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.