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Chapter 6
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Final Chapter
By Terri Geissinger, Smith
Valley, NV
In 1871, at the age of
39, Eleanora felt alone and weary. The years of fast life had caught up
with her. Three days upon her return to Virginia City, she drove
herself out across the flats and up the canyon to the ranch. Sadie
Wickham stood on the porch and hugged Eleanora. She was now a widow,
yearning to relocate with her sons in Oregon. The circumstances seemed
right for both women. Eleanora purchased the ranch with several hundred
head of cattle and retired from the gambling business.
Two years later, Jack McKnight entered her life. He introduced himself
as a cattle buyer. Handsome, funny, polite, he knew all the right
things to say and most importantly, he understood the ranching
business. He swept her off her feet and within months they were
married. While attending bull sales and auctions throughout the state,
his business often kept him away for weeks. Eleanora preferred to stay
home on her beloved ranch; after all, she had traveled enough in her
life. They celebrated their fifth year wedding anniversary with
Eleanora’s dear friends Stan and Abby. All seemed too good to be
true, and it was.
When Jack did not return from a Stockton business trip, she worried
herself sick. The local sheriff sent out riders to check the route on
which he was expected. No sign. The letter arrived eight days later. It
simply stated that he had a change of heart and that he was dreadfully
sorry. Then the bills started to arrive. She soon realized that she
knew nothing of what this man had been doing for the last several
years. She made an appointment with the bank and was stunned to learn
that the accounts were empty. She was broke and seriously in debt. She
had never felt shame, and now she was drowning in it.
Eleanora had no choice but to sell the ranch and auction off the
equipment, furniture and personal items. She made just enough to clear
the debt. The terrible heartache she suffered aged her quickly. She
refused to be a burden to her friends in Columbia and chose not to
contact them. Her spirit shattered, she had nowhere to turn but back to
the only thing she knew. At the age of 48, her youth had faded and her
wounded heart stole her smile. With deep trepidation, Eleanora Dumont
faced the future.
In the spring of 1879, Bodie was the third largest town in California.
With 65 saloons and gambling halls, she felt certain that someone would
employ her. She purchased the cheapest stage ticket available.
Her arrival in Bodie was a painful reminder of the pride she once
enjoyed. Tears welled as she looked back at all the times when she
arrived in towns, just like this, and men flocked into the street to
surround her beautiful carriage and welcome Madame Mustache.
The Capitol Saloon was the largest on Main Street and it was a stroke
of good luck that she knew the owner John McAlpin. He was more than
happy to assist the legendary woman and wasted no time in advertising
that the famous Madame Mustache was dealing in his establishment.
McAlpin set her up and loaned money to start the game. Night after
night, cocky professional gamblers, in tune to their game, sat down at
her table and won nearly every hand. It became obvious that she
didn’t have the heart or the energy to play the game. McAlpin
continued to loan her money. Drowning in debt and sorrow, she devised a
final plan that would allow her to leave with all debts paid. She
turned to the profession that she most despised.
In late August of 1879, she wrote a letter to Stan and Abby in
Columbia. In it, were her last requests and enough money to carry it
through. She wrote a second letter to her old friend, Jonathan Logan,
now the chief editor of the San Francisco Chronicle. She wanted to be
sure he got the story right.
On the crisp clear night of September 8, with a vile of opium, Eleanora
Dumont walked out of Bodie. The stars shone brightly upon the black
velvet sky…
Author’s note:
On the morning of September 9, 1879, the body of Eleanora Dumont was
discovered on the road, a mile out of town. Her timing was perfect. The
same day, Stan and Abby arrived in Bodie, as well as Jonathan Logan to
take responsibility of details. Together, they carried out her last
wishes. Eleanora had feared that she would be found and buried in the
‘outcast cemetery’ alone and unmarked. Because of this
fear, she planned and paid for her funeral in advance. Hundreds of
people attended, her body lies in sacred ground.
Sincere gratitude to Dianne and Ellis Farias for editing.
Chapter Seven
By Terri Geissinger, Smith
Valley, NV
Eleanora
Dumont endured the grueling 18 day journey from Columbia over the
Sierra. Her entourage arrived in Virginia City on October 5, 1859.
Within a week, she sent off a letter to her friends, Stan and
Abby. Sixteen pages were written in great detail of the
journey. She wrote of the crowded narrow roads and poor families
traveling on foot, the steep terrain and splendid views of snowcapped
mountains. It was obvious that she was captivated by the desert and
described it as ‘desolate beauty.’
Within days,
news spread that the famous Madame Mustache had arrived in the booming
camp. Eleanora received generous business offers from several
establishments in both Gold Hill and Virginia City. She did not commit
to anyone. A month went by; she made no move to secure a building nor
did she seem interested in opening a table in any of the newly opened
gambling facilities. Something was obviously wrong.
Pete
Rollingsworth knew her better than most, he was concerned about her
recent behavior. Nearly every other day, for the past two weeks, he had
been driving her across the flats and up into a nearby canyon to picnic
at the “place of comfort.” He certainly agreed it
was a beautiful setting; an old stand of cottonwood trees nestled close
to the soft banks of the sparkling Carson River. Wide swaths of grass,
cured from the summer sun, stretched out beneath the giant canopies of
burnt orange, deep green and delicate yellow. Far from the noises of a
mining town, it was quiet and peaceful here. Eleanora now had a
routine. She would spread a blanket, invite him to join her for lunch,
and then pull out a book to read in the warm autumn sun. She often
dozed off and he would have to gently wake her when it was time to
leave.
