Who were the first women who came to California, and who was already here?  

Legendary Native, Spanish, American and Immigrant women, who had made their own way, in a time where women were not so welcome to do so. Rarely heard of women and it was also their stories that played a part in shaping the future of the United States, in one way or another, and I want you to know their names The golden state’s Whoremistress Extraodinaire spreads debauchery all over the Motherlode, including my own hometown.  This is a true story, from America’s Largest Migration, The Gold Rush.

Written, Narrated and Produced by Andrea Anderson. Male Narration by Slim Cessna.  Theme song "In San Francisco Bay" by DBUK.  Banjo picking by Col J. D. Wilkes. You can find links on our website at queensofthemines.podbean.com. ** Research References will be posted at the end of each Chapter.

Honky Tonkin' by Doug Maxwell/Media Right Productions A Ghost Town by Quincas Moreira 

There will be a detailed thank you to everyone who came out to support the Launch in the next episode!!

Distraction

On a dusty street, the young Arabella Ryan wandered hopelessly. It was dusk and she looked down at her tired, aching feet. The soles of her satin boots were wearing thin from today’s pacing. When she finally looked up she realized she had not been paying attention to where she was going, not as if she had anywhere to go. Arabella came to a white picket fence with a bench in front of it. As she sank down onto it she let out a sigh of surrender and with it, a river of tears. Hours passed as the lonely seventeen years old's sobs echoed up and down the otherwise silent street in New Orleans. Her hazel eyes were full of tears  and her heart was completely empty, like the purse that hung motionless at her side. She had sewn the small bag at the dress shop back home in Maryland where she had worked as a seamstress with her younger sister. Arabella had then led a simple and pure life in Baltimore. She was raised by her father, an honest, strict and wise minister. Her mother was soft spoken, doting and dedicated. Arabella arrived in New Orleans earlier this month by stagecoach.  She had fled home with an older lover when a pregnancy conceived out of wedlock was discovered. She was left disowned by her god fearing parents. Saying goodbye to her younger sister was the hardest, 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 cheeks after their fast embrace, then she stood in front of her father, who shook his head, staring past her. His eyes, vacant from any past memory of love or admiration for his daughter. The plan was to start a family in New Orleans. Her partner quickly secured a room in a boarding house on the other side of town. Arabella had never been on her own before. She put her new life into the hands of her gentleman lover. Arabella was left alone when the man she loved and trusted left town while the much younger girl gave birth to their child.  Arabella came home to nothing and he never came back. The innocent Miss Ryan was left devastated. Everything had fallen apart. She sat on the bench and felt as if she was sinking, drowning in a sea of trouble. She was alone, no parents, no little sister, no lover, and after yesterday morning at the Charity Hospital in New Orleans, no baby.  

Arabella finally calmed herself enough to catch her breath and 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. She exhaled, looking to the early morning sky for an answer and watched the stars fade into the dawn. Was this chain of events made to be a punishment for her sins? Or was it the opposite? Arabella had never allowed herself to imagine a life outside of Baltimore before this last month. Was she getting a second chance? She sat there and contemplated the idea of a blank slate. Would there be more ahead for her life? More to come of her story? The sound of footsteps broke her concentration. She snapped her head down and looked ahead, to the left and right of her, no one was there. “Have you finished crying?” A strict but safe voice rang out to the empty street from behind her.

Arabella Ryan dabbed rouge onto her plump cheeks and adjusted the stockings on her voluptuous thighs in her upstairs quarters in the finest parlor house in New Orleans. Two months had passed since the establishment’s madame sat on her porch, recognizing the pain of the young girl's cries, who was in shambles in front of the successful bawdy house, waiting until four in the morning for Arabella to purge her tears. She hired Arabella on the spot in those early hours. Arabella’s skills as a seamstress were immediately utilized for the ladies of the house. She repaired dresses that were unlike anything she herself had ever tried on, extravagant in design, rouged, tasseled and sensual in cut. Dresses that expose the shoulders and the ladies full ankle. Some even up to the mid calf! The Madame had invested in beautiful imported fabrics and trimming so the women decorated the home in a rainbow of opulent gowns. The best of the best was insisted on in her emporium of sin and men came from miles away to socialize in such a lavish setting. Arabella admired the woman for her business savvy, and took note. Arabella Ryan began gathering courage early into the first few weeks of her employment. She realized that the women wearing these luxurious dresses were carrying heavier purses than the girl sitting in the back room sewing them, and insisted on changing her position, quite literally in fact, at the raving bordello. Soon, Arabella Ryan was earning more money than any other working girl in New Orleans.

