novelSusiti Chapter 13, The First White Glove and Chinatown
Chapter 13, The First White Glove and Chinatown
"Sartre, it's you."
Upon seeing John Sutter enter, James Marshall on the ground instantly understood everything, and he screamed:
"Gentlemen, listen up, don't be fooled by this old man! He has nothing left!"
Yes, the law awarded him the land, but what good is that? It's just lines on a map. He has no money, no people, no guns! He can't possibly turn that land into even a single dollar!
He struggled, turning towards Dutch and Arthur: "And I have money, I'm much richer than him now! Ten thousand dollars, no, fifteen thousand dollars, I'll give you fifteen thousand dollars in cash. Let me go, then kill him!"
"You can get the money and fly far away; that's much more promising than following a bankrupt old man!"
Dutch shook his head and commented, "Fool, if we kill you, not only will your money be ours, but this sawmill, along with every inch of land below and every log, will be ours."
"This is robbery! This is murder! American law will not allow you to do this!" Marshall shouted in fear.
"No, this is exactly what the law allows."
Dutch smiled slightly. "Mr. Marshall, you may have forgotten that even here, this factory beneath your feet, every inch of woodland where you make money, is within the legally recognized territory of Mr. John Sutter."
In other words, you're the villain who stole other people's property.
John Sutter's gaze swept around the room before finally settling on James Marshall, who was lying on the ground.
He turned his head and asked, his voice a little hoarse, "Excuse me, could I have another hunting knife?"
Arthur handed him his hunting knife, reminding him, "Mr. Sartre, you can't kill someone with a single blow if you're not familiar with the human body."
"That would be even better." John Sutter took the heavy hunting knife and gave a somewhat chilling smile.
Marshall panicked completely and said, "Mr. Sartre, Mr. Sartre, please forgive me. I know I've wronged you. I shouldn't have broken our agreement and sold the information to Samuel Brannan."
"I just wanted to make a quick buck, but I never expected that the Mormon would spread this message all over the world, nor did I expect so many people to come."
"For God's sake, please forgive me!"
"I forgive you? Okay."
John Sartre knelt down and looked Marshall in the eye. "You brought my wife and my three children back to life, and I forgive you."
Marshall was speechless for a moment, while John Sutter raised his hunting knife high and stabbed down hard!
"ah--!!!"
The piercing screams echoed throughout the sawmill, but Sartre did not stop, frantically stabbing and pulling the knife in and out again until Marshall's cries gradually faded into inaudibility.
Sartre finally stopped, breathing heavily. He wiped the blood from his face and looked down at the mangled corpse.
"For God's sake? God taught mankind to keep promises. When you betrayed your vows and sent me to hell, did you ever think of His teachings?"
"Mr. Sartre, how does it feel to take revenge with your own hands?" Dutch asked from behind him.
"What's the point of revenge? It's all emptiness." John Sartre gave an expression that was neither a cry nor a laugh.
"That means you still won't kill him."
Dutch smiled slightly and said, "True revenge should begin with his family. Let him watch helplessly as everything he cares about crumbles and disappears little by little. Only then should it be his turn."
"Arthur, finish Mr. Sartre's part."
After a burst of gunfire, there were no survivors in the house.
Dutch looked at John Sutter and said slowly, "Mr. Sutter, we have proven our ability and sincerity. What do you think?"
Sartre readily agreed: "No problem, I can transfer all the land under my name right now."
"But I have one condition: you must let me see, see the corpses of that bastard Samuel Brannan and those thugs who killed my wife and children!"
"A very reasonable request." Dutch nodded with satisfaction. "This was originally part of the plan."
He paused, then changed the subject, offering a new suggestion: "Furthermore, Mr. Sartre, before the contract is signed, would you be interested in becoming the owner of a gold mining company?"
"A gold mining company?" Sartre paused, then asked, "You own mines?"
"There are only two small ones right now, but there will be more soon."
Dutch said, "How about we, for the time being, reclaim the gold mines that rightfully belong to you but have been illegally occupied and mined, in the name of the landowner? What do you think of that idea?"
Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.
San Francisco, or rather, San Francisco.
