CHAPTER VIII
JOE'S LUCK CHANGES
The intelligence that his ticket was valueless came to Joe like a thunderbolt from a clear sky. The minute before he was in high spirits—his prospects seemed excellent and his path bright.
"What shall I do?" he ejaculated.
"I can't tell you," said the officer. "One thing is clear—you can't go to California on that ticket."
Poor Joe! For the moment hope was dead within his breast. He had but one dollar left and that was only half the amount necessary to carry him back to the village where we found him at the commencement of our story. Even if he were able to go back, he felt he would be ashamed to report the loss of his money. The fact that he had allowed himself to be swindled mortified him not a little. He would never hear the last of it if he returned to Oakville.
"No; I wouldn't go back if I could," he decided.
"Wouldn't I like to get hold of the man that sold me the ticket!"
He had hardly given mental expression to this wish when it was gratified. The very man passed him and was about to cross the gangplank into the steamer. Joe's eyes flashed, and he sprang forward and seized the man by the arm.
The swindler's countenance changed when he recognized Joe, but he quickly decided upon his course.
"What do you want, Johnny?" he asked composedly.
"What do I want? I want my fifty dollars back."
"I don't know what you are talking about."
"You sold me a bogus ticket for fifty dollars," said Joe stoutly.
"Here it is. Take it back and give me my money."
"The boy must be crazy," said the swindler.
"Did you sell him that ticket?" inquired the officer.
"Never saw him before in my life."
"Ain't you mistaken, boy?" asked the officer.
"No, sir. This is the very man."
"Have you any business here?" asked the officer.
"Yes," said the man; "I've taken a steerage ticket to San Francisco.
Here it is."
"All right. Go in."
He tore himself from Joe's grasp and went on board the steamer. Our hero, provoked, was about to follow him, when the officer said:
"Stand back! You have no ticket."
"That man bought his ticket with my money."
"That is nothing to me," said the officer. "It may be so, or you may be mistaken."
"I am not mistaken," said Joe.
"You can report it to the police—that is, if you think you can prove it. Now, stand back!"
Poor Joe! He had been worsted in the encounter with this arch-swindler. He would sail for San Francisco on the Columbus. Perhaps he would make his fortune there, while Joe, whom he had so swindled, might, within three days, be reduced to beggary.
Joe felt that his confidence in human nature was badly shaken. Injustice and fraud seemed to have the best of it in this world, so far as his experience went, and it really seemed as if dishonesty were the best policy. It is a hard awakening for a trusting boy, when he first comes in contact with selfishness and corruption.
Joe fell back because he was obliged to. He looked around, hoping that he might somewhere see a policeman, for he wanted to punish the scoundrel to whom he owed his unhappiness and loss. But, as frequently happens, when an officer is wanted none is to be seen.
Joe did not leave the wharf. Time was not of much value to him, and he decided that he might as well remain and see the steamer start on which he had fondly hoped to be a passenger.
Meanwhile, the preparations for departure went steadily forward. Trunks arrived and were conveyed on board; passengers, accompanied by their friends, came, and all was hurry and bustle.
Two young men, handsomely dressed and apparently possessed of larger means than the great majority of the passengers, got out of a hack and paused close to where Joe was standing.
"Dick," said one, "I'm really sorry you are not going with me. I shall feel awfully lonely without you."
"I am very much disappointed, Charlie, but duty will keep me at home.
My father's sudden, alarming sickness has broken up all my plans."
"Yes, Dick, of course you can't go."
"If my father should recover, in a few weeks, I will come out and join you, Charlie."
"I hope you may be able to, Dick. By the way, how about your ticket?"
"I shall have to lose it, unless the company will give me another in place of it."
"They ought to do it."
"Yes, but they are rather stiff about it. I would sell it for a hundred dollars."
Joe heard this and his heart beat high.
He pressed forward, and said eagerly:
"Will you sell it to me for that?"
The young man addressed as Dick looked, in surprise, at the poorly dressed boy who had addressed him.
"Do you want to go to California?" he asked.
"Yes, sir," said Joe. "I am very anxious to go."
"Do I understand you to offer a hundred dollars for my ticket?"
"Yes, sir; but I can't pay you now."
"When do you expect to be able to pay me, then?"
"Not till I've earned the money in California."
"Have you thought before of going?"
"Yes, sir. Until an hour ago I thought that it was all arranged that I should go. I came down here and found that the ticket I had bought was a bogus one, and that I had been swindled out of my money."
"That was a mean trick," said Dick Scudder indignantly. "Do you know the man that cheated you?"