Arabella traced her dainty gloved hand along the brass banister as she made her way down the grand staircase, scanning the sea of gamblers for the group of soldiers she had earlier lured into a hand of Poker. In exchange, the teenage beauty offered a complimentary round of whiskey and the promise of a free dance at the game's conclusion, win or lose. She found the men sitting with Charles Cora, the most handsome and well dressed man in the city. He wore polished black boots and a Bowler hat and he did not look up. He was sitting in the corner, behind a ridiculous amount of chips. Across from the man sat Arabella’s soldiers in waiting, their backs to her, their shoulders slumped. Fixated on Cora’s thick, healthy mustache, she swayed towards the table like a snake, every eye in the house on her as she passed. She approached the Calvary men, and slid her hands across their backs. They turned to look up at her as she asked, “Ready for that dance”? They were. The men had each just lost all of their wages, three entire paychecks to the dapper Charles Cora. Arabella Ryan took turns spinning the horsemen around the dance floor. In the seconds of looking into Belle’s eyes, they all decided they would have given another month’s wages for one more dance with this natural beauty. After the drunk cavalry men stumbled out, their pockets empty. Belle sat down onto the Italian gambler’s lap, and took the glass of whiskey out of his hands. She took a sip, then a gulp. Charles pulled her closer to him, her nose, now touching his and whispered, “This seems to be working, Mister Cora.” The usually serious man 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, “shouldn’t we head west to California, to mine those greedy miners?” Charles’ eyes widened and he turned his face away from hers. He took the glass back and slammed the remains of whiskey, throwing his head back dramatically and slamming the shot glass onto the poker table. He stood, scooping his muse, lover, and business partner up into his arms. Arabella Ryan and Charles Cora had been successfully running their con for weeks. There was little time to waste now that their dream out west had been realized.

A steamship was leaving that week, and they worked fast to gather a team. Four days later in the late fall of ’49, with their new entourage, the unmarried power couple boarded the U.S. Mail Company’s SS Falcon. Their tickets were purchased under the names Charles and Belle Cora. The SS Falcon was the first steamship carrying passengers to attempt the potentially fatal shortcut on the east coast of the Isthmus of Panama. They would have to cross the jungle and catch a different ship on the other side, headed up to San Francisco. If they survived the expedition, eight thousand miles of travel would be saved by avoiding the voyage around Cape Horn. Comfort and safety were not promised. Charles and Belle, were always up for a throw of the dice, and ready for the challenge. As the days of sailing passed, the rambling passengers on the steamship took turns cheating one another over games of poker. Charles Cora and company had been causing trouble by conning and robbing the well mannered travelers of the assets they intended on bringing into the new world. Charles was imprisoned in the ship’s irons with several of his friends, and a few of his newly acquired enemies by Captain Thompson. Arabella Ryan, or, Belle Cora paid no mind. She took advantage of the time with her rambunctious friends, the sixteen year old twin sisters Charity and Patience. The trio had become close in New Orleans while they spent the last five weeks together before boarding the ship. Belle had discovered the sisters and  secured them with work at the brothel when they had arrived in Louisiana from New York City. The twins admired how Belle could so easily separate a man from his dollar, and they had jumped at the chance to help Belle 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. 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 the time spent. Together, the three baby faced women were cashing in.

After dragging their heavy trunks onto the beach, Charles, Arabella and the twins rolled out their meak bedding on the muddy shores. The other travelers from the S.S. Falcon did the same. Giant bugs swarmed the travelers as they huddled together on shores of South America. Charity was terrified of the insects and her shrieks through the night kept the team from sleeping soundly. Charles teased Charity, telling her, “Toughen up, in the morning, we will forge a giant river, through the jungle, and there will surely be even more bugs on the trail.” 

Rubbing their eyes in disbelief, they asked themselves, was this real, or were they hallucinating, delirious from the tiresome quest? On narrow boats fighting against the Chagres Rivers current, the tired group had fallen quiet. The boat pushed through the water, traveling less than one mile an hour under the luscious 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. 

Charles, Belle and the twins passed the time taking turns fanning off the bugs and napping on one another’s lap. The girls also spent a proper amount of time studying the spectacular muscles of the nude natives onboard. 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. The men were propelling each boat through the exotic jungle, forcing long reed poles against the river’s bottom, bracing themselves against the other end, and walking to the stern as swiftly as they could. Over and over again, for seventy five miles. On the shore, among the dense thickets of mangrove trees, the naked men roasted the meat of iguana and monkeys under the stars. Belle had never seen a monkey until a few mornings prior, and now she was digesting one. It was the last night before the river journey ended, she closed her eyes to sleep and thought of how exotic and interesting it all was. Oh the stories she would have to tell to her new customers in California. 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, Patience’s shivering began. She whispered to her sister, “I am so cold”. That seemed absurd in the hot night’s air. Charity reached for her twin and found Patiences clothes were soaked 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. Waiting in fear for the morning to come.

Belle and Charity attempted to steady themselves in their pompous hats and dresses on top of the old mules as Charles and a friend loaded up Patience, who slumped over the mules matted mane. Patience was now far too weak to move, and they would be 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. Prepared for a grueling ride through the jungle of Panama on an exotic beaten path, Charles kissed Belle and saddled up. Charity followed her sister'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, 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 and 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.

The group arrived in Panama City, dehydrated and covered in insect bites with the hovering possibility of serious illness. A few of the gamblers had become weaker with the passing hours. Belle and a distraught Charity went on a search to find help for her sister while the men set up camp. Charles was soon greeted by a group of travelers he had gambled with on the Falcon, they had arrived in Panama earlier that morning. Charles knew one of the men in their group was a doctor. The men told Charles and company that tragically, one of the canoes on The Chagres had capsized. The doctor had drowned. In the meantime, Belle and Charity searched through the crowd for hours, unable to find a doctor. By morning, Patience was dead. 

