ng for the levee.
However, the Forty-niners aboard her had not much thought for the looks
of the city; their minds were more upon whether the _Georgia_ had
arrived, and how soon they could get aboard her, for the Isthmus and
California gold fields.

In the excitement of bustling ashore Charley forgot all about the
long-nosed man, who disappeared with the other scattering passengers.

"Where's the dock of the Isthmus steamers?" queried Mr. Adams, of a
lounger, as he and Charley landed, the roll of bedding on Mr. Adams's
shoulder.

"Eet is still down the river, m'sieur," answered the man--who was a
young French creole. "M'sieur would better ride than walk."

"All right. Thank you," and Mr. Adams hailed an odd carriage, drawn by
one horse between a of long curved shafts. They piled in.

"To the Isthmus dock," ordered Mr. Adams.

"You want to catch the _Georgia_?" asked the driver,

"We do."

"She's about coming in. They're looking for her."

"Will I have time to get our tickets?"

"Plenty. She'll lie over till morning."

"All right. Go ahead."

[Illustration: From New Orleans to San Francisco, 1849. The Charley
Adams party started from St. Louis. The majority of the people took
ship at New York, and their boats picked up more passengers at New
Orleans]

The driver flung out his lash, and away they whirled, down a rough
street, along the river.

The dock bore a large sign, which said: "Steamers for the Isthmus and
California." There was an enormous pile of baggage and a crowd of
people, of all kinds, waiting. But the _Georgia_ had not come in yet.
Mr. Adams left Charley there to watch their baggage and was driven away
in haste to get their tickets.

Suddenly a cry arose: "There she comes! That's she!" Down the broad
river--never so broad as here--welled a cloud of black smoke, and a big
steamer surged into view. _What_ a big thing she was! She could carry
two or three _Robert Burnses_. She was a side-wheeler, of course, but
her paddle boxes stood as high as houses. Across her pilot house was a
gilt sign reading "Georgia"--and on her paddle box, as she swung
around, appeared another "Georgia," in large black letters.

Charley gazed in dismay, for every inch of her seemed occupied by
passengers. The upper deck and middle deck and lower deck appeared
full of figures, with heads craning to gaze.

"That's the boat," quoth a voice at Charley's elbow. He turned and
found the Fremont man by