unloaded. Goodness gracious, there were not only the travel-worn men,
but two women also! Up the side they all toiled, the men lean and
brown and whiskered, the two women fully as distressful looking, with
their hair faded, and their skin tight over their cheek-bones. The
majority of the men were clad in old deer-skins and moccasins, and
carried only hand-baggage of bundles.
The passengers of the _California_, crowding curiously, respectfully
gave way.
"Well, holy smoke!" exclaimed Mr. Grigsby, at sight of one of the men.
"Is that you, Bentley?"
"Hello, Sam," wearily responded the man. "It's what's left of me."
"Where'd you come from?"
"From the States, by way of the Gila trail across the desert. Nigh
starved to death, too."
"You look it," commented Mr. Grigsby. "Is this all your party?"
"No. Part of us branched off for Los Angeles, on this side of the
Colorado Desert; part of us never got through, and some are buried and
some aren't. The rest of us struck for the sea, by the San Diego fork,
as fast as we could. And I tell you, this steamer looks mighty good!"
"Pshaw!" murmured Mr. Grigsby, while Charley felt a great wave of
sympathy for Mr. Bentley and all. And the Frémonter added: "I suppose
you're bound for the gold fields, like everybody else."
"Yes," answered the tattered emigrant. "But all the gold in Californy
can't pay me for what I've gone through. Hunger and thirst and heat
and cold and Injuns--we met 'em. It's a terrible trail, Sam, as I
reckon you know. And queer enough, those two women--those two wives in
the party--stood it without a whimper. Gentlemen," he spoke to the
crowd, "those are the heroes."
"You bet," responded several voices. "And there are more women like
'em."
The emigrant Bentley passed on, following his fellows. Mr. Grigsby had
known him in trapper days. They had hunted beaver together.
No one made any objection to taking these additional passengers aboard.
Anyway, now it was only a few days to San Francisco. The new gold
seekers all had harrowing stories to tell. As Mr. Bentley had said,
the most of them had traveled from the Missouri River, in Arkansas and
Missouri, by a southern route across New Mexico which included what is
to-day Arizona, from Santa Fé striking west for the Gila River. It was
a parched and barren country, rife with the Apaches and Navajos and
Yumas and other fierce tribes, who stole their horses and cattle and
harassed their camps. Skeletons of men and animals, from other
parties, lined the trail; and there was one march of fifty miles
without water.
Two in the company had even crossed Mexico, and had been lost, until
they emerged from the mountains and sighted the desert of southern
California. All in all, thought Charley (and his father agreed) people
were taking astounding risks to get to California.
There was the trip clear around Cape Horn, by boat; and the trip across
the Isthmus; and trips across Mexico, from Vera Cruz and other points;
and the Gila River trail, through the dry desert; and several trails,
further north, more crowded and almost as perilous. Why, the whole
West and Southwest must be divided off every few hundred miles by
regular processions of gold seekers! He hoped, did Charley, that Billy
Walker would get through all right.
The army officer proved to be a young lieutenant--Lieutenant William T.
Sherman, Third Artillery, now Adjutant General of the Division of the
Pacific, with headquarters at San Francisco, whither he was returning.
Mr. Adams managed to strike up a conversation with him, for the
lieutenant was affable, especially with anyone like Mr. Adams, who had
been a soldier under General Scott.
"Have you any news for us gold seekers, Lieutenant?" invited Mr. Adams.
"From where, sir?"
"From San Francisco and the gold fields."
"News!" exclaimed the lieutenant, smiling with his steady gray eyes.
He had a long, rather stern face, of russet complexion, but he was
pleasant. "There's news every hour. This crowd you've taken aboard is
only a sample of the people who are pouring in by thousands."
"Gold is plentiful?"
"It exceeds any reports, sir."
"How about other business? What is the chance in San Francisco?"
"San Francisco is growing at the rate of thirty houses and a hundred
people a day. All kinds of supplies are in demand, and all kinds of
labor and professions. The chief trouble is to get them. The harbor
is full of vessels without crews, stores are without clerks and houses
without servants, and the army almost without soldiers. You are aware,
I suppose, that this very steamer, the first steamship into the harbor,
last February, was immediately deserted by every sailor, who all put
out to the mines. She was held at anchor for a week or two, trying to
ship a crew so as to make the return trip to Panama. Whole companies
of soldiers have followed the example of the sailors. Colonel Mason,
when he was military governor of California, found himself obliged to
cook his own meals; and General Persifor Smith, the present commander
of the division, has been abandoned by every servant. We officers all
are doing our own housework. As it is, ordinary laborers are getting
ten and twenty dollars a day, and house servants ask and are getting
$200 a month! Everybody figures on making twenty dollars a day at the
mines, with chance of making much more; so ordinary wages don't tempt.
