“The desire of gold is not for gold. It is for the means of freedom and benefit.”
– Ralph Waldo Emerson
Chapter One
“Can’t you read, Mick?” the large, middle-aged man bellowed. He pointed his stumpy thumb toward a handwritten sign hanging beside the shop door that read: No Irish Need Apply.
“Aye, sir, I certainly can. But, ye see …”
The door slammed in his face. He expelled a frustrated sigh, shoved his hands into his trouser pockets, and trudged down the street. After walking a few blocks, he arrived at his destination and entered a two-story brick building. He slowly climbed the wooden steps to the top floor. Making his way down the dark, narrow hallway, he walked past several closed doors until he found the one numbered 12 and went inside. The door’s hinges creaked.
A woman seated on the double bed looked up, her opaline face dewy from lack of ventilation and the warm May air. The room’s single window was partially open, allowing a slight breeze to waft in.
“Well, there ye be, Patrick,” she said with a smile as she set down her darning and stood. Her long, bright red hair was tied up in a bun. She withdrew a handkerchief from her dress pocket and dabbed at her forehead. “How did it go?”
“No luck again today, me dear,” he said. “I’ll try again tomorrow.” He pulled off his boots, doffed his flat cap, tossed it onto the bed, and sat beside it. “Where be the wee ones?”
“I sent them to the bakery on the corner to fetch us a loaf fer supper,” she replied. Seeing the exhausted anguish in his eyes, she sat beside him and softly ran her hand through his thick, dark brown hair. He gently took her hand, kissed the back of it, and then kissed her lips.
She pulled away and smiled. “It will all work out, me dear,” she said. “Sure’n me name ain’t Briana Mulligan.”
He smiled back. The name sang to him, stirring his emotions. He knew she had only just acquired his name two years ago and was still trying it out whenever she had the chance. “Aye, Briana, I know. ‘Tis just that we’re only paid up fer this hotel room until the end of the week, and our time is near its end.”
She stood and said, “I spoke with another hotel guest today, and she told me of a boardin’ house a few blocks down run by an Irish widow. Sure’n she’d be more hospitable and sympathetic to our plight, I would think.”
He nodded. “I never thought it would be so difficult to find work in Denver City. I saw sign after sign tellin’ me not to apply. ‘Tis a shameful thing to treat young lads and lasses in such a way as this.”
The door burst open. In ran two small children with hair as crimson as their mother’s. A beagle ran in at their heels. Eager to see Patrick, the dog jumped onto the bed and licked his face.
“Down, Shannon!” he exclaimed.
“Dad! Dad!” The two children ran across the small room and hugged him.
“Hello, ye two scamps!” He chuckled and gave them each a squeeze.
Briana took the loaf of bread from her daughter and placed it on the plain wooden table. “Keegan and Kathleen, go wash up at the basin. Supper’s nearly ready.”
They did as they were told. Taking turns, one poured a small amount of water into the porcelain bowl while the other washed with castile soap. When they were finished, they went over to the small table and sat on two of the four wooden chairs.
Briana sliced the bread, placed it on the table, and filled four bowls with watery vegetable soup. After carrying each bowl over, she seated herself. “Let us give thanks to the good Lord fer what he has provided us,” she said, reaching out to her children and taking their small hands in hers.
Patrick joined hands as well. “Dear Heavenly Father, thank ye fer this food which we are about to receive. Amen.”
“Amen,” the family echoed.
The children began consuming their food ravenously.
“Slow down, ye two,” Briana scolded, “or you’ll eat so fast that it won’t have time to stick, and t’will run right through.”
Keenan and Kathleen giggled.
Once the meal was consumed, the family retired early. Briana and her two children lay on the bed while Patrick was assigned the comfort of an overstuffed chair. He didn’t mind since his exhaustion soon overtook him.
When he awoke the following morning, he discovered that Briana and the children had already risen and were gone. He slowly straightened and stretched, forcing the stiffness from his back. Noticing a piece of paper on the table, he walked over to read it.
Gone to visit the Irish widow. Will return with good news.
