The ballot boxes that had been used by Casey and his ilk were of a peculiar construction, having false slides on the sides and bottoms that could be slipped out and thereby letting enough spurious votes drop into the box to insure the election of their man or men. It was claimed that nearly the entire set of municipal officers then holding office had secured their election through this man. They were afterwards requested by the Vigilance Committee to resign their offices, but at the first election that was held on November 4th, they were all displaced by men selected by a new party (the People's party) that was the outcome of the efforts of the Vigilance Committee.
William Mulligan was shipped out of the State on the steamer "Golden Age" on June 5th, 1856, with instructions never to return under penalty of death. However, after three or four years of absence he returned to San Francisco. He was often seen on the street, but was not molested until sometime in the summer of 1862 when he got a crowd of boys around him on the crossing of Prospect Place and Clay street, between Powell and Mason streets. It was not long before he had trouble with them and shot into the crowd, injuring a boy, however, not seriously. The police were soon on the ground, but Mulligan had made his way into the old St. Francis Hotel on the corner of Clay and Dupont streets which was vacant at that time. The police came and they were directed to the building where Billy could be found. When the police entered they found they were half a story below the floor of a very large room in the second story. Billy was called upon to surrender. He told them that the first one that put his head above the floor would be a dead man, and knowing the desperate character they were dealing with, they thought best to retire and get instruction from the City Attorney, who told them they had a right to take him dead or alive, whereupon they proceeded to arm themselves with rifles and stationed themselves on the second floor of a building on the opposite side of the street from the St. Francis on Dupont street, and when Mulligan was passing one of the windows the police fired. Mulligan dropped to the floor, dead as a door nail. He was turned over to the Coroner and has not been seen on the streets since. Charles P. Duane is another one of twenty-seven men who were shipped out of the State and returned. He shot a man named Ross on Merchant street, near Kearny. I do not remember whether the man lived or died, or what became of Duane.
From the book entitled "San Francisco Vigilance Committee of '56," by F. W. Smith, I quote the following, with some corrections and alterations:
"I am informed by an ex-Vigilante that the Committee roll call of '56, just before its disbandment, numbered between eight and nine thousand.
In concluding our history of this society, we will give the names and penalties inflicted on those who came under its eye during the latter year; whose conduct was so irreparably bad that it could not be excused.
Those who suffered the death penalty did so in expiation for lives they had taken. The names of these culprits are familiar to the reader. We also give the names of those who were required to leave the State; all of whom, in the archives of the Vigilantes, fall under the head of the black list:"
James P. Casey, executed May 22nd, 1856.Charles Cora, executed May 22nd, 1856.Joseph Hetherington, executed July 29th, 1856.Philander Brace, executed July 29th, 1856.Yankee Sullivan (Francis Murray), suicided May 31st, 1856.Chas. P. Duane, shipped on "Golden Age," June 5th, 1856.William Mulligan, shipped on "Golden Age," June 5th, 1856.Woolley Kearney, shipped on "Golden Age," June 5th, 1856.Bill Carr, sent to Sandwich Islands, June 5th, 1856, bark "Yankee."Martin Gallagher, sent to Sandwich Island, June 5th, 1856, bark"Yankee."Edward Bulger, sent to Sandwich Islands, June 5th, 1856, bark "Yankee."Peter Wightman, ran away about June 1st, 1856.Ned McGowan, ran away about June 1st, 1856.John Crow, left on "Sonora," June 20th, 1856.Bill Lewis, shipped on "Sierra Nevada,"—June 20th, 1856.Terrence Kelley, shipped on "Sierra Nevada," June 20, 1856.John Lowler, shipped on "Sierra Nevada," June 20th, 1856.William Hamilton, shipped on "Sierra Nevada," June 20th, 1856.James Cusick, ordered to leave but refused to go, and fled into theinterior.James Hennessey, ordered to leave, but fled to the interior.T. B. Cunningham, shipped July 5th, 1856, on "John L. Stephens."Alex. H. Purple, shipped July 5th, 1856, on "John L. Stephens."Torn Mulloy, shipped July 5th, 18,56, on "John L. Stephens."Lewis Mahoney, shipped July 5, 1856, on "John L. Stephen,."J. R. Maloney, shipped July 5th, 1856, on "John L. Stephens."Dan'l Aldrich, shipped July 5th, 1856, on "John L. Stephens."James White, Shipped July 21st, 1856, on "Golden Age."James Burke, alias "Activity," shipped July 21st, 1856, on"Golden Age."Wm. F. McLean, shipped July 21st, 1856, on "Golden Age."Abraham Kraft, shipped July 21st, 1856, on "Golden Age."John Stephens, shipped September 5, 1856, on "Golden Age."James Thompson, alias "Liverpool Jack," shipped September 5, 1856, on"Golden Age."
