, for anybody to pick up, in this fair new land
of California, and that thousands of people already were gathering it!
The President offered as proof letters from Colonel Richard B. Mason,
the military governor of California, and from the Honorable Thomas O.
Larkin, who had been the United States consul in California. The
letters said not only that gold had been found, as before stated, but
that 10,000 people (nearly all the able-bodied population of
California) were out looking for more, and finding it, too! Sailors
were deserting the ships and soldiers the ranks; servants were leaving
the houses and merchants the stores, and the whole territory was wild.
Congressmen at Washington asserted so much gold would be put on the
market that gold money would lose its value, it would be so common.
These reports sounded like fairy-tales come true. Think of it! Gold,
lying around on the surface of the ground, to be pocketed by the first
finders! In spite of the fact that California had been a part of the
United States only two years, or since the war with Mexico, and was
distant 2000 miles across uninhabited desert and mountains, as soon as
the word about gold was guaranteed to be really the truth a tremendous
number of people here in the "States" set about dropping everything
else and starting right away, to seek their fortunes.
Hundreds of St. Louis people had left, in parties large and small, a
few to travel clear around Cape Horn of South America, or to cross the
Isthmus of Panama and to sail up the Pacific Coast, but the majority to
ride and walk, with wagon and team, across the deserts and mountains
from the Missouri River 2000 miles to California. A number of
neighbors and other friends of the Adamses had gone. Even Mr. Walker,
Billy Walker's father, was going as soon as he could provide so that
his family would not suffer in his absence; and he was talking of
taking Billy. As Billy was Charley's best chum, this seemed pretty
mean--for Charley, not for Billy, of course. To Charley there seemed
no chance of _his_ going, traveling across those wild plains and
ranges, sleeping out of doors, and fighting Indians, perhaps, and then
gathering gold in far California itself. His father was laid up, still
recovering from wounds received in the war with Mexico. Charley was
proud of his soldier father, who had served under General Scott all
through the war, until disabled in the capture of Mexico City; but he
did wish that there was some way for them to go to those gold fields.
The snow-storm had about ceased. The snow was two feet deep, in the
streets, and the air was nipping chill. The streets were deserted, as
evening settled down and Charley neared home. Now when he passed an
open stairway, leading up into a building, he saw a huddled figure just
inside the entrance.
He hurried on, but suddenly he stopped short. The figure had not
stirred, as he passed--it looked odd--maybe it was only crouching there
for shelter from the wind and snow--or maybe it was asleep--or maybe
frozen. Jiminy! He ought not to go and leave it. Boy Scouts of
America had not been organized, in 1849; but Charley was a Boy Scout at
heart, so he turned back, anxious to do a good turn if possible.
When he peered into the entrance to the stairway, the huddled figure
was there, just as first seen. It was that of a man, in ragged
clothing, with worn boots, slouch hat, and unkempt beard visible where
the face was bent forward upon the chest and folded arms. The figure
did not move, and Charley spoke to it.
"Hello."
There was no response.
"Hello, there! What are you doing?"
Still no answer of any kind.
"Hey! Wake up!" bade Charley, more boldly. "You'll freeze."
Into Charley's throat welled a little tinge of fear; the figure
remained so quiet and motionless. He reached in and shook the man by
the shoulder. It was cold and stiff.
"Wake up! Wake up!"
Hurrah! The man was alive, anyway, for now he did stir drowsily, and
mumbled as if objecting. Charley noticed that his hands were clenched
tightly over the side-pockets of his old jacket, where the corners were
drawn into his lap.
"Wake up! You'd better get out of here. You'll freeze. Want me to
help you?"
Charley tried to lift the man, and to force him to move; but the man
sat as a dead weight, and only mumbled crossly, and held back.
"Oh, crickity!" despaired Charley. "I'll have to get somebody to help.
He's half frozen already. That's what's the matter with him."
Charley bolted out, to peer up and down the dusky white street. He had
a notion to run to a little store about a block away, when he saw a man
walking hastily along on the opposite side of the street. Out into the
middle of the street floundered Charley, and hailed him.
"Hello! Can you please come over here a minute?"
"Sure, sonny." And he turned off, curiously approaching. "What is it
you want, now?"
"There's a man freezing to death in the doorway, yonder," said Charley,
excited. "He ought to be taken out."
"Who is he?"
"I don't know."
"What doorway, sonny?"
"That one. I'll show you." And Charley led off, the other man
following him. He was a dark complexioned, sharp-faced man, with a
little black moustache and a long drooping nose. He had bright black,
narrow eyes, piercing but rather shifty. He wore a round fur cap and
an overcoat with a cape.
The figure in the stairway entrance sat exactly as Charley had left
him, except that he appeared to have gathered his coat pockets tighter.
"See?" directed Charley.
"Humph!" The long-nosed man peered in keenly. "Drunk, isn't he?" And
he ordered roughly: "Come! get out o' here! Stir your stumps. This is
no place to sleep."
The figure mumbled and swayed.
"I don't think he's drunk," ventured Charley. "He doesn't act like it,
does he?"
"I dunno," grunted the long-nosed man, as if irritated. He reached in
and, as Charley had done, but more rudely, grasped the figure by the
shoulder; shook him and attempted to drag him forward; raised him a few
inches and let him drop back again.
"We can't do anything. He looks like a beggar, anyhow. I'll see if I
can find a watchman, on my way down town, and send him up."
That sounded inhuman, and Charley, for one, could not think of letting
the figure huddle there, in the cold and the night, until the watchman
should arrive. He did not like the long-nosed man.
"If you'll help, I'll take him home," volunteered Charley. "'Tisn't
far."
"How far?" demanded the long-nosed man.
"Just a block and a half."
"What'll you do with him there?"
"Get him warm. My mother and father'll tend to him. They won't mind."
"Humph!" grunted the long-nosed man. "Well, let's see. But I don't
intend to break my back for some no-'count trash such as this is.
Come," he ordered, to the figure. "Get out o' here."
He grasped the figure by the arms and pulled him forward. Charley
tried to get behind and boost. The tramp (if that was his kind)
mumbled and actually resisted--hanging back and fighting feebly. His
arms were wrenched from their position across his chest, and his coat
corners fell back, with a thud, against the sides of the stairway.
"This fellow must be carrying a brick in each pocket," grumbled the
long-nosed man. And halting his operations, despite the other man's
resistance he roughly felt of the coat corners. But when he would have
thrust in his hand, to investigate further, the other clutched the
pockets so tightly and moaned "No! No!" so imploringly, that much to
Charley's relief the long-nosed man quit.
Supporting their charge between them, and wading through the snow, they
proceeded up the street. The "tramp" half shambled, half slid;
darkness had gathered, stars were peeping out in the blue-black sky,
the way seemed hard and lonesome, and Charley was glad indeed that they
were bound to a place of warmth and shelter: home.
"It's right in the middle of this next block," panted Charley to the
long-nosed man. "Where that horse-step is, under the big old oak."
The gate was ajar, and they turned through, dragging their awkwardly
shambling burden. As they gained the front porch the front door was
flung wide, and Mrs. Adams stood there, peering out, to find what was
the meaning of this scuffling and grunting. Charley was glad to see
her, framed in the lamp-light.
"Why, Charley!" she exclaimed. "What's the matter?"
"Please, mother, let us in," answered Charley. "We've got a man who
was freezing in a stairway. Where'll we put him?"
"Gracious goodness! Take him right through and put him on the sofa.
Oh, George!" and she called to Mr. Adams. "Is he badly frozen,
Charley?" she asked, as Charley, tugging away, passed her.
"I don't think so, ma'am," replied the long-nosed man, speaking up.
"No, ma'am. Not yet. He's fairly limber." And he scolded, to the
"tramp": "Come on, now! You weigh a ton, with all your ballast."
Carrying and guiding the man, both, they continued on through the hall,
into the pleasant sitting-room lighted by a whale-oil lamp and heated
by a large wood-stove. At the call of his wife, Mr. Adams had hastily
come from the back part of the house.
"Hello," he greeted. "What's here? Who is he, Charley?"
Charley's father was a tall man (he stood six feet one inch in his
stockinged feet), and before the war he had been powerfully muscled.
Now he was worn thin, and was a little stooped; and because of the
wound in his knee, from a copper bullet, he limped. His full beard,
trimmed around, was brown, but his eyes were a bright keen blue.
Charley thought him the handsomest man in the world--and about the
biggest.
"Somebody they've taken out of a stairway," explained Mrs. Adams, to
him. "He was freezing. I told them to put him on the sofa."
"I should say so!" ejaculated Mr. Adams, and limped forward to help.
Mrs. Adams quickly rearranged the knitted spread and the pillow; and
with Mr. Adams attending to the feet end of the rescued stranger and
Charley and the long-nosed man attending to the body and head, on the
sofa the unknown was deposited.
"He's so thinly clothed!" cried Mrs. Adams, hovering over. "I'll get
some hot milk." And away she bustled, for the kitchen.
"Let's take off his coat and boots," directed Mr. Adams, with soldierly
decision. "Hope his feet aren't frozen." And he worked at the boots,
to haul them from the cold, stiff feet.
Charley and the long-nosed man had a harder time with the coat. The
unknown resisted, as before. He had opened his eyes (they were vacant
and frightened) and had roused a little more strength. He even shoved
the long-nosed man back.
"You," he appealed, huskily, to Charley, whom he seemed to accept as
his friend. "You--take it."
"Well, I'll be jiggered!" ejaculated the long-nosed man. "There's
gratitude for you!"
But he stood back, while Charley went ahead removing the coat. The
unknown grasped the pockets, for the last time, and tried to hand them
on to Charley.
"Keep it. You----" and he fell back, exhausted.
"We don't want your coat, my man," assured Mr. Adams, briskly rubbing
the feet.
"He's got something in the pockets, dad," explained Charley.
"Something heavy."
"Look and see, then," bade the long-nosed man. "Now's your chance."
"Shall I?" queried Charley, of his father, doubtfully, holding the coat.
"Why, yes, if you want to. Perhaps we ought to know."
"Here's the milk," announced Mrs. Adams, hurrying in bearing glass and
steaming pitcher.
Charley, with the long-nosed man peering curiously, and Mr. and Mrs.
Adams looking, as well, fished out the weight from the right-hand coat
pocket. It was a little buckskin sack, round and heavy with its
contents.
"By thunder!" exclaimed the long-nosed man. "Hooray! I suspicioned
it. This fellow's from the Californy gold mines, and that sack's
stuffed with gold dust, as they call it. Open her up and see. Where's
the other one? He's got the mate in t'other pocket, I'll bet you."
"Hold on, Charley. Don't open it," ordered Mr. Adams, as Charley
fumbled with the string tied tightly around the puckered mouth of the
little sack. "It isn't yours."
"Pass it to me and I'll open it," invited the long-nosed man. "Let me
feel. Yes, sirs; that's gold dust, all right; several hundred dollars'
worth."
"We'll not open it, just the same," insisted Mr. Adams, firmly. "Put
the sack back in the pocket, Charley, and hang coat and all away.
Wait, though. Look through the other pockets and see if there are any
letters or such things to tell who he is."
Charley sought. In the other side pocket he felt another buckskin
sack, round and heavy (just as the long-nosed man, who was watching
closely, had predicted), but the inside pockets contained nothing at
all.
The unknown murmured weakly.
"I'd better give him a little hot milk, if he can drink it, hadn't I?"
proffered Mrs. Adams; she poured a few inches into the glass and held
it to his bearded lips. He tried to sip--did sip, greedily, and sank
back.
Charley started off with the coat, to hang it over a chair.
"Here, you!" objected the long-nosed man. "What are you going to do?
Half that coat's mine, remember. I helped fetch him in. Half the
plunder comes to me."
"That's no way to talk, sir," reproved Mr. Adams, sternly. "Would you
rob a helpless stranger? Not in this house, sir!"
"He's not dead. He's only fainted," informed Mrs. Adams, indignant.
"But he gave the stuff away, didn't he?" demanded the long-nosed man.
"Sure he did. Supposing he dies on your hands, you count on getting
all he has, I reckon! But you won't."
"He told me to keep it, anyway, didn't he?" retorted Charley.
"He didn't mean you to keep it for yourself, Charley," corrected Mr.
Adams. "That's foolishness. He meant that you should keep it safe
until he could use it."
"Of course," nodded Mrs. Adams. "What had we better do with him,
George?"
"Let him sleep, if he wants to. His feet are getting warm. He'll be
all right."
"Lookee here," blustered the long-nosed man. "I come in for half,
remember. I helped fetch him in. If it hadn't been for my help he'd
have frozen solid where he was, or else the watchman would have picked
him up and taken him off. I'm going, now. I've got business to tend
to--same as before I was interrupted. I left a business errand, to
help fetch him here. Understand? My time's worth money. I know where
this house is, and I know your names; and I'm coming 'round again, to
see what's what. Half that dust is mine, or I'll make you trouble."
"If he doesn't use it, himself, it will go to his kin, sir," returned
Mr. Adams.
"Kin!" snorted the long-nosed man. "He's from the gold fields. Look
at that shirt, and those whiskers and boots; and the dust itself tells
the tale. As like as not he hasn't any kin, within reach; and if he
has, you're a blamed fool to summon 'em. We've got things in our own
hands--understand? Think it over. I'll be 'round. Good-night."
"Good-night," they answered. "Open the door for him, Charley," bade
Mr. Adams.
With a grunty grumble the long-nosed man passed out into the night.
Charley hastened back to look at the unknown again.
From the California gold fields! Think of that! And with two sacks of
gold dust! Who could he be? Where was he going in St. Louis? What
had he seen and done, in California? But here he lay, in a stupor,
with Mr. Adams rubbing his arms and legs, and Mrs. Adams hovering over
with the glass and pitcher.
II
HURRAH FOR THE GOLDEN WEST
As the evening wore on the stranger tossed and murmured more and more,
until it was evident that he was ill with something graver than mere
exposure.
"Charley, I think you'd better go for the doctor," said Mr. Adams,
finally, about eight o'clock, after they all had done what they could.
"This man's getting no better. He looks as though he might have a
fever."
"Yes; that's what I've been thinking, too," nodded Mrs. Adams. "Hurry
on, Charley. And if the doctor isn't there leave word for him to come
as soon as he can."
Out into the cold again, and into the darkness as well, bolted Charley,
donning cap and scarf and mittens as he went. The adventure was
growing more exciting. What a shame if the man should not recover and
they would have to guess all about him!
Old Doctor Paulis, the Adams family doctor, lived but three blocks
away, and through the snow and the night Charley ran the whole
distance. The doctor said that he'd be along immediately, or as soon
as he had finished his supper; and arrive he did, when Charley had been
home only a few minutes.
He examined the stranger very carefully.
"It's a case of fever--a kind probably contracted on the Isthmus or on
shipboard, if he returned that way," at last pronounced the doctor.
"I'm afraid, after his exposure to the cold, that I may not pull him
through; but I'll do what I can. Meantime if you can get in
communication with any of his relatives or friends, you'd better do so."
The doctor left a quantity of medicine, to be given at such frequent
intervals that somebody must be up all night. However, Charley went to
bed and slept, and dreamed that the mysterious stranger was sitting on
the sofa and was telling them that in California gold dust was shaken
from the trees and shoveled into flour-sacks.
But the mysterious stranger was by no means sitting up, when after
breakfast Charley saw him. He was quieter, to be sure, and he seemed
to be partially conscious; he even appeared to recognize Charley;
still, he was terribly weak.
It was Charley's turn to stay with him. Mrs. Adams went out to do some
marketing; Mr. Adams lay down, to rest. Charley sat near the sofa, to
give the medicine, and keep up the fire, and between times to pick out
interesting news about California, in the papers that he had brought
home. Gold, gold, gold! That was it--gold! Everybody out there was
finding gold, and everybody else was making ready to start.
One item told about a railroad across the Isthmus of Panama, too--that
it probably would be begun soon, by Americans; and with that completed
there would be an easy way to California.
The man on the sofa was making a strange sound; and looking over at
him, Charley was astonished to see himself beckoned. Up he jumped, and
crossed.
"Paper," whispered the man, in Charley's ear. "Paper----" and he
feebly signed that he wanted to write.
Charley flew to the desk in the corner and got a writing pad and
pencil. But the man was so weak that he made only a few wavy,
uncertain lines, and fell back exhausted.
"You write; I sign," he whispered, to Charley. Charley obediently took
pad and pencil, and the man dictated. "Date. Say 'For service
rendered I give--bearer--all my rights in--Golden West mining
claim--California.' I sign. Quick." And he motioned for the pencil.
Charley held the pad, and watched him feebly scrawl a "T" and what
might have been an "o"--and a haggling "m"; and then the pencil
dropped. He looked so strange, he scarcely breathed; and frightened,
Charley darted into the other room where his father was lying resting.
"Oh, dad! Dad!"
"Hello? What's the matter?"
"Come, quick!"
Mr. Adams jumped to the floor and at rapid limp hastened for the
living-room.
"He acts worse," explained Charley, pointing. "See? He talked, and
started to write, and fell back."
Mr. Adams bent over the sofa and with ear down listened. He put his
hand upon the stranger's forehead.
"Get the doctor as quick as you can, Charley," he bade.
Out bolted Charley, but he did not have far to go, for he met the
doctor at the gate. A glance at the sofa decided Doctor Paulis. He
soberly shook his head. His examination need be very short.
"I can do no more," he said.
"I feared so," confessed Charley's father. "To bad. Well, now what
can _we_ do, I wonder."
"I'll notify the coroner," proffered the old doctor. "Meanwhile, you'd
better look through the clothes and see if you can find out anything
more."
The doctor left. Mr. Adams gently searched the man's trouser pockets,
finding nothing, not even a knife.
"Now for the coat again," he directed.
Charley brought the coat from the closet. His father handled it. It
was heavy with the two little buckskin sacks; but the pockets contained
nothing else--and yet Mr. Adams's fingers paused in their search, as he
was about to lay the coat aside.
"There's a paper in here somewhere," he said. "I felt it. It's inside
the lining." He fished out his pen-knife; and ripping a seam,
extracted the paper from under the lining.
It seemed to be several pages from an old diary, and was worn so that
the pencilings could scarcely be read. Charley and his father could
make out names of places in California, evidently--"Sutter's,"
"American R.," "Coloma,"--and stray words such as "good camp,"
"prospects bright," "ounces," "pan," "rain," "home"; on an inside page
was sketched a rough map.
But this penciled map was so worn and faint that Charley and his
father, and his mother, too, puzzled over it almost in vain. Starting
from the joining of two rivers, it appeared to represent an exploring
trip up along one of the rivers, and through the country, with crosses
scattered like camps, and the letters "G. H." set down here and there.
The page was thumb-marked so badly, and so scuffed, that some of it was
well-nigh rubbed out. Charley and his father and mother later puzzled
a great deal over that map, which looked like this.
[Illustration: The map from the mysterious stranger. ("G H" means
"Gold Here")]
But now the next thing was the examination of the sacks, round and
heavy.
"I suppose we'd better open them," mused Mr. Adams. He untied the
worn, greasy thong about the neck of one, and loosened the mouth. He
peered in; so did Charley.
