Читать книгу GOLD FEVER Part Three - Ken Salter - Страница 11

Our first challenge of the new year was to buy property on which we could build our bilingual pre-school and eventual grammar school. While Attorney Hawthorne handled the negotiations, it was hard slogging. Real estate prices throughout the city kept rising constantly. We thought naively we could get hill lots at the top of California or Washington Streets on the cheap as they were still mostly sand hills with difficult access in the rainy season. They would require additional expense clearing sand to build foundations on bedrock. We’d have to hire San Francisco’s notorious “Paddies,” the huge steam shovels the city used to push sand and rubble into the bay so the city could auction off new waterfront lots at astronomical prices to speculators and the new class of gold barons who threw their new-found wealth around like kids skipping pebbles across a pond.

Our efforts were complicated further in that these nouveau riche barons wouldn’t stoop to negotiate land prices in their hurry to build ostentatious brick mansions with commanding bay views. They thought by throwing their gold at land speculators and overpriced building contractors they’d achieve immediate social standing and respectability. In order to buy our three lots at prices we could afford, we had to sacrifice the stunning bay views and settle for viewless lots tucked behind the new mansions. If all went well, we’d have enough money to build our school as soon as the steep road up California Street was dry enough to allow carts laden with redwood timbers and other necessary building materials. Our new family residence would have to wait until the school was up and running. By building with redwood we ran the risk of complete loss in case of fire. Only newly built structures in brick & mortar with metal doors and windows were presently insurable against fire. We reasoned what we saved in insurance premiums could be spent digging a well and securing firefighting equipment. Our structures would not be near neighboring buildings and the only source of fire in the school would be wood stoves for heat. All food preparation would be in our restaurant. Our property would be fenced and gated and we’d have a permanent watchman on the premises. By using seasoned redwood, the construction would go quickly and be much cheaper than a masonry structure.

Manon had the bright idea to promote our school even before the start of construction. Gino placed ads for an “open house” meeting at our restaurant where parents could meet the teachers, examine the architect-drawn blue prints, discuss the prospectus and make a deposit to ensure their child would have a place in the inaugural class in September. About 25 couples answered our invitation. A quick survey of the arrivals indicated most were English-speaking parents. Once everyone was comfortably seated with a copy of our prospectus and a glass of wine, I turned the meeting over to Nelly.

Nelly was dressed very elegantly in a flowing wool skirt that just covered her boots, taffeta blouse, wool vest and jacket. Her hair was piled up in an fashionable chignon. Her metal-rimmed eyeglasses for reading rested on her bosom and were attached by velvet cords long enough for her to gesticulate using the glasses as props for emphasis as she addressed her audience.

“Thank you so much for joining us this evening. We’re very excited about the new school and I want to share some of the excitement with you,” she said in her crisp, private, East Coast boarding school accent. “How many of you understand French better than English?” She asked in mildly accented French. A smattering of hands were raised. “Good. As soon as I cover some of the main points and attractions of our curriculum in English, my colleague, Professor Monique Boudin, will cover them in French,” she said sweetly in French and pointed to Monique, who was dressed similarly to Nelly in the attire of an English school mistress. Monique acknowledged with a nod and a smile.

“So, let’s review the prospectus,” Nelly said holding a copy printed in both English and French in front of her and waiting for everyone to open the prospectus. “You will note that our curriculum is different from any other school’s offerings. We will teach literacy, fluency in English and French, and mathematics as core subjects, and as our students develop a facility in both languages, the curriculum will expand to include penmanship, music, drawing and sketching and critical thinking.” Nelly paused to survey the heads of her audience nodding affirmatively. She indicated to Monique to cover the points in French. Nelly opened the session up to questions after Monique finished while Georges topped up empty wine glasses.

“How can children so young be expected to learn both languages at the same time? They won’t be completely fluent in their native language when they start school, will they?” asked one father skeptically.

Nelly laughed good-naturedly. “No, you’re right they won’t be fully fluent in either tongue at four to five years old. And, that’s the beauty of our approach. The kids will learn to be fluent from each other in both languages. As instructors, we design lessons and activities that are stimulating yet fun and the kids share what they learn with each other.”

“Can you really guarantee my child will learn to speak French fluently?” A mother asked.

“Yes,” both Monique and Nelly replied at the same time, “Provided your child stays in our program for at least 3 years. Should it not be the case, which is highly unlikely since children learn language skills easily at such an early age, the school would refund the last year’s tuition in its entirety,” added Nelly.

After a few more questions, Nelly turned the meeting back to me. My turn to pitch for money and commitments. After signaling Georges to top up glasses again and Manon and Monique to pass around plates of canapés, I addressed the audience anew.

