On a dusty street, a young woman is wandering hopelessly, she is in tears. A pair of remarkable hazel eyes, that were wet and full, glistened in the moonlight. Her heart was completely empty, just like the purse that swung at her side. Back home in Maryland, the girl, whose name was Arabella Ryan, had sewn the small bag at      the dress shop where she had worked as a seamstress with her younger sister. There in Baltimore, she had led a simple and pure life, raised by her father, a minister, who was honest, strict and wise, and her mother, soft spoken, doting and dedicated. 

Arabella looked down at her tired, aching feet. The soles of her satin boots were wearing thin from today’s pacing. She looked around, she hadn’t been paying attention to where she had been walking. It was getting late, and she had nowhere to go. She noticed a white picket fence, against it, a bench, and she sank down onto it. As the young woman sat down, she let out a sigh of surrender, and with it, flowed a river of tears. 

Hours passed as her sobs echoed up and down the otherwise silent street. Finally calm enough to catch her breath, she sat up straight to compose herself. Pushing a dark curly lock of hair behind her ear, she laid her head back and looked up to the sky, and exhaled. Thoughts sprinted and circled in her mind, like a spinning wheel spinning a yarn. The racing eventually slowed to a halt and in a daze, she watched the stars fade into the dawn. 

She was seventeen years old, alone on a bench in 1849 in New Orleans. Arriving in town earlier this month by stagecoach with an older man whom she was in love with. They were going to start a family there in Louisiana. The couple had fled here when her pregnancy was discovered, which had been conceived out of wedlock. This left her disowned by her god fearing parents. Saying goodbye to her younger sister was the most traumatic, it all was. 

A knot formed in her stomach as Arabella’s mind wandered back to the day she was told to leave. The memory of her father’s face as he closed the door on her for the last time, it impaled her. Her mother and sisters tears, soaked her own cheeks after their fast embrace, when she stood in front of her father. He shook his head and stared past her. His eyes were vacant from any past memory of love or admiration for her.

Her new romance came as a whirlwind to the teenager, who had felt safe with the mysterious man. Arabella had never been on her own before, and she had put her new life into the hands of this gentleman lover. He had secured them a room in a boarding house on the other side of town during their first weeks in New Orleans. That was, until he left town and never came back. Returning from the birth of her child, Arabella came home to nothing.

She was left devastated. Miss Ryan was innocent and the young girl had never experienced a broken heart before. Everything had fallen apart. She was sinking in a sea of trouble.  Here she was now, alone. She had no parents, no little sister, no partner, and after yesterday morning at the Charity Hospital in New Orleans, no baby. 

Arabella exhaled and looked to the early morning sky for an answer. Was this chain of events made to be a punishment for her sins? Or was it the opposite, was there more ahead for her, more to come of her story? Arabella had never even allowed herself to imagine a life outside of Baltimore before this last month. As she sat there and contemplated the idea of a blank slate, the sound of footsteps broke her concentration.  She snapped her head down and looked ahead, then to the left and right of her, no one was there. “Have you finished crying?” a strict, yet safe voice rang out to the empty street in front of her.

Arabella Ryan adjusted the stockings on her voluptuous thighs, then dabbed rouge on to her plump cheeks in her private bedroom upstairs. Tracing her dainty gloved hand along the brass banister, she made her way down the grand staircase of the finest parlor house in New Orleans. Those phenomenal hazel eyes, scanned the sea of gamblers for the group of soldiers that she had earlier lured into a hand of Poker at one of the tables. Offering in exchange a complimentary round of whiskey and the promise of a free dance with the teenage beauty at the games conclusion. Win or lose.

Two months had come and gone since the generous madame of the establishment, Elizabeth Myers, had found Arabella Ryan in shambles, in front of her successful bawdy house. The woman sat on the porch, just across the yard and waited while Arabella purged her tears until four in the morning. She recognized the pain in her cries and without yet meeting her, she already understood the destitute girl. Arabella was hired on the spot in those wee early hours, and immediately began utilizing her skills as a seamstress for the house. 

The dresses she repaired were extravagant in design, rouged, tasseled and sensual in cut, exposing the shoulders and the ladies full ankle. Some even up to the mid calf!  They were unlike anything she herself had ever tried on. Madame Myers invested in beautiful imported fabrics and trimming. In a rainbow of opulent gowns, the women decorated the home with perfection, and men came from miles to socialize in the lavish setting. She insisted on having the best of the best in her emporium of sin, and Arabella admired her for her business savvy, and took note.  

