Gold: the marvellous history of General John Augustus Sutter

by Blaise Cendrars

  At the Town Hall, Mayor Kewen, surrounded by the highest Federal and State officials, solemnly awards John Augustus Sutter the title of General.

  Then there is a procession through the town.

  It is the greatest fête that has ever been celebrated on the shores of the Pacific.

  All eyes are fixed on the tall old man who is riding at the head of the troops.

  John Augustus Sutter is mounted on a big white horse. He is holding his general's baton in his hand. Behind him come his three sons, then the First Californian Regiment, then the mounted artillery and the Light Cavalry.

  51

  General John Augustus Sutter parades through the streets of San Francisco at the head of the troops.

  He is buttoned up in a black frock-coat which is too tight for him; its long skirts flap over his horse's crupper. He is wearing checked trousers and boots with wide gussets. A broad-brimmed felt hat is rammed down on his skull.

  As he crosses the town, General John Augustus Sutter is prey to a strange emotion. All these ovations, the hurrahs, the wreaths of flowers that fall at his feet, the bells, the songs, the cannon, the fanfare, the multitude, the windows full of women, the houses, the office buildings, the first palatial edifices and the interminable streets, all seem to him unreal. It is less than six years since he was living here in the midst of savages, surrounded by his Indians and his Kanakas from the Islands.

  He thinks he must be dreaming.

  He closes his eyes.

  He does not want to see any more, he does not want to hear any more.

  He allows himself to be led.

  The procession carries him along to the Metropolitan Theatre where a monstrous banquet, and some fifty speeches, await him.

  52

  An extract from the speech by Mr Kewen, the first Mayor of San Francisco:

  '. . . This pioneer, full of high courage and spurred on by a strange presentiment, detaches himself from the happy memories of his youth, drags himself away from the charms of his own home, abandons his family circle, leaves his native land to come, by untrodden paths, and throw himself into a country full of danger and adventure. He crosses arid plains beneath a scorching sun, he traverses mountains, valleys, rocky chains. In spite of hunger, fever, thirst, in spite of bloodthirsty savages who lie in ambush for him, or stalk him on the open prairies, he travels onward, his eyes ever drawn to that point in the sky where the sun plunges every evening into the Western ocean. This point draws him on like a magnet, he keeps his eyes fixed on it, as the traveller in the Alps of his beautiful homeland keeps his eyes fixed on the summit of the mountain covered in eternal snows, thinking of nothing, as he crosses abysses and glaciers, but the grandiose panorama and the pure, refreshing air which is found at these altitudes.

  'And, like Moses on the summit of Pisgah in biblical times, he stands on the snowy crest of the sierra, and his vision clears and his soul rejoices; at last, he sees before him the Promised Land. But he is more fortunate than the Lawgiver of the Israelites, for to him it is given to enter this blessed land, and he descends from the mountain armed with new courage and fresh vigour to brave the solitude and the privations and, in gratitude, he dedicates this new land he has just discovered to God. To God, to liberty and to his beloved country, Switzerland.

  'In the history of vanished peoples, and of the centuries that are gone, the names of certain great men, whom one can never forget, stand out. Epaminondas, whose virtue and love of country shed a glorious light over the deliverance of Thebes. Hannibal, the courageous, who led his victorious armies over the Alps and trod the classic soil of Italy, will long outlive the history of Carthage. In naming Athens, one names her divine sons, and the name of Rome is consecrated by the glory of illustrious men. Thus, in future times, when the pen of the historian wishes to trace the origin and foundation of our dear Fatherland, which by then will be one of the most powerful countries in the world, when the historian wishes to describe the suffering and the hardships of the beginning, and recount the struggle for liberty in the West, then one name will shine forth above all others: it is that of the immortal SUTTER!'

  53

  Speech follows speech.

  General Sutter is absent, lost in his reverie.

  The thunder of applause sets the rafters ringing in the huge theatre.

  Ten thousand voices clamour his name.

  Sutter does not hear.

  He is fiddling nervously with the ring he is wearing, turning it round, changing it from one finger to another and repeating and repeating, over and over again under his breath, the inscription he has had engraved upon it:

  -THE FIRST GOLD -

  DISCOVERED IN JANUARY 1848

  * * *

  THIRTEENTH CHAPTER

  * * *

  54

  The beginning of 1855, like the end of the previous year, marks a new triumph for John Augustus Sutter.

  On the 15th of March, Judge Thompson, the highest magistrate in California, announces his verdict in the Sutter case.

  He acknowledges Sutter's claims as being just and well-founded, recognizes the grants made by the Mexican governors as legal and inviolable and declares that all those immense territories on which so many towns and villages have been built are the personal, intangible and indisputable property of John Augustus Sutter.

  This verdict, together with the reasons adduced, amounts to a small volume of over two hundred pages.

  55

  Jean Marchais is the first to bring news of this verdict to the Hermitage. He finds Sutter engrossed in a booklet on the breeding of silk-worms.