Food sources were scarce for hundreds of travelers waiting to catch a ride north. Many of the hopeful passengers were now sick with malaria, yellow fever, dysentery and cholera. The salted meat stock had gone bad, the remaining cheese had been chewed away by rats. The lard, and butter was now rancid. The rice, bread and flour, was ridden with bugs. On the streets of Panama, a native woman carved the flesh from a guava with perciscion. She tossed the chunks next to the slices of freshly skinned pineapple, wrapped them in paper, and handed it to a curious Belle Cora. It would be the first time the Baltimore born woman would taste the strange fruits. She paid the woman and walked back to the camp to share the experience with Charles, and a silent Charity. Travelers had flooded the old city waiting for passage. Some had waited for nearly a month before an approaching vessel was seen beyond the rocky shores. Securing a spot on the next ship to California would take a battle of wit, and a handful of cash. Yet only a week and a half had passed before Cora's group was finally able to board a sidewheeler to California. For the hefty price of one hundred and fifty dollars each. In an act of compassion, Sam, one of Cora’s men, had offered to cover Charity’s fare. Charity had yet to speak a word since her twin sister’s death. Disembarking on the last leg of the voyage, an anxious Charles and grief ridden Arabella stood silently together on the deck of the ship. Hand in hand, they sailed into the magnificent golden sunset. They had survived the jungle, and were at least healthy, and more than halfway there. Belle and Charles Cora slept the next two weeks away in their stateroom on the ship until they arrived in Acapulco. At least one hundred soon to be miners from Mexico joined them on board. Life on the ship got rowdier with the new addition of fresh faces, and the gambling men got back to work. With the help of the Mexican soon to be miners, they learned the game of Monte. It would be nearly two more weeks at sea until they arrived in San Francisco. Just enough time to make another small fortune, if they were lucky. 

“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.” “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 in New Orleans and you robbed everybody. Get away from that boy!”  -The journal of Edward L Williams, December 11, 1849 enroute to San Francisco via Panama 

The ship sailed along the coast until dusk. It grew thick and foggy and the Captain dropped anchor. Belle Cora looked towards land at the dense forest of hundreds of masts towering over abandoned ships. The ships packed into the cove like sardines in a tin, had no one left to man them. The crews had by now rushed to the hills. Rowing to the shore of San Francisco, Belle watched as men moved in and out of some of the vessels that were closer to the shore. It seemed as if there were busy saloons and gambling halls in the floating ghost ships. The boat passed by shouting men, working to disassemble the mass of ships that suffocated the bay. They hoisted lumber from ship to boat to land. The wood was carried away to contribute to the city's construction. Development could hardly keep up with the thousands of immigrants arriving each month. In what was once the tiny village of Yerba Buena just a year earlier, San Francisco now had over one hundred thousand men in tents and makeshift shelters. As the group disembarked, they realized the magnitude of the waiting congregation. In the excitement, Sam hopped off the boat with Charity’s ticket in his coat and disappeared into the crowd. Tensions grew and a commotion on the boat ensued. The purser, fiscally responsible for the collection of the fees for passage roughly grabbed Charity’s arm. He demanded that she stay onboard until her ticket was recovered. A still then silent Charity snapped back, “Time is money and you will be held responsible for my damages and losses, plus interest caused by delay of my disembarkment!” The purser and the bold Yankee woman began to quarrel with raised voices. The team, dumbfounded to finally hear their friend speak, stared in awe. The outbreak drew the attention of the waiting group of men, anxious to lay their eyes on the sight of a lady. Belle, distracted in a romantic moment with Charles, had not been paying attention. She looked up at the group as a well dressed man approached the edge of the dock. He appeared more of a gentleman than his surrounding peers and he commanded the attention of the miners who stood by. The distinguished man tossed a bag of gold at the purser’s feet. Belle’s gold hungry vision was momentarily distracted by the weight of the bag that landed at the Purser’s feet. Revealing its contents, the purser released Charity’s arm. Gaining focus, Belle locked saddened eyes with Charity as she was escorted off the boat. Her best friend quickly vanished into the sea of men, in the cold embrace of her new owner. It had all happened so fast. It was then, in that moment, that Belle realized her own worth, in the fast moving world of California. 