“Dear Guests. I’m sure you are aware of the city’s plans to remedy the shortage of public schools over the next 2 years. Currently, there are 485 pupils in the 5 public schools the city finances for the exorbitant sum of $75,000 each per year to pay for rents, salaries and furnishings. The School Superintendent himself predicts there will be nearly 3,000 children aged 4-17 years needing schooling this year and possibly double that amount the following year given the rate of new arrivals by ship and overland. Clearly, there won’t be enough seats in public schools to accommodate all children who need educating. In order to build city-owned schools, they must first buy or seize the land through eminent domain. That all takes time, money and successful lawsuits.”

“Think about what it means for your children. How many students will be in a class if your child is fortunate enough to get a seat? Will that empty seat be in your neighborhood or will you have to traipse across town in the mud and muck to deliver your child in the morning and arrange for his or her safe return after school? How qualified will your child’s teachers be when the city pays only $150 a month to men and $100 a month to women teachers? What overburdened and underpaid teacher will have the time or incentive to work with your children individually as will be the case with our bilingual classes?” I paused to let my message sink in.

“As you see, you really have only two choices: put your children in overcrowded public schools far from your homes and let them sink or swim with the tide; or, ensure a quality education with us. We own our land in a safe area of the city and have our own crew of builders to assure our school house will be ready for its first class in September. Our initial class will be limited to 30 students — 15 English-speaking children and 15 French-speaking. There will be 2 very qualified bilingual teachers and an assistant. A tasty, nourishing lunch and a 4 P.M. snack will be provided from the kitchen of our notable restaurant.” I paused again so our guests could salivate about the gourmet lunch their kids would get every day and the traditional afternoon snack of pain et chocolat French kids eat to tide them over until a typically late dinner by American standards.

Once the murmur of assent quieted, I continued, “As the number of seats in our fall class are limited and there won’t be room for all who may want to enroll, you must make a non-refundable deposit of $150 which is equal to a month’s tuition to assure your child’s place. Our barman, Georges, will handle deposits and write receipts and our two professors will help you with the registration forms for children 4 to 5 years old.” I gave a little bow and waved in the direction of Georges, Nelly and Monique.

Later when the last guests departed, we compared notes on our evening’s accomplishment. We had 12 American kids signed up and 7 French ones as well. Georges broke out a vintage fine champagne cognac and we toasted our success. Nelly, Georges’ American wife who’d studied in private American and French schools, and Monique, our children’s minder and housekeeper whose ideas for the bilingual school had set the whole plan in motion, were beaming with pleasure that their dream was to become a reality in a few short months. The evening’s success was to get the 12 American and 7 French parents committed. With our contacts with the French Consulate and our successful French restaurant, we’d have no problem rounding out the French enrollment.

The next issue we had to deal with concerned Teri Rios, Manon’s Chilean partner along with Giselle Gaillard in our wine and food bar on the Long Wharf next to our brig, the “Eliza.” We had encouraged Teri to sue her ex-boyfriend, Raoul Mendosa, for civil damages for having fired his Derringer at her in Judge Roberts’ courtroom after the judge awarded her damages for stealing her wages when they lived together on our ship. She levied her judgment on Raoul’s shipment of quality Chilean wine which we bought from her and which she served in our wharf-side wine bar.

I had counseled Teri to get a judgment she could levy against Raoul’s newly rebuilt wine store his new mistress, Señora Batista, financed with earnings from her bagnio stocked with Chilean prostitutes who serviced sailors on lower Broadway. From jail, Mendosa signed over his interest in his now empty wine store to Señora Batista, hoping she could get his sentence reduced. Rather than going to court and risking being assigned a judge who shared the prevailing attitude among most civil authorities and Anglos that all Chileans and Mexicans were “greasers” and who would be unsympathetic to a cat fight between Chilenas, Teri chose to have Attorney Hawthorne try to negotiate a settlement with Batista.

Hawthorne threatened to file a lawsuit naming both Mendosa and Batista as co-defendants and co-conspirators who tried to steal Teri’s money to use rebuilding the wine store destroyed in the fire of May 3, 1851. Mendosa had testified in Judge Roberts’ court that was the reason he took Teri’s money and it was a matter of record the rest of the money to rebuild came from Batista. Hawthorne sought to link the fact that the day Mendosa stole Teri’s earnings of over $600, he left our ship with his belongings and moved in with Batista. Hawthorne at my suggestion bluffed that he had “inside” contacts with members of the Executive Committee of Vigilance who would be happy to shut down Batista’s bagnio. Both the threat of losing an expensive, drawn-out legal action that might also affect her very profitable whorehouse brought her to the bargaining table. She agreed to accept $5,000 from Teri in exchange for the deed to the store in Teri’s name. We knew she’d spent more than triple that amount to rebuild the store and evict the squatters who camped on the premises, so Teri had a measure of satisfaction that her rival lost money and face and her ex-boyfriend would have to stew in prison over losing everything because he lost his temper in court and tried to shoot her.

