Eternal Damnation Quest for Justice

Eternal Damnation

Quest for Justice

IAN G WELCH

A Night Owl Publication

Copyright © 2021 Ian G Welch

All rights reserved.

Publishers Note: This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional and any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

About the author

Ian’s books

Foreword

Gold fever was sweeping the world. 1849, a gold strike in the Sacramento Valley triggered an influx of prospectors from all corners of the globe. They all had one dream. Instant wealth. By 1855 the Californian gold rush was over, but new discoveries were being made all around the world and word soon reached the Californian miners. The lure of the precious yellow metal was strong; many boarded sailing ships to seek their fortunes in far off countries.

Chapter one

Sacramento goldfield 1853

Clifford Foster lay on his back, the image of a picture perfect tall dark-haired woman floated into his thoughts. She was speaking to him.

Do you really have to do this? It’s dangerous country, there are wild animals. It worries me. And don’t tell me you are doing it for me. You know I don’t need lots of money to be happy. Your father has a good business, he would love you to take it over. We could have a good life here in San Francisco.

Listen to your wife, Clifford, Abby is talking sense. The image of his father, Noah, now stood beside Abby. They both stared intently at Clifford. I’m almost ready to retire. My blacksmith business has looked after our family well for the last twenty years. It could do the same for you. Sure, it won’t make the fabulous wealth the prospectors talk about. But that is the problem, it’s just talk. They’re dreamers. They are living a fantasy. Only a very lucky few will ever strike it rich. The rest will barely cover their expenses. Believe me, I’ve seen it all before.

Clifford smiled at Noah. Father, I have to make my own way in the world, I have to be master of my own destiny. I know your blacksmith business is a good business. It has provided a good living for you. But it is your dream, not mine. I need to follow my heart. Maybe I won’t get rich, but I will never know if I don’t try.

The images of Abby and Noah faded away. An irritating tickle on his forehead commanded Clifford’s attention. Instinctively he lifted his hand to swat the insect away. Shafts of debilitating pain stabbed at his back. Instantly Clifford’s eyes flickered open, he stared into the darkness. Something’s wrong. His mind struggled to comprehend. Where am I? I must be in bed. This added to Clifford’s confusion. No bed he had ever slept in felt like this.

A disorientated Clifford struggled to maintain his focus. He wasn’t asleep, yet he wasn’t awake. He felt as if he could be floating in a cloud. A damned uncomfortable cloud. Sharp objects tormented his back.

Clifford became aware of an ever so faint glow above him. He studied the strange phenomenon. Yes, he decided, definitely real, it is no hallucination. It flickered for a brief moment, then it was gone. He squinted into the predawn darkness, quickly dismissing his observation as meaningless mind meanderings. His thoughts focused on the here and now. Uncontrollable shivering tormented his body. God, it’s freezing. He could not recall ever feeling this cold. Nothing made sense. His mind became engulfed in a swirling pool of confused emotions. Logical thought eluded him. If it wasn’t so damned cold drifting back to the comfort of sleep would be a welcome release.

A familiar sound focused his thoughts. The air filled with the sweet cacophony of birds welcoming the new day. They sound so close they could almost be here in the house. Clifford smiled. Why do birds sing their lungs out at daybreak? Do birds even have lungs? He rolled onto his side, his body exploded in excruciating pain. Now instantly wide awake, the debilitating pain focused his thoughts. He could make out the skyline along the mountain ridges. Good God, I’m not in bed. I’m outside. He could see the dawn breaking. A dull glow highlighted the mountain tops, the sun struggled to peep above the dark outline of the rugged landscape.

Struggling to make sense of his situation, his mind a confusing mix of turmoil and confusion, he tentatively touched his head and arms, exploring, searching for an explanation for the debilitating pain that racked his body. It was barely light, Clifford studied his hand. The light played tricks with his eyes. He knew his fingers were wet and sticky, they had something dark on them. He smelt them. Still unsure he tentatively held his hand to his mouth and touched his tongue. Blood. He knew the salty taste. Definitely blood.

