L'or (8 page)

'I am addressing myself to you because Father Gabriel mentioned you when he came to the farm to give my poor Anna decent Christian burial. He told me he knew you in his childhood. I believe he is a native of your village; from what I have heard, his name must be 
März, but I am not too sure as he is as secretive as the Indians, to whom he is devoted body and soul, and he never speaks about his own people, except that once to tell me that he remembered you very well. In earlier days, when I was fighting on the frontier, he was my worst enemy; he bore me a grudge, resenting the fact that I, a compatriot, was making the Indians work, and bringing in Kanakas as forced labour, but, later on, he understood that I could never have achieved anything without them, and that they, for their part, could not have survived without me, once the Mexicans had abandoned them. As for the Kanakas, I have never been a wicked man, and Father Gabriel has been able to see that for himself. At the moment of my terrible misfortune, when all were deserting me, he was the only one to stand by me and he remained faithful to me from then on. Even now, it is only thanks to him that my children have been able to set up their establishments. He is a saint, may God keep him in His holy care, and may He keep you, too, dear Herr Martin Birmann, and bless you for having been a father to my children for so many years. Today, it is in the name of these same children that their father implores your advice: what should I do? 

'Amen.

                                               'Your brother in Jesus Christ, 

                                                         'John Augustus Sutter, Captain.'

John Augustus Sutter does not wait for a reply from the worthy old Martin Birmann, a solicitor by calling and voluntary treasurer of the community of John the 
Baptist in his little village of Botmingen, in Basleland.

John Augustus Sutter begins a lawsuit.

His lawsuit.

A lawsuit that revolutionizes the whole of California and comes near to throwing the very existence of the new State into jeopardy. Everyone is passionately involved. Everyone has a personal interest in the case.

Above all else, John Augustus Sutter lays claim to exclusive ownership of the territories on which towns like San Francisco, Sacramento, Fairfield and Riovista have been built. He has had these lands valued by a committee of experts and claims 200 million dollars. He issues summonses against 17,221 individuals who have settled on his plantations, demanding that they vacate their premises and pay him damages with interest. He claims 25 million dollars from the legislature of the State of California for having taken over the roads, tracks, locks, mills, canals and bridges, and the installations in the Bay, and having placed them at the disposal of the public. Also, an indemnity of 50 million dollars from the government in Washington for its failure to maintain public order at the time of the discovery of the goldmines; failure to stem the flood of the gold rush; failure to control their own Federal troops, who were sent into the area and deserted in gangs, thus becoming the principal element in the disorder and amongst the most ruthless looters; failure to take appropriate measures to reimburse both the State and Sutter personally for their share from the output of the mines. He submits, in the first instance, that he has rights to part of the gold extracted up to the present time and asks that a commission of jurists give an immediate ruling on the amount of gold due to him out of that which will be extracted from this day forth. He does not ask for any personal sanctions 
against anyone at all, neither those people in authority who have failed in their duty of seeing that the law is respected, nor police officers incapable of upholding public order, nor prevaricating officials. He bears no man a grudge, but he demands justice, simple justice, and, in bringing his case to Law, he is putting all his trust in jurisprudence.

Emile has come back from the University and is devoting himself exclusively to this monstrous affair. He is assisted by the four most eminent legal experts in the Union. In his offices at the corner of Commercial Street and the Plaza Mayor, in the heart of San Francisco, he is surrounded by a flock of solicitors, clerks and scribes.

The cities put up their defence. San Francisco, Sacramento, Fairfield, Riovista and even the smallest communities appoint barristers for life, solely to concern themselves with this particular case, and to oppose Sutter's claims with all their strength and at all costs. Individuals band together, constitute defence syndicates, place their interests in the hands of the most famous lawyers, whom they bring out from the East at outrageous expense. Jurists are at a premium. Every member of the legal profession, down to the last shyster, is dragged in. In all the vast territories of the United States, one can no longer find a single barrister lacking his brief, nor a single man of law kicking his heels in a bar. Solicitors, notaries, bailiffs, articled clerks, scribblers and pen-pushers rush to California, where they swoop down like locusts amongst the cosmopolitan hordes of gold-seekers, who are still pouring in, for the rush is by no means over. This is a new rush, an unforeseen source of gold, and all these people are hoping to live off Sutter's lawsuit.

During this time, John Augustus Sutter never once sets foot in the capital. He remains on his property and he has recovered all his old energy and vitality. He draws on all his faculties and uses every weapon in his arsenal.

For he must have money, money and still more money to pay for all this legal red tape.

His lawsuit.

