re! The buildings, of stone, wood, and clay, were two and three
stories high, with iron balconies bordering the upper stories. By the
open doors of some of the houses Charley caught glimpses, through the
halls, of charming flowery courts within, where fountains played. The
air was sweet with many scents and the fresh sea breeze. The
narrow-paved street down which Pablo proudly led his procession was
well crowded with animals and men--the latter being of all
nationalities. Spaniards in peaked hats and long velvet cloaks,
Indians and other bare-footed natives, and many foreigners, speaking
English, and clad in white linen, or miners' costume, or even
broadcloth.

As the party threaded their way through the strange gathering, hails
constantly reached them.

"Where you from?"

"Hello, Georgians!"

"Say, you're too late for the _California_."

"You needn't hurry, misters."

"How's the trail?"

"Oh, misters! Got a ticket to San Francisco?"

And so forth, and so forth.

The street opened into a large public square, or plaza, surrounded by
stores and fruit stands, and supplied with benches under the palms and
magnolias. On three sides the streets gave views of the ocean. Many
people were lounging about, but it was no place to stop and rest, for
_this_ party. No, not when the favorite hail said, "You're too late,"
and when, as emphasis, there lay the _California_ with smoking stacks.

"We'd better go right on down to the beach, Grigsby, hadn't we?"
queried Mr. Adams; and he spoke shortly to Pablo, directing him.

So they crossed the plaza (where several tents had been erected by
stranded gold seekers), and took another street which led straight
through a gateway in a crumbling wall to the water.

Panama was built upon a long point, and the ocean washed it on three
sides, bordered by a beautiful sandy beach unbroken by wharves or
piers. Line after line of surf came rolling in, the last line
shattered by the shallows before it reached the shore. Southward were
high mountains, veiled in mist. Far out across the white-flecked blue
rose green islands. Between the islands and the curving shore lay
several ships at anchor--one of them the _California_. Just beyond the
inner line of surf were stationed a regular flotilla of canoes; their
boatmen were lounging about on the beach, alert for passengers, and at
sight of the little procession of travelers filing down they made a
grand rush.

"This way, senors!