CHAPTER XII.
IN SAN FRANCISCO.
Ben was not seasick, and enjoyed the novel experiences vastly. MissSinclair was less fortunate. For four days she was sick and confinedto her stateroom. After that she was able to appear among the otherpassengers. Ben was very attentive, and confirmed the favorableopinion she had already formed of him.
At last the voyage came to a close. It was a bright, cheery morningwhen the steamer came within sight of San Francisco. It was not apopulous and brilliant city as at present, for Ben's expeditiondates back to the year 1856, only a few years after the discovery ofgold. Still, there was a good-sized town on the site of the futurecity. The numerous passengers regarded it with rejoicing hearts, andexchanged hopeful congratulations. Probably with the exception ofMiss Sinclair, all had gone out to make or increase their fortunes.Her fortune was already made. She had gone to enjoy personalliberty, and to find her plighted husband.
"Well, Ben, we have nearly reached our destination," said MissSinclair, as she looked earnestly in the direction of the embryocity. "You are glad, are you not?"
"Yes, Cousin Ida," said Ben slowly.
"But you look thoughtful. Is there anything on your mind?"
"I feel sorry that I am to part from you, Cousin Ida."
"Thank you, Ben, but we are not to part permanently. You don't meanto forsake me utterly?"
"Not if you need me," said our hero.
"I shall still require your services. You remember that I came outhere in search of a--friend?" said Miss Sinclair, hesitating.
"Yes, I know, Cousin Ida."
"I am desirous that he should know that I am in San Francisco, but,unfortunately, though I know he is in California, I have no ideawhere, or in what part of it he is to be found. Once incommunication with him, I need have no further apprehension ofinterference or persecution on the part of my guardian."
"To be sure," said Ben straightforwardly. "I suppose you would marryhim?"
"That may come some time," said Miss Sinclair, smiling, "but he mustbe found first."
"You will travel about, I suppose?" said Ben.
"No; I shall engage some one to travel for me. It would not besuitable for a young lady to go from one mining-camp to another."
"Have you thought of any one you can send?" asked our hero.
"Yes," said Miss Sinclair. "He is rather young, but I shall try theexperiment."
"Do you mean me?" asked Ben quickly.
"Yes; are you willing to be my agent in the matter?"
"I should like it of all things," said Ben, with sparkling eyes.
"Then you may consider yourself engaged. The details we will discusspresently."
"And where will you stay, Cousin Ida?"
"In San Francisco. I have become acquainted with a lady on board whoproposes to open a boarding-house in the city, or, rather, to takecharge of one already kept by her sister. In my circumstances, itwill be better for me to board with her than at a hotel. There Ishall have a secure and comfortable home, while you are exploringthe mining-districts in my interest."
"That is an excellent plan," said Ben.
"So I think."
Here the conversation was interrupted by the bustle of approachingdeparture. Ben landed in the company of Miss Sinclair and Mrs.Armstrong, and the three proceeded at once to the boarding-house,over which the latter was in future to preside. A comfortable roomwas assigned to Miss Sinclair, and a small one to Ben. They wereplainly furnished, but both enjoyed being on land once more.
Our young hero, finding that his services were not required for thepresent, began to explore the city. It was composed almost wholly ofwooden houses; some but one story in height, even on the leadingstreets, with here and there sand-hills, where now stand statelypiles and magnificent hotels. He ascended Telegraph Hill, whichthen, as now, commanded a good view of the town and harbor; yet howdifferent a view from that presented now. Ben was partly pleased andpartly disappointed. Just from New York, he could not help comparingthis straggling village on the shores of the Pacific with the eventhen great city on the Atlantic coast. He had heard so much of SanFrancisco that he expected something more. To-day a man may journeyacross the continent and find the same comfort, luxury, andmagnificence in San Francisco which he left behind him in New York.
In his explorations Ben came to a showy building which seemed acenter of attraction. It seemed well filled, and people wereconstantly coming in and going out. Ben's curiosity was excited.
"What is that?" he asked of a man who lounged outside, with aMexican sombrero on his head and his hands thrust deep in hispockets.
"That's the Bella Union, my chicken."
"I don't know any better now."
"Just go in there with a pocketful of gold-dust, like I did, andyou'll find out, I reckon."
"Is it a gambling-house?" inquired Ben, rather excited, for he hadheard much of such places, but never seen one.
"It's the devil's den," said the man bitterly. "I wish I'd neverseen it."
"Have you been unlucky?"
"Look here, boy, jest look at me," said the stranger. "An hour ago Iwas worth a thousand dollars in gold-dust-took six months' hard workto scrape it together at the mines-now I haven't an ounce left."
"Did you lose it there?" asked Ben, somewhat startled.
"Well, I staked it, and it's gone."
"Have you nothing left?"
"Not an ounce. I haven't enough to pay for a bed."
"What will you do for a place to sleep?" inquired Ben, to whom thisseemed an alarming state of things.
The stranger shrugged his shoulders.
