Chapter 38: Old Friends and New Endeavors

 

After they voted, Mac told Joel about the letter he’d had Consuela write Jenny. “It says I’m dead. And I’ve deeded my Oregon land to her. You can’t let on I’m still here when you write your family.”

“I don’t know why you’re going to all this trouble if you and Miz Jenny ain’t really married. Giving her your land?” Joel shook his head. “Ain’t no reason for it.”

“I owe her something. She was a good companion along the trail.”

“Then you’re going back to Boston?”

“Nowhere else to go.”

“You could keep mining,” Joel said. “If I don’t tell, no one in Oregon will know you’re still in the West.”

“I’m tired of mining,” Mac said. “I have enough gold to be comfortable the rest of my life.”

The men stayed in Sacramento two days after the election while Mac drafted a contract assigning Joel his portion of their mine. “It’s only you and Huntington now,” Mac said. He and Joel sat in the Golden Nugget signing papers in late afternoon on August 3. “I still think you ought to hire on more men.”

Joel shrugged. “Don’t like working with folks I don’t know.” Joel pushed back from the table. “Hear tell a man named Brannan is building a big hotel in Sacramento down by the river. Think I’ll stay there next time I go for provisions. Beds’ll be softer than here at the Golden Nugget, most likely.”

“Seems your bed’s been soft enough,” Mac said, nodding at Consuela.

“She ain’t been so friendly this week,” Joel said. “Ain’t friendly to you neither. What’d you do to her? Besides make her write that letter.”

“Nothing,” Mac said.

“Must’ve been something,” Joel insisted. “She ain’t even looking at you.”

“It was nothing,” Mac repeated.

Joel’s voice boomed as he chortled, “Did you finally screw her? You was upstairs with her all night.”

Men at other tables stared at them. “Quiet down, Joel,” Mac murmured. “No need to tell the whole saloon our business.”

One of the men staring was a balding man in a black suit, starched collar, and string tie. When Mac frowned at him, the man stood and walked over to their table. “Where you fellows from?” he asked, holding out his hand to Mac.

“Mining claim a couple days northwest of here,” Mac replied. “Caleb McDougall.” He stood to shake the man’s hand. Joel rose also.

“Lansford Hastings,” the man said. “Haven’t I seen you men here before?”

“Could be,” Joel said. “We come to town regular for provisions.”

“Hastings,” Mac said. “Not the Hastings who wrote the emigrants’ guide?” The guidebook had been well-known in Boston, though it proved deadly for some emigrants to California—the Donner party in particular. The Donner company had been trapped in snow through the winter of 1846-47, and many of the poor souls had starved. Others survived only by eating their animals and leather harnesses—and possibly the bodies of their fellow travelers. If Mac had known of their plight before he left Boston, he might not have been so eager to make the perilous journey.

“The very one,” Hastings said. “Did you read it?”

“I certainly did,” Mac said. “Our company followed Frémont’s maps, but your story, sir, was my original inspiration to see the West. We traveled to Oregon originally, not California. I’m from Boston.”

Hastings smiled. “I was born in Ohio. Went to Oregon myself in forty-two. Since then, I’ve been in Alta California, went back East, then back to California. I have a law practice, and now I aim to go to Monterey as a delegate to the convention.”

“Mac’s a lawyer, too,” Joel said. “I’ve been telling him to go to Monterey, have his say about the laws in these parts. He’s tired of prospecting. Too dirty for him.” Joel grinned at Mac. “Says he’s going back to Boston.”

“Now, Joel, I never said prospecting was too dirty.”

“You should join me, McDougall,” Hastings said. “If you want to be a part of California politics, now’s the time. This territory will grow faster than we can imagine. Those men who are here first will reap the riches. We’ll be a state before you know it.”

Hastings sounded like Mac’s father. Still, it might be interesting to help establish a new government. “I’ll think about it, sir,” he said.

“Monterey, first of September. If you come, look me up. I’ll put you to work. Lawyer work. You’ll keep your hands clean.” Hastings gave a slight bow and left the saloon.

Soon after Hastings left, Mac stood. “I’m having dinner with Nate and his granddaughter,” he told Joel. “Would you like to join us?”

Joel shook his head. “Nate don’t like me. And maybe with you gone, Consuela will treat me more kindly. I ain’t asking her to tell anyone I’m dead.” He winked. “I got lots of life in me yet.”

Mac met Nate and Susan in the lobby of their hotel near Fort Sutter, and they went to a restaurant on the ground floor of a gaming hall right outside the fort. “We need to find a more suitable place to live,” Susan said, as Mac seated her at the table. “The hotel is full of ruffians and drunkards. It’s no more than a saloon.”

“I’ve offered to buy us a house in town,” Nate said. “Though the hotel offers better lodgings than most have in Sacramento. Most men are living in tents, as are many families. Not enough houses for folks who haven’t already made their fortunes. I’ve even told Susan I’d take her to San Francisco.”

“But if we move, who would run your store?” Susan asked. “You need a man of business to help you.”

“Can’t find a knowledgeable man I trust in these parts,” Nate said. “Unless you want the job, Mac?”

Mac shook his head. “Don’t give me another option. Joel thinks I should go to Monterey to the Constitutional Convention. And I’ve about decided to head back to Boston.”

“Monterey,” Susan exclaimed. “Why, Mrs. Frémont wrote me she is there now. I traveled with her and her daughter from Panama City. She and I became close acquaintances on the boat. She was horribly ill with a fever she acquired in the tropics, and I helped tend her daughter. After many weeks she recovered, but was still only slightly improved when we set sail for San Francisco.”