A cold chill swept through Clifford, smidgeons of memory came trickling back. Yes, he had been working into the night, he vaguely remembered slipping on some loose shale. That was all. Everything else was a blank. Confusing, Clifford peered into the breaking dawn searching for clarity. His paraffin lamp tied to a gnarly old tree high above attracted his attention. Yes, that’s my night light so I could work into the evening. That explains the glow. Clifford studied the steep mountain side, the lamp a good .thirty feet above him. I must have fallen all that distance, it’s a miracle I’m alive.

Clifford tried to stand. An excruciating pain tormented his body like an avalanche of arrows shot from ….shot from where? He uttered an involuntary gasp and collapsed in a heap. Tremors of concern pulsed through him. The reality of his precarious situation hit him like a sledgehammer blow. He might now live to regret his insistence on working alone. Maybe this would be his final act, the one that sealed his fate. Survival definitely not a given.

Like most prospectors, Clifford jealously guarded the location of his new claim. And that was the way he liked it. Or he did until this morning. That decision might now cost him his life, he was miles from any other claim. No one knew he was here.

Clifford lay on his back and surveyed the now uninviting landscape. A bald eagle glided over him: its wings widespread. It gazed at Clifford with a dispassionate stare as it caught a thermal updraft and soared towards the heavens. The natural beauty of such a magnificent bird in full flight completely captivated him. For a brief moment he forgot his dire predicament. He twisted his body to follow its flight. Thunderbolts of needle-sharp pain immediately pulsed through his body. He gasped as the reality of his dire predicament came flooding back.

Clifford glanced around him, he made a measured visual assessment of his situation. The riverbank and his cabin were tantalizingly close. A little more than one hundred yards. His cabin represented possible survival. Food and shelter. Hope. Clifford cautiously moved his limbs one at a time, he needed to ascertain the extent of his injuries. Even the slightest movement sent bolts of excruciating pain stabbing through the small of his back. He lay back in despair. There was no way he would be able to cover that one hundred yards. It may as well be one hundred miles.

Why, God, why me? Clifford yelled out in frustration. He was not a religious man; Abby was the one with faith. His mind flashed back to their years together. She had always supported him without complaint, no matter what outrageous scheme he concocted. He suspected she did not approve of his foray into gold mining. But she had only politely questioned the wisdom of his decision. The positive being she had not demanded he abandon his dream.

Despair consumed Clifford. Now he was going to leave Abby a widow. How would she support herself? And Ethan, he was too young to step into the man’s shoes, to be the provider. No, he had failed them both. His mind wandered, he recalled how Abby had desperately wanted a daughter. Having Ethan had been a difficult birth, any more children proved to be an impossibility.

A contrite Clifford sought solace from the only higher authority he could envisage. OK, forget me, God, the very least you can do is provide for Abby.

Being a positive person, Clifford’s exuberance and bubbling enthusiasm often picked Abby up and carried her. All he felt now was an energy sapping flood of depression. Who could feel optimistic when facing certain death? And how would this death come? Would he slowly waste away from starvation? He had heard tales of miraculous survival of people who had gone for weeks without food. They all recounted it was the lack of water that was the hardest to deal with. The body became dehydrated giving rise to debilitating nauseous headaches and hallucinations.

Maybe if he was lucky he would just drift off to sleep and not wake up. But this was highly unlikely. Would he succumb to exposure brought on by the freezing nights? Another scenario almost to frightening to envisage. Maybe he would be found by some flesh-eating predator. It would wait until he became too weak to fend it off.

Clifford shuddered, the one thing he was certain of, no death would be pleasant. He propped himself up on an elbow, he could still see the eagle in the distance circling majestically in the abundant mountain thermals. A thought flashed into his head. Yes, he had still felt some pain as he moved, but it was nowhere near as debilitating as previous. He noticed a weak sun had climbed above the mountain peaks, his body had ceased shivering. In fact, he almost felt comfortably warm.

