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 the water.
Panama was built upon a long point, and the ocean washed it on three
sides, bordered by a beautiful sandy beach unbroken by wharves or
piers. Line after line of surf came rolling in, the last line
shattered by the shallows before it reached the shore. Southward were
high mountains, veiled in mist. Far out across the white-flecked blue
rose green islands. Between the islands and the curving shore lay
several ships at anchor--one of them the _California_. Just beyond the
inner line of surf were stationed a regular flotilla of canoes; their
boatmen were lounging about on the beach, alert for passengers, and at
sight of the little procession of travelers filing down they made a
grand rush.
"This way, señors!"
"One _medio_ to big ship, señors."
"My canoe biggest."
"Try me, señors. Ver' hones'."
"No. I hones', señors."
Plainly enough the only way to get out to the _California_ was by
canoe. Mr. Adams tried to make himself heard. More gold seekers were
loafing and waiting on the beach; and these added their shouts and
advice to the clamor of the boatmen.
"Going out to the _California_, strangers?" demanded a red-shirted man,
pushing his way through the uproar.
"Yes."
"No use. She won't take you. She's full up and all ready to sail.
Don't listen to these boatmen. All they want is a fare. You might
just as well unpack, and wait for the next boat, like the rest of us."
"We'll go out, anyhow," declared Mr. Adams. He picked on one of the
jostling boatmen--a yellow fellow with a tiny moustache and earrings.
"Two boats," he said, holding up two fingers. "The _California_."
"Si, si," nodded the boatman. He beckoned to a partner, who sprang to
help him; and the remainder of the boatmen calmly dispersed and sat
down again.
Pablo and the packer began to unlash the luggage from the bullocks, and
following the example of his father and Mr. Grigsby, Charley stiffly
dismounted. Immediately the yellow boatman stooped and motioned to
Charley to climb aboard his back.
"We'll have to be carried out to the canoes, Charley," spoke his
father. "They can't come inshore. Hurry up."
But at this instant there was another interruption. "You are
Americans, aren't you, gentlemen? Then will you help another American?
I hate to ask it, but I've got to."
He was a young man, of not more than twenty-one or two, exceedingly
thin and sallow. Otherwise he would have been good-looking. His voice
and manner were refined.
"What's the matter?" asked Mr. Adams.
"My name is Motte. I'm flat broke. I came through a month ago; was
taken with cholera and robbed. I sent my wife on, by kindness of other
strangers; and I've been here ever since, waiting for a chance and
trying to get work. She's up in San Francisco, alone, and what's
happened to her I don't know. There are 300 people here now, sir,
waiting for the next vessel, and tickets are selling at from six
hundred to a thousand dollars! If in any way you can take me along
with your party, I'll do anything in the world." He choked with his
earnestness. "I hate to beg--but I _must_ get to my wife. I'll pay
you back at my first opportunity. There's work at the gold fields,
they say. I--I----" and he choked again.
"We can't stand here talking," said Mr. Adams. "We must catch that
steamer. Come along out with us, and we'll talk on the way."
Charley clung pickaninny fashion to the back of the yellow boatman, who
waded with him into the surf. This was great sport. Staggering and
slipping, and wet almost to his shoulders by a swell, the boatman
landed Charley in one of two canoes that were being held ready. Mr.
Adams was landed in the same way; so was young Mr. Motte. Into the
other canoe were plumped Mr. Grigsby and the baggage. The
canoes--larger and heavier than those other dug-outs used on the
Chagres--were swung about and pointed out for the steamer. The smoke
from her stacks seemed thicker, as if she was on the very point of
leaving her anchorage. Charley, anxiously gazing, imagined that he
could see her move! Oh, thunder! Were they to be left behind, after
all? It was a long way, yet, to the steamer, and although Mr. Adams
urged the two paddlers to hurry, the canoes appeared only to creep.
