as a mining company and shared the profits of their labor equally according to rank. The French were arriving in large numbers when I was there, but they did not work in organized groups. By then, the easy, close to surface gold was gone. Unlike the Americans, who worked in large companies and were able to divert rivers and tributaries to expose the bedrock where the best concentrations of gold lay, the French worked in small groups or solely with a relative. So, they were relegated to the accessible but poor paying river banks or mining claims that had been abandoned because they paid poorly.”
“Couldn’t they see that the American system brought better results?” I asked incredulously.
“Hah. You know our race. Every Frenchman is an individualist; he believes he’ll be successful on his own, and tomorrow he’ll make the lucky strike that will make him rich and he doesn’t want to share it with anyone else. Many new arrivals believed the myth that there was gold to pick by walking the river bank or wading in shallow water. I saw one bunch of French arriving with rakes believing they could just rake the gold out of shallow water. One paunchy Frenchman arrived with his well-fed wife and daughter who carried embroidered stools to sit by the river and pick up gold nuggets with tongs. Incroyable!” Derbec took a gulp of wine, but sputtered and choked as it went down the wrong channel.
I decided to change subjects as his face had gone bright carmine and a neck vein was throbbing uncontrollably. “Was there an organized system for French miners to get their mail regularly?
Derbec refilled his glass and made a half-hearted effort to dab the splotches on his shirt and trousers made by the red wine he’d sprayed about. “Miners around Mariposa, Moke Hill, and Sonora had to walk to town to get or send mail from the post office when they came for provisions or to gamble. Mail only arrived once a month, if at all, in the most remote areas the French mined.”
“Did anyone bring mail to the camps?”
“No, it was too expensive. It cost $2.00 to $3.00 a letter to get mail delivered and most didn’t have it. There were 6,000 to 8,000 French miners working in the south and most were just eking out that much a day to pay for food and shelter.”
Derbec had finished the plate of cold cuts and the second carafe of red wine. I decided to terminate the interview. I had a good sense of what to expect on my trip south and how to prepare and to provision. I invited him to stay and eat dinner at the restaurant as my guest, but made my excuses to leave, pleading a need to help my pregnant wife prepare our meal. Thank goodness Manon did not hear my ignoble excuse. She would have sent me packing with a portion of stale bread and pitcher of water for the evening.
California Gold Rush Journal
CHAPTER SEVEN
San Francisco — July 1851
The City was abuzz with fallout from the hanging of Stuart. All daily newspapers applauded the result while state and local government officials cried foul and vowed to bring the Committee of Vigilance to its knees. The Committee’s supporters responded to the officials’ braggadocio that there had been an average of two murders a day as well as a plethora of instances of theft, robbery, assault, arson and other crimes in the months preceding the hanging and not one criminal had been executed by the authorities.
The newspapers published the names of the numerous, fancy-named dens of inequity frequented by the Ducks and their cronies where criminals could plot their crimes openly and were immune from government interference. The “Magpie,” the “Bobby Burns,” the “O’Shanter,” and “The Bird-In-The Hand” had been established by the Ducks and still carried on their tawdry trade where one could purchase a harlot for a few pinches of gold dust. One principal attraction was at the “Boar’s Head,” where a naked woman and a live boar put on a lascivious show and another at the “Fierce Grizzly,” where a live female bear was chained beside the entrance.
The Committee added fuel to the blaze of indignation by asserting that various members of the Ducks had boasted openly to destroy San Francisco by fire and a known habitué of Sydney Town had been seen running from the paint store on the Plaza just before it burst into flames in May and ignited the fire that consumed the downtown business district. Other fires started almost on signal moments after the paint store, fueled by oils and highly combustible materials, which exploded, sending incendiary missiles arcing to the roofs of neighboring buildings.
The Committee responded to Governor McDougal’s threats by fingering Beckler Kay as a key conspirator with Stuart. Kay, an escapee from Van Dieman’s Land in Australia, who arrived in San Francisco in 1849, was appointed Port Warden for San Francisco by McDougal. As Port Warden, he was privy to inside information on ship movements and cargoes which he passed on to his confederate Stuart and his gang so they could plan their robberies based on knowledge where valuable cargo was stored and how it was protected.
Kay skipped out of San Francisco the moment he learned of Stuart’s arrest and evaded capture by the Committee in Sacramento by disguising himself as an old woman and fleeing back to San Francisco to allow the police to arrest him in order to avoid the Committee’s hangman’s noose. The Committee alleged that Kay was relying on the governor and his corrupt appointees to protect him from the vigilantes.
Despite the public’s fascination with the power struggle between the Committee and the authorities to seek and arrest members of Stuart’s gang, most San Franciscans sought to steer clear of both warring factions. That included us. There was a high level of anticipation and excitement aboard our ship at the prospect of our first big social outing to attend the French Ball at the Cairo Saloon. All the women anxiously awaited the eve of July 21st and their debut at the gala.
Gino Lamberti was the first to arrive to claim his date for the ball. Gino struck a dashing pose as he tendered a dozen red roses to Teri. Gino looked as if he had just stepped out of a Venetian palazzo attired as an Italian troubadour—baggy silk Venetian trousers and ruffled shirt open at the collar, suede vest and short coat, soft, pointy Italian shoes and a Venetian cap posed rakishly over his long, dark curly hair secured with a silk tie. Teri regarded this very handsome, romantic young suitor with an amused smile as he dropped to one knee and brought Teri’s hand to his lips.
Teri had eschewed her stunningly sexy Argentine dress for a more practical Spanish Flamenco dress that molded her full bust, narrow waist and then flared with short petticoats into an A-line that would allow her to swirl and whirl her petticoats on the dance floor. To show her appreciation for the roses and Gino’s courtly manners, she did a little pirouette on her ballerina shoes that gave the still kneeling Gino a dramatic glimpse of delectable legs, calves and ankles and long blond tresses in motion.
Manon whispered to me, “Oh la la! Gino’s gonna have to fight off all the other Romeos when she starts showing off her legs to all the single males, non?”
I laughed. “Probably the married ones as well. Maybe Gino should’ve worn an Italian sword with his costume. But no, I don’t think so. Teri likes Gino so far and she’s a tough cookie. She’ll keep the Lotharios at bay if she stays interested in Gino. Hopefully, they’ll make all the men surrender their weapons at the door. Teri won’t be the only hot señorita or sexy mademoiselle at the ball. Should be lots to choose from,” I replied.
“Hah! Father-to-be plans to ogle all the pretty ladies, yes?”
“As the English say, ‘you can look, but not touch.’ Isn’t that the purpose of a fancy dress ball? You’ll size up all the men and they’ll ogle you as well. The loose fitting dress you’re wearing hides your growing tummy. So, you may have to fight off Romeos as well.”
“Hah. That’s what dutiful husbands