by Laurence Yep
A fifth boy is Jubal. His skin is even darker than mine. He is as old as Hiram and is the slave to a tall golden-haired man.
In the hundred men and boys on the deck, at least ten countries are represented. Maybe even more.
It’s now a game of signs and pictures as we try to communicate.
We come from all parts of the world. Brian and I traveled east. Esteban came north. Hiram came west from the other coast of America, which he referred to as the States.
That puzzled me a bit. Most of the states are in the eastern half of America beyond the mountains. But according to Hiram, California is also a state.
California was taken from the southern country of Mexico only four years ago. Normally, a territory would have to wait years before being promoted to a state. However, as soon as gold was discovered here, America didn’t want to lose California and made it a province right away.
Jubal and his owner came across the land with a large group from the province called Missouri. Of their group of ten, they lost three.
Hiram has an older cousin who traveled here three years ago, sailing all the way around the continent of South America. Hiram and his older brother set out by boat to join their cousin, but because their cousin had encountered fierce storms at the southern tip of South America, they traveled south only as far as a place called Panama.
There, they got off one boat and walked across the Panama isthmus instead. On the other side they boarded a boat to go north to San Francisco. However, his brother got sick and died on the boat.
It is dangerous no matter how you try to reach the Golden Mountain. I look around the crowded boat. For every person here, I wonder, how many more died on the way?
We have begun to teach one another words in our languages. Mostly we try to ask Hiram questions about America. There is so much we need to know about our new home.
Hiram has been very patient. He’s curious about us, too. He wants to know why we’re going to the gold fields. (That’s what the Americans call the Golden Mountain. Or sometimes Hiram calls it the gold country.)
Brian laughed and said he is here to get rich. Hiram wants enough money to buy his own farm some day. He wants to marry a girl back home.
I didn’t know enough American to explain all the reasons why I’m here. It isn’t just a question of becoming rich or buying land.
Brian nodded and said in the end we aren’t here for the money or for the land or for our families. We are all dreamers. And not just ordinary dreamers. There are plenty of folks at home who talk about their dreams and do nothing. However, each of us here have risked our lives to make our dreams come true.
I bet everyone on board the boat has done the same thing. Maybe almost everyone I met in San Francisco.
We all sat for a moment thinking about that. We have gotten past so many dangers already. Surely we’ll survive the new ones.
Hiram is the most unselfish fellow. When we have all found our dreams, his house and his farm will be open to all of us, too.
Still later
A group of white men just came over to us. I couldn’t understand why they were so mad at Hiram.
The words flew by too fast for me to follow. But Brian explained that the men are Americans. They didn’t like Hiram being friendly to us. In fact, they don’t like foreigners at all. They want all foreigners to go home. That means not only Esteban and myself but Brian, too.
I couldn’t understand what they were saying, but their faces were ugly masks.
Some men in Brian’s and Esteban’s groups started to shout back. I looked around. All the men had guns and knives. I was afraid there was going to be a battle right there on deck.
However, bullies are alike all over the world. The first group retreated.
I felt scared then. I am so far from China. Esteban was just as upset. Even Brian looked afraid. Then Hiram hugged each of us in turn.
As long as there are enough Americans like him, I won’t worry.
June 22
Sacramento, or Second City
I might as well bring this up to date while I’m waiting in line.
I made it to my next stop. It’s SO hot here. Just like at home in Tiger Rock. About now we’d be holding the Dragon Boat festival. Crews would paddle dragon-shaped boats in races. The air would be so damp my clothes would stick to me. The air is drier here.
Once we got off the boat in Sacramento, I had to find the Chinatown. Luckily, Brian and Hiram had taught me a little about their simplified system of writing. English is so strange. Instead of thousands and thousands of characters to learn, they have only twenty-six characters, which they call the alphabet. These characters combine to make words. But they write everything backward, from left to right in horizontal lines. Chinese write from right to left in columns.
After having to memorize Chinese characters, it was easy to learn their twenty-six. (Of course, putting the pictures together into words is another matter, but I am determined to learn.)
In Chinatown I found the local headquarters of the Four Districts where there are lines of Chinese waiting to check in. It’s my turn. Have to go.
Later
I hate paperwork. There’s always so much of it. When I was finally finished, the clerk tried to steer me into the store to buy outfits. He said that I’ll need a warm coat and boots. Even in the summer, it is cold up in the gold country. And in the winter, there is snow.
So I looked, but all the prices were in American dollars. When I asked what the exchange rate was, I was shocked. I had thought my stolen string of a hundred cash was a fortune, but not here. All the strings of cash — the wealth Uncle had sent home — was worth only a few American dollars here. So I said they cost too much. The clerk said I’ll be sorry.
I joined a group of miners on their way to the gold country. Hiram is here, too. He looks just as glad to see me as I am him. It turns out we’re both heading to Big Bend.
