like sign-posts! It was a queer water-front--and what a
swarm of people it exhibited!

From the _Mary Ann_ Sacramento looked even busier than San Francisco.
It was better laid out, too, for the streets were regular and straight.

"Four houses and fifty people three months ago; 5,000 people now and
houses going up so fast you can't count 'em," said the red-faced
captain, as in obedience to his orders the mate dropped the schooner's
boats. "Wish I'd bought some lots here when they were offered to
me--three for a thousand apiece."

"What are they worth now?" asked Charley, breathless.

"Well, sonny, a lot twenty feet wide is selling for $2,300." And the
captain turned away.

The passengers were piling ashore; some would not wait for a boat; the
_Mary Ann_ had swung close to the bank, and they made running jumps
from the rail, to land sprawling in the shallows or to plump out of
sight and swim. When the Adams party finally stepped from the skiff to
the levee (which was called _embarcadero_, of course) they were fairly
deafened by a multitude of cries from citizens who insisted upon their
buying lots. But Mr. Grigsby sighted a stout, ruddy-faced man; and
exclaiming: "There's Captain Sutter!" made for him.

He and the captain shook hands heartily, and Mr. Grigsby brought his
friend over to the rest of the party.

"Captain Sutter, gentlemen," introduced the Fremonter (and Charley felt
quite like a man, to be included in "gentlemen"). "The first American
settler in California, and the friend of all the other Americans who
came after. You've heard of Sutter's Fort. He was the boss."

Captain Sutter was a short, stoutly built man, with crisp mustache and
goatee, and a military way. His complexion was florid, his eyes very
blue, and his forehead so high that probably he was bald. He looked to
be German (though really he was Swiss), and he spoke with a German
accent. His manner was very courtly, as he bowed and shook hands.

"Yes, of Sutter's Fort--but where is that now?" he said. "These gold
seekers, they run over it; they leave me nothing. They have no rights
of land to respect. Ach, what is the country coming to? All here was
mine, once. See, now! Somebody put up a city, on this _embarcadero_
where I landed my supplies for my fort. My saw-mill is a hotel--the
City Hotel--and for it and the land it is on somebody gets $30,000 per
year, they tell me. Nobody work for me any more; even my Indians go to