But line after line of surf they skilfully surmounted--first rising
high, then sliding down, down, upon the other side, to meet the next
line. Gradually the shore receded; the white and gray buildings of
Panama, set amidst bright green, against the background of great Ancon
peak, outspread wonderfully behind the ruined battlements of the old
wall that fronted the harbor. And the _California_, smoking as if to
bid "Hurry!" still waited. Gangway stairs were still lowered, down her
side; and Charley kept his eyes on these. If they were hauled in, then
that would be a bad sign. Meanwhile Mr. Adams talked with the young
man, who impressed Charley more and more as being honest. Mr. Adams
was convinced of the fact, also, for he said:
"All right. If they'll take us on the ship you can come along with us,
and welcome; can't he, Charley? If they won't, we'll see what else is
to be done."
Presently the black steamer loomed over. From her high rails hundreds
of faces were peering curiously down; and the captain himself, in
uniform, was standing at the head of the stairs. He did not look
pleased, as the two canoes reached the stairs.
"Hello!" he bawled. "You can't come aboard. What do you want?"
"We want to go to San Francisco," replied Mr. Adams.
"You can't do it, in this ship. We're full up. Stand clear; we're
pulling out." And Charley, to his dismay, heard the clank of the
anchor chains.
"One minute! Just one minute!" shouted up Mr. Adams, standing and
waving his letter. "I have a note for Captain Flowers."
"Come aboard with it quick, then. But you can't stay," ordered the man
above. And up the stairs hastened Mr. Adams.
The captain snatched the letter without ceremony (and as if he was very
cross), opened it and read it. Watching anxiously, as the canoes rose
and fell on the waves at the foot of the stairs, Charley could hear
most of the conversation. The captain spoke loudly and decisively.
"Where'd you leave Crosby?"
"Back at Peña Blanca."
"I'd given him up. His places are taken. But I'll do the best I can
for you. How many in your party? Who is your extra man?"
"A young fellow I'm trying to help along."
"Does Crosby know of him?"
"No, sir, he does not," truthfully answered Mr. Adams.
"Well, you can come aboard, you and your two, but he can't. I'll do
that much for Captain Crosby. More I cannot do, and I positively
won't. I'm stretching a point now. We're overloaded already. Hustle
your baggage in; the anchor's afloat and you've no time to lose."
"Come on, Charley, you and Grigsby," called Mr. Adams.
"Bear a hand with that baggage," bellowed the captain; and several
sailors sprang to the head of the stairs.
Mr. Adams ran rapidly down again, passing Charley, who scampering
gladly up.
"You'll have to wait over, Motte," he said.
Mr. Motte's face fell.
"All right," he muttered.
"Why don't you give him that extra ticket?" proposed Mr. Grigsby, over
his shoulder, as he followed Charley.
"I was thinking of that. Here," Mr. Adams extended the ticket. "That
will help you out, won't it? We've no use for it. It will take you to
San Francisco."
"I'll leave on the next boat, then," stammered young Mr. Motte,
flushing. "I'll see you in San Francisco or the diggings, and pay you.
I surely will."
"No pay expected," returned Mr. Adams, now remounting the stairs, and
pressed close by the baggage. "It was given to us; we give it to you,
and glad to do so. Good-bye."
"Good-bye."
Charley was about to call good-bye, also, but the words died on his
lips, for almost the first face that he saw, beyond the captain, as he
gained the deck, was the face of the long-nosed man. The long-nosed
man had touched the captain on the shoulder.
XI
CHARLEY LOSES OUT
"Who are you?" demanded the captain, brusquely.
"I'm one of your passengers; that's enough. I've paid my money to get
to San Francisco with reasonable comfort and dispatch. We are late
now, and overloaded, and I protest against your delaying to take more
passengers aboard."
"I'm running this ship. You get back where you belong," ordered the
captain.
"This is a party of tramps," bawled the long-nosed man. "They've come
off the beach with a forged letter. I know 'em. I'll report you to
the company. I'll see if the United States Government won't----"
"For shame!"
"Put him out!"
"Throw him overboard!"
Cries from the other passengers interrupted him; and so did the captain.
"Here! Chuck this fellow aft!" he called, to the sailors. "If he
makes any more fuss, put him below and keep him there." And he
summoned, to Mr. Adams: "Come aboard, and hurry up."
So on up the stairs clambered Charley.
"Good-bye," he called back, to young Mr. Motte.
Mr. Grigsby and Charley's father followed; and on the instant the
captain hurried to the bridge. The steamer's paddle-wheels began to
turn; she glided ahead.
Sailors closed the rail, and Charley and his two companions were left
standing there. Below, the two canoes fell behind. Charley waved to
them, and was answered.
So at last they actually were off, on the last leg of their journey to
California. It had been a narrow squeak.
"That long-nosed individual seems to prefer your absence to your
company," remarked Mr. Grigsby, leaning upon his rifle and glancing
coolly about.
"Yes. We've some information he thinks he can use better than we can,"
answered Mr. Adams.
"You may have to deal with him pretty smartly, if he crosses your trail
many more times," observed Mr. Grigsby.
"We will, when necessary," promised Mr. Adams. "We'll take care of
ourselves; eh, Charley?"
"Yes, sir," promptly agreed Charley.
"Very good," said Mr. Grigsby. "As I size him up--and his two pards,
too--he'll be afraid to do much more, aboard this ship. He's gone as
far as is safe for him. But when you reach San Francisco, then look
out. Meanwhile I'll help you keep an eye on him."
"Thank you, sir," responded Mr. Adams.
Out through the open Bay of Panama majestically swept the _California_;
past several small rocky islands, with some islands ahead on the left
or south which were said to be the famous Pearl Islands, where pearls
as large as filberts were found plentifully. In about an hour stop was
made at the equally famous Island of Taboga--the most beautiful place,
as seemed to Charley, in the world. It had a white beach; from the
beach rose long slopes of green, shaded by bananas, palms, figs,
plantains, oranges, limes--every kind of tropical growth. And these
slopes were gayly colored with tiers of peak-roofed huts and houses, in
pink and yellow and brown and blue and red. Along the beach were
scores of white canoes. The people of Taboga, mostly negroes and mixed
breeds, appeared to have nothing to do but loaf about and fish and eat
and play. It was a sort of a resort place.
At Taboga the _California_ took on fresh water, and on she steamed, for
the open sea.
Gradually the walls and houses of Panama, and even mighty Ancon Hill,
faded from view.
The captain came down from the bridge, and approached the little party.
"I'll turn over my cabin to you, for sleeping quarters," he announced,
rather more kindly than before. "You'll all have to bunk in together,
some way, but I'll rig you up a cot. I'll pair off with the first
mate."
"We can't permit that, sir," answered Mr. Adams, at once. "Not a bit.
Any place on deck will do. We slept on deck, to Chagres, and we can do
the same here."
"No, sir," and the captain spoke decisively. "We're overloaded, and
you'll not find a spot vacant. I'll fare very well with the mate. I
can use the cabin daytimes, when necessary. You must have done the
handsome thing by Crosby, and I'll return the compliment as far as
possible. The steward will have your luggage stowed away, and show you
where you belong."
So saying, the captain left, not waiting for thanks.
The cabin, of course, was airy and convenient, and to occupy it made
Charley feel like a personage of importance. Mr. Grigsby chose the cot
(which was to be folded away during the day), and insisted on Charley
and his father taking the berth. After arranging their baggage, they
might stroll about and inspect the ship.
By this time the _California_ was headed well out to sea. Evidently
the Pacific Mail Steamship Company was wealthy and progressive. The
_California_ was much larger and finer than the _Georgia_, her decks
were scrubbed smooth and white, her brass-work highly polished, and
everything looked to be in apple-pie order. Her table, too, proved to
be better supplied than the table on the _Georgia_. In a large pen,
forward of the wheel-house, surrounding a platform built for the
purpose, were confined a quantity of cattle, sheep and hogs, for fresh
meat. Every day or so several were slaughtered. Over the upper deck
were stretched shade awnings. Officers and crew were smart and spick
and span.
