Читать книгу GOLD FEVER Part Three - Ken Salter - Страница 17

Manon was finishing lunch service and I was seated at a back table of our restaurant jotting down all the things to do to get my express company up and running when a huge, light-skinned black woman barreled through the door. She shared a few words with Manon who pointed in my direction. The two women made their way to my table chatting animatedly.

“Pierre, I want you to meet Mary Ellen Pleasant, the noted cook and opponent of slavery. She is working for a rich merchant and would like us to cater some of his parties. I’m going to have her meet our two chefs, Rose and Joséphine, and plan some menus after she speaks with you. She’s seen your ad about helping with investments,” Manon said sweetly.

I rose at once and extended my hand which she shook firmly. “I’m delighted to meet you Mrs. Pleasant. I’ve heard about your good work with the Quakers on behalf of your people back East, and like my wife you’ve made quite a reputation for yourself here in San Francisco with a frying pan and bold recipes. Won’t you please have a seat?”

She plopped her big frame onto a chair and doffed her large hat gaily decorated with tropical bird feathers. She made an impressive appearance. She’d traded her cook’s uniform for a red and white calico dress that complimented her glossy, almost white skin. It was a stunning outfit that only a handsome black woman could parade about town in. She appeared to be in her forties and dressed to sing in the choir of a revival meeting or attend Sunday church.

We’d heard about her through the town gossips and she was a favorite with the newspaper scribblers who always referred to her as “Mammy Pleasant.” Her arrival in San Francisco was a very dramatic event that all the newspapers chronicled. According to press coverage, she arrived in San Francisco from New Orleans with a reputation as a great cook. Several miners, who’d struck it rich, were waiting to vie for her services when her ship docked. Successful miners were willing to pay a steep price for a really good cook. They’d had their fill of camp food before striking it rich — singed salt beef, moldy salt pork, burned beans, chicory-flavored, adulterated coffee, spoiled potatoes, and wormy flap jacks. According to those present, the bidding was spirited. Her services were won for $500.00 a month with her stipulation, “no washin’, no dishwashin’ at all!”

“So, Mrs. Pleasant, what sort of investment did you have in mind?” I asked.

“Well I don’t want to do no investin’ in speculative land or untried ventures. I want investments what’s safe an’ secure. Since you musta heard about my interest in moving my people out of slavery in the South, I’m partial to buyin’ businesses where freed an’ escaped slaves can work, start a new life and support a family.”

“You mean here in California?” I was surprised at her plan to help escaped slaves get to California. The issue of California as a non-slavery state had been decided by a constitutional convention in California and a vote by Congress to admit California as a non-slavery state. Our local political boss, David Broderick, was firmly anti-slavery and instrumental in the struggle to have California admitted as a non-slavery state, but powerful politicians in the state capital had been born in southern slave states and some had brought slaves with them to California. “I’m sure you’re aware of Judge David Terry’s supporters who are trying to get the slavery issue reversed in the state?” I added.

“Oh yeah, I know about that bunch of southern slavers who’re tryin’ to take over the government and bring they slaves here. I keeps my ears open when the boss has all his high society friends to dinner. They say they got too many northerners here mining an’ in business. No way them slave owners gonna get a vote in their favor. Boss’s friends say could only happen by insurrection an’ they ain’t got the firepower to beat the Yankees. Would be over my dead body if they tried,” she asserted with conviction and assurance.

I chuckled to myself. This is one clever lady. She’s in a position to eavesdrop on conversations of the city’s movers and shakers and they don’t have a clue she’s both self-interested and taking it all in. “Since you’re in a position to be well informed about our political scene, I expect you’ve heard a lot about good and bad investments,” I said.

“‘Course I have, but they are rich and got officials under their thumbs. I don’t. What money I got come from my first husband, James Henry Smith, bless his soul. I promise him before he passed I’d use his money to free as many slaves as I could and see they stayed free. My second husband, John James Pleasant, was himself a slave, so we see eye-to-eye on the subject.”

“What decided you to come to me and not one of your employer’s investment advisors?”