If you were coming to the gold fields from up north, you were for sure to pass through Marysville, north of Sacramento. Charles and Belle chose to build in the small mining town. The settlement was named after a wife of an employee of the town’s founder. The man had struck it rich, and eventually bought half of the territory. His wife’s name was Mary Murphy, and she was a survivor of the ill fated Donner Party. The doors of The New World Gambling Parlor opened in Marysville in 1850 and the Cora’s began earning a fast profit. The halls of the entry of the lavish establishment were lined with feverish oil paintings of nude women. Elaborate gold large framed mirrors hung in the grand venue. Belle poured drinks and flirted with the customers behind a long bar held by intricate brass monuments that ran the length of an entire wall. Charles played where gamblers had the decision between poker, roulette, faro or dice. Just before it’s one year anniversary, the New World  Gambling Parlor burned to the ground. Belle and Charles gathered what could be salvaged from the New World Saloon which was nearly nothing. Without worry, the couple looked to start over. In April, Belle and Charles decided to move the operation to the small town of Sonora. There were five thousand people at least, occupying the once Mexican village. It was now a booming mining town, and it was in dire need of some serious entertainment. When Belle took a stroll through her new town, she was impressed with the variety of languages spoken on the streets around her. In open air kitchens, Mexican women were making fabulous money selling tortillas, tamales, produce, and sopas, smothered in chile sauce. A pretty, smartly dressed french girl served liquor in every decent place in town. On the corner, a white woman from Curtis Creek offered apple pies for five dollars. The equivalent of one hundred and seventy four dollars in 2021. At the end of the street, a large group of men had gathered midtown to bet on bear fights. The mix of cultures was mesmerizing to Belle. There was a smartly organized village of Chinese immigrants tents, midtown, that offered laundry service, and opium dens. Mexican settlers' homes, down the streets, were decorated in romantic flags and fabrics. Dance halls spotted the town, where the men paid in gold dust for the guaranteed close proximity of women. There were many bawdy houses in operation that were mostly run by Mexican men. The confident woman used the name Arabelle Ryan and Charles found and purchased a home near Woods Creek. Belle decided upon calling her gambling den and brothel, The Sonora Club. Belle paid close attention to the design, and the comforts offered. Business boomed when the venue opened in 1851 with Charles dealing cards, and Belle drawing in the crowds with her sure fire charm. She was the ultimate picture of success. In a short nine months, they accumulated a profit of over one hundred and twenty six thousand dollars. The equivalent of nearly 4.4 million dollars today. The plan was working. They were ready for the big time. Belle wanted to go where there were an endless amount of potential customers. They decided on moving to the city they had first landed in when arriving in California nearly three years prior, San Francisco. Hundreds of thousands had now come through the port town and they both felt like it was truly the right place to be. In November of 1852, on DuPont Street, Belle and Charles opened her third parlor house. Belle had a white picket fence built around the front yard. Dream realized. 

Belle Cora was the leading den mother in San Francisco and the best dressed woman in the city with her handsome and stylish Charles by her side. Their establishment, The Cora House demanded the highest fees in the industry nationwide. Her customers were the best of the best in society. When a guest of her establishment, you drank the finest champagne imported from France. At her table, you ate the finest foods, and of course, you enjoyed the company of what many considered, the finest woman in the state. You were to be treated like royalty. Judges, Mayors, Politicians and aldermen from across the country traveled to the city to join in on the fun, alongside most of the city’s most prominent members at The Cora House. Outside, golden poppies moved in the breeze, inside, a hired young girl was whispering to a miner who was removing his boots, ”please sir, be ever so gentle with me, I’m all shaky inside.” “Don't be frightened, my dear,” the man said as he crossed the room to turn down the lamps. “I’ll see that you enjoy it. I promise.” Upstairs, in The Cora House, the prospector had just paid three times the going rate of the home, for the privilege of deflowering a virgin girl. Outside of the room, ten other miners were peering through peepholes, strategically hidden in the bedroom’s walls. Belle had sold admission for five dollars a piece to witness the action. It made for good business. 

A virgin was not so easy to come by in California. Women in general were few and far between. This particular virgin, Emma, who had somehow kept an innocent and youthful appearance in her line of work, was a tremendous actress. She played nervous and scared, night after night, with much success. Emma was the Official Virgin of Belle’s home, and she made a whole ten percent more than the other girls for her talented act.

As  if by a curse, just before the one year anniversary of The Cora House, disaster struck again. Like their first business, The New World Saloon in Marysville, The Cora House, the three story wooden parlor home had burned to the ground. She was left to start from scratch, yet again. Inside, she felt a familiar pain as her heart fell into pieces. Belle however, chose to show no weakness to her employees and she began delegating the tasks of a new rebuild. She thought of her friend Charity, and the last time she saw her. Time is money.  

On the corner of Portsmouth Square there was a grand, newly built two story brick building on Waverly Place, just off of Pike Street. There were other houses of prostitution in the area, including a prominent Chinese establishment across the street. Belle intended to move in, and dominate them all. She quickly began importing furnishings, fine liquor, and the finest linens and draperies.  Reverend William Taylor, who had repeatedly attempted to humiliate the local prostitutes, spoke of Belle Cora’s place with high regard. “No residence in San Francisco was more opulent.” The Methodist minister“Magnificent without, beautiful within, it was furnished with Brussels velvet, silk and damask. Heavy furniture of rosewood, and walls hung with beautiful paintings, and music from a pianoforte, melodeon, and harp, no house more prominent or beautiful for the situation in the city.” Once things were up and running, the gold once again flowed in like a river. The new Cora House hosted numerous events for the highest class of clientele and Belle’s social events were the number one place for high society to be and be seen. Sins were glorified, even celebrated at the balls thrown in The Cora House. And that was the way these rich white men liked it. The Cora House played an important social role in San Francisco, and put Belle in a place of social and political power. She held the ability to whisper in the ear of many legislators in California and they surely enjoyed her sweet voice. Business went on as usual in the city. Eventually, a committee was formed to investigate prostitution in the area. They found exactly one hundred houses that were being offered in the surrounding blocks of Broadway, Stockton, Kearney and Clay. The Cora House was overlooked. Her clientele included some of the hired men on the team. In these men’s eyes, her immaculate house was different. It was of a better quality. Unmarried, Belle had become quite wealthy on her own, and she was proud of this act of independence. As an American female, you were bound to the man you married, with no legal access to money or property. She would indeed surrender her rights to her future husband. The Married Women Act passed when Belle was seven years old but even then women struggled in attempts to be socially and financially independent. It had left a bitter taste in Belle’s mouth. Charles again and again proposed to Belle, and each time she denied him. “Must you keep asking?” Charles and Belle’s wild lifestyle continued without a hitch for the entirety of the booming years of the rush. The couple continued to gain riches beyond imagination. That was, until hurt feelings triggered a chain of events that would forever change the future for this woman of confidence, and in fact, San Francisco. 