"Yes; he is on board the steamer."
"How much money have you got left?"
"A dollar."
"Only a dollar? And you are not afraid to land in California with this sum?"
"No, sir. I shall go to work at once."
"Charlie," said Dick, turning to his friend, "I will do as you say.
Are you willing to take this boy into your stateroom in my place?"
"Yes," said Charles Folsom promptly. "He looks like a good boy. I accept him as my roommate."
"All right," said the other. "My boy, what is your name?"
"Joe Mason."
"Well, Joe, here is my ticket. If you are ever able to pay a hundred dollars for this ticket, you may pay it to my friend, Charles Folsom. Now, I advise you both to be getting aboard, as it is nearly time for the steamer to sail. I won't go on with you, Charlie, as I must go back to my father's bedside."
"Good-by, sir. God bless you!" said Joe gratefully. "Good-by, Joe, and good luck!"
As they went over the plank, the officer, recognizing Joe, said roughly:
"Stand back, boy! Didn't I tell you you couldn't go aboard without a ticket?"
"Here is my ticket," said Joe.
"A first-class ticket!" exclaimed the officer, in amazement. "Where did you get it?"
"I bought it," answered Joe.
"I shall go to California, after all!" thought our hero exultingly.
CHAPTER IX
THE FIRST DAY ON BOARD
"We will look up our stateroom first, Joe," said his new friend. "It ought to be a good one."
The stateroom proved to be No. 16, very well located and spacious for a stateroom. But to Joe it seemed very small for two persons. He was an inexperienced traveler and did not understand that life on board ship is widely different from life on shore. His companion had been to Europe and was used to steamer life.
"I think, Joe," said he, "that I shall put you in the top berth. The lower berth is considered more desirable, but I claim it on the score of age and infirmity."
"You don't look very old, or infirm," said Joe.
"I am twenty-three. And you?"
"Fifteen—nearly sixteen."
"I have a stateroom trunk, which will just slip in under my berth.
Where is your luggage?"
Joe looked embarrassed.
"I don't know but you will feel ashamed of me," he said; "but the only extra clothes I have are tied up in this handkerchief."
Charles Folsom whistled.
"Well," said he, "you are poorly provided. What have you got inside?"
"A couple of shirts, three collars, two handkerchiefs, and a pair of stockings."
"And you are going a journey of thousands of miles! But never mind," he said kindly. "I am not much larger than you, and, if you need it, I can lend you. Once in California, you will have less trouble than if you were loaded down with clothes. I must get you to tell me your story when there is time."
They came on deck just in time to see the steamer swing out of the dock.
There were some of the passengers with sober faces. They had bidden farewell to friends and relatives whom they might not see for years—perhaps never again. They were going to a new country, where hardships undoubtedly awaited them, and where they must take their chances of health and success. Some, too, feared seasickness, a malady justly dreaded by all who have ever felt its prostrating effects. But Joe only felt joyful exhilaration.
"You look happy, Joe," said young Folsom.
"I feel so," said Joe.
"Are you hoping to make your fortune in California?"
"I am hoping to make a living," said Joe.
"Didn't you make a living here at home?"
"A poor living, with no prospects ahead. I didn't mind hard work and poor clothes, if there had been a prospect of something better by and by."
"Tell me your story. Where were you living?" Charles Folsom listened attentively.
"Major Norton didn't appear disposed to pamper you, or bring you up in luxury, that's a fact. It would have been hard lines if, on account of losing your aunt's legacy, you had been compelled to go back to Oakville."
"I wouldn't have gone," said Joe resolutely.
"What would you have done?"
"Stayed in New York, and got a living somehow, even if I had to black boots in the street."
"I guess you'll do. You've got the right spirit. It takes boys and men like you for pioneers."
Joe was gratified at his companion's approval.
"Now," said Folsom, "I may as well tell you my story. I am the son of a New York merchant who is moderately rich. I entered the counting-room at seventeen, and have remained there ever since, with the exception of four months spent in Europe."
"If you are rich already, why do you go out to California?" asked Joe.
"I am not going to the mines; I am going to prospect a little for the firm. Some day San Francisco will be a large city. I am going to see how soon it will pay for our house to establish a branch there."
"I see," said Joe.
"I shall probably go out to the mines and take a general survey of the country; but, as you see, I do not go out to obtain employment."
"It must be jolly not to have to work," said Joe, "but to have plenty of money to pay your expenses."
"Well, I suppose it is convenient. I believe you haven't a large cash surplus?"
"I have a dollar."