He grinned at the note. Deciding it was time to start once more, he washed up and departed the hotel. The bright morning sun rejuvenated him, giving him hope. He looked to the west and saw the Rockies shimmering in the sunlight. Snow was visible on the peaks. The fresh air, although thin from the altitude, invigorated him. However, after a few hours of visiting various shops and places of business and receiving the same reply, he grew discouraged. As he passed a bordello on Holladay Street, he overheard laughter, and a piano playing the tune “No Irish Need Apply.” Frowning, he returned to the hotel, where he found Briana waiting for him.
“I spoke with the widow who owns that room and board I told ye about,” she said with a smile. “And she said she’d be happy to take us in.”
“‘Tis good news,” said Patrick.
“That is, after she interviews ye, of course.”
He shrugged. “Of course.”
“In fact, she offered to watch after the wee ones while I came to collect ye.”
Patrick nodded. He glanced over at Shannon, who was curled up on a rug in the corner, sleeping.
“Come with me.” Briana took his hand and led him outside. “‘Tis down this street.”
After walking several blocks, Briana informed him that they had arrived at their destination. Patrick followed her to the door. She rapped on it, and soon, an elderly woman answered.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. O’Neill. I’ve found me husband,” Briana announced. “Patrick,” she introduced, “‘tis Mrs. O’Neill.”
“Pleased to make yer acquaintance, mum,” Patrick said.
“Likewise, Mr. Mulligan,” she replied. “Please do come in.”
Patrick followed his wife into the dark parlor. Mrs. O’Neill pulled open the heavy red velvet drapes and, with a wave of her hand, directed them to sit at a small, intricately carved mahogany table.
“Yer wife says ye’re newly arrived here and in need of refuge,” she said, sitting beside them.
“Aye, mum, ‘tis correct,” he responded. “We’ve only been here less than a week.”
“What’re yer intentions while ye’re here, young man?”
Patrick glanced at his wife. “Well, mum, I’ve heard tell there’s plenty of gold in the hills, and I’d like to try me luck and stake me claim.”
“Oh, ye would, would ye?” she asked, raising a gray brow.
Patrick nervously threw his wife another glance. “Aye, mum,” he sheepishly replied. “‘Tis better to be lucky than wise.”
Mrs. O’Neill nodded. “Well, there’s a rumor of gold bein’ discovered west of here,” she said, “but as far as where it is exactly, that ye’d have to find out from some of the patrons who frequent the market two blocks down.”
“I will indeed do that,” Patrick said with a smile. “I’ve been searchin’ fer work but haven’t found any just yet.”
She nodded. “Try the livery across the street. Tell him I sent ye.”
“Aye, mum. Thank ye.”
“And I’ll be happy to take ye in as borders. Even the little dog yer missus told me about.”
“That’s very generous of ye, mum. I’ll go check out of the hotel and return shortly.”
“Splendid. Mrs. Mulligan, ye’re welcome to stay here until he returns. The children are with me sister upstairs.”
Briana smiled graciously. “Thank ye very much, Mrs. O’Neill.”
The three stood, and Patrick started for the door.
“I’ll be waitin’ to hear more about ye when ye return,” Mrs. O’Neill called after him.
He tipped his cap, hurried outside, and loped back to the hotel. Once he arrived, he packed their small traveling trunk, carried it downstairs, and set it by the entrance. He informed the hotel clerk that they were checking out a few days early, so the clerk reimbursed him. Patrick went outside to collect his horse and wagon. Once he had loaded the chest into the back of the wagon, he returned to the room, retrieved Shannon, carried her downstairs, and climbed onto the buckboard.
He slapped the reins against his mare’s withers. “H’ya Erin!”
The strawberry roan started out at a trot down the busy thoroughfare. Once he reached Blake Street, Patrick turned the mare and slowed her to a walk. Another wagon came barreling by, spooking Erin and several other equines.
“Crazy driver!” Patrick hollered.
Arriving at the boarding house, he climbed down from the driver’s seat, tied his mare, and placed Shannon on the sidewalk. He gathered the trunk, carried it to the door, knocked, and waited, noticing a signage above the door that read: Tenants Selected Exclusively by the Management. The door opened, and Mrs. O’Neill allowed their entry.
