Gold Rush Girl

by Avi

  “I like your playing,” I said. Soon as I spoke, I felt embarrassed for offering such an empty phrase.

  “My father said he might try and find us a job on a ship going back. But as I told you: risky for colored folks. Hard to know who to trust.”

  Thad said, “How much will it take for you to get back home?”

  “Four, five hundred dollars.”

  Thad said, “If I get lucky at the tables, you can have it.”

  “Sounds good,” said Sam, but not as if he thought he’d ever get the money.

  “Sam . . .” I said.

  “What?”

  I hated the way he was treated but didn’t want to say it so blandly. It seemed empty and made me tongue-tied. What I finally said was “I’m sorry for what happened.”

  He studied me for a few moments. At length he took a deep breath and added, “Just so you understand: When my brother vanished, we didn’t know what to do. By the time we figured out what happened, he was gone. Nothing we could prove. Maybe he’s on a ship. Maybe he’s a slave somewhere. Maybe he got back to Sag Harbor. Hope so. We’ve never heard. So I’m willing to help find your brother, mostly my way of getting back at Kassel.”

  The three of us stood there, awkwardly, until Sam said, “OK. Your brother. You have any idea how you going to look?”

  I said, “Are you sure you want . . . ?”

  There was anger in his voice when he said, “I just said: finding your brother is hitting Kassel. Come on, I need to do something.”

  Somewhat abashed, I said, “I don’t know a better way than to just get on some boat and search.” I looked to Thad.

  “Fine with me.”

  To Sam I said, “You have a better idea?”

  “Nope,” he said, and stepped out of the rowboat.

  As I looked at the two boys, my emotions swelled, feeling as I did the strength of such friends. Impulsively, I went up to Sam and hugged him, then turned and did the same to Thad. Neither of them said or did anything. They were too surprised. Or maybe they were just boys. I stood back, embarrassed at my own emotions but glad I had shown them. All I could think to say was “Let’s find Jacob.”

  I USED MY FLINT TO RELIGHT THE LANTERN, SO now we had three glowing, which was abundant light. Once I took off my shawl and flung it into the rowboat, it took just moments for us to push into the cove water. I took the center seat, placed my relit lantern at my feet, and snatched up the oars. Thad was at the stern, his lantern next to him. Sam was in the bow, holding his lantern high, searching for a boat. I started rowing. “Just tell me which direction to go.”

  “Ahead,” said Sam.

  There is, I thought, no other way to go.

  The morning fog was thicker over the bay than on land, so dense we quickly lost sight of the beach. We could have been a few yards from shore or a hundred miles out, on the way to nowhere. It was only the splash of the oars and the swaying of the boat that told me that we were on water.

  “Port,” said Sam. Then after a bit, he said, “You’re fine on the bow.”

  Thad said, “You know sailing lingo.”

  “Told you,” returned Sam, “I come from Sag Harbor. You sail before you walk.”

  “A whaling port, isn’t it?” Thad asked. “You ever go whaling?”

  “Three-year voyage. That was enough. But I learned ships. And one of the jack tars taught me bugling.”

  I pulled along for a while, with no talk other than Sam’s directions. “There’s a ship, right —” Sam said. But suddenly he hissed, “Stop!”

  Startled, I shoved the oar handles down so that the blades lifted from the water.

  “No talk,” Sam whispered urgently.

  I listened. I heard nothing save our dripping oars: plip-plop — plip-plop.

  “Blow the lanterns,” Sam said in a low voice.

  We snuffed our lights. With darkness complete, every sense of direction vanished, leaving nothing but damp air and water. I wanted to say, “What is it?” but didn’t dare speak.

  We drifted, the slap of water against our little boat the sole sound. Then, from somewhere — I wasn’t sure from what direction — I heard what sounded like the soft splash of careful oars. It started. It stopped. Started again. I looked to where I thought the noise came from. Next moment I saw a splodge of light that lasted seconds. Everything became dark again. But something was out there.

  “What was that?” I whispered. No one replied.