"You've got some pluck to travel so far away from home with such a slender capital, by Jove!"
"I don't know that it's pluck. It's necessity."
"Something of both, perhaps. Don't you feel afraid of what may happen?"
"No," said Joe. "California is a new country, and there must be plenty of work. Now, I am willing to work and I don't believe I shall starve."
"That's the way to feel, Joe. At the worst, you have me to fall back upon. I won't see you suffer."
"It is very lucky for me. I hope I shan't give you any trouble."
"If you do, I'll tell you of it," said Folsom, laughing. "The fact is, I feel rather as if I were your guardian. An odd feeling that, as hitherto I have been looked after by others. Now it is my turn to assume authority."
"You will find me obedient," said Joe, smiling. "Seriously, I am so inexperienced in the way of the world that I shall consider it a great favor if you will give me any hints you may think useful to me."
Folsom became more and more pleased with his young charge. He saw that he was manly, amiable, and of good principles, with only one great fault—poverty—which he was quite willing to overlook.
They selected their seats in the saloon, and were fortunate enough to be assigned to the captain's table. Old travelers know that those who sit at this table are likely to fare better than those who are farther removed.
While Folsom was walking the deck with an old friend, whom he had found among the passengers, Joe went on an exploring expedition.
He made his way to that portion of the deck appropriated to the steerage passengers. Among them his eye fell on the man who swindled him.
"You here!" exclaimed the fellow in amazement.
"Yes," said Joe, "I am here."
"I thought you said your ticket wasn't good?"
"It wasn't, as you very well know."
"I don't know anything about it. How did you smuggle yourself aboard?"
"I didn't smuggle myself aboard at all. I came on like the rest of the passengers."
"Why haven't I seen you before?"
"I am not a steerage passenger. I am traveling first-class."
"You don't mean it!" ejaculated the fellow, thoroughly astonished.
"You told me you hadn't any more money."
"So I did, and that shows that you were the man that sold me the bogus ticket."
"Nothing of the kind," said the other, but he seemed taken aback by Joe's charge. "Well, all I can say is, that you know how to get round. When a man or boy can travel first-class without a cent of money, he'll do."
"I wouldn't have come at all if I had had to swindle a poor boy out of his money," said Joe.
Joe walked off without receiving an answer. He took pains to ascertain the name of the man who had defrauded him. He was entered on the passenger-list as Henry Hogan.
CHAPTER X
THE DETECTED THIEF
"Do you expect to be seasick, Joe?"
"I don't know, Mr. Folsom. This is the first time I have ever been at sea."
"I have crossed the Atlantic twice, and been sick each time. I suppose I have a tendency that way."
"How does it feel?" asked Joe curiously.
Folsom laughed.
"It cannot be described," he answered.
"Then I would rather remain ignorant," said Joe.
"You are right. This is a case where ignorance is bliss decidedly."
Twenty-four hours out Folsom's anticipations were realized. He experienced nausea and his head swam.
Returning from a walk on deck, Joe found his guardian lying down in the stateroom.
"Is anything the matter, Mr. Folsom?"
"Nothing but what I expected. The demon of the sea has me in his gripe."
"Can I do anything for you?"
"Nothing at present, Joe. What art can minister to a stomach diseased? I must wait patiently, and it will wear off. Don't you feel any of the symptoms?"
"Oh, no—I feel bully," said Joe. "I've got a capital appetite."
"I hope you will be spared. It would be dismal for both of us to be groaning with seasickness."
"Shall I stay with you?"
"No—go on deck. That is the best way to keep well. My sickness won't last more than a day or two."
The young man's expectations were realized. After forty-eight hours he recovered from his temporary indisposition and reappeared on deck.
He found that his young companion, had made a number of acquaintances, and had become a general favorite through his frank and pleasant manners.
"I think you'll get on, Joe," said he. "You make friends easily."
"I try to do it," said Joe modestly.
"You are fast getting over your country greenness. Of course you couldn't help having a share of it, having never lived outside of a small country village."
"I am glad you think so, Mr. Folsom. I suppose I was very green and I haven't got over it yet, but in six months I hope to get rid of it wholly."
"It won't take six months at the rate you are advancing."
Day succeeded day and Joe was not sick at all. He carried a good appetite to every meal and entered into the pleasures of sea life with zest. He played shuffle-board on deck, guessed daily the ship's run, was on the alert for distant sails, and managed in one way or another to while away the time cheerfully.
They had got into the Gulf of Mexico, when, one day, there was an unwonted commotion in the steerage.
A poor German had lost forty dollars, the entire capital he was carrying with him to the new country.
