by John Jakes
“Thank you anyway, Miz Kent. I’m not hungry or thirsty.”
Amanda nodded, addressed the partners. “To business, gentlemen. I came here principally because my cousin has a son in Virginia. I’ll probably be going to visit him soon—”
“You wish for Joseph and me to buy out your cousin’s interest?” Pelham broke in.
“No, I don’t. I intend to take over Jared’s third.”
Pelham frowned. “Absentee ownership is not too practical. Every partner must share in the work—”
She turned her head toward Israel, who was standing near the table. Despite the condition of his legs, his posture was erect. Amanda suspected that was probably for Nichols’ benefit. She knew what the effort must be costing the mulatto.
“Israel has agreed to act as my representative,” she said.
Joseph Nichols scratched his nose. “Well now, ma’am, I ought to caution you about one thing. Nigras don’t receive a very cordial reception in the diggings—”
“Do they anywhere?” Israel asked. Nichols looked flustered.
“Mr. Nichols,” Amanda said, “my cousin told me you’re from Georgia—”
“That’s true.”
“Do you object to working with a man of color? As an equal?”
After a moment Nichols replied, “I can’t pretend I’ve ever done it before. On the other hand, the Nichols family doesn’t support the idea that slavery is an immutable institution, or even a good thing. Not all southerners do, you know. Too much fuss about cotton at the expense of everything else has caused the south to lag badly in manufacturing—”
“I should clear up one point,” Amanda interrupted. “Israel is a free man. He’ll return in a few weeks and work as hard as either of you. For that, he’ll be paid a percentage of my cousin’s share.”
“Joseph—” Pelham confronted his partner. “Can you accept a colored man?”
Amanda shook her head. “There’s no question of acceptance. I’m asking how Israel will be treated by—”
“Please, Miz Kent,” the mulatto broke in. “Let him answer. If this is to be a going operation—”
Piqued, Nichols said, “It is a going operation.”
“All right,” Israel replied calmly. “Then if it’s to continue as one, we have to be honest about how we feel toward each other. I’ll do my portion of the hard labor—that I promise. But I won’t sleep outside, or take my meals anywhere but right here.”
Nichols reddened again. “I must say you’re mighty assertive for a nigra—”
“You’ll get used to it.”
“Freedom is the law in California,” Amanda said. “I assume you know the new government down in Monterey adopted an antislavery clause in the state constitution?”
“Yes,” Pelham said, “though we were frankly too busy to vote on the constitution. Not that I could, of course—I’m still a citizen of Her Majesty’s country. But I do think it’s remarkable that California declared itself a state before your federal union did so—”
“The question remains,” Amanda said, “will Israel be welcome, or are you going to cause problems for him? If you are, you’ll have problems with me.”
Unsmiling, Francis Pelham answered, “Based on Armbruster’s fate, Mrs. Kent, I would take that for granted. The decision is really Joseph’s.”
Nichols scratched his armpit. Shook his head, rose and walked to the coffeepot. Painfully conscious of everyone watching, he poured a cup. Then, slowly, he walked back to Israel.
“It’ll take some effort, but I guess I can get used to it.” Abruptly, he thrust the cup forward. “You sure you’re not thirsty?”
With a grave smile, Israel said, “I believe I am now.”
“Then here—help yourself.”
Israel took the cup. “Thank you, Mr. Nichols.”
“You all have any name besides Israel?”
“I don’t,” the mulatto admitted. “Some slaves adopted the last names of their masters but I refused.”
Nichols looked startled. “You a runaway?”
“Many years ago. I was born on a plantation. My papa was a white man. My mama never told me his name.
She hated him, I guess. I ran away first chance I got. Is any of that important?”
“No, I ’spose it isn’t—”
“Definitely not,” Pelham said. “We’ve no time to dwell on past history—we’re too bloody busy. It requires four men to work a claim efficiently, you know. Two must dig. A third must alternately shovel the dirt into the hopper of the cradle you saw outside, and pour in water. The fourth man rocks the cradle to filter the dust and flakes down the chute. The gold is caught behind the chute’s transverse riffles, while the water and mud wash on—”
Israel nodded. “I’m familiar with placer mining, Mr. Pelham.”