Many others either left of their own volition or under orders to leave the state.
Bulger and Gallagher who had been shipped out of the country on June 5th returned to San Francisco. In their haste the Committee had failed to read their sentences to them and they were not aware of the penalty of returning. They were again shipped out of the country and ordered not to return under penalty of death.
There were 489 persons killed during the first 10 months of 1856. Six of these were hanged by the Sheriff, and forty-six by the mobs, and the balance were killed by various means by the lawless element.
On March 21, 1903, the California Historic Landmarks League placed a bronze tablet on the face of the building at 215 Sacramento street that had formerly been the headquarters of the Vigilance Committee of 1856, inscribed as follows: "Fort Gunnybags was situated on this spot, headquarters of the Vigilance Committee in the year 1856." Many of the old Committee and Pioneers participated in the ceremonies. The old Monumental bell which had been used those stirring days was also in evidence and pealed out its last "call to arms."
As a closing chapter to the history of the Vigilance Committee of 1856, or at least the immediate cause of its coming into existence, there was sold at public auction in San Francisco on the evening of January 14th, 1913, the very papers that James King, of William, had had transcribed from the records in New York and published in his paper the "Evening Bulletin" showing the record of Casey's indictment, imprisonment and pardon, the publication of which he, Casey, resented by shooting King. In addition to these documents were sold many of the books, papers, etc., of as well as other books and papers relating to the Vigilance Committee that had been collected together by Mr. C. J. King, a son of James King of William.
While there has been a great deal said about the Vigilance Committee in California in 1856, there has not been much said about it in '49, '50 and '51. That the reader may know what was going on up to that time, I must now draw largely from previously published accounts for my information, for a condensed statement.
On the 30th day of January, 1847, Mr. Washington A. Bartlet became the first Alcalde of San Francisco, under the American flag. At this time the population numbered 500, including Indians. During '47 and '48 it increased to two thousand, and by the last of July, 1849, it was over five thousand. The condition of the town at this time was terribly demoralized, gambling, drunkenness and fights on every corner. About this this came a class of offscourings of other countries and the curses to California. It was during this dreadful state of uncertainty that the famous Vigilance Committee of 1851 was organized, and it now became known that there was an organized committee for the purpose of dealing with criminals. It was about this time the case of John Jenkins came up and he was arrested and tried by the Committee, and condemned to be hanged. He was then hanged until he was dead. The tragic fate of Jenkins, and the determination manifested to deal severely with the villains had the effect of frightening many away. The steamers to Stockton and Sacramento were crowded with the flying rascals. The Sydney Coves and the more desperate characters remained. At this, time the city served notices on all persons known to be vicious characters to leave the city at once, on fear of being forcibly expelled to the places whence they had come. This was rigidly enforced and had a very wholesome effect.
The next one to come before the Committee was James Stuart, who was transported from England to Australia for forgery. It is not worth while to go into details on account of this man, for he confessed to crimes enough to hang him a dozen times. On the morning of July 11th, 1851, the taps on the bell of the Monumental Engine House summoned the entire Vigilance Committee. The prisoner was then allowed two hours grace, during which time the Rev. Dr. Mills was closeted with him in communion. After the expiration of the two hours, the condemned was led forth under a strong guard. He was taken down Battery street to the end of the Market street wharf, where everything had been previously arranged for the execution. Very soon after the procession reached the spot the fatal rope was adjusted and the condemned hoisted up by a derrick.