  I listened hard, but nothing else came.

  Sam, low voiced, said, “Abeam. Starboard side.”

  We coasted, our rowboat gently rocked by small ripples, ripples perhaps made by whoever was near — if it was someone. I tried to aim my eyes where I had seen that light, not certain if it had been truly there. The faint splashing was altogether gone.

  We floated on.

  I said, “Was it . . . someone?”

  Sam, his voice still low, said, “Gone now.”

  “Who do you think . . . ?”

  “Somebody may have seen our lantern light,” said Thad. “Moved away.”

  Sam said, “The crimps, maybe.”

  “Crimps!” I cried.

  “Shhh,” Sam cautioned.

  We didn’t speak. All was still.

  “Or fishermen,” said Thad, keeping his voice low.

  I said, “Could it have been Jacob being taken somewhere?”

  “Sure . . .” muttered Sam.

  Unable to restrain myself, I yelled, “Jacob!”

  As if in response, I heard quick splashes on the starboard side, which made my heart thump. “Jacob!” I cried again.

  Only silence.

  “Dang,” said Thad. “They were close.”

  “Took off,” said Sam severely, barely above a whisper.

  To me, Thad said, “You chased them off.”

  I felt abashed and knew I owned it. I wished I hadn’t shouted.

  No one spoke until I said, “How many people do you think there were?”

  “No notion.”

  “Jacob?”

  “Maybe.”

  “But —”

  “Shhh,” Sam warned. “They could be following us. They’d as soon dump and drown us as anything. Killers.”

  We sat in silence, our rowboat floating gently, even as my heart pounded.

  I realized that the darkness had gradually turned somewhat lighter, becoming a shade of gray, enough to suggest that dawn was coming. As the night continued to lift, the dead ships seemed to rise out of the water, as if slowly emerging up from the cove water. It was fantastical.

  As for another small boat, I saw none.

  After a while Sam said, “When you came to the cove, anyone see you coming down the hill? Follow you?”

  I thought a bit, and that’s when I remembered who that man was that came upon me when I was waiting by our tent for Thad: the man with the broken nose and the pistol sitting outside the police chief’s office. “A man,” I said, “who knows me. Somebody who overheard what I said to the police chief.”

  “What did he hear?” said Sam.

  “Everything you told me.” Then I added, “And Señor Rosales said the police worked with the crimps. You think that’s true?”

  “Could be,” said Thad.

  I said, “Then that man knows I’m looking for Jacob.”

  Sam said, “Kassel saw you at the Mercury last night. And that man you saw, if your señor is right, I’d say he and Kassel are working together to keep you from your brother.”

  Thad said, “Maybe the one we just heard out here.”

  The thought of that violent-looking man made my nervousness increase. I said, “Do you think he came about and is following us?”

  No one answered. Just listened. In the hush that followed, all I could hear were my own rebuking thoughts: Stupid, stupid.

  After a while, Sam said, “All right, then, understand: if the police are working with Kassel and they know you’re looking for your brother, it’ll make things worse. Boots to buttons, th
ey’re out here, either dodging us or trying to find us.”

  “Which?”

  “Take your pick.”

  Thad stared out over the water. “Whoever they are, they’re gone. We better move.”

  “But,” I asked, “what if they are following us?”

  Sam said, “Hey, we either do something or not.”

  “Anyway,” added Thad, “can’t be sure it was them. Just need to keep listening.”

  I began to row again, trying to make as little noise as possible. There was just enough light so we didn’t have to relight the lanterns.

  No one spoke until Sam said, “Ahead — there’s a ship.”

  There was a thump. Our rowboat jolted.

  “We’re on her,” said Thad.

  I’LL LOOK FOR A WAY TO GET ON,” I SAID, AND began to row round the ship’s hull, looking for a rope ladder. On the stern I could read the ship’s name, Western Queen.

  Sam, in the bow, held up his lantern. “Got something,” he called. He grabbed a limp line and tied it to our rowboat.