"I don't worry about that," he said. "I'll stretch myself outsomewhere when night comes. I'm used to roughing it."
"Won't you get cold sleeping out of doors?" asked Ben.
The other gave a short, quick laugh.
"What do you take me for, boy? I don't look delicate, do I?"
"Not very," answered Ben, smiling.
"I've slept out under the stars pretty reg'lar for the past sixmonths. I only wish I was back to the mines."
"Do you think I can go in?" Ben said hesitatingly.
"Yes, youngster, there's nothin' to bender, but take a fool'sadvice, and ef you've got money in your pocket, don't do it."
"You don't think I'd gamble, do you?" said Ben, horror-struck.
"I've seen youngsters smaller than you bet their pile."
"You won't catch me doing it. I am a poor boy, and have nothing tolose."
"All right, then. You're a country boy, ain't you?"
"Yes."
"So was I once, but I've had the greenness rubbed off'n me. I wasjest such a youngster as you once. I wish I could go back twentyyears."
"You're not very old yet," said Ben, in a tone of sympathy. "Whydon't you reform?"
"No, I'm not old-only thirty-six-and I ain't so bad as I might be.I'm a rough customer, I expect, but I wouldn't do anything downrightmean. Ef you're goin' into this den, I'll go with you. I can't takecare of myself, but mayhap I can keep you out of danger."
"Thank you, sir."
So Ben and his new acquaintance entered the famous gambling-den. Itwas handsomely furnished and decorated, with a long and gailyappointed bar, while the mirrors, pictures, glass, and silverwareexcited surprise, and would rather have been expected in an oldercity. There were crowds at the counter, and crowds around thetables, and the air was heavy with the odor of Chinese punk, whichwas used for cigar-lights, The tinkle of silver coin was heard atthe tables, though ounces of gold-dust were quite as commonly usedin the games of chance.
"I suppose a good deal of money is won here?" said Ben, lookingaround curiously.
"There's a good deal lost," said Ben's new acquaintance.
"Gentlemen, will you drink with me?" said a young man, with flushedface, rising from a table near-by, both hands full of silver andgold, "I've been lucky to-night, and it's my treat."
"I don't care if I do," said Ben's companion, with alacrity, and henamed his d
rink.
"What'll the boy have?"
"Nothing, thank you," answered Ben, startled,
"That won't do. I insist upon your drinking," hiccuped the youngman, who had evidently drunk freely already. "Take it as a personalinsult, if you don't."
"Never mind the boy," said his new friend, to Ben's great relief."He's young and innocent. He hasn't been round like you an' me."
"That's so," assented the young man, taking the remark as acompliment. "Well, here's to you!"
"I wouldn't have done it," said Ben's new friend rejoining him; "butit'll help me to forget what a blamed fool I've been to-night. Youjest let the drink alone. That's my advice."
"I mean to," said Ben firmly. "Do people drink much out here?"
"Whisky's their nat'ral element," said the miner. "Some of 'em don'tdrink water once a month. An old friend of mine, Joe Granger,act'lly forgot how it tasted. I gave him a glass once by way of ajoke, and he said it was the weakest gin he ever tasted."
"Are there no temperance societies out here?" asked Ben.
The miner laughed.
"It's my belief that a temperance lecturer would be mobbed, or hungto the nearest lamppost," he answered.
It is hardly necessary to say that even in 1856 intemperance washardly as common in California as the statements of his new friendled Ben to suppose. His informant was sincere, and spoke accordingto his own observation. It is not remarkable that at the mines, inthe absence of the comforts of civilization, those who drink rarelyor not at all at home should seek the warmth and excitement ofdrink.
"What's your name, boy?" asked the miner abruptly.
"Ben Stanton."
"Where were you raised?"
Though the term was a new one to Ben, he could not fail tounderstand it.
"In the State of Connecticut."
"That's where they make wooden nutmegs," said the miner, "isn't it?"
"I never saw any made there," answered Ben, smiling.
"I reckon you've come out here to make your fortin?"
"I should like to," answered Ben; "but I shall be satisfied if Imake a living, and a little more."
"You'll do it. You look the right sort, you do. No bad habits, andwillin' to work hard, and go twenty-four hours hungry when you can'thelp it."
"Yes."
"Where'll you go first?--to the mines, I reckon."
"Yes," answered Ben, reflecting that he would be most likely to findRichard Dewey at some mining-settlement.
"Ef I hadn't been a fool, and lost all my money, I'd go along withyou."
"I should like the company of some one who had already been at themines," said Ben.
Then it occurred to him that his new acquaintance might possiblyhave encountered Dewey in his wanderings. At any rate, it would dono harm to inquire.
"Did you ever meet a man named Dewey at the mines?" he asked.
"Friend of yours?"
"No; I never saw him, but I have promised to hunt him up. I havesome important news for him."
"Dewey!" mused the miner. "Somehow that name sounds familiar like.Can you tell what he was like?"
"I never saw him, but I can get a description of him."
