Jerimiah's Gold

Chapter 16

It was cold. A shiver crept its way up my spine to the back of my skull. It was dark, moist, and freezing. I had no concept of direction, only knowing to keep my body close to the ladder as I descended. I cursed myself for not bringing a lantern. I pressed my hand against the freezing, damp walls of the shaft and cautiously stepped forward. The heels of my boots clicked on the stone floor as I moved aimlessly forward. From the darkness, mice could be heard scurrying about the floor. I'd never necessarily been afraid of vermin, but I would not particularly enjoy having a mouse run across my foot in this condition.

I seemed to be traversing through a large corridor of sorts. The wall would vanish then reappear, giving me the assumption that rooms were built into the walls. What those would lead to, I don't really want to know. I felt the canister first, then I felt the jagged knob, and then I twisted it. The flame from inside the lantern that was hooked on the wall, connecting a nail to a wooden support beam, illuminated the entire shaft. I studied my surroundings when I was finally able to see.

As I predicted, I was indeed in a massive corridor. The walls were a light gray stone with granite sprinkled about with nonuniformity. There were a total of three rooms that were dug into the rock. The third room is were I currently stand, as it's the only one with a light, then there is one room to the left of me, and one right across from me, both cloaked in an ominous black. I carefully retrieved the lantern from the hook and entered the third room.

It was empty with the exception of a wooden desk that's collapsed in the middle due to age, and a chair in a similar state of disarray. I exited and walked across the corridor into the second room. This room had shackles hanging from the ceiling, and two cages large enough to hold human beings. While that's all very well concerning, my only question is why the hell an oil rig needs shackles and cages. I knew they used this rig as a makeshift outpost so the Union could spy on the Canadian government, but that doesn't answer anything so far.

I entered the room more. Now being directly center of the human confinement equipment. I breathed in a breath of sulfur and coal, and a faint smell of dry blood. I slowly walked around the room, my heels clicking the stone at a two second rate. I held the lantern higher in an attempt to light more of the room, I wish I hadn't, for that very thing caused me to drop my lantern and make the wick blow out. On the wall, written in dried blood, read a saying. The most disgusting slur. "Darkies Gold" was written in the blood above one the cages that was sealed by barbed wire. Inside the cage was a mangled skeleton that was just at the early decaying stages.

I picked up my lantern and vigorously twisted the knob until a weak flame appeared, barely enough to light up my entire arm. I approached the catch that had the writing. The skeleton had it's head facing down, back contorted as if they were forced into the cage, and their hands and feet dangled lifeless outside of the metal bars. Inside of his chest, buried behind his ribcage, was a treasure chest, the treasure chest. The cage was locked and I didn't have the patience to look for a key, so I began stamping on the rusted padlock. I knew it wouldn't take much effort as the lock was badly eroded and rusted due to neglect.

The lock fell off, making an ear piercing shrieking noise as the metal spammed into the stone and slid across it. The noise echoed throughout the entire underground system and reverberated back into my skull. I clamped both hands on either sides of my head until the grinding noise stopped, and the cage door was opened ajar. My hands shook and my body trembled as I got closer to the chest. I opened the door more, causing more of the metal to grind and scream at me.

Once the door was fully opened, I reached in and snatched the chest from the skeletons ribcages, breaking and shattering every bone as I did so. The skeleton collapsed into a pile of bone and dust. I retrieved my knife from its holster on my belt, and began prying the chest open. It wouldn't budge. Frustrated, I figured it'd be better to do this in fresh air so I could properly breathe finally. I stood to my feet, grabbed the lantern, and made my way back to the ladder. I climbed up with one hand gripping each rung, and the other hugging the chest close to my waist. I emerged from the darkness and was met by a setting sun, as the orange light of the evening sun blanketed everything in a beautiful gold ember. Despite being a ramshackle oil rig that's literally falling apart from the inside. I limped with exhaustion to the door I previously couldn't get opened. There was nothing but plywood nailed on each hinge, so as any self respecting woman would do, I kicked the shit out of it until it broke in half.

Once the barred door was taken care of, I shoved the door opened with my shoulder and fell onto the mud and grass outside. Fresh oxygen attacked my lungs as I took deep inhales. The chest was sprawled away from me but I quickly crawled to it and hugged it close to my face. All of our problems, all of our stresses, are now going to be cured. Mother's sickness, Frederick's stern bitterness, Klara's future, and my way back home. I hadn't told anyone, nor had I put much thought into it during my travels, but a piece of me wants to revisit Mexico. See what's out there for me, see what my actual people are like rather than the whitewash that's here.

I cried, no, sobbed into my elbows. I was filled with so much joy and hope that I couldn't contain it, so I allowed myself to sob inconsolably. I lay there in the mud for a moment before climbing to my feet like an injured baby deer. I clicked my tongue for Wiona and waited for her to come trotting up to me. While I waited, I threw the chest at the rig in an attempt to break open the top. It only kind of worked, there was an indentation on the top and I could see that some of the wood chipped off revealing a piece of folded paper inside.

Desperate, I set it on the ground and stomped on it. When that didn't work, I jumped on the box until it finally concaved on itself and I was on my rear in the mud. I clawed the broken wood out of the box like a lion devouring the intestines of a gazelle. The contents lay before me inside of their box: exactly six bars of gold, hundred dollar bills in three stacks, and a folded piece of paper. My mouth watered and drool practically poured out. I grabbed two fistfuls of dollars and shoved them into my satchel. Then I picked up the piece of paper and opened it, it was a letter addressed to the Kentucky state house.

"September 12, 1865. Governor, this is Jeremiah Cliff, you may know my men. It has come to my attention, and the rest of the Cliff chapter in the state of Louisiana and of Eastern Texas respectively, that you have passed a bill that directly violates the treaty set with those Injuns. They are good people. Wether you choose to see that or not, they are good people, and you have gone a took land that was not rightfully owned by any one man. Cliffs, as black Americans, sympathize with the Injuns and their rights. We expect to hear back from you by November 24, 1865. Thank you, Jeremiah Cliff."

There were a total of three letters, I called for Wiona again and opened the next one.

"November 26, 1865. Governor, this is Jeremiah Cliff. Last month I gave you ample time to right the wrong that you've done to those people. Now I hear that they are to be sent to a government run facility of sorts, you may call them reservations, we call them death traps. Governor, I do not expect you to understand the cruelty of the American Union, however I do implore you to have some humanity when making these deals. Take those Injuns out of that camp, and let them live free as Americans. Jeremiah Cliff."

I could hear Wiona's hooves stomping in the distance as I called her for a third time before opening the last letter.

"January 1, 1866. Governor, it is a new year and still I'm being told that other tribes are getting the same mistreatment as the previous one mentioned in the other letters. Governor, I have implored, begged, and kindly asked you long enough. Expect a demonstration at the Louisiana state house on January 5, 1866. Know that when government officials start littering the streets, you were the man that could've prevented it. Jeremiah Cliff."

I put all the letters back into the chest and stood up to see - not Wiona. A black Standardbred horse stood tall in front of me. It had no saddle, nor a rider, but it stood with the utmost superiority and pride. It was an officers horse, as the branding on the right shoulder reflected what was a US official seal. But no saddle or reigns? I was most curious, but I didn't want anything to do with this horse for some reason. It felt evil, I guess? There was a very strong omnicity about this horse. I could see Wiona ten yards away, skulking at the horse. I felt her glare. Something was definitely not right.

Cautiously, I backed away from the black Standardbred and mounted my white shire, Wiona, then trotted away looking over my shoulder every few second to see the black horse staring back at me. I spurred Wiona softly and she started a slow gallop.