VOLUME I.

VOLUME I.

GENERAL W. T. SHERMAN

HIS COMRADES IN ARMS,

VOLUNTEERS AND REGULARS.

Nearly ten years have passed since the close of the civil war in
America, and yet no satisfactory history thereof is accessible to
the public; nor should any be attempted until the Government has
published, and placed within the reach of students, the abundant
materials that are buried in the War Department at Washington.
These are in process of compilation; but, at the rate of progress
for the past ten years, it is probable that a new century will come
before they are published and circulated, with full indexes to
enable the historian to make a judicious selection of
materials.

What is now offered is not designed as a history of the war, or
even as a complete account of all the incidents in which the writer
bore a part, but merely his recollection of events, corrected by a
reference to his own memoranda, which may assist the future
historian when he comes to describe the whole, and account for the
motives and reasons which influenced some of the actors in the
grand drama of war.

I trust a perusal of these pages will prove interesting to the
survivors, who have manifested so often their intense love of the
“cause” which moved a nation to vindicate its own authority; and,
equally so, to the rising generation, who therefrom may learn that
a country and government such as ours are worth fighting for, and
dying for, if need be.

If successful in this, I shall feel amply repaid for departing
from the usage of military men, who seldom attempt to publish their
own deeds, but rest content with simply contributing by their acts
to the honor and glory of their country.

WILLIAM T. SHERMAN,
General

St. Louis, Missouri, January 21, 1875.

PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION.

Another ten years have passed since I ventured to publish my
Memoirs, and, being once more at leisure, I have revised them in
the light of the many criticisms public and private.

My habit has been to note in pencil the suggestions of critics,
and to examine the substance of their differences; for critics must
differ from the author, to manifest their superiority.

Where I have found material error I have corrected; and I have
added two chapters, one at the beginning, another at the end, both
of the most general character, and an appendix.

I wish my friends and enemies to understand that I disclaim the
character of historian, but assume to be a witness on the stand
before the great tribunal of history, to assist some future Napier,
Alison, or Hume to comprehend the feelings and thoughts of the
actors in the grand conflicts of the recent past, and thereby to
lessen his labors in the compilation necessary for the future
benefit of mankind.

In this free country every man is at perfect liberty to publish
his own thoughts and impressions, and any witness who may differ
from me should publish his own version of facts in the truthful
narration of which he is interested. I am publishing my own
memoirs, not theirs, and we all know that no three honest witnesses
of a simple brawl can agree on all the details. How much more
likely will be the difference in a great battle covering a vast
space of broken ground, when each division, brigade, regiment, and
even company, naturally and honestly believes that it was the focus
of the whole affair! Each of them won the battle. None ever lost.
That was the fate of the old man who unhappily commanded.

In this edition I give the best maps which I believe have ever
been prepared, compiled by General O. M. Poe, from personal
knowledge and official surveys, and what I chiefly aim to establish
is the true cause of the results which are already known to the
whole world; and it may be a relief to many to know that I shall
publish no other, but, like the player at cards, will “stand;” not
that I have accomplished perfection, but because I can do no better
with the cards in hand. Of omissions there are plenty, but of
wilful perversion of facts, none.

In the preface to the first edition, in 1875, I used these
words: “Nearly ten years have passed since the close of the civil
war in America, and yet no satisfactory history thereof is
accessible to the public; nor should any be attempted until the
Government has published, and placed within the reach of students,
the abundant materials that are buried in the War Department at
Washington. These are in process of compilation; but, at the rate
of progress for the past ten years, it is probable that a new
century will come before they are published and circulated, with
full indexes to enable the historian to make a judicious selection
of materials”

Another decade is past, and I am in possession of all these
publications, my last being Volume XI, Part 3, Series 1, the last
date in which is August 30, 1862. I am afraid that if I assume
again the character of prophet, I must extend the time deep into
the next century, and pray meanwhile that the official records of
the war, Union and Confederate, may approach completion before the
“next war,” or rather that we, as a people, may be spared another
war until the last one is officially recorded. Meantime the rising
generation must be content with memoirs and histories compiled from
the best sources available.

In this sense I offer mine as to the events of which I was an
eye-witness and participant, or for which I was responsible.

WILLIAM T. SHERMAN,
General (retired).

St. Louis, Missouri, March 30, 1885.

CONTENTS

VOLUME I.

I.

II.

III.

IV.

V.

VI.

VII.

VIII.  

IX.

X.

XI.

XII.

XIII.  

XIV.

XV.

VOLUME II.

XVI.

XVII.

XVIII.  

XIX.

XX.

XXI.

XXII.

XXIII.  

XXIV.

XXV.

XXVI.

ILLUSTRATIONS

According to Cothren, in his “History of Ancient Woodbury,
Connecticut,” the Sherman family came from Dedham, Essex County,
England. The first recorded name is of Edmond Sherman, with his
three sons, Edmond, Samuel, and John, who were at Boston before
1636; and farther it is distinctly recorded that Hon. Samuel
Sherman, Rev. John, his brother, and Captain John, his first
cousin, arrived from Dedham, Essex County, England, in 1634. Samuel
afterward married Sarah Mitchell, who had come (in the same ship)
from England, and finally settled at Stratford, Connecticut. The
other two (Johns) located at Watertown, Massachusetts.

From Captain John Sherman are descended Roger Sherman, the
signer of the Declaration of Independence, Hon. William M. Evarts,
the Messrs. Hoar, of Massachusetts, and many others of national
fame. Our own family are descended from the Hon. Samuel Sherman and
his son; the Rev. John, who was born in 1650-’51; then another
John, born in 1687; then Judge Daniel, born in 1721; then Taylor
Sherman, our grandfather, who was born in 1758. Taylor Sherman was
a lawyer and judge in Norwalk, Connecticut, where he resided until
his death, May 4, 1815; leaving a widow, Betsey Stoddard Sherman,
and three children, Charles R. (our father), Daniel, and
Betsey.

When the State of Connecticut, in 1786, ceded to the United
States her claim to the western part of her public domain, as
defined by her Royal Charter, she reserved a large district in what
is now northern Ohio, a portion of which (five hundred thousand
acres) composed the “Fire-Land District,” which was set apart to
indemnify the parties who had lost property in Connecticut by the
raids of Generals Arnold, Tryon, and others during the latter part
of the Revolutionary War.

Our grandfather, Judge Taylor Sherman, was one of the
commissioners appointed by the State of Connecticut to quiet the
Indian title, and to survey and subdivide this Fire-Land District,
which includes the present counties of Huron and Erie. In his
capacity as commissioner he made several trips to Ohio in the early
part of this century, and it is supposed that he then contracted
the disease which proved fatal. For his labor and losses he
received a title to two sections of land, which fact was probably
the prime cause of the migration of our family to the West. My
father received a good education, and was admitted to the bar at
Norwalk, Connecticut, where, in 1810, he, at twenty years of age,
married Mary Hoyt, also of Norwalk, and at once migrated to Ohio,
leaving his wife (my mother) for a time. His first purpose was to
settle at Zanesville, Ohio, but he finally chose Lancaster,
Fairfield County, where he at once engaged in the practice of his
profession. In 1811 he returned to Norwalk, where, meantime, was
born Charles Taylor Sherman, the eldest of the family, who with his
mother was carried to Ohio on horseback.

Judge Taylor Sherman’s family remained in Norwalk till 1815,
when his death led to the emigration of the remainder of the
family, viz., of Uncle Daniel Sherman, who settled at Monroeville,
Ohio, as a farmer, where he lived and died quite recently, leaving
children and grandchildren; and an aunt, Betsey, who married Judge
Parker, of Mansfield, and died in 1851, leaving children and
grandchildren; also Grandmother Elizabeth Stoddard Sherman, who
resided with her daughter, Mrs. Betsey Parker, in Mansfield until
her death, August 1,1848.

Thus my father, Charles R. Sherman, became finally established
at Lancaster, Ohio, as a lawyer, with his own family in the year
1811, and continued there till the time of his death, in 1829. I
have no doubt that he was in the first instance attracted to
Lancaster by the natural beauty of its scenery, and the charms of
its already established society. He continued in the practice of
his profession, which in those days was no sinecure, for the
ordinary circuit was made on horseback, and embraced Marietta,
Cincinnati, and Detroit. Hardly was the family established there
when the War of 1812 caused great alarm and distress in all Ohio.
The English captured Detroit and the shores of Lake Erie down to
the Maumee River; while the Indians still occupied the greater part
of the State. Nearly every man had to be somewhat of a soldier, but
I think my father was only a commissary; still, he seems to have
caught a fancy for the great chief of the Shawnees, “Tecumseh.”

Perry’s victory on Lake Erie was the turning-point of the
Western campaign, and General Harrison’s victory over the British
and Indians at the river Thames in Canada ended the war in the
West, and restored peace and tranquillity to the exposed settlers
of Ohio. My father at once resumed his practice at the bar, and was
soon recognized as an able and successful lawyer. When, in 1816, my
brother James was born, he insisted on engrafting the Indian name
“Tecumseh” on the usual family list. My mother had already named
her first son after her own brother Charles; and insisted on the
second son taking the name of her other brother James, and when I
came along, on the 8th of February, 1820, mother having no more
brothers, my father succeeded in his original purpose, and named me
William Tecumseh.

The family rapidly increased till it embraced six boys and five
girls, all of whom attained maturity and married; of these six are
still living.

In the year 1821 a vacancy occurred in the Supreme Court of
Ohio, and I find this petition:

Somerset, Ohio, July 6, 1821.

May it please your Excellency:

We ask leave to recommend to your Excellency’s favorable notice
Charles R. Sherman, Esq., of Lancaster, as a man possessing in an
eminent degree those qualifications so much to be desired in a
Judge of the Supreme Court.

From a long acquaintance with Mr. Sherman, we are happy to be able
to state to your Excellency that our minds are led to the
conclusion that that gentleman possesses a disposition noble and
generous, a mind discriminating, comprehensive, and combining a
heart pure, benevolent and humane. Manners dignified, mild, and
complaisant, and a firmness not to be shaken and of unquestioned
integrity.

But Mr. Sherman’s character cannot be unknown to your Excellency,
and on that acquaintance without further comment we might safely
rest his pretensions.

We think we hazard little in assuring your Excellency that his
appointment would give almost universal satisfaction to the
citizens of Perry County.

With great consideration, we have the honor to be

Your Excellency’s most obedient humble servants,

CHARLES A. HOOD,
GEORGE TREAT,
PETER DITTOR,
P. ODLIN,
J. B. ORTEN,
T. BECKWITH,
WILLIAM P. DORST,
JOHN MURRAY,
JACOB MOINS,
B. EATON,
DANIEL GRIGGS,
HENRY DITTOE,
NICHOLAS McCARTY.

His Excellency ETHAN A. BROWN,
Governor of Ohio, Columbus.

He was soon after appointed a Judge of the Supreme Court, and
served in that capacity to the day of his death.

My memory extends back to about 1827, and I recall him,
returning home on horseback, when all the boys used to run and
contend for the privilege of riding his horse from the front door
back to the stable. On one occasion, I was the first, and being
mounted rode to the stable; but “Old Dick” was impatient because
the stable-door was not opened promptly, so he started for the barn
of our neighbor Mr. King; there, also, no one was in waiting to
open the gate, and, after a reasonable time, “Dick” started back
for home somewhat in a hurry, and threw me among a pile of stones,
in front of preacher Wright’s house, where I was picked up
apparently a dead boy; but my time was not yet, and I recovered,
though the scars remain to this day.

The year 1829 was a sad one to our family. We were then ten
children, my eldest brother Charles absent at the State University,
Athens, Ohio; my next brother, James, in a store at Cincinnati; and
the rest were at home, at school. Father was away on the circuit.
One day Jane Sturgeon came to the school, called us out, and when
we reached home all was lamentation: news had come that father was
ill unto death, at Lebanon, a hundred miles away. Mother started at
once, by coach, but met the news of his death about Washington, and
returned home. He had ridden on horseback from Cincinnati to
Lebanon to hold court, during a hot day in June. On the next day he
took his seat on the bench, opened court in the forenoon, but in
the afternoon, after recess, was seized with a severe chill and had
to adjourn the court. The best medical aid was called in, and for
three days with apparent success, but the fever then assumed a more
dangerous type, and he gradually yielded to it, dying on the sixth
day, viz., June 24, 1829.

My brother James had been summoned from Cincinnati, and was
present at his bedside, as was also Henry Stoddard, Esq., of
Dayton, Ohio, our cousin. Mr. Stoddard once told me that the cause
of my father’s death was cholera; but at that time, 1829, there was
no Asiatic cholera in the United States, and the family, attributed
his death to exposure to the hot sun of June, and a consequent
fever, “typhoid.”

From the resolutions of the bench, bar, and public generally,
now in my possession, his death was universally deplored; more
especially by his neighbors in Lancaster, and by the Society of
Freemasons, of which he was the High-Priest of Arch Chapter No.
11.

His death left the family very poor, but friends rose up with
proffers of generous care and assistance; for all the neighbors
knew that mother could not maintain so large a family without help.
My eldest brother, Charles, had nearly completed his education at
the university at Athens, and concluded to go to his uncle, Judge
Parker, at Mansfield, Ohio, to study law. My eldest sister,
Elizabeth, soon after married William J. Reese, Esq.; James was
already in a store at Cincinnati; and, with the exception of the
three youngest children, the rest of us were scattered. I fell to
the charge of the Hon. Thomas Ewing, who took me to his family, and
ever after treated me as his own son.

I continued at the Academy in Lancaster, which was the best in
the place; indeed, as good a school as any in Ohio. We studied all
the common branches of knowledge, including Latin, Greek, and
French. At first the school was kept by Mr. Parsons; he was
succeeded by Mr. Brown, and he by two brothers, Samuel and Mark
How. These were all excellent teachers, and we made good progress,
first at the old academy and afterward at a new school-house, built
by Samuel How, in the orchard of Hugh Boyle, Esq.

Time passed with us as with boys generally. Mr. Ewing was in the
United States Senate, and I was notified to prepare for West Point,
of which institution we had little knowledge, except that it was
very strict, and that the army was its natural consequence. In 1834
I was large for my age, and the construction of canals was the rage
in Ohio. A canal was projected to connect with the great Ohio Canal
at Carroll (eight miles above Lancaster), down the valley of the
Hock Hocking to Athens (forty-four miles), and thence to the Ohio
River by slack water.

Preacher Carpenter, of Lancaster, was appointed to make the
preliminary surveys, and selected the necessary working party out
of the boys of the town. From our school were chosen ____Wilson,
Emanuel Geisy, William King, and myself. Geisy and I were the
rod-men. We worked during that fall and next spring, marking two
experimental lines, and for our work we each received a silver
half-dollar for each day’s actual work, the first money any of us
had ever earned.

In June, 1835, one of our school-fellows, William Irvin, was
appointed a cadet to West Point, and, as it required sixteen years
of age for admission, I had to wait another year. During the autumn
of 1835 and spring of 1836 I devoted myself chiefly to mathematics
and French, which were known to be the chief requisites for
admission to West Point.

Some time in the spring of 1836 I received through Mr. Ewing,
then at Washington, from the Secretary of War, Mr. Poinsett, the
letter of appointment as a cadet, with a list of the articles of
clothing necessary to be taken along, all of which were liberally
provided by Mrs. Ewing; and with orders to report to Mr. Ewing, at
Washington, by a certain date, I left Lancaster about the 20th of
May in the stage-coach for Zanesville. There we transferred to the
coaches of the Great National Road, the highway of travel from the
West to the East. The stages generally travelled in gangs of from
one to six coaches, each drawn by four good horses, carrying nine
passengers inside and three or four outside.

In about three days, travelling day and night, we reached
Frederick, Maryland. There we were told that we could take
rail-cars to Baltimore, and thence to Washington; but there was
also a two-horse hack ready to start for Washington direct. Not
having full faith in the novel and dangerous railroad, I stuck to
the coach, and in the night reached Gadsby’s Hotel in Washington
City.

The next morning I hunted up Mr. Ewing, and found him boarding
with a mess of Senators at Mrs. Hill’s, corner of Third and C
Streets, and transferred my trunk to the same place. I spent a week
in Washington, and think I saw more of the place in that time than
I ever have since in the many years of residence there. General
Jackson was President, and was at the zenith of his fame. I recall
looking at him a full hour, one morning, through the wood railing
on Pennsylvania Avenue, as he paced up and down the gravel walk on
the north front of the White House. He wore a cap and an overcoat
so full that his form seemed smaller than I had expected. I also
recall the appearance of Postmaster-General Amos Kendall, of
Vice-President Van Buren, Messrs. Calhoun, Webster, Clay, Cass,
Silas Wright, etc.

In due time I took my departure for West Point with Cadets Belt
and Bronaugh. These were appointed cadets as from Ohio, although
neither had ever seen that State. But in those days there were
fewer applicants from Ohio than now, and near the close of the term
the vacancies unasked for were usually filled from applicants on
the spot. Neither of these parties, however, graduated, so the
State of Ohio lost nothing. We went to Baltimore by rail, there
took a boat up to Havre de Grace, then the rail to Wilmington,
Delaware, and up the Delaware in a boat to Philadelphia. I staid
over in Philadelphia one day at the old Mansion House, to visit the
family of my brother-in-law, Mr. Reese. I found his father a fine
sample of the old merchant gentleman, in a good house in Arch
Street, with his accomplished daughters, who had been to Ohio, and
whom I had seen there. From Philadelphia we took boat to
Bordentown, rail to Amboy, and boat again to New York City,
stopping at the American Hotel. I staid a week in New York City,
visiting my uncle, Charles Hoyt, at his beautiful place on Brooklyn
Heights, and my uncle James, then living in White Street. My friend
William Scott was there, the young husband of my cousin, Louise
Hoyt; a neatly-dressed young fellow, who looked on me as an untamed
animal just caught in the far West—”fit food for gunpowder,”
and good for nothing else.

About June 12th I embarked in the steamer Cornelius Vanderbilt
for West Point; registered in the office of Lieutenant C. F. Smith,
Adjutant of the Military Academy, as a new cadet of the class of
1836, and at once became installed as the “plebe” of my
fellow-townsman, William Irvin, then entering his Third Class.

Colonel R. E. De Russy was Superintendent; Major John Fowle,
Sixth United States Infantry, Commandant. The principal Professors
were: Mahan, Engineering; Bartlett, Natural Philosophy; Bailey,
Chemistry; Church, Mathematics; Weir, Drawing; and Berard,
French.

The routine of military training and of instruction was then
fully established, and has remained almost the same ever since. To
give a mere outline would swell this to an inconvenient size, and I
therefore merely state that I went through the regular course of
four years, graduating in June, 1840, number six in a class of
forty-three. These forty-three were all that remained of more than
one hundred which originally constituted the class. At the Academy
I was not considered a good soldier, for at no time was I selected
for any office, but remained a private throughout the whole four
years. Then, as now, neatness in dress and form, with a strict
conformity to the rules, were the qualifications required for
office, and I suppose I was found not to excel in any of these. In
studies I always held a respectable reputation with the professors,
and generally ranked among the best, especially in drawing,
chemistry, mathematics, and natural philosophy. My average
demerits, per annum, were about one hundred and fifty, which.
reduced my final class standing from number four to six.

In June, 1840, after the final examination, the class graduated
and we received our diplomas. Meantime, Major Delafield, United
States Engineers, had become Superintendent; Major C. F. Smith,
Commandant of Cadets; but the corps of professors and assistants
remained almost unchanged during our whole term. We were all
granted the usual furlough of three months, and parted for our
homes, there to await assignment to our respective corps and
regiments. In due season I was appointed and commissioned
second-lieutenant, Third Artillery, and ordered to report at
Governor’s Island, New York Harbor, at the end of September. I
spent my furlough mostly at Lancaster and Mansfield, Ohio; toward
the close of September returned to New York, reported to Major
Justin Dimock, commanding the recruiting rendezvous at Governor’s
Island, and was assigned to command a company of recruits preparing
for service in Florida. Early in October this company was detailed,
as one of four, to embark in a sailing-vessel for Savannah,
Georgia, under command of Captain and Brevet Major Penrose. We
embarked and sailed, reaching Savannah about the middle of October,
where we transferred to a small steamer and proceeded by the inland
route to St. Augustine, Florida. We reached St. Augustine at the
same time with the Eighth Infantry, commanded by Colonel and Brevet
Brigadier-General William J. Worth. At that time General Zachary
Taylor was in chief command in Florida, and had his headquarters at
Tampa Bay. My regiment, the Third Artillery, occupied the posts
along the Atlantic coast of Florida, from St. Augustine south to
Key Biscayne, and my own company, A, was at Fort Pierce, Indian
River. At St. Augustine I was detached from the company of
recruits, which was designed for the Second Infantry, and was
ordered to join my proper company at Fort Pierce. Colonel William
Gates commanded the regiment, with Lieutenant William Austine Brown
as adjutant of the regiment. Lieutenant Bragg commanded the post of
St. Augustine with his own company, E, and G (Garner’s), then
commanded by Lieutenant Judd. In, a few days I embarked in the
little steamer William Gaston down the coast, stopping one day at
New Smyrna, held by John R. Vinton’s company (B), with which was
serving Lieutenant William H. Shover.

In due season we arrived off the bar of Indian River and
anchored. A whale-boat came off with a crew of four men, steered by
a character of some note, known as the Pilot Ashlock. I transferred
self and baggage to this boat, and, with the mails, was carried
through the surf over the bar, into the mouth of Indian River
Inlet. It was then dark; we transferred to a smaller boat, and the
same crew pulled us up through a channel in the middle of Mangrove
Islands, the roosting-place of thousands of pelicans and birds that
rose in clouds and circled above our heads. The water below was
alive with fish, whose course through it could be seen by the
phosphoric wake; and Ashlock told me many a tale of the Indian war
then in progress, and of his adventures in hunting and fishing,
which he described as the best in the world. About two miles from
the bar, we emerged into the lagoon, a broad expanse of shallow
water that lies parallel with the coast, separated from it by a
narrow strip of sand, backed by a continuous series of islands and
promontories, covered with a dense growth of mangrove and
saw-palmetto. Pulling across this lagoon, in about three more miles
we approached the lights of Fort Pierce. Reaching a small wharf, we
landed, and were met by the officers of the post, Lieutenants
George Taylor and Edward J. Steptoe, and Assistant-Surgeon James
Simons. Taking the mail-bag, we walked up a steep sand-bluff on
which the fort was situated, and across the parade-ground to the
officers’ quarters. These were six or seven log-houses, thatched
with palmetto-leaves, built on high posts, with a porch in front,
facing the water. The men’s quarters were also of logs forming the
two sides of a rectangle, open toward the water; the intervals and
flanks were closed with log stockades. I was assigned to one of
these rooms, and at once began service with my company, A, then
commanded by Lieutenant Taylor.

The season was hardly yet come for active operations against the
Indians, so that the officers were naturally attracted to Ashlock,
who was the best fisherman I ever saw. He soon initiated us into
the mysteries of shark-spearing, trolling for red-fish, and taking
the sheep’s-head and mullet. These abounded so that we could at any
time catch an unlimited quantity at pleasure. The companies also
owned nets for catching green turtles. These nets had meshes about
a foot square, were set across channels in the lagoon, the ends
secured to stakes driven into the mad, the lower line sunk with
lead or stone weights and the upper line floated with cork. We
usually visited these nets twice a day, and found from one to six
green turtles entangled in the meshes. Disengaging them, they were
carried to pens, made with stakes stuck in the mud, where they were
fed with mangrove-leaves, and our cooks had at all times an ample
supply of the best of green turtles. They were so cheap and common
that the soldiers regarded it as an imposition when compelled to
eat green turtle steaks, instead of poor Florida beef, or the usual
barrelled mess-pork. I do not recall in my whole experience a spot
on earth where fish, oysters, and green turtles so abound as at
Fort Pierce, Florida.

In November, Major Childs arrived with Lieutenant Van Vliet and
a detachment of recruits to fill our two companies, and
preparations were at once begun for active operations in the field.
At that time the Indians in the Peninsula of Florida were
scattered, and the war consisted in hunting up and securing the
small fragments, to be sent to join the others of their tribe of
Seminoles already established in the Indian Territory west of
Arkansas. Our expeditions were mostly made in boats in the lagoons
extending from the “Haul-over,” near two hundred miles above the
fort, down to Jupiter Inlet, about fifty miles below, and in the
many streams which emptied therein. Many such expeditions were made
during that winter, with more or less success, in which we
succeeded in picking up small parties of men, women, and children.
On one occasion, near the “Haul-over,” when I was not present, the
expedition was more successful. It struck a party of nearly fifty
Indians, killed several warriors, and captured others. In this
expedition my classmate, lieutenant Van Vliet, who was an excellent
shot, killed a warrior who was running at full speed among trees,
and one of the sergeants of our company (Broderick) was said to
have dispatched three warriors, and it was reported that he took
the scalp of one and brought it in to the fort as a trophy.
Broderick was so elated that, on reaching the post, he had to
celebrate his victory by a big drunk.

There was at the time a poor, weakly soldier of our company
whose wife cooked for our mess. She was somewhat of a flirt, and
rather fond of admiration. Sergeant Broderick was attracted to her,
and hung around the mess-house more than the husband fancied; so he
reported the matter to Lieutenant Taylor, who reproved Broderick
for his behavior. A few days afterward the husband again appealed
to his commanding officer (Taylor), who exclaimed: “Haven’t you got
a musket? Can’t you defend your own family?” Very soon after a shot
was heard down by the mess-house, and it transpired that the
husband had actually shot Broderick, inflicting a wound which
proved mortal. The law and army regulations required that the man
should be sent to the nearest civil court, which was at St.
Augustine; accordingly, the prisoner and necessary witnesses were
sent up by the next monthly steamer. Among the latter were
lieutenant Taylor and the pilot Ashlock.

After they had been gone about a month, the sentinel on the
roof-top of our quarters reported the smoke of a steamer
approaching the bar, and, as I was acting quartermaster, I took a
boat and pulled down to get the mail. I reached the log-but in
which the pilots lived, and saw them start with their boat across
the bar, board the steamer, and then return. Ashlock was at his old
post at the steering-oar, with two ladies, who soon came to the
landing, having passed through a very heavy surf, and I was
presented to one as Mrs. Ashlock, and the other as her sister, a
very pretty little Minorcan girl of about fourteen years of age.
Mrs. Ashlock herself was probably eighteen or twenty years old, and
a very handsome woman. I was hurriedly informed that the murder
trial was in progress at St. Augustine; that Ashlock had given his
testimony, and had availed himself of the chance to take a wife to
share with him the solitude of his desolate hut on the beach at
Indian River. He had brought ashore his wife, her sister, and their
chests, with the mail, and had orders to return immediately to the
steamer (Gaston or Harney) to bring ashore some soldiers belonging
to another company, E (Braggs), which had been ordered from St.
Augustine to Fort Pierce. Ashlock left his wife and her sister
standing on the beach near the pilot-hut, and started back with his
whale-boat across the bar. I also took the mail and started up to
the fort, and had hardly reached the wharf when I observed another
boat following me. As soon as this reached the wharf the men
reported that Ashlock and all his crew, with the exception of one
man, had been drowned a few minutes after I had left the beach.
They said his surf-boat had reached the steamer, had taken on board
a load of soldiers, some eight or ten, and had started back through
the surf, when on the bar a heavy breaker upset the boat, and all
were lost except the boy who pulled the bow-oar, who clung to the
rope or painter, hauled himself to the upset boat, held on, drifted
with it outside the breakers, and was finally beached near a mile
down the coast. They reported also that the steamer had got up
anchor, run in as close to the bar as she could, paused awhile, and
then had started down the coast.

I instantly took a fresh crew of soldiers and returned to the
bar; there sat poor Mrs. Ashlock on her chest of clothes, a weeping
widow, who had seen her husband perish amid sharks and waves; she
clung to the hope that the steamer had picked him up, but, strange
to say, he could not swim, although he had been employed on the
water all his life.

Her sister was more demonstrative, and wailed as one lost to all
hope and life. She appealed to us all to do miracles to save the
struggling men in the waves, though two hours had already passed,
and to have gone out then among those heavy breakers, with an
inexperienced crew, would have been worse than suicide. All I could
do was to reorganize the guard at the beach, take the two desolate
females up to the fort, and give them the use of my own quarters.
Very soon their anguish was quieted, and they began to look, for
the return of their steamer with Ashlock and his rescued crew. The
next day I went again to the beach with Lieutenant Ord, and we
found that one or two bodies had been washed ashore, torn all to
pieces by the sharks, which literally swarmed the inlet at every
new tide. In a few days the weather moderated, and the steamer
returned from the south, but the surf was so high that she anchored
a mile off. I went out myself, in the whale or surf boat, over that
terrible bar with a crew of, soldiers, boarded the steamer, and
learned that none other of Ashlock’s crew except the one before
mentioned had been saved; but, on the contrary, the captain of the
steamer had sent one of his own boats to their rescue, which was
likewise upset in the surf, and, out of the three men in her, one
had drifted back outside the breakers, clinging to the upturned
boat, and was picked up. This sad and fatal catastrophe made us all
afraid of that bar, and in returning to the shore I adopted the
more prudent course of beaching the boat below the inlet, which
insured us a good ducking, but was attended with less risk to
life.

I had to return to the fort and bear to Mrs. Ashlock the
absolute truth, that her husband was lost forever.

Meantime her sister had entirely recovered her equilibrium, and
being the guest of the officers, who were extremely courteous to
her, she did not lament so loudly the calamity that saved them a
long life of banishment on the beach of Indian River. By the first
opportunity they were sent back to St. Augustine, the possessors of
all of Ashlock’s worldly goods and effects, consisting of a good
rifle, several cast-nets, hand-lines, etc., etc., besides some
three hundred dollars in money, which was due him by the
quartermaster for his services as pilot. I afterward saw these
ladies at St. Augustine, and years afterward the younger one came
to Charleston, South Carolina, the wife of the somewhat famous
Captain Thistle, agent for the United States for live-oak in
Florida, who was noted as the first of the troublesome class of
inventors of modern artillery. He was the inventor of a gun that
“did not recoil at all,” or “if anything it recoiled a little
forward.”

One day, in the summer of 1841, the sentinel on the housetop at
Fort Pierce called out, “Indians! Indians!” Everybody sprang to his
gun, the companies formed promptly on the parade-ground, and soon
were reported as approaching the post, from the pine-woods in rear,
four Indians on horseback. They rode straight up to the gateway,
dismounted, and came in. They were conducted by the officer of the
day to the commanding officer, Major Childs, who sat on the porch
in front of his own room. After the usual pause, one of them, a
black man named Joe, who spoke English, said they had been sent in
by Coacoochee (Wild Cat), one of the most noted of the Seminole
chiefs, to see the big chief of the post. He gradually unwrapped a
piece of paper, which was passed over to Major Childs, who read it,
and it was in the nature of a “Safe Guard” for “Wild Cat” to come
into Fort Pierce to receive provisions and assistance while
collecting his tribe, with the purpose of emigrating to their
reservation west of Arkansas. The paper was signed by General
Worth, who had succeeded General Taylor, at Tampa Bay, in command
of all the troops in Florida. Major Childs inquired, “Where is
Coacoochee?” and was answered, “Close by,” when Joe explained that
he had been sent in by his chief to see if the paper was all right.
Major Childs said it was “all right,” and that Coacoochee ought to
come in himself. Joe offered to go out and bring him in, when Major
Childs ordered me to take eight or ten mounted men and go out to
escort him in. Detailing ten men to saddle up, and taking Joe and
one Indian boy along on their own ponies, I started out under their
guidance.

We continued to ride five or six miles, when I began to suspect
treachery, of which I had heard so much in former years, and had
been specially cautioned against by the older officers; but Joe
always answered, “Only a little way.” At last we approached one of
those close hammocks, so well known in Florida, standing like an
island in the interminable pine-forest, with a pond of water near
it. On its edge I noticed a few Indians loitering, which Joe
pointed out as the place. Apprehensive of treachery, I halted the
guard, gave orders to the sergeant to watch me closely, and rode
forward alone with the two Indian guides. As we neared the hammock,
about a dozen Indian warriors rose up and waited for us. When in
their midst I inquired for the chief, Coacoochee. He approached my
horse and, slapping his breast, said, “Me Coacoochee.” He was a
very handsome young Indian warrior, not more than twenty-five years
old, but in his then dress could hardly be distinguished from the
rest. I then explained to him, through Joe, that I had been sent by
my “chief” to escort him into the fort. He wanted me to get down
and “talk” I told him that I had no “talk” in me, but that, on his
reaching the post, he could talk as much as he pleased with the
“big chief,” Major Childs. They all seemed to be indifferent, and
in no hurry; and I noticed that all their guns were leaning against
a tree. I beckoned to the sergeant, who advanced rapidly with his
escort, and told him to secure the rifles, which he proceeded to
do. Coacoochee pretended to be very angry, but I explained to him
that his warriors were tired and mine were not, and that the
soldiers would carry the guns on their horses. I told him I would
provide him a horse to ride, and the sooner he was ready the better
for all. He then stripped, washed himself in the pond, and began to
dress in all his Indian finery, which consisted of buckskin
leggins, moccasins, and several shirts. He then began to put on
vests, one after another, and one of them had the marks of a
bullet, just above the pocket, with the stain of blood. In the
pocket was a one-dollar Tallahassee Bank note, and the rascal had
the impudence to ask me to give him silver coin for that dollar. He
had evidently killed the wearer, and was disappointed because the
pocket contained a paper dollar instead of one in silver. In due
time he was dressed with turban and ostrich-feathers, and mounted
the horse reserved for him, and thus we rode back together to Fort
Pierce. Major Childs and all the officers received him on the
porch, and there we had a regular “talk.” Coacoochee “was tired of
the war.” “His people were scattered and it would take a ‘moon’ to
collect them for emigration,” and he “wanted rations for that
time,” etc., etc.

All this was agreed to, and a month was allowed for him to get
ready with his whole band (numbering some one hundred and fifty or
one hundred and sixty) to migrate. The “talk” then ceased, and
Coacoochee and his envoys proceeded to get regularly drunk, which
was easily done by the agency of commissary whiskey. They staid at
Fort Pierce daring the night, and the next day departed. Several
times during the month there came into the post two or more of
these same Indians, always to beg for something to eat or drink,
and after a full month Coacoochee and about twenty of his warriors
came in with several ponies, but with none of their women or
children. Major Childs had not from the beginning the least faith
in his sincerity; had made up his mind to seize the whole party and
compel them to emigrate. He arranged for the usual council, and
instructed Lieutenant Taylor to invite Coacoochee and his uncle
(who was held to be a principal chief) to his room to take some
good brandy, instead of the common commissary whiskey. At a signal
agreed on I was to go to the quarters of Company A, to dispatch the
first-sergeant and another man to Lieutenant Taylor’s room, there
to seize the two chiefs and secure them; and with the company I was
to enter Major Childs’s room and secure the remainder of the party.
Meantime Lieutenant Van Vliet was ordered to go to the quarters of
his company, F, and at the same signal to march rapidly to the rear
of the officers’ quarters, so as to catch any who might attempt to
escape by the open windows to the rear.

All resulted exactly as prearranged, and in a few minutes the
whole party was in irons. At first they claimed that we had acted
treacherously, but very soon they admitted that for a month
Coacoochee had been quietly removing his women and children toward
Lake Okeechobee and the Everglades; and that this visit to our post
was to have been their last. It so happened that almost at the
instant of our seizing these Indians a vessel arrived off the bar
with reenforcements from St. Augustine. These were brought up to
Fort Pierce, and we marched that night and next day rapidly, some
fifty miles, to Lake Okeechobee, in hopes to capture the balance of
the tribe, especially the families, but they had taken the alarm
and escaped. Coacoochee and his warriors were sent by Major Childs
in a schooner to New Orleans en route to their reservation, but
General Worth recalled them to Tampa Bay, and by sending out
Coacoochee himself the women and children came in voluntarily, and
then all were shipped to their destination. This was a heavy loss
to the Seminoles, but there still remained in the Peninsula a few
hundred warriors with their families scattered into very small
parcels, who were concealed in the most inaccessible hammocks and
swamps. These had no difficulty in finding plenty of food anywhere
and everywhere. Deer and wild turkey were abundant, and as for fish
there was no end to them. Indeed, Florida was the Indian’s
paradise, was of little value to us, and it was a great pity to
remove the Seminoles at all, for we could have collected there all
the Choctaws, Creeks, Cherokees, and Chickasaws, in addition to the
Seminoles. They would have thrived in the Peninsula, whereas they
now occupy lands that are very valuable, which are coveted by their
white neighbors on all sides, while the Peninsula, of Florida still
remains with a population less than should make a good State.

During that and preceding years General W. S. Harney had
penetrated and crossed through the Everglades, capturing and
hanging Chekika and his band, and had brought in many prisoners,
who were also shipped West. We at Fort Pierce made several other
excursions to Jupiter, Lake Worth, Lauderdale, and into the
Everglades, picking up here and there a family, so that it was
absurd any longer to call it a “war.” These excursions, however,
possessed to us a peculiar charm, for the fragrance of the air, the
abundance of game and fish, and just enough of adventure, gave to
life a relish. I had just returned to Lauderdale from one of these
scouts with Lieutenants Rankin, Ord, George H. Thomas, Field, Van
Vliet, and others, when I received notice of my promotion to be
first lieutenant of Company G, which occurred November 30, 1841,
and I was ordered to return to Fort Pierce, turn over the public
property for which I was accountable to Lieutenant H. S. Burton,
and then to join my new company at St. Augustine.

I reached St. Augustine before Christmas, and was assigned to
command a detachment of twenty men stationed at Picolata, on the
St. John’s River, eighteen miles distant. At St. Augustine were
still the headquarters of the regiment, Colonel William Gates, with
Company E, Lieutenant Bragg, and Company G, Lieutenant H. B. Judd.
The only buildings at Picolata were the one occupied by my
detachment, which had been built for a hospital, and the dwelling
of a family named Williams, with whom I boarded. On the other hand,
St. Augustine had many pleasant families, among whom was prominent
that of United States Judge Bronson. I was half my time in St.
Augustine or on the road, and remember the old place with pleasure.
In February we received orders transferring the whole regiment to
the Gulf posts, and our company, G, was ordered to escort Colonel
Gates and his family across to the Suwanee River, en route for
Pensacola. The company, with the colonel and his family, reached
Picolata (where my detachment joined), and we embarked in a
steamboat for Pilatka. Here Lieutenant Judd discovered that he had
forgotten something and had to return to St. Augustine, so that I
commanded the company on the march, having with me
Second-Lieutenant George B. Ayres. Our first march was to Fort
Russell, then Micanopy, Wacahoota, and Wacasassee, all which posts
were garrisoned by the Second or Seventh Infantry. At Wacasassee we
met General Worth and his staff, en route for Pilatka. Lieutenant
Judd overtook us about the Suwanee, where we embarked on a small
boat for Cedar Keys, and there took a larger one for Pensacola,
where the colonel and his family landed, and our company proceeded
on in the same vessel to our post—Fort Morgan, Mobile
Point.

This fort had not been occupied by troops for many years, was
very dirty, and we found little or no stores there. Major Ogden, of
the engineers, occupied a house outside the fort. I was
quartermaster and commissary, and, taking advantage of one of the
engineer schooners engaged in bringing materials for the fort, I
went up to Mobile city, and, through the agency of Messrs. Deshon,
Taylor, and Myers, merchants, procured all essentials for the
troops, and returned to the post. In the course of a week or ten
days arrived another company, H, commanded by Lieutenant James
Ketchum, with Lieutenants Rankin and Sewall L. Fish, and an
assistant surgeon (Wells.) Ketchum became the commanding officer,
and Lieutenant Rankin quartermaster. We proceeded to put the post
in as good order as possible; had regular guard-mounting and
parades, but little drill. We found magnificent fishing with the
seine on the outer beach, and sometimes in a single haul we would
take ten or fifteen barrels of the best kind of fish, embracing
pompinos, red-fish, snappers, etc.

We remained there till June, when the regiment was ordered to
exchange from the Gulf posts to those on the Atlantic, extending
from Savannah to North Carolina. The brig Wetumpka was chartered,
and our company (G) embarked and sailed to Pensacola, where we took
on board another company (D) (Burke’s), commanded by Lieutenant H.
S. Burton, with Colonel Gates, the regimental headquarters, and
some families. From Pensacola we sailed for Charleston, South
Carolina. The weather was hot, the winds light, and we made a long
passage but at last reached Charleston Harbor, disembarked, and
took post in Fort Moultrie.

Soon after two other companies arrived, Bragg’s (B) and Keyes’s
(K). The two former companies were already quartered inside of Fort
Moultrie, and these latter were placed in gun-sheds, outside, which
were altered into barracks. We remained at Fort Moultrie nearly
five years, until the Mexican War scattered us forever. Our life
there was of strict garrison duty, with plenty of leisure for
hunting and social entertainments. We soon formed many and most
pleasant acquaintances in the city of Charleston; and it so
happened that many of the families resided at Sullivan’s Island in
the summer season, where we could reciprocate the hospitalities
extended to us in the winter.

During the summer of 1843, having been continuously on duty for
three years, I applied for and received a leave of absence for
three months, which I spent mostly in Ohio. In November I started
to return to my post at Charleston by way of New Orleans; took the
stage to Chillicothe, Ohio, November 16th, having Henry Stanberry,
Esq., and wife, as travelling companions, We continued by stage.
next day to Portsmouth, Ohio.

At Portsmouth Mr. Stanberry took a boat up the river, and I one
down to Cincinnati. There I found my brothers Lampson and Hoyt
employed in the “Gazette” printing-office, and spent much time with
them and Charles Anderson, Esq., visiting his brother Larz, Mr.
Longworth, some of his artist friends, and especially Miss Sallie
Carneal, then quite a belle, and noted for her fine voice,

On the 20th I took passage on the steamboat Manhattan for St.
Louis; reached Louisville, where Dr. Conrad, of the army, joined
me, and in the Manhattan we continued on to St. Louis, with a mixed
crowd. We reached the Mississippi at Cairo the 23d, and St. Louis,
Friday, November 24, 1843. At St. Louis we called on Colonel S. W.
Kearney and Major Cooper, his adjutant-general, and found my
classmate, Lieutenant McNutt, of the ordnance, stationed at the
arsenal; also Mr. Deas, an artist, and Pacificus Ord, who was
studying law. I spent a week at St. Louis, visiting the arsenal,
Jefferson Barracks, and most places of interest, and then became
impressed with its great future. It then contained about forty
thousand people, and my notes describe thirty-six good steamboats
receiving and discharging cargo at the levee.

I took passage December 4th in the steamer John Aull for New
Orleans. As we passed Cairo the snow was falling, and the country
was wintery and devoid of verdure. Gradually, however, as we
proceeded south, the green color came; grass and trees showed the
change of latitude, and when in the course of a week we had reached
New Orleans, the roses were in full bloom, the sugar-cane just
ripe, and a tropical air prevalent. We reached New Orleans December
11, 1843, where I spent about a week visiting the barracks, then
occupied by the Seventh Infantry; the theatres, hotels, and all the
usual places of interest of that day.

On the 16th of December I continued on to Mobile in the steamer
Fashion by way of Lake Pontchartrain; saw there most of my personal
friends, Mr. and Mrs. Bull, Judge Bragg and his brother Dunbar,
Deshon, Taylor, and Myers, etc., and on the 19th of December took
passage in the steamboat Bourbon for Montgomery, Alabama, by way of
the Alabama River. We reached Montgomery at noon, December 23d, and
took cars at 1 p. m. for Franklin, forty miles, which we reached at
7 p. m., thence stages for Griffin, Georgia, via La Grange and
Greenville. This took the whole night of the 23d and the day of the
24th. At Griffin we took cars for Macon, and thence to Savannah,
which we reached Christmas-night, finding Lieutenants Ridgley and
Ketchum at tea, where we were soon joined by Rankin and
Beckwith.

On the 26th I took the boat for Charleston, reaching my post,
and reported for duty Wednesday morning, December 27, 1843.

I had hardly got back to my post when, on the 21st of January,
1844, I received from Lieutenant R. P. Hammond, at Marietta,
Georgia, an intimation that Colonel Churchill, Inspector-General of
the Army, had applied for me to assist him in taking depositions in
upper Georgia and Alabama; concerning certain losses by volunteers
in Florida of horses and equipments by reason of the failure of the
United States to provide sufficient forage, and for which Congress
had made an appropriation. On the 4th of February the order came
from the Adjutant-General in Washington for me to proceed to
Marietta, Georgia, and report to Inspector-General Churchill. I was
delayed till the 14th of February by reason of being on a
court-martial, when I was duly relieved and started by rail to
Augusta, Georgia, and as far as Madison, where I took the
mail-coach, reaching Marietta on the 17th. There I reported for
duty to Colonel Churchill, who was already engaged on his work,
assisted by Lieutenant R. P. Hammond, Third Artillery, and a
citizen named Stockton. The colonel had his family with him,
consisting of Mrs. Churchill, Mary, now Mrs. Professor Baird, and
Charles Churchill, then a boy of about fifteen years of age.

We all lived in a tavern, and had an office convenient. The duty
consisted in taking individual depositions of the officers and men
who had composed two regiments and a battalion of mounted
volunteers that had served in Florida. An oath was administered to
each man by Colonel Churchill, who then turned the claimant over to
one of us to take down and record his deposition according to
certain forms, which enabled them to be consolidated and tabulated.
We remained in Marietta about six weeks, during which time I
repeatedly rode to Kenesaw Mountain, and over the very ground where
afterward, in 1864, we had some hard battles.

After closing our business at Marietta the colonel ordered us to
transfer our operations to Bellefonte, Alabama. As he proposed to
take his family and party by the stage, Hammond lent me his
riding-horse, which I rode to Allatoona and the Etowah River.
Hearing of certain large Indian mounds near the way, I turned to
one side to visit them, stopping a couple of days with Colonel
Lewis Tumlin, on whose plantation these mounds were. We struck up
such an acquaintance that we corresponded for some years, and as I
passed his plantation during the war, in 1864, I inquired for him,
but he was not at home. From Tumlin’s I rode to Rome, and by way of
Wills Valley over Sand Mountain and the Raccoon Range to the
Tennessee River at Bellefonte, Alabama. We all assembled there in
March, and continued our work for nearly two months, when, having
completed the business, Colonel Churchill, with his family, went
North by way of Nashville; Hammond, Stockton, and I returning South
on horseback, by Rome, Allatoona, Marietta, Atlanta, and Madison,
Georgia. Stockton stopped at Marietta, where he resided. Hammond
took the cars at Madison, and I rode alone to Augusta, Georgia,
where I left the horse and returned to Charleston and Fort Moultrie
by rail.

Thus by a mere accident I was enabled to traverse on horseback
the very ground where in after-years I had to conduct vast armies
and fight great battles. That the knowledge thus acquired was of
infinite use to me, and consequently to the Government, I have
always felt and stated.

During the autumn of 1844, a difficulty arose among the officers
of Company B, Third Artillery (John R. Yinton’s), garrisoning
Augusta Arsenal, and I was sent up from Fort Moultrie as a sort of
peace-maker. After staying there some months, certain transfers of
officers were made, which reconciled the difficulty, and I returned
to my post, Fort Moultrie. During that winter, 1844-’45, I was
visiting at the plantation of Mr. Poyas, on the east branch of the
Cooper, about fifty miles from Fort Moultrie, hunting deer with his
son James, and Lieutenant John F. Reynolds, Third Artillery. We had
taken our stands, and a deer came out of the swamp near that of Mr.
James Poyas, who fired, broke the leg of the deer, which turned
back into the swamp and came out again above mine. I could follow
his course by the cry of the hounds, which were in close pursuit.
Hastily mounting my horse, I struck across the pine-woods to head
the deer off, and when at full career my horse leaped a fallen log
and his fore-foot caught one of those hard, unyielding pineknots
that brought him with violence to the ground. I got up as quick as
possible, and found my right arm out of place at the shoulder,
caused by the weight of the double-barrelled gun.

Seeing Reynolds at some distance, I called out lustily and
brought him to me. He soon mended the bridle and saddle, which had
been broken by the fall, helped me on my horse, and we followed the
coarse of the hounds. At first my arm did not pain me much, but it
soon began to ache so that it was almost unendurable. In about
three miles we came to a negro hut, where I got off and rested till
Reynolds could overtake Poyas and bring him back. They came at
last, but by that time the arm was so swollen and painful that I
could not ride. They rigged up an old gig belonging to the negro,
in which I was carried six miles to the plantation of Mr. Poyas,
Sr. A neighboring physician was sent for, who tried the usual
methods of setting the arm, but without success; each time making
the operation more painful. At last he sent off, got a set of
double pulleys and cords, with which he succeeded in extending the
muscles and in getting the bone into place. I then returned to Fort
Moultrie, but being disabled, applied for a short leave and went
North.

I started January 25,1845; went to Washington, Baltimore, and
Lancaster, Ohio, whence I went to Mansfield, and thence back by
Newark to Wheeling, Cumberland, Baltimore, Philadelphia, and New
York, whence I sailed back for Charleston on the ship Sullivan,
reaching Fort Moultrie March 9, 1845.

About that time (March 1, 1845) Congress had, by a joint
resolution, provided for the annexation of Texas, then an
independent Republic, subject to certain conditions requiring the
acceptance of the Republic of Texas to be final and conclusive. We
all expected war as a matter of course. At that time General
Zachary Taylor had assembled a couple of regiments of infantry and
one of dragoons at Fort Jessup, Louisiana, and had orders to extend
military protection to Texas against the Indians, or a “foreign
enemy,” the moment the terms of annexation were accepted. He
received notice of such acceptance July 7th, and forthwith
proceeded to remove his troops to Corpus Christi, Texas, where,
during the summer and fall of 1845, was assembled that force with
which, in the spring of 1846, was begun the Mexican War.

Some time during that summer came to Fort Moultrie orders for
sending Company E, Third Artillery, Lieutenant Bragg, to New
Orleans, there to receive a battery of field-guns, and thence to
the camp of General Taylor at Corpus Christi. This was the first
company of our regiment sent to the seat of war, and it embarked on
the brig Hayne. This was the only company that left Fort Moultrie
till after I was detached for recruiting service on the 1st of May,
1846.

Inasmuch as Charleston afterward became famous, as the spot
where began our civil war, a general description of it, as it was
in 1846, will not be out of place.

The city lies on a long peninsula between the Ashley and Cooper
Rivers—a low, level peninsula, of sand. Meeting Street is its
Broadway, with King Street, next west and parallel, the street of
shops and small stores. These streets are crossed at right angles
by many others, of which Broad Street was the principal; and the
intersection of Meeting and Broad was the heart of the city, marked
by the Guard-House and St. Michael’s Episcopal Church. The
Custom-House, Post-Office, etc., were at the foot of Broad Street,
near the wharves of the Cooper River front. At the extremity of the
peninsula was a drive, open to the bay, and faced by some of the
handsomest houses of the city, called the “Battery.” Looking down
the bay on the right, was James Island, an irregular triangle of
about seven miles, the whole island in cultivation with sea-island
cotton. At the lower end was Fort Johnson, then simply the station
of Captain Bowman, United States Engineers, engaged in building
Fort Sumter. This fort (Sumter) was erected on an artificial island
nearly in mid-channel, made by dumping rocks, mostly brought as
ballast in cotton-ships from the North. As the rock reached the
surface it was levelled, and made the foundation of Fort Sumter. In
1846 this fort was barely above the water. Still farther out beyond
James Island, and separated from it by a wide space of salt marsh
with crooked channels, was Morris Island, composed of the
sand-dunes thrown up by the wind and the sea, backed with the salt
marsh. On this was the lighthouse, but no people.

On the left, looking down the bay from the Battery of
Charleston, was, first, Castle Pinckney, a round brick fort, of two
tiers of guns, one in embrasure, the other in barbette, built on a
marsh island, which was not garrisoned. Farther down the bay a
point of the mainland reached the bay, where there was a group of
houses, called Mount Pleasant; and at the extremity of the bay,
distant six miles, was Sullivan’s Island, presenting a smooth
sand-beach to the sea, with the line of sand-hills or dunes thrown
up by the waves and winds, and the usual backing of marsh and
crooked salt-water channels.

At the shoulder of this island was Fort Moultrie, an irregular
fort, without ditch or counterscarp, with a brick scarp wall about
twelve feet high, which could be scaled anywhere, and this was
surmounted by an earth parapet capable of mounting about forty
twenty-four and thirty-two pounder smooth-bore iron guns. Inside
the fort were three two-story brick barracks, sufficient to quarter
the officers and men of two companies of artillery.

At sea was the usual “bar,” changing slightly from year to year,
but generally the main ship-channel came from the south, parallel
to Morris Island, till it was well up to Fort Moultrie, where it
curved, passing close to Fort Sumter and up to the wharves of the
city, which were built mostly along the Cooper River front.

Charleston was then a proud, aristocratic city, and assumed a
leadership in the public opinion of the South far out of proportion
to her population, wealth, or commerce. On more than one occasion
previously, the inhabitants had almost inaugurated civil war, by
their assertion and professed belief that each State had, in the
original compact of government, reserved to itself the right to
withdraw from the Union at its own option, whenever the people
supposed they had sufficient cause. We used to discuss these things
at our own mess-tables, vehemently and sometimes quite angrily; but
I am sure that I never feared it would go further than it had
already gone in the winter of 1832-’33, when the attempt at
“nullification” was promptly suppressed by President Jackson’s
famous declaration, “The Union must and shall be preserved!” and by
the judicious management of General Scott.

Still, civil war was to be; and, now that it has come and gone,
we can rest secure in the knowledge that as the chief cause,
slavery, has been eradicated forever, it is not likely to come
again.

In the spring of 1846 I was a first lieutenant of Company C,1,
Third Artillery, stationed at Fort Moultrie, South Carolina. The
company was commanded by Captain Robert Anderson; Henry B. Judd was
the senior first-lieutenant, and I was the junior first-lieutenant,
and George B. Ayres the second-lieutenant. Colonel William Gates
commanded the post and regiment, with First-Lieutenant William
Austine as his adjutant. Two other companies were at the post,
viz., Martin Burke’s and E. D. Keyes’s, and among the officers were
T. W. Sherman, Morris Miller, H. B. Field, William Churchill,
Joseph Stewart, and Surgeon McLaren.

The country now known as Texas had been recently acquired, and
war with Mexico was threatening. One of our companies (Bragg’s),
with George H. Thomas, John F. Reynolds, and Frank Thomas, had gone
the year previous and was at that time with General Taylor’s army
at Corpus Christi, Texas.

In that year (1846) I received the regular detail for recruiting
service, with orders to report to the general superintendent at
Governor’s Island, New York; and accordingly left Fort Moultrie in
the latter part of April, and reported to the superintendent,
Colonel R. B. Mason, First Dragoons, at New York, on the 1st day of
May. I was assigned to the Pittsburg rendezvous, whither I
proceeded and relieved Lieutenant Scott. Early in May I took up my
quarters at the St. Charles Hotel, and entered upon the discharge
of my duties. There was a regular recruiting-station already
established, with a sergeant, corporal, and two or three men, with
a citizen physician, Dr. McDowell, to examine the recruits. The
threatening war with Mexico made a demand for recruits, and I
received authority to open another sub-rendezvous at Zanesville,
Ohio, whither I took the sergeant and established him. This was
very handy to me, as my home was at Lancaster, Ohio, only
thirty-six miles off, so that I was thus enabled to visit my
friends there quite often.

In the latter part of May, when at Wheeling, Virginia, on my way
back from Zanesville to Pittsburg, I heard the first news of the
battle of Palo Alto and Resaca de la Palma, which occurred on the
8th and 9th of May, and, in common with everybody else, felt
intensely excited. That I should be on recruiting service, when my
comrades were actually fighting, was intolerable, and I hurried on
to my post, Pittsburg. At that time the railroad did not extend
west of the Alleghanies, and all journeys were made by
stage-coaches. In this instance I traveled from Zanesville to
Wheeling, thence to Washington (Pennsylvania), and thence to
Pittsburg by stage-coach. On reaching Pittsburg I found many
private letters; one from Ord, then a first-lieutenant in Company
F, Third Artillery, at Fort McHenry, Baltimore, saying that his
company had just received orders for California, and asking me to
apply for it. Without committing myself to that project, I wrote to
the Adjutant-General, R. Jones, at Washington, D. C., asking him to
consider me as an applicant for any active service, and saying that
I would willingly forego the recruiting detail, which I well knew
plenty of others would jump at. Impatient to approach the scene of
active operations, without authority (and I suppose wrongfully), I
left my corporal in charge of the rendezvous, and took all the
recruits I had made, about twenty-five, in a steamboat to
Cincinnati, and turned them over to Major N. C. McCrea, commanding
at Newport Barracks. I then reported in Cincinnati, to the
superintendent of the Western recruiting service, Colonel Fanning,
an old officer with one arm, who inquired by what authority I had
come away from my post. I argued that I took it for granted he
wanted all the recruits he could get to forward to the army at
Brownsville, Texas; and did not know but that he might want me to
go along. Instead of appreciating my volunteer zeal, he cursed and
swore at me for leaving my post without orders, and told me to go
back to Pittsburg. I then asked for an order that would entitle me
to transportation back, which at first he emphatically refused, but
at last he gave the order, and I returned to Pittsburg, all the way
by stage, stopping again at Lancaster, where I attended the wedding
of my schoolmate Mike Effinger, and also visited my sub-rendezvous
at Zanesville. R. S. Ewell, of my class, arrived to open a cavalry
rendezvous, but, finding my depot there, he went on to Columbus,
Ohio. Tom Jordan afterward was ordered to Zanesville, to take
charge of that rendezvous, under the general War Department orders
increasing the number of recruiting-stations. I reached Pittsburg
late in June, and found the order relieving me from recruiting
service, and detailing my classmate H. B. Field to my place. I was
assigned to Company F, then under orders for California. By private
letters from Lieutenant Ord, I heard that the company had already
started from Fort McHenry for Governor’s Island, New York Harbor,
to take passage for California in a naval transport. I worked all
that night, made up my accounts current, and turned over the
balance of cash to the citizen physician, Dr. McDowell; and also
closed my clothing and property returns, leaving blank receipts
with the same gentleman for Field’s signature, when he should get
there, to be forwarded to the Department at Washington, and the
duplicates to me. These I did not receive for more than a year. I
remember that I got my orders about 8 p. m. one night, and took
passage in the boat for Brownsville, the next morning traveled by
stage from Brownsville to Cumberland, Maryland, and thence by cars
to Baltimore, Philadelphia, and New York, in a great hurry lest the
ship might sail without me. I found Company F at Governor’s Island,
Captain C. Q. Tompkins in command, Lieutenant E. O. C. Ord senior
first-lieutenant, myself junior first-lieutenant, Lucien Loeser and
Charles Minor the second-lieutenants.

The company had been filled up to one hundred privates, twelve
non-commissioned officers, and one ordnance sergeant (Layton),
making one hundred and thirteen enlisted men and five officers. Dr.
James L. Ord had been employed as acting assistant surgeon to
accompany the expedition, and Lieutenant H. W. Halleck, of the
engineers, was also to go along. The United States store-ship
Lexington was then preparing at the Navy-Yard, Brooklyn, to carry
us around Cape Horn to California. She was receiving on board the
necessary stores for the long voyage, and for service after our
arrival there. Lieutenant-Commander Theodorus Bailey was in command
of the vessel, Lieutenant William H. Macomb executive officer, and
Passed-Midshipmen Muse, Spotts, and J. W. A. Nicholson, were the
watch-officers; Wilson purser, and Abernethy surgeon. The latter
was caterer of the mess, and we all made an advance of cash for him
to lay in the necessary mess-stores. To enable us to prepare for so
long a voyage and for an indefinite sojourn in that far-off
country, the War Department had authorized us to draw six months’
pay in advance, which sum of money we invested in surplus clothing
and such other things as seemed to us necessary. At last the ship
was ready, and was towed down abreast of Fort Columbus, where we
were conveyed on board, and on the 14th of July, 1846, we were
towed to sea by a steam-tug, and cast off: Colonel R. B. Mason,
still superintendent of the general recruiting service, accompanied
us down the bay and out to sea, returning with the tug. A few other
friends were of the party, but at last they left us, and we were
alone upon the sea, and the sailors were busy with the sails and
ropes. The Lexington was an old ship, changed from a sloop-of-war
to a store-ship, with an after-cabin, a “ward-room,” and
“between-decks.” In the cabin were Captains Bailey and Tompkins,
with whom messed the purser, Wilson. In the ward-room were all the
other officers, two in each state-room; and Minor, being an extra
lieutenant, had to sleep in a hammock slung in the ward-room. Ord
and I roomed together; Halleck and Loeser and the others were
scattered about. The men were arranged in bunks “between-decks,”
one set along the sides of the ship, and another, double tier,
amidships. The crew were slung in hammocks well forward. Of these
there were about fifty. We at once subdivided the company into four
squads, under the four lieutenants of the company, and arranged
with the naval officers that our men should serve on deck by
squads, after the manner of their watches; that the sailors should
do all the work aloft, and the soldiers on deck.

On fair days we drilled our men at the manual, and generally
kept them employed as much as possible, giving great attention to
the police and cleanliness of their dress and bunks; and so
successful were we in this, that, though the voyage lasted nearly
two hundred days, every man was able to leave the ship and march up
the hill to the fort at Monterey, California, carrying his own
knapsack and equipments.

The voyage from New York to Rio Janeiro was without accident or
any thing to vary the usual monotony. We soon settled down to the
humdrum of a long voyage, reading some, not much; playing games,
but never gambling; and chiefly engaged in eating our meals
regularly. In crossing the equator we had the usual visit of
Neptune and his wife, who, with a large razor and a bucket of
soapsuds, came over the sides and shaved some of the greenhorns;
but naval etiquette exempted the officers, and Neptune was not
permitted to come aft of the mizzen-mast. At last, after sixty days
of absolute monotony, the island of Raza, off Rio Janeiro, was
descried, and we slowly entered the harbor, passing a fort on our
right hand, from which came a hail, in the Portuguese language,
from a huge speaking-trumpet, and our officer of the deck answered
back in gibberish, according to a well-understood custom of the
place. Sugar-loaf Mountain, on the south of the entrance, is very
remarkable and well named; is almost conical, with a slight lean.
The man-of-war anchorage is about five miles inside the heads,
directly in front of the city of Rio Janeiro. Words will not
describe the beauty of this perfect harbor, nor the delightful
feeling after a long voyage of its fragrant airs, and the entire
contrast between all things there and what we had left in New
York.

We found the United Staten frigate Columbia anchored there, and
after the Lexington was properly moored, nearly all the officers
went on shore for sight-seeing and enjoyment. We landed at a wharf
opposite which was a famous French restaurant, Farroux, and after
ordering supper we all proceeded to the Rua da Ouvador, where most
of the shops were, especially those for making feather flowers, as
much to see the pretty girls as the flowers which they so
skillfully made; thence we went to the theatre, where, besides some
opera, we witnessed the audience and saw the Emperor Dom Pedro, and
his Empress, the daughter of the King of Sicily. After the theatre,
we went back to the restaurant, where we had an excellent supper,
with fruits of every variety and excellence, such as we had never
seen before, or even knew the names of. Supper being over, we
called for the bill, and it was rendered in French, with Brazilian
currency. It footed up some twenty-six thousand reis. The figures
alarmed us, so we all put on the waiters’ plate various coins in
gold, which he took to the counter and returned the change, making
the total about sixteen dollars. The millreis is about a dollar,
but being a paper-money was at a discount, so as only to be worth
about fifty-six cents in coin.

The Lexington remained in Rio about a week, during which we
visited the Palace, a few miles in the country, also the Botanic
Gardens, a place of infinite interest, with its specimens of
tropical fruits, spices; etc., etc., and indeed every place of
note. The thing I best recall is a visit Halleck and I made to the
Corcovado, a high mountain whence the water is conveyed for the
supply of the city. We started to take a walk, and passed along the
aqueduct, which approaches the city by a aeries of arches; thence
up the point of the hill to a place known as the Madre, or
fountain, to which all the water that drips from the leaves is
conducted by tile gutters, and is carried to the city by an open
stone aqueduct.

Here we found Mr. Henry A. Wise, of Virginia, the United States
minister to Brazil, and a Dr. Garnett, United States Navy, his
intended son-in-law. We had a very interesting conversation, in
which Mr. Wise enlarged on the fact that Rio was supplied from the
“dews of heaven,” for in the dry season the water comes from the
mists and fogs which hang around the Corcovado, drips from the
leaves of the trees, and is conducted to the Madre fountain by
miles of tile gutters. Halleck and I continued our ascent of the
mountain, catching from points of the way magnificent views of the
scenery round about Rio Janeiro. We reached near the summit what
was called the emperor’s coffee-plantation, where we saw
coffee-berries in their various stages, and the scaffolds on which
the berries were dried before being cleaned. The coffee-tree
reminded me of the red haw-tree of Ohio, and the berries were
somewhat like those of the same tree, two grains of coffee being
inclosed in one berry. These were dried and cleaned of the husk by
hand or by machinery. A short, steep ascent from this place carried
us to the summit, from which is beheld one of the most picturesque
views on earth. The Organ Mountains to the west and north, the
ocean to the east, the city of Rio with its red-tiled houses at our
feet, and the entire harbor like a map spread out, with innumerable
bright valleys, make up a landscape that cannot be described by
mere words. This spot is universally visited by strangers, and has
often been described. After enjoying it immeasurably, we returned
to the city by another route, tired but amply repaid by our long
walk.

In due time all had been done that was requisite, and the
Lexington put to sea and resumed her voyage. In October we
approached Cape Horn, the first land descried was Staten Island,
white with snow, and the ship seemed to be aiming for the channel
to its west, straits of Le Maire, but her course was changed and we
passed around to the east. In time we saw Cape Horn; an island
rounded like an oven, after which it takes its name (Ornos) oven.
Here we experienced very rough weather, buffeting about under storm
stay-sails, and spending nearly a month before the wind favored our
passage and enabled the course of the ship to be changed for
Valparaiso. One day we sailed parallel with a French sloop-of-war,
and it was sublime to watch the two ships rising and falling in
those long deep swells of the ocean. All the time we were followed
by the usual large flocks of Cape-pigeons and albatrosses of every
color. The former resembled the common barn-pigeon exactly, but are
in fact gulls of beautiful and varied colors, mostly dove-color. We
caught many with fishing-lines baited with pork. We also took in
the same way many albatrosses. The white ones are very large, and
their down is equal to that of the swan. At last Cape Horn and its
swelling seas were left behind, and we reached Valparaiso in about
sixty days from Rio. We anchored in the open roadstead, and spent
there about ten days, visiting all the usual places of interest,
its foretop, main-top, mizzen-top, etc. Halleck and Ord went up to
Santiago, the capital of Chili, some sixty miles inland, but I did
not go. Valparaiso did not impress me favorably at all. Seen from
the sea, it looked like a long string of houses along the narrow
beach, surmounted with red banks of earth, with little verdure, and
no trees at all. Northward the space widened out somewhat, and gave
room for a plaza, but the mass of houses in that quarter were poor.
We were there in November, corresponding to our early spring, and
we enjoyed the large strawberries which abounded. The Independence
frigate, Commodore Shubrick, came in while we were there, having
overtaken us, bound also for California. We met there also the
sloop-of-war levant, from California, and from the officers heard
of many of the events that had transpired about the time the navy,
under Commodore Sloat, had taken possession of the country.

All the necessary supplies being renewed in Valparaiso, the
voyage was resumed. For nearly forty days we had uninterrupted
favorable winds, being in the “trades,” and, having settled down to
sailor habits, time passed without notice. We had brought with us
all the books we could find in New York about California, and had
read them over and over again: Wilkes’s “Exploring Expedition;”
Dana’s “Two Years before the Mast;” and Forbes’s “Account of the
Missions.” It was generally understood we were bound for Monterey,
then the capital of Upper California. We knew, of course, that
General Kearney was enroute for the same country overland; that
Fremont was therewith his exploring party; that the navy had
already taken possession, and that a regiment of volunteers,
Stevenson’s, was to follow us from New York; but nevertheless we
were impatient to reach our destination. About the middle of
January the ship began to approach the California coast, of which
the captain was duly cautious, because the English and Spanish
charts differed some fifteen miles in the longitude, and on all the
charts a current of two miles an hour was indicated northward along
the coast. At last land was made one morning, and here occurred one
of those accidents so provoking after a long and tedious voyage.
Macomb, the master and regular navigator, had made the correct
observations, but Nicholson during the night, by an observation on
the north star, put the ship some twenty miles farther south than
was the case by the regular reckoning, so that Captain Bailey gave
directions to alter the course of the ship more to the north, and
to follow the coast up, and to keep a good lookout for Point Pinos
that marks the location of Monterey Bay. The usual north wind
slackened, so that when noon allowed Macomb to get a good
observation, it was found that we were north of Ano Nuevo, the
northern headland of Monterey Bay. The ship was put about, but
little by little arose one of those southeast storms so common on
the coast in winter, and we buffeted about for several days,
cursing that unfortunate observation on the north star, for, on
first sighting the coast, had we turned for Monterey, instead of
away to the north, we would have been snugly anchored before the
storm. But the southeaster abated, and the usual northwest wind
came out again, and we sailed steadily down into the roadstead of
Monterey Bay. This is shaped somewhat like a fish hook, the barb
being the harbor, the point being Point Pinos, the southern
headland. Slowly the land came out of the water, the high mountains
about Santa Cruz, the low beach of the Saunas, and the
strongly-marked ridge terminating in the sea in a point of dark
pine-trees. Then the line of whitewashed houses of adobe, backed by
the groves of dark oaks, resembling old apple-trees; and then we
saw two vessels anchored close to the town. One was a small
merchant-brig and another a large ship apparently dismasted. At
last we saw a boat coming out to meet us, and when it came
alongside, we were surprised to find Lieutenant Henry Wise, master
of the Independence frigate, that we had left at Valparaiso. Wise
had come off to pilot us to our anchorage. While giving orders to
the man at the wheel, he, in his peculiar fluent style, told to us,
gathered about him, that the Independence had sailed from
Valparaiso a week after us and had been in Monterey a week; that
the Californians had broken out into an insurrection; that the
naval fleet under Commodore Stockton was all down the coast about
San Diego; that General Kearney had reached the country, but had
had a severe battle at San Pascual, and had been worsted, losing
several officers and men, himself and others wounded; that war was
then going on at Los Angeles; that the whole country was full of
guerrillas, and that recently at Yerba Buena the alcalde,
Lieutenant Bartlett, United States Navy, while out after cattle,
had been lassoed, etc., etc. Indeed, in the short space of time
that Wise was piloting our ship in, he told us more news than we
could have learned on shore in a week, and, being unfamiliar with
the great distances, we imagined that we should have to debark and
begin fighting at once. Swords were brought out, guns oiled and
made ready, and every thing was in a bustle when the old Lexington
dropped her anchor on January 26, 1847, in Monterey Bay, after a
voyage of one hundred and ninety-eight days from New York. Every
thing on shore looked bright and beautiful, the hills covered with
grass and flowers, the live-oaks so serene and homelike, and the
low adobe houses, with red-tiled roofs and whitened walls,
contrasted well with the dark pine-trees behind, making a decidedly
good impression upon us who had come so far to spy out the land.
Nothing could be more peaceful in its looks than Monterey in
January, 1847. We had already made the acquaintance of Commodore
Shubrick and the officers of the Independence in Valparaiso, so
that we again met as old friends. Immediate preparations were made
for landing, and, as I was quartermaster and commissary, I had
plenty to do. There was a small wharf and an adobe custom-house in
possession of the navy; also a barrack of two stories, occupied by
some marines, commanded by Lieutenant Maddox; and on a hill to the
west of the town had been built a two-story block-house of hewed
logs occupied by a guard of sailors under command of Lieutenant
Baldwin, United States Navy. Not a single modern wagon or cart was
to be had in Monterey, nothing but the old Mexican cart with wooden
wheels, drawn by two or three pairs of oxen, yoked by the horns. A
man named Tom Cole had two or more of these, and he came into
immediate requisition. The United States consul, and most prominent
man there at the time, was Thomas O. Larkin, who had a store and a
pretty good two-story house occupied by his family. It was soon
determined that our company was to land and encamp on the hill at
the block-house, and we were also to have possession of the
warehouse, or custom-house, for storage. The company was landed on
the wharf, and we all marched in full dress with knapsacks and
arms, to the hill and relieved the guard under Lieutenant Baldwin.
Tents and camp-equipage were hauled up, and soon the camp was
established. I remained in a room at the customhouse, where I could
superintend the landing of the stores and their proper
distribution. I had brought out from New York twenty thousand
dollars commissary funds, and eight thousand dollars quartermaster
funds, and as the ship contained about six months’ supply of
provisions, also a saw-mill, grist-mill, and almost every thing
needed, we were soon established comfortably. We found the people
of Monterey a mixed set of Americans, native Mexicans, and Indians,
about one thousand all told. They were kind and pleasant, and
seemed to have nothing to do, except such as owned ranches in the
country for the rearing of horses and cattle. Horses could be
bought at any price from four dollars up to sixteen, but no horse
was ever valued above a doubloon or Mexican ounce (sixteen
dollars). Cattle cost eight dollars fifty cents for the best, and
this made beef net about two cents a pound, but at that time nobody
bought beef by the pound, but by the carcass.

Game of all kinds—elk, deer, wild geese, and
ducks—was abundant; but coffee, sugar, and small stores, were
rare and costly.

There were some half-dozen shops or stores, but their shelves
were empty. The people were very fond of riding, dancing, and of
shows of any kind. The young fellows took great delight in showing
off their horsemanship, and would dash along, picking up a
half-dollar from the ground, stop their horses in full career and
turn about on the space of a bullock’s hide, and their skill with
the lasso was certainly wonderful. At full speed they could cast
their lasso about the horns of a bull, or so throw it as to catch
any particular foot. These fellows would work all day on horseback
in driving cattle or catching wildhorses for a mere nothing, but
all the money offered would not have hired one of them to walk a
mile. The girls were very fond of dancing, and they did dance
gracefully and well. Every Sunday, regularly, we had a baile, or
dance, and sometimes interspersed through the week.