One
afternoon, she expressed the desire to explore the canyon a bit
further. Pete drove the carriage up another mile where the road ended
at a small ranch house. An elderly couple came out and welcomed them
inside. Eleanora learned that Hartford and Sadie Wickham had settled on
the land in 1843 and built the house with the help of four sons. They
raised cows, pigs, chickens and a large garden to provide food for the
wagon trains and stages. Eleanora would later write that the ranch was
charming, refreshing and peaceful, a unique piece of heaven here on
earth. She considered it a “treasure for the soul.”
She would become a frequent guest and a warm friendship developed
between them.
Historians
will never know what made Eleanora leave the area, but we do know that
she stayed in the Virginia City vicinity for less than a year. There
are no records of her opening a gambling business in town.Journalists
continued to follow the fascinating woman throughout her life. Through
the articles, we learn that for the next eleven years she traveled
extensively through the mining towns of Nevada, Montana, Colorado and
New Mexico. She dealt cards in the finest establishments and won the
hearts of many. She was considered the most sought after and successful
professional gambler in the west. While in New Mexico, Pete fell in
love and married a woman whose family owned a large cattle ranch.
Eleanora witnessed the wedding and gave the new couple her beautiful
coach and four fine horses as a gift. Two days later, she purchased a
stage ticket back to Virginia City. Based on a true story.
Don’t miss the final chapter November Issue.
Chapter Six
By Terri Geissinger, Smith
Valley, NV
On July 7, 1856 a catastrophic
blaze swept through Nevada City gutting the business district. The
famous gambling palace, 'Vingt et un' was reduced to ashes. Madame
Eleanora Dumont never returned to the place that launched her career as
a business owner and professional gambler.
Deciding to stay in Columbia,
she permanently moved into the Cherry Brooke Hotel with her friends
Stan and Abby Farrington. Within days, she signed a lease agreement for
the entire third floor of the spacious hotel. The friendship that
blossomed would in later years, prove golden. Eleanora's driver, Pete
Rollingsworth, agreed to stay in Columbia where he remained her
dedicated employee, friend and guardian.
It didn't take long for
Eleanora to get back to doing what she enjoyed most. Six weeks after
losing her beloved 'Vingt et un', she was operating a small gambling
establishment in the heart of town. Keeping to her high standards, only
well mannered, fresh bathed men were allowed to enter. She did not
tolerate rude behavior or prostitutes. Chilled champagne and milk were
the only refreshments served. As in Nevada City, the men of Columbia
flocked into the establishment to play a hand with the petite Gambling
Lady. She was smiling again. A journalist quoted a patron who patently
waited in line; "Why, I would gladly lose a hand to Madame Dumont as to
win to any man."
Columbia was good to her and
she returned the good fortune. Known for her big heart, she rarely
turned away a miner's request for a grubstake. Nor did Eleanora ever
send a man away completely penniless. It is said that if she won it
all, she would graciously give him enough money to buy 'a hot and a
cot', and serve him a tall glass of cold milk, 'on the house'. These
acts of kindness would be remembered by many. Her generosity became
public when she donated enough money to erect a new firehouse and equip
it with the latest pumpers and hose carts. When a large pine tree fell
on the schoolhouse roof, she was on the spot making arrangements to pay
for the materials and labor. When a family of six lost their father in
a tragic mining accident, she paid for the funeral services and the
family's train fare back to Indiana.
At 25 years old, the Cajun
beauty was in the prime of her life and at the top of her game. It was
about this time that the dark fuzz above her lip became noticeable. She
didn't seem to mind when one of her customers, in good humor, referred
to her as Madame Mustache. In fact, it is said that she enjoyed the
attention it drew and by her 28th birthday, she stopped removing the
fuzz, letting it grow naturally. For the remainder of her life, she was
known as Madame Mustache.
In 1859, the discovery of a
rich silver ledge on the east side of the Sierra changed everything. It
seemed as if the whole world was headed to the Comstock Lode. The
excitement was contagious and it didn't take long before Eleanora
informed Pete that she wanted to go. Living in Columbia for three years
was enough for Pete. He could not deny the pull of curiosity, hope and
excitement that he felt when engaged in conversations with others who
were packing up. He was more than ready to try his luck on the other
side of the mountain. Word had it that the Comstock Lode was the
largest silver lode ever discovered, making miners into thousandnaires
overnight.
Studying the maps, Pete
carefully planned the three week trip. The route was penciled out and
changed several times as warnings were heeded of the dangerous areas
where road agents were assaulting travelers. The memory of the previous
attempted robbery continued to haunt him. Due to the high profile of
Madame Dumont, Pete was cautious while hiring the men who would protect
his employer. He interrogated the potential guards, relying on his gut
for final decisions. In the meantime, Eleanora was having difficulty
choosing what to bring and what to leave behind. It took days for her
to finally narrow it down to the bare necessities. When it was time for
Pete to determine what size of freight wagon to purchase, he visited
Eleanora to view her belongings. He was flabbergasted! "Miss Dumont, do
you really need all of this?" She looked around and simply said, "Yes".
