The streets were teeming streams of faces, noise and commotion: different languages, shouting, street vendors hawking, whistles, music from voices and instruments, shouts of anger and bursts of laughter, the barking of dogs, the shrill calls of exotic birds, the mouthwatering scents of cooking from dozens of different cultures around the country and the globe, the stench of gutters overflowing, the honeyed voices of women from windows above the crowds urging clients to come up to call. One word had turned San Francisco from another sleepy port town to a boomtown with hundreds of newcomers arriving daily—gold. Whole crews were jumping ship as soon as they docked at Clark’s Point. Overnight, hotels, general stores, saloons and whorehouses all sprung up due to demand. Malachi Bick walked through the teeming throngs, smiling in wonder. The crowd seemed to naturally part for him. Despite the grim reason for his visit to this blooming Bay City, he couldn’t help but marvel at the life, the energy, teeming here.