“Ah, but Joseph and I don’t want to limit ourselves to placer mining.” He began to speak with more animation, waving his cup as he paced back and forth. Amanda decided she liked the cut of Jared’s partners. Israel too was interested in what the Britisher had to say.
“We’re drawing a fine profit out of the claim now. We can do better if we can ever hire a dependable helper.”
“Better than a thousand a day?” Amanda asked.
“In my opinion, yes.”
Nichols said, “I heard Chinee boys are showing up in some of the camps, Francis. Hard workers. Maybe we’d have better luck with one of them—”
“And I wouldn’t feel so outnumbered,” Israel said. Nichols actually chuckled.
“A possibility,” Pelham agreed. “My point is this, Mrs. Kent. If there is abundant gold in and along the rivers of California, it follows that it must wash down from somewhere. The Mexicans are undoubtedly correct when they speak about a veta madre.”
“A mother vein?”
“The boys around here call it mother lode,” Nichols told her.
“Go on, Mr. Pelham.”
“Men are already striking off for the slopes of the Sierras. The land’s for the taking—no one’s quite thrashed out the laws of ownership as yet. Separating gold from the quartz rock will require heavier equipment, however—”
“You’ve studied the subject, haven’t you, Mr. Pelham?”
“I have. I did not leave my relatives—the city where I was born—and the pittance I earned in the drapery shop in order to enjoy a holiday in America. I came here for a purpose.”
“Excellent.”
“As soon as Joseph and I—”
“And Israel,” she said.
“Quite so. As soon as we can lay up sufficient funds and hire trustworthy chaps to work this claim under the supervision of one of us, the other two will go to the mountains. As you undoubtedly know, the size of claims is settled by the common consent of those who arrive first. It’s my plan to locate a promising site no one’s discovered, and set the limits to suit ourselves.” Pelham smiled. “Naturally we’ll require your approval of such a venture, Mrs. Kent. But I gather from your remark of a few moments ago, you would not be averse to a speculative expedition—?”
“I wouldn’t. If there’s more money to be made, I insist you go.”
“Capital!”
“The one thing we aren’t going to do,” Nichols declared, “is squander gold from here or the mountains on alcohol, games of chance and traveling prosti—fast women,” he amended, beet-colored. “Like Francis, my home’s a long way off—and not worth going back to, either. A big combine from Atlanta put up a general store four times the size of the mine and just half a mile away. Drove me out of business. I suffered the miseries of the damned on the Overland Trail. I dosed myself with gunpowder and Dr. Zoril’s cure-all medicine and wore one of those blasted asafetida bags to prevent the cholera. Until I got used to the stinking alkali water, I thought a chamber pot would be my life’s companion. We never saw an Indian—not one—but I was always scared of being murdered by some fool handling a gun without knowing how. One man in our train thought he heard an Indian whoop, jerked his rifle out of the wago
n barrel first and shot himself to death. Why, there were guns popping day and night!”
“I’ve heard the overland route is trying,” Amanda said.
“Disillusioning would be more like it. I had to throw out most of the heavy goods I freighted from Georgia to Missouri with the last of my savings. I dumped a Franklin stove, a pile of furniture—anyone can find California just by following the trail of abandoned bedroom suites! But I got here, by heaven. I carved my name on Independence Rock, crossed the mountain ranges and even survived the stench of the rotting carcasses of horses and mules that collapsed in the Humboldt Sink. After all I went through, I’m not going to behave like that stupid Armbruster, throwing his dust away as fast as we paid him. I don’t mind telling you we had some fierce conbobberations concerning his errant ways—”
“Conbobberations?” Amanda repeated.