“Yer room is at the top o’ the steps and to the left,” she instructed, reaching down to pet Shannon. “When ye’re settled in, come back down fer lunch, and we’ll have a lovely discussion.”
“Aye, mum. Thanks.”
He carried the trunk up the stairs and entered. The room wasn’t much bigger than the one back at the hotel, but it was clean, and the sheets were fresh. It contained a double bed, a trundle bed, a small table with two chairs, a larger wingback chair, a nightstand with a kerosene lamp on top of it, and a cherrywood dresser with an attached mirror. A bowl and pitcher sat atop the dresser.
Briana hugged him, as did the two children. Keegan set a bowl of water on the floor in the corner and arranged a blanket for Shannon to lay upon, while Patrick informed Briana of Mrs. O’Neill’s instruction. Leaving the little dog, the family went downstairs to find the widow in the dining room, who was setting a table for them.
“Take a seat,” she told them. “Today, we have venison. I hope ye will enjoy it.”
A server brought their food out on a tray and distributed the plates. The family eagerly devoured their meal. Once they had finished, Mrs. O’Neill returned. She took a seat and told the children they could play with the toys in the study, which was the adjacent room. The two little ones scampered off.
“Now, if ye don’t mind,” she said with a smile. “I’d like to hear about yer trip out here to Colorado Territory.”
“We’d be happy to tell ye, Mrs. O’Neill,” Briana said. “We came over from Pennsylvania. Patrick and I were married a wee bit over two years ago. I’m a widow meself. Me previous husband left me with two mouths to feed. He was killed at Petersburg.”
“Oh, so sorry to hear that,” the widow said sympathetically.
Briana smiled in gratitude. “That’s when I met Patrick. He was a hired hand at a farm not far from mine, owned by a lovely couple, the Meyers’. Patrick came over to the States in ’56 when he was eighteen, and I came over with me kinfolk in ’54 when I was a wee bit older than Keenan is now. We’re both from County Donegal but didn’t know each other back in the motherland.”
“Oh, I see,” said the widow. “I’m from County Meath.”
“When did you come across?” asked Patrick.
“In ’51 with me husband during the Great Famine. He died two years later. He’s been gone these sixteen years now.”
“Our condolences, Mrs. O’Neill.”
“Thanks. But go on with yer story,” she said with a smile.
“Once we were married,” Patrick said, “the Meyers’ sold their place, and we decided to come out here. ‘Tis beautiful country, I’ll give ye that.”
“Sure’n it is,” Mrs. O’Neill agreed. “How was travelin’ such a distance?”
“Not terrible,” said Patrick. “Until we reached Council Bluffs, Iowa. We had to take a ferry across the Missouri River to Omaha and board the Union Pacific to Cheyenne. We discovered the Denver Pacific Railway has yet to be completed, so we rode a stagecoach down and arrived in the ‘Queen City of the Plains,’ as ye call it, less than a week ago. It has been a long trip, but we’re happy to be here, and the wee ones are excited to see the mountains.”
“How old are yer children?”
“Keegan is ten goin’ on eleven, and Kathleen is eight.”
“They are very well-behaved,” said Mrs. O’Neill. “Me sister took a likin’ to them straight away. She said she’d be happy to keep an eye on them whenever ye’re in need.”
“‘Tis very kind,” said Patrick. “Now I must take me leave, and go across the street to obtain me job!” He chuckled as he stood.
“We Irish keep to ourselves in the city,” explained the widow. “You’ll discover that soon enough.” She stood, and Briana followed suit. “I’ll show ye around later on,” she offered.
“Thank ye, Mrs. O’Neill,” said Briana. “We would greatly appreciate it.” Turning to Patrick, she said, “Good luck, me love,” with a smile.
He grinned back at her and walked out the front door. It was now mid-afternoon. The sky was cloudless and bright blue. He squinted, looking down the street until he spotted the livery. Sauntering to the stable, he went inside to find the proprietor.
“Good afternoon, sir,” he said, extending his hand.
The man shook it.
“Me name’s Patrick Mulligan. I’m here to apply fer a position. The widow O’Neill sent me.”