The whole country is simply crazy." And Lieutenant Sherman turned on
his heel and marched off, as if indignant--and well he might be, for it
was soon found out that the army officers in California were having
hard work to live within their small pay.
The _California_ steamed northward, with the hilly California coast
much in sight on the right, although distant. Some of the table-lands
and hills shone yellow as if gold-plated, and raised high hopes among
many of the passengers. Wasn't this the Land of Gold, at last? But
Lieutenant Sherman and Mr. Grigsby, and a few others familiar with the
country, explained that the yellow was immense fields of wild oats,
already ripening.
At sunset was passed an island called Santa Catalina Island, inhabited
by thousands of wild goats. It was owned by a Spanish family who
annually killed the goats for their meat and hides. Out of sight
inland, was said to be the town of Los Angeles, the largest inland town
of California, and older than San Francisco.
The next stop would be Monterey. During the night the wind blew hard,
kicking up the roughest sea of the whole voyage, and once throwing
Charley out of his bunk, almost on top of Mr. Grigsby's cot.
"Hello," grunted the Frémonter, "hold fast, there. We must be rounding
Cape Conception, above Santa Barbara. That's a sort of a Cape Horn of
this coast, dividing it off. But we'll have fair sailing again, on the
other side."
In the morning the storm had waned, but the seas still ran high, in
immense white-crested waves that tossed and foamed, and leaping at the
steamer tried to climb aboard. The sky was gloriously blue, without a
cloud, and the air tasted salty crisp. Now the Coast Range of
California loomed large; its hither bases spotted with the yellow of
oats and the green of trees. Ramparts of high cliffs, separated by
strips of green and brown low-lands, bordered the ocean.
After breakfast a long point, jutting out from the shore ahead, was
hailed by the knowing ones aboard as Point Pinos (Pines Point),
guardian of the harbor of Monterey. Gradually the steamer turned in;
another harbor opened, with a cluster of white, red-roofed houses
behind it, at the foot of the hills. Sweeping in past the pine-ridged
point the _California_, with boom of gun, dropped anchor in the
historic bay of Monterey.
The captain and Lieutenant Sherman, and any passengers who wished, went
ashore here, for the _California_ was to take on wood for fuel to San
Francisco.
Monterey had long been the capital of Upper California, and was the
first place captured by the United States, in July, 1846, after war
with Mexico was begun. Mr. Grigsby knew it well, for hither he had
marched from the north with Frémont's battalion of Volunteer Riflemen.
It was a pleasant old town, of white-washed, tile-roofed clay
buildings, a custom-house at the wharf, a large, yellow town hall, and
an army post on the bluff overlooking town and bay. The town sloped to
the low surf of the wave-flecked bay encircled by cliffs and bluffs.
Beyond the town rose higher hills, well timbered with oaks and pines.
"The flag was raised July 7, Forty-six, over this custom-house," stated
Mr. Grigsby. "Commodore Sloat sent ashore 250 men from the flag-ship
_Savannah_, and the ships _Cyane_, _Warren_ and _Levant_, which he had
in the bay; and Lieutenant Edward Higgins did the raising, at ten in
the morning. Purser Rodney Price made the proclamation to the people."
"Where were you, then?" asked Charley.
"Oh, I was up north at Sutter's Fort, with Frémont and the rest,
waiting to get supplies--this shirt, among other things." For Mr.
Grigsby had donned his star-collar shirt, as if in honor of the
occasion. "We marched in later."
Monterey seemed to be a very quiet, sleepy old place. The majority of
the citizens were the native Californians, wearing their picturesque
costumes of slashed velvet trousers loose at the bottom and tight at
the knee, red sashes about their waists, silk shirts and short velvet
jackets, and peaked, wide-brimmed, tasseled felt hats. The morning air
was chilly, although the sun shone brightly. In front of many of the
stores and in the plaza or square little fires had been built, around
which the people were huddling, to get warm. Mr. Grigsby explained
that there wasn't a stove in town, probably, that everybody cooked in
small fireplaces, and that until the Americans came and introduced the
bonfire the natives were "too blamed lazy" to do more than shiver
themselves warm!