Amused, Pelham said, “Arguments. If it’s English they speak in this part of America, they’re jolly well inventing it more quickly than I can learn it. However, Joseph addresses a valid point. I’ve observed that those who strike it rich, as the saying goes, need more than a spot of luck. Success requires ample perspiration and a diligent, scientific approach. We can control those two factors. If we also have luck when we move to the higher elevations, we could all be exceedingly wealthy. At very least, this claim alone should keep us comfortable for a long time.”
“Comfortable isn’t good enough, Mr. Pelham. I prefer rich.”
He saluted her with his cup. “We shall do our best to shower you with gold, dear lady.”
“My cousin’s son is a preacher. I don’t think he’ll have much use for it. But I do, believe me.”
At that, Israel stared down into his cup, visibly unhappy.
v
Amanda stood up. “Do they serve dinners at that so-called hotel on the main street?”
“The Bear Flag?” Nichols said. “You bet—pretty good ones.”
“Outrageously overpriced, though,” Pelham added.
“I’ll pay the bill, so let’s not worry about price. Since I have to be there for court at five, we might as well go up to the hotel now. We can eat and discuss more of the details of this—”
She noticed Nichols studying his muddied boots.
“You’re not hungry, Mr. Nichols?”
“Ma’am”—a quick glance at Israel—“please, now, don’t anyone be insulted, but the Bear Flag has a policy—that is—” Scarlet again, he stopped.
“Joseph means they don’t serve persons of color,” Pelham said quietly.
Weary as she was, Amanda still spoke firmly. “I think they’ll suspend their policy”—she moved her right hand to the butt of her holstered revolver—“just about as quickly as that jury of miners will clear me when I tell my story.”
“God save me”—Pelham grinned—“you are a determined woman.”
“Miz Kent usually gets whatever she goes after,” Israel said. A second later he added, “Sometimes that can be downright harmful to a person.”
He didn’t mean the remark as a joke. Amanda knew she should call him down for it. With Nichols present, she concealed her anger and didn’t.
That Israel spoke the truth was a risk she’d already accepted.
Chapter VI
The Parting
i
CAPTAIN BARTON MCGILL HAULED BACK his right foot and kicked the rock he’d stumbled over. “Son of a bitch!”
The rock went skittering down the path that led to the top of the semaphore hill. A few steps above him, Amanda waited, her face hidden by her bonnet.
“My,” she said as he joined her, “you’re in a fierce temper.”
“Are you surprised? I go away for three and a half months”—he linked her arm in his; they resumed their climb toward the ramshackle house and the wooden signal tower perched on the hilltop—“and when I come back, nothing’s the same. I waited two hours for the lighter from shore!”
“You just made the mistake of anchoring on the day the mail boat arrived, Bart.”
“Ship,” he grumped. “Mail ship.”
A fragrant cigar clenched between his fingers streamed smoke into the clear air of early evening. For February, the weather was unusually warm and beautiful. He took a puff of the cigar, asked, “How often are they sending that steam monstrosity out here?”
“Twice a month.”
“Never seen such crowds! Kicking, punching each other—must have been a couple of thousand people in those lines at the post office.”
“You can turn a nice profit if you get a place at the front of a line. You call sell it to someone else for twenty-five, sometimes fifty dollars.”
They circled the side of the hill about fifty feet from the summit. On the front porch of the house, the elderly man who raised the arms on the semaphore tower to signal when a ship was sighted sat rocking slowly. A paper in his lap snapped in the wind.
Bart’s gray eyes searched the soft gold sky, then the shadowed hills across the channel to the north. He didn’t want to look behind him. He didn’t care to be reminded of what he’d seen when he stepped on shore: masses of people; pack animals and every sort of wheeled conveyance; new buildings of raw pine or red brick—the only word for it was chaos.
What pained him most were all the abandoned ships in the harbor. It was unconscionable that worthy vessels should be left to rot. Their crews had succumbed to the lure of the diggings. Bart’s own officers were standing armed guard on the Manifest Destiny. He’d threatened to whip and chain any man who attempted to jump ship.
