The Golden Dream: Adventures in the Far West. Robert Michael Ballantyne
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the harassing work at the pumps, busied themselves in repairing damages, Ned went to his cabin to put on dry clothes and take a little rest, of which he stood much in need.
Next day the bright sun rose in a cloudless sky, and a gentle breeze now wafted the Roving Bess over the Pacific, whose bosom still heaved deeply from the effects of the recent storm. A sense of fervent thankfulness to God for deliverance filled the heart of our hero as he awoke and beheld the warm sunbeams streaming in at the little window of his cabin. Suddenly he was roused from a deep reverie by the shout of “Land, ho!” on deck.
Words cannot convey an adequate idea of the effect of such a shout upon all on board. “Land, ho!” was repeated by every one, as he sprang in dishabille up the hatchway.
“Where away?” inquired Captain Bunting.
“Right ahead, sir,” answered the look-out.
“Ay, there it is,” said the captain, as Ned, without coat or vest, rushed to his side, and gazed eagerly over the bow, “there it is, Ned,—California, at last! Yonder rise the golden mountains that have so suddenly become the world’s magnet; and yonder, too, is the ‘Golden Gate’ of the harbour of San Francisco. Humph! much good it’ll do us.”
Again there was a slight tone of bitterness in the captain’s voice.
“Don’t let down your spirits, captain,” said Ned, in a cheering tone; “there is still enough of the cargo left to enable us to make a start for the gold-fields. Perhaps we may make more money there than we would have made had we sold the cargo at a large profit by trafficking on the coast.”
Captain Bunting hooked his thumbs into the armholes of his waistcoat, and shook his head. It was evident that he had no faith in gold-digging. Meanwhile the crew had assembled on the forecastle, and were looking out ahead with wistful and excited glances; for the fame of the golden land to which they were approaching had spread far and wide, and they longed to see the gold-dust and nuggets with their own eyes.
“It’s a beautiful land, intirely,” exclaimed Larry O’Neil, with an irrepressible shout of enthusiasm, which called forth a general cheer from the men.
“Arrah, now,” remarked another Patlander, “don’t ye wish ye wos up to the knees and elbows in the goolden sands already? Faix I’d give a month’s pay to have wan day at the diggin’s.”
“I don’t believe a word about it—I don’t,” remarked Jones, with the dogged air of a man who shouldn’t, wouldn’t, and didn’t believe, and yet felt, somehow, that he couldn’t help it.
“Nother do I,” said another, “It’s all a sham; come, now, ain’t it, Bill?” he added, turning to a bronzed veteran who had visited California two years before.
“A sham!” exclaimed Bill. “I tell ’e wot it is, messmate, when you comes for to see the miners in San Francisco drinkin’ shampain like water, an’ payin’ a dollar for a glass o’ six-water grog, you’ll—”
“How much is a dollar?” inquired a soft-looking youth, interrupting him.
Bill said it was “’bout four shillin’s,” and turned away with a look of contempt at such a display of ignorance.
“Four shillin’s!” exclaimed the soft youth, in amazement.
“Clear the anchor, and clew up the main-topsail,” shouted the mate.
In another moment the crew were scattered, some aloft to “lay out” on the topsail yard, some to the clew-lines, and some to clear the anchor, which latter had not been disturbed since the Roving Bess left the shores of Old England.
Chapter Six.
San Francisco—An Unexpected Desertion—Captain Bunting takes a Gloomy View of Things in General—New Friends and New Plans—Singular Facts and Curious Fancies
The “Golden Gates,” as they are called, of San Francisco, are two rocky headlands, about a mile apart, which form the entrance to one of the finest harbours, or rather land-locked seas, in the world. This harbour is upwards of forty miles long, by about twelve miles broad at its widest point, and receives at its northern end the waters of the noble Sacramento river, into which all the other rivers in California flow.
Nearly opposite to the mouth of the Sacramento, on the southern shores of the bay, stands the famous city of San Francisco, close to which the Roving Bess let go her anchor and clasped the golden strand.
The old adage that, “truth is strange, stranger than fiction,” was never more forcibly verified than in the growth and career of this wonderful city. No dreams of Arabian romance ever surpassed the inconceivable wonders that were matters of every-day occurrence there during the first years of the gold-fever; and many of the results attributed to Aladdin’s wonderful lamp were almost literally accomplished—in some cases actually surpassed—in and around the cities of California.
Before the discovery of gold, San Francisco was a mere hamlet. It consisted of a few rude cottages, built of sun-dried bricks, which were tenanted by native Californians; there were also a few merchants who trafficked in hides and horns. Cruisers and whalers occasionally put into the harbour to obtain fresh supplies of water, but beyond these and the vessels engaged in the hide-trade few ships ever visited the port, and the name of San Francisco was almost unknown.
But the instant the rumour got abroad that gold had been discovered there, the eyes of the world were turned towards it. In a few months men and ships began to pour into the capacious harbour; a city of tents overspread the sand-hills on which the hamlet stood; thousands upon thousands of gold-hunters rushed to the mines; the golden treasures of the land were laid bare, and immense fortunes were made literally in the course of a few weeks. In many cases these were squandered or gambled away almost as soon as made; but hundreds of men retired from the gold-fields after a few months’ labour, and returned home possessed of ample fortunes. Thousands, too, failed—some from physical inability to stand the fatiguing labour of the mines, and some from what they termed “want of luck,” though want of perseverance was, in nine cases out of ten, the real cause; while many hundreds perished from exposure and from the diseases that were prevalent in the country.
Well would it have been for these last had they remembered God’s word, “Make not haste to be rich;” but the thirst for gold, and the prospect of the sudden acquisition of enormous wealth, had blinded them to the fact that their frames were not equal to the rough life at the mines.
The excitement was at its height when the Roving Bess anchored off the shores of this land of gold.
The sun was just setting as the anchor dropped, and the crippled ship swung round towards the shore, for the tide had just begun to rise.
“Faix, it’s a quare town,” said Larry O’Neil to Ned, who was gazing in wrapt, astonishment and admiration ever the stern.
It was indeed “quare.” The entire city was made up of the most flimsy and make-shift materials that can be conceived. Many of the shops were mere tents with an open framework of wood in front; some were made of sheet-iron nailed to wooden posts; some were made of zinc; others, (imported from the States), of wood, painted white, and edged with green; a few were built of sun-dried bricks, still fewer of corrugated iron, and many of all these materials pieced together in a sort of fancy patchwork. Even boats were used as dwellings, turned keel up, with a hole cut in their sides for the egress of a tin smoke-pipe, and two others of larger size to serve as door and window.
Finding space scarce, owing to the abrupt rise of the hills from the shore, many enterprising individuals had encroached upon the sea, and built houses on piles driven into the sand nearly half-a-mile below the original high water mark.
Almost every nation under the sun had representatives there, and the consequent confusion of tongues was equal to that of Babel.
The hills overhanging the lower part of the town were also well covered with tents, temporary houses, and cottages that had some appearance of comfort about them.
Such was the city on which the sun went down that night, and many were the quaint, sagacious, and comic remarks made by