Having given this episode in the history of the gold hunters, it is necessary to take a look at events which came to pass a few months previous.
One day in the winter of 1857-8, a young man was walking slowly down Broadway, humming a lively in a mournful voice, and doing his utmost to keep up his spirits, which, just then, were at their lowest . In the nature of things, the poor fellow could not be otherwise. While in the senior class in college, preparing for the , and succeeding most brilliantly, he was summoned home to New York, just in time to receive his father’s dying ; his mother having fallen asleep several years before, he was thus left an , with a younger brother to provide for. As his father had been a leading merchant in the great , there seemed to be little difficulty in this, and he assumed the control of affairs at once.
But the mutterings of that financial storm were already heard in the sky, and it soon burst over the land, toppling old, established houses, like so many ninepins, and carrying and desolation to many a hearthstone. George Inwood placed his shoulder to the wheel, and manfully; but, where so many thousands of experienced merchants were swept away by the current, it would have been almost a miracle, had he been able to resist the whelming tide. Finding it useless, he threw up his arms, and went down with the multitude. When everything was gone, he found that he still owed his many thousand dollars.
And so he hummed the lively air in his mournful voice, as he dreamily walked down Broadway, and asked himself[20] what was to be done. He was poverty-stricken, with his younger brother depending upon him, and the big African, Jim Tubbs, who had always lived in the family from his childhood, with no means of support.
Naturally, a hundred schemes presented themselves, as they always will to a young man, when thrown upon his own resources. He might serve as a clerk—that is if anybody wanted him, which was by no means likely; he might teach, if any school was in want of such a teacher as himself, which was equally improbable. He might do any thing, if the opportunity were given him; but, during these “hard times,” he soon learned that the worst possible place for a man out of employment, is in a large city. When he was turned away again and again, his heart failed him, and as he hummed his lively air in his mournful voice, he came to a conclusion which he ought to have made a considerable time before.
“I must leave New York; I shall soon starve here.”
When he reached his , where his brother Edwin was staying, and where Jim managed to earn his own board, by doing odd jobs around the house, he called the two together, and proposed the oft-repeated question:
“Where shall we go?”
“Let’s go to Quito,” said Edwin, who had just been studying his geography, “they always have spring weather there, and plenty to eat, and so they have in several other places in South America.”
“It is hardly the place for us, however.”
“I tells you whar to go,” said Jim.
“Where is that?”
“I’s been tinking about it for free weeks, an’ made all de ’quiries possible, an’ found out it’s jest de place for us, an’ dat’s Californy. Dere’s a man stayin’ at this house now—his name is Swill—no, Mills, an’ he’s jest got back from Californy, an’, golly! you orter hear him tell ’bout de country! It’s awful splendid,” added Jim, in his enthusiasm.
“It will be quite an to go to California, and we’ll take a day or two to think about it,” said Inwood, feeling at the same time that the Golden Gate was the door through which he should pass to comfort and wealth. In the evening, he walked out alone to think over the matter.
It being nearly ten years since that flood-tide of navigation had set in toward California from every part of the world, the charm, in a great measure, was now broken, and those who went there, did so, very frequently, for other purposes than to dig gold. Yet, Inwood concluded that if he went, it should be for the purpose of extracting the yellow metal from the rocks and earth. He was twenty-five years of age, his heart was set upon being a minister, and he felt that if he ever intended to become one, even with the help which his church extended to men, he had no time to up the hill of fortune.
But right here arose the troublesome question, how was California to be reached? He had but little over a hundred dollars, barely sufficient to pay his own passage, without taking into account the necessity of carrying at least Jim with him, and the which was indispensable.
But again, kind smiled upon his project. After announcing his willingness to go to California, if he the means, Jim Tubbs suddenly disappeared, and was gone for a couple of days. When he came back again, he was very important, and seemed as well becomes a man who carries a secret in his breast.
“Doesn’t make no difference where I’ve been,” he said rather , in response to the of the slip-shod, bulky . “I’s been on bis’ness—dat’s whar I’ve been—on very ’portant bis’ness. Yas, ma’am.”
The tubby landlady lowered her head, as does a cow when about to charge, that her spectacles might slip down far enough on her pug nose to allow her to look over them. Then she stared at Jim a moment in mute .