Seven years ago, this was just a remote town with only 800 people on the Pacific coast. But after the discovery of gold, it is now a city with 40,000 inhabitants.
Countless gold prospectors, hoping to strike it rich overnight, flocked from all corners of the earth. After landing in San Francisco, they traveled along the Sacramento River into the Sierra Nevada Mountains, which stretch for hundreds of miles, in search of gold.
After traveling for two days, the group finally arrived here from the mine.
The streets were crowded with all sorts of people, who curiously watched the mixed caravan of Chinese, whites, and horse-drawn carriages. A few white men with ill intentions approached, but quickly retreated after seeing the guns in the hands of the four white assassins at the front of the caravan.
After turning a street corner, the number of white people gradually decreased, and more and more Chinese people with queues hanging down their backs appeared on both sides of the road. The signs on the houses were also changed from English to a mixture of traditional Chinese characters and English.
We've arrived in Chinatown.
More precisely, they entered the area centered around Kearney Street and Dupan Street. Since the Chinese population here exceeded five thousand, local white newspapers and residents habitually referred to this neighborhood as "Chinatown."
"It's really shabby."
Riding on horseback, Zeng Jing carefully surveyed the surrounding scenery and exclaimed, "The outside is already dilapidated enough, but I didn't expect the inside to be even more dilapidated. There isn't even a stone-paved road."
The streets are lined with low, single-story wooden houses, with the occasional two-story building often displaying ambiguous lanterns or signs at its entrance. These are either gambling dens, opium dens, or brothels.
Someone came out of the house carrying a bucket and dumped their excrement and urine into a large pit dug in the open space.
"Damn, there isn't even a sewer?" Zeng frowned sharply and covered his mouth and nose with his sleeve.
Upon hearing this, Su Song, who came to greet him, said, "My lord, the entire city of San Francisco currently lacks a proper sewage system. Chinatown is relatively better off; at least they know to dig pits for centralized dumping."
In many blocks outside, white people were simply throwing pesticides into the street from their windows. Cholera and typhoid fever were rampant in the city.
A Chinese assassin behind Su Song stepped forward and respectfully took the reins of the horse he had once ridden: "My lord, please follow me. The company's premises are just ahead."
After walking along the dusty main street for a few more minutes, the view suddenly opened up ahead.
On a relatively open space, the framework of a long wooden building, about 20 meters long and 4 meters high, has been erected. The assassins are laying planks on the roof, which is not yet fully enclosed.
Adjacent to it is a row of relatively neat and well-built wooden houses, which is obviously a residential area.
"With the help of that bank manager, Sherman, we obtained permission from the city government and successfully leased these three acres of vacant land."
Su Song, standing beside the horse, explained, "The main structure of the company building has been completed and will be finished in two or three days. However, the dormitories for your accommodation and for accommodating new workers are already ready for occupancy."
"Hosea brought the machine tools back yesterday. After putting the equipment down, he immediately set off back to Sacramento, saying he was going to find the seller to get the money back."
I used to listen to reports while observing my first base in this city.
"With Lu Ban and his team joining the team, how long will it take to develop new machine tools and firearms?"
Su Song pondered for a moment and replied, "My lord, it will take about half a month. In the past few days, we have basically figured out the structure, materials and processing difficulties of the Sharps rifle."
The composition and heat treatment process of the special alloy steel required for the barrel have been preliminarily determined. The breech locking mechanism and metallic cartridges are also nearing completion. Now, we are just waiting for our own high-precision machine tools to manufacture them so we can begin small-batch trial production of the improved rifle that meets your requirements.
"Can it only be done in small batches?" Zeng frowned.
"That is indeed the case at present."
Su Song frankly stated, "The second-hand steam engine that Hosea bought back had limited power and was old. The simple forging furnace and smelting equipment that we built ourselves were also small in scale, which limited the production of materials and parts."
To achieve large-scale, standardized manufacturing, we must wait for upgrades to the power system. This includes developing reliable internal combustion engines, building larger smelting tools, and increasing the number of machine tools. All of this requires time, manpower, and…”
"And more money." Zeng picked up the conversation, clicking his tongue.