"Gold dust, sure as shooting," gasped Mr. Adams. "What in the world
are we to do with it? Nuggets, too. Ever see any, Charley? Here----"
and with thumb and finger he fished out a smoothish lump about the size
of a navy bean.
Charley saw it. He saw the dust, too--a mass of fine particles,
glinting dully yellow amidst the brownish interior. Gee whiz! And the
other sack held the same!
"How much do you suppose it makes?"
Mr. Adams weighed the sacks in his hand, thoughtfully.
"I judge they weigh about three pounds apiece," he mused. "Gold is
selling at fourteen dollars an ounce, I hear. Humph! If each sack
contains three pounds, that makes--er, twelve ounces to the
pound--thirty-six ounces in each sack, at fourteen dollars--say $500
apiece, or $1000 in all. I declare!"
That seemed like a lot of money.
"He gave it to me," declared Charley, eagerly. "Really he did, dad.
And he gave me his mine, too, out in California. He did. I wrote as
he told me to on a piece of paper, and he started to sign, and then he
quit. It's the Golden West mine. See?" and Charley, showed the
writing on the pad.
"Well!" muttered his father. "I declare! 'Tom,' that looks like. Tom
who, I wonder. That's the most importance. Of course we don't want
his mine or his money. Didn't he tell his last name?"
"No, sir. But he gave me the money, and he gave me the mine. He----"
but Charley was interrupted by a resounding knock on the front door.
"See who that is," bade his father. "I'll lay these things away."
When Charley opened the front door, the long-nosed man stood there, on
the threshold.
"Hello," he greeted, brusquely. "I called around to see our friend.
How is he?"
"Why," stammered Charley. "He's--he's dead."
"When?"
"Just a few moments ago."
"He is, is he? I'll have to look into that." And the long-nosed man
pushed by Charley and strode through the hall. Charley could do
nothing but follow. He found the man confronting Mr. Adams. The
figure on the sofa had been covered by a cloth.
"The kid says our friend has passed over," rather roughly spoke the
long-nosed man. "How about it?"
"Yes, sir," answered Mr. Adams. "There he is."
"Huh!" And walking across, the long-nosed man peeped in under the
cloth. "All right," he said. "Now's our chance to divvy, then, isn't
it?"
"Just what do you mean, sir?" demanded Mr. Adams, flushing--and Charley
knew that his father was angry.
"I mean you get half and I get half, and no questions asked. Where are
those sacks?"
"No, sir!" returned Mr. Adams, decidedly. "There'll be no such
performance. I shall put those sacks and their contents, just as they
are, on deposit with the bank or other authorities, subject to the
heirs. They're neither mine nor yours."
"He gave them to me, anyway," blurted Charley, angrily, to the man.
"There's $1000. And he----"
"Charley, be quiet," ordered his father, sternly. "It doesn't concern
us how much there is, or what he did. He wasn't in his right mind."
"What else did he do, bub?" queried the man.
But Charley held his tongue.
"You ought to be ashamed of yourself," continued Mr. Adams, severely,
to the long-nosed man, "trying to take the hard-earned gains of a poor
fellow who probably has left a needy family somewhere, and was going
back to them! If you think we'll be partners with you, you're highly
mistaken. Understand? I've never yet taken advantage of anybody in
misfortune, and I've never yet robbed a guest, most of all a dead man.
Now you'll oblige me by clearing out."
The long-nosed man sneered.
"Oh, yes," he said. "I see. You've got the swag, and no doubt he's
told you about some mine, and you count on getting that, too! But your
high and mighty virtue doesn't down, with me. My name's Jacobs: Jasper
Jacobs. I've lived on the frontier. I'm half wild hoss and half
Mississippi alligator; and I'm a bad man to cross. I'm going to watch
you, and when this swag comes to light again I'll have my share. See?
Put that in your pipe and smoke it."
"Look here, sir," answered Mr. Adams, standing straight and tall--and
Charley never could have believed that his father could seem so fierce,
except in battle. "I'm a soldier, and I've faced worse dangers than
you can threaten. Clear out, or I'll throw you out. You're insulting
me, and you're desecrating that unfortunate lying there. Now go!"
The long-nosed man actually shrank. But as he retreated he still
blustered, "I'm not done with you. I'll watch you. Remember, I'm on
your trail. This matter hasn't ended." And he slammed the door as he
went outside.
"Ha!" uttered Mr. Adams, and his face calmed. "So much for him. Now
we'll do just as I said, Charley; and your mother'll approve. We'll
deposit the sacks and any other valuables, with the bank, after we've
told the coroner; and we'll advertise for heirs. We'll use only enough
of the funds to pay the doctor, and other expenses. By the way, did
the poor fellow say anything else? Give any directions of any kind?"
"No, sir. He just called for paper and pencil and tried to write and
couldn't, and then had me write for him, and all he signed was 'Tom.'"
"That's very indefinite. If only he had finished his name, we'd have
had some clue. But the map's no good to us, in such shape. Besides,
we wouldn't think of touching money or mine, as long as there's a
single chance of the rightful claimants turning up."
Charley's mother entered. She agreed that this was right; and Charley,
although a little disappointed, could not help but agree, too. They
pored over the diary and map, but had to give up, and put them away.
They told only Doctor Paulis and the coroner.
However, although they advertised at once in the papers, for the
unknown's relatives (referring claimants to a lawyer's office), nobody
turned up who proved to be a genuine heir. After the funeral expenses
were paid, there were over $800 left, lying in the bank. The
long-nosed man, Mr. Jacobs, was unable to get at this, but he bothered
the Adamses considerably by hanging about, and whenever he met Charley
he made insulting remarks, and threats, and insisted that there was a
mine. He did not dare to say much to Mr. Adams, though. After a few
weeks he seemed to have tired, and to have drawn off. He had been very
annoying.
"Well, George," said old Dr. Paulis, one evening, "I guess you and
Charley fall heir to that dust and mine. Nobody else appears to have
any shadow of claim on them."
Charley's heart leaped; but his father shook his head.
"They're not ours, doctor," he replied. "I'd much prefer that somebody
turn up who needs them and is entitled to them."
"My dear man," protested the doctor, earnestly, "you do need them.
That's the point. You need them and you're to have them. I want you
to take the money and go to California!"
"Oh--hurrah!" cried Charley, springing up and sitting down again.
"Why----!" gasped his father. "But look here, anyway: it wouldn't be
mine; it belongs to Charley, remember. The man gave it to Charley, if
he gave it to anybody."
"Humph," grunted the old doctor, eyes twinkling. "Supposing Charley
lends you half, then--and he takes the other half and you and he go
shares on the trip and on what you find."
"Hurrah!" again cheered Charley. "I don't want it; dad can have it
all, of course. But I'd like to go, if I can."
"No arguments, now," warned the old doctor, to Mr. Adams, who sat
bewildered. "Your wife and I've agreed. You need a sea voyage, and a
little roughing it in the out-of-doors yonder in the California
mountains. That's just what you need, to set you up again. Now's your
chance. Besides, there's the mine----"
"The Golden West mine!" cheered Charley. "Sure. That's ours, too."
"There's the mine," continued the old doctor. "Somebody ought to be
developing that mine. If any real heirs ever do turn up, you see,
you'll have more than $800 to give them."
"They'll certainly get either the mine or their $800," asserted Mr.
Adams. "I don't want pay for taking care of anybody in distress."
"By all means no," concurred the old doctor. "But according to what
Charley understood (and you heard some of it, yourself), that man gave
him the dust, and also wanted him to have the mine. So you and he are
going out there, and you'll start just as soon as you possibly can."
"You will go, won't you, George?" urged Mrs. Adams. "I'll get along
splendidly. The main thing is your health. We can't any of us be
happy or contented while you're poorly--and the doctor says California
is the very thing for you. It does seem as though the way had been
opened by Providence. I'm just as glad as I can be!"
"So am I!" cheered Charley. "I'm going over and tell Billy."
"Hold on a bit," cautioned the doctor. "Wait till we finish up."
It required considerable more talk before Mr. Adams was fully
persuaded. At last he did say that he'd go, if Mrs. Adams could be
left--and if Charley would lend him the money. Lend him the money! As
if Charley wouldn't gladly give him every cent--yes, and stay home
himself, to boot, if necessary. But that was not necessary; Charley
was to go, as partner and comrade.
Plans followed thick and fast, and Charley was chock full of news when
he found Billy Walker.
"You don't know what I know!"
"What?" asked Billy.
"I'm going out to California! I'll get there before you do!"
"Aw--honest?" queried Billy. "We start day after to-morrow. How'll
you beat us? When do you start? Who else is going?"
"Start next week. Dad and I."
"Why don't you come with us? We'd have a lot of fun. How are you
going to beat us? What's your outfit? We've got a mighty fine team of
horses."
"We are not going overland," announced Charley, triumphantly. "That's
too long, and my father needs the sea air. We're going across the
Isthmus and sail up the Pacific to San Francisco!"
"How long will that take?" demanded Billy.
"About a month and a half, in all."
"Oh, shucks!" said Billy. "It'll take us three months. That's what
the papers say, anyhow. Maybe you _will_ beat us, then. But I'll have
twice as much fun."
"Why?" asked Charley.
"Because we'll be twice as long--see? What are you going to take?
You'd better look over our stuff. Come on."
"We've bought everything we could here in St. Louis," explained Billy,
as he led the way. "They say California prices are awful, there's such
a rush. Our wagon's full."
And as it stood in the Walkers's back yard, it certainly was.
"We won't need such a lot of provisions," said Charley, wisely. "We
get fed on the boats."
"That's so," agreed Billy. "But dad and I'll use up 150 pounds of
flour and bacon apiece, just getting across. An article in the paper
said people ought to carry that much, besides coffee and sugar and salt
and all that. Now I'll show you my clothes."
That was more interesting. The stout flannel shirts and the jean
trousers and the heavy cow-hide boots and the belt and the wide-brimmed
slouch hat and the coarse knitted socks looked very business-like. Mr.
Walker's clothes were about the same, except that his flannel shirts
were red, while Billy's were blue. Charley resolved that he'd get red,
for himself.
"You ought to have guns, too," asserted Billy. "You might need 'em.
We'll need ours, I bet, for buffalo and Injuns and grizzly bears. The
papers say to take a rifle and pair of pistols, five pounds of powder
and ten pounds of lead. Dad's bought one of those new-kind patent
revolving pistols--you can shoot it six times and take out the cylinder
and put in another and shoot six times more! Guess there won't many
Injuns want to tackle _us_! And I've got a seven-shooter rifle, all my
own."
III
AN UNWELCOME COMPANION
According to an advertisement in the St. Louis papers the steamship
_Georgia_, from New York for the Isthmus of Panama, was to arrive at New
Orleans in three weeks. That would be just about the right date, decided
Mr. Adams, to allow him and Charley to make their preparations, and take
a steamboat down the Mississippi from St. Louis to New Orleans.
Now all was excitement, not only at the Adams home, but throughout St.
Louis and the whole eastern country. Charley bid good-bye to Billy and
Billy's father, when with their team and white-topped wagon they pulled
out, in their party, for Westport Landing, which is now Kansas City.
From Westport Landing they were to drive on to Council Grove, thirty
miles west, which was the big starting point for California. The papers
declared that already, in this April, 15,000 people had gathered along
the Missouri River border, all the way from Independence, Missouri, to
Council Bluffs of Iowa, prepared to start on their 2000-mile trip to the
new gold fields, as soon as the grass began to grow. Every boat, too, to
the Isthmus, was crowded--and so were the sailing vessels, bound around
Cape Horn!
The lowest cabin-fare, New York to San Francisco by the Isthmus, was
$395! Counting the steamboat trip down the Mississippi, the fare was
about the same from St. Louis. Whew! That seemed to Charley a lot of
money--but thanks to the stranger whom they had taken in, Charley and his
father had it, and could leave Mrs. Adams well provided for, besides,
with what Mr. Adams had in reserve. That was good. A number of men had
gone off and left their families to get along as best they could, but
this was not Mr. Adams's way.
Being an experienced campaigner, Charley's father knew just about what
kind of an outfit they would need; and of course, as Billy had said, the
papers all had published lists, for the information of the emigrants.
All the clothing should be of the toughest and hardiest material; by
accounts there would not be much chance to renew it, out at the mines,
unless a person was prepared to pay tremendous prices. You should have
seen Charley, when his clothes came home! It had been great fun, buying
at the stores, where "California garments" were going like hot cakes, but
he could scarcely wait until he had tried his things on. When he looked
in the glass, and saw himself in broad slouch hat, and red flannel shirt,
and belted trousers tucked into cowhide boots, with a blue bandanna
handkerchief about his neck, he felt like a real gold-miner. The whitish
cotton suits, for wear on shipboard and on the Isthmus, in the tropics,
did not amount to much in comparison with this garb of a
"Forty-niner"--as the papers were beginning to call the outgoing gold
seekers.
Mr. Adams bought a brand-new Colt's revolving rifle, that shot seven
times, a revolving pistol (as it was termed), and two butcher-knives--one
apiece, to be worn thrust through the belt. Charley donned the knife,
just to see how it looked (and it looked very business-like), but his
father did not allow him to put on the big pistol. Maybe out in the gold
fields he might wear it, though.
Then there were two picks and two spades and two sheet-iron miners' pans.
These pans were round, about six inches deep and fifteen inches across at
the rims, slanting to a foot across at the bottom. They resembled a
milk-pan. They were to be used for "washing out" the gold from the dirt.
Charley had no idea how to do this; neither had his father--and neither
had one in a hundred of the other people who were talking California.
But they all expected to learn, in case it was not possible to scrape the
pure gold up with spades!
"By gracious!" exclaimed Mr. Adams, at the very last moment. "We mustn't
forget the skillet! That's the most important thing yet."
"Of course!" agreed Mrs. Adams. "How'll you fry your meat?"
So a new skillet was added to the outfit. The clothing packed a trunk
jam full. The picks and spades and skillet and rifle and other unwieldy
things were rolled in Mr. Adams's two army blankets and a couple of
quilts. That made a large bundle, and with the picks and spades showing
finely it told exactly where the owners were bound. Charley was proud of
that bundle.
At last, one morning, he donned his miner's costume in earnest, for the
day of the start had come. The trunk and bundle were sent down to the
levee in a wagon. On this day, at ten o'clock, the steamboat _Robert
Burns_ would leave for New Orleans.
Mrs. Adams of course went down to the levee with her two gold seekers to
see them off. Moments were growing very precious. The _Robert Burns_
was there, waiting, the smoke welling from her tall twin stacks. The
levee was crowded with passengers and their friends and relatives. Negro
roustabouts were hard at work hustling freight and baggage aboard.
Charley saw their trunk carried over the gangplank--and he nudged his
father and pointed, for several passengers, dressed in California
costume, were carrying up the gangplank rolls of bedding just like theirs!
It was high time he hunted up their roll, too. He found it, where it had
been pitched from the wagon. As he was proudly inspecting it to see that
all was right, he stumbled over a small cowhide trunk. Attached to the
handle was a card that read: "J. Jacobs"!
"Jacobs!" That was the long-nosed man's name. Was he booked on the
_Robert Burns_? And why? Charley grew excited at the thought, and when
his father and mother strolled across, to be near the bundle, he called:
"Father! Look here!"
Mr. Adams limped over (and big and fine he was in his rough clothes), to
see.
"Humph!" he muttered. "Well, what of it, Charley?"
"Do you think that's his?"
"Whose?"
"Why, the long-nosed man's."
"I'm sure I don't know," answered his father, coolly.
"But that's his name," pursued Charley. "Do you think he's going on our
boat?"
"We can't very well stop him, boy," smiled Mr. Adams. "It isn't 'our'
boat, exactly; and he can't do us any harm, anyway. You aren't afraid of
him, are you?"
"N--no, not if you aren't," asserted Charley. "But he's no business
following us up as he said he would."
"Humph!" again remarked his father. "We can take care of ourselves.
We'll mind our own affairs, and we'll expect him to mind his. If that's
his trunk, probably he's only going down-river a way. We won't borrow
trouble this early in the game, Charley."
That sounded reasonable, and Charley had a lot of trust in his soldier
father. Only--_if_ that trunk belonged to the long-nosed man, and if the
long-nosed man was going down to New Orleans with them, and if he boarded
the same steamer there, for California, things looked mighty peculiar.
He seemed to be such a mean, obstinate fellow that there was no knowing
what he might have up his sleeve.
Mrs. Adams was curious to know the cause of Charley's evident excitement
over the trunk.
"Oh, it bears the name Jacobs, dear," explained Mr. Adams, easily.
"Charley has the notion it means that the 'long-nosed man,' as he calls
him, is going to California with us."
"Oh, George!" And Charley's mother, too, seemed alarmed. "Do you
suppose he is?"
"No, I don't. But we can't stop him, anyway."
"It's queer he'd take this same boat, though. Maybe he's been watching
you."
"Oh, pshaw," laughed Mr. Adams. "Don't let's rig up a scarecrow, to
spoil our good-byes. Charley and I'll take care of ourselves; won't we,
Charley? We'll stick by each other, and other folks can do as they
please, as long as they don't interfere. Come on; let's go aboard, and
you can see our state-room, and say good-bye there."
Mr. Adams picked up the bundle, and shouldering it led the way up the
gangplank. Mrs. Adams followed, and Charley, in his miner's rig, with
butcher-knife stuck through his belt, proudly stumped after. He wished
that Billy Walker was there, to see. But other people were seeing,
anyway.
When they gained the deck, and were passing around to the state-room
(which was number 19), glancing back Charley saw a darky roustabout
heaving the Jacobs trunk on his back, and starting with it for the
gangplank. So it came aboard, but of its owner, if he was their Mr.
Jacobs, there was no sign.
Presently the big bell rang vigorously, and the whistle hoarsely blew, as
signal for all visitors to go ashore. Mrs. Adams gave Charley and her
husband one final kiss, and Charley added to his return kiss a round hug.
She was such a good woman; he wished that she was going, too. He rather
wished that he could stay at home with her; he--he--and he choked. For a
moment he almost hated his miner's costume. However----
"Write often, now," she bade, her eyes dewy, as with her they hastened
out on deck.
"Yes, we will. And you write often and tell us the news. Send us the
papers."
"I will, dear. Now, do be careful."
"Yes. Take care of yourself, too. If you need us, we'll come straight
home, won't we, Charley?"
Charley could only nod.
"Hurry, dear, or you'll be left," warned Mr. Adams, anxiously--for
already the gangplank ropes had been tautened by the donkey-engine and
the plank was trembling to rise. Charley rather wished that she would be
left; then she'd have to come with them! Wouldn't that be great!
But she ran down the plank. Then, near the end, she stopped, and called
back.
"What's that, dear?" inquired Mr. Adams, and he and Charley listened
keenly.
"Have you got the quinine?"
"Yes. Hurry, dear."
"Sure?"
"It's in the trunk. Look out--jump!"
The gangplank was rising, but with a little run Mrs. Adams did jump and
landed safely. Charley laughed. They didn't catch his mother--no,
siree. And she was the last person to leave the boat.
Up rose the gangplank. The engine bell jangled. The negro roustabouts
cast off the bow and stern hawsers from the wharf posts, and scrambled
over the gunwale as the _Robert Burns_ began to back out into the stream.
