Chapter 24
San Francisco
May 1854
Adozen men—mostly miners and sailors—crammed into the dank room where Alden and Isaac had rented overnight space on the floor. Thankfully, Isaac fell right to sleep on a mat. The stories the men around them told weren’t fit for the ears of a child. Or for a gentleman.
He didn’t want to listen to their tales of depravity, but as a rain shower pounded against the roof, he was glad for the shelter. And for the meal they’d found in an eatery near the bank. He and Isaac had feasted on freshly baked bread—something they hadn’t tasted since Boston—and an Italian stew called cioppino made with white wine and a mishmash of seafood from the Pacific.
He tried to sleep, but his mind raced instead with fear. In the past few hours, his plans for the future had disintegrated, and he wasn’t sure how to put the pieces back together so he could either find Judah or obtain work for both him and Isaac.
Until he left Virginia, he hadn’t realized that fear often accompanied the freedom he’d desired. Was this the reason so many slaves never even attempted to run away? The unknown was a frightening place.
“Did you hear what happened to that free Negro over on Market Street?” one of the boarders asked the other men.
Alden turned toward them on his bedroll.
“He was kidnapped and sold into slavery, like that Solomon Northup fellow back east. Two other men saw it happen, but they were both Negroes so the judge wouldn’t let them testify.”
“We should go get him,” another man declared, clearly intoxicated.
“You got to find him first.”
A third man spoke. “If we’d keep the Negroes out of California, then we wouldn’t have these problems.”
“Someone should have kept you out of California.”
As the men argued about the institution of slavery, Alden realized he couldn’t tell anyone else about his intentions to find Isaac a home in California. Until Isaac was adopted, feigning his enslavement was the best way to protect him.
The men around him finally succumbed to sleep, but his own rest was fitful, with the serenade of snoring and rustling, men entering and leaving at all hours, the saltwater breeze filtering through cracks in the walls until the first rays of sunlight trailed the wind.
Alden woke Isaac early. He needed to find work so he could provide food and a decent place for both of them to board. They drank black coffee for breakfast at a local stand, then searched for plain, ready-made clothing that would define them as neither gentleman nor slave. Alden took what remained of his wardrobe to a local laundry. Isaac tossed his holey trousers and shirt into a rubbish pile.
People stared at them as they walked through the streets. At first Alden thought it was because of Isaac’s darker skin color, but the sidewalks were full of miners, fishermen, and businessmen from all around the world—China, Mexico, the Sandwich Islands. The farther they walked, the more he realized that people were probably staring at Isaac because he was a child. The busy streets were as void of children as they were of women.
Alden practically tugged Isaac up one more hill to the bathhouse. He’d found another law office listed in the city directory, and he hoped Judah had either relocated or the attorney at the office—a Mr. Clement—might know where he went. After bathing, they would set out to find the address.
“I don’t need a bath,” Isaac insisted outside the establishment’s front door.
“We both need a bath.”
“Miss Persila made me bathe two weeks ago.”
“And she’d make you take another one if she was here now, with soap and fresh water.”
Isaac sighed. “I miss Persila.”
“Perhaps we will see her again soon.”
Isaac contemplated that thought. “I suppose I should take a bath, just in case we do.”
“A splendid idea.”
After Alden washed and shaved—and Isaac appeared to have at least rinsed off—they visited a barber to trim their hair. Then they set out on their quest to find the law office, locating it a block away from the wharf, as if the lawyer was waiting to settle the disputes that brewed at sea.
The office on the third floor was small but clean. Mr. Clement waved them into the room, toward two cane chairs, but he didn’t look up from his paper for several more minutes.
When he did, he glanced curiously between Alden and Isaac before homing in on Alden. “Is the boy your slave or a runaway?”
“He’s with me,” Alden said simply.
“Has someone been harassing you about the slave laws?”
“I’m trying to determine the law.”
“We’re still establishing law in California,” Mr. Clement said. “Unfortunately, most people here would rather string someone up than take their cases before a judge.”
“I thought slavery was illegal.”
“Officially, slave owners can only bring slaves into this state if they’re just passing through, but I know Southerners who brought slaves here back in ’49 and haven’t left yet.” Mr. Clement drummed his fingers on the paper. “How can I help you?”
“I’m actually looking for work as a lawyer.”
“Have you practiced before?”
“Not yet, but I finished more than two years at Harvard Law School.”
Mr. Clement shook his head. “The judges around here don’t care one whit about law school. They won’t hear you until after you’ve been admitted into the bar.”
“I need to apprentice first.”
“I don’t have any time to train an apprentice,” Mr. Clement said, looking back down at his paper. “You best find work doing something else.”
“Do you know a man by the name of Judah Fallow?”
Mr. Clement glanced back up. “Last I heard, Judah went to Sacramento City.”
Hope began rising inside him again. “How do I get to Sacramento City?”
“If you take a paddle wheeler up the river tonight, you’ll arrive by morning.” Mr. Clement nodded toward Isaac. “Best keep your eye on him. Passions around here are high on both sides.”
“I’ll do that,” he said, before thanking the man.
He would collect his laundry later today and go back to the wharf with Isaac to find one of the paddle wheelers. Perhaps he had a job waiting for him in California after all.