Having issued final instructions to the master carpenter, the Crown Prince set out under the pretext of surveying the local terrain. With him went a guide, a cartographer, and twenty-five soldiers.
It would be best to begin with placer gold—easy to find, and easier still to extract.
"This way," he said, leading the party in the direction of the American River, famed for its richness in alluvial gold. But the journey was not straightforward. Mapping the land as they went slowed their pace, and they couldn't afford to explore in only one direction.
As they ventured deeper into Sacramento's dense forests, Jerónimo himself joined in the surveying and cartography.
Someday, residential and commercial zones may stretch this far. If that's the case, it's worth charting this properly from the outset.
He studied the land's characteristics, seeking the river. By nightfall, the group would return to their temporary tents at the settlement to sleep. Each day at dawn, they would set out once more.
A full week passed in this slow spiral around the colony. Then, at last—glimpses of water in the distance. Even from afar, something in the river shimmered with promise.
Finally, the American River. It may be the nearest major river to Sacramento, but it still took us a week to reach it.
He spoke first.
"What's that in the river? Do you all see it?"
"Huh!? Something's sparkling!" the guide responded. One of the soldiers stepped forward to inspect.
"It's gold… gold, Your Highness! There are small flecks of gold all over the river!"
"Oho! Gold, you say?"
Feigning a touch of surprise, Jerónimo nodded solemnly.
"Gold on my land—how fortunate. Let's investigate a bit more and then return."
Whispers of Gold
"Gold? Are you serious?"
"I'm telling you, the river glinted gold! It looked like the water itself had turned golden."
"Come on now—that sounds impossible."
"I'm not the only one who saw it!"
Word spread faster than flame through dry straw. The patrol had not even been back in Sacramento a full day before rumors of gold began to circulate. The soldiers, excited and prone to exaggeration, only fueled the hysteria.
Soon, voices rose demanding to go mine the gold themselves.
Major Manuel quickly stepped in.
"All the land around here is the property of His Highness Prince Jerónimo. That includes the gold. Anyone caught taking it without permission will be severely punished."
The settlers' faces fell in disappointment—until the Crown Prince himself addressed them.
"Gold, of course, is useless unless one has miners to extract it. For those willing to work the mines, I offer high wages and free mining tools. And, naturally, your promised farmland remains yours."
In other words, they would receive both high-paying jobs and the land grants he'd promised.
Cheers erupted.
"Long live the Prince!"
"Truly a benevolent sovereign!"
Where moments ago there had been disappointment, now there was jubilation.
Yet among the soldiers, discontent stirred. They received nothing beyond their regular pay, yet they were expected to work just as hard. The disparity, though logical, stung.
Jerónimo noticed their displeasure.
"Furthermore, to all the soldiers and officers who accompanied me into this harsh frontier—if you choose to bring your families and settle in California, I shall grant you land as well. And for those aiding in the gold extraction—this once—I shall offer additional wages."
The reaction was instant.
"Hurrah!"
Even Major Manuel let out a cheer.
Major… that was unexpected.
Jerónimo raised a hand.
"Do not forget, however, that our chief purpose here is the colonization of California. The mining workforce will rotate in shifts, and further details shall be announced tomorrow. Dismissed!"
That night, the camp buzzed with excitement.
"This expedition to California may be the best decision we ever made."
"I know, dear. I was exhausted halfway through and regretted coming… but now I'm so glad we did."
"We expected years of hardship on barren soil—but under His Highness's command, everything is progressing rapidly. The land is fertile, the infrastructure organized, and now we've even struck gold. A little work and we'll be able to afford proper tools, furniture, everything we need for a new life."
"In the city, we couldn't even dream of a farm and a house like this."
Most settlers and soldiers were filled with hope.
But not all.
Among them, Captain Julio Cervantes, commander of the 2nd company of the guard, could not forget what he had seen that day.
All this excitement over a handful of glittering crumbs. Have they already forgotten the five hellish months it took to get here? Fools. I won't let that whelp of a prince keep that golden river all to himself. If I steal the gold and escape to the United States—what can he do about it? Even if he is the Crown Prince.