Mrs. Adams waved her handkerchief. Everybody on the wharf waved--mostly
handkerchiefs, which were suddenly very popular. The people on board
waved back--and they, too, used handkerchiefs pretty generally. Faster
and farther backed the _Robert Burns_, until in midcurrent, after
describing a great half-circle, she was pointing down stream. The engine
bell jangled to stop, and to go ahead--and she was started for New
Orleans.
They were off for California!
The levee, with his mother's handkerchief now fading into the whitish
blur of other handkerchiefs, drifted behind; Charley took a long breath,
straightened his shoulders, stole a glance at his father, who was winking
violently in queer fashion, and began to take stock of the other
passengers. Some were leaving the rail; a number of others already had
left it, and were negligently strolling about or seating themselves for
comfort. They mostly were men--business men, planters, and the like,
traveling down-river on pleasure or errands of importance, and a few
miners bound for California. There was no Mr. Jacobs, that Charley knew,
among them, and he felt easier. Probably "J. Jacobs" was some other
Jacobs, and not the long-nosed man.
"Let's go in and put our room to rights, Charley," proposed Mr. Adams, as
the buildings of old St. Louis merged one with another, on the shore line
behind.
He briskly limped across the deck, and Charley followed. This would be
something to do, at any rate. But as he passed the door of the long
salon, or lounging room, he glanced in and saw clear to the other end,
where there was a bar for sale of liquors. And he was certain that he
glimpsed the long-nosed man, just coming from the bar!
Charley's heart fairly skipped a beat. No, he would not say anything to
his father, for perhaps he had been mistaken--and what was the sense in
being scared? Supposing that was the long-nosed man. He was not bigger
or smarter than they, and besides, as Mr. Adams had said, he had a
perfect right to travel on the Mississippi River. Everybody used the
river, because there were no railroads here. However, it was queer, his
choosing this boat.
Charley and his father set their state-room in order, by arranging their
clothes and sleeping things.
"You can go out, if you want to, Charley," spoke his father. "I've got a
little more to do, yet. Then I'll come, too."
"All right," and away clumped Charley, in his heavy boots. This time he
was determined to look in earnest for the long-nosed man. He hoped that
he would not find him, but he feared, just the same.
He did not have far to look. The long-nosed man was standing leaning
against one side of the doorway of the salon. Yes, it was he, sure
enough! He acted as if he was waiting, for when he saw Charley
approaching, to pass, he smiled, and waved genially.
"Well," he greeted, halting Charley. "So proud of your new clothes that
you don't recognize old friends, eh? Come here."
Charley boldly walked straight to him. The man's tone made him mad.
"How are you?" answered Charley. "Taking a trip?"
Mr. Jacobs squinted his eyes and wrinkled his long nose cunningly.
"Y--yes," he drawled. "Taking a little trip." His breath smelled of
liquor. "Suppose you're going to Californy, to look for that gold mine.
Thought you'd give me the slip, did you?"
"No," said Charley. "We didn't think anything about you, especial."
"Oh, you didn't!" And the long-nosed man spat tobacco juice on the clean
deck. "You reckoned on giving me the slip, though. But I've been
watching you. Didn't I tell you I was half wild hoss and half alligator?
What's to hinder me from going out to Californy, too?"
"Nothing, I expect," replied Charley, his heart sinking. "Why? Are you?"
The long-nosed man leered.
"Maybe I am, and maybe I'm not. You go your trail and I'll go mine, but
if they cross, look out. Half of that property belongs to me,
remember--and half of that money you're using, too."
"It doesn't, either," snapped Charley, angry, his spunk up. "And we
aren't afraid of you; not a bit. Go on out to California, if you want
to, but don't you bother us. And don't you bother my mother, or you'll
get in trouble."
He heard a familiar step, and the voice of his father.
"Hello! This is the man, is it, after all?"
"Hello, yourself," retorted Mr. Jacobs, glaring at him. "Maybe you think
you own this boat."
"Not a bit, sir," answered Mr. Adams, good-natured.
"Maybe you think you can dictate where I travel."
"No, sir. I expect to look after myself, and not after you."
"Well said," approved the long-nosed man. "Now will you have a drink?"
"I never use liquor, sir," returned Mr. Adams--and Charley was proud to
hear him say it.
"'D rather not drink with _me_, perhaps," sneered the long-nosed man.
"I see no reason for drinking with you or at all, sir," sharply replied
Mr. Adams. "Come on, Charley. We've got better business to tend to."
"You have, have you?" called the long-nosed man, after them. "Maybe you
think I don't know what it is. Maybe you think----" but they paid no
more attention to him.
Still, the meeting was not pleasant, and Charley heartily wished that the
"J. Jacobs" had proved to some other Jacobs.
IV
A FRIEND IN NEED
The _Robert Burns_ steadily churned her way down the Mississippi,
yellow and swollen with the spring freshets. She stopped at towns and
other landings--some of these being plantation landings--to discharge
or take on passengers and freight. These stops would have been the
more interesting, to Charley, were he not in a hurry. He wanted to be
sure and catch the _Georgia_, for the Isthmus. Supposing the _Robert
Burns_ were late into New Orleans; then they might miss the _Georgia_.
Of course, there were other boats--the _Falcon_ and the _Isthmus_ and
the _Quaker City_; but with such crowds setting out for the gold
fields, it behooved a fellow to get there as soon as he possibly could.
More "Forty-niners" boarded the _Robert Burns_. One in particular took
Charley's eye. He came out in a skiff, from a small wood landing,
where some steamers, but not the _Robert Burns_, stopped to load up
with fuel. When the _Robert Burns_ whistled and paused, floating idly,
and he had clambered in, he proved to be a very tall, gaunt,
black-whiskered individual, with a long, muzzle-loading squirrel rifle
on his arm. A darky tossed a blanket roll up after him, and rowed away
for the shore.
The man looked like a backwoodsman--and again he looked like a
Californian, too, for his clothes were an old blue flannel shirt (with
a rolling collar having white stars in the corners), patched buckskin
trousers and heavy boots of the regulation style. Charley chanced to
be crossing the salon or main cabin when the man was paying for his
passage, and there witnessed something exciting that made him dart out
and find his father.
"Dad!" hoarsely whispered Charley. "That was a gold miner who came
aboard in a skiff! He was paying his fare with gold dust."
"Was he? How do you know?"
"I saw him at the desk, but the clerk wouldn't take any dust, so he had
to pay with money. He has a buckskin sack, just like ours. Wish I
could talk with him."
"Maybe he'll talk with you, if you give him the chance. You can try
and see. But don't ask him any foolish questions, or seem inquisitive."
Presently the tall man (he was taller even than Mr. Adams) emerged from
the cabin, to stand by the rail, leaning on his rifle and gazing at the
shore line. A picturesque figure he made, with his starred
shirt-collar rolled back, and his leathery trousers wrinkled down over
his boot-tops.
Charley sidled around him, expectantly; and the man noticed him.
"You look as if you were going out, too," addressed the man, a twinkle
under his bushy brows.
"Yes, sir," answered Charley. "To California."
"Anybody with you?"
"My father." And Charley proudly nodded toward another tall form.
"Were you ever there?" he added, hesitantly.
"I should rather think so. Five years ago, and four years ago; and now
I'm making another trip by a new route. The other times I crossed by
the land trail."
"Oh, you must have been with Frémont!" exclaimed Charley.
The whiskered man nodded.
"I was. I was with Carson and Frémont in Forty-three--Forty-four, and
again in Forty-five--Forty-six."
"I know about those travels," cried Charley. "I'm reading Colonel
Frémont's reports now. I'm just finishing his last one. I guess
they're about the best description of California there is. Did you
fight in the war?"
The man smiled.
"See my shirt?" he queried. "All we Frémont men wore these navy
shirts--some of us clear through the campaign. The sloop of war
_Portsmouth_ sent us a lot of ship's supplies, when we marched down
from the mountains to Sutter's Fort, just before the uprising of the
Bear War in June, Forty-six. I saved my shirt, and now I only wear it
occasionally. I'm sorter proud of this shirt."
"I should think you would be," agreed Charley. "Did you mine in
California?"
"Yes, sir. I started in to settle there, after the war, till the gold
craze broke out. Ever see any dust?"
"Some," admitted Charley.
"There's not much in this sack now," continued the Frémont man, showing
it. "But I've filled it many a time."
"I've got a sack, too," said Charley, exhibiting it.
"You've been out there?"
"No, sir. I got this in St. Louis."
"Let's see." And the man fingered it. "It's old-timer--been used
plenty. Some dust sticking to it, too. Huh."
"Is there lots of gold out there?" asked Charley.
"Gold?" repeated the man; and laughed. "I found fifteen hundred
dollars in two days, first thing; then I didn't find any for a month.
But I cleaned up $10,000, and I'm going back after more. It's all
luck, now; but after the surface has been scraped off, then it will be
skill. Does your father know anything about mining?"
"No, sir. He's a soldier. He was with General Scott."
"That won't cut much figure," said the man, quickly. "Soldiers and
sailors and lawyers and doctors and farmers and trappers and even
Indians are all grubbing together--and none of us knows a blamed thing
except that gold is soft and yellow and will pass for currency--sixteen
dollars an ounce. But good luck to you. Going across the Isthmus, I
reckon?"
"Yes, sir."
"That's the easier way. Well, if I see you out there and can help you
along any way, you can count on me. But it's a country where every tub
stands on its own bottom, and no man's any better than any other man."
So saying, he threw his rifle into the hollow of his arm and paced
away, into the cabin. Charley gazed after him, and reflected that
although they might have an enemy with them, they also had made a
friend.
"If he was with Carson and Frémont, he's all right," declared Mr.
Adams, when Charley related the conversation. "But we'll be beholden
to nobody, as long as we can help ourselves. We two bunkies can paddle
our own canoe, can't we?"
The _Robert Burns_ continued on, down to New Orleans. The long-nosed
man kept to the cabin, mainly, where a number of rough passengers spent
their time drinking and gambling. The Frémont man was about the
quietest of all the passengers, mingling little, talking little. He
exchanged a few civil words with Mr. Adams, and kindly greeted Charley,
when they were near one another. That was all.
Charley thought rather the more of him, that he was not the blustering,
boasting kind, even though he had blazed the long trail across to
California, with Frémont and Carson. He evidently was a man of deeds,
not words.
New Orleans was reached in the afternoon--and a fine big city it looked
to be, as the _Robert Burns_ whistled hoarsely and swung for the levee.
However, the Forty-niners aboard her had not much thought for the looks
of the city; their minds were more upon whether the _Georgia_ had
arrived, and how soon they could get aboard her, for the Isthmus and
California gold fields.
In the excitement of bustling ashore Charley forgot all about the
long-nosed man, who disappeared with the other scattering passengers.
"Where's the dock of the Isthmus steamers?" queried Mr. Adams, of a
lounger, as he and Charley landed, the roll of bedding on Mr. Adams's
shoulder.
"Eet is still down the river, m'sieur," answered the man--who was a
young French creole. "M'sieur would better ride than walk."
"All right. Thank you," and Mr. Adams hailed an odd carriage, drawn by
one horse between a of long curved shafts. They piled in.
"To the Isthmus dock," ordered Mr. Adams.
"You want to catch the _Georgia_?" asked the driver,
"We do."
"She's about coming in. They're looking for her."
"Will I have time to get our tickets?"
"Plenty. She'll lie over till morning."
"All right. Go ahead."
[Illustration: From New Orleans to San Francisco, 1849. The Charley
Adams party started from St. Louis. The majority of the people took
ship at New York, and their boats picked up more passengers at New
Orleans]
The driver flung out his lash, and away they whirled, down a rough
street, along the river.
The dock bore a large sign, which said: "Steamers for the Isthmus and
California." There was an enormous pile of baggage and a crowd of
people, of all kinds, waiting. But the _Georgia_ had not come in yet.
Mr. Adams left Charley there to watch their baggage and was driven away
in haste to get their tickets.
Suddenly a cry arose: "There she comes! That's she!" Down the broad
river--never so broad as here--welled a cloud of black smoke, and a big
steamer surged into view. _What_ a big thing she was! She could carry
two or three _Robert Burnses_. She was a side-wheeler, of course, but
her paddle boxes stood as high as houses. Across her pilot house was a
gilt sign reading "Georgia"--and on her paddle box, as she swung
around, appeared another "Georgia," in large black letters.
Charley gazed in dismay, for every inch of her seemed occupied by
passengers. The upper deck and middle deck and lower deck appeared
full of figures, with heads craning to gaze.
"That's the boat," quoth a voice at Charley's elbow. He turned and
found the Frémont man by his side, leaning on his long rifle. "Do you
like her looks?"
"How are we to get on?" answered Charley. "Why, she's full already,
isn't she?"
The Frémont man nodded, and smiled.
"I expect she is. She's built to carry 500 and they'll put 1500 on
her. 'T isn't right--but it's the way they're doing, so as to make
money. We'll be lucky to find sleeping space on deck, and get enough
to eat. But everything goes, in the rush to California. If you think
these Atlantic steamers are big boats, you ought to see the steamers on
the other side."
"Are they better?"
"Considerably. The Pacific Mail Company runs them. They are better
and better managed; but those boats'll be packed, too. All we can do
is to make the best of it, after we've paid our money."
"Are you going on the _Georgia_?" hopefully asked Charley.
The Frémont man nodded.
"I'll go if I can find a six-foot space to lie down on--and I reckon I
will."
The _Georgia_ docked. A number of passengers hustled off, and then
began the rush aboard. How the gold seekers shoved and scrambled and
fought! The gangway was a mass of shoulders and hats and blanket rolls.
"Coming on?" invited the Frémont man, to Charley.
Charley hesitated. He was impatient, but he didn't know----
"I'm waiting for my father," he explained.
"We'd better find our places while we can, and have one ready for him,"
prompted the Frémont man.
He picked up the bed rolls, and hurried ahead, Charley at his heels.
At the rail an official glanced at his ticket, and waved him to the
upper deck. Charley followed. The ticket gave first-class cabin
privileges, but what did these amount to, when 1500 passengers were
being crowded upon a 500-passenger boat? Even standing room seemed to
be valuable.
They pushed along through the mass of passengers and friends and
relatives, who acted, some of them, too dazed and confused to move
aside, and mounted the stairs leading to the upper decks. When they
emerged into the open air, the Frémont man paused uncertainly, puffing,
to survey the outlook.
"There's no chance for a berth, I suppose, is there?" he asked, of a
clerk, passing.
The clerk scanned him impudently.
"No, sir. Every berth was taken before we left New York."
"Then why did the company sell us tickets?"
"That, sir," said the clerk, with an irritating smile, "is none of my
business." And he hurried away.
"Well, we might as well begin to rough it now as any time," remarked
the Frémont man, after a keen look at the back of the retreating clerk.
"We'll have to make our own way--and I reckon we can do it. Come on."
He shouldered ahead, Charley in his wake. The emerged aft, on the
upper deck.
"Wait here a moment," bade the Frémont man; and abruptly left Charley
on guard over the baggage. He returned in a minute or two.
"No berths," he reported. "I wanted to find out. Now I know. We can
sleep in the steerage, they tell me. Huh! Not after we've paid extra
for fresh air. Let me look around."
He did, surveying the crowded deck. Suddenly picked up the baggage.
"I see a spot," he said, and led the way.
Just outside the rail, over the stern was slung a large boat--one of
the ship's life-boats. It hung by ropes to the davits, and was covered
with a tarpaulin, or canvas, stretched over it and tied down.
The Frémont man halted, at the rail, and pitched the baggage over upon
the boat.
"There we are," he said with a smile, to Charley. "Some of us can
sleep on top--and if it rains I reckon we can double under. Go get
your father, now, and I'll hold the fort."
Away hurried Charley--excited, and in his mind the idea that this was
to be the queerest bed that he had occupied yet. But he had faith in
the big Frémont man.
He took a look from the rail, to watch the dock below. Most of the
passengers up here were crowded at this rail, to survey just as he was
surveying. The stern had been left comparatively free. There was his
father--he recognized the tall figure, and the limp--just arrived
below, gazing about anxiously. Charley yelled, and waved, but he could
not make himself heard or seen. Too much else was going on. So he
raced down, and rushed out upon the dock.
"Come on, quick, dad," he greeted, breathless. "We've found a place!"
"Who?"
"The Frémont man and I. He found it, though."
"Did you get a berth?" panted his father, following him. "They told me
at the steamship office that every berth was taken long ago. I had to
fight for the tickets, even. Never saw such a mob."
"No, not a berth. But it's a place, anyhow. You'll see."
In the short space of time the upper deck had grown more populous than
ever. They worked their way through the crowd, Charley eagerly looking
ahead for the Frémont man at his post.
"This is awful," spoke Mr. Adams. "The steamship company ought to be
brought to law about it."
"There he is," directed Charley, gladly. "See him. We've got the
life-boat!"
But perhaps they hadn't, for when they arrived, the Frémont man was
calmly barring the way of three other men--among them the long-nosed
man, who was doing most of the arguing on their part.
"No, gentlemen, you're too late," asserted the Frémont man, thrusting
them back with his rifle-barrel held crosswise. "That boat's occupied."
Charley remembered to have seen the little gang much together, on the
_Georgia_, drinking and gambling. They were a tough lot.
"Tell that to the marines," retorted the long-nosed man. "We'll have
that boat, or we'll know a better reason than _you're_ giving."
"Reason enough, and here's my proof," quoth the Frémont man. "The
boat's pre-empted by us three. You must hunt another claim."
Mr. Adams promptly stepped forward, to the Frémont man's side.
"What's this about?" he demanded.
"Oh, it's you again, is it--you and your kid!" snarled the long-nosed
man. "You're chalking up another score to settle, are you?" And, to
his fellows: "What do you say, boys? Shall we throw them overboard?"
"Over they go," announced one of the other men--a thin sallow,
drooping-moustached kind--with marvelous swiftness whipping from under
his coat breast a fifteen-inch blade bowie-knife.
[Illustration: "Over they go!"]
Charley's heart leaped into his throat with horror. He wanted to
spring to his father's side, but his legs would not work. However, the
affair was settled very easily. The Frémont man quickly handed his
rifle to Mr. Adams, grabbed the long-nosed Jacobs, in bear-like grip,
and fairly threw him into the man with the knife. Together the pair
went down in a heap, almost knocking over several of the onlookers.
"You next," declared the Frémonter, with a jump at the third of the
gang--who hastily recoiled, in alarm. So did the onlookers. So did
the two men who were scrambling to their feet again. The Frémont man
had proved as quick and as strong as a gorilla. Now he laughed grimly.
"Come on," he invited. "Come on with your knives or anything else that
you have. But we won't go overboard just yet. We can't swim!"
The three fellows didn't "come on," worth a cent. The one with the
knife hung back farthest of all. They sputtered and glared, a little
uncertain just what to do with a man so energetic and fearless as the
Frémont man.
"All right, boys," snarled the long-nosed man. "There's more than one
way to deal with 'em. We don't want trouble. We're peaceable
citizens. But if that boat doesn't belong to us, it doesn't belong to
anybody." And he threatened, to the Frémont man and Charley's father:
"In about five minutes we'll settle _your_ hash."
With that he turned, and he and his two companions shouldered their way
brusquely through the crowd.
