you. If you don't b'leeve it, look at that 'ar reptyle on the bank
yonder," said Bill, pointing out the object in question with the stem
of his pipe.
Walter followed the direction of Bill's pipe.
Looking quite as much like a stranded log as anything else, a
full-grown alligator lay stretched out along the muddy margin of the
river at the water's edge. No sooner was he seen, than the ungainly
monster became the target for a perfect storm of bullets, all of which
glanced as harmlessly off his scaly back as hailstones from a slate
roof. Disturbed by the noise and the shouts, the hideous animal slid
slowly into the water and disappeared from sight, churning up the
muddy bottom as he went.
Bill put on a quizzical look as he asked Walter if he knew why some
barbarians worshiped the alligator. Walter was obliged to admit that
he did not. "'Cause the alligator can swaller the man, but the man
can't swaller the alligator," chuckled Bill.
Now and then a native bongo would be overhauled, bound for San
Carlos, Grenada, or Leon, with a cargo of European goods. They were
uncouth-looking boats, rigged with mast and sail, and sometimes thirty
to forty feet long. Many a hearty laugh greeted the grotesque motions
of the jet-black rowers, who half rose from their seats every time
they dipped their oars, and then sank back with a grunt to give their
strokes more power. The _patrón_, or master, prefaced all his orders
with a persuasive "Now, gentlemen, a little faster, if you please!"
"And so that's the way, is it, that all inland transportation has been
carried on here for so many hundred years?" thought Walter. "Well, I
never!"
Incidents such as these served, now and then, to cause a ripple of
excitement, or until even alligators became quite too numerous to
waste powder upon. As darkness was coming on fast, there being no
twilight to speak of in this part of the world, a ship's yawl was seen
tied up under the bank for the night. Its occupants were nowhere in
sight, but the dim light of a fire among the bushes showed that they
were not far off. "Runaway sailors," Bill explained; "stole the boat,
an' 'fraid to show themselves. Poor devils! they've a long pull afore
'em ef they get away, an' a rope's-end behind 'em if they're caught."
"Why, how far is it across?"
"It's more'n a hundred miles to the lake, and another hundred or so
beyond."
"Whew! you don't say. Well, I pity them."
When darkness had shut down, the steamers also were tied up to trees
on the bank, scope enough being given to the line to let the boats
swing clear of the shores, on account of the mosquitoes, with which
the woods were fairly alive. In this solitude the travelers passed
their first night, without other shelter than the heavens above,
and long before it was over there was good reason to repent of the
abuse heaped upon the _Prometheus_, since very few got a wink of
sleep; while all were more or less soaked by the rain that fell in
torrents, as it can rain only in the tropics, during the night. As
cold, wet, and gloomy as it dawned, the return of day was hailed with
delight by the shivering and disconsolate travelers. In truth, much
of the gilding had already been washed off, or worn off, of their El
Dorado. And, as Bill bluntly put it, they all looked "like a passel of
drownded rats."
Bill made this remark while he and Walter were washing their hands
and faces in the roily river water, an easy matter, as they had only
to stoop over the side to do so, the boat's deck being hardly a foot
out of water. Suddenly Walter caught Bill's arm and gave it a warning
squeeze. Bill followed the direction in which Walter was looking, and
gave a low whistle. A beautifully mottled black-and-white snake had
coiled itself around the line by which the boat was tied to the shore,
and was quietly working its way, in corkscrew fashion, toward the now
motionless craft. Seizing a boat-hook, Bill aimed a savage blow at the
reptile, but the rope only being struck, the snake dropped unharmed
into the river.
"Do they raise anything here besides alligators, snakes, lizards, and
monkeys?" Walter asked the captain, who was looking on, while sipping
his morning cup of black coffee.
Glancing up, the captain good-humoredly replied, "Oh, yes; they
raise plantains, bananas, oranges, limes, lemons, chocolate-nuts,
cocoanuts----"
"Pardon me," Walter interrupted; "those things are luxuries. I meant
things of real value, sir."
"A very proper distinction," the captain replied, looking a little
surprised. "Well, then, before you get across you will probably see
hundreds of mahogany trees, logwood trees, fustic and Brazil-wood
trees, to say nothing of other dye-woods, more or less valuable,
growing all about you."
"Oh, yes, sir, I've seen all those woods you tell of coming out of
vessels at home, but never growing. Somehow I never thought of them
before as trees."
"Then there is cochineal, indigo, sugar, Indian corn, coffee, tobacco,
cotton, hides, vanilla, some India rubber----"
Walter looked sheepish. "I see now how silly my question was. Please
excuse my ignorance."
"That's all right," said the captain pleasantly. "Don't ever be afraid
to ask about what you want to know. I suppose I've carried twenty
thousand passengers across, and you are positively the first one to
ask about anything except eating, sleeping, or when we are going to
get there."
The two succeeding days were like the first, except that the river
grew more and more shallow in proportion as it was ascended, and
the country more and more hilly and broken. This furnished a new
experience, as every now and then the boats would ground on some
sand-bar, when all hands would have to tumble out into the water to
lighten them over the rift, or wade ashore to be picked up again at
some point higher up, after a fatiguing scramble through the dense
jungle. "Whew! This is what I calls working your passage," was Bill's
quiet comment, as he and Walter stood together on the bank, breathing
hard, after making one of these forced excursions for half a mile.
"Is here where they talk of building a canal?" Walter asked in
amazement, casting an oblique glance into the pestilential swamps
around him. "Surely, they can't be in earnest."
"They'll need more grave-diggers than mud-diggers, if they try it on,"
was Bill's emphatic reply. "White men can't stand the climate nohow.
And as for niggers--well, all you can git out o' 'em's clear gain,
like lickin' a mule," he added, biting off a chew of tobacco as he
spoke.
On the afternoon of the third day the passengers were landed at the
foot of the Castillio Rapids, so named from an old Spanish fort
commanding the passage of the river at this point, though many years
gone to ruin and decay. Walter and Bill climbed the steep path leading
up to it. The castle was of great age, they were told, going back to
the time of the mighty Philip II of Spain perhaps, who spent such
vast sums in fortifying his American colonies against the dreaded
buccaneers. Walter could not help feeling awe-struck at the thought
that what he saw was already old when the Pilgrims landed on Plymouth
Rock. Some one asked if this was not the place where England's naval
hero, Lord Nelson, first distinguished himself, when the castle was
taken in 1780.
Leaving these crumbling ruins to the snakes, lizards, and other
reptiles which glided away at their approach, the two went back to
the clump of rough shanties by the river, and it was here that Walter
made his first acquaintance with that class of adventurers who, if not
buccaneers in name, had replaced them, to all intents, not only here
but on all routes leading to the land of gold.
There was a short portage around the rapids. A much larger and
more comfortable boat had just landed some hundreds of returning
Californians at the upper end of this portage, and a rough-and-ready
looking lot they were, betraying by their talk and actions that they
had long been strangers to the restraints of civilized life. Of course
every word they dropped was greedily devoured by the newcomers, by
whom the Californians were looked upon as superior beings.
The two sets of passengers were soon exchanging newspapers or scraps
of news, while their baggage was being transferred around the portage.
Giving Walter a knowing wink, Bill accosted one of the Californians
with the question, "I say, mister, is it a fact, now, that you can
pick up gold in the streets in San Francisco?"
"Stranger," this individual replied, "you may bet your bottom dollar
you can. It's done every day in the week. You see a lump in the
street, pick it up, and put it in your pocket until you come across a
bigger one, then you heave the first one away, same's you do pickin'
up pebbles on the beach, _sabe_?" Giving a nod to the half-dozen
listeners, who were eagerly devouring every word, the fellow turned on
his heel and walked off to join his companions.
The run across Lake Nicaragua was made in the night. When the
passengers awoke the next morning the steamer was riding at anchor at
a cable's length from the shore, on which a lively surf was breaking.
Behind this was a motley collection of thatched hovels known as
Virgin Bay. The passengers were put ashore in lighters, into which as
many were huddled as there was standing-room for, were then hauled
to the beach by means of a hawser run between boat and shore, and,
with their hearts in their mouths while pitching and tossing among
the breakers, at last scrambled upon the sands as best they might,
thanking their lucky stars for their escape from drowning.[2]
[2] The picture is by no means overdrawn, as on a subsequent
occasion, by the capsizing of a lighter in the surf, many
passengers were drowned.