The hanging of Stuart seems to have been a very bungling piece of work, but this man's life was given to evil doing, and the great number of crimes confessed and committed by him would seem to say that he was not deserving of any more sympathy than which he got. This was a sorry spectacle, a human being dying like a dog, but necessity, which dared not trust itself to feelings of compassion, commanded the deed, and unprofitable sentiment sunk abashed.
Two more criminals and I am done with rough characters—Samuel Whittaker and Robert McKenzie, who had been arrested and duly and fairly tried by the Committee. They confessed their guilt and were condemned to be hanged. Their names being familiar and repulsive to all decent citizens. They were hanged side by side in public view on August 24th, 1851. The sight striking terror to the hearts of other evildoers, who were impressed by these examples that they could no longer be safe in San Francisco, such as had been suspected and notified by the Committee, quickly left the city; they, however, found no shelter in the interior.
This brings me to where I took up the Vigilance Committee of 1856.
In view of the great and growing importance of the town of San Francisco (Yerba Buena), situated on the great bay of the same name, we will give our readers a few pertinent and fully reliable statements.
"The townsite, as recently surveyed, embraces an extent of one and one-half square miles. It is regularly laid out, being intersected by streets from 60 to 80 feet in width. The squares are divided into lots of from 16 1/2 varas (the Spanish yard of 33 1/3 inches) front and 50 deep, to 100 varas square. The smaller and more valuable of these lots are those situated between high and low water mark. Part of these lots were sold in January last at auction, and brought from $50 to $600. The established prices of 50 and 100 vara lots are $12 and $25.
San Francisco, last August, contained 459 souls, of whom 375 were whites, four-fifths of these being under 40 years of age. Some idea of the composition of the white population may be gathered from the following statement as to the nationality of the larger portion: English, 22; German, 27; Irish, 14; Scotch, 14: born in the United States, 228; Californians, 89.
Previously to the first of April, 1847, there had been erected in the town 79 buildings, nearly all of which had been erected within the two years preceding, whereas in the next four months 78 more had been constructed.
There can be no better evidence of the advantages and capabilities for improvement of the place than this single fact."—St. Louis "Reville," February 12, 1848.
I remember standing on the bank of the Sacramento River, talking with Captain Sutter, in the fall of '49; he remarked, "I have moored my boats in the tops of those cottonwood trees, where the driftwood showed not less than 25 feet from the ground."
Portsmouth Square or the "Plaza," as we then called it, was located in the hub of the old settlement on the cove, and occupied half a block to the west of Kearny street, between Clay and Washington. It was the scene of all public meetings and demonstrations. It was named after the old sloop-of-war "Portsmouth," whose commanding officer, Captain Montgomery, landed with a command of 70 sailors and marines on July 8, 1846, raised the American flag here and proclaimed the occupancy of Northern California by the United States. A salute of twenty-one guns was fired from the "Portsmouth" simultaneously.
On the east side of Kearny street, opposite the Plaza, was the "El Dorado," a famous gambling saloon, adjoining which was the Parker House, afterwards the Jenny Lind Theatre, while on the north side of Washington street stood the Bella Union Theatre, and on the west on Brenham Place was the old Monumental Fire Engine House whose fire bell played so prominent a part in the days of the Vigilantes.
In the spring of 1850 the writer was in San Francisco, and made the acquaintance of Captains Egery and Hinkley, who were the owners of the Pacific Foundry. They being in need of some molding sand for small work, I consented to go to San Jose and get some for them. I engaged Mr. Watts, who had a little schooner that would carry about six tons. He was captain and I was super-cargo, and we made the trip down in about one day. I found what I wanted on the banks of a slough, loaded the schooner and returned to San Francisco. While in San Jose I came across two young ladies. I had a very pleasant chat with them. I learned later on that they were the daughters of Mr. Burnett, who became the first Governor of California. I heard no more of them until 1910, when I was on my way to Monterey to attend the unveiling of the Sloat Monument. I enquired for them of a man in the depot, and he told me that one of them was lying over there, dead (pointing in the direction), I could not help expressing my sorrow.
