conceit and maintained good eye contact at all times. “As you are a successful miner, I’m surprised you’d want to work as an assistant to a notaire and private detective, especially as I can pay only $16.00 a day.”
I was surprised he didn’t blink or show surprise at my proposed compensation. “Some days in the placers, we made nothing and some weeks we only made enough to buy American beans, flour and coffee. Most miners I saw never made a dollar’s profit after a season of back-breaking work and many ruined their health. In the end, you either make a lucky strike or you fail and go home with your tail between your legs to face your family who counted on you to buy them out of poverty. It’s not a job with a possibility to use your brain and learn new things or a trade. In Genoa, I worked as a shipping clerk for a firm that exported wine, olives and oil. It was interesting at first, but became routine and boring with no chance for advancement even though I had a better education than my boss, so my cousin and I decided to try to make our fortune in the New World.”
I poured him a glass of white wine which he accepted gratefully. “Since you were one of the lucky ones to hit pay dirt, how come you don’t use the money to start your own business and be your own boss?” I asked as we both emptied our shallow bistro glasses in a go.
“My uncle financed our trip and we paid him back. The only other way we could have come was as indentured servants on a contract to rich masters. When he lost his trattoria, which was the love of his life, we were honor bound to invest our gold to rebuild his restaurant. I could work in his restaurant, but it’s not what I want to do. I like to travel, meet new people, and learn new things. When uncle mentioned I might be able to work for you, I jumped at the chance. My cousin, Antonio, is happy to work in the restaurant, but I’m not. So, I’d be happy to work for $16.00 day and try my hardest to help your businesses grow profitable.”
“Some of the work, for instance replying to letters and dealing with the mail, may prove to be tiresome and boring,” I said refilling our glasses.
“Of course, probably for you as well. But my uncle said you were an entrepreneur and seeking to establish many businesses. That’s what I like. I want to stay in America where there is so much opportunity. I hope to learn what I can do working for you,” he said seriously.
I was really starting to like this young man who was only a few years younger than me. He had Georges’ good looks and charm, but there was a serious side and hunger in him to make something of himself. I signaled to Pierre-Louis that we were ready to start lunch. I decided to hire him on a trial basis that would last through our trip to the southern placers and we could reevaluate our relationship at that time.
I made sure Gino got his fill of shellfish which Pierre-Louis incorporated in a tomato-based soup. I wanted him to be able to report to his uncle how the French could cook a tasty fish dish. For our main course, we ate braised venison served with a savory brown hunter’s sauce with cream and chanterelle mushrooms. We parted with a friendly handshake and agreement that he could start work in three days once he’d completed a plan for visiting the French diggings in the southern placers and an invitation for him and his uncle to join us for dinner on our brig two nights hence.
California Gold Rush Journal
CHAPTER THREE
San Francisco — July 1851
Consul Dillon at the French Consulate recommended an American attorney he had recent dealings with and whose work he found satisfactory. The young man was trying, like me, to establish a new practice in the nearly lawless city and Dillon assured me that he was not a hired gun for the mayor and his cronies.
I had flirted with the idea of trying to practice law in the city’s civil courts on my own, but on reflection thought it better to associate with an experienced lawyer given the destruction of the court house in the recent fire. I had been fortunate to secure an order to seize the replacement Chilean wine Teri’s ex-beau had ordered after the fire using her savings. I couldn’t count on another American judge accepting my pleadings as I had no legal degree or experience pleading cases in court. Many French lawyers had come to California to seek their fortune in gold, but none were qualified to practice law after going bust in the placers. American civil law was based on English common law principles and case law precedent, while French civil law was based on an outdated Napoleonic Code. Further, no legal education was available in the city other than to become apprentice to an American lawyer. As most French did not speak fluent English, even that option was out.
Thomas Hawthorne’s office was a cubby-hole off the second floor stairs of a newly rebuilt brick and mortar building on Commercial Street.
He answered my knock himself and proffered a well-manicured hand to shake. His hand was soft but his grip firm. He signaled me to take a seat on a well-used captain’s chair in front of his neat but nicked-up walnut desk that had seen better days. The only source of light other than a plain whale oil lamp on his desk was a window at his back.
Hawthorne was tall, suavely-dressed, sported a prominent Adam’s apple, an aristocratic nose and looked to be in his early thirties. He wore his dark hair fashionably long. His New York tailored suit seemed oddly out of place in this Spartan setting.
“How can I help you, Mr. Dubois,” he said after perusing my business card in French.
I explained how I would need a lawyer to effect the seizure of Chilean wine on behalf of my wife’s associate, Teri, whose ex-boyfriend had stolen her savings to restart his wine merchant’s business after the fire of May 3rd. He raised his heavy black eyebrows in surprise when I handed him Judge Roberts’ order to confiscate the wine when it arrived until the merits of the matter could be resolved in court.
“How did you get the order of attachment,” he asked with a frown.
“I sweet talked the judge’s clerk to sign it and affix the judge’s seal,” I replied honestly.
“With a bribe?” He asked carefully gauging my demeanor.
I laughed to break the building tension. “The only inducement needed was to assure the lustful clerk he would get to meet the hot-blooded, vivacious and spurned señorita. While there, I arranged a date for the judge to marry me and my fiancé and assured him the señorita would be present as a witness and dressed to the nines.”
Hawthorne gave a visible sigh of relief at my explanation. “You need to know that I refuse to conduct business or trade favors for bribes.”
“I hoped as much. Consul Dillon assured me that you are honest and not part of the widespread corruption that has led the Committee of Vigilance to intercede in the detention and prosecution of the city’s criminal class.”
“Yes, and that sometimes presents problems in resolving cases. Biased judges and bribed jurors can skew just outcomes. That’s why I refuse to practice criminal law. I don’t admire either the judges or prosecutors who run the criminal courts or the extra-legal approach of the Committee.”
“Can a lawyer make a living just handling civil cases and avoiding the widespread corruption?” I asked.
“I hope so. If not, I’ll have to pack my bags and return to Connecticut.
