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  GOLD

  CHAPTER I

  OH, SUSANNAH!

  Somewhere in this book I must write a paragraph exclusively aboutmyself. The fact that in the outcome of all these stirring events I haveended as a mere bookkeeper is perhaps a good reason why one paragraphwill be enough. In my youth I had dreams a-plenty; but the event and thepeculiar twist of my own temperament prevented their fulfilment. Perhapsin a more squeamish age--and yet that is not fair, either, to the menwhose destinies I am trying to record. Suffice it then that of these menI have been the friend and companion, of these occasions I have been apart, and that the very lacks and reservations of my own character thathave kept me to a subordinate position and a little garden have probablymade me the better spectator. Which is a longer paragraph about myselfthan I had purposed writing.

  Therefore I will pass over briefly the various reasons, romantic andpractical, why I decided to join the gold rush to California in the year1849. It was in the air; and I was then of a romantic and adventurousdisposition.

  The first news of the gold discovery filtered to us in a roundabout waythrough vessels to the Sandwich Islands, and then appeared again in thecolumns of some Baltimore paper. Everybody laughed at the rumour; buteverybody remembered it. The land was infinitely remote; and then, asnow, romance increases as the square of the distance. There might wellbe gold there; but more authentic were the reports of fleas, rawhides,and a dried-up coast. Minstrel shows made a good deal of fun of it all,I remember. Then, when we were of a broad grin, came the publication ofthe letter written by Governor Mason to the War Department. That was asober official document, and had to be believed, but it read like afairy tale.

  "I have no hesitation in saying," wrote the governor, "that there ismore gold in the country drained by the Sacramento and San Joaquinrivers than would pay the costs of the late war with Mexico a hundredtimes over." And he then went on to report in detail big nuggets and bigwashings, mentioning men, places, dates, in a circumstantial manner thatcarried conviction.

  Our broad grins faded. The minstrels' jokes changed colour. As I lookback, it seems to me that I can almost see with the physical eye thebroad restless upheaval beneath the surface of all society. The Mexicanwar was just over, and the veterans--young veterans all--filled with thespirit of adventure turned eagerly toward this glittering new emprise.Out in the small villages, on the small farms, the news was talked overseriously, almost without excitement, as offering a possible means oflifting the burden war had laid. Families strained their resources,mortgaged their possessions, to equip and send their single strongestmembers to make the common fortune.

  Then came the song that caught the popular ear; and the rush was on.Most great movements are done to song, generally commonplace. It was soin this instance. _Oh, Susannah!_ or rather a modification of theoriginal made to fit the occasion, first sung in some minstrel show, ranlike fire in the tinder of men's excited hopes. From every stage, onevery street corner, in every restaurant and hotel it was sung, played,and whistled. At the sound of its first notes the audience always sprangto its feet and cheered like mad.

  The desire to go to El Dorado was universal, and almost irresistible.The ability to go was much more circumscribed. For one thing, it cost agood deal of money; and that was where _I_ bogged down at the firstpull. Then I suppose a majority did have ties of family, business orother responsibilities impossible to shake off. However, we all joinedone or more of the various clubs formed for the purpose of getting atleast some of their members to California; and discussed heatedly themerits of the different routes; and went into minute and fascinatingdetails as to processes of which we knew less than nothing; and sang_Oh, Susannah_! and talked ourselves into a glorified fever ofexcitement; and went home with our heads in the clouds. Once in a greatwhile some of these clubs came to something--as a body I mean; forindividual members were constantly working themselves up the summit ofresolution to rush headlong and regardless down the other side and outof our sight. When a man had reached a certain pitch of excitement heran amuck. He sold anything, deserted anything, broke through anythingin the way of family, responsibility, or financial lacks in order to go.But, as I say, occasionally one of these clubs pooled its individualresources and bought some old tub of a whaler, or outfitted a wagontrain, and started off. But generally we got only as far as _Oh,Susannah!_ I remember once, in coming out from one of our meetings,finding myself next a solemn and earnest youth originally from my ownrural village. He walked by my side for several squares lost in a brownstudy. Then suddenly he looked up.

  "Frank," said he with conviction, "I believe I'll go. I know most ofthis talk is wildly exaggerated, but I'm sensible enough to discount allthat sort of thing and to disbelieve absurd stories. I shan't go withthe slightest notion of finding the thing true, but will be satisfied ifI do reasonably well. In fact, if I don't pick up more than a hatful ofgold a day, I shall be perfectly satisfied."

  Which remark sufficiently indicates about where we all were!