The Frémont man laughed again.
"Fists are the only weapons needed with gentry of that class," he said,
contemptuously. "Bah! I think more of Digger Injuns."
Some of the onlookers nodded and murmured assent. The half circle that
had been attracted by the dispute broke up. Nobody had tried to
interfere, even when the knife had been drawn. Charley soon found that
similar contests for sleeping places were occurring everywhere aboard.
It was a grand free-for-all rush.
Mr. Adams gave Charley an assuring nod, as if to say: "Here's a man who
knows what to do and how to do it"; and he remarked, quietly, to their
friend: "Thanks to you, I guess we're rid of that trouble."
"And easily rid, too," answered the Frémont man; he composedly reached
for his rifle, leaned it against the rail, and standing on the bench
running inside the rail began to rearrange the baggage on the canvas
covering of the boat.
But he was interrupted, for there came in a hurry a ship's officer, as
if sent by the long-nosed man.
"Here! Take your things off that boat," he ordered. "You can't use
that boat. It's a life-boat."
"Where are we to stow ourselves, then?" queried Mr. Adams, at once.
"I don't know. But you can't use that boat."
"Will you give us a berth in place of it?"
"No, sir," informed the officer, crisply.
"We've got to have some place for ourselves and our personal baggage,
sir," declared Mr. Adams. "Our tickets entitle us to a berth. We're
doing the best we can, to keep from littering the deck; but if you
insist on imposing further we'll carry the matter to Government
authority and see whether we were not sold tickets under false
pretenses."
The officer hesitated. Clearly, these three passengers knew how to
stand up for themselves. He decided to let well enough alone.
"You occupy the boat at your own risk, then," he snapped. "The company
does not hold itself liable. Understand that?"
"Perfectly."
The officer turned on his heel, and left them in possession.
"That settles _us_, I reckon," quoth the Frémont man, springing lightly
down. "It's our claim."
V
AN ATTACK BY THE ENEMY
The _Georgia_ pulled out that very evening instead of lying over until
morning; and it was rumored that even with this hasty start there would
be barely time enough for the passengers to catch the Pacific Mail
steamship at Panama, for San Francisco.
Mr. Adams and the Frémont man (whose name was Grigsby) stayed by the
baggage until the steamer sailed; but Charley wandered about the decks,
"seeing things." And there was plenty to see. The _Georgia_ seemed to
be a fine boat. She had three decks, all crowded. The upper deck was
for the first-cabin passengers, who paid the highest fare, and were
supposed to have special privileges of table and state-rooms. The
pilot-house was forward, and so were the rooms of the captain and first
officers. The second deck contained the large dining cabin, with
state-rooms on either side of it for the other officers and the
second-cabin passengers. Down below, on the first deck, where the
portholes were often under water, in a large room with rude bunks in
tiers along the sides were crowded the steerage passengers. Here they
ate and slept, all together. On this deck, forward, were housed the
crew; and some steerage passengers overflowed into the forward end of
the second deck.
Dusk was settling when the _Georgia_ emerged from the broad mouth of
the Mississippi into the Gulf. At the same time a bugle blew for
supper--and what a scramble there was! The first-cabin passengers were
to eat first, while the second-cabin must wait. As for the steerage
passengers, Charley afterwards found out that they were fed, a bunch at
a time, from a board platform slung from the ceiling by ropes, behind a
railed partition. Enough were admitted by the stewards to fill the
enclosure; when they had eaten out of the tin dishes supplied with stew
and beans, etc., from dirty kettles, another hungry company were let
through.
Almost before the bugle signal had done ringing, the first-cabin tables
were crowded, and passengers were standing behind the chairs, waiting
impatiently for those seated to quit and get up. The long-nosed man
and his two cronies had been smart, or else they had bullied their way,
for they already were eating when, too late, Charley and his father
arrived. Saying, good-naturedly, "I guess I'll stand guard while you
fellows eat," Mr. Grigsby had remained by the boat.
"We'll wait a bit, ourselves," spoke Mr. Adams, to Charley, as they
caught sight of the turbulent dining-room.
The scene was amusing, and also irritating. It seemed to Charley as
though they would never find a place. Every time anybody got up,
somebody immediately popped into the vacated chair. Charley began to
be alarmed lest the supply of food would run short.
"Take the first chance that comes, now," bade his father. "I'll go up
and send Mr. Grigsby down as soon as you're started, so you can mount
guard while I eat. I'll be watching our friends the enemy."
Charley pushed forward, and presently he himself popped into a place.
The long-nosed man and his two partners had leisurely finished and were
strolling out--the man with the bowie-knife using it as a tooth-pick!
But Charley knew that his father and Mr. Grigsby would watch _them_, so
_he_ pitched into the food. It was a case of everybody reaching and
grabbing. Charley only wished that he had longer arms.
Just as he was midway Mr. Grigsby came down to a seat; and soon up ran
Charley, to release his father. Now was he on guard, alone, ready to
do his best if anybody tried to seize the boat; but nobody did try.
Meanwhile he might gaze about.
He saw funny sights, for the _Georgia_ was rolling and tossing in the
waves of the Gulf. It affected the passengers very oddly. They were
all kinds, these passengers, both first-cabin and second-cabin--for the
second-cabin passengers were allowed on the upper deck, although not to
sleep. A great many were Southerners, including a number of long,
lank, dark Arkansans, Georgians, Louisianans and Mississippians.
Pistols and knives were plentiful, although notices, posted about the
ship, said, plainly: "The Wearing of Deadly Weapons Aboard this Ship is
Forbidden." For that matter, another notice said: "Passengers Are
Requested to Wear their Coats at Meals." But nobody obeyed either
notice.
There were only a few women, among the first- and second-cabin
passengers; the steerage contained the most women, accompanying their
emigrant husbands and sons. However, Southerners and Northerners, and
the men like the women, many of the passengers were beginning to act
very queerly.
They clustered along the rail, leaning over and hanging to it as they
leaned; they sat down, against the rail, and against the state-rooms;
and soon a lot were lying sprawled, with their eyes closed. Most of
these had come aboard at New Orleans, probably. The brisk ones had
been aboard already, from the North. Charley was wickedly pleased to
see the long-nosed man stretched limp, and greenish in the face, while
his two companions meanly teased him. And then, as Charley's father
and Mr. Grigsby appeared, Charley began to feel queer, himself.
The ship sank down, down, down--then she rose up, up, up; and which was
the worse sensation he could not tell. Either one was the worse, while
it was happening!
"I--believe--I'll--go to bed," faltered Charley.
"Pshaw! You are looking kinder green," said Mr. Grigsby, surveying him.
"Feel sick, Charley?" queried his father.
Charley's actions spoke louder than words, for suddenly he was at the
rail getting rid of his hard-earned supper. When he tottered back,
already his father was spreading quilt and blanket against the rail
behind which hung the boat.
"I guess you had better turn in," he directed, to Charley. "You'll be
more comfortable on the deck than on the boat. Besides, I suppose that
Jacobs gang wouldn't hesitate to cut the boat and let it drop, if they
had the chance."
Charley crawled upon the bed. He was so miserable that really he
didn't care whether anybody cut the boat down or not.
"Do you think I'll get well again?" he groaned.
His father and Mr. Grigsby laughed as if this were a joke.
"Why, sure," declared the Frémont man. "But I know how you feel. When
I was in California in Forty-six a lot of us Frémont men were sent down
from Monterey to San Diego by boat. Every one of us was laid flat, and
Kit Carson was the sickest of all! He vowed he'd rather cross the
desert a hundred times than take another sea voyage."
Charley did not open his eyes again till morning. When he did open
them he was feeling much better. He sat up, and decided that he was
going to be all right. The ship was still pitching up and down, and
was out of sight of land. The deck was littered with sick people lying
in all postures, and some cattle that had been taken aboard at New
Orleans, for beef, were lowing wretchedly as if they, too, were sick.
No doubt they were.
There was not much difficulty in getting a seat at breakfast this
morning, for some of the passengers who had come down from the North
were ill a second time. When Charley was picking his way to the dining
cabin he stumbled on somebody, and looking down he beheld the
long-nosed man. But the long-nosed man did not even notice that he was
being stepped on. Charley chuckled. Mr. Jacobs in such shape need not
be feared.
That day they were not interfered with, in their possession of the
boat. Charley had the fun of sleeping on its canvas covering, that
night, where, all alone, he swung delightfully as in a great cradle,
while the stars shone down upon him, and the spray from the paddle
wheels occasionally drifted across his face. His father and Mr.
Grigsby seemed to prefer the deck, against the rail.
The voyage down to the Isthmus was rated at seven days from New
Orleans. By the third day most of the sea-sick passengers had
recovered, and everybody settled to enjoy themselves. A number of
gamblers and drinkers were aboard; these kept to the main cabin, where
they sat at cards, robbing whomsoever they might, or stood at the bar
and guzzled quantities of liquor. On the decks the main pastime was
reading California travels like Frémont's explorations, or Richard
Dana's splendid "Two Years Before the Mast"--which Charley knew almost
by heart; or in speculating on "How much gold can I dig in a day?"
That was the favorite question: "How much gold do you suppose a fellow
can dig in a day?" The calculations ran all the way from $100 to
$10,000.
An awning was stretched over the upper deck, for shade; and as the
_Georgia_ sped out of the Gulf and headed south for the Yucatan Channel
under the Tropic of Cancer, between Cuba and Yucatan, the shade felt
mighty good. A number of passengers got out their white suits of linen
or cotton; but the majority of the Forty-niners stuck to their flannel
shirts and coarse trousers and boots.
The third evening they crossed the Tropic of Cancer, and by night were
entering the Yucatan Channel, which led to the famous Caribbean Sea
where pirates used to lurk. The long-nosed man and his partners had
not again bothered Charley and his two partners. They had kept below,
most of the time, in the main cabin, with other roisterers, and it
began to look as if they had decided to let the Adams party alone.
Charley continued to sleep on the boat, swinging over the stern of the
steamer, between sky and sea. Here in the tropics the days were
subject to sudden sharp squalls of rain; and Mr. Grigsby unfastened the
edge of the canvas covering of the boat, so that he could stow the
bedding underneath, when not in use. In case of rain at night, Charley
could crawl under, also, and cuddled between the seats might sleep snug
and dry. Mr. Grigsby had been pretty smart, to seize on that boat when
he did, for the awning leaked, in spots, and many of the passengers
found themselves getting wet.
From the Yucatan Channel the _Georgia_ crossed off the mouth of the
large Honduras River, which opened into the Gulf of Honduras, on the
line between Mexico and Central America. The shore of Honduras could
be faintly seen, on the right, and around the course cropped up
wondrous coral keys with snow-white beaches, and tufty palms outlined
against the blue sky. The water was a beautiful green.
That was all very nice, and now the Isthmus of Panama was only two days
ahead, across the Caribbean Sea; but the report spread that the
barometer was falling and a change in weather evidently was due.
Toward evening the sailors tightened the awning and made things more
secure, as if they were preparing for a storm. The sun set gorgeously
crimson--an angry sun; the petrels, skimming the waves about the ship,
twittered excitedly, and other sea-birds seemed hastening early for
land.
"You'd better crawl under the canvas, to-night, Charley," bade his
father. "We're liable to have rain."
"Where'll you sleep, then?" asked Charley.
"Oh, on the deck with Mr. Grigsby. We'll find a dry spot."
Mr. Adams, as a soldier, had slept out many a night before--yes, and in
many a storm; but Charley was fond of his quarters in his own private
nest. He liked to cuddle there and hear the rain patter on the canvas
close above him, while the waves talked beneath him, and the great
paddles whirred and thumped. Under the canvas covering he gladly
slipped, and got in an exceedingly comfortable position there.
He fell asleep soon and soundly--and he awakened to a storm indeed.
The wind was moaning and swishing, the spray was pelting the bottom of
the boat like shot, the rain was pouring in a perfect deluge, with a
steady, thunderous rhythm, and the boat swayed and shook as the big
waves struck the steamer's sides. Underneath the canvas all was pitch
dark. At first Charley was a little bewildered and frightened; but
after a few minutes he settled back to enjoy himself. He rather pitied
the folks trying to sleep dry on deck; and he wondered how it was
faring with his father and Mr. Grigsby.
He could hear hoarse orders to the sailors, and hasty tread of feet,
forward; and calls and exclamations among the passengers. Then there
was a heavy weight almost on top of him, sagging the canvas, the canvas
was torn aside a little way, and he struggled to sit up, in alarm.
Maybe they were to launch the life-boat. But no----
"It's all right, Charley. Lie still," spoke his father's voice. "I'm
only coming in with you, out of the rain. Don't move. Whereabouts are
you?"
"In the stern. Did you get wet?"
"Some. The whole awning leaks and the cabin and every other shelter
are full of people. Whew, but it's dark, isn't it! No lightning,
even. If you're in the stern, I'll take the bow. There. This is
fine."
The canvas had been pulled snug again, and Charley could feel his
father crawling to the bow.
"Where's Mr. Grigsby? There's room for him, too."
"He's found a dry spot, he says. So he'll stay out, as long as he can.
Go to sleep, now."
Charley tried. He heard his father settle himself with a grunt, and
presently begin to breathe in a little snore. That was good, for his
father was not well, yet, and ought to be resting. But Charley himself
found it hard work to go to sleep. The wind soughed, the spray pelted,
the rain hammered, and the ship staggered and quivered, while over the
stern swayed the boat.
Suddenly, amidst the voices outside, along the deck, Charley caught a
quick outcry near at hand, and a scuffle--the scrape of feet, and the
thump of a body falling. The tones were those of Mr. Grigsby.
"What are you doing? Stand back!" Hard breathing--and the sound of a
short struggle. "Now, be off--none of that, or I'll put a hole through
you! You dirty scoundrels! Thought you'd catch us, did you? Keep
away, after this, or I'll shoot on sight."
Charley attempted to sit up, and scraped his face on the low canvas.
His movement aroused his father.
"What's the matter, Charley?"
"I don't know. Mr. Grigsby was scolding somebody."
"What's going on, Grigsby?" hallooed Mr. Adams. "Anything wrong?"
"No, not now. Go to sleep. Tell you in the morning."
"Need me?"
"Not a bit. It's all over with. Just a prowler--and he won't come
again. Go to sleep."
"Well----" assented Mr. Adams. "Are you dry?"
"Dry as powder. Good-night."
"Good-night. But you'd better come in with us. Plenty of room."
"No, thank you. I'm comfortable."
Mr. Adams settled himself. Charley, his heart beating, waited,
listening. But Mr. Grigsby spoke not again. The rain was lessening,
too--and although the seas continued to pound, and the wind to sough,
the storm seemed to be ceasing. Presently Charley dozed off, and when
he awakened, it was morning. His father already had left, for he was
not in the bow under the canvas. Charley hastily crawled out, into
sunshine and a wide expanse of blue under which a gray green ocean
tossed its racing white-caps.
The passengers on the upper deck were astir, spreading out wet clothing
and bedding, to hang them from the awning and the rails to dry.
Charley's father and Mr. Grigsby were talking earnestly together, but
checked themselves when they saw Charley emerge, and land on deck.
"Morning to you," greeted Mr. Grigsby. "Did you sleep well?"
"Fine," said Charley. "Did you? What was the matter in the night?"
"Yes; you can count on me to sleep in any kind of weather," answered
Mr. Grigsby. And--"Shall we tell him?" he queried, of Mr. Adams.
Mr. Adams, who looked a little worried, nodded.
"Yes," he replied. "We might as well. He's one of us."
"The truth is," resumed Mr. Grigsby, to Charley, "one of those three
fellows tried to cut the boat down, in the night. But I caught him.
Here's his knife."
"Which one was it?" gasped Charley, cold at the thought.
"Jacobs," said his father. "And lucky for us that he didn't do it.
Mr. Grigsby has a sharp ear. Why, we wouldn't have lasted a minute in
that sea. Now, wasn't that a cowardly thing even to think of?"
"I'd feared it," admitted Mr. Grigsby. "But it didn't seem possible,
in any human being. Last night was a good night for it--and I suppose
the davits would have looked as though the boat had been torn loose by
a sea. Whew! I ought to have shot the scoundrel without parleying."
"What'll we do about it?" quavered Charley, sitting down hard on the
bench. He felt weak.
"It's all over with, so don't be scared, boy," encouraged his father.
"A miss is as good as a mile, you know. We're safe, after this. Oh,
Mr. Grigsby and I've decided there's little to be done. Of course,
here's the knife for evidence, and we'll speak to the captain; but
there's nothing else to do. We have to look out for ourselves."
After breakfast Mr. Adams brought aft, not the captain, but the first
mate. He was the same official who had objected to their using the
boat at all.
"So you think somebody was bent on cutting that boat down, do you?" he
queried, brusquely, of Mr. Grigsby.
"I don't think so; I know it," returned Mr. Grigsby.
"How do you know it?"
"Because I knocked him down and took his knife."
"Do you know who it was?"
"His name is Jacobs."
"You can prove that, can you?"
"To my own satisfaction; yes."
"Well, I suppose you are aware that there are over a thousand
passengers aboard this boat, and several hundred have knives just like
that one. You can prove nothing. I told you in the beginning that you
occupied this boat at your own risk. So don't bring your complaints
forward. But if any damage is done to this boat you'll be held
responsible."
So speaking, the first mate turned on his heel and left. Charley saw
his father flush angrily, but Mr. Grigsby only laughed.
"Let him go," he said. "We can do our own fighting."
A passenger standing near evidently had overheard the conversation, for
he asked, quietly:
"Do I understand somebody tried to cut your boat down, last night?"
"Yes, sir."
"His name was Jacobs, wasn't it?"
"Yes, sir."
"I heard that scuffle, and I've been wondering about it. So the ship
won't do anything about it, according to the mate?"
"No, sir."
"Then I know who will," asserted the man--a quick, erect, middle-aged
man with grayish moustache and goatee. He wore miner's costume, but he
looked like a gentleman, nevertheless. "Wait a bit."
He, too, left. Gazing after him as he passed along the deck under the
awning, they noted him pause and speak with several other men, who
glanced back at the stern as if he was telling them about the boat. A
little group of them accompanied him, and disappeared with him.
Soon they all came up on deck again, and with them was Mr. Jacobs
himself. Charley thought that he looked rather frightened, as in their
midst he moved aft. The group was swelled, en route, until when they
halted before the Adams party they numbered about twenty--a sober,
stern lot, standing in a determined manner with Mr. Jacobs pushed to
the fore.
The man with the goatee acted as spokesman.
"This is the man, is it?" he asked, of Mr. Grigsby.
"I wouldn't call him a man," said Mr. Grigsby, contemptuously. "But
he's the critter I referred to."
Mr. Jacobs scowled blackly at Charley, and his father, and Mr. Grigsby,
and tried to brazen it out. However, 'twas plain to be seen that he
was ill at ease.
"What's the meaning of this?" he demanded, all around. "What did you
bring me up here for?"
"You're accused of attempting to cut that boat down, last night, along
with the persons who were in it," answered the man with the goatee.
"Who accuses me?"
"I do," said Mr. Grigsby, shortly.
"It's a lie," retorted the long-nosed man, with an oath. "I wasn't up
here. I was down below, keeping dry."