“Who is Mrs. Frémont?” Mac asked.

“Captain John Frémont’s wife. Senator Thomas Benton’s daughter. Surely you’ve heard of Captain Frémont.”

“I have indeed,” Mac said. “His guide book and maps saved our wagon company many times on the way to Oregon. He’s in Monterey?”

“For the convention, I suppose,” Susan said.

What harm could it do to spend time in Monterey? Mac thought. He had an offer of employment from Lansford Hastings, and he could meet his hero, John Frémont.

The next morning Mac told Joel of his change in plans. He wanted to return to the claim one last time before riding to Monterey.

“Ain’t no way to persuade you to keep digging?” Joel asked.

Mac shook his head. “Time for me to move on.”

As they rode away from Sacramento, a voice called out from the camp of travelers outside town, “Captain McDougall! Joel Pershing!”

Mac peered around and recognized the dark-skinned man running toward him. “Tanner,” he shouted. “What are you doing here?”

“Brought my family to California,” Tanner said. “For the gold.”

“Where’s Jenny?” Mac asked.

“On your claim, of course,” Tanner said.

“You left her alone?” Mac’s throat went dry at the thought of Jenny struggling to provide for herself and William. He’d thought the Tanners were with Jenny when he’d sent the letter from Consuela. How would Jenny cope alone?

“I couldn’t stay in Oregon, Captain,” Tanner said, shaking his head. “Weren’t nothin’ there for colored folks like us.”

Hatty came up beside her husband, smiling. “Captain McDougall, it’s right nice to see you.”

“How was Jenny when you left?” Mac asked. “And William?”

“They was fine, Captain. Mr. Zeke was tendin’ the farm for her. No need to worry ’bout Miz Jenny nor your boy.”

Despite Tanner’s assurances, Mac panicked inside. He hadn’t feared for Jenny’s safety when the Tanners stayed on the claim with her—Mac trusted them, which is why he’d asked them to live on his land, knowing that he would leave after one winter in Oregon.

He still shouldn’t worry, he told himself. Zeke would watch out for her. That was what he wanted—for Jenny and Zeke to marry once Jenny received word of his death. That’s why he’d had Consuela write Jenny. Wasn’t it? But he’d never meant her to be alone.

Talk between Joel and the Tanners swirled around him. “Mac,” Joel said. “You ain’t listening. How ’bout we take the Tanners to our claim? Tanner can work for me and Huntington, since you’re leaving.”

“You leavin’?” Tanner sounded surprised. “Thought California was the land of milk and honey. Where you goin’? Back to Oregon?”

“Mac don’t know what he’s doing,” Joel said in disgust. “One day it’s Boston, the next Monterey. There’s a government convention next month. What do you say, Mac? Let’s take the Tanners to the claim. I’d be comfortable working with Tanner.”

Mac shrugged. “That all right with you, Tanner?” he asked. “It’s rough work.”

Tanner chuckled. “No rougher than Oregon, I ’spect. Can our wagon make it through?”

“What about Huntington?” Mac asked Joel.

“I’ll deal with that old coot.” Joel grinned. “I’d like to see him try to squabble with Hatty.” He turned to Tanner. “Is your wagon ready for more hills?”

The men walked around the wagon. “It’s in good repair,” Mac said. “Your mules should be able to pull it. Trail’s not as bad as Barlow Road, and a lot shorter.”

The expanded party set out for the mining valley. It took four days in the hot August sun to move the wagon through the hills to the claim. On the evening of the second night of travel, after ruminating while the group struggled to maneuver the wagon on the trail, Mac wrote:

 

August 6, 1849. I sold Joel my claim, and good riddance. He and Tanner can mine with Huntington’s guidance while I go to the convention, where I hope to learn something. Perhaps I’ll hear more of Jenny later through Joel. If she marries Zeke, I won’t need to worry about her.

 

When they arrived at the diggings, the Tanners professed themselves pleased with the land. Otis immediately splashed into the stream looking for fish.

“I’ll build us a little cabin on the ridge afore winter,” Tanner said. “We can live in the wagon till then. We’s used to it.”

“My tools are here. Joel can outfit you with what you need,” Mac said. “I’m only taking what Valiente can carry. Give you my pack mule, too.”

“You ain’t changed your mind, now Tanner’s here?” Joel asked.

Mac shook his head. If anything, he was more set on leaving. The Tanners’ presence was a constant reminder that Jenny was alone. “Might as well see how a constitution is written. I’ll look up Hastings, like he offered. And perhaps I will meet John Frémont.”

“I knew it.” Joel chuckled. “You’re a politician at heart.”

Mac made his way back to Sacramento, down the Sacramento River, across the bay by ferry to San Francisco, and along El Camino Real—the King’s Highway—to Monterey. In San Francisco, he posted a letter to his parents:

 

August 25, 1849
Dear Mother and Father,

I have an opportunity to participate in the Constitutional Convention for California this autumn, and have decided to remain here for the winter. I regret that I will not return to Boston to be with you this Christmas, as you had requested.

I have been offered a position with Mr. Lansford Hastings, Esq., from Ohio, who has made his livelihood in California for many years. He is an inspiration to those of us who love the West. I am eager to try my talents at constructing the government for a new Territory, which quite possibly will become our nation’s next State.

I shall think of you frequently this winter, and I will write of my plans for next spring. Please convey my disappointment to my brothers and their families at our continued separation, but I believe I can be of the greatest service to society by remaining in California for another season.

Affectionately,

Your son, Caleb