"Some tief has rob me," he complained, in accents of mingled grief and anger. "He has rob me of all my gold. He has not left me one cent."
"When did you miss the money?" inquired the first officer.
"Just now," said the poor German.
"When did you see it last?"
"Last night when I went to mine bed."
"Did you take off your clothes?"
"No."
"What men sleep near you?"
The German pointed to two. The first was a German.
"But he would not rob me. He is mine friend," he said. "He is Fritz."
"Who is the other man?"
The German pointed to Henry Hogan, the same man who had defrauded Joe.
"The man's a fool," said Hogan. "Does he mean to say a gentleman like me would steal his paltry money?"
"He hasn't said so," said the first officer quietly. "He only said that you slept near him."
"He'd better not accuse me," blustered Hogan.
The officer was a judge of human nature, and Hogan's manner and words made him suspect that he was really the guilty party.
"My man," said he, "you are making a fuss before you are accused. No charge has been made against you. The man's money has been taken, and some one must have taken it."
"I don't believe he ever had any," said Hogan.
"Can you prove that you had the money?" asked the officer, addressing the German. "Has any one on board seen it in your possession?"
An Irishman named Riley came forward.
"That can I do," said he. "It was only yesterday morning that I saw the man counting his money."
"In what denomination was the money?"
Pat Riley scratched his head.
"Sure I didn't know that money belonged to any denomination, sir."
The officer smiled.
"I mean, was it in five, or ten, or twenty dollar pieces."
"There was four tens, sir—four gould eagles."
"Is that right?" inquired the officer, turning to the German.
"Yes, sir, that's what I had."
"Then," said the officer, "it seems clearly proved that our German friend here had the money he claims. Now, I suggest that the two men he has said occupied bunks nearest to him shall be searched. But first, if the man who has taken the money will come forward voluntarily and return the same, I will guarantee that he shall receive no punishment."
He paused for a brief space and looked at Hogan.
Hogan seemed uneasy, but stolid and obstinate.
"Since my offer is not accepted," said the officer, "let the two men be searched."
Fritz, the young German, came forward readily.
"I am ready," he said.
"I am not," said Hogan. "I protest against this outrage. It is an infringement of my rights as an American citizen. If any one dares to lay hands on me, I will have him arrested as soon as we reach California."
His threat produced no effect upon the officer. At a signal two sailors seized him, and, despite his struggles, turned his pockets inside out.
Among the contents were found four gold eagles.
"It is my money!" exclaimed the poor German.
"You lie! The money is mine!" said Hogan furiously.
"There was a cross, which I scratched with a pin, on one piece," said the German. "Look! see if it is there."
Examination was made, and the scratch was found just as he described it.
"The money evidently belongs to the German," said the officer. "Give it to him."
"You are robbing me of my money," said Hogan.
"Look here, my friend, you had better be quiet," said the officer significantly, "or I will have you tied up to keep out of mischief. You are getting off very well as it is. I have no doubt you have been up to other dishonest tricks before this one."
"That is true, sir," said Joe, speaking up for the first time. "This is the same man who sold me a bogus ticket, two days before we sailed, for fifty dollars."
"It's a lie!" said Hogan. "I'll be even with you some time, boy, for that lie of yours."
"I don't care for the threats of such a scoundrel as you are," said Joe undauntedly.
"Look out for him, Joe," said Folsom. "He will try to do you a mischief some time."
He would have been confirmed in his opinion had he observed the glance of hatred with which the detected thief followed his young ward.
CHAPTER XI
JOE ARRIVES IN SAN FRANCISCO
At the isthmus they exchanged steamers, crossing the narrow neck of land on the backs of mules. To-day the journey is more rapidly and comfortably made in a railroad-car. Of the voyage on the Pacific nothing need be said. The weather was fair, and it was uneventful.
It was a beautiful morning in early September when they came in sight of the Golden Gate, and, entering the more placid waters of San Francisco Bay, moored at a short distance from the town.
"What do you think of it, Joe?" asked Charles Folsom.
"I don't know," said Joe slowly. "Is this really San Francisco?"
"It is really San Francisco."
"It doesn't seem to be much built up yet," said Joe.