The man withdrew his hat and scratched his head. “Oh, ‘tis fine,” he said, revealing his Irish accent. “Well, I don’t have much available right now unless ye don’t mind muckin’ stalls.”
“I’m well acquainted with farm life,” said Patrick. “And I’ll take whatever ye can give.”
“Sure’n ‘tis a bargain, then,” the man said. “The name’s John Kavanaugh, by the way. I’ll pay ye a dollar a day to start.”
“T’would be fine, Mr. Kavanaugh. I’d be dishonest by tellin’ ye that I wasn’t plannin’ to go up to the mountains in a few weeks’ time.”
He scratched his head again and nodded. “Just passin’ through, then?”
“Yessir,” Patrick replied.
“Well, if ye give me a week’s notice, we’ll part as friends.”
“Aye. T’would be generous of ye. I can start any time.”
“Be here tomorrow mornin’ at eight, and I’ll put ye to work. I hope ye have a good, strong back!” The man guffawed.
“Aye, sir, that I do. I’ll see ye top o’ the mornin’ tomorrow at eight.”
Patrick shook the man’s hand and returned to the boarding house. Climbing up the stairs, he entered their room. Briana had hung two of her most prized possessions on the wall: Brigid’s Cross and a framed needlepoint given to them for their wedding from the Meyers’ neighbors, the Brady’s. The needlepoint read:
Irish Wedding Blessing
May God Be with You and Bless You
May You See Your Children’s Children
May You Be Poor in Misfortunes and Rich in Blessings
May You Know Nothing but Happiness from This Day Forward.
She had also unpacked their clothes, the few toys the children had brought with them, and the family Bible, which was displayed on the nightstand.
“Well, me dear,” he announced. “Today has been a glorious day after all. We have a new place to call home, and I have me a job!”
“‘Tis grand!” exclaimed Briana, embracing him.
‘Tis a great country at that, he thought to himself.
“It was as if the angels were carrying a city to a proper place and accidentally dropped it here.”
Travel writer Rose Kingsley, about Denver in its early stages
Chapter Two
As per their agreement, Patrick arrived at Mr. Kavanaugh’s livery early the next morning and set to work. By day’s end, he was completely exhausted and wreaked of manure. Making his way back to the boarding house, he rapped on the door for entry. Mrs. O’Neill appeared moments later, and detecting his stench, directed him to the large wash basin down the hall that also served as a bathtub. As soon as he was clean, he dressed and went upstairs to find Briana waiting for him.
“I’ve secured a job as well,” she told him as he changed. “I’ll be washin’ dishes fer the room and board until we depart fer gold country.”
“Are ye sure that’s what ye desire, me love?” Patrick asked. “I don’t know how long we’ll be stayin’ here.”
“‘Tis me contribution to help save up. Now, let us go downstairs and join the children fer supper.”
They went to the dining room, where some of the other guests had congregated. Keegan and Kathleen were already seated next to an elderly woman. Seeing them enter, she waved them over.
“Good evenin’, Mr. and Mrs. Mulligan,” she said with a bright smile. “I’m Ava Clancy, Lily O’Neill’s sister.”
“Aye, Mrs. Clancy,” said Patrick. “We greatly appreciate ye’re lookin’ after the wee ones.”
“Take a seat,” she directed. “I’ll go see to the meal. In the meantime, make yer acquaintance with some of the other boarders.” She smiled and walked off.
Mrs. O’Neill appeared in the dining room and, overhearing her sister, said, “I’ll make the introductions.”
Patrick thanked her, stood, and followed her to a neighboring table.
“Now, ye two, stay put,” Briana told her offspring before following her husband.
“We will, Mum,” said Keegan.
“Mr. and Mrs. Mulligan,” said Mrs. O’Neill, “this is Mr. and Mrs. Coleman.”
“Pleased to make yer acquaintance,” the gentleman said as he rose and shook Patrick’s hand.
“Likewise,” Patrick replied.
“The Mulligan’s will only be with us fer a short while,” said Mrs. O’Neill. “As Mr. Mulligan intends to strike gold in the mountains.”
“Ye do?” asked Mrs. Coleman, her eyes widening slightly.
