Chapter 21
San Francisco
May 1854
The Pharos and its worn passengers passed through the Golden Gate on the twenty-sixth of May. Fog draped over the cliffs, reminding Alden of the mythological sirens that lured sailors forward with their sultry voices, enticing them straight into the treacherous rocks.
He leaned against the railing as if it would help Captain Crandall navigate between the rocks on their way into the harbor. They’d left Boston with 117 passengers on board and were landing with two less—both men who’d died of scurvy.
The ship had made record time with the winds propelling them north. And the people crowded on the deck were anxious to set their feet on firm land. Once their stomachs had been satisfied with the provisions from Valparaiso, it seemed that none of the passengers could talk about anything except gold. As if every one of them would find a pot of it in this strange new land.
As if gold were the answer to all their problems.
Alden’s work on their boat had given him plenty of time to think, though he couldn’t really formulate a plan until he found Judah’s office. Later, he would find a family to care for Isaac.
Someone slid up beside him, leaning against the rail. He thought it was Isaac at first, but it was Mrs. Dawson. The petite woman had made a remarkable recovery in the past week, as though the promise of land ahead was the remedy for whatever had ailed her. Isaac continued reading to her each afternoon, but she joined the other passengers in the dining saloon for her meals.
They drifted past a shipwreck partially masked in the fog, the abandoned hull rising and falling with the waves, grating against the rocky islet that ended its voyage.
Mrs. Dawson nodded toward the wreck. “Do you think the passengers made it to shore?”
“It’s hard to tell,” he said, though he didn’t know how a smaller boat could help passengers stranded against that stone wall, especially if it was during a storm. Swimming between the outcroppings of rocks would be dangerous on a day with fair weather, impossible in waters churned by the winds.
“I always think of California as a place for beginnings,” she said, tugging on the fingers of her white glove. “But I suppose it’s an ending for others.”
He hadn’t thought about endings here either, but he and Isaac had come too far for an ending. This was a new beginning for both of them.
He felt Mrs. Dawson turn toward him, but he kept his eyes focused ahead, at the promise of a harbor hidden deep under this fog. “Is Mrs. Payne coming to join you?”
He shook his head. “I’m not married.”
“I see,” she said. “Surely you have a woman waiting for you to return home, then.”
“I’m not going back.” Stella, he hoped, had already married Robert.
“You need a woman to help care for Isaac,” Mrs. Dawson said. “And a wife to help keep you warm.”
Was she propositioning him? The woman was about ten years his senior and attractive in her fashionable mauve dress, her dark hair brushed into a modern winged style, and a shiny salve polishing her lips.
When she smiled at him, he wrenched his gaze away, focusing back on the foggy gateway. She was comely, but she was also a married woman. “I heard California is already warm,” he said.
“I heard it snows plenty in the mountains.”
He inched away from her. “That’s why I’m staying in San Francisco.”
“You still shouldn’t be alone.”
He rubbed his hands over the rail. “Is Mr. Dawson waiting for you in the diggings?”
“Oh no,” she said, waving her glove. “There’s no Mr. Dawson. It’s just safer traveling as a married woman.”
“That’s shrewd of you.”
“You can’t fool me, Mr. Payne.” She scooted closer to him. “You may have been a deckhand on this boat, but you are clearly a gentleman. And I am a lady in need of companionship.”
One day he wanted to marry, but he didn’t want a marriage of convenience. Or to make promises simply to keep warm. One day, he wanted to marry a woman he loved. A woman who would dare love him in return.
“I’m afraid I have all the companionship I need.”
“Of course—it’s impossible to dig for gold when you’re traveling with company.” She looked back down at the white-capped waves. “Would you consider selling the boy to me? I’ve become quite attached to him.”
He considered her words for a moment. He may not need a wife, but Isaac needed a mother.
“I’d pay you a good sum,” she continued.
“What if you didn’t pay me anything?” he asked. “What if you adopted him?”
She stepped away from the railing, her smile slipping. “Why would I adopt him?”
“You said Isaac needed someone to care for him.”
“Without a husband, I need someone to care for me.”
“Ah.” The woman didn’t want a son. Isaac would remain in slavery with this woman until she found a husband. Then he’d be dispensable. “I’m afraid he’s not for sale.”
“So I get nothing from you?”
“Well wishes as you search for gold.”
“I’m not looking for gold.” A smile returned to her lips again. “I’m looking for a husband so I can help him enjoy his gold.”
“It seems I have liberated you, then.” He tipped his hat to her. “I’m not here to look for gold either.”
As Alden stepped away, he saw Mr. and Mrs. Webb along the rail, on the other side of the deck. Persila stood near them and so did Isaac. Persila held Isaac’s hand as if she feared he might fall into the water, watching over him again like she’d done repeatedly as they worked together these past months.
Alden had tried to talk to her about freedom, about the possibilities in this new state, but she didn’t seem to be able to entertain the hope of a future beyond serving the Webbs.
Isaac leaned against the railing, searching for a glimpse of the harbor. “Is it really California?”