In fact, the appearance of the town would hardly suggest the stately capital of to-day, which looks out like a queen on the bay and the ocean, and on either side opens her arms to the Eastern and Western continents. It was a town of tents and one-story cabins, irregularly and picturesquely scattered over the hillside, with here and there a sawmill, where now stand some of the most prominent buildings of the modern city. For years later there was a large mound of sand where now the stately Palace Hotel covers two and a half acres. Where now stand substantial business blocks, a quarter of a century since there appeared only sandy beaches or mud-flats, with here and there a wooden pier reaching out into the bay. Only five years before the town contained but seventy-nine buildings—thirty-one frame, twenty-six adobe, and the rest shanties. It had grown largely since then, but even now was only a straggling village, with the air of recent settlement.
"You expected something more, Joe, didn't you?"
"Yes," admitted Joe.
"You must remember how new it is. Ten years, nay, five, will work a great change in this straggling village. We shall probably live to see it a city of a hundred thousand inhabitants."
The passengers were eager to land. They were tired of the long voyage and anxious to get on shore. They wanted to begin making their fortunes.
"What are your plans, Joe?" asked Charles Folsom.
"I shall accept the first job that offers," said Joe. "I can't afford to remain idle long with my small capital."
"Joe," said the young man seriously, "let me increase your capital for you. You can pay me back, you know, when it is convenient. Here, take this gold piece."
Our young hero shook his head.
"Thank you, Mr. Folsom," he said, "you are very kind, but I think it will be better for me to shift on what I have. Then I shall have to go to work at once, and shall get started in my new career."
"Suppose you can't find work?" suggested Folsom.
"I will find it," said Joe resolutely.
"Perhaps we might take lodgings together, Joe."
"I can't afford it," said Joe. "You're a gentleman of property, and I'm a poor boy who has his fortune to make. For the present I must expect to rough it."
"Well, Joe, perhaps you are right. At any rate, I admire your pluck and independent spirit."
There was a motley crowd collected on the pier and on the beach when Joe and his friend landed. Rough, bearded men, in Mexican sombreros and coarse attire—many in shirt-sleeves and with their pantaloons tucked in their boots—watched the new arrivals with interest.
"You needn't feel ashamed of your clothes, Joe," said Folsom, with a smile. "You are better dressed than the majority of those we see."
Joe looked puzzled.
"They don't look as if they had made their fortunes," he said.
"Don't judge by appearances. In a new country people are careless of appearances. Some of these rough fellows, no doubt, have their pockets full of gold."
At this moment a rough-looking fellow stepped forward and said heartily:
"Isn't this Charles Folsom?"
"Yes," answered Folsom, puzzled.
"You don't remember me?" said the other, laughing.
"Not I."
"Not remember Harry Carter, your old chum?"
"Good Heaven!" exclaimed Folsom, surveying anew the rough figure before him. "You don't mean to say you are Harry Carter?"
"The same, at your service."
"What a transformation! Why, you used to be rather a swell and now–"
"Now I look like a barbarian."
"Well, rather," said Folsom, laughing.
"You want me to explain? Such toggery as I used to wear would be the height of folly at the mines."
"I hope you have had good luck," said Folsom.
"Pretty fair," said Carter, in a tone of satisfaction. "My pile has reached five thousand dollars."
"And how long have you been at work?"
"A year. I was a bookkeeper in New York on a salary of fifteen hundred dollars a year. I used to spend all my income—the more fool I—till the last six months, when I laid by enough to bring me out here."
"Then you have really bettered yourself?"
"I should say so. I could only save up five hundred dollars a year at the best in New York. Here I have crowded ten years into one."
"In spite of your large outlay for clothes?"
"I see you will have your joke. Now, what brings you out here? Are you going to the mines?"
"Presently, but not to dig. I came to survey the country."
"Let me do what I can for you."
"I will. First, what hotel shall I go to?"
"There is the Leidesdorff House, on California Street. I'll lead you there."
"Thank you. Will you come, Joe?"
"Yes, I will go to find out where it is."
The three bent their steps to the hotel referred to. It was a shanty compared with the magnificent hotels which now open their portals to strangers, but the charge was ten dollars a day and the fare was of the plainest.
"I guess I won't stop here," said Joe, "My money wouldn't keep me here more than an hour or two."
"At any rate, Joe, you must dine with me," said Folsom. "Then you may start out for yourself."
"You must dine with me, both of you," said Carter.
Folsom saw that he was in earnest, and accepted.
The dinner was plain but abundant, and all three did justice to it. Joe did not know till afterward that the dinner cost five dollars apiece.
After dinner the two friends sat down to talk over old times and mutual friends, but Joe felt that there was no time for him to lose. He had his fortune to make. Still more important, he had his living to make, and in a place where dollars were held as cheap as dimes in New York or Boston.
So, emerging into the street, with his small bundle under his arm, he bent his steps as chance directed.