“Yes, mum. ‘Tis true. I’d like to try me luck.”
“Well,” said Mr. Coleman, “There are minin’ camps near Breckenridge and Fairplay. But I don’t know of much gold that’s been discovered. Not recently, anyway.”
“I’ll let ye gentlemen discuss it further after we eat,” said Mrs. O’Neill. “Allow me to acquaint ye to some of the other guests.”
Patrick and Briana followed her around from table to table as she introduced them to the O’Leary’s, the MacDermott’s, and Mr. Kearney and his son, Liam. As the food was brought in, the Mulligan’s took their seats.
“I’ll be back to check on ye later,” said Mrs. O’Neill.
The gathering relished their meal of boiled beef, cabbage, carrots, onions, and Irish potatoes. When they were finished, Briana took the children upstairs while Patrick enjoyed a pipe with Mr. Coleman and Mr. MacDermott.
“Tomorrow when ye get off work at the livery,” said Mr. Coleman, “come down the street to the market. Several gentlemen there will be able to verify if the mines are producin’ any gold.”
“I’ll do that,” said Patrick. He shook hands with the two men, then went upstairs. All the while, his heart thumped with anticipation. What if gold really was up there, waiting to be discovered?
The next day, Saturday, he labored away at the livery, counting the hours. When quitting time finally came, he walked two blocks to the market. It was small but quaint, displaying canned goods, bakery items, and fresh produce. Patrick saw a few men gathered toward the back, so he made his way over to them.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” he said. He recognized Mr. Coleman, who introduced him to the other two men.
“This is Mr. Rowan and Mr. Gallagher,” he said. “They’ve both recently returned from the minin’ camps.”
“How do ye do,” said Patrick and shook their hands. “Me wife and I just arrived here in Denver City from Pennsylvania, and we’re lookin’ to find our fortune.”
The men chuckled.
“‘Tis true there’s lots of camps all about up there,” said Mr. Rowan. “But I don’t know of any that’s struck it rich.”
“Gettin’ over the pass is harrowin’,” said Mr. Gallagher. “But it can be done. In fact, you’ll likely encounter snow.”
“Are ye gentlemen plannin’ on goin’ back up?” asked Patrick.
“We’ll go back in two weeks,” said Mr. Rowan. “And we have a wagon train we’ll be travelin’ with. Ye’re welcome to come along.”
“That would be glorious,” said Patrick. “I’ll go inform me wife. She’ll be happy to know that she won’t have to wash dishes fer the masses much longer!”
The men laughed and shook hands.
Patrick practically skipped back to the boarding house, barely able to contain his excitement.
The following day, Mrs. O’Neill offered to drive Patrick and Briana around and show them the town. They boarded her surrey, and as she drove, she explained how Denver City had come about.
“‘Twas founded a wee bit over ten years ago,” she said. “But ‘tis much smaller than it was. Several disasters took place, which chased people away. One was a ravenous fire that nearly destroyed the town. That was in sixty-three. Then, the next year, Cherry Creek flooded its banks. Many residents lost their lives, and a massive number of livestock died as well. The Rocky Mountain News buildin’, City Hall, the Methodist Church, and several businesses were destroyed. There was a threat of water contamination, but we persevered. In sixty-five, a swarm of grasshoppers ate everythin’ in its path, and real estate values plummeted. So many tragedies, but somehow, the town is still here. Gold keeps people comin’ here, and once the railroads are complete, sure’n there’ll be even more.” She pointed to the east. “That is where the town ends. A Ute Indian village sits on the outskirts.”
Patrick squinted at the horizon. He thought he could see teepees in the distance, with smoke spiraling up into the bright blue sky.
“Right after the flood, there was an Indian uprisin’, which cut off our supply lines and left us with only six weeks’ worth of food, so the Cheyenne and Arapaho were forced to leave,” Mrs. O’Neill said. “The Vigilance Committee, or as we call them, the Law-and-Order League, keeps the peace.” She pointed to a small shanty on the corner of F Street. “Here on Wazee Street is our very first Chinese resident, Mr. Hong Lee. He runs a washin’ and ironin’ laundry business. Sure’n there’ll be more Celestials to follow.”
