Gold Fever (ebook)

Argumento de Gold Fever (ebook)

A story about the California Gold Rush from a French point of view.

Georges reported that he could not find the other two returned miners. I decided after an early English breakfast of poached eggs, bacon, smoked salmon on toast and a pot of strong coffee that we should return to Paris and see in person where the investigation was headed given what I had learned. I would miss the fresh seafood and delicious local wines and spirits Le Havre offered, but not the bone-chilling wind and ominous dark skies threatening a gale or worse as we bumped over pot holes on the road to Paris. After a late night arrival, I did not make my appearance at my boss?s law office until mid-morning. He was in a foul mood and threw a hissy fit at my late appearance. My two reports lay on his large cherry wood desk. He motioned me to one of the two Voltaire arm chairs facing him. He threw me a piercing look from behind gold-rimmed spectacles as he picked up my two reports from Le Havre. ?Was this really the best you could do to exonerate our client?? He barked in his high-pitched voice that echoed in his cavernous office with portraits of his ancestors glaring down at me from the wall and bronze statuettes of hunters and the hunted on pedestals behind his desk. Impeccably dressed as always in his brown three-piece suit with gold watch fob and neatly folded kerchief as adornments, he tapped his fingers impatiently on his massive desk waiting for my reply. ?The Chevalier has probably already instructed his lawyers to sue all the directors including your client. He?s one of the first to return and probably scents a killing to be made in the courts if he can attach the company?s promotional capital before news spreads that there?s no gold being mined and the shares are worthless,? I said. ?I fail to see how this helps my friend, Favre. Your job was to find exonerating evidence. Why did you not try to persuade the Chevalier that Favre was not complicit in promotional fraud?? He growled. ?The Chevalier would have none of it. You will recall he referred to all the directors as crooks,? I said pointing to my report. ?Yes, so you stated. But you made no effort to argue that Favre was duped just like him. We must have exonerating evidence. He?s no longer young and must prevail in this matter. We want you to go to California and do a full investigation?? ?What? No Way!? I exclaimed. ?I?m not going on a fool?s errand. San Francisco and back is a year at sea and who knows what I?ll find there. For all we know, they?re all either stranded there or on their way home. Better to wait in Le Havre and debrief those who return,? I said trying vainly to keep my voice calm. ?All told, four of the Society?s ships have sailed to San Francisco with hundreds of emigrants sponsored by the Society. The last ship sailed in July, 1850. It?s quite possible the later groups were successful and what happened on the arrival of the first ship was an unfortunate misunderstanding,? he said. ?Not bloody likely,? I retorted in English. ?That?s precisely why we need you on this mission. You speak English and can interview the local officials and consult records in their language. You are unmarried and free to travel. Maitre Favre has assured me that you will be handsomely rewarded on your return.? ?And if I refuse?? ?Out of the question if you value your position,? he said with a hard edge of finality. ?I see. May I have the day to mull it over and decide what support I would need for such a venture?? I stated evenly. I was furious, of course. Never nice to be bluntly reminded you held a losing hand and despite your competency, you could be dismissed and discarded like a broken marionette. ?I?ll see you first thing in the morning,? I said curtly. I picked up my leather satchel with my writing materials and headed for a small bistro in the Latin Quarter where lawyers, notaries, and their cronies did not frequent. I ordered a half bottle of Veuve Cliquot champagne, lit a cigar and pondered my future. I was still hot under my collar at the threat to fire me. The first glass of champagne helped calm me and focus on my future. To stay in Paris in these unsettled times had its own risks. My boss was a staunch royalist who despised the socialists and republicans who had overthrown King Louis-Philippe. He considered them all dangerous anarchists. I had to play along with his sympathies as a condition of my position as head clerk. I would never be treated fairly despite knowing more about commercial, real estate and probate succession matters than he did. By my second glass of champagne I was feeling more positive about my options. My boss hob-nobbed with and drew his clients from the upper class rich. Many, like Favre, became his ?friend.? I supervised all the pleadings and agreements with a staff of two assistants. If he chose to fire me, he could slander or blackmail me with other notaries. That would assure I?d be effectively barred from working for the more established firms. I had no desire to work for a reactionary boss or change occupations. Despite my talents at thirty years of age, there was no way for me, without capital, to become a notary in Paris with my own practice. If I married here, I would be stuck under by boss?s thumb forever. By my third glass of the widow?s bubbly, my decision was made. I?d go to San Francisco, but with certain conditions. Favre?s offer to reward me on my return was hollow, unacceptable and unenforceable. If I?m to do his dirty work, I want to be paid up front. I needed to squeeze the client for as much advance money as possible. I might decide to stay in San Francisco if I could be my own boss, but that would take capital, lots of it in the expensive boom-town depicted by Parisian journals. I would also need a paid assistant and a companion for the long voyage. After a light lunch my plan took shape. I doubled back to our stables to speak with Georges. We slipped out to a small bar frequented by coachmen and stable hands. I ordered a carafe of red wine and the best cigars the bar could offer. I told Georges of my decision to sail to California on the Favre matter. ?I?m going to need an assistant for the work in San Francisco. I thought you might be interested in the job,? I said after we were comfortably settled in the obscurity of a back booth. ?Gar?that?s a big order ain?t it. You gonna give up the comforts of Paris for a year at sea?? He replied flipping the ball in my court. ?Would you be tempted if I could get you triple your present wages paid in advance, say for eighteen months and work only while in San Francisco?? I said baiting the hook. ?Hum?no work on the boat and I would draw me wages