golden eagles into Jane's lap, his destiny was being fulfilled. The
great financial storm of 185-- burst upon the State unheralded and
unforeseen. Like a thief in the night the one fatal word flashed over
the wires that shut the door of every bank, and made the boldest turn
pale. Suspension was followed by universal panic and dismay. Yankee
Jim was only an atom swallowed up in the general and overwhelming
disaster of that dark day.
In the morning he went early to the bank, only to find it shut fast,
and an excited and threatening crowd surging to and fro before the
doors. Men with haggard faces were talking and gesticulating wildly.
Women were crying and wringing their hands. A sudden faintness came
over him. What did it all mean? Mustering courage to put the question
to a bystander, he was told to look and read for himself. Two ominous
words, "Bank Closed," told the whole story.
For a moment or two the poor fellow could not seem to take in the full
meaning of the calamity that had befallen him. But as it dawned upon
him that his little fortune was swept away, and with it the hopes that
had opened to his delighted fancy, the blood rushed to his head, his
brain reeled, and he fell backward in a fit.
The first word he spoke when he came to himself was "Home." Some
kind souls paid his passage to 'Frisco, where the sight of blue
water seemed to revive him a little. Wholly possessed by the one
idea of getting home, he shipped on board the first steamer, which
happened to be ours, going about his duty like a man who sees without
understanding what is passing around him.
My own knowledge of the chief actor in this history began at four
o'clock in the morning of the third day out. The _California's_
engines suddenly stopped. There was a hurried trampling of feet, a
sudden rattling of blocks on deck, succeeded by a dead silence--a
silence that could be felt. I jumped out of my berth and ran on deck.
How well I can recall that scene!
The night was an utterly dismal one--cold, damp, and foggy. A pale
light struggled through the heavy mist, but it was too thick to see a
cable's length from the ship, although we distinctly heard the rattle
of oars at some distance, with now and then a quick shout that sent
our hearts up into our mouths. We listened intently. No one spoke. No
one needed to be told what those shouts meant.
How long it was I cannot tell, for minutes seemed hours then; but at
last we heard the dip of oars, and presently the boat shot out of the
fog within a biscuit's toss of the ship. I remember that, as they came
alongside, the upturned faces of the men were white and pinched. One
glance showed that the search had been in vain.
The boat was swung up, the huge paddles struck the black water
like clods, the huge hulk swung slowly round to her helm. But at
the instant when we were turning away, awed by the mystery of this
death-scene, a cry came out of the black darkness--a yell of agony and
despair--that nailed us to the deck. May I never hear the like again!
"Save me! for God's sake, save me!" pierced through that awful silence
till a hundred voices seemed repeating it. The cry seemed so near that
every eye instinctively turned to the spot whence it proceeded--so
near that it held all who heard it in breathless, in sickening
suspense. Had the sea really given up its dead?
Before one could count ten, the boat was again manned and clear of the
ship. How well I recall the bent figure of the first officer as he
stood in the stern-sheets, with the tiller-ropes in his hand, peering
off into the fog! I can still see the men springing like tigers to
their work again, and the cutter tossing on the seething brine astern
like a chip. Then the fog shut them from our view. But nevermore was
that voice heard on land or sea. No doubt it was the last agonized
shriek of returning consciousness as the ocean closed over Yankee
Jim's head.
At eight bells we assembled around the capstan at our captain's call,
when the few poor effects of the lost man were laid out to view.
His kit contained one or two soiled letters, a daguerreotype of two
blooming children hand in hand, a piece of crumpled paper, and a few
articles of clothing not worth a picayune. I took notice that while
smoothing out the creases in this scrap of paper, the captain suddenly
became deeply attentive, then thoughtful, then very red. Clearing his
throat he began as follows:
"It's an old sea custom to sell by auction the kit of a shipmate who
dies on blue water. You all know it's a custom of the land to read the
will of a deceased person as soon as the funeral is over. The man we
lost this morning shipped by his fo'castle or sea name--a very common
thing among sailors; but I've just found out his true one since I
stood here; and what's more I've found out that the man had been in
trouble. An idea strikes me that he found it too heavy for him. God
only knows. But it's more to the point that he has left a wife and two
children dependent upon him for support. Gentlemen and mates, take off
your hats while I read you this letter."