  Immediately, Sutter pounces on his frock-coat and brushes it with long, vigorous strokes. In effect, this judgement is directed against the United States; it is therefore necessary to obtain ratification from the highest Federal Court, swiftly and without delay. He has not a moment to lose. Out of a sort of childish vanity, Sutter is eager to reach Washington before the official courier arrives with the verdict. He will present himself to the Court in person.

  'What a fine man this Judge Thompson is,' he says, as he dons his handsome embroidered shirt. 'O God, I have never doubted Thee!' he murmurs as he pulls on his boots.

  'I thank Thee, I thank Thee,' he pronounces aloud.

  Then he buttons up his gauntlets and buckles on his heavy belt with the revolver in its holster. 'At last, they are giving me justice.'

  Justice!

  He puts on his broad-brimmed felt hat and looks at himself in the mirror.

  He is happy and, perhaps for the first time in his life, smiles at his own reflection.

  He bursts out laughing at the thought of the trick he is going to play on the official courier by arriving in Washington ahead of him, and delivering the great news himself! 'God, what a bolt from the blue it will be!' I'll cross the Sierra by the mountain tracks; that way, I can see Father Gabriel and tell him the news. Now, there's another good man. How pleased he will be, and Shannon will have to bite his tongue. Those villains had better watch their step, from now on we shall be the ones to lay down the law here. I'll get Bill, Joe and Nash to ride with me, that'll be enough. I can stay with the Mormons en route, and, if I travel through Nebraska, Missouri and Ohio, I'll be in Washington in a flash. My three Indians must come all the way to the Federal capital with me, and we must appear on horseback. Unless the Mormons can take me down the Platte River to catch the train. I hear the railway's reached Des Moines already.

  'Ah, they're good souls, good souls . . ."

  In his haste, he does not even bother to advise his sons of his departure, and it is only as he is jumping into the saddle that he shouts to Mina, who has come running from the poultry-yard: 'Tell the boys I'm going to Washington. We've won, we've won! The case is over. Tell them, and send Marchais to them. We've done it at last! Goodbye, my darling, see you soon!'

  And, with his three Indians in his wake, he sets off like a whirlwind along the track that leads to the Sierra.

  John Augustus Sutter leaves
everything behind him.

  He has his verdict.

  56

  The little party has been galloping all day long, and all night and all the following day They have barely given the horses time to breathe. On the second night, at about three in the morning, Sutter and his three Indians emerge from the great forests and reach the Mission Post which the good Father has built at the entrance to the col. The night is pitch black. There is not a star in the sky. Heavy clouds are hanging over the peaks of the Sierra. Men and horses are exhausted.

  Father Gabriel is standing on the edge of the stone terrace that supports his little chapel. He is surrounded by Indians, men, women, children. They are all gazing in the same direction. To the north-west, the sky is ablaze. A great glow invades the lowering sky.

  'God be praised, is it you, Captain?' cries Father Gabriel.

  'General, General!' protests Sutter, jumping off his horse. 'They have promoted me to General! It's all over now, I've won my case. Judge Thompson declared in my favour. I've won. It's in the bag. I'm going to Washington at once to have the verdict registered. The country is ours now, we shall be able to work. Everything can go ahead smoothly.'

  'God be praised!' says Father Gabriel again, 'I was anxious for you. Look at that great light over there.'

  Sutter looks.

  There, far over there, a great gleam lights up the sky and reddens it fitfully. It is not a forest fire, for it is way over there on the plain; it is not a prairie fire, for it is not summer-time and the dry season is still a long way off; nor is it crops that are burning, for the fields are still barren and unfilled. And that direction - due northwest! There can be no doubt, it is the Hermitage!

  'Ach, the bastards!'

  Sutter leaps on to his horse, jerks its head round and rides for home as if the devil were on his tail.

  57

  The moment Judge Thompson's verdict is known to the public, the entire city comes out on to the streets. Groups form at every corner and the bars and saloons are invaded by a crowd of vociferous drinkers. Violent arguments break out. Orators improvise speeches. Distillers offer 'drinks on the house', and stave in casks of brandy in the market-places. The mood of the mob becomes threatening. Sutter has too many enemies. Spokesmen of the party that opposed him and all the men of law who are in league against him incite the people, urging them to violence and mischief. Meetings are being held in every quarter of the town. In the evening, riots break out in San Francisco. The rioters set fire to the Law Courts, demolish the offices of the Clerk of the Court, destroy the Archives and storm the prisons. The populace are out to lynch Judge Thompson. Next day, the whole country is in a state of revolution and immediately men organize themselves into bands.

  The authorities are powerless.

  These people, who not so long ago acclaimed General Sutter, came to seek him out, to carry him off in triumph and give him a grand reception, an act of homage unique in the history of the United States, once more make their way to the Hermitage - but, this time, to attack it. There are about ten thousand of them and, as they advance, others hasten to swell the mob. The men are armed and there are wagons loaded with barrels of gunpowder. The Star-Spangled Banner floats above the heads of this disorderly multitude and it is to cries of 'Long Live America!' and 'Long Live California!' that everything in their path is pillaged, sacked, razed to the ground.