Walter and Bill found themselves standing among groups of chattering
half-breeds, half-nude children, dried-up old crones, and hairless,
dejected-looking mules, whose shrill hee-haws struck into the general
uproar with horribly discordant note. It was here bargains were made
for the transportation of one's self or baggage across the intervening
range of mountains to the Pacific. Secure in their monopoly of all the
animals to be had for hire, the avaricious owners did not hesitate
to demand as much for carrying a trunk sixteen miles as its whole
contents were worth--more indeed than a mule would sell for.
Walter was gazing on the novel scene with wide-open eyes. Already
their little store of cash was running low.
"You talk to them, Bill; you say you know their lingo," Walter
suggested, impatient at seeing so many of the party mounting their
balky steeds and riding away.
Bill walked up to a sleepy-looking mule driver who stood nearby idly
smoking his cigarette, and laying his hand upon the animal's flank,
cleared his throat, and demanded carelessly, in broken Spanish, "Qui
cary, hombre, por este mula?"
The animal slowly turned his head toward the speaker, and viciously
let go both hind feet, narrowly missing Bill's shins.
"Wow! he's an infamous rhinoceros, este mula!" cried Bill, drawing
back to a safe distance from the animal's heels.
"Si, señor," replied the unmoved muleteer. "Viente pesos, no mas," he
added in response to Bill's first question.
"Twenty devils!" exclaimed Bill in amazement, dropping into forcible
English; "we don't want to buy him." Then resorting to gestures, to
assist his limited vocabulary, he pointed to his own and Walter's
bags, again demanding, "Quantos por este carga, vamos the ranch, over
yonder?"
"Cinco pesos," articulated the impassive owner, between puffs.
"Robber," muttered Bill under his breath. Rather than submit to be so
outrageously fleeced, Bill hit upon the following method of traveling
quite independently. He had seen it done in China, he explained,
and why not here? Getting a stout bamboo, the two friends slung
their traps to the middle, lifted it to their shoulders, and in this
economical fashion trudged off for the mountains, quite elated at
having so cleverly outwitted the Greasers, as Bill contemptuously
termed them. In fact, the old fellow was immensely tickled over the
ready transformation of two live men into a quadruped. Walter should
be fore legs and he hind legs. When tired, they could take turn and
turn about. If the load galled one shoulder, it could be shifted over
to the other, without halting. "Hooray!" he shouted, when they were
clear of the village; "to-morrow we'll see the place where old Bill
Boar watered his hoss in the Pacific."
"Balboa, Bill," Walter corrected. "No horse will drink salt water,
silly. You know better. Besides, it wasn't a horse at all. 'Twas a
mule."
Night overtook the travelers before reaching the foothills, but after
munching a biscuit and swallowing a few mouthfuls of water they
stretched themselves out upon the bare ground, and were soon traveling
in the land of dreams.
The pair were bright and early on the road again, which was only a
mule-track, deeply worn and gullied by the passing to and fro of many
a caravan. It soon plunged into the thick woods, dropped down into
slippery gorges, or scrambled up steep hillsides, where the pair would
have to make a short halt to mop their brows and get their breath.
Then they would listen to the screaming of countless parroquets, and
watch the gambols of troops of chattering monkeys, among the branches
overhead. Bill spoke up: "I don't believe men ever had no tails like
them 'ar monkeys; some say they did: but I seen many a time I'd like
to had one myself when layin' out on a topsail yard, in a dark night,
with nothin' much to stan' on. A tail to kinder quirl around suthin',
so's to let you use your hands and feet, is kind o' handy. Just look
at that chap swingin' to that 'ar branch up there by his tail, like a
trapeze performer, an' no rush o' blood to the brain nuther." Walter
could hardly drag Bill away from the contemplation of this interesting
problem.
For six mortal hours the travelers were shut up in the gloomy tropical
forest; but just at the close of day it seemed as if they had suddenly
stepped out of darkness into light, for far and wide before them lay
the mighty Pacific Ocean, crimsoned by the setting sun. Once seen, it
was a sight never to be forgotten.
Walter and Bill soon pushed on down the mountain into the village
of San Juan del Sur, of which the less said the better. Thoroughly
tired out by their day's tramp, the wayfarers succeeded in obtaining
a night's lodging in an old tent, at the rate of four bits each.