Excitement brewed in The Cora House as Belle hurried around the home preparing for her biggest party of the season. She lit the candles and chandeliers around the room and looked over her ladies. The gorgeous woman looked perfect, they were wearing the finest gowns in the city, hand selected by Belle. She thought back to her first days, lost and destitute, sewing gowns in the brothel in New Orleans, she truly had come so far. On the other side of town the same evening, U.S. Marshall William Richardson and his wife were hosting their own soiree. The couple sat at a large dinner table where most of the seats were empty. The roasted chicken was drying out as it grew colder on the table. Richardson’s wife nervously looked to him, and then to his friend Dr Mills. Mills was the only guest in attendance, and he had begun to drink heavily. 

Back at The Cora House, the party was going wild. Over fifty members of high society had swamped the home. Live music shook the walls and the crowd’s dancing shook the floors. They sang loudly, spilled the booze and the women were half dressed by the night’s end. It was a night that would never be forgotten by the guests of Belle and Charles.

Across town, Mrs. Richardson sat at her silent dinner table, horrified to realize, no one else would be walking through their door tonight. She looked at the many bottles of expensive champagne that were waiting on ice. As the hours crept by into the night, and no one arrived, she began growing angry. Shelving the unopened bottles hastily, she thought, how could this be? She had been planning this dinner party for weeks. Dr. Mills was the best friend of the Marshall and a man in the know. The doctor pulled Mrs. Richardson aside in the kitchen. He told the anxious woman of the party being thrown at The Cora House. Perhaps, maybe, the guests had instead gone to the party, for a more frivolous night? The god fearing Richardson was so infuriated she became nearly homicidal, crying on her front steps. She tossed her champagne glass into the street, and drank from the bottle. How dare these upstanding citizens prefer such a disgusting spectacle than her morally sound dinner party? She drank herself into a stupor, murmuring throughout the night to her husband, “that fucking Cora hussy”.

The first palace of dramatic art in San Francisco was The New American theatre, a large brick and wooden building on Sansome, between the streets of California and Sacramento. It held 2000 people and was sold out on November 15th for the opening night of the show “Nicodemus, An Unfortunate Fisherman” starring The Amazing Ravels, greatest pantomime artist in the world. All of the town's society was there on the following Thursday evening after Cora's wild, and Richardson's non-existent parties. Belle and Charles, made their grand entrance under an ornate domed ceiling with a revolving golden sun, talking their way to the bar and stopping to visit with their acquaintances near the grand white pillars in the main parlor. The theatre patrons gathered around to  tell each other elaborate stories. Under the intricate crystal chandeliers that held hundreds of glass pendants, catching the light of scores of oil lamps, Charles led Belle by the hand to a corner. He pressed her up against the velvet draperies that were swinging from the ceiling. Ruffling the curtains that were held in place by the golden beaks of hand carved eagles. Charles Cora kissed Belle, the love of his life. Everything was perfect with her. As they stole each other’s kisses, and sheepishly gazed into one another’s eyes, the US Marshall Richardson with his wife and her friend entered the New American theatre. They crossed the main parlor and made their way to the balcony that held the most expensive seats in the house. The large orchestra pit held lower priced seats. Behind it, was a box, draped with velvet curtains. There, the female guests who in society’s eyes, were not proper ladies, were placed. The high society flocked to the first balcony, with even more seating found in the higher balconies above that. The audience was notified that the show was about to begin. Charles and Belle made their way back to the bar for one more round of whiskey, asking to be escorted to where they would be sitting. An usher led the love struck couple away and opened the curtain to the first balcony, where Charles was told it would be the best view for his beloved lady. As they made their way to their seats, a few nosey men in the orchestra pit had noticed Belle, and began to make a commotion. Soon, nearly everyone on the floor beneath them was looking up at her, smiling and winking. Sitting in front of Belle and Charles, was the US Marshall with his wife, Mrs. Richardson and her friend. The Richardson’s had not realized the Cora’s had entered the box. The two women were now peering into the crowd, who were full of men, looking up at the balcony. The ladies sat pink cheeks, grinning from ear to ear at each other. It was unusual for the Marshall’s wife to draw such attention. She was clearly eating it up. Her friend was massively impressed with the admiring gazes. It soothed Mrs. Richardson’s recently bruised ego until, she realized, they were in fact not in awe of her, but that fucking Cora hussy, who was sitting behind her. Mrs. Richardson, shaking, leaned over and whispered in the Marshalls ear. The hair stood on the back of his neck as he then turned around to look up at the Coras. He was steaming. His wife had been scandalized by this criminal couple, once again. He stood up, and stormed out of the box to find the manager of the New American theater. The show had begun before Richardson had found the man in charge. He demanded the Cora’s be thrown out of the theatre. Or at least be sat in the pit with the scummier patrons of the town. He screamed furiously, as the manager escorted him back to the balcony. The US Marshall made his demands and the manager, who still, was remaining calm, insisted they would in fact stay. This handsome couple are regular patrons of the arts, he explained, Belle and Cora chuckled in their seats. The argument grew louder, and soon, the pantomime act was disrupted by the yelling. It had stopped completely and the audience’s attention was once again on the balcony. A humiliated Richardson was then escorted out of the theatre with his wife and their humiliated friend. As they were pushed out, the U.S. Marshall hurled a nasty insult at Belle Cora, who softly hushed the man with her dainty finger, and turned back to the audience and gave them a wink.

Two days had gone by, Richardson and his wife sat at home in shame. Boiling. They had not shown their face outside of the home since the evening at The New American Theatre. Mrs. Richardson, devastated that she and her friend were not even able to see the performance of Nicodemus. That fucking Cora Hussy. William gathered the courage to go for a walk. He needed to finally get some fresh air. As he strolled down Montgomery Street, he noticed a little too late that a drunk Charles Cora was walking in his direction. As the men passed each other, Charles locked eyes with Richardson, and before he could look away, Cora blurted out, “Ma’am, your pussy is showing.” Richardson, being out of practice after sitting at home in silence with his wife, was dumbfounded. He was unable to come up with a comeback, nothing came out of his mouth, he did not even slow his pace. Charles continued on his way, he won, that time. The Marshall began to walk faster. He tried to think of a good comeback as he headed back home to get himself ready for what would turn into a long night. At the Cosmopolitan Saloon, Dr. Mills was playing a game of backgammon with Charles Cora. Richardson entered, and saw his friend sitting with his new enemy. Pushing his way to the bar, he ordered a bottle of champagne. He uncorked the bottle and approached the gambling men. Dr. Mills, who did not like to see a quarrel, officially introduced the two men. Cora and Richardson reluctantly shook hands and together, downed the entire bottle of champagne, and then some.  Drunk, the two men then went for a walk in the foggy sea air. What started as a friendly conversation, turned into a wave of derogatory comments from Richardson. Charles stopped and turned to the Marshall, and once again called him ma’m, and once again told him his pussy was showing. Richardson growled, Cora, I should slap you in the face and Charles laughed, and walked back into the saloon. 

Richardson hastily followed him back into the bar. Stumbling, he made his way to the center of the room and called everyone’s attention. After the men finally looked his way, he made an announcement to the crowds of drunken men. Gentlemen, I have just promised to slap Charles Cora in the face, and now I shall do it in front of all of you fucks. The men in the bar pulled William out of the bar and walked him home for the evening. Richardson paced up and down Montgomery Street the next morning, waiting to run into Charles Cora. He was tired of being publicly humiliated by the Cathloic Italian man. He sought to finish the feud once and for all. From gambling hall to gambling hall, he roamed for hours into the late afternoon. Promising revenge on Cora to all who crossed his path. The Marshall walked down Kearney street, then made a turn at Clay. It was then that he finally saw Charles Cora walking towards him with Ragsdale, a mutual friend. Cora reached out to William to shake his hand and once again, the men shook on it, and went in for a drink to seal the deal. Inside of Hayes Saloon the two men made a toast to new beginnings. They drank there for a few hours, and later made their way back to the Cosmopolitan for another bottle of Champagne, then parting ways.

 Later that night, Charles was gambling in the Blue Wing Saloon when aman who he had recognized, but did not know, told him he had a friend who was waiting outside who wanted to talk to him. Charles made his way outside, and never returned. Back at The Cora House, Belle watched for Charles all evening and had finally given up on the idea of waiting for him any longer. She turned down the lamps to go to sleep, lonely, and already missing her lover. Belle Cora couldn’t sleep. She was worried sick about her lover. She paced the building, from room to room, making sure the doors were left unlocked. She methodically checked out each of the windows, waiting for Charles to return to The Cora House. She did not know that a few streets away, he was in big, big trouble. William Richardson was the “friend” in question waiting outside of the bar for Charles Cora that night. The two men walked together toward the waterfront of San Francisco into the brisk fall air. As the two approached the corner of Leidesdorff Street, they began what became a heated verbal exchange. In the height of the argument, Richardson pulled out two hand guns, and Charles Cora swiftly knocked both of them out of his hands. Charles right then, shot the US Marshall, William Richardson, right in the head with his derringer. Killing him instantly. The fire bell rang out loud and clear from the Big Six Engine House and the sleeping town woke at the call for the city’s Vigilante Committee. Charles Cora had quickly been arrested, and crowds began to form.