“A black man off on bis’ness—never heard of such a thing,” and she, lifting her skirts rather gingerly, retreated from the apartment, leaving Jim alone with the two Inwoods at the tea-table. The two latter knew that the African had some news to tell and they forebore to question him, choosing to wait until he was ready to unbosom, which was just what he didn’t want them to do. He waited and[22] waited for them to inquire of him, until he could wait no longer.
“Gorry’ation! why don’t you ax me?” he finally demanded in high dudgeon.
“Ask you what?” mildly inquired George, who saw that the secret was coming.
“Why, what I’ve got to say.”
“How did I know you had anything to say?”
“’Caus you did know it—dat’s de reason. I’s been an’ seen Captain Romaine—mighty glad to see me. ‘How are you, Jim?—how’s all de folks?—how’s George an’ Ned getting ’long? Why don’t dey come down an’ see me?’ Couldn’t do much, stuffed one so full, I liked to cracked open from my chin down to my heels.”
“That’s very pleasant, but had you your important business with him?”
“’Course I had—very ’portant, but you don’t seem to care much about it, so I won’t take the trouble to tell you.”
If the curiosity of Inwood had not been already aroused, he would have left the African alone, knowing that he would burst, if compelled to hold his secret a half hour longer. So he asked him:
“What was it, Jim? don’t keep us waiting.”
“Wal, the way ob it, you see, was dis way: Arter the Captain had axed about my healfh, free, four times, I tells him what had happened, an’ how we wanted to go to Californy. ‘Is dat so?’ he axed me, in a great flurry; ‘how lucky dat are. Old Mr. Inwood was allers a good friend ob mine, an’ I’m mighty glad I can do sumfin’ for his children. I’s Captain ob dis steamer, Jim,’ said he, ‘an’ we’re going to sail on Saturday. Tell George, an’ Ned, an’ yourself to git ready an’ sail wid me. I’ll land you on de , (don’t know whar dat am) an’ give you a ticket cl’ar to San Francisco’—dat’s what he said, George—cl’ar he did.”
This was as pleasant as unexpected to George and Edwin, who expressed their delight to each other, and commended the shrewdness of Jim Tubbs.
“How came you to think of the Captain?” inquired the younger.
“Wal, you see I’ve know’d him for a dozen years. When dat steamer used to run to New Orleans, ole Mr. Inwood got him de place ob Captain on it, an’ before dat, when Captain Romaine’s wife died, an’ he was too poor to bury her, ole Mr. Inwood done it all for him. gitten him de place ob Captain right arter dat—why, I tell you it was almost more dan de man could stand, an’ he’s mighty glad to do anything he can for his children.”
“I’ll go down and see him to-morrow.”
“Yas, dat’s what he said he wanted you to do—you go right off, for he wants to see you mighty bad.”
“He sails on Saturday, and to-day is Thursday. We must get ready to-morrow. Well, we can do that easily enough, as we are not going to take a fortune with us to California, and a few hours are enough to get our baggage together.”
“Dar’s plenty ob room on dat steamer. I tell you, she’s a whisker, an’ she can take a big lot ob people. De Captain showed me frough ebery part ob it, an’ it war a sight to see. I told him I shouldn’t go, ’less he’d let me work my passage. He kinder laughed, an’ said if I was so anxious to make myself useful, he’d find some little jobs for me to do somewhere ’bout de boat.”
The next morning, George and Edwin Inwood went down to the , and made a call upon Captain Romaine, who commanded the California steamer, “Golden Gate.” The large hearted captain was glad to see them, shook them both cordially by the hand, and, having learned how matters stood, from the Jim Tubbs, he soon put his friends at ease. They agreed to take passage with him on the following day, and then bade him good morning. As they were stepping off the , the captain touched the shoulder of George, and motioned him aside.
“These are dreadful times, and I know it has gone hard with you. A man who is going to California, as you are, needs quite a pile to equip him. Now, my boy, if you need anything, I hope you will do me the kindness to say so; for nothing would give me greater pleasure than to do a favor for the son of the best friend I ever had.”
Inwood thanked him, but assured him that he needed nothing. He felt that he could not receive any more favors at the hand of one who had already done so much.
On the following day, when the Golden Gate turned her head down the Atlantic, and steamed swiftly toward her distant destination, she carried with her the brothers Inwood, and the African, Jim Tubbs.