Gold: the marvellous history of General John Augustus Sutter
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Now they gallop at full speed along thegreat highway of France, and via Lure, Vesoul, Vitrey and Langres, they reach Chaumont in time to catch the mail-coach to Paris. From Chaumont, they could certainly have taken the steam train which runs to Troyes, and from there reached Paris by the Iron Way, but, in one of the coaching inns, Frau Sutter has seen a leaflet containing drawings by a certain Daumier, drawings which delineate all the dangers to which this new mode of locomotion exposes its passengers. That is why, despite her instructions, she boards the public coach that arrives from Strasbourg; it is less dangerous, and besides, in this way she will be able to remain a little longer amongst German-speaking people. The children, especially the boys, are disappointed.
In Paris, Dardel the Elder, her banker, warns her against too great a haste. It is in his home that she first hears of the discovery of gold. She is tempted to cry and run home to her father's house. Monsieur Dardel does not know exactly what is afoot, but he has heard that all the down-and-outs from Europe are going to California, and that they are fighting and murdering one another in the mines. He advises her to go no further than Le Havre and to obtain reliable information from his colleagues there before venturing to embark.
On the barge that sails down the Seine, there is a gang of men who look like cut-throats and gallows-birds; they form a little group apart from the other travellers. They are sitting on their luggage, talking quietly amongst themselves. Sometimes, furious arguments break out and one can hear, amidst shouts and imprecations, the words 'America, California, gold.'
Messieurs Pury, Pury and Son open their eyes very wide when they see Frau Sutter entering their office and learn from her own lips that she wishes to travel to New Helvetia.
'Why, yes, Madame, we know M. John Augustus Sutter extremely well, we are his commission agents and for many years have carried out substantial business deals on his behalf. Indeed, less than six months ago, we sent him a grand piano by sea. But things are changing, changing ... we are not yet sure precisely what is happening; he is said to be the richest man in the world at the moment. It seems he has discovered gold, mountains of gold. We don't know exactly how much. Nevertheless, we feel it is our absolute duty to dissuade you from embarking just now to join him. This is hardly the moment to go to California. During the last three months, Le Havre has been invaded by all kinds of adventurers bound for that country, men without law or religion, men who have committed the most heinous crimes in the town. This is not the moment to expose your sons, still less your young daughter, to such dangers. No, no one goes via New York any more, it takes far too long. We ourselves have chartered three steamers that go direct to Chagres, it's a much shorter route. Everyone is using this route now, there have been 712 departures already this month. But do reflect, Madame, just think of the risks you will run in such company! Be patient for a few months, we will seek instructions concerning you from M. John Augustus Sutter personally. You could . . .'
But, in the face of Frau Sutter's mulish obstinacy, Messieurs Pury, Pury and Son cease to insist. They do whatever is necessary for her. Anna Sutter and her children embark on one of their steamers, La Ville de Brest, a paddle-boat which used to ply the Jersey run but has now been chartered by the new maritime line in Chagres for the transportation of would-be gold prospectors.
The crossing takes forty-one days. There are eleven members of the crew and 129 passengers, many of whom help with the handling of the ship. Frau Sutter and her daughter are the only women aboard. The passengers come from every country, but are predominantly Frenchmen, Belgians, Italians and Spaniards. Five Swiss, nine Germans and one Luxembourger explain their enterprise to Frau Sutter in some detail. No, they have never heard of Sutter, but they have heard that California is a land full of gold, pearls and diamonds. You just have to bend down and pick them up. So-and-so and what's-his-name have already made their way there, they are simply following in their footsteps, and others, many, many more of them, will be coming on behind them. Some of the early birds are already rich, it seems, worth millions. 'There is gold everywhere, Madame, they are simply shovelling it up . . .'