In the morning, an eagle circled the majority of the population of San Francisco, who had now gathered in front of the nearby Oriental Hotel; it was as if a riot was about to ensue. Word traveled to Belle and she was rushing around the Cora House, like a mad woman. She again moved from room to room, this time excusing all of her girls from their posts, hurrying them out the door, she almost paused as she noticed the eagle flying away, but she slammed the windows shut with haste and locked the house down. Sam Brannan, the most famous man in San Francisco, soon appeared in front of the masses. He threw his arms around wildly and the crowd chanted. He was there, giving a passionate speech to the growing crowd, stating they needed to make up for the failure of law and order in California. As his voice raised, the city cheered louder. Sam Brannon demanded that lynch law must take over! The civil authorities quickly arrested the protesting Brannan. They pushed him down the street and into the jailhouse. Sam was massively wealthy and a connected man and was able to post bail right away. Once released, he wasted no time, and quickly returned to the crowd. He, of course, had another fiery speech prepared and he was warmly welcomed back by the growing mob, who was seething and bubbling over with the desire for revenge on the murderer of the US Marshall. Like a restless wave, the mass of people roared all the way from the jail on Broadway at Romolo Place, to the Marshall’s personal office in the Merchant Exchange building, where William Richardson’s dead body was being held. After a short investigation by the Coroner's jury, it was found that William Richardson had indeed come to his death by pistol shot that was fired by the hand of one Charles Cora. 

Belle sat at her desk inside of The Cora House, working tirelessly to secure a strong defense for her partner, Charles Cora. She took a break to pick up the morning’s paper, which read, “The harlot who instigated the murder of Richardson and others of her kind are allowed to visit the theatres and seat themselves side by side with the wives and daughters of our citizens.”  Against this furious mob, it would take a genius to get Charles off the hook. She used her connections to pull string after string, making arrangements to attain the most expensive attorney in the city. The man she chose was Colonel D.D. Baker, the greatest criminal lawyer in the state. D.D. Baker was a convincing public speaker and he had demanded thirty thousand dollars up front from Cora, in order for him to take the highly publicized case. Belle, confident in her charms, was able to persuade him to only take half of it first, fifteen thousand dollars, as a down payment. She laid the fee down in gold, and Baker agreed. It did not take much time at all for the angry townspeople of San Francisco to turn against Cora’s lawyer, Colonel D.D. Baker. They mobbed his front door. They scorned him in the streets. He arrived unannounced at The Cora house days later, and tried to return Belle’s down payment. In a clear attempt to not accept the job. The defiant Belle Cora refused to accept the man’s offer to return the gold. Again using her charms to convince the frightened attorney to continue defending Charles in what the newspapers were now calling The Cora Case. For the next two months, no one would see Belle again, until Charles Cora’s day in court as Baker worked to prepare for the trial of his career. Belle locked the doors of The Cora House behind her, and she began the solitude walk towards town. It was the foggy morning of January 17, 1856. It was on this day that the contentious and highly publicized trial was to finally begin. Belle walked to the courtroom alone, her mind racing with all the potential outcomes of the decision that would be made today. As she got near, she recognized a bright, familiar face in the crowd. Her heart did a backflip, she couldn’t believe it. It was Charity. Charity, who had by now worked off her indenturement and had been living in Sacramento. There, in the hotel where she worked, she had read about the murder, and the trial in the newspapers. Charity was standing at the front door, searching the crowd for Belle’s face. Belle beelined for the woman, stopping in front of her. Charity’s eyes filled with tears, and the women embraced each other. Without speaking a word, the two long lost friends walked into the courthouse, hand in hand. With Charity, by her side, Belle sat to face the trial of the love of Belle’s life. The trial that winter morning was short. The conclusion, produced a verdict of 8 votes for murder, and 4 votes manslaughter. The stern judge announced that the trial would end with a hung jury. Richardson’s wife broke down in tears and stumbled out the door. Belle, looked across to the man detained at the other side of the room, and winked at Charles. Evidence had been presented that in fact proved this verdict was made in fear of the feisty mob. Then, rumors began to spread that some of the jurors were bribed by Belle Cora. They were. The judge decided to set a date for a new trial. It would be held in the spring of that year. The public was starting to believe Charles Cora would end up receiving the lesser charge of manslaughter, or an acquittal. 