The letter, which bore evidence of having been read and read again,
ran as follows:
"Oh, James! and are you really coming home, and with such a lot of
money too? Oh, I can't believe it all! How happy we shall be once
more! It makes me feel just like a young girl again, when you and
I used to roam in the berry pastures, and never coveted anything
in the wide world but to be together. You haven't forgot that,
have you, James? or the old cedar on the cliff where you asked me
for your own wife, and the sky over us and the sea at our feet,
all so beautiful and we so happy? Do come quick. Surely God has
helped me to wait all this long, weary time, but now it seems as
if I couldn't bear it another day. And the little boy, James, just
your image; it's all he can say, 'Papa, come home.' How can you
have the heart to stay in that wicked place?"
When the reading was finished some of the women passengers were crying
softly. The men stood grimly pulling their long mustaches. After a
short pause the captain read aloud the fatal certificate of deposit,
holding it up so that all might see.
"Now, ladies and gentlemen," he went on, "you've heard the story and
can put this and that together. When we get to Panama I'm going to
write a letter to the widow. It's for you to say what kind of a letter
it shall be. Now, purser, you may put up the certificate of deposit."
"How much am I offered--how much?" said the purser, waving the
worthless bit of paper to right and left.
Ten, twenty, forty, fifty dollars were bid before the words were
fairly out of the purser's mouth. Then a woman's voice said seventy,
another's one hundred, and the men, accepting the challenge, ran the
bidding up fifty more, at which price the certificate was knocked
down to a red-shirted miner who laid three fifty-dollar pieces on the
capstan, saying as he did so: "'Tain't a patchin', boys. Sell her
agin, cap--sell her agin."
So the purser, at a nod from the captain, put it up again, and the
sale went on, each buyer in turn turning the certificate over to the
purser, until the noble emulation covered the capstan with gold.
"Stop a bit, purser," interrupted Captain M----, counting the money.
"That will do," he continued. "The sale is over. Here are just two
thousand dollars. The certificate of deposit is redeemed."
XI
SEEING THE SIGHTS IN 'FRISCO
It was a fine, sunny afternoon when the _Pacific_ turned her prow
landward, and stood straight on for a break in the rugged coast line,
like a hound with its nose to the ground. In an hour she was moving
swiftly through the far-famed Golden Gate. A fort loomed up at the
right, then a semaphore was seen working on a hilltop. In ten minutes
more the last point was rounded, the last gun fired, and the city,
sprung like magic from the bleak hillsides of its noble bay, welcomed
the weary travelers with open arms. The long voyage was ended.
The wharf was already black with people when the steamer came in
sight. When within hailing distance a perfect storm of greetings,
questions, and answers was tossed from ship to shore. Our two friends
scanned the unquiet throng in vain for the sight of one familiar face.
No sooner did the gangplank touch the wharf than the crowd rushed
pell-mell on board. Women were being clasped in loving arms. Men were
frantically hugging each other. While this was passing on board,
Walter and Bill made their escape to the pier, hale and hearty, but as
hungry as bears. Forty days had passed since their long journey began.
What next?
Our two adventurers presently found themselves being hurried along
with the crowd, without the most remote idea of where they were going.
As soon as possible, however, Bill drew Walter to one side, to get
their breath and to take their bearings, as he phrased it. "Well,"
said he, clapping Walter on the back, "here we be at last!"
Walter was staring every passer-by in the face. From the moment he had
set foot on shore his one controlling thought and motive had come back
to him with full force.
"Come, come, that's no way to set about the job," observed the
practical-minded Bill. "One thing to a time. Let's get sumfin' t' eat
fust; then we can set about it with full stomachs. How much have you
got?"
Walter drew from his pocket a solitary quarter-eagle, which looked
astonishingly small as it lay there in the palm of his hand. Bill
pulled out a handful of small change, amounting to half as much
more. "But coppers don't pass here, nor anything else under a dime,
I'm told," observed Walter. "No matter, they'll do for ballast,"
was Bill's reply, whose attention was immediately diverted to a
tempting list of eatables chalked upon the door-post of a restaurant.
Beginning at the top of the list, Bill began reading in an undertone,
meditatively stroking his chin the while:
"'Oxtail soup, one dollar.' H'm, that don't go down. 'Pigs' feet, one
dollar each.' Let 'em run. 'Fresh Californy eggs, one dollar each.'
