Comanche to avoid. They aren’t as friendly as the Plains Indians are.”
“When did they find gold there?”
“In 1842.”
“But why didn’t we hear about it?”
“It was small potatoes compared to this strike and the strike down there in Georgia. Most of the miners who showed up didn’t hang around too long. Once again I made more gold from doctoring than from mining. At least the weather there was much better than here or Georgia. Even stays warm and pretty dry in the winter there. So I stayed down off the mountain and in the valley there after the gold was gone. Then we heard about the strike over in Coloma so I traded my mule for a horse and rode up there. Boy it was easy pickings at first. Seemed like gold was everywhere. But then is seemed like it snowed miners. Thousands showed up last fall down that way so I kept walking ‘til I got this far. Mr. Yee and I have been here since March. We went in together to stake out this claim.”
“So in 20 years of looking for gold, you never got rich?”
“No. Always the same old story. There’s never enough food and clothes and equipment out where the gold is. So everything costs a pretty penny. There’s no way to keep from spending the gold you find to survive.”
“But why do you keep doing it?”
“I guess once you get gold fever most keep it until death. I’ve seen sick folk get over typhus fever, ague fever, all kinds of fevers. But hardly any ever shake the gold fever unless maybe they got something better to go back to. How about you? You have anything worth more than gold to you?”
Thomas cringed. After only a half-day of digging endless shovel full after shovel full of dirt, gravel, and sand to fill the sluice he was already wondering why he was three thousand miles from home. They had only found half an ounce by sundown. He could only shrug to answer McBride.
“That’s okay, lad. You’ll have plenty of time to sort things out when you’re not digging for gold. That’ll be in your dreams mostly. I best let you get to bed. Mr. Yee brings a fresh batch of pine needles twice a week for our mattress inside the tent. You got a blanket?”
“Yes.”
“Good. If you think the beans will be giving you wind try to sleep so’s your arse and legs are poking outside under the tent flap. That’ll keep the smell mostly outside. Otherwise, Mr. Yee might wake up and start cussing at you in Chinese like he’s done to me before.”
McBride’s and Yee’s early rising did not rouse Thomas. Nor did the smell of flapjacks and coffee; the odor made Thomas dream that he was back home enjoying his wife’s wonderful cooking and his family’s company. As the sun crept over the ridge, McBride shuffled to the tent and gently kicked the slumbering newcomer.
“Time to rise and shine, Tommy boy. We work the sunrise to sunset shift around here. That means we need to eat breakfast before the sun comes up and supper after the sun goes down.”
Thomas rolled out from under his blanket. The previous two mornings only the lower half of his body had ached. After seven hours of shoveling yesterday his entire body pained him. He grunted as he stumbled out of the tent and searched for a spot to relieve himself.
“Don’t forget to go at least a hundred feet from the river.” McBride reminded him of his number one rule for the company. “All of us have to drink from it.”
“Yah, yah.” Thomas still reverted to his German pronunciation when agitated or tired. He stumbled toward a group of bushes only to find two other miners already there. One of them asked if Thomas could spare any newspaper. “No. Sorry,” he replied.
When Thomas returned to the tent for his coat McBride handed him a cup of tea. “It’s from the meadowsweet shrub. It helps with pain. The way you’re moving you’ll need two cups to get started working.” During breakfast McBride outlined the day. “Well, I have to head off to get supplies today. We’re almost out and your $20 gold piece is burning a hole in my pocket.”
“Are you going back down to the Mormon settlement?”
“Nah. That’s too far away. There’s a settlement about 1,000 feet straight up there.” McBride pointed toward the ridge to the north. “It’s getting big enough that they’re talking about naming it Auburn. Anyway, you and Mr. Yee can take turns shoveling. I’ll show you how to sift through the sluice to find the gold.”
McBride spent a quarter hour teaching Thomas the art of collecting gold flakes, dust, and the rare nuggets from a sluice. Satisfied that the novice would not let too much gold wash past him, McBride hopped on his horse and led Thomas’ mule out of the camp to the steep trail. Yee and Thomas worked all morning without a break. Thomas was beginning to wonder if his partner would even bother to stop for dinner. A half hour later, Yee held up his arms and waved.