This lawsuit which is unfolding in the heart of San Francisco, the damned city which Sutter has never yet laid eyes on.

Four years go by, during which time the case follows its course before the tribunals.

Sutter manages to find the money for his insane legal costs.

All his enterprises are prospering. His small farms at Burgdorf and Grenzach supply San Francisco. with milk, butter, cheese, eggs, chicken and vegetables. At the Hermitage, he has set up a fruit-preserving industry. His sawmills cut the planks and timber which are used in the building of the countless new villages. He has a nail factory, another for pencils. He sets up a paper-mill. Once more, he begins sowing acres of cotton and dreams of starting a spinning-mill.

The inhabitants of the country, already deeply indebted to him, watch in terror as he amasses this new 
fortune and rises to ever more menacing power. Sutter is unpopular. Sutter is hated, but Sutter does not care. They cannot manage without his products and he squeezes the people as hard as he dare. 'Let them cough up, the dirty swine,' he is in the habit of saying when he is setting up some new business venture and anticipating its profits in advance. 'Let them cough up, then it will be they themselves who pay the costs of my case.' Nevertheless, by a strange paradox, this man who has such an insatiable need for money does not pan gold or distil liquor. On the contrary, he is in close contact with the religious sects of Philadelphia and leads an ardent temperance campaign amongst the Indians, the White and the Yellow races (he is dead against brandy, but not wine, of which the enormous quantity consumed in the region comes exclusively from his vineyards). And if any gold-diggers should happen to stray on to his property nowadays, he has them beaten without mercy, for they are the damned. Although he rarely opens it any more, the Book of Revelation is always buried in his pocket for, in spite of his crazy energy, there remains in the depths of his soul a great fear and, before God, he is none too sure of his rights.

Towards the end of the fourth year, his adversaries strike a first, terrible blow against him. The offices of his son Emile are burned down and all the riff-raff of San Francisco dance round the flames as if it were a celebratory bonfire. The entire country is jubilant when it learns that the principal documents pertaining to the case have been destroyed, notably the original title-deeds to lands granted by Governors Alvarado and Micheltorena. At this news, the new settlers squatting on his lands are ecstatic and the inhabitants of the towns and villages parade the streets shouting: 'We've run the 
wolves to earth! We've caught the old wolf by the tail!'

On the face of things, John Augustus Sutter takes this blow without flinching but, although he redoubles his efforts and gives orders for his case to be prosecuted with even greater vigour, he feels, in his innermost being, that his strength is secretly waning, while his fears wax full.

He has received yet another blow from the Almighty.

O, God!

I no longer have the strength to cry out. I will make no protest. Yet I cannot find it in my heart to submit. Do with me what Thou wilt.

I shall fight on.

On the 9th of September, 1854, the entire population of California is in a carvival mood.

They are celebrating the fourth anniversary of California's entry into the Union and the fifth anniversary of the founding of the city of San Francisco.

Already, throughout the previous fortnight, crowds have been coming in by every route and from every corner of the state. The capital is adorned with garlands and lit with illuminations; the Star-Spangled Banner flutters from windows, from rooftops and on all the surrounding hills. At night, fireworks shoot upward to burst in a luminous, crackling shower; salvoes of musketry and artillery reverberate incessantly. The theatres - the Jenny Lind Theatre, the first building to boast a stone façade, and the Adelphi, where a company of French actors are strutting the boards - are constantly packed out. At every street corner, demagogues harangue immense crowds, inspiring them with prophecies of the prodigious future that awaits this new country and this new city. This entire young nation unites in a single sense of its own strength and power, in a sentiment of burning patriotism for the Union.

The bars are besieged and the well-known saloons packed to the doors, and it is in these haunts, the Arcades, the Belle Union, the El Dorado, the Polka and the Diana, that popular enthusiasm wells up and spills over into demonstrations in honour of John Augustus 
Sutter. Committees and delegations are formed; colonists, planters, labourers, gold-diggers, women, children, soldiers, sailors and profiteers betake themselves to the Hermitage
en masse
,
and there, under his very windows, they acclaim Sutter, invite him, take him captive, drag him out by force and carry him in triumph to the city.

Along the way, the old pioneer is saluted on all sides as 'The Ancestor'. The whole population of San Francisco comes out to meet him. The cannon booms, the bells ring, choirs celebrate his apotheosis. Men wave their hats in the air, women wave their handkerchiefs while showers of floral tributes flutter down from the balconies. Clusters of human beings, like bunches of grapes, are hanging out into the void, applauding, cheering and shouting hurrahs.

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.

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.

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!'

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: