We viewed these things from the thwarts of a boat which we hired for ten dollars. Our horses we had left outside of town on the highlands. Everywhere we passed men and shouted to them a cheery greeting. Everybody seemed optimistic and inclined to believe that the flood would soon go down.
“Anyway, she’s killed the rats,” one man shouted in answer to our call.
We grinned an appreciation of what we thought merely a facetious reply. Rats had not yet penetrated to the mines, so we did not know anything about them. Next day, in San Francisco, we began to apprehend the man’s remark.
Thus we rowed cheerfully about, having a good time at the other fellow’s expense. Suddenly Johnny, who was steering, dropped his paddle with an exclamation. Yank and I turned to see what had so struck him. Beyond the trees that marked where the bank of the river ought to be we saw two tall smokestacks belching forth a great volume of black smoke.
“A steamer!” cried Yank.
“Yes, and a good big one!” I added.
We lay to our oars and soon drew alongside. She proved to be a side wheeler, of fully seven hundred tons, exactly like the craft we had often seen plying the Hudson.
“Now how do you suppose they got her out here?” I marvelled.
She was almost completely surrounded by craft of all descriptions; her decks were crowded. We read the name McKim on her paddle boxes.
A man with an official cap appeared at the rail.
“Bound for San Francisco?” I called to him.
“Off in two minutes,” he replied.
“What’s the fare?”
“Forty dollars.”
“Come on, boys,” said I to my comrades, at the same time seizing a dangling rope.
“Hold on!” cried Yank. “How about our two horses and our blankets, and this boat?”
I cast my eye around, and discovered a boy of fourteen or fifteen in the stern of a neat fisherman’s dory a few feet away.
“Here!” I called to him. “Do you want two good horses and some blankets?”
“I ain’t got any money.”
“Don’t need any. These are free. We’re going down on this boat. You’ll find the outfit under the big white oak two miles above the forks on the American. They’re yours if you’ll go get them.”
“What do you want me to do?” he demanded suspiciously.
“Two things: return this boat to its owner–a man named Lilly who lives─”
“I know the boat,” the boy interrupted.
“The other is to be sure to go up to-day after those horses. They’re picketed out.”
“All right,” agreed the boy, whose enthusiasm kindled as his belief in the genuineness of the offer was assured.
I seized a rope, swung myself up to the flat fender, and thence to the deck.
“Come on!” I called to Yank and Johnny, who were hesitating. “It’ll cost more than those horses and blankets are worth to wait.”
Thereupon they followed me. The boy made fast our boat to his own. Five minutes later we were dropping down the river.
“This is what I call real luxury,” said Johnny, returning from an inspection of our craft. “There’s a barroom, and a gambling layout, and velvet carpets and chairs, mirrors, a minstrel show, and all the fixings. Now who’d expect to run against a layout like this on the river?”
“What I’d like to know is how they got her out here,” said I. “Look at her! She’s a river boat. A six-foot wave ought to swamp her!”
We thought of a half dozen solutions, and dismissed them all. The discussion, however, served its purpose in inflaming our curiosity.
“I’m going to find some one who knows,” I announced at last.
This was not so easy. The captain was of course remote and haughty and inaccessible, and the other officers were too busy handling the ship and the swarming rough crowd to pay any attention to us. The crew were new hands. Finally, however, we found in the engine room a hard bitten individual with a short pipe and some leisure. To him we proffered our question.
“Sailed her,” said he.
“Around the Horn?” I cried.
He looked at me a bitter instant.
“The sailing wasn’t very good across the plains, at that time,” said he.
Little by little we got his story. I am not a seafaring man, but it seems to me one of the most extraordinary feats of which I have ever heard. The lower decks of the McKim had been boarded up with heavy planks; some of her frailer gimcracks of superstructure had been dismantled, and then she had been sent under her own power on the long journey around the Horn. Think of it! A smooth-water river boat, light draught, top heavy, frail in construction, sent out to battle with the might of three oceans! However, she made it; and after her her sister ship, the Senator, and they made money for their owners, and I am glad of it. That certainly was a gallant enterprise!
She was on this trip jammed full of people, mostly those returning from the mines. A trip on the McKim implied a certain amount of prosperity, so we were a jolly lot. The weather was fine, and a bright moon illuminated the swollen river. We had drinkers, songsters, debaters, gamblers, jokers, and a few inclined to be quarrelsome, all of which added to the variety of the occasion. I wandered around from one group to another, thoroughly enjoying myself, both out on deck and in the cabins. It might be added that there were no sleepers!
Along toward midnight, as I was leaning on the rail forward watching the effect of the moon on the water and the shower of sparks from the twin stacks against the sky, I was suddenly startled by the cry of “man overboard,” and a rush toward the stern. I followed as quickly as I was able. The paddle wheels had been instantly reversed, and a half dozen sailors were busily lowering a boat. A crowd of men, alarmed by the trembling of the vessel as her way was checked, poured out from the cabins. The fact that I was already on deck gave me an advantageous post; so that I found myself near the stern rail.
“He was leaning against the rail,” one was explaining excitedly, “and it give way, and in he went. He never came up!”
Everybody was watching eagerly the moonlit expanse of the river.
“I guess he’s a goner,” said a man after a few moments. “He ain’t in sight nowhere.”
“There he is!” cried a half dozen voices all at once.
A head shot into sight a few hundred yards astern, blowing the silvered water aside. The small boat, which was now afloat, immediately headed in his direction, and a moment later he was hauled aboard amid frantic cheers. The dripping victim of the accident clambered to the deck.
It was Johnny!
He was beside himself with excitement, sputtering with rage and uttering frantic threats against something or somebody. His eyes were wild, and he fairly frothed at the mouth. I seized him by the arm. He stared at me, then became coherent, though he still spluttered. Johnny was habitually so quietly reserved as far as emotions go that his present excitement was at first utterly incomprehensible.
It seemed that he had been leaning against the rail, watching the moonlight, when suddenly it had given way beneath his weight and he had fallen into the river.
“They had no business to have so weak a rail!” he cried bitterly.
“Well, you’re here, all right,” I said soothingly. “There’s no great harm done.”
“Oh, isn’t there?” he snarled.
Then we learned how the weight of the gold around his waist had carried him down like a plummet; and we sensed a little of the desperate horror with which he had torn and struggled to free himself from that dreadful burden.
“I thought I’d burst!” said he.
And then he had torn off the belt, and had shot to the surface.
“It’s down there,” he said more calmly, “every confounded yellow grain of it.” He laughed a little. “Broke!” said he. “No New York in mine!”
The crowd murmured sympathetically.
“Gol darn it, boys, it’s rotten hard luck!” cried a big miner with some heat. “Who’ll
chip in?”
At the words Johnny recovered himself, and his customary ease of manner returned.
“Much obliged, boys,” said he, “but I’ve still got my health. I don’t need charity. Guess I’ve been doing the baby act; but I was damn mad at that rotten old rail. Anyway,” he laughed, “there need nobody say in the future that there’s no gold in the lower Sacramento. There is; I put it there myself.”
The tall miner slowly stowed away his buckskin sack, looking keenly in Johnny’s face.
“Well, you’ll have a drink, anyway,” said he.
“Oh, hell, yes!” agreed Johnny, “I’ll have a drink!”
*
CHAPTER XLII
SAN FRANCISCO AGAIN
We drew up to San Francisco early in the afternoon, and we were, to put it mildly, thoroughly astonished at the change in the place. To begin with, we now landed at a long wharf projecting from the foot of Sacramento Street instead of by lighter. This wharf was crowded by a miscellaneous mob, collected apparently with no other purpose than to view our arrival. Among them we saw many specialized types that had been lacking to the old city of a few months ago–sharp, keen, businesslike clerks whom one could not imagine at the rough work of the mines; loafers whom one could not imagine at any work at all; dissolute, hard-faced characters without the bold freedom of the road agents; young green-looking chaps who evidently had much to learn and who were exceedingly likely to pay their little fortunes, if not their lives, in the learning. On a hogshead at one side a street preacher was declaiming.
Johnny had by now quite recovered his spirits. I think he was helped greatly by the discovery that he still possessed his celebrated diamond.
“Not broke yet!” said he triumphantly. “You see I was a wise boy after all! Wish I had two of them!”
We disembarked, fought our way to one side, and discussed our plans.
“Hock the diamond first,” said Johnny, who resolutely refused to borrow from me; “then hair-cut, shave, bath, buy some more clothes, grub, drink, and hunt up Talbot and see what he’s done with the dust we sent down from Hangman’s.”
That program seemed good. We strolled toward shore, with full intention of putting it into immediate execution. “Immediate” proved to be a relative term; there was too much to see.
First we stopped for a moment to hear what the preacher had to say. He was a tall, lank man with fine but rather fanatical features, dressed in a long black coat, his glossy head bare. In spite of the numerous counter-attractions he had a crowd; and he was holding it.
“You’re standing on a whiskey barrel!” called some one; and the crowd yelled with delight.
“True, my friend,” retorted the preacher with undaunted good nature, “and I’ll venture to say this is the first time a whiskey barrel has ever been appropriated to so useful a purpose. The critter in it will do no harm if it is kept underfoot. Never let it get above your feet!”
A boat runner, a squat, humorous-faced negro with flashing teeth and a ready flow of language, evidently a known and appreciated character, mounted the head of a pile at some little distance and began to hold forth in a deep voice on the advantages of some sort of an excursion on the bay. A portion of the preacher’s crowd began to drift in the direction of the new attraction.
“Ho! ho! ho!” cried the preacher suddenly in tremendous volume. “Ho! All ye who want to go to heaven, now’s your time! A splendid line of celestial steamers will run for a few days from San Francisco to the port of Glory, a country every way superior to California, having in it the richest gold diggings ever discovered, the very streets of the city being paved with gold. In that country are oceans of lager beer and drinks of every kind, all free; pretty women also, and pleasures of endless variety exceeding the dreams of Mohammed as far as the brightness of the meridian sun exceeds the dim twinkle of the glowworm! Program for the voyage: embarkation amid the melody of the best band in the world; that music that so attracted you this morning not to be mentioned in comparison. Appropriate entertainments for each week day, to be announced daily. Each Sunday to be celebrated, first, with a grand feast, closing with a rich profusion of beer, champagne, good old port, whiskey punch, brandy smashes, Tom and Jerry, etc. Second, a game of cards. Third, a grand ball in upper saloon. Fourth, a dog fight. Fifth, a theatrical performance in the evening. If I could truthfully publish such an ad as that I think about two sermons would convert this city.”
