Page 52 of Blowing Off Steam

“Right, ma’am!”

They stepped around a plush red seat that lay smoking, covered by a pile of loose planking. A section of one of Calliope’s sideboards barred their way, contents spilled out and smoldering. When she reached out to touch one of her favorite centerpieces of artificial roses, she noticed her forearm was bleeding slickly from the knife that had blasted into it, as though she were a fresh piece of pork loin.

“Captain Cousins!” Calliope raised an arm to get the Cleopatra captain’s attention. He saluted, and she bellowed through the smoke, “Send the skiff over! Captain Wakeman is here. Injured.”

The remaining crew members of the El Dorado looked at each other expressionlessly. Their eyes held various combinations of rage, pain, and sheer bewilderment at the enormity of what had just happened.

“You don’t mind me,” Rushy told Field. “Take care of the boat. Oversee all these clowns, or the hull will fill with water.”

Field straightened out Rushy’s soiled lapel as though he were attending a ball. “I’ll oversee you.”

“When did you last see the shrimpy Celestial responsible for this mess?” Rushy asked.

Field replied, “When I tossed him over the rail. Haven’t seen hide or hair of Stan Sitwell either, since he apparently allowed the riceman to ruin the boiler.”

Rushy tried to josh. “Evidently he didn’t cotton to being told not to molest you anymore.”

Calliope added, “It’s really Soquel Haight who’s responsible. The peewee only did what he was paid to do.” She thought about the hand she’d seen floating and more than one other unidentifiable body part. “Go up the hill, Rushy.”

“Calliope, you go with Rushy back to Sacramento,” Field said. “Find the doctor. I’ll join you once I’ve sorted out this rathole.”

“Don’t lose the El Dorado,” Rushy said, his eyes reflecting the last of the flames flickering from the destroyed galley. “I’ll take care of Soquel Haight. I’m going to ruin that jackleg, Field. I’ll use him up so small that God Almighty himself can’t see his ghost.”

The last thing Field did was take Calliope’s hand in his and kiss it, seemingly to ensure that her ring hadn’t flown off in the blast. His eyes sparkled with determination, and love welled inside of her at his bravery and capability.

EPILOGUE

March 1854

“And once again we have these stalwart captains of the river to thank!” cried Mark Hopkins, holding his champagne glass on high. The two hundred passengers—dazed, anxious, some hysterical or in various stages of wallpapered bliss—crowding the El Dorado saloon all raised their own glasses in response. “Captain Wakeman and my boy Captain Trueworthy here have demonstrated to the people of Sacramento what it really means to pledge your bravery and commitment to saving citizens’ lives.”

Hopkins yanked Field by the arm and forced him to stand. Field felt ridiculous but had no choice. This wasn’t the first time Hopkins had referred to him as “my boy.” Field had come a long way since the days when he would hide from Hopkins for fear of being accused of stealing his steam engine.

A red-faced Hopkins even set down his glass in order to clap furiously, crying, “Here’s to you! Hoorah!”

The sea of passengers, most of them disheveled after slogging through the floodwaters that had risen over the Sacramento wharf, hoorahed and drank some more. Field tried to sit down, but Hopkins urged him to a speech. Tobias Fosburgh also elbowed Field and murmured in his ear, “Take your day in the sun. With Hopkins on our side, we can’t go wrong!”

Field started out feebly. “It is no big demonstration of bravery to take ruined and luckless citizens on my steamer. It is only through the generosity of those citizens that I even have a steamer after the explosion in November nearly put my boat out of commission permanently.”

Everyone nodded and looked about at the new velvet seats, fanciful cuspidors, and bright new murals.

Field raised his voice, waxing enthusiastic about his love of Californians. “My boat would not be here today to spirit you to safety were it not for your patronage during those difficult times. Now, hundreds have lost all they possess except their energy to earn more. Many of you could have chosen to patronize only boats belonging to the California Steam Navigation Company. But most of you remained loyal. You did not wish to fatten the purses of The Combination, the empire-building industrialists who only seek to enrich their own coffers at the expense of the ordinary fellow. You recognized that the blowhards of The Combination have been responsible for causing more steamer explosions on the river—for being heedless of how many deaths of Celestials, Kanakas, miners, and the common laborer were caused by overcrowding or overwork!”

“OK!” Tobias spat in Field’s ear. “Enough with the riceman stuff. Talk about your beautiful new wife. People love a romance.”

That was a good idea. Field gazed lovingly down at his bride. They had just been married in Sacramento before the river breached its banks, rising twelve feet in twenty-four hours and surging through the streets. Field raised his now-empty glass to Calliope, soaked to the skin in her exquisite ivory wedding dress, grimy and blood-smeared, as were most of the other passengers. Her beautifully molded features had never looked lovelier, her refulgent face never happier.

“My dearly beloved wife is not cooking for us today, since it is her wedding day. Her cordon bleu assistants from Kwangtung are in the galley preparing top-flight chop to warm your stomachs. Mrs. Calliope Trueworthy and our brave pilot Rushy Wakeman will be here to assist you with anything you may need, as they have been for the citizens of Sacramento in good times and bad.

“This is the land of enterprise, of energy, of hope—not the land of tearful, mewling louses. Our slogan is ‘Go ahead with the rush!’ We will rebuild and raise the levees to the regal heights befitting the kingly denizens of the greatest town in California!”

Tobias elbowed him again. “OK, take a break, chief. Order more champagne.”

That was another good idea. Field hoorahed some more as a few bedraggled Sacramento inhabitants fell out of their chairs. He told Chiao Kuo to fetch more champagne and bugjuice for the miners, took a seat, and turned to his wife.

My wife. Field never thought he’d be saying those words again. Or that it would fill him with such encompassing joy, especially in the face of recent disasters. Events didn’t seem to affect him as profoundly anymore with Calliope by his side. “My puss. If you want to change out of those sodden garments and primp up, go ahead to our stateroom.”

“Yes,” Rushy agreed. He was dashing today in his new frock coat that made him resemble an Alabama gambler, even if it was also torn and smeared with various ointments. “You might catch your death of chills.”