"I'm sure I've met a man by that name," said the miner thoughtfully,"but I can't rightly locate him. I have it," he added suddenly. "Itwas at Murphy's, over in Calaveras, that I came across him. A quiet,stiddy young man-looked as if he'd come from a city-not rough likethe rest of us-might have been twenty-seven or twenty-eight yearsold-didn't drink any more'n you do, but kept to work and minded hisown business."
"That must be the man I am after," said Ben eagerly. "Do you thinkhe is at Murphy's now?"
"How can I tell? It's most a year sence I met him. Likely he's gone.Miners don't stay as long as that in one place."
Ben's countenance fell. He did not seem as near to the object of hisjourney as he at first thought. Still, it was something to obtain aclue. Perhaps at Murphy's he might get a trace of Dewey, and,following it up, find him at last.
"How far is Murphy's from here?" he asked.
"Two hundred miles, I reckon."
"Then I'd better go there first."
"Not ef you want to find gold. There's other places that's better,and not so far away."
"It may be so, but I care more to find Richard Dewey than to findgold in plenty."
"You said he wasn't a friend of yours?" said the miner, in somesurprise.
"No; I don't know him, but I am engaged by a friend of his to findhim. That friend will pay; my expenses while I am on the road."
"Has Dewey come into a fortin?" asked the miner. "Has a rich uncledied and left him all his pile?"
"Not that I know of," answered Ben.
"Then there's a woman in it?" said his new acquaintance, in a toneof conviction. "It's his sweetheart that wants to find him. I'mright. Yes, I know it. But there's one thing that I can't seethrough."
"What is that?"
"Why does the gal-if it is a gal-send a boy like you on the trail?"
"Suppose there was no one else to send," suggested Ben.
"That makes it a little plainer. Where is the gal?"
"Ought I to confide in this man?" thought Ben. "I never met himbefore. I only know that he has lost all his money at thegambling-table. Yet he may help me, and I must confide in somebody.He is a rough customer, but he seems honest and sincere."
"Here in San Francisco," he answered. "I cannot tell you more untilI have her permission."
"That's all right. Ef I can help you, I will, Ben. You said yourname was Ben?"
"Yes."
"Mine is Bradley-Jake Bradley. I was raised in Kentucky, and I'vegot an old mother living there now, I hope. I haven't heard anythingfrom her for nigh a year. It makes me homesick when I think of it.Got a mother, Ben?"
"Neither father nor mother," answered Ben sadly.
"That's bad," said the miner, with rough sympathy. "You're a youngchap to be left alone in the world."
"Yes; I do feel very lonely sometimes, Mr. Bradley."
"Don't call me Mr. Bradley. I ain't used to it. Call me Jake."
"All right, I'll remember it. Where can I meet you again, Jake?"
"Here will do as well as anywhere."
"Will you be here to-morrow morning at nine o'clock?"
"Yes," answered Bradley. "I'll ask the porter to call me early," headded, with rough humor.
Ben remembered that his new acquaintance had no money to pay for anight's lodging, and would be forced to sleep out.
"Can't I lend you enough money to pay for a lodging?" he asked.
"You kin, but you needn't. Jake Bradley ain't that delicate thatit'll hurt him to sleep out. No, Ben, save your money, and ef Iactilly need it I'll make bold to ask you for it; but I don't throwaway no money on a bed."
"If you hadn't lost your money in there," said Ben, pointing to thebuilding they had just left, "wouldn't you have paid for a bed?"
"I might have put on a little style then, I allow. It don't do for aman with a thousand dollars in his belt to lie out. I ain't afraidnow."
Ben, on leaving his new acquaintance, thought it best to go back atonce to Miss Sinclair, to communicate the information he hadobtained, rightly deeming it of importance.
"Well, Ben, have you seen the whole town so soon?" asked MissSinclair, looking up from her trunk, which she was unpacking.
"No, Cousin Ida, but I think I have learned something of Mr. Dewey."
"You have not seen him?" asked Miss Sinclair quickly.
"No, I have not seen him, but I have seen a man who met him nearly ayear since at the mines."
"Tell me about it, Ben," said the young lady. "Where was it thatthis man saw Richard-Mr. Dewey?"
"At Murphy's."
"Where is that?"
"Two hundred miles away."
"That is not far. Are you willing to go there?"
"Yes, but you must remember, Cousin Ida, that it is nearly a yearsince he was there, and miners never stay long in one place, atleast s
o my miner friend tells me."
"At any rate, you may learn something of him there."
"That is true."
"Will this man go with you?"
"He would, but he has no money to get out of the city."
"I will pay his expenses as far as Murphy's, and farther, if he islikely to prove of service."
"I think it will be best, if you can afford it," said Ben. "He knowsthe country, and I don't. Three months from now I should be willingto start off alone, but now-"
"It is much better that you should have company."
"It will cost you a good deal of money, Cousin Ida."
"I shall not grudge a large sum, if need be, to find Richard. Whencan you see this man again?"
"To-morrow morning."
"Bring him here, and I will make arrangements with him."
The Young Explorer; Or, Claiming His Fortune Page 12