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 bleak day in the winter of 1857-8, a young man was walking slowly
down Broadway, humming a lively tune in a mournful voice, and doing
his utmost to keep up his spirits, which, just then, were at their
lowest ebb. In the nature of things, the poor fellow could not be
otherwise. While in the senior class in college, preparing for the
ministry, and succeeding most brilliantly, he was summoned home to
New York, just in time to receive his father’s dying blessing; his
mother having fallen asleep several years before, he was thus left an
orphan, with a younger brother to provide for. As his father had been
a leading merchant in the great metropolis, 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 woe and desolation to
many a hearthstone. George Inwood placed his shoulder to the wheel,
and toiled 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 creditors many
thousand dollars.
And so he hummed the lively air in his mournful voice, as he dreamily
walked down Broadway, and asked himself 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 lodgings, 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 undertaking 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 Christian minister, and he
felt that if he ever intended to become one, even with the help which
his church extended to indigent men, he had no time to plod 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 outfit which was
indispensable.
But again, kind Providence smiled upon his project. After announcing
his willingness to go to California, if he possessed 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 mighty secret in his breast.
“Doesn’t make no difference where I’ve been,” he said rather
savagely, in response to the inquiries of the slip-shod, bulky
landlady. “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 amazement.
“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 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 Isthmus, (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. Den
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 wharf,
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 loquacious 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 plank,
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 colossal African, Jim
Tubbs.