  Next moment, he scrambled up the side of the ship, going much faster than Thad and I had done. He even had his lamp handle looped about his arm.

  Thad followed, then me, climbing the way we had before, which might best be described as crawling up the hull. It was hard, though this ship proved easier than the one the night before. I was becoming practiced.

  It wasn’t long before all three of us were standing on the main deck.

  To Sam, Thad said, “Where’d you learn to climb like that?”

  “On the whaler. Climb enough masts and spars, you climb anything.”

  “How old were you?”

  “Seven.”

  “Young.”

  “Told you: some people like to be waited on.”

  We looked about. A blanket of gray mist blurred everything while a whiff of decay hung over all. Even so, we could see that the Western Queen was enormous, much bigger than the two ships Thad and I had been on the night before. It gave forth soft grindings and creaking, the noise coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once. The Western Queen may have been in her watery grave, but she lay uneasy.

  Another large ship floated right next to her, so near that spars from both ships wove among one another, like interlinked fingers.

  “Tory,” Thad called, “let me have your flint box.”

  One by one he relit our three lanterns.

  The three of us stayed close, wandering around the deck, trying not to make noise but peering into everything.

  “See that?” said Sam. He pointed to what looked like a big brick box sitting on the deck. “It’s a tryworks, which means we’re on a whaler. It’s where they boil down the blubber. Right now, in our lanterns, we could be burning the oil they made.”

  Sam, with his superior knowledge of ships, led the way, and enabled us to search effectively. It made no difference. We found no hint of Jacob.

  After coming onto a companionway, Sam guided us down to the tween deck. It was all a jumble: a mix of clothing, open trunks, crockery, hats, shoes, lamps, and bedding, as if the crew had left the ship in great haste, perhaps right after dropping their anchor into the cove, just as I had witnessed on the Stephanie K.

  Every time we opened a door or looked into a cabin, I’d become tense, hoping we were about to find Jacob. It must have been obvious because Sam turned to me and said, “Want some advice?”

  “Please.”

  “Not easy,” he said. “But don’t go expecting to find your brother every turn we take. You’ll get so twitchety, you’ll give yourself brain-hurt. We find him, good. Otherwise, we’ll just keep looking.”

  And look we did. Using our rowboat, we went to perhaps seven ships, if not more. I lost count. Each boat was a bit different — two masts or three; fancy woodwork or dull woodwork; steering wheel, rudder bar, steering house, or steering well — yet they seemed much the same. Main decks. Companionways. Tween decks. Cargo hold.

  The more we searched, the faster we went, clambering from ship to ship.

  After boarding yet another ship, a large three-masted vessel, we hurried over the main deck but found nothing. Then we went into the galley, where plates, some with rotten food, lay on a long table. Much of it had been eaten by rats. Their droppings were everywhere.

  “Might as well try the forecastle before moving on,” said Sam. Holding the lantern before him, he took us along the lower deck, toward the bow. The forecastle, Sam explained, was where ordinary crew members had their living quarters. We reached it, found the door open, and went in.

  It was an extended cabin, shaped like a half-moon. On the long, straight, middle side was what looked to be a mast running from below and up through the ceiling. On the port side, which was curved, our lantern light revealed two levels of deep bunk beds, eight in all, some with bedding. There were sea chests on the floor, clothing hanging on pegs.

  On the starboard side was a fixed table, with two bowls and as many spoons. It was as though someone had just been eating and had left only moments ago.

  It was I who saw the copper-colored coin. It lay next to one of the half-empty plates. I picked it up. When I looked at it closely, I gasped.

  WHAT IS IT?” SAID SAM.

  “My brother’s Henry Clay token.”

  “Token?”

  “Something my father gave Jacob. From an election. My brother always had it with him.” I looked at the others. “He must have been just here. Eating at this table.”

  “Gorry,” cried Thad. “That boat we heard.”

  “Taking him somewhere else,” said Sam.