I remember very well, soon after our arrival, that we were all
invited to witness a play called “Adam and Eve.” Eve was personated
by a pretty young girl known as Dolores Gomez, who, however, was
dressed very unlike Eve, for she was covered with a petticoat and
spangles. Adam was personated by her brother—the same who has
since become somewhat famous as the person on whom is founded the
McGarrahan claim. God Almighty was personated, and heaven’s
occupants seemed very human. Yet the play was pretty, interesting,
and elicited universal applause. All the month of February we were
by day preparing for our long stay in the country, and at night
making the most of the balls and parties of the most primitive
kind, picking up a smattering of Spanish, and extending our
acquaintance with the people and the costumbrea del pais. I can
well recall that Ord and I, impatient to look inland, got
permission and started for the Mission of San Juan Bautista.
Mounted on horses, and with our carbines, we took the road by El
Toro, quite a prominent hill, around which passes the road to the
south, following the Saunas or Monterey River. After about twenty
miles over a sandy country covered with oak-bushes and scrub, we
entered quite a pretty valley in which there was a ranch at the
foot of the Toro. Resting there a while and getting some
information, we again started in the direction of a mountain to the
north of the Saunas, called the Gavillano. It was quite dark when
we reached the Saunas River, which we attempted to pass at several
points, but found it full of water, and the quicksands were bad.
Hearing the bark of a dog, we changed our course in that direction,
and, on hailing, were answered by voices which directed us where to
cross. Our knowledge of the language was limited, but we managed to
understand, and to founder through the sand and water, and reached
a small adobe-house on the banks of the Salinas, where we spent the
night: The house was a single room, without floor or glass; only a
rude door, and window with bars. Not a particle of food but meat,
yet the man and woman entertained us with the language of lords put
themselves, their house, and every thing, at our “disposition,” and
made little barefoot children dance for our entertainment. We made
our supper of beef, and slept on a bullock’s hide on the
dirt-floor. In the morning we crossed the Salinas Plain, about
fifteen miles of level ground, taking a shot occasionally at
wild-geese, which abounded there, and entering the well-wooded
valley that comes out from the foot of the Gavillano. We had
cruised about all day, and it was almost dark when we reached the
house of a Senor Gomez, father of those who at Monterey had
performed the parts of Adam and Eve. His house was a two-story
adobe, and had a fence in front. It was situated well up among the
foot-hills of the Gavillano, and could not be seen until within a
few yards. We hitched our horses to the fence and went in just as
Gomez was about to sit down to a tempting supper of stewed hare and
tortillas. We were officers and caballeros and could not be
ignored. After turning our horses to grass, at his invitation we
joined him at supper. The allowance, though ample for one, was
rather short for three, and I thought the Spanish grandiloquent
politeness of Gomez, who was fat and old, was not over-cordial.
However, down we sat, and I was helped to a dish of rabbit, with
what I thought to be an abundant sauce of tomato. Taking a good
mouthful, I felt as though I had taken liquid fire; the tomato was
chile colorado, or red pepper, of the purest kind. It nearly killed
me, and I saw Gomez’s eyes twinkle, for he saw that his share of
supper was increased.—I contented myself with bits of the
meat, and an abundant supply of tortillas. Ord was better
case-hardened, and stood it better. We staid at Gomez’s that night,
sleeping, as all did, on the ground, and the next morning we
crossed the hill by the bridle-path to the old Mission of San Juan
Bautista. The Mission was in a beautiful valley, very level, and
bounded on all sides by hills. The plain was covered with
wild-grasses and mustard, and had abundant water. Cattle and horses
were seen in all directions, and it was manifest that the priests
who first occupied the country were good judges of land. It was
Sunday, and all the people, about, a hundred, had come to church
from the country round about. Ord was somewhat of a Catholic, and
entered the church with his clanking spars and kneeled down,
attracting the attention of all, for he had on the uniform of an
American officer. As soon as church was out, all rushed to the
various sports. I saw the priest, with his gray robes tucked up,
playing at billiards, others were cock fighting, and some at
horse-racing. My horse had become lame, and I resolved to buy
another. As soon as it was known that I wanted a horse, several
came for me, and displayed their horses by dashing past and hauling
them up short. There was a fine black stallion that attracted my
notice, and, after trying him myself, I concluded a purchase. I
left with the seller my own lame horse, which he was to bring to me
at Monterey, when I was to pay him ten dollars for the other. The
Mission of San Juan bore the marks of high prosperity at a former
period, and had a good pear-orchard just under the plateau where
stood the church. After spending the day, Ord and I returned to
Monterey, about thirty-five miles, by a shorter route, Thus passed
the month of February, and, though there were no mails or regular
expresses, we heard occasionally from Yerba Buena and Sutter’s Fort
to the north, and from the army and navy about Los Angeles at the
south. We also knew that a quarrel had grown up at Los Angeles,
between General Kearney, Colonel Fremont, and Commodore Stockton,
as to the right to control affairs in California. Kearney had with
him only the fragments of the two companies of dragoons, which had
come across from New Mexico with him, and had been handled very
roughly by Don Andreas Pico, at San Pascual, in which engagement
Captains Moore and Johnson, and Lieutenant Hammond, were killed,
and Kearney himself wounded. There remained with him Colonel
Swords, quartermaster; Captain H. S. Turner, First Dragoons;
Captains Emory and Warner, Topographical Engineers; Assistant
Surgeon Griffin, and Lieutenant J. W. Davidson. Fremont had marched
down from the north with a battalion of volunteers; Commodore
Stockton had marched up from San Diego to Los Angeles, with General
Kearney, his dragoons, and a battalion of sailors and marines, and
was soon joined there by Fremont, and they jointly received the
surrender of the insurgents under Andreas Pico. We also knew that
General R. B. Mason had been ordered to California; that Colonel
John D. Stevenson was coming out to California with a regiment of
New York Volunteers; that Commodore Shubrick had orders also from
the Navy Department to control matters afloat; that General
Kearney, by virtue of his rank, had the right to control all the
land-forces in the service of the United States; and that Fremont
claimed the same right by virtue of a letter he had received from
Colonel Benton, then a Senator, and a man of great influence with
Polk’s Administration. So that among the younger officers the query
was very natural, “Who the devil is Governor of California?” One
day I was on board the Independence frigate, dining with the
ward-room officers, when a war-vessel was reported in the offing,
which in due time was made out to be the Cyane, Captain DuPont.
After dinner we were all on deck to watch the new arrival, the
ships meanwhile exchanging signals, which were interpreted that
General Kearney was on board. As the Cyane approached, a boat was
sent to meet her, with Commodore Shubrick’s flag-officer,
Lieutenant Lewis, to carry the usual messages, and to invite
General Kearney to come on board the Independence as the guest of
Commodore Shubrick. Quite a number of officers were on deck, among
them Lieutenants Wise, Montgomery Lewis, William Chapman, and
others, noted wits and wags of the navy. In due time the Cyane
anchored close by, and our boat was seen returning with a stranger
in the stern-sheets, clothed in army blue. As the boat came nearer,
we saw that it was General Kearney with an old dragoon coat on, and
an army-cap, to which the general had added the broad vizor, cut
from a full-dress hat, to shade his face and eyes against the
glaring sun of the Gila region. Chapman exclaimed: “Fellows, the
problem is solved; there is the grand-vizier (visor) by G-d! He is
Governor of California.”

All hands received the general with great heartiness, and he
soon passed out of our sight into the commodore’s cabin. Between
Commodore Shubrick and General Kearney existed from that time
forward the greatest harmony and good feeling, and no further
trouble existed as to the controlling power on the Pacific coast.
General Kearney had dispatched from San Diego his quartermaster,
Colonel Swords, to the Sandwich Islands, to purchase clothing and
stores for his men, and had come up to Monterey, bringing with him
Turner and Warner, leaving Emory and the company of dragoons below.
He was delighted to find a full strong company of artillery,
subject to his orders, well supplied with clothing and money in all
respects, and, much to the disgust of our Captain Tompkins, he took
half of his company clothing and part of the money held by me for
the relief of his worn-out and almost naked dragoons left behind at
Los Angeles. In a few days he moved on shore, took up his quarters
at Larkin’s house, and established his headquarters, with Captain
Turner as his adjutant general. One day Turner and Warner were at
my tent, and, seeing a store-bag full of socks, drawers, and calico
shirts, of which I had laid in a three years’ supply, and of which
they had none, made known to me their wants, and I told them to
help themselves, which Turner and Warner did. The latter, however,
insisted on paying me the cost, and from that date to this Turner
and I have been close friends. Warner, poor fellow, was afterward
killed by Indians. Things gradually came into shape, a semi-monthly
courier line was established from Yerba Buena to San Diego, and we
were thus enabled to keep pace with events throughout the country.
In March Stevenson’s regiment arrived. Colonel Mason also arrived
by sea from Callao in the store-ship Erie, and P. St. George
Cooke’s battalion of Mormons reached San Luis Rey. A. J. Smith and
George Stoneman were with him, and were assigned to the company of
dragoons at Los Angeles. All these troops and the navy regarded
General Kearney as the rightful commander, though Fremont still
remained at Los Angeles, styling himself as Governor, issuing
orders and holding his battalion of California Volunteers in
apparent defiance of General Kearney. Colonel Mason and Major
Turner were sent down by sea with a paymaster, with muster-rolls
and orders to muster this battalion into the service of the United
States, to pay and then to muster them out; but on their reaching
Los Angeles Fremont would not consent to it, and the controversy
became so angry that a challenge was believed to have passed
between Mason and Fremont, but the duel never came about. Turner
rode up by land in four or five days, and Fremont, becoming
alarmed, followed him, as we supposed, to overtake him, but he did
not succeed. On Fremont’s arrival at Monterey, he camped in a tent
about a mile out of town and called on General Kearney, and it was
reported that the latter threatened him very severely and ordered
him back to Los Angeles immediately, to disband his volunteers, and
to cease the exercise of authority of any kind in the country.
Feeling a natural curiosity to see Fremont, who was then quite
famous by reason of his recent explorations and the still more
recent conflicts with Kearney and Mason, I rode out to his camp,
and found him in a conical tent with one Captain Owens, who was a
mountaineer, trapper, etc., but originally from Zanesville, Ohio. I
spent an hour or so with Fremont in his tent, took some tea with
him, and left, without being much impressed with him. In due time
Colonel Swords returned from the Sandwich Islands and relieved me
as quartermaster. Captain William G. Marcy, son of the Secretary of
War, had also come out in one of Stevenson’s ships as an assistant
commissary of subsistence, and was stationed at Monterey and
relieved me as commissary, so that I reverted to the condition of a
company-officer. While acting as a staff officer I had lived at the
custom-house in Monterey, but when relieved I took a tent in line
with the other company-officers on the hill, where we had a
mess.

Stevenson’a regiment reached San Francisco Bay early in March,
1847. Three companies were stationed at the Presidio under Major
James A. Hardier one company (Brackett’s) at Sonoma; three, under
Colonel Stevenson, at Monterey; and three, under Lieutenant-Colonel
Burton, at Santa Barbara. One day I was down at the headquarters at
Larkin’s horse, when General Kearney remarked to me that he was
going down to Los Angeles in the ship Lexington, and wanted me to
go along as his aide. Of course this was most agreeable to me. Two
of Stevenson’s companies, with the headquarters and the colonel,
were to go also. They embarked, and early in May we sailed for San
Pedro. Before embarking, the United States line-of-battle-ship
Columbus had reached the coast from China with Commodore Biddle,
whose rank gave him the supreme command of the navy on the coast.
He was busy in calling in—”lassooing “—from the
land-service the various naval officers who under Stockton had been
doing all sorts of military and civil service on shore. Knowing
that I was to go down the coast with General Kearney, he sent for
me and handed me two unsealed parcels addressed to Lieutenant
Wilson, United States Navy, and Major Gillespie, United States
Marines, at Los Angeles. These were written orders pretty much in
these words: “On receipt of this order you will repair at once on
board the United States ship Lexington at San Pedro, and on
reaching Monterey you will report to the undersigned.-JAMES
BIDDLE.” Of course, I executed my part to the letter, and these
officers were duly “lassooed.” We sailed down the coast with a fair
wind, and anchored inside the kelp, abreast of Johnson’s house.
Messages were forthwith dispatched up to Los Angeles, twenty miles
off, and preparations for horses made for us to ride up. We landed,
and, as Kearney held to my arm in ascending the steep path up the
bluff, he remarked to himself, rather than to me, that it was
strange that Fremont did not want to return north by the Lexington
on account of sea-sickness, but preferred to go by land over five
hundred miles. The younger officers had been discussing what the
general would do with Fremont, who was supposed to be in a state of
mutiny. Some, thought he would be tried and shot, some that he
would be carried back in irons; and all agreed that if any one else
than Fremont had put on such airs, and had acted as he had done,
Kearney would have shown him no mercy, for he was regarded as the
strictest sort of a disciplinarian. We had a pleasant ride across
the plain which lies between the seashore and Los Angeles, which we
reached in about three hours, the infantry following on foot. We
found Colonel P. St. George Cooke living at the house of a Mr.
Pryor, and the company of dragoons, with A. J. Smith, Davidson,
Stoneman, and Dr. Griffin, quartered in an adobe-house close by.
Fremont held his court in the only two-story frame-house in the
place. After sometime spent at Pryor’s house, General Kearney
ordered me to call on Fremont to notify him of his arrival, and
that he desired to see him. I walked round to the house which had
been pointed out to me as his, inquired of a man at the door if the
colonel was in, was answered “Yea,” and was conducted to a large
room on the second floor, where very soon Fremont came in, and I
delivered my message. As I was on the point of leaving, he inquired
where I was going to, and I answered that I was going back to
Pryor’s house, where the general was, when he remarked that if I
would wait a moment he would go along. Of course I waited, and he
soon joined me, dressed much as a Californian, with the peculiar
high, broad-brimmed hat, with a fancy cord, and we walked together
back to Pryor’s, where I left him with General Kearney. We spent
several days very pleasantly at Los Angeles, then, as now, the
chief pueblo of the south, famous for its grapes, fruits, and
wines. There was a hill close to the town, from which we had a
perfect view of the place. The surrounding country is level,
utterly devoid of trees, except the willows and cotton-woods that
line the Los Angeles Creek and the acequias, or ditches, which lead
from it. The space of ground cultivated in vineyards seemed about
five miles by one, embracing the town. Every house had its
inclosure of vineyard, which resembled a miniature orchard, the
vines being very old, ranged in rows, trimmed very close, with
irrigating ditches so arranged that a stream of water could be
diverted between each row of vines. The Los Angeles and San Gabriel
Rivers are fed by melting snows from a range of mountains to the
east, and the quantity of cultivated land depends upon the amount
of water. This did not seem to be very large; but the San Gabriel
River, close by, was represented to contain a larger volume of
water, affording the means of greatly enlarging the space for
cultivation. The climate was so moderate that oranges, figs,
pomegranates, etc…. were generally to be found in every yard or
inclosure.

