Chapter 41: The Seeds of Ten Thousand Rubber Trees

Andrew Jackson listened to his subordinates report on the implementation of the Indian Removal Act. In his eyes, Native Americans had no right to a legal existence; those weak, savage tribes ought to be crushed to dust by the mighty armies of the United States.

Yet, the blood of the Indians exhilarated him. It was a pity he could not skin those redskins with his own hands; it had been so long that his craft was growing rusty.

Andrew Jackson thought of his predecessors—whether George Washington or Thomas Jefferson, those great presidents had been free to slaughter the natives at will. How was it that in his, Andrew Jackson's era, killing Indians required finding excuses? It was simply damned annoying.

Still, Andrew Jackson was the President after all. Using the Removal Act to cull the Indian population was surely a sacred mission bestowed upon him by Providence.

Yet, whenever the subject of Indians arose, Andrew Jackson's thoughts drifted to that hypocritical and conceited banker.

"Damn it, Biddle is a fool. If not for the accursed Removal Act, the government wouldn't be drowning in so much debt. Damn that bastard Biddle! He merely repaid what he owed, and yet he expects me to apologize to him!"

The Removal Act was astronomically expensive, causing widespread discontent within the United States government, most notably among Andrew Jackson and his Kitchen Cabinet.

"Yet right now, Biddle's prestige has reached its absolute zenith. Everyone is hailing him as the God of Wealth. Based on current revenues, this year's income for the United States government will shatter historical records. And Mr. Biddle deserves the lion's share of the credit," Martin Van Buren replied.

Even Andrew Jackson's most trusted members of the Kitchen Cabinet tacitly accepted this reality, for the profits generated by land sales were simply too exorbitant.

"To hell with the God of Wealth! That idiot actually built himself a temple! Biddle and the Indians both deserve to vanish from this earth. Martin, trust me, he will destroy this country!" Andrew Jackson roared hysterically.

Martin Van Buren offered no reply, because even he had begun to believe in Biddle's economic theories.

"If real estate prices are high enough, selling New York alone could buy the entire continent of Europe! I am going to achieve what Napoleon himself could not!"

...

Meanwhile, for the Native Americans west of the Mississippi River, the Removal Act was an unmitigated disaster.

The tribes came to call their forced exodus the Trail of Tears.

Among the Cherokee alone, thousands perished along the weeping paths.

Of the 45,000 Native Americans forced into exile, fewer than 20,000 successfully completed the journey.

Yet, much to Andrew Jackson's surprise, it was precisely his ruthless policy of forced expulsion that kept the American land market in a state of perpetual frenzy.

Concurrently, economic experts and speculators, including Friedrich List, joined the massive wave of real estate speculation.

Real estate in Chicago had surged by a staggering forty-fivefold increase. This meant that the land Franz had purchased earlier for two hundred thousand dollars was now valued at nine million.

Although land appreciation in other parts of the United States was not quite as astronomical as Chicago's, the entire nation was gripped by a euphoric optimism, firmly believing that property values everywhere would eventually mirror Chicago's meteoric rise.

The primary reason Friedrich List joined the frenzy of real estate speculation was that, during his tenure in the Austrian cabinet, he had received intelligence that Baron Bruck had acquired a substantial sum of capital—likely originating from the royal family—to purchase land in America.

Furthermore, serving as the American Consul General to the German Confederation, Friedrich List had privileged insight into the situation across the Atlantic.

The land boom had swept through the entirety of America, and Friedrich List naturally had no intention of letting such an opportunity slip through his fingers. He staked his entire life savings, his assets in the United States, and even took out a substantial loan in Prussia.

Within the Prussian establishment, opinions of this advisor were exceptionally high.

In particular, the strategy he devised to halt the expansion of Austrian influence further into Northern Germany was nothing short of artistic.

However, a faction of officials harbored deep dissatisfaction regarding Friedrich List's greed, suspecting that a man of such impure motives might serve Prussia for money today, only to betray it for money tomorrow.

Yet King Frederick William III remained unmoved. He reasoned that while such a man was undeniably mercenary, viewed from another perspective, as long as sufficient profits were guaranteed, he would remain the most loyal of subjects.

Vienna, Schönbrunn Palace.

Franz was sitting at his desk, penning a letter. This particular correspondence was addressed to Archbishop Rauscher.

Although Archbishop Rauscher viewed Franz as a saint born into the world, he still regarded the boy merely as a child.

Consequently, Franz had no choice but to resort to the pretense of divine revelation. He claimed to have seen angels in his dreams, who led him before a sacred tablet, leaving him nothing to do but faithfully transcribe the text inscribed upon it.

Franz had already completed three previous letters: one dispatched to Brazil, one to Mexico, and another to India.

Naturally, when writing those first three letters, Franz had not needed to dabble in mysticism.

The evangelization efficiency of the church in this era was lamentably low, leaving Franz with little choice but to modernize and adapt it. While such play-acting could not deceive his own conscience, it constituted a form of dimensional reduction strike against the ordinary people of this era.

The adventurer Costa finally secured an audience with his mysterious benefactor, though to his utter astonishment, this generous patron turned out to be a woman.

Moreover, her attire and bearing immediately marked her as exceptionally wealthy. If he could manage to attach himself to such a rich woman, he would never have to return to that accursed tropical rainforest in search of fabled treasures for the rest of his days.

Thus, all along the journey, Costa showered Thalia with lavish attentions. Yet Thalia, functioning as the quintessential spinster of her era, remained completely unmoved.

In the first place, Thalia had zero interest in the institution of marriage. Secondly, having been disowned and cast out by her family, the pressure to propagate the family line did not apply to her. Furthermore, she owed an astronomical debt to the royal family—though Franz and Archduchess Sophia might not actually force her to repay it...

Most importantly, the vulgar man standing before her did not appeal to her refined sensibilities in the slightest.

Having grown up in an aristocratic household and later serving within the imperial court, Thalia possessed impossibly high standards.

Her preference was for a refined gentleman, not a greasy, weather-beaten middle-aged man.

And Costa, an adventurer accustomed to sleeping under the stars for years on end, could by no stretch of the imagination be associated with the word "refined."

Realizing he was failing to capture her attention, Costa was forced to steer the conversation back to business.

"My lady, I have obtained the treasure map to the City of Gold..."

Before Costa could finish, Thalia fixed him with a chilling glare. He instantly realized his blunder—the lady before him was unmarried—and hastily offered an awkward smile, correcting himself.

"Miss, I have acquired the treasure map to El Dorado, a city built entirely of gold by the Incas. If we can bring back just a few bricks of gold, you will recover your investment a hundredfold—no, a thousandfold! You will become the wealthiest person in this world..."

Legends surrounding the Amazonian City of Gold had persisted for centuries, claiming the lives of countless hopefuls over the ages.

Yet legends were merely legends; Thalia felt not the slightest flicker of interest. She cut short Costa's grandiose boasting.

"I want the seeds of ten thousand rubber trees. In exchange, I will sponsor your expedition to the tune of one hundred thousand florins."

Costa looked somewhat bewildered. "Miss, whatever do you want with rubber tree seeds?"

"To landscape my garden."

Costa was rendered momentarily speechless. "You certainly possess... exquisite tastes."