"Here's your knife," pursued Mr. Grigsby, holding it out.
The long-nosed man laughed sneeringly.
"Not my knife. I don't carry one. Besides, the ship's full of knives
like that."
"Yes," said Mr. Grigsby. "But it isn't full of dogs like you! If you
weren't up here last night, how did you get that bruised cheek, and
those finger-marks on your throat? You look powerful like somebody
who'd been knocked down and held for a while."
"It's a lie," repeated the long-nosed man, but rather weakly. He
braced up. "Of course it's a lie," he appealed, to the group. "Isn't
my word as good as his?"
The man with the goatee laughed grimly--and so did several others.
"Your word? It's about the poorest security you can offer. Why,
you're nothing but a common gambler and a thug. You're one of those
rascals who've been fleecing people down in the cabin. Just yesterday
you robbed a man of his last cent by cheating him at cards. Faugh!
Some of us have been watching you, and we know all about you. I
wouldn't put it at all beyond you to cut down a boat, in the night, and
drop it, with a man and a boy sleeping in it. Well, gentlemen," and he
addressed the group, "soon or late we'll have to organize a little law
and order committee, for protection in the gold fields, and I suppose
we might as well begin right here. What'll we do with this specimen?"
"Throw him overboard!" came the angry response.
"String him up!"
"We'd better talk it over, first, hadn't we?" proposed a more cautious
voice.
"All right. Somebody guard the prisoner."
"I'll watch him," proffered Mr. Grigsby, significantly handling his
rifle.
The group withdrew a short distance, to confer apart, leaving the
long-nosed man in a clear space before Mr. Grigsby. A number of other
passengers had been attracted by the scene, but they stood at a
respectful distance, saying nothing.
The long-nosed man glared alike at Charley, his father, and Mr.
Grigsby, but he was afraid to move.
"You'll pay for this," he said, loudly. "It's a scheme to get rid of
me, is it, and take my share in that gold mine you're making for? But
it won't work. These passengers won't see an innocent man suffer."
And so forth, and so forth, while Mr. Grigsby and Mr. Adams answered
never a word--and neither, of course, did Charley. He rather hoped
that, after all, the group would decide not to handle the long-nosed
man roughly, even though he was a dangerous person.
Mr. Jacobs evidently was nervous despite his bragging; and when the
group advanced again, he turned pale.
The man with the goatee spoke, first addressing Mr. Grigsby and Mr.
Adams.
"While we believe the accused guilty and deserving of being put into
safe keeping, some of us don't think the evidence that he was cutting
down the boat conclusive enough to warrant us in dealing with him as
we'd like to. As for you," he continued, now sternly addressing the
long-nosed man himself, "we give you this warning. Don't show yourself
on the upper deck again, and don't sit at cards with anybody. If we
catch you up here, or gambling anywhere aboard, we'll relieve the ship
of your society very quickly. Now go."
Still pale, the long-nosed man hastened away, and went below. The next
time Charley saw him was on the Isthmus of Panama.
VI
THE LANDING AT THE ISTHMUS
For the remainder of the voyage Charley slept on the deck instead of in
the boat. He was not exactly afraid, and if anybody had dared him to
he would have slept in the boat just to show that he wasn't afraid.
But the idea that the boat might be cut loose, or might break loose,
was not pleasant. Ugh! Then down he would drop, boat and all, into
the wash of the steamer; the steamer would go on without him--and where
would _he_ go?
Even Mr. Grigsby and his father, who were brave men, approved of his
sleeping on deck, now. As Mr. Grigsby said:
"We know you aren't afraid, but it's only a fool who takes chances when
they aren't necessary. Out in the Indian country the greenhorns were
the fellows who played smart by sitting in the campfire light where the
Injuns could get a good shot at them. Nobody ever saw Kit Carson
exposing himself that way."
The _Georgia_ was ploughing across the Caribbean Sea. Islands were
constantly in view, but now no one paid much attention to these. All
the passengers were on the lookout for the Isthmus of Panama; they were
tremendously eager to get ashore and start across the Isthmus for the
Pacific Ocean.
On the morning of the eighth day out of New Orleans a bank of rain or
fog closed down on the horizon ahead. Off yonder was the Isthmus, but
who could see it? However, evidently it was near; for when Charley
roved about, he discovered that sailors were busy, below, hoisting out
baggage from the hold. They were getting ready to land.
The news spread through the ship, and passengers immediately engaged in
a wild rush to put their things together and crowd for the steps. They
acted as though they expected to make a flying leap ashore as the ship
passed by. Charley was glad to help his father and Mr. Grigsby tie up
their belongings also, so as to be ready.
Here on the rolling Caribbean the sun was shining brightly, tinting the
choppy waves with a beautiful green. The storm ashore was moving on,
evidently, for the streaks of rain were drifting around to the left and
passing out to sea, leaving the mist thin and white. Suddenly voices
forward cried, excitedly: "Land ho! Land ho! There she is! Isthmus
in sight! Land ho!" The cries spread, with everybody on tiptoe,
peering. At one end of the mist line had been uncurtained a background
of rocky, surf-washed shore, with high green hills rising behind it.
Next was uncovered a lower shore, indented by a large bay, and fringed
with palm-trees. Next, as on sped the mist (like a swiftly rolling
curtain, indeed) there came into view a lofty headland, with trees on
its crest and the waves dashing against its base.
The _Georgia_ was swinging about in her course, and pointing up the
coast. This brought the lofty headland on her left. And now all the
deck was rife with questions.
"Where do we land?"
"What's that big point? Porto Bello?"
"The pirates captured it, didn't they, couple of hundred years ago?"
"Can you see the old fort on it?"
"How far's the Pacific Ocean, now?"
"Do we land in that big bay?"
"Don't think so. That's Limon Bay, isn't it? Where is Colon?"
"Colon is where the railroad's going to begin. We land at Chagres."
"Where is Chagres?"
"How far across to the Pacific at Panama?"
"About four days. Three by boat and one by mule, they say."
"Anything to eat at Chagres? Any sleeping place?"
"Don't know."
"Oh, Tom! How'll we engage a canoe? Ought to make up a party and send
a man ashore at once, oughtn't we?"
Accompanied by this babel of cries, the _Georgia_ steamed up along the
shore. She passed the lofty headland, which seemed to guard a fine
harbor; and she passed the big bay which people said was Limon. The
shore looked very tropical, with its beaches and palms and green hills
and thatched huts and glimpses of bright tinted towns, while behind
rose the mountain range. Charley gazed spellbound.
"Say, where is Chagres?" were asking the passengers crowding along the
inshore rail.
Yes, indeed; where was Chagres? The _Georgia_ was supposed to land at
the town of Chagres, which was at the mouth of the Chagres River, and
the way to California then lay up the Chagres River, by canoe, as far
as possible; over the mountains by mule, down to the Pacific Ocean at
Panama; and aboard the Pacific Mail Company steamship there, for San
Francisco.
"According to the map," said Mr. Adams, "Chagres is about eight miles
up the coast from Limon Bay. I shouldn't wonder if we were turning in
for it now."
Sure enough, the _Georgia_ was beginning to point for the shore, which
rose high and steep, seamed with darker lines that proved to be ravines
running down to the sea. A narrow inlet opened in the shore; no, this
was the mouth of a river--the Chagres River, said several voices.
"I see a castle," cried Charley. "It looks like a castle, anyway. On
top of the cliff, above the river. Or maybe it's a fort."
"San Lorenzo castle, they call it, I believe," announced Mr. Grigsby.
Closer to the river's mouth and the castle above swept the _Georgia_.
Her whistle sounded hoarsely. Still no town appeared; and to general
disappointment, when about a quarter of a mile from shore, opposite the
mouth of the river, she stopped her engines, there was a rattle of
chains through the hawse holes, and she had dropped anchor! Almost
immediately a boat pulled away from her, for the shore. It contained
the captain and two or three other officials. They soon entered the
mouth of the river and disappeared. The passengers, pressed against
the rails on all the decks, their hand baggage ready, murmured
irritably, but no other boats were launched and evidently it was not
yet time for them also to go ashore.
"If you two will look after the baggage, I'll try to get ashore among
the first and hire a boat," offered Mr. Adams.
"That's the best idea," approved Mr. Grigsby. "There won't be boats
enough to go 'round, and somebody'll get left."
Charley saw his father shouldering his way through the crowd, to the
head of the stairs, into which he made further way. He descended from
sight. Down below he would have a harder time, for the crowd at the
rails of the lower decks was thicker, where people had clustered
hanging close so as to be in the first of the boats. But Mr. Adams
could take care of himself, all right, whether lame or not. He had
been in many a battle.
For a time there was nothing to do but gaze at the shore--at the old,
crumbling Castle of San Lorenzo, where through glasses a few cannon
could be descried; at the clumps of palms, standing like plumes; at the
rolling green hills, bordering the shore, and at the distant mountain
range which was to be crossed after the river had been ascended as far
as possible. Beyond the mountains lay the Pacific Ocean, where, at the
city of Panama, the steamer for California would be boarded by those
who got there in time. Except for the dots of soldiers, surveying the
_Georgia_ from the walls of the fort, the only signs of life ashore
were the thatched roofs of some huts, back among the trees.
In the course of an hour another murmur arose from the impatient
passengers, for the ship's boat reappeared, issuing from the narrow
mouth of the river--and with it was a much larger boat that soon turned
out to be a big canoe, manned by half a dozen natives. Both boats
headed for the ship. The canoe reached it first. It was a dug-out,
fashioned from the single trunk of a tree; and its crew, wielding their
paddles, were black as coals, their naked bodies streaming with
perspiration. On their legs they wore white cotton trousers, loose and
comfortable.
They halted amidships, under the steamer's rail, where while the
thousand faces stared down at them they gestured and called up. All
that Charley could understand were the words: "Go ahead!" They held up
their fingers, opening them and closing them to indicate twenty,
evidently. But the passengers could do nothing, although some of them
almost jumped overboard in their excitement.
Now the ship's boat with the second mate in it hove alongside. The
mate clambered up, by the rope ladder which was lowered for him and
closely guarded. He made himself heard the best he could and the word
speedily traveled fore and aft, on all the decks, that the canoe would
take ashore twenty people, at once.
"And he says we've just time, if we start to-day, to catch the
_California_ at Panama," was reported.
What a hubbub resulted! Of course, every party aboard ship tried to
place in the canoe their man who would engage a canoe, ashore, for the
river trip. The tussle looked and sounded like a free-for-all
fist-fight. Down the rope-ladder swarmed the picked men, each trying
to out-elbow the others, and dropped recklessly into the dug-out. Two
men jumped for the dug-out from the lower deck, and fell sprawling.
Another sprang overboard, and climbed in, dripping. But Charley was
relieved to see, among the lucky ones worming down the rope-ladder, his
father. Hurrah for dad!
Mr. Adams was none too early. The boatmen were jabbering and dodging
and shouting. Already the dugout was loaded with its twenty, but the
rope-ladder was as full as ever. Out from the ship's side shoved the
big canoe, its captain shaking his head vigorously at the passengers
above and yelling: "No! No!" while his men began to ply their paddles.
Now there was a splash in the water, and a chorus of cries and
laughter. A passenger who was bound not to be left had dived
overboard, after the canoe. Up he rose, to the surface, and struck
out. He was the long-nosed man, Mr. Jacobs!
"Wait! Wait! Man overboard!" rang the excited shouts to the dug-out;
and Mr. Jacobs himself, swimming as high as he could, waved an arm and
shouted.
But the crew of the dug-out only looked back and laughed; their
captain, steering, shook his head and motioned no; and faster and
faster traveled the canoe. The long-nosed man swam hard for a little
way, when, giving up, he turned and came back to the ship.
The passengers gave him a round of applause mixed with laughter, as he
clambered aboard; but leaning over to watch, Charley saw him pause at
the rail and shake his fist after the retreating dug-out. He was not a
good loser.
"Well, _he's_ left, anyhow," greeted Mr. Grigsby, when Charley hastened
back to find him and tell him. Mr. Grigsby was so tall, that he had
seen as well as Charley, who was little and could squeeze about under
people's arms. "It's a wonder. That kind of person usually swipes the
best seat."
"I'm glad, aren't you?" answered Charley. "Maybe we won't have any
more trouble with him."
"Humph! Can't count on that yet," asserted Mr. Grigsby.
"My father didn't get left. He's in the boat, all right," said
Charley, proudly.
"Yes. I knew he'd make it. Now as soon as we can get ashore we'll
start up-river."
But nothing was done aboard the _Georgia_, toward landing the
passengers, until another hour. Then suddenly the word spread: "Get
your baggage. Everybody ashore," and the sailors began to lower the
boats.
By the fight for place, that again occurred, anybody would have thought
that the ship was sinking and that only those people who got into the
boats at once would be saved! The parties who had no men ashore were
the most determined to be first.
"Pshaw! Let 'em go," spoke Mr. Grigsby, as the shoving crowd jostled
him and Charley hither and thither. "We can wait. I'm not specially
anxious to be capsized and lose all our stuff."
Boat after boat, loaded to the water's edge, pulled away from the ship
for the shore, canoes hastened to help, and still the passengers
clamored and fought. In the confusion Charley lost all track of the
long-nosed man and his partners. The main thought now was, when could
he and Mr. Grigsby get ashore and find his father?
When the boats returned for their second loads there was another
hurly-burly, but the decks were thinning out, and pushing to the
nearest ladder Charley and the Frémonter managed to climb down,
lowering their baggage, into the boat there. The boat was loaded full
almost instantly, and away it pulled, for the shore again.
Standing up, because there wasn't space to sit down, Charley eagerly
gazed ahead. Slowly the shore enlarged; and turning the high point on
which was the Castle of San Lorenzo the boat entered the mouth of the
river. A little bay unfolded, its shore high on the left, low and
marshy on the right. On the left, at the foot of the thickly wooded
bluffs, among bananas and plantains, appeared a little group of
peak-roofed huts, all the muddy bank in front of them alive with the
_Georgia's_ passengers. Was that the town of Chagres? Well, who would
want to live _here_!
The passengers already landed were running about like ants, every one
acting as if his life again depended upon his getting away immediately.
The landing place was covered with baggage which had been dumped
ashore. A number of canoes were lying in the shoal water, and a number
of others had been hauled out while their owners repaired them. Amidst
the baggage, and over the canoes, swarmed the _Georgia's_ passengers,
in their flannel shirts or broadcloth or muddy white, shouting and
pleading and threatening, trying to hire the boatmen.
"There's your father," spoke Mr. Grigsby, suddenly, to Charley, as
their boat neared the busy landing.
Charley had been anxiously searching the shore, looking for his father;
and now he saw him, standing in a canoe drawn up out of the water, and
beckoning.
This looked promising; maybe that was their canoe! The moment that the
ship's boat grounded, its passengers tumbled out, helter-skelter, into
the mud, and raced for land, lugging their bed-rolls, to swell the bevy
already landed. Mr. Grigsby shouldered his own bedroll, gave Charley a
hand with the other, and together they joined in the scramble.
[Illustration: The route across the isthmus in 1849. About forty miles
by canoe from Chagres to Cruces; twenty miles by horse, mule, and
bullock from Cruces to Panama. Charley's party stopped at Gatun, Dos
Hermanos, Peña Blanca, and Cruces. Of course, to-day Gatun Lake covers
from Gatun to Gorgona, and people start from Limon Bay, not Chagres, by
canal]
"Hello!" greeted Mr. Adams. He was as breathless as they, for every
minute he was shoving away persons who tried to seize the canoe, and
was explaining that it was taken. A black boatman was busy thatching
the canopy top with dried palm leaves--and he, too, was obliged to keep
shaking his head and saying: "No. No. Go 'way."
"Well, here's our boat," continued Mr. Adams, briskly. "Here's one
boatman; his name's Maria. Francisco, the other, is up town buying
provisions. No," called Mr. Adams, to a _Georgia_ passenger who was
thrusting money fairly into the face of Maria, "you can't hire this
boat. It's taken."
"I've paid fifteen dollars apiece, for the three of us and our baggage
up to Cruces, forty miles. That's as high as boats go; there we'll
have to take mules across to Panama," continued Mr. Adams--the outsider
having gone off disappointed. "I think we've got a good boat; but I've
had a fight to keep it. If Maria hadn't have stayed, I'd have been
thrown out, long ago."
"When do we start?" asked Charley.
"Whenever Francisco comes back."
"Do you reckon we'll have time to eat?" queried Mr. Grigsby.
"Yes. And that might be a good plan, too."
"You and Charley go up and see what you can find, and I'll hold the
boat," directed Mr. Grigsby, climbing in.
"All right. Come along, Charley," and Mr. Adams alertly limped on up
the gentle slope, to the village.
The huts were square, made of cane and roofed with palm-leaf thatch, to
a peak. There were no window-panes or doors. The Chagres men and
women stood in the doorways, and gazed curiously out while they puffed
big black cigars and talked about the crazy Americanos.
This, then, was Chagres at the mouth of the Chagres River, the
beginning of the Isthmus trip to the Pacific. (But when the great
Panama Canal was built, it left the Chagres River, above the town, and
cutting across a neck of land struck the ocean at Limon Bay, eight
miles down the coast. The first Panama railroad also chose Limon Bay
as one terminus; so that the town of Chagres soon lost its business.)
Mr. Adams spoke Spanish, because he had been a soldier in Mexico; and
right speedily he bought bread and bananas and eggs and some dried
meat. There was a hut bearing a sign in English: "Crescent Hotel"; but
one look into it and at its mob of panting customers decided Charley
and his father to eat in their canoe.
"Good! There's Francisco!" exclaimed Mr. Adams, as they returned.
"Yes; and there's that Jacobs again!" cried Charley. "He's after our
canoe!"
"He won't get it," said his father. "We've paid for it, and we keep
it."
VII
A RACE UP THE RIVER
The river landing was still the same scene of wild bustle, with the
white people running up and down, darting hither-thither, all
determined to set out at once. The dark-skinned natives were the cool
ones amidst the flurry; and the boatmen were the coolest. Every canoe
was constantly being pounced upon by fresh seekers who were yet without
a craft, but the majority of the canoes seemed to have been engaged.
However, a few boatmen evidently were holding out for higher pay.
Sure enough, the long-nosed man and one of his partners were hotly
arguing with Maria at the bows, and offering him money; whereat Maria
only shook his head, under its wide-brimmed braided straw hat, and
scarcely paused in his work of thatching the canopy. Francisco stood
looking on and listening. He was a strapping big fellow, not very
black, wearing loose cotton pantaloons. In his ears were brass rings,
for earrings. Just as Charley and his father arrived, the long-nosed
man roughly seized Maria by the shoulder, as if to jerk him from his
work and force him to take the money. At that, Francisco sprang
forward like a panther, grabbed the long-nosed man by the collar, and
flung him head over heels, along the mud.
Well plastered, the long-nosed man picked himself up, and glared at
Francisco. By-standers laughed. Mr. Jacobs make a step forward, as if
to leap while Francisco waited, panting and ready. But Mr. Jacobs's
partner said, shortly: "Come along. We can't waste time here," and
with a parting scowl the long-nosed man turned away with him.