Aspinwall. Heat, humidity, humidity, heat. There are seventeen steamers in the roads, flying the flags of nine different nations. New York, Boston, Philadelphia, Baltimore, Portland, Charleston, New Orleans: the American hordes storm the little train from Panama. They shout, they yell, they jostle one another and while the engine is panting its way through the swamps, under a dense cloud of steam, passing the mud huts full of squint-eyed Indians and Negroes with suppurating limbs, a rude chant arises, keeping time with the rhythms of the train and bawled by a thousand male voices:
To 'Frisco!
To 'Frisco!
Sutter. Sutter. Sutter. Sutter.
Sutter. Sutter. Sutter. Sutter.
To 'Frisco!
Sszzzzz. K. Sszzzzz. K. Pug!
Welcome back again!
Anna Sutter clasps her daughter tightly in her arms. The boys lean out of the window to see the poisonous snakes in the swamps. A Dane and a German, coming down from New Brunswick, recount what they know of the great Captain Sutter. He is a king; he is an emperor.
He rides on a white horse. The saddle is made of gold, the bit is gold, the stirrups, the spurs and even the horseshoes are also of gold. In his house, it is a perpetual feast-day and they drink brandy all day long. Frau Sutter faints away, her heart has ceased to beat. By the time she arrives in Panama, one lock of her hair has turned white.
The sun is like a molten peach.
Panama to 'Frisco aboard a sailing-ship. The crew are frightful-looking Kanakas, they fill her with dread. They are hideously maltreated. The skipper, an Englishman, cuts off the thumb of one of them to tamp down the tobacco in his pipe. As they draw near to the land of gold, the passengers become so excited that quarrels flare up over nothing and knives are quickly drawn. Frau Sutter is seized by an ague, a trembling in her limbs that lasts all the way to 'Frisco.
In San Francisco, she learns that New Helvetia no longer exists and that Sutter has disappeared.
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Women. There are women who work the gold-diggings, jolly, rough wenches who are no better than they should be and who toil and die of over-work just like the men. They slave, blaspheme, swear, smoke pipes, spit and chew coarse black tobacco while wielding the pick and shovel all day long, so that they can go boozing at night and lose their gold-dust at cards. One shouldn't admire them too much for they are even more vindictive and violent than the men; they are particularly touchy on affairs of honour and quite ready to defend their virtue with bullets, like those two Frenchwomen, legendary figures in the history of California, of whom Monsieur Simonin speaks in his Relation d'un voyage en Californie published in the Tour du Monde of 1862:
'. . . having spoken at length about the men, let us now spare a few words for the women, although their numbers in California are still very small.
'I will mention one, amongst others, whom the miners have nicknamed Joan of Arc. She works at the diggings like a man and smokes a pipe.
'Another, who is working a very productive claim, answers to the name of Marie Trousers, and owes this sobriquet to the masculine garment which she prefers to wear. . . .'
41
A blazing sun.
A small group is climbing up to Fort Sutter, led by an old Mexican. Three young men and a young girl on horseback are escorting a litter slung between two mules.
This journey has exhausted Anna Sutter. She cannot stop shivering. She is shaking with cold.
Her eyes are glazed.
'Yes, Madame, the Master is at his Hermitage, a property he has on the Feather River. It's a beautiful place. He's in his vineyards. You must take the route across country. I'll send a reliable guide with you, to lead you along the mountain tracks, so that you can avoid all these vagabonds and rascals who are amongst us now. My wife will act as your guide, she's an Indian and knows the whole area. Please tell the Master that Wackelnager himself, the manager, has aband
oned everything to go in search of gold, and that Ernest, the shoeing-smith who was working with me till recently, has left too. Tell him I'm keeping an eye on everything and that I'm salvaging whatever can be salvaged. There's still plenty of money to be made here, but, for God's sake, let him tell me what he wants done! I'm all alone. Tell the Master it wouldn't be a bad idea if he came here himself and had a look around.'
It is Jean Marchais speaking, a Frenchman and the blacksmith of the fort. He has remained faithfully at his post, still working for his good master.
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It is a beautiful California evening.
All day long they have been travelling through the abandoned farmlands of the Hermitage. Since leaving Fort Sutter, they have not encountered a living soul. This splendid domain, invaded by weeds and forest vegetation, is more tragic than the scrub of the mountains.
