Hector was seasick for the first twenty-four hours, but at the end of
that time he had become accustomed to the rise and fall of the billows,
and was prepared to enjoy himself as well as he could in the confined
quarters of an ocean steamer.
Of course, he made acquaintances. Among them was a clergyman, of middle
age, who was attracted by our hero’s frank countenance. They met
on deck, and took together the “constitutional” which travelers on
shipboard find essential for their health.
“You seem to be alone?” said the clergyman.
“Yes, sir.”
“Pardon me, but it is uncommon to meet one so young as yourself who
is making so long a journey. I suppose, however, you have friends or
relatives in California.”
“No, sir; I know no one, to my knowledge, in the Golden State.”
“Then, perhaps, you go out in search of employment?”
“No, sir; I go out on business.”
“You are a young business man,” said the clergyman, smiling.
“Perhaps I should rather say, on a mission. I am sent out, by a New York
merchant, in search of his nephew, who is somewhere in San Francisco.”
Hector explained himself further. The minister, Mr. Richards, listened
with attention.
“Certainly,” he said, “a great responsibility rests upon you. Mr. Newman
must have great confidence in you.”
“I hope he will not find it misplaced,” answered Hector, modestly.
“It is certainly a compliment to you that a shrewd business man should
consider you worthy of such confidence. The presumption is that he has
good reason for his confidence. I think, my young friend, that you will
enjoy your visit to our State.”
“Then you reside there, sir?”
“Oh, yes. I went out twenty years since; in fact, just after I graduated
from the theological school. I spent a year at the mines; but, at the
end of that time, finding an opening in my profession, I accepted the
charge of a church in Sacramento.”
“In Sacramento?” exclaimed Hector, eagerly.
“Yes. Have you any associations with that city?”
“It is my birthplace, sir.”
“Then you are not a stranger to California?”
“Yes, sir; I came away so early that I have no recollection of the
place.”
“What is your name?” asked the clergyman.
“Hector Roscoe.”
“Roscoe? The name sounds familiar to me,” said the minister,
thoughtfully.
“How long since you went to Sacramento, Mr. Richards?”
“I went there in 1855.”
“And I was born there in 1856. My father and mother lived there for some
time afterwards.”
“It is probable that I met them, for Sacramento was a small place then.
Shall you go there?”
“Yes, sir. I have a special reason for going--a reason most important to
me.”
As Mr. Richards naturally looked inquisitive, Hector confided in him
further.
“You see, sir,” he concluded, “that it is most important to me to
ascertain whether I am really the son of the man whom I have always
regarded as my father. If so, I am heir to a large fortune. If not, my
uncle is the heir, and I certainly should not wish to disturb him in the
enjoyment of what the law awards him.”
“That is quite proper,” said Mr. Richards. “In your investigation, it
is quite possible that I may be able to help you materially, through my
long residence and extensive acquaintance in Sacramento. When you come
there, lose no time in calling upon me. Whatever help I can render you
shall cheerfully be given.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Shall you be much disappointed if you find that you are only the
adopted, instead of the real, son of Mr. Roscoe?”
“Yes, sir; but it won’t be chiefly on account of the property. I shall
feel alone in the world, without relations or family connections, with
no one to sympathize with me in my successes, or feel for me in my
disappointments.”
“I understand you, and I can enter into your feelings.”
Arrived in San Francisco, Hector took lodgings at a comfortable hotel on
Kearney Street. He didn’t go to the Palace Hotel, or Baldwin’s, though
Mr. Newman had supplied him with ample funds, and instructed him to
spend whatever he thought might be necessary.
“I mean to show myself worthy of his confidence,” said Hector to
himself.
He arrived in the evening, and was glad to remain quietly at the hotel
the first evening, and sleep off the effects of his voyage. After
the contracted stateroom, in which he had passed over twenty days,
he enjoyed the comfort and luxury of a bed on shore and a good-sized
bedroom. But, in the morning, he took a long walk, which was full of
interest. Less than five minutes’ walk from his hotel was the noted
Chinese quarter. Curiously enough, it is located in the central part
of the business portion of San Francisco. Set a stranger down in this
portion of the city, and the traveler finds it easy to imagine himself
in some Chinese city. All around him, thronging the sidewalks, he will
see almond-eyed men, wearing long queues, and clad in the comfortable,
but certainly not elegant, flowing garments which we meet only
occasionally in our Eastern cities, on the person of some laundryman.
Then the houses, too, with the curious names on the signs, speak of a
far-off land. On every side, also, is heard the uncouth jargon of the
Chinese tongue.
There is a part of San Francisco that is known as the Barbary Coast. It
is that part which strangers will do well to avoid, for it is the haunt
of the worst portion of the population. Here floats many a hopeless
wreck, in the shape of a young man, who has yielded to the seductions of
drink and the gaming table--who has lost all hope and ambition, and is
fast nearing destruction.
If Hector allowed himself to explore this quarter, it was not because
he found anything to attract him, for his tastes were healthy, but he
thought, from the description of Gregory Newman, that he would stand a
better chance of meeting him here than in a more respectable quarter.
Hector halted in front of a building, which he judged to be a gambling
house. He did not care to enter, but he watched, with curiosity, those
who entered and those who came out.
As he was standing there, a man of forty touched him on the shoulder.
Hector turned, and was by no means attracted by the man’s countenance.
He was evidently a confirmed inebriate, though not at that time under
the influence of liquor. There was an expression of cunning, which
repelled Hector, and he drew back.
“I say, boy,” said the stranger, “do you want to go in?”
“No, sir.”
“If you do, I know the ropes, and I’ll introduce you and take care of
you.”
“Thank you,” said Hector, “but I don’t care to go in.”
“Are you afraid?” asked the man, with a slight sneer.
“Yes. Haven’t I a reason?”
“Come, sonny, don’t be foolish. Have you any money?”
“A little.”
“Give it to me and I’ll play for you. I’ll double it in ten minutes, and
I’ll only ask you five dollars for my services.”
“Suppose you lose?”
“I won’t lose,” said the man, confidently. “Come,” he said, in a
wheedling tone, “let me make some money for you.”
“Thank you, but I would rather not. I don’t want to make money in any
such way.”
“You’re a fool!” said the man, roughly, and with an air of disgust he
left the spot, much to Hector’s relief.
Still Hector lingered, expecting he hardly knew what, but it chanced
that fortune favored him. He was just about to turn away, when a youth,
two or three years older than himself in appearance, came out of the
gambling house. He was pale, and looked as if he had kept late hours. He
had the appearance, also, of one who indulges in drink.
When Hector’s glance fell upon the face of the youth, he started in
great excitement.
“Surely,” he thought, “that must be Gregory Newman!”