"Labor's too high to make money. Why, the
common laborers who were satisfied with a dollar a day, now ask ten, and
mechanics twenty. Even the Indians and the immigrants learn at once the
crazy price of service."
"San Francisco. Port o' Gold!" apostrophized the Mormon gaily. He went
on his way with a friendly wave of the hand. His steps were bent toward
Alcalde Hyde's headquarters. Hyde had made many enemies by his set,
opinionated ways. There was talk of putting Rev. Thaddeus Leavenworth in
his place. But Brannan was by no means certain this would solve the
problem. He missed Leidesdorff sadly. The latter's sudden death had left
a serious hiatus. He was used to talking problems over with the genial,
hospitable Dane, whose counsel was always placid, well considered.
Congress had failed to provide a government for California. San
Francisco grumbled; more than all other towns she needed law.
Stevenson's regiment had been disbanded; its many irresponsibles, held
previously in check by military discipline, now indulged their bent for
lawlessness, unstinted. Everything was confusion. Gold-dust was the
legal tender, but its value was unfixed. The government accepted it at
$10 per ounce, with the privilege of redemption in coin.
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