"Why, these natives wouldn't walk across a street," he said. "They all
rode--that is, the men. And why not, when horses were to be had for
nothing. Ten dollars would buy the best horse in the territory."
Considerable of a crowd had gathered in front of the town hall,
clustered and craning and gazing at some object in their midst. Mr.
Grigsby, stalwart and proud in his Frémont shirt, sauntered to see.
Presently he called and beckoned.
"Here you are. Here's what you're looking for."
So Mr. Adams and Charley crossed, also. The crowd gave way
courteously, exposing a smiling, good-looking Californian, leaning
against the heavy saddle of his horse.
"Here you are," repeated Mr. Grigsby, who was fingering the contents of
a small canvas sack, evidently the property of the horseman. "You want
to see gold? Take a look at it."
Following his father, Charley peeped within. The canvas sack was half
full of dull yellow--a yellow like the yellow which the buckskin sack
had contained, in St. Louis. However, this yellow was coarser.
"Flake gold," announced Mr. Grigsby. "Straight from the mines. Is
that not so, amigo?"
"Si, señors," smilingly answered the native. And continued, in good
English: "From the American River."
"Did you get--find it?" queried Charley, eagerly.
"Yes, and more. Everybody finds it who looks."
"How long were you gone?" asked Mr. Adams.
"Who knows, señor? Coming and going, perhaps two weeks, but I stopped
with friends along the way."
"How long were you in finding this, then?"
"Four, maybe five, days. It is easy."
"What will you do with it, señor?" inquired Mr. Grigsby.
The man shrugged his shoulders.
"Who knows? When one has money he has friends. For a few days I can
be rich. When I am poor again, there is plenty more gold to be had."
"Were there many other people searching?" asked Mr. Adams.
"An army, señor. They are working like ants."
They thanked the man for his courtesy, and returning him his treasure
started on, for the town hall doorway.
"He'll spend that before another morning," declared Mr. Grigsby.
"That's the curse of easy money--especially out here, where the natives
can get along on a little. Wait a minute. I'll go in and find the
alcalde--he's the mayor. Colton's his name. He was chaplain on the
frigate _Congress_, and was appointed alcalde after Monterey was
captured. I knew him in Forty-six. Fine man. Maybe we can call on
the governor, General Bennet Riley, and pay our respects."
Mayor Colton sent word that he'd be pleased to see them, but that the
governor was in San Francisco. However, the mayor (who, as Mr. Grigsby
had said, was a minister, a navy chaplain, and indeed a fine man)
showed them through the town hall, which he had caused to be built out
of the fines and fees in the town treasury. It had been finished only
this March, and contained a large public hall on the second floor, and
a school and jail and other departments on the ground floor. It
certainly was a credit to Monterey, away out here in California.
"Gold?" exclaimed Alcalde Colton, waving his hands in despair at the
mention of it. "Yes, I've been up to the mines myself, on several
occasions. I was there as early as last September, and dug some for
myself. But it's the ruination of Monterey and the rest of the coast.
Nobody'll work, except we Government and other public officers who have
to; everybody's crazy, talking and dreaming only of easy riches; and
even an old woman cook of mine, too feeble to go away, won't clean a
fowl until she's examined its crop for a nugget."
"By the way, where's Colonel Frémont?" queried Mr. Grigsby. "Is he
still out here?"
"Certainly. You're a Frémont man, I see. He's here, and so are his
wife and daughter. They came out just ahead of you, on the _Panama_.
They make their home in Monterey, but they're up north now, with the
colonel. He's mining on his big Mariposa ranch, in the interior back
of San José. They have the only four-wheeled vehicle in the
territory--a surrey brought around the Horn for them."
However, interesting as Monterey was, nobody aboard the _California_
wanted to stay long here. San Francisco was only about twelve hours
ahead; and then, the gold!
On again steamed the _California_, threshing the waves with her huge
paddles, and all the passengers scrutinizing the shore line, many of
them rather expecting to see gold out-cropping on the cliffs and ridges.