Now they come upon the silent mansion.
The party halts.
The only answer to the guttural cries of Sawa, the Indian woman, is the lugubrious howling of a dog. Finally, two Indians come out of the house, signalling with their arms.
The procession advances as far as the courtyard and the litter is set down.
'Mamma, Mamma!'
'Look, Mamma, we've arrived! Papa will be here in a minute. Sawa says he's been told of our coming.'
Anna Sutter opens her eyes. She sees everything on a huge scale - the immense empty sky, an alien land, a riot of vegetation and this great house that is strange to her.
A man comes out of the house, an old man.
Anna Sutter tries to sit up. She cries out:
'Johann!'
Immediately afterwards, there is a rattle in her throat.
Confused notions fill the poor brain of this pathetic woman. Everything is spinning round. Brightness and shadow. A great roar, as of rushing water, fills her poor head. She hears cries, and her memory receives a jolt. She remembers so many things now, and, suddenly, she distinctly hears the gentle voice of Jean Marchais, the blacksmith, giving her messages for his master. Then, humbly, she repeats his words, and John Augustus Sutter, who is bending over the head of his wife's litter, hears her murmur:
'Master . . .'
* * *
ELEVENTH CHAPTER
* * *
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Father Gabriel, the protector of the Indians, has just spent several days at the Hermitage. This morning, he is leaving before dawn, for his mission calls him back to his savages. He is a stern man and his utterances are famous amongst the tribes; he lives with the Sioux, the Osages, the Comanches, the Blackfeet and the Snakes, who listen to him as to an oracle. He travels everywhere on foot. John Augustus Sutter accompanies him along the track into the Sierra, as far as Round-Stone.
At the moment of parting, Father Gabriel grasps his hand and says to Sutter: 'Captain, a portion of the world's history has fallen on your shoulders, but you're still standing upright amidst the ruins of your former power. Lift up your head, look about you. There are thousands of people disembarking daily and coming here to work, hoping to find fortune and happiness. A whole new life is springing up in this country. You must set an example. Courage, old pioneer, this land is your true fatherland. Begin again!'
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If Sutter has once more set his shoulder to the wheel, it is not for his own sake, but for his children's. He builds the farm of Burgdorf for his son Victor and that of Grenzach for his son Arthur. Mina, his daughter, will have the Hermitage. As for his eldest son, Emile, he has sent him East to study law.
Father Gabriel supplies the necessary labour force for this renewed burst of activity; with his revered eloquence, he has managed to tear crews of Indians and Kanakas away from the distilleries and the gold-mines.
The Hermitage is now a Temperance Centre for the savages and the islanders.
The yellow races are also being taken on in ever-increasing numbers.
And prosperity is reborn. But it is not destined to last long.
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John Augustus Sutter cannot forget the blow that has struck him down. He is a prey to morbid terror. More and more, he holds himself aloof from the work on the farm and this new enterprise no longer absorbs all his faculties, as it once did. The whole business scarcely interests him any more and his children are probably quite capable of succeeding on their own, as long as they heed his advice. He himself plunges into a study of the Book of Revelation. He asks himself a multitude of questions which he cannot answer. He believes that, all his life, he has been an instrument in the hands of the Almighty. He is seeking to discover the purpose, and the reason for this. And he is afraid.
He, the man of action par excellence, he who has never hesitated, hesitates now. He becomes withdrawn, distrustful, sly, avaricious. He is full of scruples. The discovery of the gold-mines has turned his hair and beard white; today, his tall figure, his bearing as a leader of men, are bowed and curved beneath the weight of a secret anxiety that gnaws at his soul. He dresses in a long woollen robe and wears a little rabbit-skin cap. His speech has become halting, his eyes shifty. At night, he does not sleep.
Gold.
Gold has ruined him.
He does not understand.