  With the token in my fist, I tore away and bolted up the companionway, back to the main deck. Once there, I rushed to the topgallant rail — one side and then the other — and stared out into the ashen dawn as if somehow I might see Jacob. All I saw were the massive hulks of nearby ships.

  Thad and Sam found me at the rail. I was still gazing outward, tense with distress, trying to keep my pain within. I was also clutching that token as if it were Jacob.

  “Anything?” asked Thad.

  “Jacob was here,” I said. “That man who saw me, he guessed we’d be coming to search for him. When we went one way, he went another and took Jacob. It just happened.”

  Sam said, “Didn’t need to be us coming to make them move him.”

  Thad added, “Might’ve been their plan all along.”

  “I just want to know where they took him,” I said.

  “Another ship,” said Thad.

  “I know that,” I cried out in exasperation. “But which one?”

  “What I told you,” said Sam. “If they just took him, most likely they’ve brought him to a ship that’s about to leave the bay. That’s the way crimpers work.”

  “Then . . . what ships are going?” I asked, willing to grasp at anything that could be helpful. “Can we find out?”

  Thad said, “They post the names of ships about to leave at my store.”

  “Then go and get their names,” I said, as if giving an order. Realizing how harsh I must have sounded, I added, “Would you, please?”

  Thad gave me a look, as if to say “Go easy,” but all he said was “Sure.”

  “Sam,” I said, “will you keep searching with me? Maybe we’ll be lucky. Do you have time?”

  “I’m not working.”

  “Oh, Sam . . . I forgot.”

  He lifted a shoulder.

  Thad said, “Somebody has to row me to shore.”

  Full of new resolve, I said, “Let’s go.”

  We hurried off the ship and back into the rowboat. Thad was in the bow, Sam in the stern, me in the middle at the oars. I rowed back to the beach, so hard my hands hurt. Soon as we got close enough, Thad, holding his lantern, jumped out and waded to shore.

  “How you going to know when to pick me up?” he called from the beach.

  “It’s getting lighter,” said Sam. “We’ll see you. Or wave your lantern.”

  To which I added,
“If we don’t come, shout.”

  I watched Thad walk along the beach until he became lost in the grayness, though his flickering lantern, like a firefly, remained in sight a longer while.

  Using one oar, I spun the rowboat about.

  Sam said, “I can row faster.”

  I gave way, and Sam, standing, took up the oars and began to work them. I went to the bow. The morning air was cold and clammy.

  Trembling from chill and tension, I put my shawl around me and pulled it tight. Adding to my frustration, the dawn’s light dimmed as dense fog returned. Sam, still standing, rowed hard. The cove beach rapidly vanished from view.

  I said, “Why do you row standing?”

  “Sag Harbor way.”

  In the bow, I held up my lantern. “Hard to see,” I said as we headed out.

  “A few weeks ago,” said Sam, “a ship coming in had to stay outside the Gate for seven days, waiting for the fog to clear.”

  “When my family came, it was five days.”

  “Might have a good side.”

  “What?”

  “The fog keeps ships out, but it also locks them in. Might mean the ship your brother’s on can’t sail. Could give us extra time.”

  When we got in among the Rotten Row ships, Sam shipped the oars and held up his lantern. I held mine up as well. When I gazed up at the neglected ships, all I saw was a tangle of gigantic hulls, masts, and spars, all fading into the fog. It made me think of a vast spiderweb, and that Jacob was caught in it, somewhere. The notion put goose bumps on my arm.

  I pulled my shawl around me tighter.

  Sam said, “Any notion as to which boat you want to search?”

  I looked about. “No idea.”

  “Hate to tell you,” said Sam, “be mostly luck.”

  “Let’s try that one,” I said, pointing to the nearest ship.

  We got on her the way we had the others. As before, Sam was a lot faster climbing up the hull, but I was getting better.

  We searched the deck, looked down hatchways, called and called again. We found nothing.

  As the dawn grew brighter, our searching became easier. And with ships in this area pressed so close, we could jump from one to another and didn’t have to return to the rowboat. That saved time.