“I don’t want none of them knowin’ my business or what I do with my money. Figured you’d made a profitable business on the wharf and wid’ your restaurant. I saw your advertisement for women to work as apprentice cooks. I reckoned anyone who was lookin’ to train women in men’s jobs gotta be good peoples. So what kind of advice do you have for me? I kinda thought maybe I should invest in wash houses. There’s a big need for washin’, ironin’ and mendin’ wid all the single men in town what don’t know one end of a needle from the other or how to wash they dirty drawers. I hear some men folks send they clothes all the way to China to get ‘em cleaned. What do you think of my idea?”

“I agree with you that there is a need for more laundries, but the days of sending dirty shirts to be laundered in Shanghai and waiting months for their return are over. With so many Chinese now arriving, they are doing the menial jobs the white men won’t do. You walk around Little China and you’ll see lots of Chinese coolies taking in washing and running a 2-day laundry service. The same goes for cigar making and other dirty or undesirable jobs as well as for girls in the sex trade. I don’t have to tell you about the prevailing attitudes and prejudices regarding the Chinese, other foreigners and your people, but they still give their dirty laundry to the Chinese because it’s cheaper. The Chinese coolies are slaves just like your people in the South. They’re not paid a wage for the work they are required to do. Thus, there’ll be a lot of competition if you want freed slaves to earn a living working in your laundry business.”

I went on to explain the three investment opportunities I could offer: the bilingual school, my express company and Levi Strauss’ work pants.

“I don’t see how the school or express company would work for me. I like the idea of makin’ somethin’ folks need what’s better quality than the competition. It’s just like cookin’, so I can relate to it. I would like to invest in the makin’ of the work pants but I got a condition. Since you gonna run the business, I want an agreement that you’ll train and hire black men and women to work makin’ the work pants along wid’ your other workers.”

“Not a problem. We’ll use our investors’ workers wherever we can and give them priority.” I guaranteed her that we’d hire and train 10% of our work force from her people for a $5,000.00 investment entitling her to ten percent of the profits. We shook hands on the deal. She’d be back next day with a bank draft to sign the papers Hawthorne would draw. I escorted her to our kitchen where Manon and our chefs were waiting.

Both Manon and I were pleased to have Mary Ellen Pleasant as a partner. With $5,000 in new capital we could place significant orders with New York and New Orleans wholesale cloth suppliers and get good commercial discounts. Manon and Mrs. Pleasant would be working together to cater parties. She was tired of doing all the food prep for her boss’s parties and didn’t want to hire more kitchen help she’d have to train and watch like a hawk so they didn’t rob her kitchen supplies blind. Manon and Mrs. Pleasant were already trading recipes for New Orleans style gumbos.

Manon’s chefs needed more kitchen help as the catering business was taking off. Manon wanted to hire a young Chinese worker she could save from the sex slave trade. She’d heard that the Salvation Army rescued under-aged Chinese girls and trained them for work outside the sex trade. San Francisco suffered a serious cholera epidemic in 1851 with additional bouts of the disease each following year. Ever since we visited the Little China quarter of the city and saw the conditions in which the “crib girls” lived and worked, Manon was determined to join with those who sought to save the girls. She was irate that California was an anti-slave state in the Union, yet allowed Chinese slaves to be imported as “wives” on customs declarations for Chinese men in order to work and die as sex slaves for their slave owners. The brothel owners were cruel. As girls born to poor peasant families in China, they had little value to their parents as they would marry and work for the husband’s family. The Chinese wanted boys who were duty bound to take care of and provide for their parents in their old age. So, unwanted girls were sold into slavery, debauched by their buyers and either prostituted in the larger port cities or resold and shipped to San Francisco to work in Little China’s cribs.

Normally, the useful life of these “crib girls” put to prostitution was only 6-8 years before they broke down, became mentally unbalanced or too diseased to be useful. They were beaten, flogged, burned with a hot iron or tortured if they displeased a client. They were not allowed to refuse any client or sexual demand, no matter how sadistic. They were allowed outside to take the air infrequently and under heavy guard. When no longer useful to the trade, they were sent to the Chinese “hospital,” which involved being locked in a sealed chamber with a candle, a bowl of rice and a knife to die. They either committed suicide or died of starvation. After the cholera epidemics, some infected girls were turned over to the Salvation Army to die. It was a cheap way to get rid of them. Manon learned that the benevolent folks at the Salvation Army had managed to nurse a few girls back to health and were teaching them English.

