Fool's Gold

by Steve Stroble

of discouraged miners who were preparing to head east and join them, or go to Los Angeles and make furniture at Dr. McBride’s place until he could raise enough money to return to New York by ship. The last alternative appealed to him the least because he would have to admit that McBride had been at least partially right. His foolish pride would not stand for that.

  Leading the way, Rudolph turned into the first saloon that he came to even though it was only 10 o’clock in the morning. He ordered two beers at the bar and carried them to the only empty table. Thomas sat down and studied his beer as Rudolph gulped down his. After finishing his brew, Rudolph gestured at Thomas’ still full mug. Thomas shook his head no. That at least brought a tiny smile to Rudolph’s dour expression as he grabbed it and continued to swallow the foamy liquid. He finished half of it before he began his tale of woe.

  “Do you believe in luck?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Yours and mine is bad. Very bad.”

  “What happened?” Thomas braced himself.

  Rudolph slammed the now empty mug down on the table. Every drinker, card player, and hanger-on looked his way. The bartender reached for his shotgun in case that it would be needed. “The rain. I have never seen so much rain in my life. It made the river so high that it came all the way up to our cabins.”

  “It’s been bad here too. We’ve been finding coffins from the graveyards without bodies in them.” He shuddered as he recalled his helping to retrieve coffins and corpses.

  “At least you have levees here.”

  Thomas smiled. “Like dumb heads we didn’t build them until after the city flooded. Did the river damage your cabins?”

  “No. But it swept away all the stakes and other markers for the claims. And it moved the rocks around and even changed its course in places. Now it’s too hard to tell where the claims were.”

  “But isn’t there a miners’ committee to settle any disputes? We had a committee at our camp on the north fork.”

  “That’s the other problem. Our committee always likes to settle disputes in favor of their friends!”

  “Oh.”

  “That’s not the worst of it. When I asked about the company taking you in, they voted against it. Only I was for it. They said they couldn’t let anyone else join because it would cut down on their share of the gold.”

  “I see.” Thomas bowed his head. “No matter. I’ll find someone else to take me in on their claim. I like the stories I’ve heard about the rivers to the north. There have been big strikes not too far away. You can go back to your company. It’s all right.”

  “No, I can’t. I quit the company. But at least I made them buy out my share.” Rudolph patted his money belt. It bulged significantly more than it had at Christmas time.

  “Good. Then we can both go north together.”

  “Not me. I’ve had enough of all this nonsense. Gold? Bah!”

  Thomas leaned back in his chair as he watched the will to continue the hunt for gold temporarily flow from Rudolph’s body.

  “Listen.” Rudolph lowered his voice to a whisper. Thomas had to lean forward to hear him. “I heard of a farmer who made $25,000 in only one year by selling vegetables to the miners. We have a much better chance of getting rich if we supply the miners with food like that farmer did.”

  “But we have no land.”

  “Don’t worry. I heard of a perfect place for us to go to.”

  Those who sat at the nearest tables ceased trying to eavesdrop and returned to the business at hand. As if on cue their bodies stopped leaning toward the one who whispered. All hunched back over their cards or drinks. Once they were certain that Rudolph had no news of a gold strike but only discussed plans about farming any interest in the hushed conversation lapsed.

  15

  James lasted somewhat longer in the goldfields than Rudolph and Thomas did. But by August 1850 he also had had enough of the miner’s life. He left it behind with gold in his pocket.

  When he first came to Negro Bar he had imagined that he could prosper among those of his own kind. Surely they would all work together as one. Even though it consisted of a few shacks and tents, James reasoned it had potential. He was right. Within a few years its population would reach 700. But for now being close to those such as he increased his safety from drunken or hateful white miners from slave states who resented black men taking gold from the American River. Or maybe even one from a free state. James had seen too many nasty looks in California for all of them to belong to those from the South. But, like most illusions, this one of unity and harmony soon crumbled. The worst of it was that James was resented for being a runaway slave, something he felt no responsibility for at all.