Early into the first few weeks of her employment Arabella Ryan began gathering courage. She had realized that the women wearing these luxurious dresses, were carrying heavier purses than the girl sitting in the back room sewing them.  She insisted on changing her position, quite literally in fact, at the raving bordello. It was a smart move, for by virtue of her significant beauty and charm, Arabella Ryan was now earning more money than any other working girl in New Orleans.

(saloon music)

As she approached the bottom of the staircase, Arabella spotted Charles Cora. In her eyes, he was the most handsome and well dressed man in the city. He did not look up. In the corner, he was sitting behind a ridiculous amount of chips, across from him were her men in waiting. The soldier's backs were to her, their shoulders were slumped. 

With eyes and her imagination fixated on Cora’s thick, healthy mustache, the woman of confidence swayed towards the table like a snake. Every eye in the house, on her, as she passed. She approached the Calvary men, sliding her hands across their backs. They had each just lost all their wages, three entire paychecks to the dapper Charles Cora, who wore polished black boots and a Bowler hat. They turned to look up at her as she asked,  “Ready for that dance?”

Arabella Ryan took turns with the horsemen, spinning them around the dance floor. In the seconds of looking into Belle’s eyes, the men decided they would have given another month’s wages for one more dance with this natural beauty. After the warriors stumbled out, drunk and pockets empty, she sat down onto Charles Cora’s lap, and took a sip of the Italian gambler’s whiskey. Charles pulled her closer to him, her nose, now touching his. She whispered “This seems to be working Mister Cora”.  The usually serious man then revealed a laughing smile under his moustache, showing quite obviously, his complete agreement. 

Draping her arms around his neck, Arabella nuzzled into his neck. “Why,”  she said in a hushed voice, “don’t we head west, to mine those greedy miners?”  Charles’ eyes widened and he turned his face away from hers. He slammed the remains of his glass of whiskey, throwing his head back dramatically and tossing the shot glass onto the poker table. He stood, scooping his muse, his lover, his business partner, up into his arms as he did so. 

The two had been running the con for weeks with much success. There was little time to waste now that their dream in California had been realized. There was a steamship leaving later this week, and each of them, worked on gathering a team. Four days later, with their new entourage, the unmarried power couple, boarded a ship, under the names of Charles and Belle Cora. Bon Voyage New Orleans.

“I was hanging in a hammock near the bow, alongside a row of bunks, not long after falling asleep I was awakened by a volley of curses and a loud “Get out of here!” There followed more coarse and vile oaths and the threat: “If you don’t get out, I will cut you down. You are keeping the air from me!” I didn’t move. On December 11, 1849, enroute to San Francisco via Panama, Writer Edward L Williams wrote in his journal.  One of the men I recognized as Charles Cora, removed a large knife from his pocket. Just then, on the other side of his hammock I saw a pistol gleaming in the moonlight and the man holding it said, “You attempt to cut the boy down for his purse before me and I will blow a hole through you, you infernal blackleg Southerner. I know you, you used to run a gambling game at New Orleans and you robbed everybody. Get away from that boy!” 

 The Cora’s were sailing on the U.S. Mail Steamship Company’s SS Falcon. The steamship was carrying its first passengers to attempt a potentially fatal shortcut at Chagres on the east coast of the Isthmus of Panama.  They would face the jungle and on the other side, catch another ship up to San Francisco. Upon survival they would save eight thousand miles of travel by avoiding the voyage around Cape Horn. Comfort and safety, were not promised.  They went for the challenge, for Charles and Arabella, who was now calling herself, Belle, were always up for a throw of the dice.

Among its more, well, dignified passengers, the SS Falcon was relocating a couple dozen more ramblin men and rebellious prostitutes. They all had the same idea as the Cora’s team. Days of sailing crawled by, and the wanderers took turns cheating one another over games of poker. Charles Cora and company had been causing trouble for a week, conning and robbing the well mannered travelers of the assets they intended on bringing into the new world. Eventually, Charles was imprisoned by Captain Thompson in the ship’s irons with several of his friends, and a few of his newly acquired enemies. 

Belle Cora paid no mind. She took advantage of the time with her rambunctious friends, Charity and Patience, who were sixteen year old twin sisters. She knew them well after spending the last five weeks together in New Orleans before they all boarded the ship. She had “discovered” the sisters after they arrived from New York City, and secured them with work at Madame Myers brothel. They admired Belle, and how she so easily could separate a man from his dollar.

 The twins had jumped at the chance to help her and Charles get rich in California. While the men were locked up below, the three girls kept the other male passengers on the ship company. They took strolls on the deck, in the arms of lawyers and politicians, and short dances under the moonlight with married men who had left their wives at home. Tokens of appreciation showered upon them for their time. Together, the three baby faced women were a sight to see, and they were sure to all cash in.  

