In San Francisco, 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. This ringing message had not been heard by the public since 1851. As it sounded out the sleeping people woke at the call for the city’s Vigilante Committee. Charles Cora had quickly been arrested, and crowds began to form. The Barbary Coast was quickly, up in arms. 

In the morning, the majority of the population 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, and locking the house down behind them.

The most famous man in San Francisco, firebrand Sam Brannon soon appeared in front of the masses. He threw his arms around and the group of men 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 Brannon. They pushed him down the street and into the jailhouse. Sam was massively wealthy and a connected man and posted bail right away. Once released, he wasted no time, quickly returning to the crowd. He, of course, had another fiery speech prepared and he was warmly welcomed back by the growing mob.

The mad crowd was seething, 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”. The newspapers read, “The harlot who instigated the murder of richardson and others of her kind, allowed to visit the theatres ans deat themselves side by side with the wives and daughters of our citizens.”

Belle sat at her desk inside of The Cora House, working tirelessly to secure a strong defense for her partner, Charles Cora.  Against this furious mob, it would take a genius to get him 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 would the newpapers 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 of 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 had been living in Sacramento. There, in a hotel where she worked, she had read about the murder, and the trial in the newspapers. The twin 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 girls embraced each other. Without speaking a word, the two long lost friends walked in to 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 tear’s 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 in seclusion, 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 waited for Belle Cora to learn Charles fate. 

Another political storm was about to hit in San Francisco, in addition to the Cora Case. The people who lived in California had been becoming growingly agitated with one another other. 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. 

James Casey was a radical editor who favored the South. The man had recently been released from Sing Sing after serving an eighteen month sentence. On the other side of the media spectacle, defending the Daily Evening Bulletin was the popular newsman, muckraker James King of William. In the week leading up to The Cora Trial, William had published an exposing editorial on the criminal past of Casey back home in New York City. Casey had become irate.  

The next day, the men were less than a block from where Cora murdered Richardson. Approaching William flinging aside his short cloak, Casey then pointed a pistol to William’s 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 fuming more than ever. 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! Tens of thousands of people marched the streets of the large port city, they were shouting for justice. The scene was out of control. The city Mayor, who had been in office for one year, James Van Ness, appeared before the upset people. Van Ness begged the crowd to allow the law to mete out justice. It was not long after, that the council chambers of city hall were entirely seized by the angry mob. 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.  

Belle sat in the second story window of The Cora House at Waverly Place.  She was watching the crowd pass by in a rage. The front of her establishment had been trashed. The murder of James King of William, had sent the population over the edge. They would not settle down, until they saw blood.

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 members were organized into twenty five groups of 100.  The city had turned into an armed camp overnight, and the people were ready for battle. They had demands, and the committee insisted they get the right to run their own lawsuits, trials, and arrests.

 Charity had moved into the house with Belle, grateful to be near her dear friend again. She had never found another friendship comparable to what she had built with Belle.  Also, Belle was the only woman in California that had known Patience, and that made her 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 that stood on Broadway on the 18th of May. The rioting mob was challanging 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 did had defense, and they were given the chance to speak for themselves. However, the attempts were not enough to save either of the men. That afternoon, it was decided that both men were to be hung two days from now. At the headquarters on 41 Sacramento St. at Fort Gunnybags, just off Battery.

It was the day Charles and James were to be hung, their sentence to be carried out. 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 thought long and hard in the last few months, and 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 now set her up to inherit his entire fortune. This was just another act of Belle Cora’s uncharacteristic independence. For the first time, legally, Belle officially took Charles last name, just one hour before he was to be executed.

Before the crowd that had come to see a hanging, James Casey gave a long saddened speech. The man, pleading his innocence to the people, was ignored. When it came time for Cora to speak, Charles stayed 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 ways of the Wild West would no longer be tolerated. The execution of Charles Cora marked the true end of what would be known as The Gold Rush.  The death of Charles Cora symbolized the city’s changing values. The days where crimes went unawnsered to, 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.

Hierarchical attitudes began to change in America, towards gender, race and class. In Belle’s case, it would eventually rob her of her powers. She was a woman, who was independent enough to be inspiring yet dependent on Charles, a man, enough to appear non-threatening. Her story is proof of the great and persistent disempowerment of women in American history. 