for the trip both ways ? right?? ?Yes, but you?d have to learn English on the trip over. We?ll need to speak with the Yankees and other foreigners when we get there,? I said. ?You gonna find a nice little English doxie to teach me an? keep my bunk warm on the long, hard trip?? He retorted with a mischievous smile. ?You?re quite capable of finding one or more on your own. Imagine being on a ship with bored married women, tarts and widows with daughters looking for husbands. With your charm and blarney, you?d be lucky to get to San Francisco without some serious claw marks on your pretty-boy face,? I said teasingly. ?What makes you think I won?t jump ship an? head for the placers once we get there?? He said knowingly. He?d undoubtedly learned a lot in Le Havre. ?Well for one, your wages earned on the trip will be kept in a trust account under my control for your safe return or investment in San Francisco if you decide to stay there,? I replied with a ?gotcha? smirk. ?What about pocket money?? He protested. ?One month?s salary for the trip. Any more, you?ll have to win at cards. A second class cabin and all expenses paid,? I said holding out my hand. With only a slight hesitation, he shook on the terms. ?When do we leave boss?? He asked with a big laugh. ?As soon as I can arrange passage, secure passports and negotiate terms with my boss. Keep mum until it?s in the bag. You?ll need a seaworthy travel trunk and clothes for all climates. Good rain slickers and boots for foul weather for a start. Send the chits for payment to me. Now, I?ve got to see about booking passage and some other matters.? I left Georges with the carafe of Rhone wine and headed for the ship booking offices on the Seine. As to be expected, there were long lines of anxious folks waiting at all the booking offices. One featured a barker promising quick passage and success in the gold fields. All posted alluring broad sheets extolling their services and ships for San Francisco. I went straight to the head of the line of the booking office with the most stylishly dressed clerks. ?I represent a very important government official who must be on your next ship so he can take his post in the Consulate in San Francisco,? I bluffed in an authoritative voice to the annoyance of those waiting patiently in line. ?Lead me to your director,? I added. ?Yes, of course. Right this way sir,? he replied. The director?s desk was piled high with folders spilling their contents. The paunchy little man with a pencil thin moustache was shouting cabin rates to a harried assistant. ?Yes?? He barked. I gave my boss? name and indicated I was here to negotiate immediate passage for the staff of the Consul General in San Francisco. ?And who would that be?? He replied with a dubious look. ?Consul Patrice Dillon, of course. With so many French emigrating, he urgently needs additional staff to process the new arrivals.? ?Not possible,? he shrugged. ?We?re fully booked for the next two months,? he said. ?That won?t do. They have to be in San Francisco by mid-May at the latest,? I stated. ?Even our fastest ship takes at least five months. Only American Clipper ships can get to San Francisco in less than four months,? he retorted. ?Fine, then book us on the next American Clipper,? I said. ?You must be kidding! Voyage with uncouth Americans?? ?Our clients have to deal with American officials all the time. You?ve been reading too much sensational fiction,? I said cutting him off. ?When is the next Clipper sailing?? ?The ?Flying Cloud? will be in Le Havre in a week or so. She?s delivering tea to England from China and will deliver more cargo here. But she sails to New York before going to California?? ?Perfect,? I said interrupting again. ?Time is of the essence, as the English say. We?ll need one first class cabin for two and second class accommodation for a single man. What is the tariff for both legs of the journey?Le Havre/New York and New York/San Francisco?? ?Uhh. I don?t know. This is most unusual?err?irregular. I?ll have to make enquiries,? he stammered. ?Fine. I?ll send a staff member round tomorrow. Give the messenger the booking confirmation and statement for the tickets and I?ll have a bank draft delivered. Our client in the foreign ministry will hold you accountable for making this booking a top priority. We would not want our client so upset he might consider revoking your lucrative license, would we?? I said with a hint of menace. ?Of course not. The booking will be confirmed by noon tomorrow,? he said meekly. ?Good day then,? I said as I made my way past the impatient minions in line who eyed me with contempt for having pulled rank. I bought copies of the leading Parisian dailies containing the shipping news and latest sensational news of the California Gold Rush. I took a cab to the Left Bank and a brasserie near where my girlfriend, Manon, works as an under-chef in a local restaurant. I ordered a fine-champagne cognac, a Cuban cigar and took a secluded side table to read the news and wait for Manon to finish her shift. I was chuckling over a report that a French ship was rumored to be transporting over 15 million dollars in gold to France from a successful mining venture in northern California, when I caught a whiff of Manon?s presence. As usual, she had exchanged her flour and sauce-stained cook?s apron for a stylish wool tunic and dress short enough to reveal her well-turned ankles. Her subtle perfume with hints of cinnamon and spices teased my senses as she bent over my shoulder to buss both cheeks and whisper in my ear, ?Cheri, I wanted to go to Le Havre with you so much. It?s not fair; you get to have all the fun while I slave in the kitchen,? she said in her most seductive voice, then laughed. ?Ahh. You may get your wish. I have to choose either to go to San Francisco or get fired. Which should I choose?? I said gravely. Manon?s dark eyes flashed. ?Cheri, don?t joke with me. Are you serious? You?re going to San Francisco? What about me?? She asked petulantly. ?Well, I?ve booked a first class cabin for two. All you have to do is say yes sweetly and I?ll consider it,? I teased. She beckoned my head to her luscious, full lips, then bit my ear playfully and whispered, ?You don?t take me, I kill you. How about that,? she said tossing her lustrous mane of dark curls and gold hoops so she appeared to shimmer in the reflected gas light. We both laughed. I ordered a bottle of champagne and brought her up to date on my adventures in Le Havre and the boss? ultimatum. By the time we?d finished dinner and another bottle of bubbly, we were both planning what to pack, what merchandise to buy for resale, and what we?d need for Manon to start her own restaurant in San Francisco.0