He muttered to himself down the stairs. If his calculations were
correct, he would have to purchase three freighters.
On the morning of September 16,
1859, Eleanora Dumont hugged and kissed her two favorite people, Stan
and Abby. Both women cried and promised to visit each other soon. Pete
waited anxiously for his employer to board the coach. He offered his
hand as she stepped up and when she was safely inside, he climbed to
his seat and took the reins. The horses jumped at the command, the
coach swayed gently behind, stirring dust into the early sunlight.
Eleanora hung out the window to wave, treasuring the last glimpse of
her friends until the trees obscured the view. The three loaded freight
wagons lumbered behind, each driver had a man riding shotgun. An
additional six hired horsemen guarded the fleet. Three rode ahead,
while three trailed. Pete was a bundle of nerves. He couldn't tell if
it was excitement or fear.
Based on a true story. Don't
miss Chapter Seven, October Issue of the Scoop.
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Chapter
Five
By Terri Geissinger, Smith
Valley, NV
“I
don’t give a damn.” Eleanora stomped out of the
Constable’s office, slamming the door. “Well
fella’s, looks like we can’t keep her here any
longer.” One man chuckled under his breath, “Too
bad… she is a delightful sight to behold.”
Pete Rollingsworth sat at a window seat of the Corner Café.
He knew his employer was angry with the situation and hoped that her
temper would not get her into trouble. He kept an eye out for her
return. He was as anxious as she to get out of town. Nine days ago,
they had left Nevada City for Columbia. It had been a narrow escape
when the coach was attacked by road agents. There was little doubt in
Pete’s mind that if it wasn’t for his driving
skill, the end result would have been disastrous. Through all this, he
had to admit, he held a new admiration for Eleanora. If it was not for
her courage, the agents might have continued the chase. But when she
opened fire, successfully shooting two men off their mounts, the gang
moved off. Unfortunately, during the siege, young Johnny was shot and
fell from the coach. It was devastating to later find his lifeless
body. He was a good kid. Pete felt a deep tug of remorse.
Constable Jordan had requested that Miss Dumont stay in town for a few
days to answer questions and to hopefully identify any captured men.
Eleanora hesitated, stating that the men were masked but eventually
agreed to be available to help. What she did not anticipate was how the
news of the attempted hold up would spread so quickly. Journalist
swarmed Grass Valley to get the story. She spent hours in the hotel
lobby speaking to hordes of journalists who prodded for more detail.
Columnists from large syndicate newspapers made generous offers for
exclusive interviews. At all hours of the day and night, men rudely
pounded on her door to get more information. It didn’t take
long for the hotel keeper to station a guard at her door to insure
privacy. A week of this nonsense was exhausting. She wanted to leave
two days ago and when she asked Constable Jordan for permission, he
refused, stating that they had a few more questions. She relented at
first, but as another frustrating day passed, she was determined to
leave with or without the constable’s consent.
Pete looked up from his breakfast in time to watch Eleanora cross the
street toward the hotel. He recognized the determined expression upon
her face. He assumed correctly when the hotel messenger boy came to his
table to deliver the note. “We are leaving today. Meet me at
the back door in one hour.” Smiling inside, he mopped up the
puddle of gravy with the doughy biscuit and gulped his coffee.
Within an hour, Pete had the team hitched to the private coach, the
trunks were loaded and Miss Dumont was safely inside. By the time the
news of her departure spread through town, Madame Eleanora Dumont was
miles away.
Three days later, they safely arrived in Columbia. Pete halted the
weary team in front of the Cherry Brooke Hotel. Eleanora’s
friends, Stan and Abby greeted them from the spacious veranda. Eleanora
felt a sense of relief that she was finally here. It was as beautiful
as she had remembered. The couple quickly ushered her inside
for refreshments. Eleanora slowed her step before she entered, turning
to Pete, she reached out and laid her hand on his arm and thanked him.
He felt his cheeks flush and felt foolish. She smiled and continued
inside. Pete unloaded the dusty trunks as the bell boys took them
inside.
The next several days were spent resting under the tall pines and
wading in the cool creek. Large picnic baskets filled with fresh fruit,
bread and jam were carted down to the women as they sat in the shade
enjoying chilled champagne and talking for hours. Eleanora and Abby
talked and laughed and cried as they caught up with time. Eleanora
talked about the business she built and of the good men who worked for
her. She described the beautiful décor, it was obvious that
she was very proud of the ‘Vingt et un.’ Laughter
could be heard all the way up to the hotel when Eleanora described some
of her peculiar patrons who sat at her table. Abby chimed in with some
of the oddities she and Stan came across running the hotel.
Conversation turned to more serious events when Abby shared the sad day
when her youngest child, Samantha, died from diphtheria and how they
buried her tiny white casket in a field of flowers. Eleanora shared her
experience of meeting the handsome David Tobin, becoming business
partners and how the rumors spread about them being lovers. How
shocking it was to come down the stairs to find David shot in the back
and how he gave up on life and never really recovered. She fought back
tears when she relived the day, not long ago, that she put him on the
stage to return home to New York. Abby questioned her if she loved
David…she never answered. Instead, she changed the subject
to the most recent turn in events. She talked about how the press was
making her into some kind of brave hero, fighting off road agents. She
sat closer to her friend, taking her hand, admitting that it was the
scariest day of her life.