Thank you, God. Clifford realized he had yelled this out at the top of his voice. The words reverberated through the valley shattering the crisp still morning air. The solitary eagle banked in alarm and swooped back towards Clifford; its sullen eyes locked on the cause of the disturbance.

Clifford looked back down to his cabin. A renewed optimism replaced former pessimism. His negative thoughts dissipated, non-survival was no longer an option. His dream was not going to destroy him, nor would he let down those who depended on and believed in him.

By God, I’m going to make it to that cabin even if it kills me. He laughed out loud at the irony of the thought.

Clifford dragged himself over the rocky terrain, he had to make it back to the shelter of his cabin. Inch by inch, foot by foot. Food, warmth survival were the rewards. Many times he paused as the pain threatened to become unbearable. He now possessed a new steely resolve. Damn it, I’m going to make it. I will see Abby again; I will be there for Ethan.

Numerous times he slid on loose rocks down inclines. His saving grace being his journey was all downhill. He knew he could never have made it up the mountain. The sun had set in the evening by the time a bedraggled Clifford dragged himself into his cabin. His eyes had been locked on his front door for the past three hours as he had painfully inched closer. He had no doubt he would not have survived another night outside in the freezing night-time temperatures.

His hands were cut and bleeding, his throat felt like he had swallowed a rasp. Clifford grabbed a broom using it as a crutch, he managed to lift his head level with a shelf which doubled as his table. He hooked a pottery jug which contained water with the broom and carefully eased it towards him. Thankful that it had not tipped over, he greedily drank his fill. All he wanted now was sleep. He gazed at his bunk. Getting himself into it would be impossible. Again, he used the broom to hook the blankets onto the floor. He covered himself and drifted into a dream ridden sleep.

Time became his enemy. Hour after hour, day after day, week after week. Clifford lost track of time. Each day was the same. Monotonous, unable to do even the simple tasks. Another pain racked twenty-four hours to endure. Looking back undoubtedly the worst days in his life.

He ate very little, he never had the luxury of a hot meal. He existed by nibbling on his meager supply of salted meat which in turn fueled his thirst. Trips to the water’s edge to restock his water jug proved to be an incredibly painful mission. One he absolutely dreaded.

The pounds fell off him, he guessed he must have lost three stone. Clifford’s cheekbones protruded from his gaunt face; his eyes had sunken into his cheeks. The true extent of his sallow features being masked by the tangled matted beard he now sported. His skin hung loosely from his undernourished frame. He was wasting away.

When James Fisher stumbled on his campsite eight weeks after his accident, Clifford could support his own weight, but walking was still extremely painful. Clifford thanked providence. He saw James as his salvation. The answer to his prayers. He struck a deal, in return for James transporting him to the nearest settlement, Clifford would surrender a seventy-five percent share in his claim. A very profitable claim but a claim Clifford knew he would never be able to work.

***

Abby waited patiently for word from Clifford. She focused her attention on bringing up Ethan. She had taken a job with Al Johnson, an old-timer who ran the local hardware store. This had continued for over a year. Al supplied all the hopeful prospectors’ everyday needs. It was an extremely profitable business, he made far more money than most of his star-struck customers.

Al frequently queried Abby. Any news from Clifford, Abby? His respect and compassion for Abby did not apply to Clifford. Anyone who could abandon his young wife and son to pursue a dream of instant wealth was not worthy of respect.

No, no news, Al, I haven’t heard from Clifford for months.

Has he sent you any money? Abby shook her head, she avoided Al’s piercing stare.

I’m going to give Clifford a piece of my mind when he gets home. He has no right to treat you like this. It’s a husband’s duty to provide for his wife.

Abby responded with a weak smile. Al often made his opinions known to her. She consoled herself, yes, it was not an ideal arrangement. But if Clifford could make the substantial strike he dreamt of, all their hardship would be worthwhile.