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. 

 Frontier pioneer Eliza Inman wrote in her journal in 1843, “If Hell laid to the west, Americans would cross Heaven to reach it.”   It looks like she was right. I am Andrea Anderson, thank you for taking the time to listen today,  let’s meet again next time, On “Queens of the Mines”

Belle Cora was by now the leading den mother in San Francisco.  She was also clearly the most well-dressed in the city with her handsome and stylish Charles by her side. Their establishment, The Cora House demanded the highest fees in the entire industry, nation wide. As a result, her customers were the creme de la creme of society. The best of the best.

“Like Cleopatra, she was very beautiful, and, beside the power that comes with beauty, she was rich. Flaunting her beauty and wealth on the gayest thoroughfares, on every gay occasion, with senator, judge, and citizen at her beck and call. She was what she was, and God only knows how or why.”

When a guest of her establishment, you drank the finest champagnes imported from France. At her table, you would eat the finest foods you had tasted. And but of course, you would also enjoy 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. 

As if by a curse, disaster soon struck again. It happened exactly just before The Cora House had their one year anniversary. Just like their first business, The New World Saloon in Marysville, Belle’s three story wooden parlor house in San Francisco had burned to the ground. She was left again, to start from scratch. Inside, she felt a familiar pain as her heart fell into pieces. Belle however, chose to show no weakness to her employees as 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.  

Off of Pike Street, there was a grand two story brick building that was newly built there on Waverly Place. There were other houses of prostitution in this area, and Belle intended to move in, and dominate them all. She quickly settled on choosing the location, and began importing furnishings, fine liquor the finest linens and draperies. Once things were up and running, the gold once again, flowed in like a river.

There was no residence more opulent in San Francisco. Even the Methodist minister, Reverend William Taylor, who had repeatedly attempted to humiliate the local prostitutes, spoke of Belle Cora’s place with high regard. “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 situation in the city.”  The new Cora House was the most extravagant of any of her previously owned lavish dens of vice, without rival.

Belle hosted numerous events for the highest class of clientele. If she was throwing a party, it was the number one place to be and be seen for the high society. There was an understood social acceptance of the purpose of her home there on the Barbary Coast. Sins were glorified, even celebrated at the balls thrown in The Cora House. And that was they way these rich white men liked it. One summer evening after a late party, Charles again proposed to a drunk Belle, and again, she denied him. “Must you keep asking?”  Growing up as an American female, Belle was raised to believe she would be bound to the man she married, with no legal access to her own money or property. She would indeed surrender her rights to her future husband. The Married Women Act passed when she was seven years old, but even then women struggled in attempts to be socially and financially independent. It all had now left a bitter taste in Belle’s mouth. She was still unmarried, yet had become quite wealthy on her own, and she was proud of this act of independence. 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 offering in the surrounding blocks of Broadway, Stockton, Kearney and Clay. The Cora House though, 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. The Cora House played an important role in the city and Belle had an important part. She had now gained social and even political power in San Francisco. Holding the ability to whisper in the ear of many legislators in California, and they surely enjoyed her sweet voice.

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 imagine. That was, until one chilly night in the fall of 1855. Hurt feelings would trigger a chain of events that would forever change the future for the woman of confidence, and in fact, San Francisco. It would take days before Belle Cora would realize this.

At The Cora House, excitement was brewing. Belle hurried around the home, preparing for her biggest party of the season. She lit the candles and chandelliers around the room and looked over her ladies. The gorgeous woman that were hand selected by Belle, looked perfect, wearing the finest gowns in the city. 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 U.S. Marshall, William Richardson and his wife were sitting at a large dinner table, most of the seats were empty. The couple was hosting their own soiree that evening. The roasted chicken was drying out as it  grew colder on the table. His wife nervously looked to him, and to his friend Dr Mills. He was the only guest in attendance.

