Fool's Gold

by Steve Stroble

gold to be dug from it was safely theirs they would depart for another mining camp or Sacramento or San Francisco. A few were satisfied enough to head for home.

  The more stubborn miners worked the gold fields for years and a few of them for the rest of their lives. Gypsy like, they would only leave their claim if it had played out or they could sell it. The less stubborn would give up; some after weeks or months; many after one season. Those less willing to admit to failure simply roamed through the West, eventually finding work as farmers, ranchers, railroad builders, lumberjacks, cowboys, sailors, carpenters, deckhands on riverboats, or stevedores. The more independent of them started businesses. Those with a longing for something familiar that was so strong that it outweighed their sense of failure returned home; either retracing the long trails, this time to the east or if they had enough gold left, by ship.

  After lunch the two returned to the sluice. At first Thomas had thought that only Yee worked nonstop. But as the day wore on he noticed that other miners kept up the same pace. Only the sick or older miners moved more slowly. Thomas was embarrassed that he could not keep up with those who worked faster than he. It seemed that the more experienced miners were more machine than men. Their movements were efficient and methodical to the point that watching them had a soothing effect on the newcomer. As he copied their motions he developed a rhythm that made him feel at one with the strangers that all shared the same desire to get rich.

  They were back to work for only an hour when a great roar arose downstream. Fearing that a makeshift jury was being assembled for a preordained lynching, Thomas dropped the shovel and ran toward the rapidly growing throng of miners. He quickly decided that he would try to intervene for the accused.

  Maybe if I tell them of how I ran away when I thought I was guilty, they will listen and be fair in their verdict.

  When he came close enough to see who was at the center of the crowd, his aching body grew even tenser. It was McBride on foot leading his horse and the mule. Thomas feared that McBride was the accused. Then he noticed that not a single miner was looking at McBride. Their gazes were all fixed on the one riding on his horse. She was the magnet who was stronger than the lure of gold.

  “Three cheers for the lady, boys!” A miner hollered as he tossed his hat up into the air.

  “Hip hip hooray! Hip hip hooray! Hip hip hooray!”

  Many of the miners had not seen a female for months. They cheered the loudest. Even those who made a weekly trek to one of the nearby communities with stores and saloons where men usually outnumbered women ten or even 20 to one cheered. Any distraction from the dull routine of searching for gold day in and day out was indeed most welcome. McBride lifted his hands in an attempt to restore order. He relished his role as emcee.

  “Gents, may I introduce to you the lovely Charlotte Edwards.”

  Dozens of hats came off of greasy, dirty, heads of hair, many crawling with lice. This was followed by greetings, all of them sincere and respectful, such as:

  “Afternoon, Miss Edwards.”

  “Thank you for coming, Charlotte.”

  “How de do, ma’am?”

  McBride continued his introduction. “While up doing my shopping I learned that Miss Edwards will be performing there Friday and Saturday nights this week only. She asked that I tell all of you about it but fortunately I was able to convince her that she could get a far bigger audience if you were to get a sample of her talent firsthand.”

  With her introduction complete, she reined in the nervous horse to still it and then handed the reins to McBride, who patted the mare to calm it. Without alighting, she launched into song. A reverent hush descended on the gathering. The soothing voice quieted her mount. The gruff men grew even more silent than they were at the occasional funerals or makeshift worship services that they attended in the diggings. She sang a number about home and those whom they longed to see. This brought back sweet memories for most of them. By the time that she had finished half of her audience was in tears. The rest stood motionless with eyes closed or heads bowed as scenes of better days replayed through their minds. Finally a transfixed miner came out of his reverie. He loudly disturbed the hush and yelled for an encore.

  “You better sing us a happy song this time, lady. If’n you sing another one like that last one we’re gonna have to hightail it on back to kinfolks or friends or maybe even kill ourselves, by God!”

  A noisy chorus of affirmations filled the air. She next sang an old English pub tune about drinking and fighting that made the men clap and dance. When the song ended the miners passed around a pan that one miner had not dropped as he had run from the river to the visiting beauty. Into it went gold of every shape and size. McBride presented her with the offering of thanks.