But, like the _Georgia_, the _California_ was too crowded for real
comfort. From the steerage, below, to the first cabin or upper deck,
the passengers had occupied every kind of quarters; the sea was smooth,
so that few were seasick, but the sun beat down from directly overhead,
out of a sky almost cloudless, and even under the awnings the heat and
moisture were well-nigh unendurable. The gold seekers who clung to
their heavy boots and trousers and flannel shorts fairly panted.
However, it was a three weeks' voyage, now, and there was no retreat.
Anyway, people said that after crossing the Tropic of Cancer, there
would be more of a breeze, and the weather would cool off rapidly, the
nearer the _California_ got to San Francisco.
The majority of the passengers had come across the Isthmus from the
_Georgia_, and Charley recognized a number of them. The long-nosed man
and his two cronies carefully kept away from the Adams party; Charley
saw them only occasionally. After all, they were cowards, with guilty
consciences.
"Charley," said his father, that afternoon while they were together,
"what do you think of telling Mr. Grigsby about the mysterious miner we
took care of, back home, and his Golden West mining claim? Seems to me
Grigsby's a thoroughly honest man, he's been of great help to us, and
while he hasn't asked any questions he must be wondering why our friend
Jacobs is hounding us so."
"Yes, sir; I think he ought to know," asserted Charley.
"All right; we'll tell him to-night. Then he'll understand the
situation, and it may save us trouble. Besides, it's only fair. We
don't want him to support us blindfolded."
"No, sir," agreed Charley.
So that night, while turning in, in the cabin, Mr. Adams laid the
situation before the tall Frémonter. He explained the whole affair,
from the beginning to the sailing of the _Georgia_. And he showed the
scrawl by the mysterious miner, and the rough sketch and the buckskin
bags.
Mr. Grigsby thoughtfully nodded.
"I see," he mused, studying the sketch map. "Map's not very clear,
though. Might be a map of the American River, out of Sutter's Fort.
That's the main overland emigrant trail, down from the Sierra, and
where the first gold excitement led. Or it might be the Feather, or
the Yuba. 'G. H.' of course means 'gold here'; it's the regular sign.
Six G. H.'s--one of 'em smudged. Huh! Yep, if I were you I'd try the
American River first; but you want to look mighty sharp. It's no great
feat in the gold fields to jump another fellow's claim, and even if you
get there ahead that other party's liable to be hot after you to oust
you."
"Charley and I'll defend our rights," said Mr. Adams, stanchly.
"Well," continued Mr. Grigsby, "if I'm around you can count on me. And
there'll be other men who won't be inclined to stand for skullduggery.
The diggin's will be put under law and order, after a bit, or else no
man's life or property will be safe for a day. But until then, look
out, and keep looking out."
"We will," assured Mr. Adams, nodding confidently at Charley, who
soberly nodded back.
"And if I were you," added the Frémonter, "I'd tuck those papers in a
safe place. Wouldn't leave them around anywhere. See?"
"I've been carrying them on my own person," explained Mr. Adams.
"The very place where anybody wanting them by hook or crook would look
first," said the Frémonter.
"Humph!" admitted Mr. Adams. "That's probably so." He looked about
thoughtfully. "But I don't know of a better place--'twouldn't do to
stick them anywhere in the cabin, or the baggage. Here!" he exclaimed,
struck with an idea. "What's the matter with Charley! Nobody would
suspect that a boy was in charge of valuables. Charley, you take these
and tuck them away on you where they'll be safe."
"Put them in your shoe--or in your bootleg when you wear boots,"
instructed Mr. Grigsby.
"What about night?" asked Charley.
"I'll tend to the nights," grimly said the Frémonter. "You might
change them to your pillow, nights, and they wouldn't be any safer and
you'd be apt to forget them. But my cot will be across the doorway,
nights, and I in it."
"Very good," approved Mr. Adams. And so Charley carried the papers in
his shoe.