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

Mrs. Richardson sat at her silent dinner table, horrified to realize, no one else would be walking through their door tonight. She looked to 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, the best friend of the Marshall was a man in the know. The doctor pulled Mrs. Richardson into the kitchen. He told the anxious woman of the party being thrown at The Cora House on this same evening. 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 New American Theatre was in the center of town and it was the first palace of dramatic art in San Francisco. A large brick and wooden building, on Sansome, between the streets of California and Sacramento. On Thursday night, November 15, just a few nights after the Cora’s wild, and the Richardson’s non existent parties, the New American theatre was sold out. All of the town's society was in attendance. The beautiful venue had boasted grand white pillars, and above, an ornate oval domed ceiling with an enchanting golden sun revolving around it. It was the opening night of the show “Nicodemus, An Unfortunate Fisherman”, and it was starring The Amazing Ravels, the greatest pantomime artist in the world.

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 was found in the higher balconies above that. The theatre held 2000. 

Belle and Charles, made their grand entrance into the main parlor, stopping to visit with their acquaintances. Talking their way to the bar. Entertaining the theatre patrons that gathered around them with their 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 audience was then 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 would be the best view for his beloved lady. As they made their way to their seat, 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 was full of men, looking up at the balcony. The ladies sat pink cheeked, and grinned 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 toward the balcony, once again. 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 hushed the man with her 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 The New American Theatre. Mrs. Richardson, devastated that her 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 Charles Cora was walking in his direction. As the men passed each other, Charles locked eyes with Richardson, and before he could look away, a drunk 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, winning 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 be 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 slur of backhanded 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. Cora I should slap you in the face. 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. 

Back on Montgomery Street the next morning, Richardson paced up and down the street, 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, curiously, 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.

  After later going their separate ways, Charles was gambling in the Blue Wing Saloon. A man who he had recognized, but did not know, told him he a friend who was waiting outside, and he 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 up for him any longer. She turned down the lamps to go to sleep, lonely, and already missing her lover. 

Carving the flesh from a guava with perciscion, and tossing the chunk on top of slices of pineapple that were freshly skinned, a native woman in Panama prepared the exotic fruits for a curious Belle Cora. It would be the first time the woman who was born Baltimore would taste either. She had paid the woman in exchange for the new strange food, and walked back to the camp that morning to share the experience with Charles, and a silent Charity. Food sources were scare where hundreds of travelers had flooded the old city, waiting for passage among the huts and rocky shores in Panama. There was a disturbing lack of ships on the Pacific side of the Isthmus. Hundreds upon hundreds of travelers were waiting to catch a ride north, some gold seekers had waited for nearly a month before approaching vessel was seen. 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. Many of the hopeful passengers, were now sick with malaria, yellow fever, dysentery and cholera. A week and a half had passed before the Cora’s, the remaining members of their new team and a devastated Charity were finally able to board a sidewheeler to California, for a hefty price. Securing a spot took a battle of wit, and a handful of cash.  Sam, one of the men, in an act of compassion, offered to cover Charity’s fare, who had yet to speak a word since her twin sister’s death. The tickets to California were one hundred and fifty dollars each. Finally, 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.“Land ho”  passing several ships, was heard which resounded again and again from Stem to Stem till all joined in the welcome chorus “Land ho.” 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 the traveling company 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. The Shores and Golden Mountains of California were directly ahead of us, we approached near the Coast and from observations we were to the Northward of the entrance to the Harbour, we sailed down the Coast till night when the weather became thick and foggy again, it was deemed imprudent to proceed any further, we dropped anchor. The climate is mild and of an even temperature, which but a short time ago contained but a few old and dilapidated spanish dwellings, one which  I observed was still standing, it was constructed of Adobes or sun burnt bricks, one story high, the roof was covered with Tiles, and looked as ancient as old Antiquity itself. The Bay and Harbour has been celebrated, from the time of its first discovery, as one of the finest in the World, and is justly entitled to that character. Belle Cora looked towards land. The sight was incredible. A dense forest, made up of thousands of masts that towered over their abandoned ships that were packed into the cove, like sardines in a tin. No one remained to man them, as all the entire crew had by now rushed to the hills. Belle was amused to see, some of the vessels that were closer to the shore, were turned into saloons and gambling halls in the floating ghost ships. The vagabond gang was rowed to the shore of San Francisco. They passed by groups working to disassemble the mass suffocating the bay. Shouting, sweating, and hoisting lumber from ship to boat to land. The men were contributing to the construction of the growing city. There were over one hundred thousand men in tents and makeshift shelters in what was the tiny village of Yerba Buena just a year earlier. Development could hardly keep up with the four thousand immigrants that were arriving each month.  As the group disembarked, they realized the magnitude of the waiting congregation. In the excitement, Sam hopped off with Charity’s ticket and instantly, was gone. Tension grew and a commotion on the boat ensued. The purser, who was fiscally responsible for the collection of the fees for passage, had roughly grabbed Charity’s arm.  He demanded that she was to stay onboard until her ticket 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 team, dumbfounded to finally hear their friend speak, stared in awe as the purser and the bold Yankee woman began to quarrel with raised voices. They drew the attention of the waiting group of men, anxious to lay their eyes on the sight of a lady. The crowd was growing restless Belle, had not been paying attention, being distracted in a romantic moment with Charles. Caught up in the celebration of reaching California. She looked up at the group, as a well dressed man approached the edge of the dock. He appeared more of a gentleman, and commanded the attention of the mass of miners who were standing by. The distinguished man cast a bag of gold at the purser’s feet. After opening the bag to reveal its contents, he released Charity’s arm. Belle was distracted again by the weight of the bag, which had momentarily blurred her gold hungry vision. Gaining focus, her and Charity’s saddened eyes locked as her best friend was escorted off the boat and quickly vanished into the sea of men, in the cold embrace of her new owner. It had all happened so fast, and she should have done something. It was then, in that moment, Belle realized her own worth, in the fast moving world of California. 