Cervantes, a criollo of fair complexion and fluent in English, began to fantasize about his betrayal. He would steal the gold and live rich in America.
I'll take a few of the dumber settlers with me, make them do the work… then shoot them just before the border. Hah! Genius, truly genius!
Cervantes began recruiting in secret. His first targets were the men he commanded in the 2nd company—those he'd grown close with during the long march.
"Picture it—every guard stationed at the gold storehouse is one of our own. We steal the gold during night shift and vanish. Who would ever know? It's foolproof!"
"It may work up to the theft, Captain. But what about once we reach the U.S.? What if they find out we're Mexican?"
"Look at you, Miguel. You and I—we're light-skinned. We speak good English. They won't know the difference. I'll teach you the rest."
"If you say so, Captain. I'm in."
Cervantes was patient.
He had marched with these men for months—he knew their temperaments. He focused on those greedy and disloyal, especially those with fair skin.
"Miguel and a few others are already with me. With you, that's five—enough to cover every shift at the gold storehouse. What do you say?"
"I'm in."
Once he had turned several soldiers, he began approaching settlers too—using the same careful method. He chose greedy men, lacking in loyalty, with pale skin and pliable minds.
"Dark and early. All guards will be ours. All you have to do is pack the gold and get to the stables. We ride hard. Still think it sounds risky?"
"You've recruited that many already?"
"We're gaining more each day. We're going to be rich in America."
"Count me in!"
Cervantes, hiding malice behind a serpent's smile, continued to spread his treason like venom in the dark.
Meanwhile, the Crown Prince was overwhelmed with responsibility—managing both the construction of the settlement and the development of the gold mine.
"Hey! Can't you see that pillar's crooked?"
"Aah—I'll fix it, Your Highness!"
"I'll show you again. Watch carefully."
It was an endless cycle: demonstrate, correct, repeat.
Crown Prince of an Empire, and here I am—working harder than I ever did in my former life.
Major Manuel, now on friendlier terms, chuckled.
"Your Highness, you command a worksite with remarkable ease."
"Are you saying I'm suited for hard labor?"
"No, no! I meant—ah—simply that you manage people very well. The settlers speak highly of your leadership. I've seen it myself—day after day."
"Flatter me all you like, I'm not giving you any gold."
"A pity."
With light banter, the two strolled toward the American River.
In the distance, one hundred miners worked tirelessly.
They used shovels and gold pans brought from Mexico City, along with simple sluice boxes crafted by the blacksmith.
The sluice box, a wooden trough placed at a slight incline, filtered water and gravel—leaving heavier gold particles behind. For efficiency, one had to find the right slope and flow.
Jerónimo supervised the mine directly. Most had already been trained, but needed reminders.
"When setting a sluice box, consider the water's speed. If it's too fast, the gold will wash away. Too slow, and gravel will clog the box."
He and the miners walked along the riverbank in search of ideal spots, placed the boxes, and began.
Taking up a gold pan, Jerónimo scooped up gravel and silt.
"Gold panning works through centrifugal force—heavy gold sinks to the bottom."
He gently swirled the pan, pouring off water and gravel, revealing the shining remnants beneath.
"And this… is how gold is gathered."
Within ten days, they had collected enough to produce the first gold bar.
To secure the blacksmith who now resided in the colony, Jerónimo had invested heavily. Tools had to be repaired, gold refined—he'd even brought a heavy crucible furnace from Mexico City, which occupied an entire cart.
Now, the blacksmith's first task: forging gold.
The process began by combining fine gold dust with mercury, creating an amalgam—a technique dating back to 16th-century Spanish silver mines. Only gold binds with mercury; other materials are left behind. Heating the amalgam evaporates the mercury, leaving only pure gold.
"The mercury vapor is toxic. Let's stand back."
As the furnace roared and gold began to pool at its center, Jerónimo approached the smith.
"Pour it gently into the mold. Careful—it's hot."
"Ha! No need to worry, Your Highness."
The molten gold was poured into a bar-shaped mold, cooled in water, and polished lightly.
Thus was born the settlement's first gold bar.
Time in the colony was beginning to fly.