With title to the former wine store in the heart of the downtown commercial district, Teri indicated to Manon that she would like permission to leave the partnership for the wine bar and canteen on the wharf. She wanted to open a bodega to sell foodstuffs and Chilean wine in her new premises. Manon asked for my input on what her response should be.

“So, Chéri, since we encouraged Teri to sue to get the store we have to let her run it, no?” Manon said matter-of-factly.

“Yes, but we should impose some conditions for leaving the partnership early. She agreed to work in the partnership for three years and it’s been not quite 2 years. We have to replace her if the wine bar on the wharf is to continue to be a money maker. And you know that won’t be easy. Half of her customers were regulars and in love with her and her feisty ways. It takes an attractive, single woman with a lot of personality, character and perseverance to ward off all the Lotharios seeking to bed her and Giselle on the wharf. It won’t surprise me if Giselle won’t want to run the canteen if Teri is not there to keep the hustlers at bay,” I said.

“You got it right, Big Boy. Giselle, too, no longer wants to work on the wharf. So, we got big problems, yes?”

“Oh boy. When did you learn about Giselle? Our wharf business is a big money maker. We can’t afford to just close it,” I spit out in frustration. While our restaurant was making money, we still needed the profits from our wharf concessions to build the bilingual school.

“Well, it may not be all bad. Giselle prefers to work in the restaurant where there’s a better class of diners and she feels more protected with Georges and Nelly working with her. She’s also seriously considering Hawthorne’s marriage proposal. His law practice is making money and she feels it is time she starts a family. So, they are considering renting a small house together and how you say it? Tying the knot?” Manon said with a sheepish grin followed by seductive laughter.

I had to laugh at her antics which helped lighten the discussion. “Well, I guess all this talk of schools for kids has sparked maternal instincts all around. Nelly’s pregnant; Monique has her son; we have our twins and now Giselle wants to hop on the maternity wagon.” Manon was giving me a funny look. “Oh boy. Not you too!” I shouted. We had been careless in our love-making on a couple of occasions recently.

Manon shook her finger at me to say it would be my fault if she were with child. “Not yet, Big Boy, but it might happen if you’re not more careful, no? Little Jules and Fanny wouldn’t be happy at first, but they’d grow to like younger brothers and sisters, yes? Maybe it will be triplets next time, huh?” She said with a devilish grin.

I masked my relief that she wasn’t pregnant. The threat of triplets was real. Twins were common in her family in France and she bore twins with me. “Does that mean that Giselle will be moving out of her cabin on the “Eliza” soon?”

“No, she says she won’t make a move until we find a replacement for her on the wharf. She suggests that we find a married couple to run the wharf business and have them live on our ship.”

“That’s not a bad suggestion. What about Teri? Will she also continue to work on the wharf until we can find suitable replacements?”

“I didn’t ask her but I’m sure she will. She will need our help to set up her bodega. We bought all her Chilean wine, so she needs us to sell some back to her. Also, she is so good with handling a bar, why not have her do a Chilean wine bar in her store and serve lunch snacks we make? That way we continue to work together, no?” Manon said in all seriousness.

“You’re right as usual. We want to keep her working with us, She’ll need our help with setting up and provisioning her bodega. We have established credit with grocers, bakers and wine merchants which we can use in her behalf. She’s known as one of most attractive waitresses both on the wharf and in our restaurant. So our continued association can’t help but benefit both of us. Further, by renouncing their partnership interest with you which was based on their running the concession, we won’t have to share the profits. We’ll hire an experienced couple to run the wine bar and canteen. We pay them a good wage and provide lodging on the ship but don’t make them partners. What we lose in custom we had with two attractive single women running the concession, we’ll make up by not having to share profits. We’ll just have to find a couple with the right personality for the job. What do you think?” I asked Manon whose head was bobbing affirmatively.

“I like the idea we continue to work together with Teri. She is grateful that you testified in her behalf at her trial and suggested how to get Raoul’s store for her. It was always her dream to have her own bodega and now she has it, she will work to promote our and her interests. So in a new way we are still partners, no?”

“Yes, and I’m sure my clever cookie wife will figure out more interesting ways to do business with Teri.” Manon rewarded me a really big smile full of promise.