"We'll probably get in at evening, and spend the night aboard,"
remarked Charley's father.
During the day the coast grew more bare and sandy, with sandy, rolling
hills behind it. In the afternoon it appeared to bulge out, before,
and in the bulge appeared a gap.
"There you are," directed Mr. Grigsby, to Charley, and pointing. "See
that gap? Yes? It's the Golden Gate channel into the Bay of San
Francisco."
"The gate to the Land of Gold, eh?" mused another passenger, near.
"That's what it's reckoned at, now," assented the Frémonter. "But it
was named before gold was discovered. Frémont named it; you'll see it
on his map of Forty-seven. It's the Golden Gate, whichever way you
look at it--from the outside, toward the land, or from the inside,
toward the sunset."
True enough. Even now the sun had set, and all the wide west fronting
the gateway was a deep golden sheen, and the water and the shore was
dyed with the richness. Turning her stern on the sunset, the steamer
headed in, for the golden shore.
The gap opened, wider and wider, to form a broad strait. In it an
island gleamed white.
"That's Alcatraz Island, at the inside end of the channel," explained
Mr. Grigsby, who served as a very good guide. "You'll see Yerba Buena
Island--some call it Goat Island--in a minute, on the right of it, and
Angel Island on the left. That big round peak straight ahead, on the
mainland, is Mount Diablo. Now we're getting opposite Fort Point; see
the flag. The town is around on our right, other side of this first
line of hills separating the bay from the ocean."
Through the Golden Gate was slowly and majestically steaming the
_California_. The gate was really a pair of jaws, set half-open--great
promontories of rock and sand, the one on the left or the north being
almost a mountain chain. Within the jaws was the bay, like the mouth.
Everything was tinged with the wondrous golden glow.
Several sailing boats were beating in and out of the strait, which was
narrowest at Fort Point. Beyond Fort Point the tips of masts began to
appear, over the tops of the lower hills on the right; and as the
_California_ gradually rounded the further side of this peninsula,
ships at anchor came into sight. The bay itself opened, extending on
right and left of the entrance, against a background of rolling,
yellowish hills.
"Around the corner, now--and there you'll see San Francisco," announced
Mr. Grigsby, he peering as intently as anybody.
Between Alcatraz Island and Goat Island passed the _California_,
swinging to the right more and more, describing a half circle; the
ships at anchor increased to a dense mass floating many flags; and
then, hurrah, on the near shore, against the hills of this the west
side of the bay appeared a straggling jumble of low buildings, already
enshadowed by dusk and dotted with lights, some stationary, others
moving. The murmur of many voices, punctuated by shouts and hammering,
floated across the smooth water, and from the shipping sounded frequent
hails. Through the shipping weaved the _California_, with all her
passengers peering excitedly; then "Boom!" spoke her signal gun, and
not far from the water-front, where a clear place had been left, she
dropped anchor. From her decks arose a mighty cheer; and listen--the
people running down to the water-front replied! So everybody cheered
again, Charley swinging his hat and "hooraying" as hard as anybody.
XIV
ALL ASHORE
So interested had most of the passengers been, that they had omitted to
collect their baggage and make the grand rush as at Chagres. But now
at the dropping of the anchor the charm was broken. Helter-skelter
they all ran, to be ready for the first landing, but suddenly were
halted by the word that nobody could go ashore until morning. The ship
must first be examined by the health officer. So a howl of dismay and
wrath arose.
"The captain thinks he'll keep us aboard all night, does he? Well, he
can't and nobody else can, either. Ain't that right?"
Charley had been carried along by the rush to gather the baggage; and
now this voice spoke at his elbow. He looked quickly, and saw the
profile of the long-nosed man, who was talking to one of his partners.
"There'll be plenty of boats sneaking around, and plenty of sailors
taking French leave for the mines," continued the long-nosed man.
"We'll just join 'em. We've got too big a stake ahead of us, to waste
a night here."
"Sure. We'll let the other party do the wasting," answered the
partner. "We're ahead, so far, and we'll stay ahead."
"All right. Keep your eyes and ears open, and a little money in your
hand, and at the first chance, we leave. Tell Jack, if you see him
before I do."
Charley slipped away. So the long-nosed man's party were planning to
go ashore anyhow, were they? Well, he'd see about that. He'd tell his
father, who'd tell the captain, and the captain would make them play
fair.