It consisted in the privilege of throwing themselves down upon the
loose sand, already occupied by millions of fleas, chigoes, and other
blood-letting bedfellows. Glad enough were they at the return of day.
Bill's eyes were almost closed, and poor Walter's face looked as if he
had just broken out with smallpox.
San Juan del Sur was crowded with people anxiously awaiting the
arrival of the steamship that was to take them on up the coast. The
only craft in the little haven was a rusty-looking brigantine, which
had put in here for a supply of fresh water. Her passengers declared
that she worked like a basket in a gale of wind. Learning that the
captain was on shore, our two friends lost no time in hunting him up,
when the following colloquy took place:
"Mawnin', cap," said Bill. "How much do you ax fur a cabin passage to
'Frisco?"
"A hundred dollars, cash in advance. But I can't take you; all full in
the cabin."
"Well, s'pos'n I go in the hold; how much?"
"Eighty dollars; but I can't take you. Hold's full, too."
"Jerusalem! Why can't I go in the fore-peak? What's the price thar?"
"Eighty dollars; but I can't take you. Full fore and aft."
"'Z that so? Well, say, cap, can't I go aloft somewhere? What 'll you
charge then?"
"We charge eighty dollars to go anywhere; but can't carry you aloft.
Got to carry our provisions there."
Bill mused a minute. "Hard case, ain't it?" appealing first to Walter,
then to the captain. "But as I want to go mighty bad, what 'll you
tax to tow me?"
The captain turned away, with a horselaugh and a shake of the head,
to attend to his own affairs, leaving our two friends in no happy
frame of mind at the prospect before them. With the utmost economy
their little stock of money would last but little longer. The heat was
oppressive and the place alive with vermin. Hours were spent on the
harbor headland watching for the friendly smoke of the overdue steamer.
Several days now went by before the delayed steamer put in an
appearance. It was none too soon, for with so many mouths to feed,
the place began to be threatened with famine. It was by the merest
chance that Walter secured a passage for himself in the steerage,
and for Bill as a coal-passer, on this ship. Luckily for them, the
captain's name happened to be the same as Walter's. He also hailed
from New Bedford. He even admitted, though cautiously, that there
might be some distant relationship. So Walter won the day, with the
understanding that he was to spread his blanket on deck, for other
accommodations there were none; while before the ship was two days at
sea, men actually fought for what were considered choice spots to lie
down upon at night.
The event of the voyage up the coast was a stay of several days at
Acapulco, for making repairs in the engine room and for coaling
ship. What a glorious harbor it is! land-locked and so sheltered by
high mountains, that once within it is difficult to discover where a
ship has found her way in, or how she is going to get out. Here, in
bygone times, the great Manila galleons came with their rich cargoes,
which were then transported across Mexico by pack-trains to be again
reshipped to Old Spain. The arrival of a Yankee ship was now the only
event that stirred the sleepy old place into life. At the sound of
her cannon it rubbed its eyes, so to speak, and woke up. Bill even
asserted that the people looked too "tarnation" lazy to draw their
own breath.
Ample time was allowed here for a welcome run on shore; and the
arrival of another steamer, homeward bound, made Acapulco for the time
populous. Bill could not get shore leave, so Walter went alone. There
were a custom-house without custom, a plaza, in which the inhabitants
had hurriedly set up a tempting display of fruits, shells, lemonade,
and home-made nicknacks to catch the passengers' loose change,
besides a moldy-looking cathedral, whose cracked bells now and again
set a whole colony of watchful buzzards lazily flapping about the
house-tops. And under the very shadow of the cathedral walls a group
of native Mexicanos were busily engaged in their favorite amusement of
gambling with cards or in cock-fighting.
After sauntering about the town to his heart's content, Walter joined
a knot of passengers who were making their way toward the dilapidated
fort that commands the basin. On their way they passed a squad
of barefooted soldiers, guarding three or four villainous-looking
prisoners, who were at work on the road, and who shot evil glances at
the light-hearted Americanos. Walter thought if this was a fair sample
of the Mexican army, there was no use in crowing over the victories
won by Scott and Taylor not many years before.