In the meantime, Pete was enjoying Columbia. The town was full of the
kind of people he was accustomed to. Mining was in full swing and there
was plenty of money to be spent. Dozens of saloons were open and the
gals were, for the most part, attractive. During his fourth whiskey, he
came to the conclusion that this place could keep him entertained for a
while. He hoped his employer was enjoying herself.
It was on the twelfth day of their visit when the urgent message was
hand delivered to Eleanora. She was sitting on the back porch swing
when Stan handed her the envelope. Her hands trembled as she
began to read. Abby came to her side and wrapped an arm around her,
“What is it, Darling?” Tears flowed down her cheeks
as she handed the note to Abby.
Dear Miss Dumont, I am writing this urgent message under great
distress. It is my duty as your employee to inform you that yesterday,
July 7, 1856 a raging inferno ripped through Nevada City, destroying
everything in its path. Main Street lies in ruin. It is with deepest
regret to report to you that the ‘Vingt et un’ has
been lost. Please return as soon as possible.
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Chapter
Four
By Terri Geissinger, Smith
Valley, NV
Eleanora took a deep breath and slowly let it go. From the upstairs
window, she watched the early morning stage leave town. A tear rolled
down her cheek, “Good bye David,” she whispered to
herself.
Four months ago, on a quiet Saturday morning, a jealous coward walked
into the Vingt et un and shot David Tobin in the back. It was a stroke
of luck that Doc Robinson was sober and arrived on the scene quickly.
David was moved to the back room with a bottle of whiskey. Doc
sharpened his instruments while David gulped. Luckily the town
Veterinarian was found across the street and agreed to assist with the
surgery. When Doc opened the wound, he found that the bullet
was lodged dangerously close to the spine. It was feared that removing
the bullet would result in paralysis. It was nothing short of a miracle
that he survived the gunshot and the surgery and stayed clear of
infection. As the weeks passed, David appeared to give up. He
endured incredible pain and found relief by drowning it in whiskey and
laudanum. Three months after the incident, it was evident that David
would never fully recover. Accepting his fate, he expressed the need to
be near his family in New York. Eleanora made arrangements to have him
escorted back to San Francisco to board the east bound train.
Following David’s departure, Eleanora found it difficult to
concentrate on business. Feeling exhausted and heavy hearted, she
decided that she needed some time away from Nevada City. Her
faithful floor manager would supervise the gambling operation and keep
business in order during her three week absence.
A bright June morning welcomed Eleanora as she boarded her private
coach. Her driver, Pete, had been directed to take her to the
neighboring town of Grass Valley to visit a friend. From there they
would travel to the quaint town of Columbia for a two week stay.
Pete Rollingsworth had been employed by Miss Dumont for over a year
now. He was hired to drive the young woman to Shasta Butte City. During
that first trip, he realized the influence and popularity of his new
employer. It never ceased to amaze him how she attracted attention
everywhere she went. This attention is what had his stomach in knots
this morning. It had been headline print that the four mile stretch of
road that separated Nevada City and Grass Valley had recently been
tormented by highway agents. These masked men had robbed the southbound
stage last week, killing two horses and one brave passenger. Pete
gently reminded Eleanora of the danger and was a bit embarrassed when
she answered with a wave of her hand that she would protect him.
Nevertheless, Pete offered up half of his pay to his unemployed friend,
Johnny Newton, if he would agree to ride shotgun. Johnny was more then
happy to help escort the lovely Madame Dumont.
The coach slowly made its way through the busy thoroughfare.
Memories flooded her mind of the day when she arrived, two years ago,
in 1854. At that time, there were two thousand residents, now there
were nearly ten thousand. Just last week, the newspaper reported that
Nevada City had reached the status of third largest city in California.
The hardrock gold ledges were proving rich and making some lucky men up
to $6,000 dollars a day. The original wood shanties and tents had been
replaced with beautiful two and three story structures. The coach
swayed in easy rhythm and turned the last corner out of town.
Eleanora sat back in the cushioned seat and took in the lovely scenery.
The summer shower that fell in the night had settled the dust and
lifted the sweet aroma of pine. For the first time in a long while, she
felt relaxed. Little did she know, less than three miles down the tree
lined road, everything was to change.
The coach was attacked from behind. Five masked men rode up fast and
knocked Johnny from his seat. He fell hard, hitting his head on a rock
rendering him unconscious. Startled, the four horses bolted into a
frenzied run. The coach careened dangerously from side to side. With
all his strength, Pete held on, regaining control. To the
bandit’s surprise, Pete did not slow the horses but
encouraged them to keep up the dangerous pace charging through the road
block at top speed. The bandits rode alongside, attempting to shoot the
lead horse. Pete reached into his coat and drew his pistol. Just then,
a shot whizzed by his ear and he knew that it was now or never. Shots
were fired from all sides, including from inside the coach.