Eggs is eggs out here. 'Corned beef, one dollar per plate.' No salt
horse for Bill. 'Roast lamb, one dollar.' Baa! do they think we want
a whole one? 'Cabbage, squash, or beans, fifty cents.' Will you look
at that! Move on, Walt, afore they tax us for smellin' the cookin'. My
grief!" he added with a long face, as they walked on, "I'm so sharp
set that if a fun'ral was passin' along, I b'leeve I could eat the
co'pse and chase the mo'ners."
Fortunately, however, Bill was not driven to practice cannibalism, for
just that moment a Chinaman came shuffling along, balancing a trayful
of pies on his head. Bill was not slow in hailing the moon-eyed
Celestial in pigtail, to which the old fellow could not resist giving
a sly tweak, just for the fun of the thing: "Mawnin', John. Be you a
Whig or Know-Nothin'?" at the same time helping himself to a juicy
turn-over, and signing to Walter to do the same.
"Me cakes. Melican man allee my fliend. Talkee true. You shabee, two
bitee?" This last remark referred to the pie which Bill had just
confiscated.
Sauntering on, jostling and being jostled by people of almost every
nation on the face of the earth, they soon reached the plaza, or great
square of the city. Not many steps were taken here, when the strains
of delicious music floated out to them from the wide-open doors of a
building at their right hand. Attracted by the sweet sounds of "Home,
Sweet Home," our two wayfarers peered in, and to Walter's amazement at
least, brought up as he had been at home, for the first time in his
life he found himself gazing into the interior of a gambling-house,
in full swing and in broad daylight, like any legitimate business,
courting the custom of every passer-by.
"Walk in, gentlemen," said a suave-looking individual who was standing
at the door. "Call for what you like. Everything's free here. Free
lunch, free drinks, free cigars; walk in and try your luck."
"'Walk into my parlor, sez the spider to the fly,'" was Bill's
ironical comment upon this polite invitation. "Walt," he continued, a
moment later, "I'm 'feared we throw'd our money away on that Chinee.
Here's grub for nothin'." If they had only known it, the person they
were looking for was inside that gambling den at that very moment.
After rambling about until they were tired, the two companions looked
up a place in which to get a night's lodging--a luxury which cost them
seventy-five cents apiece for the temporary use of a straw mattress, a
consumptive pillow, and a greasy blanket. After making the most frugal
breakfast possible, it was found that their joint cash would provide,
at the farthest, for only one meal more. The case began to look
desperate.
They were sitting on the sill of the wharf, silently ruminating on the
situation, when the booming of a cannon announced the arrival of a
steamer which had been signaled an hour earlier from Telegraph Hill. A
swarm of people was already setting toward the plaza. The movement of
a crowd is always magnetic, so Walter and Bill followed on in the same
direction.
When within two blocks of the plaza they saw a long zigzag line of men
and boys strung out for that distance ahead of them, some standing,
some leaning against a friendly awning, some squatted on the edge of
the plank sidewalk, while newcomers were every moment lengthening out
the already long queue.
"What a long tail our cat's got!" was Bill's pithy remark. "Be they
takin' the census, or what?"
It was learned that all these people were impatiently waiting for the
opening of the post-office, but how soon that event was likely to
happen nobody could tell. So the men smoked, whistled, chaffed every
late arrival, and waited.
[Illustration: Waiting for the opening of the mail.--_Page 160._]
On the instant Walter was struck with a bright idea. Charley had
never written him one word, it is true; but as it was ten to one
everybody in the city would be at the post-office during the day, this
seemed as likely a place as any to meet with him. Shoving Bill into
a vacant place in the line, Walter started toward the head of it,
staring hard at every one, and being stared at in return, as he walked
slowly along. When nearing the head, without seeing a familiar face, a
man well placed in the line sang out, "I say, _hombre_, want a job?"
"What job?"
"Hold my place for me till I kin go git a bite to eat."
"I would in a minute, only I can't stop. I'm looking for some one,"
said Walter, starting on.
"You can't make five dollars no easier."
This startling proposition to a young fellow who did not know where
his next meal was coming from, hit Walter in his weak spot.
"Talk fast. Is it a whack?" the hungry man demanded. "I've been here
two hours a'ready; be back before you can say Jack Robinson."
This singular bargain being struck, Walter stepped into line, when his
file-leader turned to him with the remark, "Fool you hadn't stuck out
for ten. That man runs a bank."
"Does he?" Walter innocently inquired. "What kind of a bank?"
"Faro-bank."
A loud guffaw from the bystanders followed this reply.
