Fool's Gold

by Steve Stroble

each and then reattached their bits and bridles. The horses whinnied as James spoke.

  “Sorry to be pushing you so hard, hosses. We gots to make tracks as soon as these new fellers gets on board.” He turned his head. “Toss your bags in the wagon. Only one of youse can be riding up front with me.” His gestures helped them to understand.

  Andre and Dominic hopped into the back of the wagon to take a nap as Thomas climbed up on the seat. He had been able to study the German/English dictionary for long hours and his grasp of English had grown even though his thick accent remained. He pulled it out of his pocket because he wanted to learn about their destination from James.

  “Farm far?”

  “Oh, a little bit more than a hundred miles or so. Mr. Bates’ place be over yonder there in Pennsylvania. Near a town called Cochranville. Biggest city in them parts be Philadelphia. It about 35 miles from the farm.”

  “Philadelphia?” Thomas pulled out his list and pointed at the word “Philadelphia.” James glanced at the list.

  “That be places you be thinking of running off to? Well, you best be forgetting that craziness right now. The last fool tried that got hisself a rump full of buckshot from Mr. Bates’ fowling gun. It was least five, maybe even six months before he be sitting down with no pain, tell you what.”

  Only able to understand a little of the English that he heard, Thomas tried to make his questions short in hope that the answers would be simple enough to understand. He flipped through his dictionary constantly. James had learned English as a toddler and could understand any level of it if the accent from any foreigner’s native tongue was not too severe.

  “Herr Bates be master, yah?”

  “Yep.”

  “You slave?”

  “There ain’t no slavery in Pennsylvania no more. They done outlawed it. That be why I runs away from Georgia.”

  The word Georgia sounded familiar to Thomas. He pulled out his list of cities once more and saw that one of them was in Georgia.

  “Savannah in Georgia, yah?”

  “Yup. Nice place, too. Plantation I was on was south of Savannah.”

  Thomas nodded.

  “But I plain gets tired of being head negra for the master. I be bossing all the ones who be working for him. So he be getting mad at me when they does something wrong. And all the slaves be mad cause I be bossing them and saying what the master wants done. So I run off to Florida.”

  “Jacksonville in Florida, yah?”

  “Shore is. Anyway, the injuns down there still be fighting the white man. They be helping slaves who comes there.”

  “Fight alligators, yah?”

  “Sometimes. They ain’t afraid of nothin’. Them Seminoles help me out. They teaches me how to live in the swamps. But there be too many getting killed by the soldiers cause they don’t want to leave there and be living somewheres else.”

  “They die?”

  “Yep. I likes them injuns but don’t want to be fighting no wars. Besides I needs to be getting away from them crazy backwoods peoples in the South. They likes to be lynching each others.”

  “What lynching?”

  James used one hand to simulate a rope being placed around his neck and then tilted his head to the side. He stuck out his tongue and his eyes bulged. “You knows. They takes a rope and be hanging each other from a tree. Sometimes they whips each other. Never sees white peoples be hurting other white peoples so much.”

  Thomas looked up the meaning of the word run. “You run to Herr Bates’ farm?”

  “Not directly. First off I makes my way down there to Jacksonville. I sneaks on a ship that someone tells me be going to Philadelphia. I hides behind the cargo. When we get there I wait till it dark and jumps in the water and swims to land. That water was cold as a witch’s teat in winter.”

  “How find farm?”

  “Well, I go to where the freed slaves be staying in Philadelphia. They say there be farms to the west so next morning I starts to walking. None of them first farms is needing me. But when I gets to Mr. Bates’ farm he takes a liking to me right off. I been there about six years.”

  “How old?” He pointed at James.

  “I be 27. How’s about you?”

  Thomas looked quizzically at James.

  “How old you?” James copied Thomas’ broken English and pointed at him.

  Not proficient in English for numbers, Thomas first held out ten fingers and then seven.

  “That’s good. Mr. Bates working his workers hard. You best do what he tell you. Else you get a whipping.”

  They were a short distance into New Jersey when dusk fell. After another mile James guided the horses off of the road to a stable that he had used on previous travels. The owner greeted him.

  “Hello, James. How many it be this time?”

  “Two hosses and four peoples.”

  “Okay. I’ll take care of the horses. We’ll settle up in the morning.”