At the end of a hot and dusty walk in the glare of a noonday sun, the
visitors seated themselves on the crumbling ramparts of the old fort,
and fell to swapping news, as the saying is. One of the Californians
was being teased by his companions to tell the story of a man lost
overboard on the trip down the coast; and while the others stretched
themselves out in various attitudes to listen, he, after lighting a
cheroot, began the story:
"You know I can't tell a story worth a cent, but I reckon I can give
you the facts if you want 'em. There was a queer sort of chap aboard
of us who was workin' his passage home to the States. We know'd him
by the name of Yankee Jim, 'cause he answered to the name of Jim, and
said as how he come from 'way down East where they pry the sun up
every morning with a crowbar. He did his turn, but never spoke unless
spoken to. We all reckoned he was just a little mite cracked in the
upper story. Hows'ever, his story came out at last."
X
THE LUCK OF YANKEE JIM
One scorching afternoon in July, 185--, the Hangtown stage rumbled
slowly over the plank road forming the principal street of Sacramento
City, finally coming to a full stop in front of the El Dorado Hotel.
This particular stage usually made connection with the day boat
for "The Bay"; but on this occasion it came in an hour too late,
consequently the boat was at that moment miles away, down the river.
Upon learning this disagreeable piece of news, the belated passengers
scattered, grumbling much at a detention which, each took good care to
explain, could never have been worse-timed or more inconvenient than
on this particular afternoon.
One traveler, however, stood a moment or two longer, apparently
nonplused by the situation, until his eye caught the word "Bank"
in big golden letters staring at him from the opposite side of the
street. He crossed over, read it again from the curbstone, and then
shambled in at the open door. He knew not why, but once within, he
felt a strange desire to get out again as quickly as possible. But
this secret admonition passed unheeded.
Before him was a counter extending across the room, at the back of
which rose a solid wall of brick. Within this was built the bank
vault, the half-open iron door disclosing bags of coin piled upon the
floor and shelves from which the dull glitter of gold-dust caught the
visitor's eye directly. The middle of the counter was occupied by
a pair of tall scales, of beautiful workmanship, in which dust was
weighed, while on a table behind it were trays containing gold and
silver coins. A young man, who was writing and smoking at the same
time, looked up as the stranger walked in. To look at the two men,
one would have said that it was the bank clerk who might be expected
to feel a presentiment of evil. Really, the other was half bandit in
appearance.
Although he was alone and unnoticed, yet the stranger's manner was
undeniably nervous and suspicious. Addressing the cashier, he said:
"I say, mister, this yer boat's left; can't get to 'Frisco afore
to-morrow" (inquiringly).
"That's so," the cashier assented.
"Well," continued the miner, "here's my fix: bound home for the States
[dropping his voice]; got two thousand stowed away; don't know a live
_hombre_ in this yer burg, and might get knifed in some fandango. See?"
"That's so," repeated the unmoved official. Then, seeing that his
customer had come to an end, he said, "I reckon you want to deposit
your money with us?"
"That's the how of it, stranger. Lock it up tight whar I kin come fer
it to-morrow."
"Down with the dust then," observed the cashier, taking the pen from
behind his ear and preparing to write; but seeing his customer cast
a wary glance to right and left, he beckoned him to a more retired
part of the bank, where the miner very coolly proceeded to strip to
his shirt, in each corner of which five fifty-dollar "slugs" were
knotted. An equal sum in dust was then produced from a buckskin belt,
all of which was received without a word of comment upon the ingenuity
with which it had been concealed. A certificate of deposit was then
made out, specifying that James Wildes had that day deposited with
the Mutual Confidence and Trust Company, subject to his order, two
thousand dollars. Glancing at the scrap of crisp paper as if hardly
comprehending how that could be an equivalent for his precious coin
and dust, lying on the counter before him, Jim heaved a deep sigh of
relief, then crumpling the certificate tightly within his big brown
fist, he exclaimed: "Thar, I kin eat and sleep now, I reckon. Blamed
if I ever knew afore what a coward a rich man is!"
Our man, it seems, had been a sailor before the mast. When the anchor
touched bottom, he with his shipmates started for the "diggings,"
where he had toiled with varying luck, but finding himself at last in
possession of what would be considered a little fortune in his native
town. He was now returning, filled with the hope of a happy meeting
with the wife and children he had left behind.