Neither of them seemed to have noticed whose boat it was. All they
wanted now was anybody's boat, of any kind. Charley was glad to see
them go.
Francisco grinned at Mr. Adams and Charley. From the stern where he
was sitting Mr. Grigsby approved, to Francisco, with a jocular sentence
in Spanish, at which Francisco grinned again. Maria spoke aside, and
Mr. Adams nodded, translating to Charley:
"Maria says we have paid for the boat and it is our boat. He and
Francisco want it understood that they are gentlemen and honest."
"As long as we treat them right they'll treat us right," put in Mr.
Grigsby. "We're lucky. I've seen some of these boats change hands
half a dozen times, already."
"Yes; when once you get to bribing there's no end to it," asserted Mr.
Adams. "I don't trust anybody I can bribe."
The baggage was in the boat; the small trunk toward the stern, and
bedding rolls arranged toward the bows. Francisco had dumped in a
boiled ham and a sack of rice; he took the other supplies from Charley
and his father, and stowed them also. A pair of broad-bladed paddles
lay along the gunwales, fore and aft.
"Go ahead," spoke Maria, stepping back from the canopy. He motioned
his passengers into the canoe.
"Good!" said Mr. Adams. "Get into the bows, Charley. You and I'll sit
amidships, Grigsby. How many canoes ahead of us?"
"About a dozen, I reckon."
"We ketch 'em," assured Maria, confidently.
He and Gonzales seized the gunwales and bent low, shoving. The dug-out
slipped down the slimy bank, through the ooze, into the water, and with
final shove Maria and Francisco vaulted aboard. Maria in the stern,
behind the trunk, Francisco kneeling at Charley's feet, between the
bedding rolls, they grasped their paddles, and swung the canoe
up-stream. With a few powerful strokes they left behind them the bank,
where the white horde, crazed by the sight of another boat making
start, shouted and gestured more frantically than ever.
Charley just glimpsed still another boat putting out from the landing,
when his canoe swept around a curve, and landing and crowd and village
all were blotted from view by a mass of foliage. Even the sounds of
bargaining ceased. The canoe might have been a thousand miles into the
wilderness, where nobody lived.
"All right," remarked Charley's father, settling himself comfortably.
"Now 'go ahead,' as they say. There are 300 people waiting at Panama
for the _California_, and I only hope we get there in time."
"Maria says we'll reach Cruces in three days, if we don't have
accidents," spoke Mr. Grigsby. "Might as well enjoy the scenery."
The dug-out was called a cayuca. It was about twenty feet long, but
very narrow, and was hollowed from a single trunk of mahogany--for
mahogany was as common down here as pine up North. Charley felt quite
luxurious, riding in a mahogany boat!
He never had dreamed of such scenery. The crooked river flowed between
a perfect mass of solid green blotched with blazes of flowers.
Bananas, plantains, cocoa and other palms, bread-fruit, gigantic teak
trees, dense leaved mangoes, acacias and mangroves on stilt roots like
crutches, sugar-cane, sapotes with sweet green fruit the size of one's
head, sapodillas with fruit looking like russet apples, mahogany,
rose-wood, and a thousand others which neither Mr. Grigsby nor
Charley's father recognized, grew wild, as thick as grass--and every
tree and shrub was wreathed with flowering vines trying to drag it
down. Monkeys and parrots and other odd beasts and birds screamed and
gamboled in the branches; and in the steeply rising jungle and in the
water strange noises were continually heard. There were violent
splashes and snorts from alligators--and Mr. Grigsby saw two wild
boars. Now and then sluggish savannahs or swamps opened on right or
left, filled with vegetation and animals.
It was the rainy season and the river was running full, about
seventy-five yards wide, with a strong current in the middle. Paddling
hard, Maria and Francisco zigzagged from side to side across the bends,
seeking the stiller water and the eddies. Trees bent over and almost
brushed the canoe--and suddenly Maria, in the stern, cried out and
pointed.
"Python!" he uttered. "Mira! (Look!)"
He and Francisco backed water and stared. So did their passengers, and
well it was that the canoe had been stopped. From the lower branches
of a large leafy tree jutting out into the very course of the canoe was
hanging a long, mottled object, swaying and weaving. Charley saw the
head--a snake's head! A boa constrictor, as large around as a barrel,
and with most of its body hidden in the tree!
"Ha!" exclaimed Mr. Grigsby, and raised his rifle. With single
movement the two boatmen swung the canoe broadside and held it. The
Frémonter sent eagle glance adown his leveled barrel--the rifle cracked
and puffed a little waft of smoke. "Spat!" sounded the bullet. The
huge snake began to writhe and twist, fairly shaking the tree; then
fold by fold it issued, in a horrid mazy line of yellow and black
(would it never end?), until with a plash the last of it fell into the
water and swirling the surface the monster disappeared.
"Bueno! Bueno! Mucho culebra (Good! Good! Big snake)" exclaimed
Maria; and chattering in Spanish he and Francisco hastily veered the
canoe further from the bank.
"They say the snake's mate is liable to be near and we'd better stand
out," explained Mr. Adams. "He was a big one, sure."
"Forty feet, I judge," answered Mr. Grigsby.
"Where'd you hit him?" asked Charley, eagerly.
"In the eye," asserted Mr. Grigsby. "You don't think a Frémont man
would shoot for any other mark, do you?"
Mile after mile steadily paddled Maria and Francisco, up the magic
river. Already their bronze bodies, sinewy and naked, were glistening
with perspiration, for in here, between the high wooded hills, it was
very hot and moist. Charley's neck was tired, from twisting his head
so that he could see everything at once; and on their seat amidships
his father and Mr. Grigsby were constantly craning right and left.
Abruptly Maria and Francisco ceased paddling, threw aside their plaited
hats, kicked off their cotton trousers, and crying together "Bano!
Bano!" plunged overboard. Charley gazed in alarm. What had happened?
Another boa threatening? But his father and Mr. Grigsby read his
alarmed face and laughed.
"Oh, they're just taking a swim, that's all," explained his father.
"They said 'bano,' which is Spanish for bath."
Nevertheless, this struck Charley as a dangerous thing to do, in a
river swarming with alligators and other reptiles; yet frisking about
and blowing and ducking Maria and Francisco seemed to be enjoying
themselves. They swam like seals.
"We might as well have a snack to eat, while we wait," quoth Mr.
Grigsby. He threw Charley some bananas, and cut off chunks of the
dried meat for the company. By the time they three had eaten a little
lunch, Maria and Francisco had climbed aboard, donned their trousers
and hats, and resuming their paddles were starting on again, evidently
much refreshed.
In the straightaways behind and before other canoes, hurrying up-river,
were sighted. One of the canoes behind crept closer and closer. Maria
and Francisco occasionally glanced over their wet shoulders at it, but
although they worked bravely, and Maria sang lustily:
Yankee doodle doodle doo,
Yankee doodle dandy;
Yankee doodle doodle doo,
Yankee doodle dandy.
Yankee doodle dandy,
Yankee doodle dandy,
Yankee doodle doodle doo,
Yankee doodle dandy!
the canoe behind was proving too much for them. Meanwhile Charley
wondered how Maria had invented his "American" song.
The canoe behind held seven persons; and of course it could overhaul
Charley's canoe, for four of the persons were paddlers. Charley,
facing backward in the bows, had the best view of it; and as on it
came, the four paddlers digging hard, he saw, as somehow he had
expected, that the three passengers were the long-nosed man and two
partners.
With its paddlers grunting in unison, the water spurting from the prow,
and the three passengers lolling back, it surged past. One of Mr.
Jacobs's cronies yelled, mockingly: "Want a tow?"--and the paddlers
grinned.
"No matter," panted Maria, to his own company. "We ketch 'em. Dey pay
big mooney; pay more 'fore dey get dere. You bet."
The river ran swifter, now, and Maria and Francisco worked their level
best to make way against the heavy, muddy current. The sun was almost
touching the high green ridge to the west, when Mr. Grigsby, who had
sharp eyes, said, with a nod of his head:
"That must be Gatun, where we stop for the night."
The canoe was turning in toward the right bank; and Charley, looking,
saw a cluster of thatched huts there. A number of other canoes were
tied at the bank, and their boatmen and passengers were loafing among
the huts. A loud dispute was going on between some boatmen and
passengers. As Charley's boat glided up, and Francisco leaped ashore
to hold it, the long-nosed man's angry tones sounded loud and familiar.
It was he and his two partners who were threatening their boatmen.
"We want to go on. Go on--understand? We paid you extra; big money.
No stop here; no stop. You savvy?"
But the boatmen shrugged their bare shoulders, and sauntered away,
leaving the three men furious.
"No use, pardner," called another gold seeker. "These niggers always
stop here for the night. You might as well swallow your cud."
"But we paid them one hundred dollars to take us straight through,"
rasped Mr. Jacobs.
"Yes, and stole another party's boat in the bargain, I understand,"
retorted the gold seeker. "Serves you right."
"Well, I'd like to have them up North for about ten minutes," growled
the man who had drawn knife on Mr. Grigsby aboard the _Georgia_. "I'd
tan their hides for 'em."
"Shucks! Such tall talk doesn't go down here," answered the other.
"They're as free as you are, and no crookeder."
He plainly enough was somebody not afraid to speak his mind; and since
they were getting the worst of the argument the three scallawags quit
complaining.
"We'll have to hustle to find lodging here," spoke Mr. Adams, rather
dubiously surveying the crowd and the huts.
And indeed the outlook was not promising. The village was small and
dirty, squatting here amidst bananas and palms and sugar-cane, its
people the same kind as at Chagres. (To-day the surface of the great
Gatun Lake, formed by the famous Gatun dam which has blocked the course
of the Chagres River in order to obtain water for the big canal, covers
old Gatun village--and other villages besides.)
There seemed to be enough gold seekers here, now, to fill every hut to
overflowing. But Maria (who appeared to have taken a fancy to his
party) came pattering back from an errand, and beckoned to Mr. Adams.
"It looks as though Maria had found something for us," said Charley's
father, as they followed Maria.
Maria led them beyond the village, and behind a screen of banana trees,
to a little hut crouched there cosily. The owner of the hut, and his
wife, stood in the doorway.
They wore a long, clean cotton shirt apiece. Half a dozen children who
wore nothing at all were peeping out from behind their parents' skirts.
The man and woman bowed grandly, and Maria spoke in Spanish.
"The house is ours, he says," informed Charley's father. "Good! Now
how about something to eat, I wonder?"
That was soon answered. When they filed through the doorway, to
inspect, here was a cane table set with supper--fried eggs, fried
bread-fruit, also real bread, baked bananas, sweet potatoes, beef dried
in strips, black coffee--and in the middle of the table a baked
something that looked exactly like a baked baby!
"Oh!" cried Charley, startled. "What's that?"
"A baked monkey, 'pon my word!" exclaimed his father. "Well, that's
more than I can go."
"I'm no cannibal, myself," quoth Mr. Grigsby. "Fact is, I'd rather eat
outside."
"No, I'll have them take it away," opposed Mr. Adams; and amidst
laughter the baked monkey was removed.
They sat on the earthen floor and ate. Things tasted mighty good. The
huts had no windows, and a dirt floor. A woven grass hammock swung
from the poles, and a number of cowhides were laid like a couch. Maria
said something about "muchacho" (which Charley knew was Spanish for
boy) and pointed to the hammock.
"That's yours," translated Charley's father, to Charley. "We men sleep
on those hides, I suppose."
While eating, Charley began to prickle, and shrugging his shoulders
politely scratched. His partners were doing the same, and Mr. Grigsby
laughed.
"Fleas!" he grunted. "That's all. Got to expect them. Otherwise
we're lucky."
Fleas? There were millions of them! They hopped even over the food;
but Charley was so hungry that he couldn't stop for that. He scratched
and ate.
Darkness descended early in the jungle. Maria and Francisco said that
they'd all start up-river again at daybreak, or five o'clock, so it
behooved the party to get to bed. Charley took one stroll, after
supper, into the village, sight-seeing. The village was a-riot with
noise. The natives were beginning a dance, to the light of torches, on
the grass, for the entertainment of the visitors. Tom-toms whanged,
flutes screeched, people cheered, and a number of the gold seekers were
acting like rowdies. It was a wild scene, amidst flaring torches; but
Charley thought best to beat a retreat to the safety of the hut.
With his clothes on he clambered into his hammock. His father and Mr.
Grigsby lay on the pile of hides. Where the family slept could not be
found out; Maria and Francisco slept in the boat, to guard the baggage.
Half the night the uproar in the village continued, but this did not
bother Charley as much as the fleas did. They accompanied him into his
hammock, and were busy every minute, it seemed to him. And judging by
the sounds from his father and Mr. Grigsby, there were fleas enough to
go around, with some to spare!
Charley thought that he had just fallen asleep, when he was awakened by
a tremendous roar. The hut was shaking, his hammock trembled, and the
world seemed ablaze. He half sat up, staring about him. Oh, a
thunder-storm! But what a storm! The storm that had caught him in the
boat aboard ship was only a shower, compared with this storm in the
tropical jungle. The rain was falling in a solid mass as if poured
from a gigantic bucket, while the red lightning blazed without a pause.
There was no wind; it was the weight of the water that made the hut
tremble--of rain drumming so steadily that even the thunder was
scarcely noticeable.
The interior of the hut was constantly light. He saw his father and
Mr. Grigsby also sitting up--and on the floor the water was running an
inch deep.
"Stay where you are, Charley," bade his father. "You're all right. We
can't do better."
That was so; and so long as his father and Mr. Grigsby were not
frightened, Charley determined that he need not be, either. So he lay,
high and pretty dry (the rain beat through the thatch in a thin mist),
and wondered where all that water came from. He also wondered how
Maria and Francisco were faring. But probably they knew how to take
care of themselves, because they lived down here.
The storm passed; on a sudden the rain stopped, the lightning died
away; and Charley fell asleep in earnest.
When he awakened the hut was pink with morning. His father was
standing in the doorway, looking out; Mr. Grigsby was gone. His father
turned, as Charley stirred; and said:
"Hello. Ready to start?"
"Yes. Is it time?"
"High time. We overslept a little. You'd better tumble out. There's
some coffee on the table, waiting for you. Drink it, and we'll go on
and finish breakfast in the boat."
Out piled Charley, hastily swallowed a cup of coffee, and was
ready--all but washing, which he determined he could do at the river.
He was stiff and flea-bitten, but otherwise felt all right.
He followed his tall father out into the fresh morning. Everything was
dripping and soggy, but the sun was going to shine, and dry the world
off. Together they trudged through the wetness, into the village.
Other gold seekers were trooping down to the river, and the villagers,
yawning and weary-eyed after the dance, were watching them, and
collecting money due for entertainment.
Mr. Grigsby was standing on the river bank, leaning on his rifle and
gazing about rather puzzled, while canoe after canoe was pushing off.
"No hurry," he spoke, when Charley and Mr. Adams arrived in haste.
"Save your breath."
"Why's that?" asked Mr. Adams, sharply.
"Our canoe's gone, and so are our boatmen!"
VIII
A TRICK--AND ITS CONSEQUENCES
That was so! Here was the very spot where the cayuca had been tethered
to a pole. Charley remembered the pole, forked at the upper end. Only
the forked tip was visible, for the river had risen amazingly from the
rain, and was running over its bank. But the pole was sticking
out--and no canoe was attached to it. Of canoe, and of Maria and
Francisco, not a sign appeared.
Two thirds of the other canoes had gone; the others were rapidly
leaving, as their occupants piled into them. The canoe of the
long-nosed man and his companions already had started, for its place
was vacant. Charley looked to see.
"It can't be that they've deserted!" exclaimed his father.
Mr. Grigsby shook his head, and smiled.
"Scarcely," he said. "See here. I've been waiting to show you."
He waded in knee deep, pulled up the pole and returned with it. A
fragment of grass rope still hung to it. The rope had been cut!
"I think," said Mr. Grigsby, slowly, "that we've our three friends to
thank for this. Looks to me as though somebody had cut the rope and
set the canoe adrift, with our men in it."
"Then they're liable to be miles down the river!"
"Just so, baggage and all."
"We can't wait," asserted Mr. Adams. "If we wait we run a good chance
of missing the steamer. I wouldn't have those three rascals get there
first for a thousand dollars. How about another canoe? Have you
tried?"
"Not yet. I didn't know whether you wanted to leave your baggage."
"Certainly I'll leave it. It can follow us. We can't stay here long
and run the risk of cholera. If you'll look for a canoe I'll see if we
can't hire passage with some of these other parties. Here, gentlemen!"
he called, to a canoe about to push out, and not heavily loaded. "Got
any room to spare?"
"Nary an inch, mister," responded one of the men. And away they went.
Again and again Mr. Adams tried, and he always got the same answer.
Truly, this was a very selfish crowd, every man thinking only of
himself and the goal ahead. They all acted as if the gold would be
gone, did they not reach California at the very earliest possible
minute. The fact is, Charley felt that way himself.
Back came Mr. Grigsby, hot and wet and disgusted.
"There's not a canoe to be had," he announced. "I can't get a boat for
love or money. Either they're all in use, or the people claim they
want to use them later. I expect we'll have to wait."
"Do you think our men will be back?"
"Yes, sir, as soon as they can. They seem honest. We can't walk,
anyway."
"No, I should say not," responded Mr. Adams, surveying the jungle
encompassing close. "We couldn't go a mile. The river's the only
trail. Very well, we'll wait a while. I've waited before, and so have
you."
"Many a time," and Mr. Grigsby composedly seated himself on the bank,
his rifle between his knees.
"I'll see about some breakfast, then," volunteered Mr. Adams. And away
he strode.
Charley had listened with dismay to the conversation. The last of the
gold seekers' dug-outs had left in a hurry, and was disappearing
up-stream. And here were he and his partners, stranded at the very
beginning of their journey across to the Pacific! That had been a mean
trick by the long-nosed man. Charley grew hot with anger.
"I should think Maria and Francisco would have waked up," he complained.
"They're awake by this time, and considerably surprised, too," answered
Mr. Grigsby. "As like as not they were covered with their gutta-percha
blankets, from the rain, and the boat drifted away without their
feeling a thing."
The sun had risen. A few of the villagers squatted beside Mr. Grigsby
and Charley and chatted in Spanish. They didn't appear concerned over
the matter. They seemed to think that it was a joke. Presently Mr.
Adams came striding back.
"Nothing new, is there?" he queried. "All right. Breakfast is ready,
anyway. I don't think these people will object to having us as steady
boarders, at two bits apiece."
The breakfast, in the darkened hut where they had slept, was very good:
baked plantains (that looked when whole like a banana, but when served
cooked looked and tasted like squash), boiled rice, butterless bread,
and black coffee again. Charley enjoyed that breakfast--how could he
help it when he was hungry and the food was something new? But his
father rose twice to look at the river. Evidently time was of more
importance than eating.
However, the river brought nothing; and when they all had finished
breakfast and went out together to inspect the river again, it proved
still vacant of the dug-out, and of Maria and Francisco.
"I vow!" chafed Mr. Adams. "This is too bad."
Mr. Grigsby seated himself on the bank.
"I don't wish any snake harm that doesn't deserve it," he said. "But
if a big boa would swallow that long-nosed man and his two cronies I
don't reckon I'd feel especially sorry, except it would be powerful
hard on the snake!"