“Stop! Eat!”
Thomas gladly dropped the shovel, which now felt as if it weighted 50 pounds because of the cramps in his arms. He found the coffee pot in which McBride had left a new batch of meadowsweet to steep. Because the initial two cups that morning had provided relief, Thomas drank the entire fresh pot of the boiled herb during the noon meal.
As Thomas lay by the fire he tried to stretch his muscles in such a way to make the pain depart from them. He watched Mr. Yee check the fishing lines that he had set out that morning. His mouth watered when he saw Yee retrieve a two-pound trout. Yee deftly cleaned the fish, chopped it into small pieces, and added it to the boiling pot of rice. Thomas was thankful when he saw the main course.
“Thank God, Mr. Yee. I am already sick of beans. They remind me of when we were on the ship to San Francisco. Nothing but pork all the time. Now it’s beans every day since we left San Francisco.”
Yee shook his head. “I come boat. Only rice.”
They ate in silence with Thomas enjoying every moment away from the sluice. Nothing from his past -- the farm, the furniture shop, the orchard, or the store -- was as hard and wearisome as hunting for gold. In the previous jobs he had been able to take occasional breaks. How he now missed being able to stop for a moment and chat to his family while toiling in the fields, to Dominic and James as they built furniture or did routine chores, to Rudolph as they ran the orchard and distillery, or to customers who came to the grocery to pass the time of day with him as they shopped.
He recalled his favorite customers who had found a haven inside the store away from the jostling throngs that filled New York’s sidewalks and streets. There was Frau Katz who would proudly tell him of the successes of her children and grandchildren. Their relationship grew until she also spoke to Thomas of her worries and feelings of loneliness now that they were only infrequent visitors to her home. There was Herr Braun, an abrupt man of 65 who minced no words when he informed Thomas of what he believed to be wrong in New York, America, and the rest of the world. Then there was little Freda, whose mother daily brought her to the grocery to fetch what was needed for the day’s meals. Freda tagged along through the aisles as Thomas filled the order and placed the meat, produce, and beverages into a box. She would sing German folk tunes with such perfection that anyone within earshot grew silent. Even the store’s grumpy owner would open his office door to listen. Often a group of customers fell in line behind the clerk, mother, and little girl. They pretended to shop so they could listen to the crystalline voice that carried them back to their homeland. Some even asked Freda what day and time she would be returning to the store. Her mother answered casually for her daughter. But her smile revealed her pride.
Thomas hummed one of those folk tunes as he ate. Yee shook his head.
“America music strange.”
“I guess it’s because it comes from so many lands.”
The memories helped Thomas to endure the daylong drudgery that pervaded the mining camp. It was typical of the hundreds of such sites that dotted the rivers, streams, and creeks of California. Miners seemed to work their claims nonstop, except when darkness came. Many toiled alone, others in pairs, still others in larger groups. The population of such places could fluctuate daily. New arrivals were common, those departing less common. Rea
sons for leaving varied according to each one’s temperament, fortitude, and luck. Those given to anger and melancholy were often the first to give up. The former would abandon a claim with curses; the latter in despair. The more jovial and steadfast often were better suited to such work.
The miners’ responses when they hit pay dirt varied. Some would holler, “Eureka!” or “Gold!” and start dancing or digging furiously. This would bring at least a few others over to view the reason for such behavior. Sometimes they would leave with taunts of “It’s fool’s gold, you fool” or “That ain’t no strike, it’s not even enough to write home about.” Other times the spectators would stare at a deposit unlike any they had seen. The more enterprising immediately would offer help: “That’s so big that you want to dig it all out today; otherwise it might rain and all get washed away. If nothing else you need someone to guard it all the time while you’re gone or asleep. How about we partner up right now? I’ll help you out fer a share.” The less enterprising would return to their own claim and wonder when they would ever stake such an abundant gold producing claim.
Wiser and more introspective miners did their best to conceal any significant find. of them would quietly work a claim and never tell how much it was yielding. When they were certain that most of the
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