I realized that with my responsibility to keep money flowing to pay off our mortgage on our restaurant, meet an ever expanding payroll and supervise and pay for the construction of our new school I’d have little or no time to devote to a detective business. I still had my contract with the French consulate to deliver French miners’ mail to the northern and southern placers, but Gino and I were having a hard time keeping up with the volume of mail arriving for the 20,000 or so French miners still toiling in the river placers. Many of the letters were addressed simply to an individual dans les mines d’or à San Francisco. There were many large express companies such as Wells Fargo & Co. and Adams & Co. that handled mail, parcels and gold to and from the mines as well as a number of smaller express companies serving remote areas. As I was toying with the idea of mounting my own express company to handle French and Chilean mail and gold, I made an appointment to see French Consul Patrice Dillon to see if he would support such a venture.

Dillon’s wife was on good terms with Manon and the consul had brought clients and visiting dignitaries to dine at Chez Manon on several occasions. I was hopeful he would support my scheme as I would need his backing for it to succeed. With the recent arrival of several boatloads of French paupers and unemployed artisans and family farmers on ships sent by Emperor Louis Napoleon as a result of his manipulation of the Lottery of the Golden Ingots, the consulate was overworked, underfunded, and understaffed. I would need to persuade Consul Dillon that my proposal for a French express company would help solve his problems.

Dillon kept me waiting 20 minutes but apologized for the delay and addressed me for the first time as Pierre. “We are swamped with work as a result of so many new French arrivals. Our government didn’t provide any of them with a stipend and expects us to provide for them in the dead of winter when there are no jobs and we can’t send them to the mines. I hope you’re not here to request more money for handling the mail, because we don’t have a penny to spare. The Foreign Ministry just ignores our pleas for more staff and money. We’re really strapped,” Dillon said in a strained voice. Despite his dapper appearance in a Paris-tailored three piece suit, his face was haggard with worry lines and a deep frown.

“No, I’ve not come to request more funding; in fact, I’ve come to present a proposal that may help you with your problems settling the ‘Ingots.’” That’s what we called the nearly 5,000 immigrants who were sent to settle in California as a result of the Lottery of the Golden Ingots conducted the previous November in Paris. Dillon had to feed and house most of them until they could be given a grub stake and shipped to the mines or find jobs for them with French residing here. We had agreed to hire an apprentice food preparer to help our two chefs in our restaurant. Dillon relaxed visibly as I let the welcome news sink in. He retrieved a Havana cigar from the cedar humidor on his desk and gestured for me to help myself.

After firing up our cigars, I continued. “I would like to establish a specialized express company to handle French and Chilean miners’ mail, parcels and gold shipments from the mines. Why should we let Wells Fargo, Adams and others have a monopoly on the shipment of French gold?” I paused to puff up the fire in my cigar and noted I had Dillon’s rapt attention and interest.

“How would this benefit the consulate?” Dillon queried.

“As we would be handling all the French and Chilean mail, we could charge a fee for the mail service as do all the express companies. This would relieve the consulate of paying for this service. But even more importantly, with your endorsement and active support, we would be able to charge a fee for assaying the gold shipped and its transportation to a French bank in Sacramento or San Francisco. You would negotiate with our French banks, all of which would want access to the gold, and we would require them to pay a fee based on the amount of gold they received. This fee would go to the consulate.” I paused again to let my words take effect.

“What makes you think the banks would readily pay a fee based on the gold received?” Dillon said eagerly.

“Access to miners’ gold is the way they make their money. As you know, there is a shortage of gold coins the merchants and gambling palaces need to conduct business. Accepting gold dust is messy, inconvenient, and open to fraud. Once the miner consigned his gold to our company it would be assayed and then made into a series of standard weight ingots from molds in our assay office. The bank would receive gold that is pure and in a form ready for shipment or sale.”

“The plan is interesting, but how could you compete with such big express companies as Wells Fargo with their large stage coaches and well established routes and reputation for security?” Dillon asked skeptically.

“We can’t compete with them and their predominately American and Anglo clients and banks, but our market is a niche market they’ve been given by default as there is no competition to process and ship French and Chilean gold. The American express companies don’t carry French or Chilean mail or supplies; we do. They carry our gold because there is no alternative for transport. The Americans don’t like our miners at all and would like us to return to France with our tails between our legs, but they’re happy to take our gold and make money with it. I can assure you French and Chilean miners would prefer to have us handle their gold and get an efficient mail service at the same time. In my trips to the northern and southern placers, the most persistent complaint I heard from our people was the lack of mail service and the exorbitant cost of paying for a letter if finally received; miners often had to pay as much as $2.50 for a letter a year old sent via a smaller American express company to miners in remote areas. I’ve heard miners working low grade claims say they’d go without eating for a day if necessary to get a letter from home. Most French miners don’t make on average more than $3.50 a day which is only enough to pay for food and lodging.” I paused in my spiel. I was laying it on thick, but Dillon had been nodding affirmatively to what I said. He surprised me when he left his comfortable chair, pulled out a bottle of cognac and two glasses and poured us each a healthy tot.

