CHAPTER XIV

THE AUCTION ON THE BEACH

It was the morning of July 20. Fog drifts rode the bay like huge white swans, shrouding the Island of Alcatraz with a rise and fall of impalpable wings and casting many a whilom plume over the tents and adobe houses nestling between sandhills and scrub-oaks in the cove of San Francisco.

Robert and Benito Windham, on the hill above Clark's Point, looked down toward the beach, where a crowd was gathering for the auction of tidewater lots. The Windhams, since their dispossession by McTurpin, had been guests of hospitable Juana Briones. Through the Alcalde's order they had secured their personal effects. But the former gambler still held right and title to the Windham acres. Adrian Stanley made his home at the City Hotel and had been occupied with an impromptu school where some four score children and half a dozen illiterates were daily taught the mysteries of the "Three Rs."

"Adrian has determined to buy some of these mud-lots," said Windham to his son. "He believes some day they will be valuable and that he will make his fortune." He sighed. "I fear my son-to-be is something of a visionary."

Benito gave his father a quick, almost furtive glance. "Do not condemn him for that," he said, with a hint of reproach. "Adrian is far-sighted, yes; but not a dreamer."

"What can he do with a square of bog that is covered half of the time by water?" asked Windham.

"Ah," Benito said, "we've talked that over, Adrian and I. Adrian has a plan of reclamation. An engineering project for leveling sandhills by contract and using the waste to cover his land. He has already arranged for ox-teams and wagons. It is perfectly feasible, my father."

Robert Windham smiled at the other's enthusiasm. "Perhaps you are right," he said. "God grant it--and justify your faith in that huddle of huts below."

Below them a man had mounted an improvised platform. He was waving his arms, haranguing an ever-growing audience. Benito stirred uneasily. "I must go," he said. "I promised Adrian to join him."

"Very well," returned his father. He watched the slight and supple figure riding down the slope.

Slowly he made his way back to the Rancho Briones. His wife met him at the gate.

"Juana and Inez have gone to the sale," she announced. "Shall we join them in the pueblo later on?"

"Nay, Anita," he said, "unless you wish it.... I have no faith in mire."

She looked up at him anxiously. "Roberto! I grieve to hear it. They--" she checked herself.

"They--what, my love?" he asked curiously.

"They have gone to buy," said Anita. "Juana has great faith. She has considerable money. And Inez has taken her jewels--even a few of mine. The Senor O'Farrell whispered to her at the ball that the lots would sell for little and their value would increase immensely."

"So, that is why Benito has his silver-mounted harness," Windham spoke half to himself. He smiled a little ruefully. "You are all gamblers, dreamers.... You dear ones of Spanish heritage."

* * * * *

On the beach a strangely varied human herd pressed close around a platform upon which stood Samuel Brannan and Alcalde Hyde. The former had promised to act as auctioneer and looked over a sheaf of notes while Hyde in his dry, precise and positive tone read the details of the forthcoming sale. It would last three days, Hyde informed his hearers, and 450 lots would be sold. North of the broad street paralleling the Mission Camino lots were sixteen and a half varas wide and fifty varas deep. All were between the limits of low and high water mark.

"What's a vara?" shouted a new arrival.

"A Spanish yard," explained Hyde, "about thirty-three and a third inches of English measure. Gentlemen, you are required to fence your lots and build a house within a year. The fees for recording and deed will be $3.62, and the terms of payment are a fourth down, the balance in equal payments during a period of eighteen months."

"How about the lots that lie south?" cried a voice.

"They are one hundred varas square, same terms, same fees," replied Hyde. He stepped down and Brannan began his address.

"The site of San Francisco is known to all navigators and mercantile men to be the most commanding commercial position on the entire eastern coast of the Pacific Ocean," he shouted, quoting from former Alcalde Bryant's announcement of three months previous. "The town itself is destined to become the commercial emporium of western America."

"Bravo!" supplemented the Dona Briones, waving her fan. She was the center of a little group composed of Benito and Inez Windham, Adrian Stanley and Nathan Spear. Near them, keeping out of their observance, stood Aleck McTurpin.

"The property offered for sale is the most valuable in or belonging to the town," Brannan went on, enthusiastically; "it will require work to make it tenable. You'll have to wrest it from the waves, gentlemen ... and ladies," he bowed to Juana and her companion, "but, take my word for it--and I've never deceived you--everyone who buys will bless my memory half a dozen years from now...."

"Why don't ye get in yerself and practice what ye preach?" cried a scoffing sailor.

Brannan looked him up and down. "Because I'm trying to serve the commonwealth--which is more than a drunken deserter from his ship can claim," he shot back hotly, "but I'm going to buy my share, never fear. Bill Leidesdorff's my agent. He has $5,000 and my power of attorney. That's fair enough, isn't it boys? Or, shall we let the sailor act as auctioneer?"

"No! No!" a dozen cried. "'Rah for Sam. Go on! You're doin' fine!"

"Thank you," Brannan acknowledged. "Who's to make the first bid? Speak up, now, don't be bashful."

"Twenty-five dollars," called Juana Briones.

"Thirty," said a voice behind her, a voice that caused young Windham and his sister to start, involuntarily. "McTurpin," whispered Inez to Adrian.

"Thirty-five," spoke Juana, imperturbably.

"Forty."

Brannan looked straight into McTurpin's eyes. "Sold to Juana Briones for thirty-five dollars," he said, as his improvised gavel fell on the table before him.

"I bid forty!" stormed McTurpin. All eyes turned to him. But Brannan paid him no attention. Someone laughed.

"Next! Who bids?" invited the auctioneer.

"Twenty-five," began Benito.

This time there were other bidders, all of whom Brannan recognized courteously and promptly. Finally, Benito's bid of fifty seemed to win. Then McTurpin shouted, "Fifty-five!"

Brannan waited for a moment. There were no more bids. "Sold to Benito Windham for fifty dollars," he announced.

"Curse you!" cried the gambler, pushing forward, "you heard me bid higher, Sam Brannan!"

Into his path stepped the tall figure of Robert Windham. "We are not taking bids from convicts," he said, loudly and distinctly.

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