“How many people do ye think live here now?” asked Briana.
“About four thousand, but the population’s growin’,” replied Mrs. O’Neill. “Denver City is now the territorial capital.” She turned down F Street and passed a couple of blocks before turning onto Larimer Street. “Like any town, Denver City has its share of saloons and gamblin’ dens. Sure’n I hope ye’re not inclined to frequent those places, Mr. Mulligan.”
“Well, I have been known to tilt a few back now and again,” Patrick replied with a chuckle. “But I tend to avoid the gamblin’. Mostly because I don’t have money to lose.”
“‘Tis very wise of ye,” said Mrs. O’Neill. “We have two theaters here, the Apollo Hall theater and the Denver Theatre, where the first opera performance was held back in ’64. I’m very fond of the opera,” she said.
“I would love to attend,” said Briana. “But right now, we can’t afford it.”
Mrs. O’Neill smiled at her but said nothing.
Once the tour was over, she invited them to afternoon tea, and Briana accepted. Seeing his opportunity, Patrick declined and went upstairs for a nap. After an hour had passed, Briana came in with the children.
“Patrick,” she said. “You’ll never guess what happened!”
He sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “What, me love?”
“Mrs. O’Neill has offered to take us to the opera next Saturday. Isn’t that wonderful?”
“‘Tis very generous, indeed. We’ll have to come up with a way to repay her.”
“She said we can pay her back after we strike it rich!”
Patrick grinned. “And that we will, me dear. That we will.”
Another week of toil went by, with Patrick mucking stalls and Briana washing dishes in the boarding house’s kitchen. Mrs. Clancy volunteered to take the children to school, located in a cabin on the corner of 12th and Holladay Streets and run by another Irish immigrant, Owen Goldrick. It was the territory’s very first school, and Irish residents were quite proud of it.
Patrick decided to send a letter to his dear friend, Anna, so he had Briana pen it for him while he dictated.
“Me darlin’ Anna. We are doin’ fine, and the children are fine. We hope ye are all fine too. We arrived in Denver City after a long trip. We rode the rails to Council Bluffs, Iowa, and then crossed the Missouri River in a boat. Then we continued on our journey, travelin’ by train to Cheyenne, Wyomin’ Territory. It is a bawdy place with not much to show fer it but a railway station, several saloons, and various dance halls. We saw livestock runnin’ through the town and heard someone firin’ off shots. We were told it was the sheriff firin’ in the street at a fleein’ suspect. Anyway, from Cheyenne, we took the stage here to Denver City. I have encountered some problems gettin’ work. People here don’t take to the Irish, we’re discoverin’, but Briana met a nice widow who runs a boardin’ house, and she has invited us to stay. When ye correspond, send it to her, Mrs. O’Neill, since we are plannin’ on leavin’ fer Breckenridge. She can forward yer mail to us until we are established in the mountains. I met some lads who know of gold claims there, so I am eager to test me lot. Even if I don’t strike it rich, which seems highly unlikely, the scenery here is spectacular. We hope ye have had a change of heart and are willin’ to come join us. I promise ye won’t regret it!”
Briana chuckled.
“Wishin’ ye safe travels. Let us know when you’ll be leavin’ so we can make plans. All our best, Briana and Patrick. How does that sound?”
“Grand, me love,” she said. “I’ll get it to the post straight away.”
“Thank ye, me dear,” he said. Taking her in his arms, he gave her a kiss. The two of them smiled at each other.
When Saturday night came, Mrs. Clancy stayed with Keegan and Kathleen while Patrick and Briana prepared for the opera. Lacking fine clothing, they could only wear their cleanest clothes, although both agreed they were drab at best. Mrs. O’Neill didn’t seem to mind. She met them at the front door wearing a black beaded gown covered by a burgundy cape. A large, feathered hat was perched upon her head.
She handed Briana a smaller, daintier version of the hat, saying, “Here’s one ye may borrow, me dear,” and motioned for the couple to follow her to the street, where her surrey was waiting. “I do hope ye enjoy tonight’s performance,” she said once they were boarded. She tapped the horse’s withers with a driving stick.