***

Six months after his accident a frail, gaunt Clifford appeared on Abby and Ethan’s doorstep. He had sent word he was coming, but that could not prepare Abby for the shock of seeing the pitiful condition her once proud husband had degenerated to. It took almost a year to nurse Clifford back to somewhere close to his former condition.

The doctor informed Clifford his prospecting days were behind him. He should consider himself extremely lucky he was not paralyzed. He could never again do hard physical work. A desk job would be his only future option.

Clifford had time for reflection. His foray into prospecting in the Sacramento valley had almost claimed his life. He had found very little gold, barely enough for his young family to survive on. He raced from claim to claim hoping, praying that the next would be the elusive bonanza he sought. The one he deserved. Desperation grew with each failure, as did his risk taking.

Lady luck was not his friend. An uncanny knack for arriving at a new site just as a substantial find was struck at the site he had just vacated tormented his very soul. He cursed his bad luck. But this last claim had shown huge potential. He truly believed he had struck pay dirt. On reflection, he knew his haste to work it before others thought to try the area had led to his accident.

Forever the optimist a bubbling Clifford broke the news of a bold new venture he was planning. Abby listened patiently; amazed, at the same time concerned, at his unbridled enthusiasm. Her first impression was skepticism. But as he patiently explained, yes, she could see some merit in this bold new initiative. Certainly, she had some apprehensions. Who wouldn’t? Clifford planned to embark with his family on a sea voyage to the other side of the world.

Where on Gods’ earth is this country, New Zealand? And traveling to another goldfield?

Clifford explained, I’m not chasing the gold, I know I’m physically not capable of that. I’m going to follow Al Johnson’s example and open a general store to service the miners. Look how successful Al has been.

This news incensed Noah. He was scathing in his criticism of Clifford’s latest hair-brained scheme.

What are you thinking, heading to another goldfield, and on the other side of the world? Noah was furious. Now close to retirement his dream was for Clifford to gradually take over his blacksmith business. That plan was in tatters, now his son was setting sail to God knows where.

New Zealand? Why risk your families’ lives to sail to the end of the world to a country no one has even heard of. Think of Abby, think of Ethan. For God’s sake, the boy is only twelve years old. And do you know how many ships sail out to sea and are never heard of again?

I know you think I’m crazy, father, but this time it will be different. I’m not going to chase the gold; I know I can’t handle that. While I was recuperating, I had several long chats with Al Johnson who you remember Abby worked for.

A deflated Noah nodded. He knew Abby had turned into the breadwinner for the family. She had been responsible for getting the family through their tough times.

Do you know Al made more money than most of the miners, and he did this by supplying their everyday’ wants? His store stocked everything. Groceries, shovels, basic tools, and equipment that everyone had a need for. His store was right on their doorstep, the miners had no need to travel for anything. They could spend all their time doing what they came to do. Look for gold.

You don’t have to travel to the other side of the world to open a store, pleaded Noah, you could open one here in San Francisco.

You’re missing the point, father, it’s at the new goldfields you need to be. You have a captive market. All miners want to do is work their claims. Time to travel for provisions is wasted time. The secret is you need to be there first. That’s why I have picked the Otago goldfield in New Zealand. There are small fortunes to be made, at least as much as most miners, and for a lot less effort and risk. I sold my share in my claim to James Fisher. He has done very well. He was happy to pay me one hundred dollars for my share. Now I have more than enough money to set myself up in business.

Noah sighed; he knew it was pointless arguing with Clifford once his mind was made up. He had a nagging premonition that this would be the last time he would see his only son and his young family.

Chapter two

Arrowtown, New Zealand 4 years later.

How things had changed. For Ethan Foster four years felt like an eternity. Arrowtown had suddenly transformed from an exhilarating utopia to something akin to hell. Ethan sat on a wooden chair and stared blankly into space. His tall lean frame slouched despondently. His mother would have reprimanded him and ordered him to sit up had she been there. But Abby was not there. She would never be there for Ethan, ever again.