Belle Cora by now had shut the doors permanently to The Cora House. She spent the days waiting for Charles’ trial with only her friend Charity to keep her company. The woman passed the time catching up on the years that they had spent apart. They recalled their adventures in New Orleans, and then to California, and then, the tragedy in Panama. The two women shed many tears for Patience. If only she was with them now. Belle continued to apologize profusely for letting that man take Charity away that day. Charity admitted the resentment that she had indeed held onto for years. That was until she saw that her old friend was in trouble. They sewed, and sat, and waited for Belle Cora to learn Charles' fate. The people who lived in California had been becoming growingly agitated with one another in regards to the state seceding with the south, and remaining with the Union. Tensions were mounting. The people were divided, and it showed in the media. In addition to the Cora Case, another political storm was about to hit. James King of William popular newsman published an exposing editorial on the criminal past of James Casey, a radical editor who favored the South. Casey had recently been released from Sing Sing after serving an eighteen month sentence. Casey had become irate. Less than a block from where Cora murdered Richardson, Casey approached William, flinging aside his short cloak and pulling out a pistol he pointed to his chest. Casey killed William, in a rage of retaliation. Once again, the bell cried out from the Big Six Engine House. What now? The people of the city were mob crazed. That night in the jailhouse, the two men, Charles Cora and James Casey sat on the dusty floor. The men sat in silence and without eye contact through most of the night. Until James, finally catching Cora’s eye, offered out his hand. Cora did not look up. He shook his head and told Casey, “keep your hands to yourself, you motherfucker, you have surely hung us both”.

Give us Lynch Law! Shouting for justice, tens of thousands of people marched the streets of the large port city. The scene was out of control. James Van Ness, the city Mayor, who had been in office for one year, appeared before the upset people. Van Ness begged the crowd to allow the law to hand out justice. Vainly, a battalion of Cavalry men rode through the crowd. The men, on horseback, attempted to break the mob up, with no success at all. Soon, the council chambers of city hall were entirely seized by the angry mob. 

Belle sat in the second story window of The Cora House on Waverly, watching the crowd pass by in a rage. The front of her establishment had been trashed. Over the previous week, over six thousand members had traveled to join the forces of the Vigilance Committee. The men had arrived bearing shotguns, muskets and knives, and brass cannons. The murder of James King of William, had sent the population over the edge. They would not settle down, until they saw blood. Organized into twenty five groups of 100, the armed citizens made camp overnight. The men were clearly ready for battle. They had demands, and the committee insisted they get the right to run their own lawsuit, trial, and arrests. Charity had moved into the house with Belle, grateful to be near her dear friend again. Neither woman had ever found another friendship comparable to what they had built. Also, Belle was the only woman in California that had known Patience, and that made them feel that much closer. Although Charity was always just one room away, her friend was growing more depressed by the day. Belle had found her way back to the loneliness she had learned when she first left her family home in Baltimore. The two women lived under one roof, in a familiar silence.

Thousands of blood thirsty men crowded around the jailhouse on Broadway on the 18th of May. The rioting mob was challenging the authorities.  They wanted Charles Cora and James Casey to be released to them. They deserved, they insisted, to face a trial, held by the People. The Sheriff had refused. A loaded cannon was then rolled out from behind the crowd. Men shouted and laughed as it was wheeled around, and was then directed right at the jail house’s locked door. Again, they demanded the men were handed over. Following this threatening stunt, the Sheriff changed his mind. The man of the law then struck a deal with the vigilantes. Charles Cora and James Casey stood trial by the Committee just two days later. They had defense, and were given the chance to speak for themselves. However, the attempts were not enough to save the men. That afternoon, it was decided that both men were to be hung two days from then. At the headquarters on 41 Sacramento St. at Fort Gunnybags, just off Battery. 

It was the morning of the day Charles and James were to be hung. Their sentence was to be carried out that afternoon. Three thousand militia men had lined the walls to secure the site. Belle arrived at the holding cell in her finest gown, styled to the nines. The Confidant woman negotiated with the leaders of the committee. “Could you find it in your heart, sir, to please, please allow me to stay in the cell with my lover, for the final hours of his life?” Belle’s dramatic personality awarded her the request. Belle had decided to finally give into the proposal Charles had held on to for years. She told Charles, and he and Belle were married in the cell right then and there. This final sneaky move of Belle, would set her up to inherit his entire fortune. Another act of Belle Cora’s uncommon self-rule. For the first time legally, Belle officially took Charles last name, just one hour before he was to be executed. The crowd was thick with angry townspeople ready to see a hanging. James Casey gave a long saddened speech before them. The man pleaded his innocence to the people and was ignored. When it came time for Cora to speak, Charles chose to stay silent. The church bells rang out for the funeral of James King of William at 1:21 pm, and just shortly after the bells stopped ringing, James and Charles were hung side by side from the second story windows of Fort Gunnybags. It would be the end of an era. The execution of Charles Cora marked the true end of what would be known as The Gold Rush in San Francisco. The death of Charles Cora symbolized the city’s changing values. The ways of the Wild West would no longer be tolerated. The days where crimes went unanswered, were over. After the conviction, Belle secluded herself for an entire month. Charity, eventually feeling unwelcome, quitely packed her bags and left the house without a goodbye. Her friend no longer spoke to her, or even glanced her way. Belle Cora returned to the public a week after she left a changed woman. She even looked different. Belle sold the Cora House quickly, and donated the remains of her enormous riches to charity, and vanished. Belle Cora, the legendary Queen of Confidence, had remained steadfast in maintaining her fruitful business, even though it was seen as immoral during a shift towards a new, civilized society. Belle Cora died of pneumonia on February 17, 1862. You can visit her grave in San Francisco in the Cemetery at Mission Dolores. You will find her there, resting peacefully for eternity, next to Charles Cora, the man of her dreams.