"That's exactly right."
Su Song nodded, his expression serious. "Given our current cash flow, if we don't consider selling guns, we need to find a new, stable source of revenue as soon as possible."
The two walked and talked, and soon arrived at the factory.
Jianyuan urged the Chinese laborers to get off the carriage and go to the wooden hut. That was where they would live in the future, but before they could officially move in, they had to take a bath to get rid of the dirt and fleas on their bodies.
Su Song then led the team into the factory that was under construction.
Several brand-new machine tools were placed throughout the factory, while an old steam engine hummed, providing them with power. The scientists and engineers summoned were busy at the machine tools, manufacturing steel parts of various shapes.
Those parts will be assembled into a more sophisticated machine tool in the near future, contributing to the former weapons manufacturing industry.
"My lord, besides the issues I just mentioned, there is another pressing problem."
Su Songdao said, "It seems this land has been targeted by the hooligans of Chinatown. These days, my subordinates report that there are always suspicious-looking Chinese faces loitering around."
She raised an eyebrow: "Oh? I haven't even gone looking for trouble with them, and they've already come knocking on my door?"
The Chinese assassin behind him spoke up at the opportune moment: "My lord, should I take men now to capture this person and interrogate them to find out who's behind this?"
"No rush. We don't have enough manpower in San Francisco. Let's call up more people in a few days."
He shook his head once, "Besides, we need to keep some people at the sawmill we just acquired; we can't give it up. It's in a good location; it's downstream to San Francisco, and if it keeps operating, it can supply timber here, reducing our costs."
"We should increase vigilance these days."
Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.
Just as Su Song was talking in the factory, a pair of eyes were silently watching the new convoy from the shadows of the intricate alleys of Chinatown behind them.
He withdrew his gaze and entered the maze-like alleyways. After many twists and turns, he finally arrived at a two-story building.
At the building entrance, two burly men with short axes at their waists stood smoking cigarettes, their eyes scanning passersby with hostility. Seeing the man approach, one of them asked with a smile, "Ah Chai, here to see Uncle Leopard?"
"Brother Wei, yes." The man called A-Chai nodded and smiled obsequiously.
The two men glanced at him and stepped aside to clear the doorway. Ah Chai slipped inside.
The room was dimly lit. On the shrine directly opposite the main entrance stood a gilded statue of Guan Yu, holding a Green Dragon Crescent Blade, with a ruddy complexion and a flowing beard. In the bronze incense burner before the statue, three sticks of incense burned, their smoke rising in wisps.
Before the shrine, a short, stocky middle-aged man stood with his back to the door. He wore a black silk short jacket, and his braid was neatly combed at the back of his head.
Ah Chai bowed respectfully to the retreating figure: "Master Leopard, there's new information."
"speak."
"After the foreigners who delivered the machines yesterday left, those guys who took our land brought a bunch of pigs from somewhere, about forty or fifty of them, who all look like they're going to do hard labor."
What's more troublesome is that there are several well-equipped, heavily armed foreign gunmen following us. Should we still make our move tonight?
Leopard slowly turned around, revealing a pair of distinctive triangular eyes that radiated menacing intent: "Damn it, how can you make a move with a foreigner around?"
"The police outside already come in every now and then to extort money, and the foreign gangs are even more eager to get a piece of the pie. If the foreigner dies, the police and gangs will definitely use it as an excuse to make trouble. At that time, who in the organization will take the blame? You?"
Ah Chai shrank back after being scolded, muttering softly, "So we're just going to ignore it?"
"What's the rush?"
After a moment of contemplation, Leopard said, "When these dozen or so people entered Chinatown, they didn't pay respects to the gangs or visit any branches. I initially thought they were just greenhorns who didn't know the rules. Now it seems they're more like powerful dragons crossing the river."
"In a few days, I'll organize a gathering and invite Director Chen from the San Yi Association to go and check things out under the guise of congratulations, and then decide on the next step."
He stared at A-Chai and instructed, "A-Chai, continue to keep an eye on them, especially paying attention to whether anyone is interacting with them. Report back immediately if there is any disturbance."
"Yes."