The crowd had all turned back to him, laughing good-humouredly. The preacher stretched out his long bony arm, and held forth. His talk was against gambling, and it had, I am afraid, but little real effect. Nevertheless he was listened to; and at the end of his talk everybody contributed something to a collection.
At the land end of the wharf we ran into the most extraordinary collection of vehicles apparently in an inextricable tangle, that was further complicated by the fact that most of the horses were only half broken. They kicked and reared, their drivers lashed and swore, the wagons clashed together. There seemed no possible way out of the mess; and yet somehow the wagons seemed to get loaded and to draw out into the clear. Occasionally the drivers were inclined to abandon their craft and do battle with the loaded ends of their whips; but always a peacemaker descended upon them in the person of a large voluble individual in whom I recognized my former friend and employer, John McGlynn. Evidently John had no longer a monopoly of the teaming business; but, as evidently, what he said went with this wild bunch.
Most of the wagons were loading goods brought from the interiors of storehouses alongside the approach to the wharf. In these storehouses we recognized the hulls of ships, but so shored up, dismantled, and cut into by doors and stories that of their original appearance only their general shapes remained. There was a great number of these storehouses along the shore, some of them being quite built about by piles and platforms, while two were actually inland several hundred feet. I read the name Niantic on the stern of one of them; and found it to have acquired in the landward side a square false front. It was at that time used as a hotel.
“Looks as if they’d taken hold of Talbot’s idea hard,” observed Yank.
“Say!” cried Johnny, “will one of you drinking men kindly take a look and inform me if I’ve gone wrong?”
This remark was called forth by the discovery, as we neared the shore, of hordes of rats. They were large, fat, saucy rats; and they strolled about in broad daylight as if they owned the place. They sat upright on sacks of grain; they scampered across the sidewalks; they scuttled from behind boxes; they rustled and squeaked and fought and played in countless droves. The ground seemed alive with them. It was a most astonishing sight.
“And will you look at that dog!” cried Yank disgustedly.
Across an open doorway, blinking in the sun, lay a good-looking fox terrier. His nose was laid between his paws, and within two yards of that nose a large brown rat disported itself with a crust of bread.
“My Lord!” cried Johnny, his sporting blood aboil. “Here, pup, sic ’em! sic ’em!” He indicated the game urgently. The fox terrier rolled up one eye, wagged his stub tail–but did not even raise his nose.
“No use,” observed the dog’s owner, who had appeared in the doorway.
“What’s the matter with him?” demanded Johnny indignantly; “is he sick?”
“No, he ain’t sick,” replied the owner sadly; “but he ain’t got no use for rats. I bought him for damn near his weight in gold dust when the Panama came in last month. He was the best ratter you ever see. I reckon he must’ve killed a million rats the first week. But, Lord! he got sick of rats. I reckon a rat could go right up and pull his whiskers now, and he’d never mind.”
We condoled with the blasé dog, and moved on.
“Same old mud,” observed Yank.
The place was full of new buildings, some of them quite elaborate two-story structures of brick; and elevated plank sidewalks had taken the place of the old makeshifts. Although the Plaza was still the centre of town,
the streets immediately off it had gained considerable dignity and importance. There were many clothing stores, nearly all kept by Jews, and a number of new saloons and gambling houses. As we were picking our way along we ran into an old acquaintance in the person of the captain of the Panama. He recognized us at once, and we drew up for a chat. After we had exchanged first news Johnny asked him if he knew of a place where a fair price could be raised on the diamond.
“Why, the jewellery store is your ticket, of course,” replied the captain.
“So there’s a jewellery store, too!” cried Johnny.
“And a good one,” supplemented the captain. “Come along; I’ll take you to it.”
It was a good one, and carried a large stock of rings, chains, pins, clocks, watches, and speaking trumpets. The latter two items were the most prominent, for there were hundreds of watches, and apparently thousands of speaking trumpets. They stood in rows on the shelves, and depended in ranks from hooks and nails. Most of them were of silver or of silver gilt; and they were plain, chased, engraved, hammered, or repousséd, with always an ample space for inscription. After Johnny had concluded a satisfactory arrangement for his diamond, I remarked on the preponderance of speaking trumpets. The man grinned rather maliciously at our captain.
“They are a very favourite article for presentation by grateful passengers after a successful sea trip,” he said smoothly.
At this our captain exploded.
“Are they?” he boomed. “I should think they were! I’ve got a dozen of the confounded things; and as I’ve just got in from a trip, I’m expecting another any minute. Good Lord!” he cried as a group of men turned in at the door. “Here come some of my passengers now. Come along, let’s get out of this!”
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