But his father shook his head, after Charley had excitedly appealed.
"No, we won't do a thing. Grigsby and I had decided anyway that we'd
better stay on board till morning. We'll all gain nothing by going
ashore in the dark, Charley. Lieutenant Sherman says it's a miserable
place to find your way around in, and it's full of the riff-raff of all
nations, besides the better people. As for the Jacobs party, what they
do is none of our business. They'll deny that they have any notion of
going--and then they'll go, just the same. The captain has other
things to tend to, than watching the passengers."
"But they'll beat us," complained Charley.
"Nonsense," laughed his father. "The crooked trail is the longest way
'round. When they get ashore in the dark they'll not be much nearer
the end than we are. We'll mind our own business and play fair, and
then you'll see who comes out ahead at last."
"Is that San Francisco?" quavered somebody near them, at the rail. She
was one of the worn, plucky women who had traveled the Gila trail. "It
looks like a big camp-meetin'."
And so San Francisco did! Many more lights had been struck; a few
flickered here and there, as if they were being carried about, but the
majority appeared to be behind canvas, through which they shone with
pale yellow glow. Evidently even some of the business buildings were
only canvas; and these, and the multitude of tents, gleamed dully like
a great encampment. Voices sounded constantly, echoing across the
water; hammering never ceased; music floated--strains of violin and
trumpet and piano! From the water-front clear back up the sides of the
hills San Francisco was alive by night as by day. And on the hour all
the vessels in the harbor struck their bells, in a great, melodious
chime.
Charley and his father and Mr. Grigsby stood long at the rail, as did
the other passengers, gazing at the dim shore and its multitude of
spectral lights, and talking. The whole ship seemed to be athrill with
great expectations; row-boats approached, circled and mysteriously
lingered, as if awaiting; and the little waves murmured low and
invitingly, as they slapped against the steamer's sides.
Yes, after the trip of forty days and nights from New Orleans (fifty
from New York!), and of six thousand miles, by water, and twenty miles
by land, here they all were, at anchor off the Land of Gold.
Charley rather hated to turn in. However, the three of them went to
bed, at ten o'clock, and San Francisco was still as lively as ever.
Once, in the night, Charley woke up, thinking that he heard a soft hail
and the splash of oars. He wondered if the long-nosed man's party were
taking their "French leave." He sat up and peered out of the open
door; and there, across the water, were the lights of San Francisco,
and the uproar of voices and hammers and music. Apparently, San
Francisco didn't sleep.
All in all, it wasn't a very good night for sleeping, anywhere. Some
of the passengers on the decks talked the whole night through, it
seemed to Charley, discussing plans. At daylight began a general stir,
to prepare to go ashore, the Adams party were ready about as soon as
anybody, waiting for the boats to start their trips. Luggage was piled
high, everywhere aboard; and by sunrise people were impatient.
It happened to be a beautiful morning, with wisps of fog drifting out
to sea. How large the bay was, extending north and south and three
miles wide! Porpoises were numerous, rolling their backs through the
tumbling gray surface; gulls sailed and circled and screamed; and there
was a hoarse, grunty barking which Mr. Grigsby said was from sea-lions,
on the rocks of the shore.
Now San Francisco lay revealed, sprawled from the wharves of the
water's edge, on back up the sides of the bare rounded hills behind.
"Who would have thought, when I came out here with Frémont," murmured
Mr. Grigsby, as they three gazed again at the town, "that the old hide
landing of Yerba Buena would have jumped to this. My idea for a city
would be the other side of the bay, on the mainland. But here was the
starter, boats were used to it, and nothing can stop the place now."
"It's not very pretty, that's sure," commented Mr. Adams.
And indeed, evidently built of anything that came to hand, with its
houses squatted in haphazard, hasty fashion, and the country around
bare and brown and bleak, San Francisco did not look attractive. But
the bay was grand; and the hundreds of ships flying the flags of the
United States, and England, and France and Spain and Mexico and Germany
and Denmark and Sweden, were interesting beyond words. There were
several United States men-of-war. One, the line-of-battle-ship _Ohio_,
lay not far away from the _California_. How tremendous she looked,
with her yards all aslant, and the round, black muzzles of her cannon
staring out through her open ports! Nothing could lick _her_, decided
Charley, proudly.