The captain landed me and my cargo in San Francisco in good shape, without any mishap on the voyage. I delivered the cargo in good order and was well paid.
In 1850 I was in San Francisco and by chance was on Clay street where the city was selling 50-vara water lots in the neighborhood of Sansome, Battery and Front streets, at auction, $25 for inside lot, and $30 for corner lots. I stood there with my hands in my pockets, and gold dust and gold coin on my person that was a burden to me and bought not a single lot. There were many others who were in the same fix that I was. You may say, "What a lot of fools," and I would say, "Yes." Here is another little joke: Sometime before this I made a deposit of a sack of gold dust with Adams & Co.'s Express in San Francisco. When the time came for me to leave the city, I went into the office to draw my sack of dust. The clerk brought it forward at once and I said, "How much for the deposit?" He said, "Five dollars." Then I said, "You will have to take it out of the sack as I have no coin." He said, "Are you going to sell it?" "Yes," I said. "Well," said he, "You can sell it at the counter on the other side, and pay that clerk." "All right," said I, and sold my dust. It amounted to $425. He counted out the $25 in small change, and slipped it out onto the counter. I let it lay there until he had counted out the rest.
At this time the $50 slugs were in circulation. He counted out the $400 in a pile and took hold of the bottom one and set the pile over to my side of the counter, as much as to say, "There is your money." I said to him "There is five dollars coming to you for the deposit of the dust." He picked the five dollars out of the change on the counter. I picked up the balance of the change and put it into my pocket. I also picked up the pile of slugs by the bottom one in the same way that he handed them to me and dropped them into an outside pocket of my coat without counting them, and started for the four o'clock boat for Stockton. On my way to the wharf I thought that pile of slugs looked large and I took them out and counted them. I found that I had twelve instead of eight. I turned around and went back to the office, to the same counter and clerk, and said to him, "Do you rectify mistakes here?" He said, "Not after a man leaves the office." I said, "All right," and left the office and made the Stockton boat all right. But there were no insane asylums there at that time.
In the early fifties Honest Harry Meiggs (as he was called) was one of our most enterprising, generous and far-seeing citizens. His first venture was in the banking business. It was while engaged in this pursuit that he gained the name "Honest Harry Meiggs." His banking business was good for a year or so and then he conceived the idea of building a wharf at North Beach. It commenced at Francisco street between Powell and Mason streets. It extended north several hundred feet and was used for a landing place for lumber in the rough, to be conveyed to his mill on the South side of Francisco street near Powell. In order to accommodate the demands of trade an "L" was extended eastward from the end of his wharf. About this time he got into financial troubles. In October, 1854, he departed with his family for Chili between two days and passed out through the Golden Gate, and no more was heard of him for a long time. It finally became known that he was in Peru, engaged in building bridges for that government. He took contracts and was very successful and became well off in a few years. He sent an agent to San Francisco to hunt up all his creditors and pay them, dollar for dollar with interest. I knew a widow in San Francisco in the late '60s by the name of Rogers who was a creditor, who married a man by the name of Allen; I think that was in 1867. They went to Peru and saw Mr. Meiggs. He paid all she demanded, about $300. Allen returned and reported to the children that their mother died while in Peru of fever, but they never got a cent of the money.
Mr. Meiggs was born in New York in 1811 and died in Peru in 1877.
The first public clock ever erected in San Francisco was placed on the frontage of the upper story of a four-story building at Nos. 425-427 Montgomery street, that was being built by Alexander Austin. This was in 1852. The clock was ordered by him and brought via the "Panama Route" from New York, arriving in San Francisco on the steamer Panama.
Mr. Austin occupied the ground floor as a retail dry goods establishment and it was one of the first, if not the first, of any prominence in the city. He afterwards moved to the southeast corner of Sutter and Montgomery streets and continued there until 1869 when he was elected city and county tax collector.
The clock remained on the building until January 20th, 1886, when the then owner of the building, Mr. D. F. Walker, had it removed so as to arrange for the remodeling of the interior.
Mr. W. H. Wharff, the architect in charge of the remodeling, purchased the clock and retained it in his possession until November 24, 1911, when he presented it to the Memorial Museum of the Golden Gate Park, where the curator, Mr. G. H. Barron, placed it in the "Pioneer Room." It is to be seen there now.
Here is an interesting fact that has never been given publicity before, and I simply relate it as told me by Sarah Connell, the daughter of the man that carried it.
"Mr. D. S. Haskell, manager of the express and banking business of Adams & Co., conceiving the patriotic idea of having an American flag carried in the division of which his firm was to be a part, endeavored to procure an American flag, but found that nothing but flags of the size for ships or poles were to be had. He then started to find material from which to have one made, but in this he was unsuccessful also. So, undaunted, he at last found a dressmaker who lived somewhere in the neighborhood of Washington and Dupont streets, who found in her 'piece-bag' that she had brought from New York, enough pieces of silk and satin (they were not all alike) to make a flag three feet by two feet. He was so delighted with her handiwork that he gave her a $50 slug for her work[6].
"Thus it was that Adams & Co. were able to parade under the stars and stripes in that memorable parade of October 28, 1850, in celebration of the admission of California as a state into the union. After the parade Mr. Haskell presented the flag to their chief messenger, my father, Mr. Thomas Connell, and it has been in our possession since."
Mr. Connell was one of the few of the early comers who never went to the mines, though of course, that was his intention. He started, but somewhere on the Contra Costa side—it was all Contra Costa then—he fell ill of malaria fever. There was no one with time to bother with a sick man and he was unable to proceed or return so he expected to end his life there. When the disease abated he concluded that he had no desire to penetrate further into the wilderness, so he turned his face towards San Francisco again. He was a shipwright by trade and though there was nothing doing in his line, he saw the possibilities of a boating business when there were no wharves, piers or other accommodations for freight or passengers. One of the curious uses to which his boats were put was the carrying of a water supply. They were chartered by a company and fitted with copper tanks which were filled from springs near Sausalito. On this side of the bay the water was transferred to wagons like those now used for street sprinkling and the precious fluid was supplied to householders at a remunerative rate of twenty-five cents a pail, every family having one or two hogsheads fitted with a spigot to hold the supply.
Mr. Connell also carried the first presidential message received in the State, rowing up the Sacramento River day and night in his own boat to deliver the document at the capitol, and for sake of the sentiment he also carried the last one received by steamer as far as Oakland, whence the delivery was completed by train.
Uncle Phil Roach, editor and founder of the "San Francisco Examiner," lived on Clementina street near First. He was one of those good natured, genial old men that everybody liked, was at one time president of the Society of California Pioneers (1860-1), and later elected to the State Legislature. He afterwards acted as administrator of the Blythe estate, but died before its final settlement.
The place where he lived was called Happy Valley and the only entrance to it was at the intersection of Market, Bush and First streets, this crossing being at the east end of a sand dune about 30 feet high, extending westerly about half a mile. At this time the waters of the bay came up to the corner of Market and First streets, but it was not long before this, and many other sand dunes, disappeared, being scraped and carted off to fill the nearby mud flats.
There was at this time a little wharf 50 feet wide extending out into the cove from the foot of Clay street at Davis 1550 feet to a depth of 35 feet. It was called "Long Wharf." To the north of this wharf the water lapped what is now Sansome street for a block (to Washington street) and followed the shore line to the corner of Jackson and Montgomery streets.
My mind drifts back to the days when our water system was dependent in part upon a well near the corner of Market and First streets. This was in 1855 when the population of San Francisco was between 40,000 and 50,000. I was then living on Third street near Mission and got my supply of water from a man named Somers who conveyed water about the city to his various customers in a cart. I took water from him for about three years at the rate of $1.50 per week.
Many's the time I have gone out to the Mission hunting rabbits. All that part of the city was as wild as it ever was, sand dunes and low grounds. About three years later a company built a plank toll road on Mission street from some point near the water front to the Mission, a distance of about three miles. This made an opening through the sand dunes and that section filled up rapidly.
The postoffice was situated on the lot at the northwest corner of Washington and Battery streets. It was built in 1855. Previous to the erection of this building the pioneers obtained their mail from the postoffice on Clay street and Waverly Place, and on Clay street near Kearny opposite the Plaza (Portsmouth Square), and afterwards on Clay and Kearny streets. The great fire of 1852 destroyed these places. To avoid confusion and facilitate the delivery of the mail on the day the steamer arrived, long lines were formed of people who expected letters from home.
It was a frequent occurrence to see the same people standing in place all day waiting their turn, the delivery windows being arranged alphabetically. Oft-times persons would sell their places for as much as ten and even twenty dollars.
John Parrott, the banker, was a good natured man and could take a joke with much grace. Here is one: "A broker came to him one day and said: 'Mr. Parrott, I want to borrow one thousand dollars on a lot of hams in the warehouse.' 'All right,' said Mr. Parrott. It went on for some time and Mr. Parrott looked around for his ham man, but could not find him, but he found the hams and the greater part of the weight of them was maggots. Mr. Parrot was very much disgusted. Time went on for a number of years and another man came to him to borrow money on hams in the warehouse. Mr. Parrott said to him, shaking his finger before the man's face, 'No more hams, no more hams,' and walked off." It was a standing joke on the street for a long time. This was late in the '50's.
In 1858-59 I built two very good houses on the south side of Howard street near Fourth. I lived in one of them about two years and then bought on the north side of Taylor street between Clay and Washington streets and resided there 17 years.
I was present when the first messenger mounted his pony to start on the first trip across the continent. He started from Kearny street between Clay and Washington, opposite the "Plaza"—this was on the 3rd of April, 1860. It was a semi-weekly service, each rider to carry 15 pounds of letters—rate $5 per half ounce. Stations were erected about 25 miles apart and each rider was expected to span three stations, going at the rate of eight miles per hour. The first messenger to reach San Francisco from the East arrived April 14, 1860, and was enthusiastically received. Time for letters from New York was reduced to 13 days, the actual time taking from 10 1/2 to 12 days. The best horses and the bravest of men were necessary to make these relays, over the mountains, through the snow and across the plains through the Indian-infested country. The distance from San Francisco to St. Joseph, Mo., was 1996 miles and the service was established by Majors, Russell & Co., of Leavenworth, Kansas.
Now I will go back a few years and pick up a little experience that was scattered along the road. In 1861 I took my family around the bay for an outing in a private carriage. We went through San Mateo, Redwood City, Santa Clara, San Jose, Hot Springs, Hayward, San Leandro, Oakland and back to San Francisco by boat. We enjoyed the trip very much without any mishap to mar its pleasure.
About this time I bought out Loring & Mason who were in the retail grocery business on the corner of Taylor and Clay streets. This was another venture in which I had never had any experience, "But," said I, "Here goes for what there's in it." A few days later there came a man in his buggy from over the hill with whom I was very little acquainted. He had charge of the Empire warehouse in the lower part of the city. His name was Mr. Garthwait. He called at my store and said, "Woolley, I have a lot of Oregon Standard flour in the warehouse. The storage is paid for one month, and I will sell you what you want for $6 and three bits a barrel, and you can take it out from time to time as you like." After looking the situation over for a few minutes I came to the conclusion that I could not buy any lower. I said, "Well, I will take one hundred barrels." "All right," said he, and drove off. In a few days I went down and paid for it. About the middle of December 1861 it commenced to rain in the valleys and a few days later it rained in the mountains throughout the State, and the snow commenced to melt and that, together with the rain in the valleys, started the rivers to rising, and as the rivers went up so did the flour. The water gauge at Sacramento indicated feet and inches in going up while flour indicated dollars and cents in going up. On the first of January, 1862, it was still raining and the water coming down in a greater volume. Communication was cut off from all parts of the country except by water. The Legislature was in session that winter and was obliged to adjourn and go to San Francisco to finish its labors. In order that my readers may adequately realize the greatness of this flood it is no more than fair to say that the river boats from San Francisco went up J and K streets in Sacramento City and took people out of the second-story windows. Now, then we will call this high-water mark and flour $10 a barrel and going up. During this time I was letting my customers have what they wanted at the quotation price. It continued to advance about one dollar per day until it reached sixteen dollars per barrel. At this time I had very little left and it all went at that price. Very soon after this flour came in from Oregon and the price went down, as well as the water, and the market assumed a lower level and business went on as usual. It must be remembered that all transportation at this time was either by water or highway.
In this year was the beginning of the Civil War and for the benefit of those who came into active life later on I will give them a little of my experience in a small way. At the time I purchased the store of which I have spoken I took over a standing contract they had with a firm in Boston to send them a specified amount of coal oil around Cape Horn, as near six weeks as any vessel would be leaving for San Francisco. I took what was on the way at that time and the shipments were continued to me. At this time it took from sixty to seventy days to get answers to letters from the East. Time and business go on. We had on an average of about two steamers a month from New York with the mails. In 1862 the war tax and stamp act came in force. It was high and quite a hardship for some but everybody paid it cheerfully and with a good grace, and felt that they were getting off easy. About this time greenbacks came into circulation as money. It was legal tender and you could not refuse it. It made a great deal of hard feeling on many occasions but after a long time it set settled down to a premium on gold, which fluctuated from day to day. Finally the premium on gold was so high that currency was only fifty cents on a dollar, that is, one dollar in gold would buy two dollars in currency. On account of this many debtors would buy currency and pay their creditors with it. This was considered very crooked on the part of the debtor. I myself was a victim to some extent. The "Evening Bulletin" exposed a great many men by publishing their names but by so doing it made enemies and it did not last long. All bills rendered from this time on were made payable in United States gold coin. My coal oil cost me fifty cents per gallon in Boston, payable in currency. The freight was also payable in currency. Now my readers will readily see that my coal oil cost me a little over twenty-five cents per gallon laid down in San Francisco. About 1863 there was an unusual demand for coal oil and it was scarce and there was very little on the way around Cape Horn, consequently the market price went up very rapidly until it reached $1.50 and $1.75 per gallon. The result was that I sold all I had in the warehouse and on the way around the Horn. I kept what I had in the store for my retail trade. I do not look upon these speculations as any foresight of mine, but the change of circumstances and conditions of the market.
The great flood of '61 and '62 was an occasion seldom known in the State. Early in December '61 it commenced to rain in the valleys and snow in the mountains. In about two weeks it turned to rain in the mountains and valleys. The melting of the snow caused the rivers to rise very rapidly, the levees gave way and the waters flooded the city. The merchants commenced to put their goods on benches and counters, anywhere to keep them above water. Families who had an upper story to their house moved into it. The water continued to rise until it reached a point so that the boats running between Sacramento and San Francisco went up J and K streets and took people out of the second story of their houses. The islands were all flooded and there was great suffering along the river besides the great loss of property. This flood did more damage than any high water since '49, but it was as an ill wind as far as it concerned my business, as I related previously.
In 1861 Dr. Wm. A. Scott, pastor of the Calvary Presbyterian church, on the north side of Bush street between Montgomery and Sansome streets, closed his services praying for the presidents of the Union and of the Confederate States. As soon as the benediction was pronounced Mrs. Thomas H. Selby smuggled him out of the side door into her carriage and off to her home, fearing the congregation, which had became a seething mob, might capture and do him bodily harm. There was no demonstration at this time but the next morning there was to be seen in effigy Dr. Scott's form hanging from the top of the second story of a building in course of construction on the same block. It created some excitement for the time being, but it soon simmered out.
Lloyd Tevis was getting badly frightened about this time for fear his home on the corner of Taylor and Jackson streets would be destroyed and appealed to the police for protection. He was told to go home and drape his home in black. This he did most effectually, the occasion being the assassination of President Abraham Lincoln.
One of the exciting times in San Francisco in 1865 was when a mob went to the office of "The Examiner" on Washington street near Sansome and carried everything that was movable into the street and piled it up with the intention of burning. It seems that this paper was so pronounced in its sympathy with the cause of the Confederacy that it aroused such a feeling as to cause drastic measures. The police authorities were informed of what was going on and Colonel Wood, captain of police, got a squad of policemen together and proceeded to the scene, but their movements were so slow that it was hard to tell whether they were moving or not and by the time they had reached the place the boys had carried off nearly everything that had been thrown out. I have two pieces of type now that I picked up in the street about that time.
Uncle Phil Roach, the editor, was in later years a member of the State Legislature and tried to get an appropriation to cover his loss but his efforts were of no avail.
President Lincoln in the early part of the Civil War called General Vallejo to Washington on business. While there General Vallejo suggested to Mr. Lincoln that the United States build a railroad into Mexico, believing as he said, it would be a benefit to both nations. Mr. Lincoln smilingly asked, "What good would it do for our people to go down to Mexico even if the railroads were built? They would all die of fever and according to your belief go down yonder," with a motion of his hand towards the supposed location of the infernal regions. "I wouldn't be very sorry about that," remarked General Vallejo coolly. "How so?" said Mr. Lincoln. "I thought you liked the Yankees." "So I do," was the answer. "The Yankees are a wonderful people, wonderful. Wherever they go they make improvements. If they were to emigrate in large numbers to hell itself, they would somehow manage to change the climate."
Uncle Billy Rodgers, from Peoria, Ill., was a fellow passenger of mine when crossing the plains in 1849 in the first division of the "Turner, Allen & Co. Pioneer Mule Train," consisting of 40 wagons, 150 mules and 150 passengers. He was a gambler before he left home and he gambled all the way across the plains. Many people think that a gambler has no heart but this man was all heart. I knew him on one occasion, after visiting a sick man in camp, to take off his shirt and give it to the sick man and go about camp for an hour to find one for himself.
We arrived in California on September 10, 1849. We parted about that time and I saw no more of him until the winter of '68 and '69 when I was on my way to White Pine in Nevada. We had to lay over a few days at Elko, Nevada, in order to get passage in the stage. As we had saddles and bridles we made an effort to get some horses and furnish our own transportation, and we had partly made arrangements with a man by the name of Murphy. The day previous to this I overheard a conversation between two gentlemen sitting at the opposite end of a red hot stove. After they parted I approached the one left and said, "Is this Uncle Billy?" He said, "Yes, everybody calls me 'Uncle Billy' but I do not know you." I gave him my name and he was as glad to see me as I was to see him. We had a long and very pleasant chat.
Now to take up the line of march where I left off, I said, "Hold on boys a little while I go and see a friend of mine." "All right," said they. I called on Uncle Billy and told him what we were doing and asked him what kind of a man Murphy was, and his answer was, "He's a very good blacksmith," and repeated it two or three times, then said, "I am in a wild country and never say anything against anybody." I said, "That's enough Uncle Billy, I understand you thoroughly." I parted with him and we took the stage for Hamilton and Treasure Hill. The last I heard of Uncle Billy was that he went north as an escort to some party and died there. Uncle Billy was a gambler all his life but not a drinker. His heart, his hand and his pocket were ever open and ready to respond to the relief of the distress of others. The writing of the above calls to mind another meeting with Uncle Billy of which I had lost sight, the date of which I cannot fix. I think it was in the first half of '60 I met him on the street in San Francisco and our meeting was most cordial. We had a very pleasant street visit and he said to me, "Woolley, I am going home, I shall take the next steamer for New York." I said to him, "How are you fixed, Uncle Billy?" He said, "I have eleven thousand dollars and I am going home." I congratulated him for his courage and good luck and wished him a pleasant voyage and a happy reunion with his old friends. About a week later I met Uncle Billy on the street again and said to him, "How is this Uncle Billy, I thought you were going home on the last steamer?"
"Yes," said he, "I thought so too; at the same time, I thought I would just step into a faro bank and win just enough to pay my passage home so that I would have even money when I got home. But instead of that I lost every dollar I had and I am going back into the mountains again. My readers know the rest."
My friends this is only one of thousands who had the same experience.
In 1868 "the girl I left behind me" went East on a visit of six months, taking with her our two children.
In the fall of that year (1868) I went to White Pine in Nevada. It was a very cold trip for me and I came home in June "thawed out," sold out my grocery business and went into the produce commission business and followed it for ten years.