  The more cautious of those who were not runaway slaves at Negro Bar seemed to be convinced that slave owners’ avarice knew no bounds. In their minds, slave hunters could show up at anytime with wanted posters bearing the likeness and description of those who had fled the plantations. That meant trouble for everyone. Although far from the slave states, California had not yet declared itself free or slave. One standing on its soil had no guarantee of freedom.

  This led James to avoid those who believed him to be a liability. Unwilling to toil alone and believing that birds of a feather flock together, he joined forces with two other runaways. Neither one had ever enjoyed respite from slavery that James had at the Bates’ farm in Pennsylvania.

  One was named Billy. He had worked the cotton fields of an Alabama plantation until age 23. At that point he figured that he would rather try working for himself instead of slaving and being poor. He also reckoned that being killed because of fleeing was better than living and dying on the plantation.

  He took a circuitous route before finding the place that suited him. First he rode the Underground Railroad all the way to Minnesota. By then news of the gold strike at Sutter’s Mill had traveled that far. From Minnesota he snuck into Canada. After traveling the Canadian plains, he reentered the United States at the Oregon Territory. Then it was south to the goldfields. His trip was long and treacherous, part by foot, the rest by mule, horse, and wagon. He often traded labor for food, rides, or whatever else he needed along the way. Worn out but joyful, he had arrived at Negro Bar a week before James.

  The other partner was Paul. He had served his master as a butler for years and was accompanying him on a voyage to San Francisco. Unfortunately for the master they arrived at San Francisco shortly after word of the gold strike at Sutter’s Mill had reached the city. When Paul watched the crew of the ship, except for the captain and two officers, desert he decided that it was now or never for him. While his master fretted about his return voyage to New Orleans on the deserted ship Paul plotted his escape. He simply took off as soon as his master was sound asleep in his hotel room. He crossed the San Francisco Bay by helping a group of greenhorn miners row their boat.

  After rowing and walking most of the way from San Francisco to Sacramento, he had replaced much of the fat with lean muscle. He was one of the first to arrive and take up residence at Negro Bar. He believed that this made him an expert on all matters related to prospecting for gold. For instance, he insisted that the three-man company’s claim be staked as far downriver as possible. He was certain that that way they would catch all the fine gold dust stirred up by the miners upriver. Billy thought that meant that they would miss out on the flakes and nuggets upstream. James did not care either way. He went to work and hoped for the best.

  After his first few days at the mining camp James saw one man teaching others at Negro Bar how to read and write. He approached him. “I can read and write okay but some says I talk funny. You help me out with that any?”

  The teacher in residence agreed gladly and began to teach James grammar, diction, and pronunciation. A quick study, James improved with every passing day. However, his new language skills did little to maintain peace between his coworkers.

  Billy and Paul had come from the two different worlds of the slaving experience. Billy readily acknowledg
ed that he had toiled in the fields. These slaves lived in shacks, ate the poorest food, worked the longest hours, wore the shabbiest clothes, and died the youngest. This caused many of his caste to resent those who served as slaves in the master’s house as servants, cooks, maids, or butlers. There the living quarters were better, the food tastier and more abundant, the clothes newer, and the work easier.

  It especially angered Billy that Paul had been a butler, which he considered the best job to have. He also resented that Paul had only fled for little over one hundred miles while he had traveled thousands to get to Negro Bar. Their constant bickering reminded James of the way most of the indentured servants had resented him for being their boss in Pennsylvania and the other slaves had despised him for being in authority on the plantation in Georgia. Problems especially arose when one or both of his partners took to drinking, which seemed to be most miners’ favorite pastime in every camp throughout California.

  “You be so high and mighty, Mr. Butler Man, always bossing us around!” Billy yelled after drinking a bottle of cheap whiskey imported from nearby Sacramento. “Nothing ever changed for you. You still thinks you be workin’ from the house while me and James be your boys workin’ the goldfields. You probably don’t even think it stinks when you goes off into the bushes and pulls down your pants and