“I like your proposal and see how the consulate could benefit. But I’m concerned about the scope of your proposal and your means to make it happen realistically. Won’t establishing a competitive express company require considerable capital? And you know we can’t put any money into your venture. We’ve heard about your plans to build a new school. How do you plan to finance such a venture?” Dillon asked soberly.

I downed half of my tot of cognac and relit my cigar before replying. We were down to the nitty-gritty now. His concerns were very valid and I would have to bluff some parts of my response to convince him of the financial feasibility of my scheme. “I made reliable contacts with established French merchants in both the northern and southern diggings who indicated a willingness to assist and participate in the plan I’ve laid out. Some would be agents earning commissions and others direct partners.” I paused to finish my cognac and take a pull on my cigar. What I’d stated was only partially true. I was sure that the French hotel owner Ricard, in Marysville, would jump on my bandwagon as he had a French mail concession to deliver mail to French miners working the north and south forks of the Yuba River and had eagerly assisted me and would be happy to work with me on a commission basis.

“The same is true for Sonora and the southern placers. They’ve no post office and no plans to build one with as many as 12,000 foreign miners working this area first settled by Mexicans. I would make my assistant, Gino, who has worked on our French mail concession with me, a partner and he would handle mail for the 8,000 French and 2,000 Chilean miners who work the rivers and tributaries north of Sonora where his office would be based. Our assay office would be there as well. With the recently established telegraph service between Stockton, Sacramento and San Francisco, we will be able to signal in code the arrival and departure of gold shipments. I’ve got the assurance of Justinian Caire, who sells assay equipment and has worked as an assayer, to staff and set up our assay office and smelter for the southern mines.” This was only partially true. Caire did fiddle with assaying and sold equipment under his trade name in his mining supply store in San Francisco, but I had yet to broach my scheme to him. I had to trust that Consul Dillon was too occupied with his own problems to want to seek out Caire and I believed Gino would jump at the chance to return to Sonora to woo Miss Virginie, the girl he’d fallen in love with on our trip to Sonora. With his own business and a job requiring him to travel to the mining camps where he’d made his pile and knew his way around, I felt confident he’d be happy to settle in Sonora with his Virginie, who had made it clear she was available for marriage only and did not plan to leave her home town.

“Further, I can easily replace Bowers Express which started in 1849 but has been out of business since 1851. They provided mail service to Nevada City for $2.50 a letter. By taking Bower’s route, I’d have an exclusive route from Auburn to Grass Valley and all the mining camps in between – Gold Run, Rough and Ready as well as French Corral and Timbuctoo where there are major concentrations of French miners I have visited. Access to these camps from Nevada City and Grass Valley is only a hop, skip and jump away during the Summer and Fall mining seasons.” As I had no stage coaches, I’d have to use public transport from Sacramento to Nevada City and hire concessionaires to take the mail. I had in the back of my mind to hire a couple of burly ex-policemen I met both to deliver the mail and ride shotgun to accompany gold shipments. When these two visited the mining camps they could also make the inquiries as to the whereabouts of miners whose relatives were willing to have me locate them for a fee. I couldn’t tell Dillon my plans to run my express service on the cheap. He needed to believe I had the necessary resources and personnel in the bag to carry out my ambitious scheme.

Dillon eyed the clock in his office and I’d taken up a lot of his time. One of his staff had been hovering outside his office and pacing back and forth for the last ten minutes. It was time to close the interview and see if I’d achieved his backing. “So, that’s where it stands. Do I have your support for this venture? It will mean a lot to the miners and my associates to know you back this venture.” Ball in his court.

Dillon rose slowly from his chair and extended his hand. “You have my support. I only hope it goes as smoothly as you suggest. I can deal with our banks when you’ve got the gold. Good luck.”

We shook hands on my proposal and I left hoping as Georges would say, “Let’s hope ya can follow on that pack of blarney.”

“THE ABC CLASS”, A BOOKMARK AD FOR HOOD’S SARSAPARILLA — c. 1880 (author’s collection).

“THE OLD SCHOOL HOUSE ON PORTSMOUTH SQUARE”

— litho c. 1853 (author’s collection).