"All's not Gold that Glitters;" or, The Young Californian

by Alice B. Haven

Upon a painted ocean.”

Life grew almost a blank to those on board, until the certainty of nearing San Francisco, roused once more the feverish excitement with which they had left home.

Sam thought the last night would never end. He walked the deck restlessly, and tried to plan what they were going to do. Colcord he knew had schemes of his own, that Mr. Gilman would be sure to follow. But how were they to get to the mines to begin with? They had no money, no friends to apply to. The day broke over the broad swell of the bay, and lifted the heavy fog that obscured the new city of San Francisco. It was as yet a wilderness of tents and canvas-covered sheds, stretching along the beach without order or regularity. Here they dropped anchor at last, and another eager crowd of adventurers landed on the shores of California.

Mr. Gilman planning the voyage in the bar-room of Mooney’s tavern, or talking it over, by his comfortable fireside, was a very different person from Mr. Gilman landed on the beach at San Francisco, not knowing where to get a breakfast, or the money to pay for it. Colcord too, was more crest-fallen than Sam ever saw him before or afterwards, and condescended to say, “Well, Sammy my boy, what are we going to do first?”

That was the question, for they could not sit on their chests all day and watch the vessels anchored near their own, and Mr. Gilman found, to his dismay, that it would cost twenty dollars even to land his cherished gold rocker. Colcord proposed that they should try to get an advance on it, and for this the two men left Sam to look after their baggage, a very useless precaution as he soon found. The whole shore was strewn with piles of goods far more valuable than a sea chest, and lighters were already coming and going from the different ships, adding to them. Sam strolled off towards one of these, as he thought he made out the ship from which it came. He was not mistaken; the Mermaid had arrived before them, and if the disheartened boy had suddenly been set down at home, he could scarcely have felt happier, than when he saw his Rio acquaintance, John, spring on shore. It was a most fortunate meeting. John had been a Californian three whole weeks, and gave Sam an astonishing account of what was going on in the country. People had to pay fifty dollars a week for board, and poor fare at that, John said; as for the gold-washer, on which so much depended, if they got themselves to the mines they would be fortunate, and nobody wanted to buy machinery on speculation for that reason. John had gone to work already, and advised Sam to do the same. He knew men were wanted to help unload the Mermaid, and other vessels in port, and some of them had ten dollars a day; boys like themselves were earning six and eight. John had not much time to talk. He looked as important as any business man on the New-York Exchange, and bustled around among the sailors and porters, assisting the clerk who had come down to take charge of the Mermaid’s cargo. Fourth of July gave no respite from business here, and but for the national flag flying from every ship, and an occasional ambitious discharge of Chinese crackers, no one seemed to notice it.

Colcord and Mr. Gilman came back, not very amiable towards each other or any one else. Sam had been thinking over his mother’s parting counsel, and came to the conclusion that she was right about work, as well as other things.

“Never be afraid of hard work”—he said to himself. “If one kind of work is not handy, do something else.”—He had come to dig gold, but as far as that was concerned he might as well have been at home. So he thought the next best thing would be to earn it. Sam walked up and down the beach, with hands in both pockets, whistling Hail Columbia, in honor of the day, with an absent air, when the two men came up; but in half an hour from that time he was working away alongside the Mermaid, under John’s orders. Colcord followed his example, when he found it was the only thing to be done, but Mr. Gilman could not forget his pride, or conquer his indolence, until driven to it by a very uncomfortable night on the beach. Even the shelter of a canvas tent had to be paid for. He did more real hard work, that one week in San Francisco, than he had on the farm in six years.

Sam now began to be of some consequence in the partnership, and felt his importance, as might be supposed. He contributed almost as much as either of the others to the common stock, when they came to purchase their tools and provisions for the mines.

Mr. Gilman insisted on taking the gold-washer, until the very last moment, although after he succeeded in getting it landed, it was said to be useless by people coming from the diggings. No one would make him the smallest offer for it, and finding at last that it would be impossible to get it carried across the country from the Sacramento, he left it reluctantly on the beach at San Francisco, the twenty dollars—two days’ hard work!—paid for landing, added to the original cost.

Sam was very glad to bid good-bye to San Francisco, and find himself actually on his way to the mines. He had seen very little of it, except at night, when the eating houses and gambling saloons were like so many great transparencies, as the light struck through the canvas roofs and sides. There were no other places of amusement, no churches, no public buildings to visit. Men worked and speculated all day, and managed to spend at night almost as much money as they had made. They had no homes, no family circles, scarcely a tie to life; no wonder that half of them grew reckless. Sam was not old enough either in years or in the world to comprehend these things, and he longed for new adventures. He gave a last look to the old Swiftsure, rocking in the bay, without any other feeling of regret than a fear he should never see Jackson, his sailor friend, again. Jackson thought they might “run alongside” in China or Calcutta yet, but Sam did not think it was very likely his travels would ever extend so far. John said he might possibly “take a run up to the mines before the rainy season set in,”—for California boys talk very independently, and it was John’s great ambition to be considered grown up. He patronized Sam extensively, the last few days, and slapped him on the shoulder with a “good-bye old boy—take care of yourself”—as the little party embarked on the sloop in which they had engaged passage to Sacramento.