Manon selected Li Ming to be trained by our chefs while we would provide room and board and a stipend of $4.00 a day to be deposited in a trust account and given to her when she was eighteen or decided to marry. We made a generous contribution to continue the charitable work of the Salvation Army in saving as many girls as they could from the Chinese “hospital.” Some slave owners could be persuaded by bribes to send a worn-out girl to the Salvation Army.

Ming was very frightened to leave the safety of the Salvation Army’s premises. She was sure she was being sold to us to be our slave and her former slave owner would yank her out of our restaurant and put her back in his crib. She was about fifteen, slim, of medium height with glossy black hair and soulful almond-shaped eyes. It would be a project to get her to smile or believe she had any future as a free woman given the two years she had been physically and sexually abused in the sex trade. At first she cringed when I or any other male came near her. Manon and her coterie of women cooks, waitresses and child minders were very gentle and reassuring with her. We all knew it would take a long time to bring her out of her shell. She liked her work in our kitchens as she felt safe with the women she worked for. She wouldn’t come out of the kitchen until the last guest of the evening was gone and the doors locked. We made a room for her in the forecastle of our ship and Georges and Nelly escorted her home with them. She knew where Georges kept his Colt revolver under the bar counter and always checked to make sure he took it with him before they traversed the Plaza and made their way to our ship docked on the Long Wharf. Sometimes they had to pass Chinese gamblers loitering, smoking or arguing outside the gambling palaces on the Plaza and she would instinctively curl into Nelly’s arms with the hood of her cloak gripped tightly and her face buried into Nellie’s shoulder.

Manon learned from a careless remark from my assistant, Gino, to one of his friends that his cousin, Antonio, had attended a Chinese slave auction and purchased a girl.

“So, Big Boy, how come you didn’t tell me about Antonio and his new slave?” Manon said skewering me with her big, black eyes and a look that said I could be dead meat.

“Because it’s news to me. No one asked my advice and it would have been the same as yours.”

“Do you mean to tell me you really didn’t know about this? That your Gino kept it a secret? You better be telling the truth, because I’m furious.” I had learned it’s best to play it straight and be on the right side of the issue when Manon is on the warpath.

As we’d finished lunch service and had no dinner service that day, Manon instructed me to get a cab on the Plaza and wait for her. Normally, when we visited our friend Luigi Salterini’s restaurant in Little Italy, we’d walk. Luigi’s trattoria had burned during the fire of June 23, 1851 set by the Sydney Ducks. Luigi’s two nephews, Gino and Antonio, had been successful mining gold and paid to rebuild the restaurant, now called Trattoria Napoletana. Antonio had installed a big pizza oven and they were doing a good business selling pizza al taglio, pizza by the slice. The new menu still had old favorites—pastas, cold cuts, etc, but pizza with a carafe of wine was a big hit with young laborers, artisans and sailors. You could get two big slices of pizza with different toppings and a carafe of wine for $1.75. As Luigi pointed out, the pizzas were cheap to make with little or no spoilage using flour, Italian mozzarella cheese made locally, fresh tomatoes in season and tomato preserves and paste out of season. Toppings included various Italian salumi — homemade salamis, sausages and cold cuts as well as olives, mushrooms, peppers, anchovies, mussels and clams. The result was a simple, tasty and cheap to make meal that was a hit with single laborers making only $6-8 dollars a day. The place was packed at lunch and even after dinner as those who could afford it, lingered over their wine and regaled their friends.

We arrived well after the lunch crowd had dissipated and a few diners were finishing their meal.

Luigi greeted us warmly. “What a pleasure to see the two of you. I was afraid you’d forgotten about us. Salvatore Benetti is due to open his new restaurant soon and he remembers his promise to invite you to his grand opening.” Benetti’s restaurant had burned as well and he’d been a guest at our grand opening.

“We’ve come to see Antonio on business,” Manon announced with eyes flashing. One look told us she was loaded for bear. Luigi’s friendly smile faded.

“I think he’s in the kitchen preparing the dough for the evening service. I’ll have him join you as soon as he’s done. Shouldn’t be long. I’ll get you a bottle of nice Chianti and cold cuts while you wait.”

Normally, Luigi would join us for a glass of good red wine, his favorite, but not today. I was sure he knew Manon was here to berate Antonio for buying a slave girl and wanted none of it. He made himself scarce.