The whole party numbers about thirty, and I am the only Chinese.
Hiram and I try to talk to others, but it is hard work. We have so few words in common. However, we figured out that the men in our party come from twelve countries! Many of the lands are ones I’ve never heard of.
June 23
In the Gold Country
Hiram and I are both the curious types. We’ve found a driver who lets us sit with him on the wagon seat.
There is no Golden Mountain! The gold is scattered all around the mountains instead. Some of it is in the ground. Some of it washes down the rivers.
I feel so dumb. The Golden Mountain is a fancy, poetical name. It’s not the literal truth.
June 26
The mountains rise steadily before us. We are following a trail eastward along a wide, quiet river.
The driver explained that the river is swollen from the winter snow melting in the mountains.
Snow.
I’ve read about it but I’ve never seen it. Snow never fell in Tiger Rock, only in northern China where it was cold in the winter.
I hope the snow lasts long enough for me to touch it.
June 27
The land has begun to rise, forming rolling foothills. It is dry here. The grass covering the hills has already dried up to a dull gold. The trees are scarcer and different. They grow in hollows between the hills where they can get water.
June 28
The going is getting harder. The road is sandier and the wagon often gets stuck. We all pitch in to help get it out.
Beside us, the river is narrower and deeper now. Its waters foam along the rocks like white scales on a dragon. When I was thirsty, I put my hand in for a drink. The water is as cold as ice. My fingers feel numb. The driver wasn’t joking when he said it was melted snow.
June 29
Great slabs of rock thrust up from the dirt. Somehow scraggly bushes and trees cling to the ledges. The air has begun to grow colder.
I wonder if the clerk was right about the clothes and boots?
Later
We
passed by a bearded man kneeling on the riverbank. The driver told Hiram to remember what the man looked like. His kind are disappearing. At first, I thought his clan was losing a feud with another clan and I asked about that through Hiram.
The driver just laughed and explained that three years ago at the start of the gold rush, you could find gold by just dipping a pan into the river. Prospectors like him once covered the riverbank like ants, panning for gold.
Sure enough, he had a pan in his hands, which he dipped into the swift water. Then he took it out, swirled the water out, and sifted through the mud and pebbles for bits of gold or even dust. And now that I know how cold that water is, I don’t see how he could do it.
I stared hard at the water for the glint of gold. To be honest, I had expected to see some nuggets by now. However, all I saw was rocks.
The driver says the bearded prospector is a fool. The area here was used up long ago.
I couldn’t hold it anymore and asked through Hiram where the melon-sized nuggets are. The driver laughed even louder and said there never were any. If there were, he’d be back in Boston instead of driving a wagon.
I feel like an even bigger fool. Why did I listen to Uncle’s fantasies?
June 30
I guess the driver was right when he said the area is played out. We pass by empty cabin after empty cabin. Tall weeds grow in the doorways. They must have been abandoned for a year or more.
We have been traveling up a path that angles more than forty-five degrees. It is so steep that the heavily loaded pack mules have often balked.
We travel now between giant sheets of rock bigger than houses. The only sign of life is us. Everyone has grown quiet.
Though it is hot in the day, it is freezing at night. I wish now that I could have bought that coat and boots in Sacramento. I sit and shiver at night.
July 1
I’ve met the hungriest Americans I have ever seen. They were so thin their limbs were like sticks. Their faces were all bony, too. And they were the first Americans I saw in rags.
They gathered around the wagons and begged for supplies. They recently came from the other coast like Hiram. However, they had walked west, instead of taking a boat.
I hadn’t realized how big America is. Hiram explained that the men had crossed wide plains and high mountain ridges. Several of their party died along the way. The survivors looked like they’re one step from the grave themselves.
The drivers gave them what they could.
I thought of all the dangers the miners had risked and all the hardships they had gone through.
Was the gold worth it? Were our dreams?
There was something familiar about the newcomers. As I stared at their gaunt faces, I realized what it was: Their faces were the faces of starvation.
Back in China, those had been our faces. The cheekbones of my parents’ faces had stood out just like theirs. I never want to see that again.
The dream is the right one. As scared as I am, I have to try to find gold.
July 3
I’ve seen my first real claim! Five Americans work together. A ditch directs water into a long wooden trough some five meters long. The driver called it a long tom.
Gold is heavier than mud and rocks. So dirt by the shoveful is dropped at the top of the trough. The trench is set at an angle so the water carries the mud and rocks away. Wooden cleats have been nailed to the bottom to catch the gold.
Then they take the gold inside their cabin and dry it at night by the fire.
Since it is hard to get gold, most of the prospectors have banded together. But the driver says even that way of working is doomed.
July 4
The Americans are celebrating the birthday of their country. They are shooting off guns since they don’t have firecrackers.