Once in South America, Charles, Arabella and the twins huddled together with the group of ramblers after disembarking from the SS Falcon. They were completely unaware of the adventure that lay before them. Dragging their heavy trunks onto the beach, they rolled out their meak bedding onto the muddy shores. Charity’s shrieks throughout the night, fearful of the bugs that swarmed the travelers, kept the team from sleeping soundly. The men, although shocked themselves, teased the shook woman, they told her it was nothing. Toughen up, they told her, in the morning, they would forge a giant river, through the jungle, and there would surely be even more bugs on the trail. 

By that same time the next evening, the once rowdy group had now fallen somber, riding on the narrow boats that were moving one mile an hour, against the Chagres Rivers current. The sights to be seen were astonishing to the tired gang. They caught each other, rubbing their eyes in disbelief. Was this real, or were they hallucinating, delirious from the tiresome quest? The boat glided through the water under the dazzling, tropical flora and fauna. The eyes of submerged crocodiles followed the intruders. Magnificent pumas that perched in the low hanging trees over the shore, left their posts and followed the boats along the shore line. Nothing short of intimidating to the usually rough gang. 

In her boat, Charles and the twins. Belle and her friends passed the time taking turns fanning off the bugs and napping on one another’s lap. They also spent a good amount of time making up naughty games while they studied the spectacular muscles of the natives onboard. Nude men were propelling each boat through the exotic jungle. They forced long reed poles against the river’s bottom, braced themselves against the other end, and walked to the stern as swiftly as they could. Over and over again, for seventy five miles. 

The sisters and Belle were usually the subject of admiration wherever they went. Hoots, hollers, and demands. What fun to be on the other side. Though uncomfortable on this tiny boat, in the melting heat, the girls were fascinated and made the best of the entire duration of the river trip. At night, on the shore, under the stars and among the dense thickets of mangrove trees, these same spectacular men roasted the meat of iguana and monkeys for the gang. 

Belle had never seen a monkey until a few mornings prior, and now she was digesting one. As she closed her eyes to sleep the last night before the river journeys end, she thought of how exotic and interesting it all was, to be so well traveled. Oh the stories she would have to tell to her new customers in California. Maybe this would not be so bad after all. As she imagined a group of men circled around her in an extravagant parlor, she told the story of witnessing pumas and eating monkey meat, the men clapped and cheered and hoisted her above their heads, throwing gold nuggets into her lap, and she drifted off to sleep. 

 As Belle dreamed, next to her, Patience’s shivering began. She whispered to her sister, “I am so cold”, which seemed absurd, in the hot night’s air. Charity then found that Patiences clothes were damp with sweat and her skin was burning hot to the touch. Terror stricken, with her hanky, she dabbed the sweat that poured from her twin’s face. Trembling with fear, waiting for the morning to come.

As Belle and Charity each attempted to steady themselves in their pompous hats and dresses on top of an old mule, Charles and a friend loaded Patience onto the back of the one chosen for her. She slumped over its matted mane. Patience was now far too weak to move, and they were without fresh water until they reached their destination that evening. The men loaded up the trunks on top of even more of the tired animals. Everyone looked at Patience with sympathy. No one wanted to admit they knew her impending fate on this disease ridden journey. 

Charles kissed Belle and saddled up himself, prepared for a grueling ride through the jungle of Panama on an exotic beaten path. Charity followed Patience’s mule at the back of the pack as they slowly crept into the jungle. Belle Cora, up front, hardly noticed the vibrant flowers and the strange, colorful birds just as magnificent, for, the notion of horror loomed everywhere. 

She could not bear to look back at her ill friend as she held a handkerchief over her face, slowly moving through clouds of flying bugs. She tried to put the thought out of her mind, with no success. It was a hard task to accomplish, as they passed the many dead mules and horses that increasingly lined the long trail. A rotting scent of death, and failure grew stronger with every passing hour, for the twenty five mile leg of the shortcut. 

Dehydrated and covered in insect bites, the gamblers arrived in Panama City. The possibility of serious illness, hovering over everyone. A few of Charles friends, becoming weaker with the passing hours. They all set up camp. Soon, they were greeted by other gamblers from New Orleans who also came on the Falcon. They had arrived in Panama earlier in the morning. 

Belle and a distraught Charity went on a search to find help for her sister. Charles, back at the camp, learned that tragically, one of the canoes on The Chagres, carrying four of his pals from home, had capsized, two of the men had drowned.  Another passenger from the same ship, told his story of being robbed by natives, every coin in his possession stolen while he slept on the journey. Many more had fallen to an illness that they had acquired on the ship. Belle and Charity went through the crowd for hours, unable to find a doctor.

By morning, Patience was dead.