The couple chose to build in the small mining town of Marysville, which was north of Sacramento. If you were coming from up north to the gold fields, you were for sure to pass through the area. Marysville was named after the wife of the town’s founder’s employee. 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 New World Gambling Parlor opened its doors in Marysville in 1850. Tempestuous oil paintings of nude women decked the halls as you entered the lavish establishment. Large, gold framed elaborate mirrors lined the walls where gamblers had the decision between poker or roulette, faro or dice in the grand venue. Along the length of an entire wall, lined a long bar held by intricate brass monuments, where Belle poured drinks and flirted with the customers. The New World Gambling Parlor began earning a fast profit, and just before it’s one year anniversary, the New World Gambling Parlor, burned to the ground. 

After attempting to clean up the mess, Belle and Charles had gathered what was left of the New World Saloon, that could be salvaged, 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. 

In Sonora, Belle began to explore. Native men who had traveled up from the from missions wandered the streets, selling aqua fresca, cuatro reales! Every decent place in town that sold liquor, employed a pretty, smartly dressed french girl. In open air kitchens, the Mexican women were making fabulous money selling tortillas, tamales, produce, and sopas, smothered in chile sauce. On the corner, a white woman from Curtis Creek offered apple pies for five whole dollars. There were many other bawdy houses in operation, and they were mostly run by Mexican men. 

The mix of cultures was mesmerizing, to Belle. A variety of languages were spoken on the streets around her as she strolled through town. At the end of the street, a large group of men had gathered midtown to bet on bear fights. She watched for a while, then continued. She then came upon a smartly organized village of Chinese immigrants tents, midtown, that offered laundry service, and opium dens. Her eyes widened. 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.

This time, under the name Arabelle Ryan, the confident woman and Charles found and purchased a home, near Woods Creek. Belle decided upon calling the gambling den and brothel the Sonora Club. The venue opened in 1851, again Belle paying close attention to the design, and the comforts offered. The business boomed, 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 plan was working. They were ready for the big time. Belle wanted to go where there were an endless amount of potential customers. The couple then decided on moving to San Francisco, where they had first landed in California, nearly three years prior. Hundreds of thousands had now come through the port town and they both felt like it was truly the right place to be.

They began scouting, began collecting furnishings, and began scheming. By the fall of 1852, Belle and Charles opened her third parlor house in November. This time, on the Barbary Coast. The Cora House was on DuPont Street, and, for personal reasons, Belle had a white picket fence built around the front yard. Dream realized.

Be gentle with me,” a hired young girl was whispering to a miner who was removing his boots, “this is my first time and 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 virgin’s room of 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. 

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.