The village pursued its daily routine. Some of the women washed
clothing in the shallows, although the water seemed dirtier than the
garments. Men and women, both, cut plantains and bananas and
breadfruit, and scratched gardens with crooked sticks. Children played
about, and a few canoes pushed out, to go fishing. But nobody worked
any _too_ fast. The sun beat down hotly, the air was moist and heavy,
monkeys and parrots screamed in the trees, and ever the Chagres flowed
past, brown and swollen from the rain. Considerable driftwood floated
down, and this was the only passing object.
After about two hours had dragged by, Mr. Grigsby suddenly uttered, in
his calm manner, with a nod of his head: "There they come." He had
keen eyes, had the scout and trapper who had served with Kit Carson and
Colonel Frémont, for Charley, peering down stream, saw only a small
speck appearing around the bend. His father wasn't quite convinced,
and squinting earnestly he said: "I hope so, but it may be some other
canoe, after all."
"Not a bit," assured Mr. Grigsby. "That's our craft, with our men in
it paddling for dear life. I can see 'em plain; can't you?"
Along the opposite bank crept the canoe--yes, it held two paddlers--now
it was quartering across, making for the village; its crew certainly
looked like Maria and Francisco.
Hurrah! Maria and Francisco they were; and indignant they proved to
be, as their three passengers proceeded to the water's edge to meet
them. They were panting and wringing wet, for they had come in a great
hurry. The villagers flocked curiously down, to listen and inspect.
"Quick!" called Francisco, in Spanish, as he held the canoe to the
bank, "Get in, Americans." He held up the severed rope attached to the
prow. "Those rascals cut us adrift, but never mind. We'll hurry."
"We were almost down to Chagres again when we woke up," called Maria,
to friends ashore. "We have been paddling ever since."
"Get aboard," bade Mr. Adams. "All right," he added, to the boatmen,
as Mr. Grigsby followed him and Charley tumbled into the bows.
Francisco gave a vigorous shove, out shot the canoe into the current;
and instantly Maria and Francisco were digging again with their paddles.
"We've lost about six hours," remarked Charley's father. "And it's too
late for even Grigsby's boa constrictor to help us out."
Maria seemed to have understood, for he grunted, encouragingly: "Go
ahead! Ever'body go ahead!" And tacked on a sentence in Spanish.
"Maria says they'll paddle all night," translated Charley's father, for
Charley. "That will help, but I expect a lot of other fellows will do
the same."
"Well, we can do the best we're able," spoke Mr. Grigsby. "I reckon
we'll get thar. The river's falling. That'll help."
By the looks of the water-line on the banks, this was so. Maria and
Francisco made good progress, as they cunningly took advantage of every
eddy. Speedily the village of Gatun disappeared in the heavy foliage
behind, and once more the dug-out was afloat in the tropical wilderness.
The river was extremely crooked, and in spots was swift; and Maria and
Francisco worked like Trojans to gain a few miles. (Of course there
was no Gatun Lake here yet. The Chagres had not been dammed for any
Panama Canal, but flowed in a course between high green hills bordered
with lagoons.)
About noon another little hut village appeared in a clearing on the
right bank. This was Dos Hermanos (Two Brothers), where people who
left Gatun early in the morning usually stopped for breakfast, and
their boatmen stopped for gossip. But Maria only shook his head at
sight of it, and he and Francisco paused in their paddling not an
instant. So Dos Hermanos faded from view, behind.
How they worked, those two boatmen--the _muchos caballeros_ (much
gentlemen) as they claimed to be! And certainly white boatmen never
could have served more faithfully. Maria no longer sang his funny
"Yankee Doodle Doo." He and Francisco saved their breath, while the
perspiration rolled from them in streams. All day they paddled,
pausing only twice for a bano, or bath. Other villages were passed,
and one or two ranches; and in due time the sun set and dusk flowed
down from the densely green hills.
With one accord Maria and Francisco swung the canoe in to the nearest
bank, and tethered it to a leaning tree. Maria spoke in Spanish, and
shrugging his shoulders, wearily stretched.
"Rest for two hours, and eat, is it?" quoth Mr. Grigsby, likewise
stretching, and then standing up. "All right. These boys have earned
it."
They certainly had. Still none of the gold seekers' flotilla ahead had
been sighted, but assuredly some of the lead had been cut down. As for
the long-nosed man's canoe, its four paddlers probably had kept it in
the fore, and there was not much chance of overtaking it. Charley was
rather glad. Maria and Francisco seemed to be so angry that there was
no telling what they might not do to the men who had cut them adrift.
And his father and Mr. Grigsby were to be reckoned with, too!
The forest on either side darkened rapidly. New birds and animals
issued, for the night, and filled the jungle with strange, new cries.
The river also was alive with splashes, from fish and reptile and beast
unseen. But after they all had eaten supper of bananas and cold pork
and cold plantains, washed down with cocoanut milk, Maria and Francisco
laid themselves out in the boat, and slept. Their three passengers
nodded and waited.
In two hours precisely the faithful boatmen awakened. Francisco
lighted a pitchy torch and stuck it upright in the bows. Then the boat
was shoved out, he and Maria resumed their paddles, and on they all
went, up the river again.
This was a fascinating voyage. Great birds and beetles and bats
swooped for the torch, and fled; fish leaped before the prow; and from
the jungle on right and left harsh voices clamored in alarm. Charley,
perched in the bows by the torch, which flared almost in his face,
peered and listened. The ruddy light cut a little circle on the water,
and shone on the dark, glistening forms of the two boatmen, and on the
staring faces of Mr. Grigsby and Mr. Adams, sitting amidships.
The night seemed to be growing darker. Over the forest, on the right
before, lightning was glimmering, and there was the low growl of
thunder.
"Going to get wet," announced Mr. Grigsby. "It rains at least once
every twenty-four hours, at this season."
Maria and Francisco exchanged a few sentences in Spanish and doubled
their efforts. The dug-out surged along, but even when it was close to
a bank the trees could scarcely be seen in the blackness.
"Well, Charley," called his father, "if we don't reach Peña Blanca
(that was the next village, and the name meant White Rock) in time we
are liable to get wet."
"Hark!" bade Mr. Grigsby. "Somebody's shouting."
Maria and Francisco had heard, also, for they rested on their paddles a
moment, to listen. Again came the new sound--a shrill, prolonged cry
wafting across the velvety river. Francisco looked back inquiringly at
the two men amidships.
"Go over," said Mr. Adams, with motion of hand. "Somebody's hailing
us."
Maria whooped loudly, and was answered. The dug-out turned, and
slanted across the current.
Not a thing could be seen. The torch flared low, for a chill, damp
breeze began to blow, in fitful fashion, heralding the storm. Maria
whooped at intervals, and back came the cry in reply.
"They sound right ahead," spoke Mr. Grigsby. "Easy, boys."
"I see them! I see them!" exclaimed Charley. A lightning flash more
vivid than any of the glimmers preceding had lighted the river with
dazzling white; and peering intently he had seen a boat, with dark
figures in it, limned not one hundred feet before. "They're straight
in front--people in a boat."
"Hello!" now was wafted the shout, in English. "This way."
Maria and Francisco paddled slowly, awaiting another lightning flash.
It came, disclosing the other boat only a few canoe lengths away.
Maria and Francisco paddled cautiously; the lightning flashes were
frequent, as if the storm was about to break, and the two boats could
see one another constantly.
"What's the matter here?" demanded Mr. Adams, as Maria and Francisco
held the dug-out a paddle's distance from the stranger boat. By the
flare of the dying torch, and the flashes of the lightning, this was
revealed as a native canoe, with two boatmen and two passengers.
"Be careful," warned a white man's voice. "We're hung up here on a
snag, and need help. We've been here five hours, and not a boat would
stop to lend a hand. If you've the hearts of men you'll stand by and
give us a lift. Our boatmen are worn out, and one of us is sick as a
dog."
"Well, sir, you can depend on us," assured Mr. Adams. "We're probably
in the biggest hurry of all, but we're not brutes. Let's see what's to
be done." He spoke to Maria in Spanish, and Maria and Francisco began
to chatter with the other boatmen.
"We've sprung a leak, too," said the spokesman in the wrecked canoe.
"It keeps two of us bailing. I won't leave my partner. He's too sick
to swim. Cholera, I might as well tell you. Can you take us aboard?"
"We'll try," replied Mr. Adams. "Much baggage?"
"We've thrown the baggage over, or else we wouldn't be on top. All we
ask is to get to Peña Blanca or some nearer place if there is any; and
we'll pay your price."
"There's no price, sir," said Mr. Adams, firmly. "We can take them in,
can't we, Grigsby?"
"You bet," responded Mr. Grigsby. "They can count on us some way or
other. I'd not desert friend or stranger in distress for all the gold
in California."
"Thanks later, then," spoke the other, shortly. "But our torch is out,
there's a foot of water in the bottom, and if that storm breaks on us
we'll be swamped. Fetch your boat alongside, will you?"
His tone was the tone of authority, as if he had been accustomed to
command. Mr. Adams delivered a sentence to Maria; and the dug-out was
carefully worked in to the wrecked boat. Now edge to edge they
floated. The other boat was hard and fast on a sunken tree, and a
sharp branch had jabbed clear through the bottom.
"My partner first," bade the man. "We'll have to lift him. He's far
gone."
While the boatmen held the two crafts together by the gunwales, the
helpless form, swathed in a blanket, was passed across and propped
beside Maria in the stern. Then in stepped a short, stout, red-faced
man, and the two boatmen nimbly followed, with their paddles.
The dug-out was weighted almost to the gunwale by the new load, and
Charley caught his breath, in dismay. But she ceased sinking, and
still floated.
"Cast off," bade the short man, brusquely. "Thank God," he breathed,
wiping his brow. "I guess we'll make it now, storm or no storm. My
boys will help paddle."
With an exclamation all together Maria and Francisco and the two new
boatmen dipped their paddles, as the two boats parted; and the dug-out
leaped ahead.
"My name is Captain Crosby. I'm a sailor, from Boston," the stranger
introduced himself.
Mr. Adams explained who they were. Captain Crosby continued:
"I've followed the sea all my life, since I was a small boy, and this
is one of the narrowest escapes I've ever had, afloat or ashore. If it
hadn't been for you, my mate and I would have been drowned, or would
have died in the jungle. As for those cowardly whelps who passed us
by--faugh! Each one left us to the boat behind. Fiji Islanders would
have had more heart than that. It was the cholera that scared 'em."
"I'm afraid your partner's very sick," commented Mr. Adams. And
indeed, lying limp and unconscious, wrapped in the blanket, his
features pinched and white in the glare of lightning and flare of
torch, the partner certainly looked to Charley to be a very sick man.
"Yes, sir. He'll not recover. I've seen cholera before. But I'll
stay with him to the last, and then I'll bury him. Seems to me you're
late on the up-river trip, aren't you?"
"We are. But evidently there was a purpose in it," responded Mr.
Adams. "Things work out for the best, in this world."
"You'll not lose by it, sir," asserted Captain Crosby. "Wait and see.
You'll not lose by it. I've something up my sleeve. But now the main
thing to be done is to land us and be rid of us."
That may have been so; in fact, it behooved them all to land, if the
approaching storm's bite was as bad as its bark. The torch flickered
and went out; but the lightning was light enough, illuminating river
and wooded shores with blinding violet blazes. The bellow of the
thunder was terrific--and while the four boatmen heaved with their
paddles and encouraged each other with shrill cries, in a solid line
down swept the first sheet of rain.
In an instant Charley was drenched to the skin. So were the other
passengers, and the stinging drops lashed the bare bodies of the
paddlers. The water swiftly gathered in the boat, so that Mr. Grigsby
and the captain began to bail with gourds kept handy for the purpose.
But, hurrah! There, on the near shore ahead, was another little
village, Peña Blanca, its low huts showing dimly through the spume of
the storm. Straight for it made the canoe--hit the sloping bank, and
stuck while out stumbled the passengers, the captain shouldering his
partner.
Francisco ran ahead, to show the way; and calling, dived in through the
doorway of a hut larger than its neighbors. Charley followed, and in
they all scurried. The other boatmen had stayed behind to spread
rubber blankets over the baggage.
IX
TIT FOR TAT
Francisco spoke to the family in the hut, and rising, one of them
lighted a candle. It was a two-story hut, and quarters were engaged in
the up-stairs room for the three in Charley's party; while Captain
Crosby and the sick man were given a place on the ground-floor.
The up-stairs was entered by a ladder. There was nothing better to be
done than to sleep in wet clothes; and Charley, on his grass mat, was
just beginning to be drowsy and fairly comfortable, and barely heard
his father say to Mr. Grigsby: "We ought to pull out at daybreak, but
that depends on what we can do for the captain," when the captain
himself came poking up through the hole in the floor.
"Hello!" he said. "It's Crosby. Are you awake?"
"Yes, sir. What's wanted?"
"Nothing, thank you. I suppose you'd like to get away early."
"As early as possible, captain. But we're at your service."
"Your time is valuable now, gentlemen. Mine isn't. If you're going to
catch the _California_, you haven't a moment to waste."
"We'll miss the _California_, rather than leave you in the lurch."
"You'll not miss her, if you make an early start and go right on
through. I told you you wouldn't lose by your kindness to my mate and
me, and you won't. I stay here; you go on whenever you choose."
"No, sir," said Mr. Adams. "If we can help you any we'll stay by you."
"I stop here," announced the captain. "As for my mate, he stops, too.
He'll never travel again. Tomorrow I bury him. He's gone, making his
last trip, and I expect he's landed in a better port than _California_.
What I do next I don't know. Go back to Chagres, maybe. At any rate,
here's his ticket from Panama up to San Francisco." By the flicker of
the storm, now retreating, Captain Crosby was revealed groping across
the floor, and extending a folded paper.
"What's that for?" demanded Mr. Adams.
"You're to take it and use it. Sell it, is my advice. You can get six
hundred or more dollars for it, at Panama."
"I'll take and sell it, if you say so; but I'll send you the money.
Your friend's family ought to have that."
"My mate had no kin alive. I don't want the money, and I know him well
enough to know that he'd want you to have it. Yes, I understand that
you didn't help us out for pay--you or any in your party. This isn't
pay; it's just a little tit for tat. Sell that ticket and divide the
proceeds among you, not omitting the boy. It may tide you over a tight
place, just as you tided us over a tight place. You see, the ticket's
no good to me. And now there's another thing or two, before we part.
You've run a big chance of getting left; and even if you reach Panama
in time for the steamer, you're liable to find her full up ere that.
Here's a note I've written to Captain Flowers, of the _California_.
He's an old ship-mate of mine. I sailed with him before I got my
papers, and we're as close as brothers. He's expecting me, at Panama,
and he'd hold the ship for me, if possible. I've asked him to take
your party on instead, and he'll do so even if he has to give up his
own cabin. My two boatmen will ship with your craft and help your boys
up-river from here to Cruces. There they'll find you the mules to
carry you on to Panama. Without these fellows you might have
difficulty to find any mules, for the crowd in advance probably has
hired every tassel-tail in sight. But I'm known all along the trail
from Chagres to Panama; I've been across time and again, and I have my
lines laid. Now I think you're fixed for a quick passage."
"But, my dear man!" exclaimed Mr. Adams. "This is too much. We can't
accept----"
"It isn't, and you can," retorted the captain, bluntly. "I'm not
inconveniencing myself a particle, whereas your party took a risk. Now
good-bye and good luck to you, gentlemen; and the same to you, my lad.
Here are the documents. You'll find my boatmen with your boatmen in
the morning. There'll not be much time to say good-bye then, if you
start as early as I think you'll start. I'll leave word for you to be
called at four o'clock."
So saying, the bluff captain shook hands all around, declined to listen
to further thanks, and ducked back down the ladder.
"There's a good turn repaying another in short order," remarked Mr.
Grigsby. "If we help somebody else off a snag we're likely to have a
whole ship put at our disposal!"
"Well, don't look for _that_," laughed Mr. Adams. "I'd help the next
man anyway."
"Certainly," agreed the Frémonter. "So would I."
And Charley sleepily determined that he would, also. But anyway, the
future looked bright again.
"We ought to reach Cruces to-morrow, and Panama the day after,"
remarked Mr. Adams; which were the last words that Charley heard until
he was shaken by the shoulder and his father's voice was saying: "All
right, Charley. Time to start."
The interior of the room was not yet pink with very early morning.
Charley stiffly scrambled to his feet, and followed his father down the
ladder, and through the room below--treading carefully so as not to
disturb the sleepers there. Mr. Grigsby already was out; and if
Captain Crosby was awake he pretended to be asleep so as to avoid more
thanks!
A little fire blazed on the river bank, near the boat. The boatmen had
made coffee and boiled some rice in cocoa-milk for the breakfast, so
that within fifteen minutes the boat was headed up-stream, on the spurt
for Cruces.
Now urged by four paddlers instead of two, it fairly flew, cleaving the
current while the dim shores and water grew lighter. The mountain
divide ahead was gradually drawing closer, and all the country along
the stream seemed steeper. One by one ranches were passed which in the
midst of cleared forest and jungle looked more prosperous than the
ranches of the lower river.
Well it was that the boat was equipped with four boatmen, for the
current ran very swift off the high hills, and contained several rapids
where two of the men--yes, and once all four of them--had to shove with
poles. They constantly chewed sections of sugar-cane cut from an
armful that had been tossed in at Peña Blanca. Charley tried the same
stunt, and found that the sugar-cane juice was good for a lunch.
Shortly after noon the course made a long turn about the foot of a
mighty, rounded hill, standing alone. Great trees clustered thickly to
its top; and here, high above all, up rose a single straight palm, like
a plume in the crown of a noble chief. The boatmen spoke, one to
another, and Francisco pointed.
"There you are, Charley," said Mr. Adams. "That's Mount Carabali. It
used to be a lookout for Indians and pirates. From that palm you can
see both the Atlantic and the Pacific. We're about ten miles from
Cruces."
In four miles more a large village called Gorgona was passed. During
half the year this was the place where people crossing the Isthmus
changed from boat to mule-back, but during the other half Cruces, six
miles above, was the junction. (As for old Gorgona, to-day it has been
swallowed, the most of it, by the greedy Gatun Lake of the big canal.)
Above Gorgona about two miles the Chagres River, whose course had
mainly been east and west, turned sharply to the left, while a fork
called the Obispo River continued on toward the Pacific. (Here,
to-day, at the forks, the Gatun Lake ends, after swallowing Gorgona,
and the celebrated Culebra Cut proceeds on west into the mountains,
making a path for the great canal, with Panama only fifteen miles away.
However, in 1849 and for many years afterward, the Panama Canal across
the Isthmus was not visible to the eye. There was no Gatun Lake and no
Culebra Cut; there was only the beautiful, tricky Chagres River,
flowing between its high jungly banks and divided, above Gorgona, where
the Obispo entered.) So the canoe carrying Charley and his party turned
south up the Chagres, and toiled on, amidst rugged green walls, to
Cruces, at last.