“That’s what Captain Crandall says.”
“What will we do when we get on land?” Isaac asked. For the first time, Alden heard a tremor of fear in the boy’s voice. They’d worked hard these past five months to secure their passage out west. And now the end—or beginning—was close at hand.
“I have a job waiting for me here.”
“Will you hire me out?” Isaac asked.
Alden shook his head. “I’m hoping they might have work at the office for you too.”
At least until he found Isaac a good home.
An albatross flew over their ship, diving into the bay, and the land began to clear in front of them, breaking free of the fog. He saw sand hills at first, covered by scrubs of evergreen, and then the harbor with a forest of ship masts huddled together below a hill, like weeds sprouting out of muddy soil. Above were the façades of buildings, stair-stepped up, and clusters of shanties and tents on each side.
San Francisco.
Everything looked grimy yellow from this vantage point. Dank. But it was home, and he was glad to be here. He would learn to work alongside Judah. And he and Isaac would be free from slave masters and ship captains alike.
The clipper dropped anchor near the pier, and Captain Crandall ordered his crew to extend the gangplank, but Alden and Isaac were officially done with their work. Alden had left his trunk back in Boston, so all he and Isaac carried were two carpetbags.
His legs wobbled as the wood below him on the gangplank seemed to sway.
“Why am I still rocking?” Isaac asked, his eyes wide.
“It will stop soon,” Alden reassured him. “Our bodies don’t know we’ve landed yet.”
Isaac reached for the rope railing. “I hope my legs figure it out soon.”
Persila trailed the Webb family down the gangplank. While almost everyone else had a look of jubilation on their face, she looked terrified to discover what this new land held.
“Are you going straight to the Mother Lode?” Alden asked Mr. Webb.
The man looked at him with the same disdain as many of the other passengers on the ship, but then he saw Isaac and seemed to realize that Alden was a kindred spirit of sorts: the only other man on the Pharos who’d brought a slave into California with him. “We’re going to Sacramento City for a week or two first, then we’ll travel to the goldfields. Where are you headed?”
“I’m staying here in San Francisco.”
Mr. Webb nodded at Isaac. “Are you selling him?”
“No,” Alden replied. “Are you selling Persila?”
“Not yet.”
Alden lowered his voice, pretending to confide in the man. “I was worried about bringing a slave to a free state.”
“There’s no need to worry,” Mr. Webb proclaimed. “I heard there are plenty of slaves out here, digging gold for their masters.”
Alden groaned inwardly.
“Once we strike it rich, we’ll buy us a fine mansion and live as good as anyone else.”
While the Webbs collected their freight, Alden slipped up beside Persila. “You can find me at 316 Stockton Street,” he said. “I will do everything I can to fight for your freedom.”
“You fight for Isaac’s freedom,” she said before kissing the boy on his head. “I’ll be praying for you both.”
Isaac looked as if he might cry. “I’ll be praying for you too.”
He and Isaac strolled off the pier, into a hodgepodge of adobe buildings, wooden warehouses, saloons, and hotels. The hulls of old ships were used as foundations for some of the buildings, and canvas was draped as roofs over others. The streets were crowded with men it seemed from around the world, speaking different languages. He only saw one woman, and she was dressed like a man, with sporting pants and a black frock coat.
Mrs. Dawson would find a husband soon. Perhaps before the day’s end.
“Fresh fish!” a vendor yelled on one side of the street. Another yelled that he was selling candy, oranges, and pears—a tray secured by suspenders over his shoulders displayed his wares. There were chickens in cages at an open market, quarters of animals hanging overhead. The smell of roasting meat clung to the salty sea air.
Isaac glanced up at him.
“We’ll eat soon,” Alden promised him.
They pushed through the crowds of people as they climbed the dirt road up to Judah’s office on Stockton. It was located in a two-story whitewashed building, the sign overhead displaying the names of Garrett and Baer.
Alden checked the address again before he and Isaac stepped into a bank, complete with two teller booths and an office on the side.
He slid the envelope across the counter. “I received a letter from a friend at this address.”
The teller read the address and stepped back, saying he would return.
Isaac’s nose was pressed against the glass window in the lobby. It seemed everyone else in this city was in a rush to their destination, as if they had someplace important to go. But this address was supposed to be terminus ad quem—the journey’s end for Isaac and him.
The teller returned to the counter. “Mr. Fallow used to rent an office upstairs, but he’s no longer here.”
“Do you know where he went?”
The man shook his head, slipping the envelope back to him. “My employer says he left a year ago. Probably went to the goldfields.”
Alden stared down at the letter with dismay, then stuffed it back into his pocket, mumbling a thanks to the clerk before turning toward the door.
Judah had been so resolute with his offer; Alden hadn’t considered that the man would have left San Francisco before he arrived.
Why hadn’t he told Alden where he’d gone?
Despondent, he leaned back against a post. What would he do if he couldn’t find work? Even if he found Isaac a home, there wasn’t enough money left for his return passage to Boston now.
He prayed San Francisco wasn’t an ending for them after all.