Gold, all the gold that has been extracted during the last four years and all the gold that will be extracted in future, belongs to him. They have robbed him. He tries to make a mental estimate of its value, to arrive at a figure. A hundred million dollars, a thousand million? Oh, God! His head spins at the thought that he will never see one cent of it. It is an injustice. Lord, Lord, to whom can I turn for help? And all these men who have come here to ruin my life . . . why? They have burned down my mills, pillaged and devastated my plantations, stolen and slaughtered my flocks and my herds, laid waste all the fruits of my Herculean labours ... is this just? And now, after murdering one another, they are founding families, building villages and towns and settling themselves on my lands, under the protection of the Law. O Lord, if this is right, if this is in the order of things, why cannot I, too, profit from it, and what have I done to deserve such total ruin? All these towns and villages belong to me, after all, as well as the people and their families, their work, their livestock, their fortunes. My God, what can I do? Everything has crumbled to dust between my fingers - possessions, fortune, honour, New Helvetia and Anna, my poor wife. Is it possible, and why?
Sutter seeks help, advice, something to hold on to, but everything slips from his grasp. At times, he even reaches a point where he believes all his misfortunes to be imaginary. And then, by a strange inward turning upon himself, he dreams of his childhood, his religion, his mother, his father; he dreams of all that respectable, hard-working background, and above all of his grandfather, that upright man, dedicated to order and justice. And he feels ashamed.
He is the victim of a mirage.
More and more often, he returns in thought to his distant homeland; he dreams of that peaceful little corner of old Europe where all is calm, well-ordered and methodical. There, everything is in its appointed place, the bridges, the canals, the roads. The houses have been standing forever. The lives of the inhabitants are uneventful: they work, they are content with their lot. He sees Rünenberg again, as if in a painting. He thinks of the drinking-fountain he spat into on the day of his departure. He would like to go back there and die.
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One day, he writes the following letter:
'My dear Herr Birmann,
'My children have written to you about the terrible misfortune that had already struck me when my poor Anna came here to die on my doorstep. It was the will of Divine Providence to have it so. But do you know the full extent of my miseries? I do not want to keep harping on the story of this catastrophe which is, in effect, the story of my whole life. God knows, I have puzzled over it enough in my mind during the last four years, and yet, I assure you, I cannot make head nor tail of it. I am not one to complain and yet it is a sorry sort of creature who writes to you, broken, worn out, exhausted, like an
old work-horse. All the same, I must tell you that I have in no way deserved what has befallen me; whatever errors I committed in my youth, I have paid for with years of adversity. Let me explain that I lived in this country like a prince, or rather, in the words of our old proverb, I lived in this beautiful land of California "like God in France". It was the discovery of gold that ruined me. I do not understand it. The ways of Our Lord are devious and mysterious. It was my carpenter, Mr Marshall, who first brought the gold to light one day when he was working on the foundations of my sawmill at Coloma. After that fatal blow of his pickaxe, everyone deserted me - clerks, labourers, storemen, even my brave soldiers and my trusted personal assistants, in spite of the fact that I paid them all good wages. But they wanted more, and they robbed me, looted my property, then went off to search for gold. Gold is damned, and all those who come here, and all those who mine the gold are damned, for the majority of them disappear, and I ask myself how and why this happens. Life has been hell here during recent years. Men cut each other's throats, steal from one another, murder each other. Everybody has turned to banditry. Many have gone mad or committed suicide. And all this for gold, gold that is transformed into brandy, and after that into God knows what. Today, it seems as if the whole world is on my estates. Men have come from every country on earth, they have built towns, villages and farms on my lands and they have divided my plantations amongst them. They have built a city of the damned, San Francisco, at the very spot I had chosen for the disembarkation of my poor Kanakas, who have also run off to look for gold and barter it for liquor. Most of them would have died like dogs by now were it not for the good Father Gabriel, who went after them and saved them from the clutches of Shannon, the king of the distillers, and brought them back to me, often at the risk of his life. I gave them work, and now they are employed at the Hermitage, alongside my good Indians, and on the two farms I have given to my sons, Victor and Arthur, as they have no doubt written and told you.