Antonio joined us a few minutes later. I was surprised that Manon continued to sip her wine calmly and greeted Antonio with a light kiss to both cheeks which is the way both French and Italians greet close friends and relatives. “So, Antonio, Gino mentioned that you were able attend a recent Chinese slave auction. You’ve probably heard, we’ve hired a girl to help in our kitchen who was originally sold at auction. It would be useful for us to know what she went through on her arrival; it might help us to better understand her and help to make the transition to being free.” Both Antonio and I did not expect Manon to frame her inquiry this way. It was clever as the tension in Antonio’s face and brow relaxed. He took a big gulp of wine before speaking.

“Well, as you know, lots of boats have been arriving lately from Shanghai and some of them with young girls and women. We serve a lot of sailors here, even some Chinese from time to time. One regular Chinese customer speaks some English and got all excited about a ship due arrive shortly. He had been saving money for two years in order to purchase a wife. He thought he had enough to buy one from the ship. I asked him how did it work. He said the women would be sold at a special auction. He would have to bid against other Chinese. He said the rich merchants would get the prettiest ones, but thought he’d have a chance to get a plain one if there were enough women. He was even willing to take a young girl, if necessary, as they would be cheaper. I asked him did white men ever attend these auctions. He said usually not in person; they would hire a Chinese agent to bid for them. They’d go to the dock with the agent when the ship arrived and point out which girls were of interest. Since Sam Sung, that was his Americanized name, would be attending the auction, I asked if I might come along. I said I could maybe use a girl to help in the kitchen. Sam said he could bid for me if one caught my eye.” Antonio paused to refill our wine glasses before continuing. Manon nodded politely to go on with his tale.

“Sam came and got me when the telegraph announced the arrival of the boat he was waiting for. We rushed down to the Broadway Wharf. There was already a throng of excited Chinese jabbering animatedly. The ship docked and after the customs officers left, about 30 girls and a few young women were herded off the ship into waiting wagons . . .”

“Were you able to see their faces?” Manon interjected.

“Not really. They were all dressed in what looked like black pajamas and loose fitting tunics. Most hid their faces and in the few glimpses we got, they looked scared. The Chinese on the dock ran after the carts and we followed. The carts stopped at a Chinese temple we call a Joss House and the girls were led to a basement room the Spanish call a barracoon. They stopped me at the door, but Sam told them he was bidding for me and my rich boss who wanted a pretty mistress. I was surprised to see the selling room was already full of richly dressed Chinese merchants and women who had not been at the wharf. They were seated on elegantly upholstered chairs facing the selling platform while we had to stand at the back . . .”

Manon interrupted. “You said there were Chinese women there too? Anyone you recognized?”

“Well, now you mention it, the Chinese woman who attended your gala restaurant opening was there as well as a few other women.”

“You’re sure it was Ah Toy?”

“Well, it was the woman who came with the white man to your restaurant opening. I’m sure of that.”

“Did she buy any girls?”

“Yes, she bought two of the prettiest ones.”

Manon indicated to continue.

“The girls were led out of the holding room one by one and had to mount the platform. A bearded Chinese that Sam said was a doctor removed the girl’s clothes and examined her like they do at the horse and cattle auctions. After checking teeth and even her privates, he would yell something in Chinese that Sam said meant the girl was healthy and fit. Then the auctioneer cried out something in a high-pitched voice that Sam said was an offering price. If it was accepted, she was sold. With the really pretty girls, there was spirited bidding before she was sold.”

“How much did the attractive ones go for?” Manon asked.

“One went as high as $1,000, but most for between $500 and $750. Sam bid his $300 three times before he was successful. He got an undernourished sixteen year old peasant girl with big feet and crooked teeth. He was just happy to finally get someone to cook for him and do his laundry.”

“So how did the transaction occur? Did money change hands?”

“It was kind of strange. The successful bidder put bills or gold coins into the girl’s hands and she gave them to the seller. Then they had her put her mark on a piece of paper which the buyer took. The girl then picked up her clothes and went back into the holding room.”

“Do you know what the paper said? Was it a bill of sale?” Manon asked with some interest. I was sure she would check out with Hawthorne whether this transfer was legal in American law.

“I saw the one Sam got. It was written in Chinese and English. The English part was a bill of sale and had the selling price and the girl’s mark on it.” I was surprised Manon didn’t call him out about his own bill of sale at this point.