  The Hermitage is burned down, the factories, workshops, sawmills, repair shops and windmills are blown up, the orchards chopped down, the irrigation pipelines perforated, the flocks and herds mown down by rifle-fire and any Indians, Kanakas or Chinese unfortunate enough to fall into the hands of the marauders are lynched without mercy. Anything that bears Sutter's trademark is obliterated. The plantations are put to the torch, the vineyards ravaged. Finally, they attack the wine-cellars. And the destructive fury of the mob turns vicious - they kill, they break, they burn, they sack with such utter ruthlessness that even the poultry are slaughtered by volley-fire. Then they go up to Burgdorf and to Grenzach, where they again wreak havoc, destroying everything, reducing it to ashes. They saw through the lock-gates, smash up the surface of the roads and blow up the bridges.

  Ruins and ashes.

  When Sutter returns home, four days after his departure, nothing remains of his vast enterprises.

  Thin plumes of smoke still rise from the smouldering debris. Clouds of urubus, vultures and crows with bloodied beaks squabble over the carrion of horses and cattle littered about the fields.

  From the branch of a wild fig-tree swings the corpse of Jean Marchais.

  This time, all is lost.

  Forever.

  58

  Sutter contemplates the disaster with a mournful eye.

  John Augustus Sutter is worn out. His life, his suffering, his hardships, his energy, his will, his endurance, his work, his perseverance, his hopes have all been in vain. His books, his papers, his instruments, his weapons, his tools, his bear and puma skins, his furs, his walrus tusks, his whalebones, his stuffed birds, his collection of butterflies, his Indian trophies, his specimens of ambergris and of genuine amber, of auriferous sand, of precious stones and of minerals of all kinds have been reduced to a heap of hot ashes.

  Everything that he holds most dear, everything that represents the life and the pride of a man, has gone up in smoke.

  General John Augustus Sutter no longer possesses anything of his own, except the clothes on his back, his viaticum and the Book of Revelation in his pocket.

  He, who had hoped to become the richest man in the world!

  Overcome with self-pity, he weeps for a long time. He is a broken man.

  59

  And suddenly he thinks of his children.

  Where are they? What has become of them?

  Then he begins to wander through the district, from farm to farm and village to village. Everywhere, they sneer at him, mock him, turn their backs on him. The people insult him. The children throw stones.

  Sutter steels himself, says nothing, takes it all, the spite and the abuse.

  He has a crushing sense of guilt.

  He mumbles a prayer: 'Our Father, Which art in Heaven . . .'

  He has fallen into a second childhood.

  He is a pathetic old man.

  60

  Months pass. And then one day his sorrowful wanderings bring him to San Francisco.

  He enters the city without being recognized by a soul.

  He is frightened by the tall houses that rise up on either side, the intersecting streets, the swiftly-moving vehicles, the hurrying people who jostle him. Above all, he has a horror of the human face and is afraid to raise his eyes.

  Misfortune dogs his footsteps.

  He sleeps in the port and begs in the outer suburbs. He spends hours hanging about the waste ground where, only yesterday, stood the offices of his lawyer son.

  One day, mechanically and without thinking, he goes in to see Judge Thompson. He finds his daughter, who has been given refuge there. Mina is in bed, she is suffering from nervous shock and has difficulty in expressing herself.

  There, too, he hears news of his sons. Victor has again taken ship for Europe. Arthur was killed defending his farm. As for Emile, the eldest son, the lawyer, the one who had the whole business at his finger-tips and conducted the lawsuit, he has committed suicide in some squalid hovel.

  As Sutter is stone deaf, he asks them to repeat this painful story twice.

  'Thy will be done. Amen.'

  * * *

  FOURTEENTH CHAPTER

  * * *

  61

  At the foot of the Twin Peaks, there stands a large white house whose pediment and Ionic columns are made of wood. It is surrounded by a spacious park and flower gardens. This is the country home of Judge Thompson; he loves to spend his weekends there, inspecting his young rose-bushes with a volume of Plutarch under his arm. It is in this retreat that Sutter, little by little, is restored to life and consciousness.

  His legs are weak an
d he has put on an enormous amount of weight. White locks tumble over his stooping shoulders. His left side is afflicted with a slight tremor. His eyes water perpetually.

  Mina has made a quick recovery from her terrible shock, the natural resilience of youth and the maternal care of Mrs Thompson have sufficed to restore her. She is engaged to Ulrich de Winckelried, a young dentist; the wedding is fixed for Christmas, and she is so happy about it that she cannot abide the sight, nor the presence, of her old, broken-down father. That is why she stays with the Thompsons in their town house, where these good people, so simple, so cheerful, so human, are always ready to guide and advise her in the setting-up of her new household.