As soon as the hungry man came back to claim his place, and had paid
over his five dollars, Walter hurried off to where he had left Bill,
who stopped him in his story with the whispered words, "I seed him."
"Him? Who? Not Charley?"
"No; t'other duffer."
Walter gave a low whistle. "Where? Here? Don't you see I'm all on
fire?"
"Right here. Breshed by me as large as life, and twice as sassy. Oh,
I know'd him in spite of his baird. Sez I to myself, 'Walk along,
sonny, and smoke your shugarette. Our turn's comin' right along.'"
"Too bad, too bad you didn't follow him." Walter was starting off
again, with a sort of blind purpose to find Ramon, collar him, and
make him disgorge his ill-gotten gains on the spot, when Bill held
him back. "Tut, tut, Walt," he expostulated, "if the lubber sees you
before we're good and ready to nab him, won't he be off in a jiffy?
Now we know he's here, ain't that something? So much for so much. Lay
low and keep shady, is our best holt."
To such sound reasoning Walter was fain to give in. Besides, Bill now
insisted upon staying in the line until he could sell out too. With
a jerk of the thumb, he pointed to where one or two patient waiters
were very comfortably seated on camp-stools, and in a husky undertone
proposed finding out where camp-stools could be had. Taking the hint,
Walter started off, instanter, in search of a dealer in camp-stools,
with whom he quickly struck a bargain for as many as he could carry,
by depositing his half-eagle as security. The stools went off like
hot cakes, and at a good profit. Bill, too, having got his price, by
patient waiting, the two lucky speculators walked away to the first
full meal they had eaten since landing, the richer by twenty dollars
from the morning's adventure. Bill called it finding money; "just like
pickin' it up in the street."
XII
AN UNEXPECTED MEETING
It was getting along toward the middle of the afternoon when the two
newly fledged speculators turned their steps to the waterside, Bill to
have his after-dinner smoke in peace and quiet, while scanning with
critical eye the various craft afloat in that matchless bay. Something
he saw there arrested his attention wonderfully, by the way he grasped
Walter's arm and stretched out his long neck.
"Will you look! Ef that arn't the old _Argonaut_ out there in the
stream, I'm a nigger. The old tub! She's made her last v'y'ge by the
looks--topmasts sent down, hole in her side big 'nuff to drive a yoke
of oxen through. Ain't she a beauty?"
After taking a good look at the dismantled hulk, Walter agreed that
it could be no other than the ship on which he and Charley met with
their adventure just before she sailed. It did seem so like seeing an
old friend that Walter was seized with an eager desire to go on board.
Hailing a Whitehall boatman, they were quickly rowed off alongside,
and in another minute found themselves once more standing on the
_Argonaut's_ deck. A well-grown, broad-shouldered, round-faced young
fellow, in a guernsey jacket and skull-cap, met them at the gangway.
There were three shouts blended in one:
"Walter!"
"Charley!"
"Well, I'm blessed!"
Then there followed such a shaking of hands all round, such a volley
of questions without waiting for answers, and of answers without
waiting for questions, that it was some minutes before quiet was
restored. Charley then took up the word: "Why, Walt, old fel',"
holding him off at arm's length, "I declare I should hardly have
known you with that long hair and that brown face. Yes; this is the
_Argonaut_. She's a storeship now; and I'm ship-keeper." He then went
on to explain that most of the fleet of ships moored ahead and astern
were similarly used for storing merchandise, some merchants even
owning their own storeships. "You see, it's safer and cheaper than
keeping the stuff on shore to help make a bonfire of some dark night."
"Don't you have no crew?" Bill asked.
"No; we can hire lightermen, same's you hire truckmen in Boston. All
those stores you see built out over the water get in their goods
through a trap-door in the floor, with fall and tackle."
It may well be imagined that these three reunited friends had a good
long talk together that evening. Charley pulled a skillet out of a
cupboard, on which he put some sliced bacon. Bill started a fire in
the cabin stove, while Walter made the coffee. Presently the bacon
began to sizzle and the coffee to bubble. Then followed a famous
clattering of knives and forks, as the joyous trio set to, with
appetites such as only California air can create.
Walter told his story first. Charley looked as black as a
thundercloud, as Ramon's villainy was being exposed. Bill gave an
angry snort or grunt to punctuate the tale. Walter finished by saying
bitterly, "I suppose it's like looking for a needle in a haystack."