“YOU DIRTY THEVING BASTARDS!” Eleanora yelled out
the window as she steadied herself to aim at the man who was trying to
jump from his horse onto the coach. She pulled the trigger and the man
fell from his mount. She threw the gun aside and picked up another.
“DAMN YOU TO HELL!” Her aim was on target and
another man fell. The bandits turned away and let the crazy woman and
maniac driver go. Pete was relieved when he turned around to see the
three remaining riders head off. Not risking another confrontation, he
continued the fast pace until the sweaty, froth mouthed horses rounded
the corner of civilization.
Pete halted the snorting horses in front of Constable’s
office. Anxious to find Miss Dumont safe, he nearly tore the door off
its hinges. Eleanora sat in a mess of hat boxes and chocolates and
appeared disheveled but unharmed. She quickly stepped out and expressed
concern for Johnny. Her mood shifted from deep concern to raging anger
and offered a generous bounty for the capture of the callus road
agents.
Word about the attempted robbery spread quickly and a posse formed
within an hour. Pete rode alongside Constable Jordan who was followed
by forty armed men. One bandit was found dead and the other had been
picked up by his comrades. Further up the road, the men found Johnny.
It looked like he had tried to crawl away to hide in the brush. His
lifeless body had been shot twice. The men draped him over the back of
Pete’s horse who rode back to town. The posse continued to
search for the villains and returned after midnight, empty handed.
As far as Pete knew, Johnny did not have any family to contact. So
Eleanora paid for the pine box and Pete dug the grave. A simple prayer
was spoken by the resident preacher. It was the best they could do. The
news that the famous Madame Dumont shot and killed a road agent while
defending herself and driver spread like wildfire. Within two days,
journalists from miles around flocked to Grass Valley to capture the
story. Once again, Eleanora Dumont was in the headlines throughout the
country.
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Chapter
Three
By Terri Geissinger, Smith
Valley
Jonathan Logan dabbed beads of sweat from his forehead. It was an
unusually warm February day. The stagecoach was at full capacity, the
small interior was cramped and stuffy. He sat between two large women
who swallowed up all the fresh air. Four ill mannered children were
seated across from them. The constant bickering and hollering tested
his tolerance and he was sure that if his shin was kicked a third time,
he would curse out loud. He deeply regretted not taking a seat up on
top with the driver. This dreadful mistake would be remedied at the
first stop. To escape the uncomfortable plight, he found comfort
imagining how it would be to see Eleanora again. It had been
eight long months since Jonathan had spoken with the now famous Lady
Gambler. He was anxious to get back to Nevada City, hoping that she
hadn’t forgotten her promise to see him again. He had written
her two letters with no response. Recent articles reported that she was
“lovely as ever” and had successfully expanded her
building with a business partner, David Tobin. He was a well known
gambler from New York, spending the last several years in San
Francisco. He also had a reputation for being a fast and accurate
gunman. Jonathan felt a twinge of envy as he wondered if
David Tobin was her lover. He dabbed his forehead again.
The sharp dressed man reached out and captured her hand, pressing it
hard into his, pinching her fingers. Her other hand quickly disappeared
under the table and held the derringer. “Please, Eleanora,
listen to me. I can take you away from this place and give you all that
you need. From the bottom of my heart, please, take my hand in
marriage.” Eleanora remained calm and dangerously serious.
“Mr. Shockley, my answer remains the same as it has for the
last several weeks. My patience has thinned. If you do not let go of my
hand this instant, you will be escorted out with less body parts than
you came in with.” She pulled back the trigger, the distinct
click sent a wave of heavy silence throughout the room. Within moments,
David Tobin appeared at her side. “Mr. Tobin, this man is
leaving, please see him to the door.”
David was a large man whose size intimidated most. As soon as he moved
toward Shockley, the man got up and moved toward the door. Before
exiting, he turned back and spoke through a broken heart, “I
would have done anything for you.” Eleanora felt a slight
pang of compassion mixed with relief that he was leaving. These types
of occurrences were less frequent now that David was present.
The setting sun cast an orange marbled sky as the stage pulled up in
front of Gleeson’s Hardware and Hotel. The past two days,
Jonathan sat up in the open air with the driver. He was relieved the
trip was finally over. The driver handed down his bag. Jonathan hoped
the gift had survived the journey. His backside was stiff, it felt good
to stand. He glanced down Main, toward the Vingt et un building. He was
taken back when he realized that the building appeared twice the size
as when he saw it last. Butterflies danced in his stomach. He hoped to
see her tomorrow. He was certain that he needed a bath, not to mention
a good night’s sleep.
As he approached the front doors, he was not surprised to find that The
Vingt et un was now open 24 hours. A decorative sign advertised that
the establishment sported the new game of Poker and three Faro Tables.
‘Morning Game Lessons are free.’ He
handed the doorman his hat. The Vingt et un had not lost the elegance
that Jonathan remembered. “Is Madame Dumont expecting
you?” He suddenly felt foolish. “Well,
no. Please, will you tell her that her friend, Jonathan Logan
from the San Francisco Chronicle is here to see her?” The
oversized doorman looked down at the wrapped package he held.
“Wait here, sir.” The doorman disappeared up the
staircase. Jonathan caught a glimpse of himself in the large rose
etched mirror. He spit on his palm and smoothed down his hair.
“She will see you in the parlor. Do you know the
way?”
“Come in, come in. So good of you to return, Jonathan, you
look well.” Her smile was radiant. The butterflies returned.
She sat in the morning sun, near the open window. The light showered
upon her shoulders making her look angelic. Her long dark hair was
loose, thick curls cascaded down her back. The emerald green gown
shimmered in the sunlight and revealed tawny smooth skin. He noticed
her feet were bare. An awkward feeling came over him and he felt
clumsy. Sitting down across from her, he handed her the colorful
package. “Happy Birthday, Miss Dumont.”
“I am amazed that you remembered! Oh, I love
presents...”she carefully opened the gift. Her dark eyes
gleamed as she admired the carved music box. When she lifted the lid, a
faint tune tinkled out. Jonathan was relieved that it had not been
damaged and found pleasure watching the soft reminiscent expression
wash over her pretty face. “When I was a young girl, Aunt Mez
would cradle me in her arms and hum this tune to me. This is beautiful,
I will treasure it, thank you.”
“Well, now, Jonathan, shall we get to the business at
hand?” Eleanora sat back and watched him take out the pad and
pencil. She liked Jonathan. There was something about him that was
different from the other journalists. Although, they had not spent much
time together, her intuitive sense told her that he could be trusted.
“As we became of age, fourteen, one by one, my seven brothers
were moved to New Orleans to live with our parents. They were groomed
to what best suited them at the Gambling Palace, so that eventually,
they would work and carry on the family business. I did not have a
choice of what best suited me. I was to take over
the bookkeeping. When I turned fourteen, mother insisted that I
accompany her to the office to learn my fate. I will never forget the
windowless room, located in the rear of the building. It was the
dreariest of places. Muffled laughter and music seeped through the
wall. I would sneak from the room and peek through the door and watch.
The scene was exciting and it stirred something inside me. Mother would
catch me and chastise me for not paying attention. Little did she know
that I was paying very close attention. I knew where I wanted to be and
more importantly where I did not.”
“By the time I was seventeen we were all well versed in
handling the business. Our parents felt confident enough to take a long
over due three month holiday to Europe. They left my oldest brother,
Jean Pierre, in charge. I was elated and put my plan into motion the
moment they left. At first I was subtle, before long, my pleading
evolved to begging. He finally relented and agreed to allow me to deal
one night. It was a Wednesday evening, the slowest of the week. I was
mildly disappointed when he set me up in the far corner away from the
mainstream. Jean Pierre stationed two brothers near me, in case there
was trouble. I will never forget the nervous energy that had my heart
pounding. Oh, I had a wonderful time. When it was all over and time to
count my bank, I had made more money then any other table that night.
Jean Pierre was pleased and allowed me to return the next Wednesday.
Three Wednesdays later, a crowd waited to play at my corner table. I
was elated, my brothers were extremely distressed. Jean Pierre informed
me that I could not return for he was in fear that our parents would
discover the truth.”
“Seventy three hours upon their return, Jean Pierre was
questioned about the attractive young woman who used to run the corner
table on Wednesday evenings. He folded like an old deck of cards.
Mother was angry with both of us but reserved her sharp tongue
exclusively for him. After that, Mother did not speak one word to Jean
Pierre for six months. Father never said much either way. Upon
reflection, I believe father was amused. One day, when we were alone,
he questioned me about it. I answered honestly and told him that it had
changed my life. He understood what he always knew, that his daughter
was not going to be kept locked in a stale office.”
“When I turned twenty, I gained legal access to my trust
fund. I began planning my future...”
Loud voices from downstairsinterrupted Eleanora. She turned her head to
listen closer to what sounded like furniture being toppled. A loud shot
pierced the air; a moment of silence was followed by fast moving
footsteps up the staircase. Alarmed, both Eleanora and Jonathan sprang
from their seats. Eleanora grabbed the shotgun from behind the curtain,
Jonathan braced himself against the door. She immediately recognized
the panicked voice of the doorman. “Madame Dumont! David
Tobin has been shot.”
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Chapter
Two
By Terri
Geissinger, Smith Valley
Relax Darling, you seem
tense. Tell me, will this be your first time?” Eleanora
gently continued, “The window of opportunity is brief, the
doors will open in under an hour, we should begin.” They were
seated in her private parlor upstairs. Although she was four years
younger then he, she had an air of wisdom beyond her years. Jonathan
Logan was embarrassed by his nervousness. He had traveled from San
Francisco to meet the lady gambler and now that he was in her presence,
he was surprised to feel a bit intimidated.
Fifteen months ago, Madame Eleanora Dumont had successfully opened a
gambling establishment, The Vingt et un. Word spread quickly and
business flourished. Four months after opening, she expanded the
operation by opening three additional tables and employing four men.
Journalist flocked to Nevada City to capture the unusual story of the
‘Lady Gambler’. Jonathan had read several articles
written about the proper, articulate woman and assumed that they were
exaggerated. After all, what kind of Lady would
choose a profession in gambling? It was preposterous. He was determined
to impress his editor by uncovering the real story. The long trip
provided plenty of time for his imagination to conjure up an image of
an uneducated rough woman who dealt cards to tough men in a rich mining
town.
