Chapter 26: Civilization

 

February 17, 1849. The weather continues to confine me to our cramped cabin, though on a good day I can hunt, which gives me a few hours of peace and replenishes our meat. Not the life I expected when I left Oregon a year ago. One year ago today.

 

Mac’s cabin fever mounted, while Huntington’s cough lingered on. In late February the old prospector’s health finally began to improve, and Mac felt comfortable leaving Joel and Huntington on the claim and traveling to Sutter’s Fort.

The community around the fort had grown even more in the months since his last visit. A wood and canvas city had sprung up on the river delta, the nearby forest slaughtered for tent poles and boards. Shacks and shops dotted fields outside the fort walls. Muddy streets wide enough for wagons to pass ran between the buildings. Men pounded hammers and worked saws near the river—a cacophony of civilization. Pilings in the water marked what looked to be the outline of a bridge.

Mac stocked up on food and bought nails to build more sluices. He didn’t have any gold to deposit with Nate, because the partners had done little digging since Joel’s last trip to the fort. But he stopped in the assayer’s store anyway.

“Good to see you, McDougall,” Nate said, coming around the counter to shake Mac’s hand.

“Place has changed since the last time I was here.” Mac brushed dust off his hat, then waved it at the door. “Lots of new buildings.”

“We call ourselves Sacramento City now,” Nate said. “Army surveyed and laid out the streets in December. All the land between the American and Sacramento Rivers. Sutter sold a huge parcel of land outside the fort at auction in January. New stores are opening every day. Only thing holding us back is the flooding.”

“I’d heard about the auction. Also heard the American overran its banks at the Embarcadero. Did the water reach this far?” Mac asked.

Nate shook his head. “We’re too far from the river. Folks with land along the American had trouble, though the river lots are now the ones most in demand. I was glad to be on higher ground. New miners flock into town daily.”

“So early in the year?” Mac was surprised.

“These men traveled from South America, where summer’s just ending. We’ll be overrun with Spaniards and Mexicans soon. A steamship makes a regular run from Panama to San Francisco now. And a Post Office in San Francisco, too. Someone brought a bag of mail to the fort, so you might check before you leave town to see if there are any letters for you.” Nate shook his head. “Susan wrote—she’s on her way.”

Mac recalled the assayer’s concern over his granddaughter. “Is she traveling alone?”

Nate shrugged, but seemed troubled. “Her letter said other women also booked passage on the ship, but that’s all I know. I have no idea when she’ll arrive.”

“I’m sure she’ll be fine,” Mac said. Not much he could say to reassure his friend.

Nate continued with more information, “Newspaper is planning to start publishing soon. The Placer Times.”

“Civilization in California,” Mac said, glad to shift the conversation to less personal matters.

Nate chuckled. “If you want to call it that. Most of the new arrivals are pretty rough characters. More than two thousand folks call Sacramento home now. There’ll even be a bridge to span the American.”

“I saw the construction as I rode in.”

“Bridge should open this spring. Wide enough for wagons.”

“How are the prices of gold holding up?” Mac asked.

“Sixteen dollars an ounce for dust,” Nate said. “A storekeeper here—man named Mills—is planning to open a bank.”

“Will a bank hurt your business?”

Nate shrugged. “Plenty of gold for everyone, I expect. The government might even open a U.S. Mint in San Francisco. Half a million dollars’ worth of gold left port in one ship last November, headed for the mint in Philadelphia. But that’s too much risk even for Uncle Sam.”

Mac finished his business and went to the fort to ask for mail. “Nothin’ for McDougall or Huntington,” he was told. “But here’s a letter for a Mr. Joel Pershing.”

Mac took Joel’s letter and headed for the Golden Nugget. He was tempted to break the letter’s seal to see if it mentioned Jenny, but that would be wrong. So he’d stay close while Joel read it.

Mac wasn’t surprised when Consuela joined him in the saloon when he ate. “Evening,” he said.

“Buenas noches. Where is your high-spending friend Joel?”

“Still in camp. He didn’t make this trip.”

“So it is only you here this evening?”

“Only me.” Mac said. “And I’m only interested in eating.”

Consuela frowned at him. “Who is she, Mac?”

“Who?” He raised an eyebrow. No reason to tell Consuela his history with women—he didn’t like to relive that history even in his own mind.

“The woman you think of.”

Consuela sounded friendly, but Mac didn’t want to recount his troubles. Not about Jenny. Not about Bridget. “Let’s just say I haven’t had much luck with women.”

“Then there has been more than one woman in your life?”

Mac stared at his glass, avoiding her eyes. “You’re working. You don’t have time to hear my sorry tale.”

“Someday you will tell me,” Consuela smiled, touching his cheek. “’It’s a pity, whoever she is, that she keeps you from enjoying life.”

“Do you enjoy your life, Consuela?”

Her laugh was low and husky. “But I am not a handsome rich prospector like you. Enjoy your warm dinner, because your bed will be cold.”

The next morning Mac bundled himself in his overcoat, loaded his supplies on the pack mule, and headed back to the gold claim. The journey was cold but uneventful, no sign of anyone following him.

When he arrived, he handed the letter to Joel, who opened it eagerly.

“It’s from Esther,” Joel said. “She had a baby girl. Named her Cordelia, after Ma.”

“Does she mention anyone else?”

“Damn.” Joel threw the page covered with Esther’s small tight script to the ground.

“What’s wrong?” Mac said, reaching for it. Had something happened to Jenny?

Joel grabbed the letter back before Mac could read it. “Pa’s married.”

“Married? To whom?” Mac waited for Joel to scan the words.

“Amanda Purcell,” Joel said, groaning in disgust. “She and her three children have moved onto Pa’s claim with him.”

“Well, that’s a surprise,” Mac said. “Though both your father and Mrs. Purcell might relish the help of a spouse.”

“Esther’s beside herself. Hates the woman. And her kids.”

“Why? Mrs. Purcell did the best she could after her husband drowned on the trail last year.”

Joel shrugged. “Esther and Ma were close. Esther fretted at Ma’s interference, especially when she and Daniel were courting, but she and Ma were thick as thieves against the rest of us.”

“What about others from our company?” Mac asked, not wanting to mention Jenny. “Did Esther say anything else?”

“It’s all about family. Zeke moved to his own claim. The young’uns are in school this fall. Miz Jenny’s the teacher.”

“Jenny’s teaching?” Mac was surprised—had she run out of money? “What else does she say about Jenny?” He reached for the letter.

“That’s it.” Joel yielded the paper to Mac.

Mac read every word carefully, but Esther’s letter didn’t say anything more about Jenny.