"Not quite so bad as that," was Charley's quick reply. "It's a pity if
we three," throwing out his chest, "can't cook his goose for him. Bill
has seen him. Didn't you say he gambled? Thought so. Oh, he won't be
lonesome; there's plenty more here of that stripe. Gamblers, thieves,
and sharks own the town. They do. It ain't safe to be out late nights
alone, unless you've got a Colt or a Derringer handy, for fear of the
Hounds."
"The Hounds!" echoed Walter and Bill.
"Yes, the Hounds; that's what they call the ruff-scuff here. There's
a storm brewing," he added mysteriously, then suddenly changing the
subject, he asked, "Where do you _hombres_ ranch?"
"Under the blue kannerpy, I guess," said Bill in a heavy tragedian's
voice.
"Not by a jugful! You'll both stop aboard here with me. I'm cap'n,
chief cook, and bottle-washer. Bill's cut out for a lighterman, so
he's as good as fixed. Something 'll turn up for Walt."
"What did you mean by ranching?" Walter asked.
"This is it. This is my ranch. You hire a room or a shanty, do your
own cooking and washing, roll yourself up in your blanket at night and
go it alone, as independent as a hog on ice. Oh, you'll soon get used
to it, never fear, and like it too; bet your life. Women's as scarce
as hens' teeth out here. You can't think it. Why, man alive, a nice,
well-dressed lady is such a curiosity that I've seen all hands run
out o' doors to get a sight of one passin' by. Come, Bill, bear a
hand, and pull an armful of gunny-bags out of that bale for both your
beds. Look out for that candle! That's a keg of blastin' powder you're
settin' on, Walt! If I'd only known I was goin' to entertain company
I'd 'a' swep' up a bit. Are you all ready? Then one, two, three, and
out she goes." And with one vigorous puff out went the light.
When Bill turned out in the morning he found Charley already up and
busying himself with the breakfast things. "What's this 'ere craft
loaded with?" was his first question.
"Oh, a little of everything, assorted, you can think of, from
gunny-bags to lumber."
Walter was sitting on a locker, with one boot on and the other in his
hand, listening. At hearing the word lumber he pricked up his ears.
"That reminds me," he broke in. "Bright & Company shipped a cargo out
here; dead loss; they said it was rotting in the ship that brought
it."
Charley stopped peeling a potato to ask her name.
"The _Southern Cross_."
"Bark?"
"Yes, a bark."
"Well, p'r'aps now that ain't queer," Charley continued. "That's
her moored just astern of us. Never broke bulk; ship and cargo sold
at auction to pay freight and charges. Went dirt cheap. My boss, he
bought 'em in on a spec. And a mighty poor spec it's turned out. Why,
everybody's got lumber to burn."
Charley seemed so glum over it that Walter was about to drop the
subject, when Charley resumed it. "You see, boys," he began, "here's
where the shoe pinches. I had scraped together a tidy little sum of
my own, workin' on ship work at big wages, sometimes for this man,
sometimes for that. I was thinkin' all the while of buying off those
folks at home who fitted me out (Walt here knows who I mean), when
along comes my boss and says to me, 'I say, young feller, you seem
a busy sort of chap. I've had my eye on you some time. Now, I tell
you what I'll do with you. No nonsense now. Got any dust?' 'A few
hundreds,' says I. 'Well, then,' says he, 'I don't mind givin' you a
lift. Here's this _Southern Cross_ goin' to be sold for the freight.
I'll buy it in on halves. You pay what you can down on the nail, the
rest when we sell out at a profit. _Sabe?_' Like a fool I jumped at
the chance."
"Well, what ails you?" growled the irrepressible Bill; "that 'ar ship
can't git away, moored with five fathoms o' chain, can she? Pine
boards don't eat nor drink nothin', do they?"
"Who said they did?" Charley tartly retorted. It was plain to see that
with him the _Southern Cross_ was a sore subject.
"Waal, 'tain't ushil to cry much over bein' a lumber king, is it?"
persisted Bill, in his hectoring way. "Down East, whar I come from,
they laugh and grow fat."
"You don't hear me through. Listen to this: My partner went off to
Australia seven or eight months ago, to settle up some old business
there, he said. I've not heard hide nor hair of him since. Every red
cent I'd raked and scraped is tied up hard and fast in that blamed old
lumber. Nobody wants it; and if they did, I couldn't give a clean bill
o' sale. Now, you know, Walt, why I never sent you nothin'!"