On every road a hegira of the gold-mad swept northward, many afoot, with heavy burdens, the more fortunate with horses and pack animals. Men, old, young, richly dressed and ragged--men of all conditions, races, nations.
The end of May, in 1848, found San Francisco a manless Eden. Stanley, struggling with a few elderly Indians and squaws to carry on his work, bemoaned the madcap folly bitterly.
Samuel Brannan rode through the streets, holding a pint flask of gold-dust in one hand ... and whooping like a madman: "Gold! Gold! Gold! From the American River!"
But Benito, with shining eyes, rode on to what seemed Destiny and Fortune. Ward & Smith's little shop lay far behind him. Even his sister and her busy husband. Before him beckoned Gold! The lure, adventure, danger of it, like a smiling woman. And his spirit stretched forth longing arms.
CHAPTER XVII
THE QUEST OF FORTUNE
By the end of June more than half of San Francisco's population had departed for the mines. They went by varied routes, mostly on horseback. Rowboats, which a month ago had sold for $50, were now bringing ten times that sum, for many took the river route to the gold fields. Others toiled their way through the hills and the Livermore Valley. The ferry across Carquinez Straits at Benicia, was thronged to the danger of sinking.