“So tell me about the girl you bought,” Manon asked sweetly.

Antonio refilled his glass and gulped most of it down at once. Manon was getting to the nitty-gritty. “Well, I was unsure what I wanted to do. I knew we could use a food prep girl but I was hesitant to buy one. They had already sold some really pretty girls who had tried to hide their faces and cover their privates and then they brought out a girl who seemed more relaxed and looked at the audience to see who would be bidding and didn’t seem too upset by the process, I thought she might work out for me.” Antonio said sheepishly.

“So, what did you do?” Manon said calmly.

“I told Sam to bid for her. It all happened real fast. The auctioneer called out a price; Sam responded. Then someone up front hollered out something and Sam countered. Then the bidding was over. Sam said ‘you got her. Give me $700 to pay the seller.’ I was a bit dumbstruck. I fumbled in my wallet and wrote a bank draft for the money. Sam gave it to the girl and she gave it to the seller and put her mark on the bill of sale like all the others.” Antonio paused to gulp more wine and could not meet Manon’s now glaring eyes.

“So, just like that you bought a slave girl like the southerners buy their slaves. What’s her name?”

“I call her Lillie. Sam said her name was Fong something,” Antonio replied reluctantly.

“Does Lillie speak Italian or any other language you speak?” Antonio was now fidgeting.

“No, I’m trying to teach her Italian but it’s not easy,” Antonio said nervously as it was now apparent Manon was going to push him step by step onto the skewer she’d devised.

“So, she can’t very well work in the kitchen if she can’t communicate, can she?”

“Well, she’s bound to learn,” Antonio said defensively.

“So, you keep her on the ship, yes?” We could both sense Manon was moving in for the kill.

“Yes.”

“And her primary purpose is to warm your bed and fulfill your sexual needs, yes,” Antonio was very uncomfortable now and nodded “yes.”

“And do you share her with your friends?” Antonio jerked his head up and shook it “no.”

“What are you going to do when you get her pregnant? Keep the kid? Send her to a back-alley abortionist? Sell her to your friend Sam or another?”

“I hadn’t thought about any of this.”

“Well, as a slave owner you have responsibilities, don’t you? What does your uncle think of your actions?”

Antonio seemed taken off balance by Manon’s shift to Luigi’s opinion of him. “He’s upset and unhappy with me.”

“What about your friends? Do they want to buy a sex doll too?”

“You just don’t know how hard it is for us,” he said petulantly. “The nice single girls want us to marry them and the rest of them expect us to pay them. It’s not fair. I thought with Lillie I wouldn’t have to deal with these issues.”

“Is it fair to Lillie that she’s your sex slave? What happens when you tire of her? Sell her and buy a fresh one off the boat like the southern slave masters? California entered the Union as a slave-free state. What gives you the right to buy and keep a slave in a slave-free state?” Manon’s eyes and tone of voice were now harsh and piercing.

“I thought since the Chinese are allowed to do it, it’s alright.”

“You saw the customs agents come off the ship before the slaves could debark. They were paid their bribes as were the corrupt officials and police who turn a blind eye to what goes on under the Chinese Joss House after a slave ship comes to port. Why do you think it’s only Chinese girls who are sold into slavery in California and not Mexican, Chilean or other nationalities? Because the white folks who run the state think John the Chinaman is a lesser human being perhaps? Is that the way you feel about Lillie? She’s your little honey pot, but since she’s Chinese, she’s inferior to you and you have the right to own her?” Antonio was smart enough not to reply to Manon’s accusations. You don’t win arguments with Manon when she’s got her dander up and her cause is just.

“There is a very simple solution to your problem.”

“There is?” Antonio was so surprised he knocked over the now empty wine carafe which shattered at his feet.

“I’ll have Attorney Hawthorne draw papers to free Lillie from slavery. You can teach her Italian and employ her in your restaurant. She’ll probably still gladly warm your bed out of gratitude for giving her her freedom. Hawthorne will have the papers ready to sign the day after tomorrow. He’ll be expecting you. Think on it hard. It’s the only honorable thing to do.”

With that said, Manon motioned me to get a cab. Manon had brief words with Luigi and we left without further ado. The next couple of days were going to be rough for Antonio. His uncle would now lead the fight for Lillie’s manumission now that he had our backing.

“MARY ELLEN PLEASANT”

— courtesy of San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library.