His eyes watered as his despair threatened to overwhelm him. He glanced around the room. It was a house he had never considered his home. His eyes traversed the sparse furniture. A sole wooden table and two chairs. It barely registered they had seen better days. That was irrelevant. Inconsequential. Nothing in life mattered anymore. The only other furniture in the tiny house were the two beds. His mother’s and his own. Abby would never again have need of hers.

This house now triggered bad memories. In a perverse way it symbolized the catastrophic demise of the Fosters. Ethan’s family. It wasn’t their house, it wasn’t home. It had never been either. They had been mere tenants. This house like most of the town belonged to Cedric Mayberry.

A despondent Ethan glanced down at an eviction order in his hand. He had seven days to vacate the property. Did he blame Cedric? How could he? He hadn’t paid the rent for three weeks. The simple truth being he would never be able to pay. Cedric knew that. Yes, Ethan understood, but understanding was different to acceptance. The truth, he was well past caring. His life was shattered, there was no point looking forward. He had no future.

Thinking of, being concerned with Cedric Mayberry was neither here, nor there. Yes, he might be an important person in Arrowtown, but more pressing issues dominated Ethan’s thoughts. Strangely, Ethan’s mind continually meandered back to Cedric. The man financed many enterprises and commanded a grudging respect from the townsfolk. Ethan felt no respect, he felt nothing. Just a hollow emptiness. He glanced again at the eviction order. Anger, closely followed by a demoralizing despair surged through him. There was almost bewilderment over his families’ rapid change in fortune. How everything had gone so wrong. Not quite true, Ethan was well aware of the events that had led to their demise. The why, was what he struggled to understand.

It seemed like only yesterday, life had been as close to perfect as it could possibly be. His father, Clifford’s decision to leave California and set up his business in Arrowtown had been a stroke of genius. The store had flourished, Abby, his mother had thrown her weight behind Clifford, with Ethan leading a life most young men could only dream of. Hunting and fishing right at his front door, and the snow-clad mountains for winter recreation.

Arrowtown held a special charm. Yes, it was a bustling gold mining service town, but it was so much more. Arrowtown was a picturesque little village nestled in a valley surrounded by snow-clad mountains. The morning sun peeped through the valleys and over the white glistening ridges drenching the sleepy little village in a pleasant warm glow. The sheltered settlement, mirrored a picture postcard idyllic setting. But no one came to admire the beauty of the landscape.

Arrowtown no longer existed just to service a few rural businesses. Every single resident was in some way inexplicably linked to the precious yellow metal. Prospectors were here for that one purpose, to pursue their dreams of striking it rich. They were hard, determined men, most had endured long, harrowing sea voyages to be here. Numerous small businesses had sprung up to support and provide for the prospectors. Doctors, bakers, blacksmiths, carpenters, engineers, even the police were all here because of the gold. They were parasites feeding off a captive host. A host mesmerizing them with the lure of the precious metal.

Ethan’s mind was awash with memories. He recalled the happy hours he and Cheng spent together. A smile flickered onto his face. They were an odd couple, many locals frowned on their close friendship. Cheng, being Chinese, and a similar age represented Ethan’s one and only true friend. Ethan and Cheng by necessity gravitated towards each other. It was most unusual for miners to bring their families to the Goldfields.

Cheng’s family was different. They were much like his mother and father. They were not prospectors, they looked after the Chinese community. They ran a Chinese supply shop that stocked all kinds of weird and wonderful oriental products. They provided a variety of services for the Chinese prospectors. The small Chinese community had never truly been accepted by the other miners. Tolerated, but not accepted. Out of necessity, they kept very much to themselves.

A hint of a grin momentarily creased Ethan’s face as he recalled. Yes, he loved his life in this quaint little settlement. Or he had. The Foster family frequently thanked providence for delivering them this opportunity. But that was before. There could be no turning back the clock. That life was over. All he had now were memories. The future held no pleasant expectations. There was no future.

Ethan sighed, his past now relegated to history. Life had undergone a cataclysmic change. Ethan shuddered as the grim reality of his precarious predicament enveloped him. The eviction