Now, sitting across from the petite young woman, realization crept over
him, the articles were written in truth. She spoke eloquently, clear
and precise, her intense beauty was startling, her charm, intriguing.
The sharp dressed man reached to his vest and took out a pad and pencil.
“I was born 24 years ago, on February 14, 1831 in New
Orleans. I am the youngest child of our family. Soon after I was born,
our parents moved us permanently to the family estate in St. Charles
Parish. The landscape is fresh and green, hundreds of varieties of
flowers…Have you ever been there? My seven brothers and I
grew up in what most would consider a privileged environment. Oh, I can
tell you many fond stories of my childhood! Our guardians were two
Negro sisters, Aunt Flo and Aunt Mez. Their kin worked for our
Grandfather in the old days. How I wish they were here to cook for
me…I miss the spice and their delightful company. Aunt Mez
and Aunt Flo could talk chicken off the bone!”
“You see, mother and father own a large gambling palace on
the waterfront in New Orleans. While we were growing up in St. Charles,
their time was spent overseeing the business in the city. They would
stay for extended periods of time and come home to visit at least three
times a month. Our parents provided the best of everything, tutors,
horses, carriages, fabrics, we wanted for nothing. Except, perhaps,
more time with them.”
“Ah yes, I recall the days, when they were due home, the
eight of us would ascend to the top of the barn and wait for their
coach. From the roof we could see out two miles or more and we would
scan the road for the first cloud of dust. Mother always brought gifts
wrapped in colorful cloth. One time, Aunt Flo caught me climbing up the
roof and spouted sharp words explaining why little girls
didn’t behave that way. I risked a whipping by questioning
her, Why did God give girls legs if
they were only meant to sit inside and sew? My brothers were
proud of me. Aunt Flo pretended that she did not know that I
continued to climb, as long as we did not discuss it in front of Aunt
Mez, and as long as I didn’t break my neck. Poor Flo and Mez,
exasperation was expressed often.”
“Growing up in a house full of boys provided many
opportunities to get into trouble. They were happy to teach me
everything they knew and I was a willing student, much to the
Aunts’ dismay. I learned how to fight, swear, spit and I am
proud to say, I am a hell of a good shot. I suppose it was when I was
around six years of age that they taught me how to play the card game,
Vingt et un… I am sure you know that is the French word for
twenty-one. When we were young, the ante consisted of objects such as
marbles, tops or prized gadgets. It all came very natural to me, and
soon I was winning more often then not. Of course, my brothers insisted
I give back whatever I won. When Aunt Mez found me playing a hand with
the boys, she sequestered me to my room for three days. I had to write
on my slate, one hundred times each day, ‘Well behaved girls
do not play cards.’ From then on, the games were held in
secret. As we matured, the stakes became more valuable, the games were
far more challenging and intriguing. When I was twelve, I won my oldest
brother’s stud horse. My mother was appalled when she
overheard a conversation and demanded to know the rest of the
story…”
Eleanora broke off in mid sentence. Jonathan glanced up at the large
clock as it chimed. He had lost complete track of time and felt a rise
of disappointment that the session was over. “Madame Dumont,
this has been most interesting. May I return and speak to you again? I
have many questions.”
Outside, the anxious crowd waited for the doors to open, the restless
murmur drifted up into the open parlor window. Eleanora stood,
graciously offering her hand, “Mr. Logan, I will have you
know that I have met with several columnists and you are one of the few
who seems genuinely interested in who I am and
not completely absorbed by my profession. Yes, I
look forward to seeing you again.” Her hand felt warm, a
pleasant chill swept up his spine. He expressed his gratitude for her
time and asked permission to talk to a few of her patrons. She politely
declined his request, stating she wanted no distractions. He was
welcome to talk to the men who waited outdoors.
Everyone was in place. Three dealers, wearing crisp white shirts and
dark red vests stood at their tables. Eleanora, dressed in an elegant
black lace gown, took her seat at the center table. She
immediately felt for the two derringers tucked underneath, upon the
hidden shelf. The doorman stood near the entrance waiting for
Eleanora’s signal to open the tall ornate doors. Jonathan was
thoroughly impressed with the scene and was not surprised that he
already missed her company.
A slight nod from the Madame and the tall doors opened. Men quietly
rushed in, seeking the chairs at Eleanora’s table. Her table
was always first choice. Instantly, the room was
alive with conversation and the distinct sound of gold and silver coins
jingling as the bets were placed. All available
‘waiting seats’ were taken, leaving standing room
only which quickly overflowed outdoors. Jonathan immediately noticed
that the clientele was far from what he first imagined. It was obvious
that most of the patrons were businessmen, tastefully dressed, well
mannered and wealthy. Other men, most likely miners, wore tattered but
clean clothes, obeying the sign at the front door. There was no doubt;
Madame Eleanora Dumont was the owner of a gold mine, without the dirt.
She had created an elegant atmosphere that attracted the affluent. The
high-stake games promoted inflated egos of men who enjoyed flaunting
their wealth. Eleanora didn’t seem to mind.
Authors note: Countless reporters traveled hundreds of rough miles to
Nevada City California to capitalize on the rare story of Madame
Dumont. Her charming ways captivated the journalists, she stole their
hearts and in turn, they wrote favorable articles describing the unique
‘Gambling Lady’ and her elegant establishment.