Las Cruces (The Place of Crosses) was situated on the west bank of the
Chagres, and as the canoe approached appeared to be a village of much
importance. As Charley had heard, it had been a famous old town,
connected with Panama by a paved stone road called the Royal Road, over
which treasure of gold and silver and pearls was borne by slaves and
mules and horses, on the way from the Pacific to the Atlantic at Porto
Bello and Nombre de Dios. Yes, and in 1670 Las Cruces was captured by
the pirates of Henry Morgan (Morgan the Buccaneer, who sacked the whole
Isthmus), on their way overland to attack Panama.
As the canoe grounded, old Cruces, with its regulation thatched cane
huts and a few--very few--wooden buildings, looked sleepy enough in the
late afternoon sunlight, as if treasure-trains and pirates and even
those other gold seekers, the California Forty-niners, never had been
here. One of Captain Crosby's boatmen, named Angel (and a queer black
angel he was!), sprang nimbly ashore, to proceed on "up town." The
other boatmen hauled the canoe higher.
"Angel's gone to find the mules," explained Mr. Adams, as all
disembarked, glad to stretch their legs. "There's not an animal in
sight; that's sure. The crowd ahead of us cleaned out the place."
"They didn't all get away, though. See the tents, yonder?" spoke Mr.
Grigsby; for three tents had been pitched, not far back from the river,
on the edge of the town.
Francisco saw, too, and shook his head vehemently, as did his comrades.
"Muy malo. Colera--mucha colera. Cuidado (Very bad. Cholera--much
cholera. Be careful)," he said.
"Shouldn't wonder," muttered Mr. Adams.
"I'll go over," volunteered Mr. Grigsby, "and see if we can do
anything." Shouldering his faithful rifle, the tall Frémonter strode
for the tents.
When he returned he reported that Francisco had guessed truly: the
tents held sick gold seekers, laid by with the dreaded cholera. But in
a couple of more tents, beyond, were some engineers on a survey for the
new Panama railroad. They had insisted that every horse and mule in
the region had been gobbled by the gold-seeker crowd, and that the
Adams party must wait for several days, at least, until the pack trains
returned from Panama. However, here came Angel, grinning, and
beckoning. He called shrilly; whereupon the three other boatmen
promptly shouldered the baggage and started for him.
"Angel evidently has fixed us out," asserted Mr. Adams, as with Charley
and Mr. Grigsby he followed.
"If he has he deserves his name," answered the Frémonter.
Angel led the way straight through the hot town, where the natives
stared languidly at the little procession, to a large plantation
beyond. Here, in a clearing devoted to maize and sugar-cane, amidst
bananas and plantains and palms, and huge acacias laden with fragrant
yellow blossoms, was nestled a white wooden house, two storied,
encircled with porch and wide upper veranda. A path of white crushed
shells led through luxuriant flowers to the front porch, where somebody
was lying in a hammock. Charley felt rather awed, for this evidently
was a wealthy ranch, belonging to cultured people.
As the party approached, crunching over the walk, the person in the
hammock rolled out, to receive them. He proved to be a stout, heavy
man, in loose white trousers, slippers, and white shirt. His
complexion was swarthy, a magnificent black beard covered his chin and
cheeks, and he plainly was a Spaniard. But he spoke good English.
"Welcome, señors," he greeted, with a wave of his hand. "I understand
you are from my good friend El Capitan Crosby. If so, my house and all
that is mine are at your disposal--a su disposición, señors."
That was a pleasant speech, indeed. Still, Mr. Adams, like Charley,
felt a little doubtful.
"Thank you, sir," he responded. "Captain Crosby was kind enough to
tell us that we would find accommodations at Las Cruces, that is true.
We left him down at Peña Blanca. But we do not wish to intrude upon
you. Our main thought is to get to Panama; and if you know of any
mules or horses, and a guide----"
The stout man courteously interrupted.
"Enough said, with your permission, señor. Horses and guide shall be
found, of course; and meantime you will honor me by spending the night.
You would gain nothing by attempting the trip before morning. The
trail is bad enough, by day. This is the Hacienda las Flores, and I am
Don Antonio de Soto. Let your men drop your baggage, which will be
properly attended to, and be pleased to enter."
Mr. Adams introduced himself and party; and with Don Antonio refusing
to listen to any apologies, into the house they went. It was
delightfully cool there, where the rooms were high and large and simply
furnished with cane chairs and couches. Don Antonio's wife, the Señora
Isabella (and a beauty), came forward also to welcome them. In white
dress, with a red rose stuck into her black hair, she took Charley's
fancy at once. Then there was a boy, Pascal, about Charley's age--a
handsome young fellow, slim and dark, with wonderful black-brown eyes
and dazzling white teeth. Servants glided hither-thither, to bring
glasses of lemonade and pine-apple juice, and to distribute the
bed-rooms; and when Charley found himself confronted by a real bed,
with a bath at his disposal, he thought that they all were in right
good hands. He wished that his mother was here, too. The Señora made
him rather homesick. How his mother would enjoy this place!
"We noticed the tents of some of the new railroad engineers, at the
edge of town, sir," remarked Mr. Adams, at supper, where Charley,
arrayed in his last clean suit of white, found the creamy beaten cocoa,
served on a spotless table, was the most delicious thing that he had
ever tasted. "I wonder how the work is going on."
"Excellently," responded Don Antonio. "I believe that a partial survey
has been made clear across. From the Atlantic end at Limon Bay the
line follows up along the right bank of the Chagres, about to Gorgona,
where it crosses and uses the old treasure-trail over Culebra Pass to
Panama."
"Then we'll see the survey, to-morrow?"
"No, señor, I fear not. You will follow the Camina Reale (Royal Road)
from Cruces, which runs far to the northward of the other trail from
Gorgona. But tell me, you being so lately from the United States, what
is the report upon this Panama Railroad? The Americans are to build
it, we hear."
"Yes, sir. A French company had the contract to cross this part of New
Granada with a railroad, but they didn't do anything, and at the
beginning of this year an American company got the right. The company
is formed by William Henry Aspenwall, John Lloyd Stevens, and Henry
Chauncy, of New York. The contract runs for forty-nine years from date
of completion of the road, which must be finished within six years. No
doubt the active construction will begin this fall or winter, at Colon;
and I am glad to know that the preliminary survey is already being
made. A railroad is badly needed."
"Ah, but the difficulties will be immense, señors," said the Dona
Isabella. "Swamps, mountains, fevers, wild beasts, rains--!" and she
exclaimed in Spanish, with despairing gesture of her white hands.
"It will be done, if the Americans go at it," asserted Don Antonio.
"You Americans are a wonderful people. I shall send our Pascal north,
this coming winter, to be an American. Eh, Pascal? He must learn
English, too. I myself was educated at Lima, where there are many
Americans and English."
"If I was going to be home you could send Pascal to St. Louis, Don
Antonio," spoke Charley, impulsively. "Then I could show him 'round."
"He would enjoy that, I'm sure," answered Don Antonio; and Pascal, as
if understanding, smiled friendly across the table at Charley.
"Yes, sir; a year or so in the States would do him good," agreed Mr.
Grigsby.
"Our friend Captain Crosby will take care of him," said Don Antonio.
"The matter has been arranged. And now after the railroad," he
continued, "will come the ship canal, no doubt. That will be a still
greater undertaking."
Mr. Adams nodded.
"Yes, I believe you. A canal across this Isthmus of Darien, as the old
navigators termed it, has been talked of ever since 1520, when Charles
the Fifth of Spain ordered a survey made. I expect to live to see the
railroad completed; whether I or you or any of us here will see a
canal, I don't know. But there'll be one; there'll be one."
That evening, after supper, Dona Isabella played charmingly on the
guitar, while amidst the shrubbery before the house the enormous
fire-flies made long streaks of light or blazed like jewels on leaf and
twig. With the graceful Pascal Charley chased and captured some.
Pascal had a wicker cage partly full of them, and used it as a lantern.
He lent it to Charley to go to bed by!
From the chase Charley returned to the porch in time to hear Don
Antonio discussing the road to Panama.
"The distance is twenty miles," he said, "and must be made in daylight.
The old road is not what it was in the time of golden Panama, when it
was kept open by the treasure trains. I would not hurry you,
gentlemen, but you should start early in the morning, for this is our
rainy season and you are liable to be delayed."
"It is a paved road, you say, sir?" queried Mr. Adams.
"After a fashion," smiled Don Antonio, "but laid more than 300 years
ago. From Panama to Cruces it was paved with flat stones, and was made
wide enough for two carts to pass one another. That, too, señors, was
a great undertaking, through the jungle and over the mountains, and
hundreds of poor natives died at the work. Ah, what millions in gold
and silver and precious stones, to enrich us Spaniards, have traveled
that long road all the way from the Pacific to the Atlantic! The
portion between Cruces and Panama has been kept open the longest, for
soon after the completion of the whole vessels began to ply back and
forth between Cruces and Chagres, and the lower road was not so much
used."
"You spoke of animals for our use to-morrow," suggested Mr. Adams.
"They shall be ready, señor. We at the Hacienda las Flores do not need
to keep horses and mules for hire, but I have plenty for my friends."
"We wish to pay for their use, sir," spoke Mr. Adams, quickly. "We
would not think of accepting them, otherwise. That is only fair.
Isn't it so, Grigsby?"
"I say the same," agreed the Frémonter.
Don Antonio politely bowed.
"In that case," he answered, "I shall yield. The regular hire from
Cruces to Panama is ten dollars each for the riding animals, and six
dollars for each 100 pounds of freight. However, the animals ate at
your disposal without price, if you permit me. With the packers and
guide you can settle among yourselves."
Lighted to bed by his firefly lantern, that night Charley slept between
sheets, under a mosquito-net canopy. He slept soundly, but he dreamed
of being a pirate, and capturing a long treasure train of mules piled
high with golden bars and shining pearls and rubies on the way from old
Panama.
X
ALMOST LEFT BEHIND
Don Antonio proved as good as his word. After the early breakfast, at
which all the family hospitably presided, back of the house were found
waiting three saddle horses, and two bullocks for pack animals. The
trunk was balanced on the broad back of one bullock, and firmly lashed
there; considerable of a trick it was, too, to fasten it in place on
the rolling hide, but Don Antonio's packers did the job in short order.
On the other bullock were lashed the bedding rolls. Now there remained
only to bid good-bye to host and hostess, pay off Maria and Francisco,
thank everybody, mount and follow the guide to Panama.
Maria and Francisco refused to accept anything extra for their faithful
services; so did Angel and Ambrosio, Captain Crosby's boatmen. They
shook their heads. "No, we may be black, but we are very much
gentlemen. When Americans treat us right, we treat them right," they
asserted.
"It is well that you have no ladies in your party," vouchsafed Don
Antonio. "The trip is hard for ladies, señors. They must either ride
astride, through rain and mud, or trust themselves to chairs upon the
backs of natives. _Sellero_ do we call that kind of a contrivance."
And when Charley had seen the road, he was rather glad, after all, that
his mother had not come. However, as Don Antonio remarked, "women had
gone that way, and many others probably would do the same." Charley
felt certain that his mother could get through, if any woman could!
She was spunky.
The horses were thin, scrawny fellows, so small that Charley himself
stood higher than they. On the other hand, the saddles were
prodigious; they covered the little animals completely, and the large
wooden stirrups nearly grazed the ground. It seemed to Charley that
the saddle alone was weight enough for such horses; but when at word
from his father he cautiously mounted into the seat, his horse appeared
not to mind. With its high horn and cantle, the saddle fitted like a
chair. To fall off would be hard--which was one good thing, at least.
So they started; the guide (who was a real Indian) walking barefoot
before, Mr. Adams, Mr. Grigsby and Charley riding in single file after,
the two pack bullocks plodding behind, and another Indian, to drive
them, trudging at the rear of all.
The narrow trail led first through a large tract of sugar-cane growing
much higher than one's head, and forming a thick, rustling green wall
on either side. As the little cavalcade proceeded, the Indian guide,
who wore a peaked plaited straw hat called jipijapa, a pair of white
cotton pantaloons, and a heavy-bladed knife--a machete--hanging at his
waist, with his machete occasionally slashed off a cane, to suck.
Suddenly the trail left the cane, and plunged into the jungle; and for
most of this day the party did not see the sun again. Here the guide
did a queer thing: he halted a moment, took off his pantaloons and hung
them about his neck. Evidently this was the sign that the plantation
and town had been left behind!
The horses' hoofs clattered and slipped; and looking down, Charley saw
that he was riding over a rude pavement, made by flat stones embedded
in the soft soil. This, then, was the ancient Royal Road--the Treasure
Trail from Panama! The stones were tilted and sunken and covered with
mud; a thicket of plants and brush crowded either edge, and gigantic
trees, enveloped with flowering vines, towered over, forming an emerald
archway through which a few faint sunbeams filtered to fleck the way.
Monkeys swung from branch to branch, and jabbered and gathered
cocoanuts and other fruit; gayly colored parrots flew screaming, or
hung upside down and screamed. The whole dense forest was alive with
strange animals and strange cries. Charley's eyes and ears were
constantly on the alert. He was having a great experience.
Ever the old road led on. In places it disappeared, swallowed by mud
and vegetation. There were numerous holes, where the stones had sunk
or been displaced; and picking their way the tough little horses and
the panting bullocks floundered to their knees. The trail seemed to be
climbing; it also was growing rougher. It crossed dank, dark ravines;
skirted their sides; and wound along the rim of precipices so deep that
the sight made Charley dizzy.
Toward noon the customary daily thunderstorm descended. So they halted
under a spreading plantain tree, whose leaves, broader even than banana
leaves, really were very good umbrellas. Here they ate their lunch,
too.
The rain made traveling worse, and worse waxed the old road.
"I vow!" exclaimed Mr. Adams, as his small horse staggered and almost
fell on a steep, slippery place. "This is as bad as storming the City
of Mexico. How do you like it, Grigsby?"
"I thought I'd seen bad trails, on some of my overland trips with
Frémont, but this beats them all."
Several times dead mules, perhaps with their necks broken, were passed;
and frequently were passed trunks and other baggage, thrown aside, all
of which showed that this trail of the old fortune-hunters was now the
trail of the new fortune-hunters, also, bound for California.
"We must be on top of the range," presently remarked Mr. Grigsby.
"Feels like it, anyhow."
Scarcely had he spoken, when on a sudden the trail emerged from the
forest, to creep along the face of another precipice. The path was
only a ledge jutting out not more than three feet from the solid wall
hung with vines; at the edge was a sheer drop of thousands of feet--or
maybe not more than 2000, but to Charley, whose left foot hung over the
drop, it looked like 20,000.
The horses trod gingerly, with ears pricked, carefully avoiding
scraping the wall lest they be forced over. This was wise, but not
pleasant for the riders. Behind, the bullocks snorted. Gazing off,
Charley saw what might have been a whole world spread beneath him:
league after league of rolling, misty green, where the jungle was
dwarfed by distance so that it looked like a lawn! Above it circled
and circled huge vultures; and although these were high in the air, he
and his party were higher yet!
"I smell salt water!" exclaimed Mr. Grigsby. "We're at the Pacific
slope!"
Charley sniffed; he heard his father sniffing; but he must admit that
Mr. Grigsby's nose was better than theirs. Now the trail entered
another jungly forest, and it certainly led down instead of up, as if
indeed they had crossed the divide. Hurrah!
However, the journey was not done, by any means. The road grew worse
still, as if the rain here had been harder. Making a misstep, down
slipped Charley's horse from the trail, over the edge of a clay bank,
and landed on his side twenty feet below. Charley sprawled on his face
in mud and rotted branches.
[Illustration: Down slipped Charley's horse from the trail]
"Hurt?" called his father.
"No, sir," answered Charley, grabbing the lines; and pulling his horse
along, he struggled to the trail again. He was not hurt, but he was a
sight to behold. The only thing to do was to laugh, and go on.
"Yes, boys; I smell salt water," insisted Mr. Grigsby. "And," he
added, "I'll be mighty glad to see it."
The paving was now so bad that the horses and bullocks preferred
walking at one side, following little paths that made long cuts and
short cuts through the brush. These paths were so narrow that the
riders had to clutch tight and bend low, or be swept from their
saddles. But there was no use in trying to guide those little horses,
who seemed to know what they wanted. Soon Charley and the others were
wringing wet, from the rain-soaked trees and bushes. This was part of
the game, but Charley was beginning to feel tired and cross. Still, he
wouldn't have missed the trip for anything. He'd have a lot to tell
Billy Walker, when they met in the gold fields.
It was late afternoon when the Indian guide (whose name was Pablo)
stopped short, at a mud puddle, washed his feet, and put on his
pantaloons!
"Hurrah!" cheered Mr. Adams. "That means Panama. Pablo's dressing.
And now I do smell the ocean, and no mistake."
"I've been smelling it for hours," reminded Mr. Grigsby.
Yes, the smell of ocean was in the air! Charley recognized it. It
smelled the same as the Atlantic, but of course it must be from the
Pacific. And within a few minutes the road had broadened; huts began
to appear, alongside. Through an opening, ahead, were disclosed
buildings of stone--a crumbling old church, almost covered with vines,
was passed--and beyond appeared a wide stretch of beautiful blue: the
Pacific Ocean!
Amidst ranches and huts and buildings of white wood and weather-beaten
stone; on a broad level road crowded with people light and dark, and
horses and mules and goats, and fringed with palms and bananas and
plantains, oranges, cactuses, citrons, magnolias and acacias, crossing
an old moat or wide ditch, through an arched gateway in a thick stone
wall the belated little party entered famous Panama. Over the broad
Pacific the sun hung low, and in the harbor, about a mile and a half
from the end of a street which gave the view, lay a large black steamer
with smoke welling from her stacks.
"That must be the _California_," exclaimed Mr. Adams, quickly. "She
has steam up."
"I reckon," said Mr. Grigsby, peering keenly, "we're just in time."
What a bustling city was this Panama! And what a number of Americans
were here! The buildings, of stone, wood, and clay, were two and three
stories high, with iron balconies bordering the upper stories. By the
open doors of some of the houses Charley caught glimpses, through the
halls, of charming flowery courts within, where fountains played. The
air was sweet with many scents and the fresh sea breeze. The
narrow-paved street down which Pablo proudly led his procession was
well crowded with animals and men--the latter being of all
nationalities. Spaniards in peaked hats and long velvet cloaks,
Indians and other bare-footed natives, and many foreigners, speaking
English, and clad in white linen, or miners' costume, or even
broadcloth.
As the party threaded their way through the strange gathering, hails
constantly reached them.
"Where you from?"
"Hello, Georgians!"
"Say, you're too late for the _California_."
"You needn't hurry, misters."
"How's the trail?"
"Oh, misters! Got a ticket to San Francisco?"
And so forth, and so forth.
The street opened into a large public square, or plaza, surrounded by
stores and fruit stands, and supplied with benches under the palms and
magnolias. On three sides the streets gave views of the ocean. Many
people were lounging about, but it was no place to stop and rest, for
_this_ party. No, not when the favorite hail said, "You're too late,"
and when, as emphasis, there lay the _California_ with smoking stacks.
"We'd better go right on down to the beach, Grigsby, hadn't we?"
queried Mr. Adams; and he spoke shortly to Pablo, directing him.
So they crossed the plaza (where several tents had been erected by
stranded gold seekers), and took another street which led straight
through a gateway in a crumbling wall to th
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