"All's not Gold that Glitters;" or, The Young Californian

by Alice B. Haven

Mr. Gilman, who might have lived in peace and plenty in his own house, among his own fields, had come to work like a slave; to bear such fatigue as the lowest New England farm-laborer never imagines, and the tyranny of a man he hated and despised. Yet he was one among hundreds on the slopes, or in the ravines of the great Sierra, who had thrown away competency, and the love and comforts of a happy home, for a life that the prodigal son could not have accepted in his greatest need. To many of them repentance, when it came, was not less bitter, but the return to a father’s house, with its plenty and its affection, impossible.

Rumors of a new discovery higher up the river, excited Colcord’s grasping disposition, just as their claim was beginning to make a yield that even experienced miners called remarkable. Wonderful stories of “pockets,” holding a pound of clear gold, and lumps weighing almost as much, were in busy circulation; and many of the oldest settlers of Larkin’s Bar emigrated on the first report. If Colcord had not wanted to go, Mr. Gilman would have insisted on it,—but they happened to be more at variance than ever, about a disputed loss at cards, and Mr. Gilman obstinately opposed the plan. Colcord was dogged,—but offered to settle the matter by selling his share of the claim, at a most enormous sum. He had no idea Mr. Gilman would agree to it, knowing very well that it was almost every cent they had saved. Just at that moment Mr. Gilman would have thrown away every thing in his old pride and obstinacy, and though Sam saw what an unjust demand it was, he begged his father to consent to it. And in this way, when he had almost given up all hope of better times, or ever saving enough from the drinking and gambling Colcord always contrived to draw Mr. Gilman into, Sam found himself his father’s sole companion and adviser.

In all his California perils and adventures, that boy never felt a greater relief, than when he lost sight of Colcord. He hoped it was for the last time. He thought of the Old Man of the Sea, who had proved such a troublesome acquaintance to Sinbad, and his father laughed as he had not done for many a day when he heard the comparison. It was a happy moment for Sam, when his father cheerfully shouldered his shovel and said,

“Well, Sammy, as we’ve shaken him off, at a pretty considerable price, we shall have to work all the harder to make up for it. I guess your mother won’t be sorry though, if we do have to stay a year longer on the strength of it.”

Since they came to the mines, Mr. Gilman had hardly ever spoken of home, and Sam took what he said, as a sign of “the good time coming.”

At last it did begin to seem as if Mrs. Gilman’s trust and hope would have its reward. Her husband was right in thinking she would be willing to have them stay longer, when she found out Colcord had left them. She did not hear of it until three months afterwards, for the cheerful, affectionate letter, which Sam coaxed his father into writing, had a long and wandering journey to San Francisco, in the team of the trader to whose charge it was given. There was no weekly mail, as there is now, uniting the interests and the lives of the two coasts. The short, travel-stained letter, was received with a welcome only less glad than would have been given to the dear exiles themselves.

A new love and interest grew up between the father and son. They toiled cheerfully all day side by side. Mr. Gilman resumed his old good nature, and was in better spirits than Sam had ever seen him. He was ready with a joke and laugh, at the many amusing incidents of their wild life, and half civilized companions. Every body threw off the artificial manners of city life, at the mines. Never was there such an odd assembly gathered together. The rough western farmer was in partnership with a young man just out of college, or who had danced the polka at Saratoga or Newport the year before. They troubled themselves very little about dress, and any one who had never heard of the Californian gold mines, would have thought them a race by themselves, with a national costume of well worn trousers and red flannel shirts, who were under a vow never to shave or submit to the modern operation of hair cutting.

In only one thing was Mr. Gilman unlike himself. “Easy come, easy go”—was the principle on which most of the miners acted. It seemed folly to be careful about small sums, when there was so much to be had for the digging, and not taking care of the “ounces,” the “pounds” soon disposed of themselves. After Colcord disappeared, the very spirit of avarice seemed to take hold of Mr. Gilman. He scarcely allowed himself time to sleep or eat. They had purchased a tent of some departing miner before Colcord left them, on the anticipation of the rainy season, or they would still have been sleeping with only their blankets for a covering after the day’s fatigue.

Mr. Gilman’s habits of idleness and self-indulgence, had injured his strength before leaving home. The voyage which made Sam so brown and hardy, had a contrary effect on him. When Sam was braving the cold wind on deck, or exercising every nerve and muscle in climbing the rigging, Mr. Gilman slept in his bunk, or played some game of chance in the close air of the steerage. He had never recovered from the last day’s exposure on the plains, and it was natural that this severe and unaccustomed toil should have its effects. Sam did not know that the very industry at which he wondered and rejoiced, was the effect of a feverish excitement of mind and body that could not last. It seemed only natural that his father should exert himself to the utmost, to get home again. Mr. Gilman appeared almost afraid Sam should know the amount they had collected. In one month after Colcord left, they had more than made up the amount paid to him, and Mr. Gilman was never tired of calculating it to himself. He seemed to grudge the smallest remittance to his family, telling Sam it was “all for them in the end, every cent,” when he began to talk about sending home to his mother for the winter, as they had promised. It was always to be done by the next opportunity, but opportunities passed, and Mrs. Gilman was looking forward to a penniless winter, while her husband was hoarding nearly two thousand dollars, on the banks of the Yuba.