For a week the _California_ sped on, over a smoothly rolling blue sea,
accompanied by the gulls and porpoises and the steady thumps of her
huge paddle-wheels. On the right, or east, the coastline was at first
high and mountainous, but soon became only a bluish line, across the
miles of water. The decks were hot, amidst this summer sea! Almost
every night there was a gorgeous sunset; yet even after sunset the
thermometer stood over eighty in the cabins.
On up the full length of Central America ploughed the _California_;
past Costa Rica and Nicaragua and Salvador and Guatemala--all of which
looked about the same, at this distance, no matter how they were
colored on the maps. Next came the coast of Mexico; and swinging in,
the _California_ made for Acapulco.
Beautiful was the coast of Mexico, hereabouts: a long strip of white
beach where the blue surf broke; behind, vivid green hills, their bases
dotted with white towns; and further behind, tremendous
mountain-ranges, piercing the clouds.
Acapulco seemed as hard to find as Chagres. The _California_ acted as
if she were going to butt right into the beach; and the passengers,
crowded along the landside rails, eagerly waiting, could make out no
harbor. Yet Acapulco was said to have the finest harbor between Panama
and San Francisco; and there was Acapulco itself--the old fort guarding
the harbor, the roofs of houses beyond it, and the tips of masts
betokening where ships lay at anchor.
Between horizon and sky, far up the coast, over the sea floated a
thread of black smoke. Another steamer, this, passengers said; and Mr.
Grigsby, whose eyes were so keen, agreed. The smoke seemed to attract
considerable attention from the ship's officers, and the captain
surveyed it long through his spy-glass. However, Acapulco, where they
were to be permitted to land for an hour or two, was of more importance
to the passengers; and landward the majority of eyes were turned.
Only when the _California_ had passed between a rocky island and a high
bluff or headland, did the harbor of Acapulco unfold, so cleverly was
it fashioned. Like a huge basin it was, scooped from the cliffy shore,
as if a giant shark had taken out a big bite. So steep were the
whitish cliffs, that several small vessels were lying right under them.
A dazzling beach fringed the edge of the great basin; palms and other
trees shaded it. On a high point was the castle, or fortress of San
Diego, similar to, but not so ruined as old Fort Lorenzo at the mouth
of the Chagres.
The _California_ steamed on, when suddenly "Boom!" sounded her signal
gun, to announce her arrival.
From the leafy town people came running down to the beach, and a
regular flock of canoes made a mad race from the beach for the ship.
The ship's boat was lowered, and was pulled away for the shore, bearing
the first mate. Word was spread that passengers might go ashore, for
four hours; the gun would be fired again at sailing time.
"The hottest place on the American continent," pronounced Mr. Adams.
"So I heard when I was in Mexico during the war. Those hills shut off
the breeze, and the heat hangs night and day. Thermometer stands at
120 degrees in the shade, for days at a time. That gap in the
hill-line yonder must be the gash cut by the Spaniards, in early times,
to make a current of air. Now do you want to go ashore, Grigsby?"
"Well, I rather think I will," drawled Mr. Grigsby, good-naturedly.
"It may be the last chance to stretch our legs for some days. I'm not
used to cramped quarters, after having had half a continent to tramp
over."
"All right, I'll go with you," said Mr. Adams. "How about you,
Charley?"
Charley decided that he'd as soon stay where he was, for things around
the ship began to look interesting. The foremost of the boats from
shore had reached the vessel. They were heaped with cocoanuts,
bananas, oranges, limes, plantains, cakes, and shells, the smaller
shells being stitched together in odd patterns. As more boats arrived,
a sort of a market was opened. Many of the boats were rowed by women,
who smoked cigars while the men with them did the selling. A line
attached to a basket or bag of matting was tossed up over the rail.
Any passenger who wished to purchase drew up the basket or bag, put a
piece of money in it, and then the man in the boat exchanged fruit or
cakes or shell-work for the money, and the passenger drew up the basket
or bag again.