Tracks of a Rolling Stone [92]
on, to roam no more, to return no more, to any home that was not Arakeeta's.
This sort of feeling is not very uncommon in early life. And 'out of sight, out of mind,' is also a known experience. Long before we reached San Fr'isco I was again eager for adventure.
How magnificent is the bay! One cannot see across it. How impatient we were to land! Everything new. Bearded dirty heterogeneous crowds busy in all directions, - some running up wooden and zinc houses, some paving the streets with planks, some housing over ships beached for temporary dwellings. The sandy hills behind the infant town are being levelled and the foreshore filled up. A 'water surface' of forty feet square is worth 5,000 dollars. So that here and there the shop-fronts are ships' broadsides. Already there is a theatre. But the chief feature is the gambling saloons, open night and day. These large rooms are always filled with from 300 to 400 people of every description - from 'judges' and 'colonels' (every man is one or the other, who is nothing else) to Parisian cocottes, and escaped convicts of all nationalities. At one end of the saloon is a bar, at the other a band. Dozens of tables are ranged around. Monte, faro, rouge-et-noir, are the games. A large proportion of the players are diggers in shirt-sleeves and butcher-boots, belts round their waists for bowie knife and 'five shooters,' which have to be surrendered on admittance. They come with their bags of nuggets or 'dust,' which is duly weighed, stamped, and sealed by officials for the purpose.
1 have still several specimens of the precious metal which I captured, varying in size from a grain of wheat to a mustard seed.
The tables win enormously, and so do the ladies of pleasure; but the winnings of these go back again to the tables. Four times, while we were here, differences of opinion arose concerning points of 'honour,' and were summarily decided by revolvers. Two of the four were subsequently referred to Judge 'Lynch.'
Wishing to see the 'diggings,' Fred and I went to Sacramento - about 150 miles up the river of that name. This was but a pocket edition of San Francisco, or scarcely that. We therefore moved to Marysville, which, from its vicinity to the various branches of the Sacramento river, was the chief depot for the miners of the 'wet diggin's' in Northern California. Here we were received by a Mr. Massett - a curious specimen of the waifs and strays that turn up all over the world in odd places, and whom one would be sure to find in the moon if ever one went there. He owned a little one-roomed cabin, over the door of which was painted 'Offices of the Marysville Herald.' He was his own contributor and 'correspondent,' editor and printer, (the press was in a corner of the room). Amongst other avocations he was a concert-giver, a comic reader, a tragic actor, and an auctioneer. He had the good temper and sanguine disposition of a Mark Tapley. After the golden days of California he spent his life wandering about the globe; giving 'entertainments' in China, Japan, India, Australia. Wherever the English language is spoken, Stephen Massett had many friends and no enemies.
Fred slept on the table, I under it, and next morning we hired horses and started for the 'Forks of the Yuba.' A few hours' ride brought us to the gold-hunters. Two or three hundred men were at work upon what had formerly been the bed of the river. By unwritten law, each miner was entitled to a certain portion of the 'bar,' as it was called, in which the gold is found. And, as the precious metal has to be obtained by washing, the allotments were measured by thirty feet on the banks of the river and into the dry bed as far as this extends; thus giving each man his allowance of water. Generally three or four combined to possess a 'claim.' Each would then attend to his own department: one loosened the soil, another filled the barrow or cart, a third carried it to the river, and the fourth would wash it in the 'rocker.'
This sort of feeling is not very uncommon in early life. And 'out of sight, out of mind,' is also a known experience. Long before we reached San Fr'isco I was again eager for adventure.
How magnificent is the bay! One cannot see across it. How impatient we were to land! Everything new. Bearded dirty heterogeneous crowds busy in all directions, - some running up wooden and zinc houses, some paving the streets with planks, some housing over ships beached for temporary dwellings. The sandy hills behind the infant town are being levelled and the foreshore filled up. A 'water surface' of forty feet square is worth 5,000 dollars. So that here and there the shop-fronts are ships' broadsides. Already there is a theatre. But the chief feature is the gambling saloons, open night and day. These large rooms are always filled with from 300 to 400 people of every description - from 'judges' and 'colonels' (every man is one or the other, who is nothing else) to Parisian cocottes, and escaped convicts of all nationalities. At one end of the saloon is a bar, at the other a band. Dozens of tables are ranged around. Monte, faro, rouge-et-noir, are the games. A large proportion of the players are diggers in shirt-sleeves and butcher-boots, belts round their waists for bowie knife and 'five shooters,' which have to be surrendered on admittance. They come with their bags of nuggets or 'dust,' which is duly weighed, stamped, and sealed by officials for the purpose.
1 have still several specimens of the precious metal which I captured, varying in size from a grain of wheat to a mustard seed.
The tables win enormously, and so do the ladies of pleasure; but the winnings of these go back again to the tables. Four times, while we were here, differences of opinion arose concerning points of 'honour,' and were summarily decided by revolvers. Two of the four were subsequently referred to Judge 'Lynch.'
Wishing to see the 'diggings,' Fred and I went to Sacramento - about 150 miles up the river of that name. This was but a pocket edition of San Francisco, or scarcely that. We therefore moved to Marysville, which, from its vicinity to the various branches of the Sacramento river, was the chief depot for the miners of the 'wet diggin's' in Northern California. Here we were received by a Mr. Massett - a curious specimen of the waifs and strays that turn up all over the world in odd places, and whom one would be sure to find in the moon if ever one went there. He owned a little one-roomed cabin, over the door of which was painted 'Offices of the Marysville Herald.' He was his own contributor and 'correspondent,' editor and printer, (the press was in a corner of the room). Amongst other avocations he was a concert-giver, a comic reader, a tragic actor, and an auctioneer. He had the good temper and sanguine disposition of a Mark Tapley. After the golden days of California he spent his life wandering about the globe; giving 'entertainments' in China, Japan, India, Australia. Wherever the English language is spoken, Stephen Massett had many friends and no enemies.
Fred slept on the table, I under it, and next morning we hired horses and started for the 'Forks of the Yuba.' A few hours' ride brought us to the gold-hunters. Two or three hundred men were at work upon what had formerly been the bed of the river. By unwritten law, each miner was entitled to a certain portion of the 'bar,' as it was called, in which the gold is found. And, as the precious metal has to be obtained by washing, the allotments were measured by thirty feet on the banks of the river and into the dry bed as far as this extends; thus giving each man his allowance of water. Generally three or four combined to possess a 'claim.' Each would then attend to his own department: one loosened the soil, another filled the barrow or cart, a third carried it to the river, and the fourth would wash it in the 'rocker.'