Larkin and Mr. Hartnell asking to go along, we jumped in and pushed
off. Steering our boat toward the spars, which loomed up above the
fog clear and distinct, in about a mile we came to the black hull
of the strange monster, the long-expected and most welcome steamer
California. Her wheels were barely moving, for her pilot could not
see the shore-line distinctly, though the hills and Point of Pines
could be clearly made out over the fog, and occasionally a glimpse
of some white walls showed where the town lay. A "Jacob's ladder"
was lowered for us from the steamer, and in a minute I scrambled up
on deck, followed by Larkin and Hartnell, and we found ourselves
in the midst of many old friends. There was Canby, the
adjutant-general, who was to take my place; Charley Hoyt, my cousin;
General Persifer F. Smith and wife; Gibbs, his aide-de-camp; Major
Ogden, of the Engineers, and wife; and, indeed, many old
Californians, among them Alfred Robinson, and Frank Ward with his
pretty bride. By the time the ship was fairly at anchor we had
answered a million of questions about gold and the state of the
country; and, learning that the ship was out of fuel, had informed
the captain (Marshall) that there was abundance of pine-wood, but no
willing hands to cut it; that no man could be hired at less than an
ounce of gold a day, unless the soldiers would volunteer to do it
for some agreed-upon price.
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