Gold Rush Girl Read online

  As far as I was concerned, patience was merely the pretense of good-mannered waiting — another anchor — when, in fact, one is actually in a hurry. More and more I wanted a change. Alas, I had come to realize that the more contented a family appears, the more often the parents fail to notice when the eldest child changes.

  But as it happened, I did not have to wait long for enormous shifts to happen. That was because something unforeseen occurred, something that transformed our placid lives.

  Father lost his position — and all his wages.

  FATHER’S PLACE OF EMPLOYMENT, PRATT AND Willinghast — which did a great deal of trade with France — went bankrupt. This unexpected and catastrophic event was the result of the violent revolution that occurred in that distant European country. When Father lost his position, he lost his entire income, which is to say, our whole means of living.

  Let me be fair: it was not just Father who experienced unemployment. Rhode Island — a commercial, manufacturing, and international shipping port — suffered an economic panic. Many professional and wage-earning men were unable to find work.

  My father’s predicament distressed him greatly. “I have failed my family,” he told us, while clutching his pocket watch as if to display the evidence that he had been of value.

  Then, fairly groaning, he added, “Aunt Lavinia must not know.”

  “I don’t intend to tell her,” agreed Mother. And she gave Jacob and me a severe look, which told us not to say anything either.

  As the days passed, Father kept insisting, “I shall find something,” but in fact, he did not. It was as if a failure in one part of his life spread to all. His lack of gainful employment shamed him into total inaction. As his joblessness continued, he sank into a deep, despondent melancholy and did little more than sit in the parlor, licking his thumb so as to go through the newspaper.

  One night, wanting to encourage him, I felt best to remind him of something I learned in Sunday school. Citing Proverbs 13:4, I said, “The soul of the sluggard desireth and hath nothing: but the soul of the diligent shall be made fat.”

  “You sound like Aunt Lavinia.”

  I was horrified. Was I, against all desire, all hope, becoming like her? No. I studied that proverb and decided it was much like the brave words in Jane Eyre: Your will shall decide your destiny.

  That said, we hardly knew what would happen to us. Father’s spirits, already low, sank lower. As you might guess, his situation caused tension at home. I believe it was that which caused Mother to become ill. Endlessly fatigued, she had severe headaches and constant feelings of stress. Dear old Dr. Laxton said she was suffering from an illness I could hardly say: neurasthenia. He insisted she rest in bed.

  With funds dwindling, we dismissed the servant. Let go the cook. Unable to pay the fees, Jacob stopped going to school. Since Mother was infirm, I — who did not believe in false pride — cooked and cleaned.

  Nonetheless there soon came a time when our funds were so depleted that Aunt Lavinia had to be informed.

  How did she respond?

  “It must have been your husband’s fault,” she told Mother. All the same, she provided some monies that we might live. That made things worse. Now there was nothing she did not oversee. One of her orders: “Victoria must take care of Jacob.”

  Thus it was that Jacob came under my exclusive care. I fed him, laid out his daily clothing, solved whatever problems he encountered, heard his woes, his worries, and tried to smooth the wrinkles in his life.

  This was truly a change of living for me, but not the one I desired. I confess I found my life increasingly yawny. To choose your younger brother’s day-to-day clothing, to stir his pudding, is not stimulating. As for living under the restrictive tyranny of my aunt, that was insufferable. Oh, how more than ever did I desire greater change, something that would truly alter my entire life.

  Having decided I would not be like my father, and do nothing, or give way to weakness like Mother on her sofa, I extended my life outside Sheldon Street. That is, I took the rash and unusual step — for one of my condition and age — of securing a position in a dressmaker’s shop — the proprietress being an acquaintance of Mother’s. I did so on my own. This employment — sewing dresses — let me earn ten cents an hour. I told Jacob that when I was working, he would have to take care of himself. He was not pleased.

  Need I say it? We kept my employment a secret from Aunt Lavinia.

  Aside from the close work of sewing, I was given the task of arranging bolts of cloth. To my shock, they were quite heavy. At first I despaired that I could ever do the work. But determined to shrink from nothing, I found myself equal to the lifting task. I actually became stronger.

  Was I happy doing this? Of course not. But had not, I reminded myself, Jane Eyre been confronted with a cruel fate — orphaned, ill-treated by her aunt, abused at boarding school — only to rise high above it all? I chose to take my circumstance as a test of my will.

  While Father did not object to my working, his pride was such that he refused my earnings. I, therefore, saved my money and imagined solving our family crisis by someday saying, “Here. I have labored hard. Take the money I have earned and hoarded. We shall not starve.”

  I constantly practiced that speech.

  But before I could give it, our lives changed once again.

  It was late November of 1848 when reports began to swirl through Providence that gold had been discovered in the West, in California. (California is the immense territory which had just been annexed by the United States after our recent war with Mexico.) The rumors insisted that this California gold could be acquired by merely bending over and plucking nuggets from the ground.

  As you might imagine, this prospect brought considerable excitement to Rhode Island, an economically distressed community. As a result, many an unemployed man decided to rush west. The sudden furor exemplified the saying, “Wealth inspires many, but easy wealth inspires multitudes.”