July 5
I’ve finally seen a gold mine.
When I first felt the ground shaking, I thought it was an earthquake. The driver said it was caused by a quartz mill.
Since the gold is gone from the river, the Americans have turned to the land where gold can be found in white rock called quartz.
Our trail ran above the operation, so I could see how it works. There is a huge hoist over a vertical shaft. Pumps keep the water from flooding it.
Carts then take the raw ore to a stamping mill, which crushes the quartz. The gold is separated from the fragments. The mill makes a frightful noise.
It takes a lot of men to build and operate the quartz mills, and they are having a hard time finding gold. The driver says they are no longer individuals with a dream, just employees hired to do a job.
July 7
Our party has begun to split up into smaller groups that head up trails to their companies. The wagon is much lighter and the mule train is much shorter, too, as we drop off supplies. However, the road is even steeper, so we do not move any faster.
July 11
The guest boys weren’t fooling us after all. The Americans really do have a machine that eats mountains. I’ll have to tell Blessing when I write to my family.
It’s really a system of machines and troughs that guide the water into a single hose.
The water from the hose washes the gold out of the dirt, where more machines collect it. But the flow chews at the mountain like the snout of a huge monster.
The driver says that since gold is getting harder and harder to find, these monster machines will be the only way. There won’t be people anymore. Just gears in a machine.
The driver says this is the future for all miners.
I’m getting scared again. Maybe Father was right: It would be just Uncle’s luck to come to a place after all the easy gold is gone.
July 12
Big Bend
Finally, Big Bend!
It’s at a spot where the river curls around in a tight loop. The land all around here is pockmarked with little holes. Here and there, a few hard-bitten miners pop up and down like small animals.
The town itself sits on top of the hill. It’s all tents of dirty canvas — like sooty turtles squatting in the dirt. The driver has stopped by a tent with a signboard in American. It seems to be a store. He is dropping some things off there, and then still has a few more stops to make before leaving.
I feel sad. Hiram and I have to separate here. However, we have promised to see each other when we can.
Later
I found Uncle!
The driver told me to follow a path. It went on for a kilometer to a curving branch of the river about ten meters wide. It was lined with all kinds of trees. There I found about fifty Chinese cutting down trees.
Uncle was among the men using American axes and long, two-person saws. I guess I had been picturing him as a rich, wealthy man directing his workers. But Uncle looked dirtier and more tired than he had ever been at home.
I didn’t see any gold nuggets around — bean-sized or melon-sized. It’s what I was afraid of. The gold is just as scarce here as down below.
Uncle dropped his ax when I called to him. “What are you doing here? I sent for Blessing.”
What he meant was, he wanted someone big like Blessing, not a runt like me. I didn’t know how to tell him that my parents had wanted to risk only me and not my brother. All I could do was apologize for disobeying him.
Uncle said he’ll get me back to China somehow, even if he has to borrow the money.
I’m going to get a small ax and start trimming the branches off a tree. I might not have Blessing’s size, but I’ve got twice the determination.
Twilight
Uncle has had to admit that though I’m small, I can work. I guess I got my muscles from doing Blessing’s chores as well as my own.
Uncle’s boss is a man from Red Hill back at home. Uncle calls him the Fox, but he doesn’t look like one. He’s bald with sleepy eyes. He looks like he ought to be peddling vegetables.
He doesn’t think much of me, either. He says I am too small to be of much help.
Uncle ex
plained that there had been a mix-up. He had asked for my older brother.
I felt so ashamed — as if we had played a nasty trick on Uncle. So I just started to trim the tree again. After watching me, the Fox had to admit that I could hold my own. He offered me seventy-five cents a day. It’s not much, but I can’t be picky.
We didn’t stop until sunset, so it made for a long day. However, I’m used to working that long at home during harvest and planting time.
I’d never felt more sore or tired. American soil looks like Chinese soil, but it seems to grow heavier and heavier with every shovelful.
By the time we went to wash up, we were covered with dirt. Uncle laughed when we saw his reflection. He said he had come here to get away from the dirt and now look at him.
Have to stop now. Time to eat.
Early evening
I’m stuffed! All the vegetables and meat are salted or pickled, but there’s lots of it.
Basically the cook boils a big wok of rice and then puts pickled vegetables and salted fish and sausages on top. The steam from the rice cooks the sausages and fish at the same time. A kettle of tea heats next to the pot.
It is more food than I’d ever had at home, and Uncle said that we will have meat every Sunday, usually a chicken but sometimes a pig or even beef.
During supper, I brought Uncle up to date on our family and what his money had already done for us.
And now we can send home double. Uncle is full of plans.
I just caught a fellow staring at me. I think his name’s Prosperity. I wonder what he wants? He looks harmless, but I’ll watch out for him.