  James led the way into the barn and up a ladder to the hayloft. He carried a satchel of food. Once in the loft, Thomas and Dominic arranged hay into a mattress and pillow. Only Andre seemed unhappy.

  “No inn?”

  “Not for us. Mr. Bates don’t spend that kind of money on peoples like us,” James said. “Just be glad that the road’s good. We get there in a couple of days.”

  James pulled the smoked ham from his sack, sliced it, and passed around the pieces. Then he gave each one a loaf of bread. “Now this here is for tonight and breakfast tomorrow. If’n you eats it all now, you don’t eats again ‘til noontime. Mr. Bates only gives me money for food for you all starting on that part of the trip.”

  The next morning only Andre did not stir when roosters greeted the dawn. James tried to rouse him.

  “You best be getting up,” James said.

  “I hot.”

  James drew closer and studied Andre’s face. Then he climbed down from the loft. When he returned he held a long stick that allowed him to stand five feet from the groaning man. He used the stick to lift his shirt.

  “Lord, Almighty. Andre got the pox. You fellers get on back.”

  “Mein Gott!” Thomas lifted his shirt and saw none of the disease’s telltale markings.

  Dominic did the same.

  “Usually it be poor peoples down below deck that dies. Andre be going down there?”

  “Yah. Lady there.”

  “Well that explains it. I has to tell the owner about this mess.”

  The stable’s owner paled as he learned of Andre’s condition. He quickly sent one of his daughters to fetch a doctor, who arrived six hours later. His diagnosis was grim.

  “He might pull through. I have to quarantine him. A smallpox outbreak is not what we need.”

  “Doctor, sir. Can you please write me a letter says all that? Mr. Bates be thinking I lets Andre run off.”

  “Surely.”

  After James had the note in hand he told his remaining passengers to climb aboard the wagon. “I imagine Mr. Bates be back here real quick. Thank you, doctor, for the letter.”

  The doctor shook his head as the wagon jostled down the road. He had tended many immigrants during his years of practice.

  “These poor bastards must be desperate,” he said to the stable’s owner. “They’re lucky if the ship doesn’t go down in a storm. Then lots of them die at sea from every disease under the sun. Then once they’re here they end up in a filthy city like Philadelphia or New York.”

  6

  Even though they had left days after Thomas’ ship had departed from Rotterdam, the Thompsons and Rudolph arrived at Boston on the same day that the other ship had docked at New York. Rudolph marveled at the number of ships entering and leaving its port. Arnold noticed his fascination.

  “I’ve seen that look before, boy. You’ve got the itch to sail the seven seas.”

  “I go sea when ship not make sick.” Rudolph struggled with the luggage. He no longer struggled as much with his English because of Andrea’s refusal to speak Ger
man with him.

  “That’ll never happen. Guess you’re doomed to the life of a landlubber, then.”

  Arnold led the way to the immigrations office and they sat down before an official. “It’s me and the missus and our friend Rudolph here. We’ve been away on business.”

  The governmental agent eyed them. “And what business might that be?”

  “Why the farming business of course.”

  “Where’s he from?” The official pointed at Rudolph. His silence, dazed expression, and clothes revealed his European origins.

  “Bavaria. He’s me new manservant.”

  “Was ist los?” He turned to the new arrival.

  Rudolph smiled as he answered in German. The agent grilled Rudolph about the conditions in their homeland while he filled out the necessary documents. After a few minutes, the Thompsons excused themselves and moved to sit at the hard benches along the barren wall. An hour later Rudolph joined them.

  “We see daughters?” Rudolph was certain they were beautiful. Even if they were as feisty as Andrea he was ready to court them.

  “Aye, lad. But first we visit me favorite pub in all of Boston.”

  Arnold led the way to a place that served fish fried and ale brewed, as he had tasted them during his years in England. Within an hour he had consumed more than Andrea and Rudolph combined. As a result he was patting his bloated stomach and singing when they left the pub. Amused passersby turned and pointed at the wobbly ex-sailor. Arnold sang his favorite tune.

  Yankee doodle went to town

  Yankee doodle dandy

  Stuck a feather in his hat, called it macaroni

  He quieted down only a little upon reaching his daughter’s brick cottage in Boston’s west end. During introductions, Rudolph was