  When these reports of California gold first began to circulate, Father dismissed them as no more than wild-goose gabble. “Such fabulous stories cannot be true,” he insisted.

  Not long after, however — it was in early December of 1848 — Father gathered us round Mother’s sofa. With barely suppressed excitement, he read aloud from the Providence Journal what the president of the United States, the Honorable James Polk, had stated to the United States Congress about California:

  “The accounts of the abundance of gold in that territory are of such an extraordinary character as would scarcely command belief were they not corroborated by the authentic reports of officers in the public service.”

  Father put down the paper, looked around at his mystified family with a face flushed with excitement, and said, “Did you hear those words? ‘Gold of such an extraordinary character.’

  “The president,” my father stressed, “would not lie.

  “It seems to me,” he went on with more life than I had seen from him in weeks, “that since I cannot solve our financial problems here, I should go to California, where I can gather my share of this abundant gold. As soon as I do, all our problems will be solved. It will also show Aunt Lavinia the kind of man I am.”

  How like Father, the ever-careful man. It took someone of the highest authority — the president of the United States, higher even than Aunt Lavinia — to give him, as it were, permission to radically change his situation.

  I had once seen a footrace at Jacob’s school in which a man began the contest by shooting off a pistol. Father’s decision to go west was a pistol shot for me. When I heard Father’s unexpected words, my heart thrilled. Here was adventure and excitement delivered directly into the bosom of my family. Here was a way I could escape Aunt Lavinia. Which is to say, from the moment I heard Father’s words, I discovered my destiny: I too must go to California.

  THAT FATHER WOULD BECOME A FORTUNE HUNTER is something I would never have predicted. His habits had been altogether regular, his attitudes predictable, and
his conversations, dare I say, were, to me, like lump-filled oatmeal. Not a soupçon of enchanting ideas. Or action. Caution was the fabric from which his soul had been fashioned.

  An example:

  Like many in Rhode Island, Father believed in slavery’s abolition. So in the fall of 1848, he attended the Anti-Slavery Conference held in Providence. I begged to go along but was refused permission. But after he had gone, I slipped out of our house (dressed as much as a lady as I could), walked into town, and mingled midst the crowd at the back of the auditorium. Oh, the terrible tales I heard about the suffering of black people. It made me ill. I also learned about an organization called the Anti-Slavery Convention of American Women.

  That night I announced that I wished to join this women’s group immediately and do something about the scourge of slavery. Not only did my father absolutely forbid me from doing so, but I was also severely scolded for even attending the meeting.

  “All very well for you to have noble thoughts,” he lectured me. “But young ladies are meant to stay home, not fix the world. What would your aunt say?”

  Burning with righteous anger, I replied, “You, sir, though you attended the convention, are doing nothing to rid the world of this evil.” Then I turned my back and walked away.

  Not long after that scolding came Father’s astonishing announcement about going to California. It was as if he, hitherto a man glued to the earth, was prepared to travel to the moon.

  “I don’t intend to change our lives completely,” he informed his astonished family. “Once I go and collect some of the gold from the extraordinary abundance, we shall simply relocate ourselves in California. Have no doubt; business establishments with the growing Pacific trade will need double-entry bookkeeping. We shall return to our regular life. The only thing that will change is our geography. But if I’m to regain our fortunes, I must hurry. Many are already going.” There was no debate. Father was going to California.

  From that day forward, Father’s only interest, concern, talk, objective was gold. He was caught up in what, along the East Coast, was soon known as gold fever.

  But I saw it for what it was: Father wished to go to California because he thought finding wealth would be easy. That wealth, he thought, would enable him to take up a position exactly as he had at Pratt and Willinghast. He was not so much seeking the future as he was trying to regain his past.

  Even so, when my mother’s sister heard of Father’s plan, she was strongly opposed. “This is unthinkable. Utter folly. It must not happen.”

  If I’d had any doubts, her words convinced me that it should happen. I did everything to encourage Father’s decision, praising him for his courage and his wisdom.

  As for Mother, though she was at first much taken aback by Father’s decision, she soon became accepting and supportive. Perhaps, she told me, California would solve all our problems. Upon that expectation, her health improved somewhat. It was only then that I began to grasp that she too resented her sister’s interference and control of our lives. I loved her more for that.

  Jacob, who had become bored with not going to school, was swept along by Father’s venture. Father’s new great wealth, he informed me, would allow us a new house — most likely better than our Sheldon Street home, and with more servants. It would also put him in the best school, with proper friends.

  He therefore pleaded that he be allowed to go west and share in what he deemed a grand adventure. Father said he could go.

  I trust you have noticed that in all this hubbub there was no mention of me.

  I have thought hard about families, and I think they are rather like the United States. That is, there is but one union, but each state is different and each has its own government. As far as I was concerned, I was my own state. My own government. For make no mistake, I saw Father’s decision as a way to remove myself from the anchor that was Rhode Island, and thereby embrace ancora — hope.

  I began by announcing that “I believe I too should go to California.”

