Gold Seekers of '49Sabin, Edwin L. (Edwin Legrand)
General
Gold Seekers of '49
Sabin, Edwin L. (Edwin Legrand)
California -- Fiction; Gold mines and mining -- Fiction
He plainly enough was somebody not afraid to speak his mind; and since
they were getting the worst of the argument the three scallawags quit
complaining.
"We'll have to hustle to find lodging here," spoke Mr. Adams, rather
dubiously surveying the crowd and the huts.
And indeed the outlook was not promising. The village was small and
dirty, squatting here amidst bananas and palms and sugar-cane, its
people the same kind as at Chagres. (To-day the surface of the great
Gatun Lake, formed by the famous Gatun dam which has blocked the course
of the Chagres River in order to obtain water for the big canal, covers
old Gatun village--and other villages besides.)
There seemed to be enough gold seekers here, now, to fill every hut to
overflowing. But Maria (who appeared to have taken a fancy to his
party) came pattering back from an errand, and beckoned to Mr. Adams.
"It looks as though Maria had found something for us," said Charley's
father, as they followed Maria.
Maria led them beyond the village, and behind a screen of banana trees,
to a little hut crouched there cosily. The owner of the hut, and his
wife, stood in the doorway.
They wore a long, clean cotton shirt apiece. Half a dozen children who
wore nothing at all were peeping out from behind their parents' skirts.
The man and woman bowed grandly, and Maria spoke in Spanish.
"The house is ours, he says," informed Charley's father. "Good! Now
how about something to eat, I wonder?"
That was soon answered. When they filed through the doorway, to
inspect, here was a cane table set with supper--fried eggs, fried
bread-fruit, also real bread, baked bananas, sweet potatoes, beef dried
in strips, black coffee--and in the middle of the table a baked
something that looked exactly like a baked baby!
"Oh!" cried Charley, startled. "What's that?"
"A baked monkey, 'pon my word!" exclaimed his father. "Well, that's
more than I can go."
"I'm no cannibal, myself," quoth Mr. Grigsby. "Fact is, I'd rather eat
outside."
"No, I'll have them take it away," opposed Mr. Adams; and amidst
laughter the baked monkey was removed.
They sat on the earthen floor and ate. Things tasted mighty good. The
huts had no windows, and a dirt floor. A woven grass hammock swung
from the poles, and a number of cowhides were laid like a couch. Maria
said something about "muchacho" (which Charley knew was Spanish for
boy) and pointed to the hammock.
"That's yours," translated Charley's father, to Charley. "We men sleep
on those hides, I suppose."
While eating, Charley began to prickle, and shrugging his shoulders
politely scratched. His partners were doing the same, and Mr. Grigsby
laughed.
"Fleas!" he grunted. "That's all. Got to expect them. Otherwise
we're lucky."
Fleas? There were millions of them! They hopped even over the food;
but Charley was so hungry that he couldn't stop for that. He scratched
and ate.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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