Newspapers throughout the country printed the stories which catapulted
Madame Dumont’s respected reputation far and wide.
Based on a true story.
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Chapter
One
By Terri
Geissinger, Smith Valley
I felt the overwhelming
desire to reach out and slap him. His roving eyes turned my stomach. I
wanted to walk away, but unfortunately, if I was to succeed in
purchasing the property, I would have to endure his rude behavior.
“My name is Madame Eleanora Dumont. I am interested in
purchasing the lot across the street. I understand that you are the
surrogate of whom I am to inquire. I was informed this morning that the
gentleman who is responsible for the Land Office is out of
town.” The short greasy man brought his colorless eyes up
from my bosom. He annoyed me tremendously. His yellow grin showed
tobacco oozing from the corner of his mouth. He straightened his
posture with an air of self assurance. “I shoulda guessed you
were a business woman…and you’re right, Mr. Marks
has left me in charge until his return from San Francisco.”
He turned to spit. “That lot there will cost quite a sum,
it’s the last one available on Main…guess
you’d be openin’ a brothel…”
Ignoring his half statement, half hopeful question, I forced a tight
steel smile and opened my velvet pouch. Spreading the cash out neatly
on the counter, “Two thousand dollars…I assume
that will cover the price.” His ugly jaw dropped slightly,
exposing broken teeth. His stained fingers slowly counted the money. He
stamped the deed with red ink, Paid in Full. Stepping out into the
fresh air, a bolt of excitement shot through my middle. I did it. I now
own a prime piece of ground in the wealthiest mining camp in
California. Walking back to the hotel room, I found myself smiling as
reality took hold. Nevada City was to become my new home.
The crowded saloons quickly spread the news of the land purchased by
the attractive young lady. Whiskey rimmed rumors were poured and served
to anyone interested in the latest news of the camp. The petite, dark
haired woman had arrived in town just the day before. The stage driver
was seen unloading several large trunks and was later overheard telling
a friend that the woman paid the company an extra fee to travel alone.
Later in the day, she was seen walking up and down the street,
unescorted, as if she were looking for someone. Nobody seemed to know
who she was or where she came from. The same question circled in and
out of conversations, “What was she doing here?”
Someone said she was a Madam from New York and was to open a
brothel…
I am certainly not from New York and never did I say that I was opening
a brothel. Nevertheless, it was the rumor that spread quickly. Not one
to ruin a good story, I let the gossip run rampant. It was fairly
amusing to overhear snippets of all the east coast prostitutes who
would be arriving in town to work for me. The stories thrived and men
were more than happy to help me in my endeavor. Nevada City was
experiencing a building boom and available laborers were hard to find,
but amazingly, I had no difficulty securing a building contractor. In
fact, the construction of the church and other public buildings stood
practically still while my building was completed in record time. It is
hard to believe that I arrived here less than four months ago. In that
time, an impressive amount of effort and money has been spent in order
to bring my dream into reality. The grand opening of the
‘Vingt et un’ (French for ‘21’)
will take place in just three days, on the evening of March 10, 1854.
Eleanora walked through the quiet, dimly lit room admiring the tapestry
that adorned the south wall. It reminded her of the one that hung in
her parents gambling palace, back home, in Louisiana. Red velvet
covered chairs were strategically placed for her customers to sit
comfortably while they observe the game and wait their turn. Again, she
carefully scanned the large rose etched mirror for any cracks. It had
traveled many miles over rough roads and she was not yet convinced that
it survived the trip unscathed. It took ten men to unload it and as
many to secure the mirror to the wall behind the massive, beautifully
carved bar. No hints of cracks, she felt a slice of relief. Her
slippers fell silently on the thick green rug as she crossed the room
to sit in her high back chair at the large mahogany table. Her palms
skimmed the cool dark surface, smooth and flawless; as it should be, it
had cost her a fortune. She tried to visualize what it was going to
feel like, dealing cards to the eight players who would bet their gold
and silver against her experienced hand. Instinctively, she reached
under the table and felt the hidden shelf where she will tuck the two
derringers. She was familiar with the risks; the possible scenarios
continually ran through her mind. Her intention was to operate a
reputable and safe gambling establishment. In order to protect herself
and the business, it will be critical to enforce strict house rules
right from the start.
Women were not allowed inside the ‘Vingt et un’,
nor were they to hang themselves over the men outside the doors.
Eleanora was not interested in cheap distraction. She wanted the men to
lay their money on the table and play cards. The sign that hung on the
door was clear; All Patrons Must Be Freshly Bathed. The last thing she
wanted to do was to sit across from a working man who stunk to high
heaven. They were in the presence of a Lady, she would demand respect
and therefore, language would be clean as well. Her mother’s
words echoed in her mind, “If you expect to be treated like a
lady, you must insist on cleanliness and manners.” Beer made
a man sloppy. Whiskey made a man rowdy. The ‘Vingt et
un’ would not serve these spirits but instead, sparkling
champagne and cold milk.
Prior to 1854, the gambling world was known only to men. At 23 years
old, Madame Eleanora Dumont would break the pattern and launch a career
that would make her the first known and most famous gambling woman of
the west.
Based on a true story.
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