The changes in San Francisco were only part of what troubled him, though. Certain changes in Amanda’s situation—and in his own state of mind—were equally responsible.
Feeling dour, he was sharp with her. “That all you can think about these days? Profit?”
She wheeled to face him, her dark eyes catching the western light. He marveled at how lovely she was. She possessed a beauty no girl of sixteen or seventeen could hope to match. She was assured, not gawky, calm-spoken but purposeful. Secretly, he admired her strength, though he wouldn’t have admitted it. Her strength was one reason he feared he’d lose her—
He realized he was extremely nervous. He had been worrying about this moment ever since the harrowing passage through the Strait of Magellan. For a time, he’d thought Manifest Destiny was going to founder and break apart in the violent winds and towering seas.
They’d run against the gale six days and six nights. Even now he could hear the roar of the waves smashing over the bows, feel the bite of the ropes that held him lashed to the helm.
He’d fought the storm as if it were a human enemy, dogged by a conviction that his luck had played out, and he’d never reach San Francisco. But he refused to give up. Finally, the clipper escaped the worst of the weather.
Although he’d already been awake seventy-two hours straight, he’d sprawled in his bunk for another two or three, thinking. Sorting out what he wanted of life and what he didn’t. He reflected that perhaps only the prospect of imminent death could force a man to arrange his affairs. Lying there with the cabin lamps unlit, he’d reached a decision.
The freight-laden clipper arrived in San Francisco harbor nine days behind schedule. He’d been on shore since noon. He’d yet to speak to Amanda concerning the decision. He was fearful she wouldn’t care about it. Besides, she had much to tell him about the past weeks—
And now the walk had taken a bad turn. Alone with her, away from the rowdy town, he’d hoped to tell her what was on his mind. Instead, just a moment ago, his nervousness and uncertainty had prodded him to make a remark better left unspoken.
She tugged off her sunbonnet as she faced him. Evening sunlight set her dark hair ablaze.
“Bart, that was unkind.”
He studied the cherry-colored tip of his cigar. “Mentioning profit?”
“No, what you implied about me.”
“Maybe so, sweet. But you have a look you didn’t have last time I was here.”
She leaned against him, letting him feel the curve of her body. The contact somehow heightened his uneasiness. He felt exactly like a callow boy, angry with the world because he expected it to reject him—
He tried to smile. “I found that out the minute I walked into Kent’s and Felix informed me Sam Brannan was the new owner. How much did you squeeze out of him?”
“I asked ninety thousand. Firm. He complained but he paid. It’s prime real estate.”
“That uppity nigra of yours told me he got himself a last name, too.”
“Why shouldn’t Israel adopt a last name? He’s a freeman. And he’ll have a responsible position, helping to manage the claim—”
“Israel Hope.” Bart shook his head. “The whole world’s haywire. Niggers naming themselves after mining camps—Billy paid off and gone chasing up the Yuba—your cousin showing up from Oregon one day and getting shot the next—” He fixed her with an uncompromising stare. “And you weren’t there when the lighter tied up at the pier.”
“I’ve already apologized for that. I had to sign papers with Brannan.”
“Well, it makes no difference.”
“You sound as if it does.”
“What the devil’s my opinion worth? I’m just a common sea captain—” His bitterness grew uncontrollable. “I’ve never owned a speck of gold. And believe it or not, I’ve never killed a man.”
Amanda stiffened. “How did you learn—?”
“Israel”
“He had no right—”
“Oh, don’t score him for it. He was only recounting what happened in the camp. Besides, it’ll be all over San Francisco soon. Someone from Hopeful is bound to come down here and talk about it.”
“There’s no reason why they’d—”
“There certainly is. Most women don’t know which end of a gun to pick up, let alone how to shoot one. Have you decided what you’re going to say to Louis when he finds out?”
“That I’m not guilty of any crime! The miner’s court brought no charges against me. I can explain the shooting to him—”
“For his sake, I hope so.”