  To my delight, Jacob agreed with me. True, I quickly realized it was only because he fancied the notion that once we were there, I would take care of him.

  To that, I groaned but took care to do so only inwardly.

  Mother, more reasoned, told Father that there was nothing I could do for her which a servant could not accomplish.

  “But once you,” she reminded Father, “are at the gold mines and have found a comfortable home — which I assume you’ll do quickly — you’ll need someone to keep it clean and in order. As a girl, Tory is best suited for that. She’ll be much more helpful to you there than being here with me.”

  I was not pleased by those domestic prospects, but once again decided silence should be the preferred disguise and therefore kept my thoughts to myself lest I be left behind.

  Alas, even then, Father’s response was “Is not Tory’s greater obligation as a young woman to stay and care for her ill mother? I am sure Aunt Lavinia would say as much.”

  As you might guess, that was reason (however unreasonable) enough to pitch my desire to go west even higher.

  “Besides,” continued Father, “as your aunt has said, a girl is too frail to undertake such an arduous expedition.”

  I — who had spent days sewing and lifting heavy bolts of cloth — was mortified.

  Please, do not misunderstand: I love my father, but he is one of those men who rarely change their ideas. Then, when he does alter his views, he claims he has always held such thoughts and hews to the new ones as rigidly as the old. It was apparent to me that these new ideas were designed to get only what he wanted.

  Thus it was decreed I must stay with Mother in Providence. The two of us would join Father in California after he gained his fortune.

  Ah! But recall my motto: My will shall decide my destiny. I had already decided that California was my destiny. Not allowed to go? I reminded myself that, just as for Jane Eyre, each new problem was but a riddle-me-ree to be solved. I would have to act for myself. I, therefore, waited for my opportunity.

  Meanwhile, for Father, the first great question was, How might he travel west?

  It appeared there were those who actually walked across the entire continent by way of the Great Western Desert. It was the cheapest way, but surely the most strenuous.

  Or he might take a ship to Panama, and then find a way to traverse the isthmus and thence (again by ship) to California. That route held the grave danger of jungle illness.

  Or he could sail around the Horn of South America. That journey covered fourteen thousand miles and took as long as seven months. Nonetheless, while it was the longest journey — in time and space — it was considered safest. Also, Father could take a direct passage from Providence, which was a major seaport at the head of Narragansett Bay. The bay, in turn, led to the Atlantic Ocean.

  Father, ever the prudent man, chose to sail from Providence and go around the Horn.

  The next question was that of cost. The newspaper was full of advertisements for passenger tickets to the West Coast that cost at a minimum two hundred and fifty dollars. Of course, once in California, he must have other expenses: the right clothing, mining tools, and housing. At the moment, our family funds were exceedingly low. To raise enough money for his trip, he decided to sell our Sheldon Street home, his only source of ready cash.

  “Since we shall all resettle in California,” he informed us, “we’ll have no need for this house. I shall sell it and use the money to carry us west.”

  Sell our house! Hurrah for being plucky. How exciting all these alterations.

  Alas, Mother’s health did not yet allow her to leave her sofa and travel. Dr. Laxton’s word was law. Only when he deemed her fully recovered might she voyage out.

  “Women are by nature weak,” the doctor proclaimed with all the gravity of his Harvard Medical School degree. Clearly, he had not read Jane Eyre.

  Therefore, it was agreed that Mother should stay in Aunt Lavinia’s house until such time as she regained he
r vigor. It was further commanded that I should stay there with her. I was horrified.

  Ah, but don’t think me idle. I kept trying to find a way to travel west.

  Meanwhile, Father, swept up in his enthusiasm (as were so many other Providence men), arranged to sell our house and used some of the money to book passage on a vessel, the Stephanie K. A ship of 450 tons, she was scheduled to leave Providence for California in February of 1849. Father selected sleeping berths that, he said, were big enough for him and Jacob.

  “Are these berths big enough to accommodate me?” I asked, making one final plea to be included.

  Father replied, “Tory, as I have told you many times, you must remain in Providence with Mother.”

  I did not ask again.

  Happily, there was another magnificent idea in Jane Eyre, which came to my rescue. I beg you to go to chapter 34 and find this sentence. It reads:

  I would always rather be happy than dignified.

  This unfearing sentiment was the key to solving my difficulty.

  Recall: Jacob and I had been conspirators in the matter of my schooling for some time, so we knew how to do things without our parents’ knowledge. Is there anything sweeter than siblings’ secrets?

  Also, had I not joined the library on my own? Had I not been reading secretly? Studied school in secret? Walked alone to downtown Providence?

  The plan I devised was simple: when the Stephanie K. left Providence, I would be on board — as a stowaway.

  WHEN I TOLD MY BROTHER WHAT I INTENDED to do, he became a willing — if wide-eyed — accomplice. I also think he felt better knowing that I would be with him in California.

  Still, my plan had considerable risks.

  I might be noticed by my father and put ashore.

  Being a stowaway, I might be accused of a crime and the captain might lock me up in the ship’s brig, thereby bringing shame to myself and my family.

  I might so distress my mother as to set back her recovery.