Martha stared wide-eyed at her husband. "Darling, you aren't thinking of..."
"That's right!" Harper grabbed her hand excitedly. "We can go to the West Coast to pan for gold, just like Miles. Just imagine it—two years from now, we'll return here with gold, buy the best land beside the church, and get ourselves dozens of Black slaves!"
Martha gripped his arm in return. "Darling, do you know how far away California is?"
She had been born into the family of a minor official in Charleston. Her mother had not only taught her to read, but had also given her a fair amount of knowledge about geography and history.
But after her mother died, her stepmother had been unwilling to waste a dowry on her and married her off to Harper, a poor distant relative.
Harper scratched his head. "It can't be farther than Charleston to here, can it?"
"It's much farther than that." The woman spoke gravely. "And the journey passes through vast wildernesses. Thousands of miles of it are indian territory. You should know how savage they are."
In order to promote its westward expansion policy, the United States government spared no effort in depicting Indians as bloodthirsty, brutal savages.
Harper picked up the Pamphlets and pointed haphazardly at a line. "You forgot—the French promised they'd send troops to escort the gold seekers. And they have a good relationship with the Indians. Maybe all we need to do is say, 'Hi, Cherokee,' and those savages will step aside..."
"Even if that's true, there's still the cold, the scorching heat, disease, and poisonous insects. On such a long journey, any one of those could kill us!" Harper said impatiently, "Martha, where did that courageous woman in you go? You were the one who insisted we come west in the first