water, more like floating hotels, more spacious and
commodious than those on the rougher Atlantic.
When I reached New York, in February 1852, the rush for California still continued, though in a some- what modified form. A little regularity was emerging from the original chaos. The steamship office was not now mobbed the night before the advertised day for selling tickets, nor were sailing vessels despatched daily for Chagres, to empty their passengers into that infectious climate, leaving them to complete their journey as best they might. For this, however, the ship owners were not to blame. So wild had been the excitement, so insane were men to get at this newly discovered gold, that thousands would recklessly take passage on any craft to Chagres, and trust their chances to get from Panamd to San Francisco. This they did knowing the berths on all the steamers were engaged for months to come, and that multitudes were waiting passage, both at New York and Panama ; but as it was every man for himself, each was sure that by some means, natural or supernatural, he would manage to get through. Before this, clamorous crowds used to collect in front of the ticket-office previous to the departure of every steamer, and there remain for days and nights, so as to be ready the mo- ment the door was opened. Sailing vessels were taken from the fishing or freighting service, and fitted up with a temporary deck below, the space between which and the upper deck formed a dormitory and saloon. Round the sides of this between-decks were three or four tiers of open berths, and in the centre piles of luggage, passengers' stores, rough, hanging shelves for tables, and boxes and benches for chairs, there being no such thing as caste among the passen- gers, or cabin, or separate apartments, save the cap- tain's room. And thus, like the boat of Charon, these vessels plied, and ere they landed their prurient