  Then he asked if someone could accompany her back to the saloon that would be her venue that weekend. He explained that he had spent half the day away from his claim and needed to “make hay while the sun is still shining.”

  Miners rushed forward to volunteer. Unhappy with all the competition, the more aggressive began to pummel whoever happened to be next to them. A few miners rushed back to their claims to change their clothes and grab a mule or horse for their heroine to ride. One of them even took a quick plunge into the river’s icy waters. The hasty bath removed a few layers of dirt, grime, and the accompanying stench. Within minutes a procession of eight miners accompanied the singer back up the trail. Five other miners, still dazed from the pummeling they had received, abandoned their chivalrous intentions. The entire trip to the saloon consisted of men young and old, short and tall, handsome and plain, jockeying for position to be next to the newfound object of their affections.

  As was his habit, McBride had returned with a bottle of whiskey. He patiently waited until after work and supper that evening to bring it out. One of his few rules for the claim’s partners was that no drinking was allowed until after dark.

  “What is the occasion?” Thomas asked before he took the first swig. When he gave the bottle to Yee, he smelled the alcohol, shook his head no, and handed it to McBride.

  “White man smell bad from bad drink!”

  “That only means there’s more for Tommy boy and me,” McBride smiled. “The bottle is to celebrate your first full day of mining. I know your body must be aching from head to toe so what you drink is also medicine so you won’t feel the pain as much. If today is any indication, bringing you aboard our claim is going to work out. The amount of gold we got today is decent.” McBride drained half of the remaining alcohol in two gulps before passing it back to Thomas.

  “Ahh.” Thomas was so pleased by McBride’s assessment that he swallowed much of the remainder. Only one last drink remained for McBride. After he had finished it he stared at Thomas.

  “Tell me, boy. Why were you talking and tossing in your sleep so much last night? Only a troubled soul makes a man do that.”

  Thomas started to repeat his sanitized cover story of why he had come to the gold fields. He stopped in mid-sentence. “If I tell you the truth can you keep it a secret?”

  “Aye.”

  Thomas then recounted the true motives that had brought him to California, how he hated working for a Prussian, was tired of the filth and gangs that plagued New York City, and felt henpecked by his wife. Most of all he told of his desire to find gold and a life of ease. He was relieved to bare his soul. He had not done this since parting from Harriet. Despite all their differences, his wife had been the first one Thomas had trusted enough to share his innermost thoughts.

  “I’m tired of always working for someone else. He ended his tale.

  McBride stared down into the empty bottle. “Can’t say I blame you. I’ve heard such stories many a time from many a miner.” He then unburdened himself of his past, at least part of it. “I never told you the whole story last night about me. I got married at a young age. We had us a fine son. Then me wife got sick and died…” His voice trailed off. “That was the real reason I left my doctor’s practice in New
York and headed to the gold fields in Georgia. I had to start over. I was too saddened to go on. If a doctor can’t save his own wife who can he save?”

  “What about your son? Where is he now?”

  “Well, he is with the Lord and his mother.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah. He got the wanderlust like I did. When he got to be almost 18 he told me he’s leaving. He said he’s GTT.”

  “GTT?”

  “Gone to Texas. Not too long after that all hell breaks loose between Mexico and the Americans in Texas. Of course he joins up to fight and got himself killed.” A tear formed under McBride’s right eye. His voice cracked. “That’s what happened.”

  “I’m sorry. Your life has been harder than mine. Much harder.”

  That summer passed slower than any other had or ever would for Thomas. After five weeks of the same routine his body had adapted to the rigors of living and working outdoors. He noticed that those who had taken the overland trails to California came to the diggings better able to endure the conditions. Most of those who came by ship, as he had, often were physically unprepared and sometimes emotionally also.

  The tent provided scant protection from the chilly nights so he used his first earnings to buy two more blankets to keep him warm. Most of his share went for food and drink. The food was that found in any