At the time of our visit, General Kearney was making his
preparations to return overland to the United States, and he
arranged to secure a volunteer escort out of the battalion of
Mormons that was then stationed at San Luis Rey, under Colonel
Cooke and a Major Hunt. This battalion was only enlisted for one
year, and the time for their discharge was approaching, and it was
generally understood that the majority of the men wanted to be
discharged so as to join the Mormons who had halted at Salt Lake,
but a lieutenant and about forty men volunteered to return to
Missouri as the escort of General Kearney. These were mounted on
mules and horses, and I was appointed to conduct them to Monterey
by land. Leaving the party at Los Angeles to follow by sea in the
Lexington, I started with the Mormon detachment and traveled by
land. We averaged about thirty miles a day, stopped one day at
Santa Barbara, where I saw Colonel Burton, and so on by the usually
traveled road to Monterey, reaching it in about fifteen days,
arriving some days in advance of the Lexington. This gave me the
best kind of an opportunity for seeing the country, which was very
sparsely populated indeed, except by a few families at the various
Missions. We had no wheeled vehicles, but packed our food and
clothing on mules driven ahead, and we slept on the ground in the
open air, the rainy season having passed. Fremont followed me by
land in a few days, and, by the end of May, General Kearney was all
ready at Monterey to take his departure, leaving to succeed him in
command Colonel R. B. Mason, First Dragoons. Our Captain
(Tompkins), too, had become discontented at his separation from his
family, tendered his resignation to General Kearney, and availed
himself of a sailing-vessel bound for Callao to reach the East.
Colonel Mason selected me as his adjutant-general; and on the very
last day of May General Kearney, with his Mormon escort, with
Colonel Cooke, Colonel Swords (quartermaster), Captain Turner, and
a naval officer, Captain Radford, took his departure for the East
overland, leaving us in full possession of California and its fate.
Fremont also left California with General Kearney, and with him
departed all cause of confusion and disorder in the country. From
that time forth no one could dispute the authority of Colonel Mason
as in command of all the United States forces on shore, while the
senior naval officer had a like control afloat. This was Commodore
James Biddle, who had reached the station from China in the
Columbus, and he in turn was succeeded by Commodore T. Ap Catesby
Jones in the line-of-battle-ship Ohio. At that time Monterey was
our headquarters, and the naval commander for a time remained
there, but subsequently San Francisco Bay became the chief naval
rendezvous.

Colonel R. B. Mason, First Dragoons, was an officer of great
experience, of stern character, deemed by some harsh and severe,
but in all my intercourse with him he was kind and agreeable. He
had a large fund of good sense, and, during our long period of
service together, I enjoyed his unlimited confidence. He had been
in his day a splendid shot and hunter, and often entertained me
with characteristic anecdotes of Taylor, Twiggs, Worth, Harvey,
Martin Scott, etc., etc, who were then in Mexico, gaining a
national fame. California had settled down to a condition of
absolute repose, and we naturally repined at our fate in being so
remote from the war in Mexico, where our comrades were reaping
large honors. Mason dwelt in a house not far from the Custom-House,
with Captain Lanman, United States Navy; I had a small adobe-house
back of Larkin’s. Halleck and Dr. Murray had a small log-house not
far off. The company of artillery was still on the hill, under the
command of Lieutenant Ord, engaged in building a fort whereon to
mount the guns we had brought out in the Lexington, and also in
constructing quarters out of hewn pine-logs for the men. Lieutenant
Minor, a very clever young officer, had taken violently sick and
died about the time I got back from Los Angeles, leaving
Lieutenants Ord and Loeser alone with the company, with
Assistant-Surgeon Robert Murray. Captain William G. Marcy was the
quartermaster and commissary. Naglee’s company of Stevenson’s
regiment had been mounted and was sent out against the Indians in
the San Joaquin Valley, and Shannon’s company occupied the
barracks. Shortly after General Kearney had gone East, we found an
order of his on record, removing one Mr. Nash, the Alcalde of
Sonoma, and appointing to his place ex-Governor L. W. Boggs. A
letter came to Colonel and Governor Mason from Boggs, whom he had
personally known in Missouri, complaining that, though he had been
appointed alcalde, the then incumbent (Nash) utterly denied
Kearney’s right to remove him, because he had been elected by the
people under the proclamation of Commodore Sloat, and refused to
surrender his office or to account for his acts as alcalde. Such a
proclamation had been made by Commodore Sloat shortly after the
first occupation of California, announcing that the people were
free and enlightened American citizens, entitled to all the rights
and privileges as such, and among them the right to elect their own
officers, etc. The people of Sonoma town and valley, some forty or
fifty immigrants from the United States, and very few native
Californians, had elected Mr. Nash, and, as stated, he refused to
recognize the right of a mere military commander to eject him and
to appoint another to his place. Neither General Kearney nor Mason
had much respect for this land of “buncombe,” but assumed the true
doctrine that California was yet a Mexican province, held by right
of conquest, that the military commander was held responsible to
the country, and that the province should be held in statu quo
until a treaty of peace. This letter of Boggs was therefore
referred to Captain Brackett, whose company was stationed at
Sonoma, with orders to notify Nash that Boggs was the rightful
alcalde; that he must quietly surrender his office, with the books
and records thereof, and that he must account for any moneys
received from the sale of town-lots, etc., etc.; and in the event
of refusal he (Captain Brackett) must compel him by the use of
force. In due time we got Brackett’s answer, saying that the little
community of Sonoma was in a dangerous state of effervescence
caused by his orders; that Nash was backed by most of the Americans
there who had come across from Missouri with American ideas; that
as he (Brackett) was a volunteer officer, likely to be soon
discharged, and as he designed to settle there, he asked in
consequence to be excused from the execution of this (to him)
unpleasant duty. Such a request, coming to an old soldier like
Colonel Mason, aroused his wrath, and he would have proceeded
rough-shod against Brackett, who, by-the-way, was a West Point
graduate, and ought to have known better; but I suggested to the
colonel that, the case being a test one, he had better send me up
to Sonoma, and I would settle it quick enough. He then gave me an
order to go to Sonoma to carry out the instructions already given
to Brackett.

I took one soldier with me, Private Barnes, with four horses,
two of which we rode, and the other two we drove ahead. The first
day we reached Gilroy’s and camped by a stream near three or four
adobe-huts known as Gilroy’s ranch. The next day we passed
Murphy’s, San Jose, and Santa Clara Mission, camping some four
miles beyond, where a kind of hole had been dug in the ground for
water. The whole of this distance, now so beautifully improved and
settled, was then scarcely occupied, except by poor ranches
producing horses and cattle. The pueblo of San Jose was a string of
low adobe-houses festooned with red peppers and garlic; and the
Mission of Santa Clara was a dilapidated concern, with its church
and orchard. The long line of poplar-trees lining the road from San
Jose to Santa Clara bespoke a former period when the priests had
ruled the land. Just about dark I was lying on the ground near the
well, and my soldier Barnes had watered our horses and picketed
them to grass, when we heard a horse crushing his way through the
high mustard-bushes which filled the plain, and soon a man came to
us to inquire if we had seen a saddle-horse pass up the road. We
explained to him what we had heard, and he went off in pursuit of
his horse. Before dark he came back unsuccessful, and gave his name
as Bidwell, the same gentleman who has since been a member of
Congress, who is married to Miss Kennedy, of Washington City, and
now lives in princely style at Chico, California.

He explained that he was a surveyor, and had been in the lower
country engaged in surveying land; that the horse had escaped him
with his saddle-bags containing all his notes and papers, and some
six hundred dollars in money, all the money he had earned. He spent
the night with us on the ground, and the next morning we left him
there to continue the search for his horse, and I afterward heard
that he had found his saddle-bags all right, but never recovered
the horse. The next day toward night we approached the Mission of
San Francisco, and the village of Yerba Buena, tired and
weary—the wind as usual blowing a perfect hurricane, and a
more desolate region it was impossible to conceive of. Leaving
Barnes to work his way into the town as best he could with the
tired animals, I took the freshest horse and rode forward. I fell
in with Lieutenant Fabius Stanley, United States Navy, and we rode
into Yerba Buena together about an hour before sundown, there being
nothing but a path from the Mission into the town, deep and heavy
with drift-sand. My horse could hardly drag one foot after the
other when we reached the old Hudson Bay Company’s house, which was
then the store of Howard and Mellus. There I learned where Captain
Folsom, the quartermaster, was to be found. He was staying with a
family of the name of Grimes, who had a small horse back of
Howard’s store, which must have been near where Sacramento Street
now crosses Kearney. Folsom was a classmate of mine, had come out
with Stevenson’s regiment as quartermaster, and was at the time the
chief-quartermaster of the department. His office was in the old
custom-horse standing at the northwest corner of the Plaza. He had
hired two warehouses, the only ones there at the time, of one
Liedsdorff, the principal man of Yerba Buena, who also owned the
only public-house, or tavern, called the City Hotel, on Kearney
Street, at the southeast corner of the Plaza. I stopped with Folsom
at Mrs. Grimes’s, and he sent my horse, as also the other three
when Barnes had got in after dark, to a coral where he had a little
barley, but no hay. At that time nobody fed a horse, but he was
usually turned out to pick such scanty grass as he could find on
the side-hills. The few government horses used in town were usually
sent out to the Presidio, where the grass was somewhat better. At
that time (July, 1847), what is now called San Francisco was called
Yerba Buena. A naval officer, Lieutenant Washington A. Bartlett,
its first alcalde, had caused it to be surveyed and laid out into
blocks and lots, which were being sold at sixteen dollars a lot of
fifty vuras square; the understanding being that no single person
could purchase of the alcalde more than one in-lot of fifty varas,
and one out-lot of a hundred varas. Folsom, however, had got his
clerks, orderlies, etc., to buy lots, and they, for a small
consideration, conveyed them to him, so that he was nominally the
owner of a good many lots. Lieutenant Halleck had bought one of
each kind, and so had Warner. Many naval officers had also
invested, and Captain Folsom advised me to buy some, but I felt
actually insulted that he should think me such a fool as to pay
money for property in such a horrid place as Yerba Buena,
especially ridiculing his quarter of the city, then called Happy
Valley. At that day Montgomery Street was, as now, the business
street, extending from Jackson to Sacramento, the water of the bay
leaving barely room for a few houses on its east side, and the
public warehouses were on a sandy beach about where the Bank of
California now stands, viz., near the intersection of Sansome and
California, Streets. Along Montgomery Street were the stores of
Howard & Mellus, Frank Ward, Sherman & Ruckel, Ross &
Co., and it may be one or two others. Around the Plaza were a few
houses, among them the City Hotel and the Custom-House,
single-story adobes with tiled roofs, and they were by far the most
substantial and best houses in the place. The population was
estimated at about four hundred, of whom Kanakas (natives of the
Sandwich Islands) formed the bulk.

At the foot of Clay Street was a small wharf which small boats
could reach at high tide; but the principal landing-place was where
some stones had fallen into the water, about where Broadway now
intersects Battery Street. On the steep bluff above had been
excavated, by the navy, during the year before, a bench, wherein
were mounted a couple of navy-guns, styled the battery, which, I
suppose, gave name to the street. I explained to Folsom the object
of my visit, and learned from him that he had no boat in which to
send me to Sonoma, and that the only, chance to get there was to
borrow a boat from the navy. The line-of-battle-ship Columbus was
then lying at anchor off the town, and he said if I would get up
early the next morning I could go off to her in one of the
market-boats.

Accordingly, I was up bright and early, down at the wharf, found
a boat, and went off to the Columbus to see Commodore Biddle. On
reaching the ship and stating to the officer of the deck my
business, I was shown into the commodore’s cabin, and soon made
known to him my object. Biddle was a small-sized man, but vivacious
in the extreme. He had a perfect contempt for all humbug, and at
once entered into the business with extreme alacrity. I was
somewhat amused at the importance he attached to the step. He had a
chaplain, and a private secretary, in a small room latticed off
from his cabin, and he first called on them to go out, and, when we
were alone, he enlarged on the folly of Sloat’s proclamation,
giving the people the right to elect their own officers, and
commended Kearney and Mason for nipping that idea in the bud, and
keeping the power in their own hands. He then sent for the first
lieutenant (Drayton), and inquired if there were among the officers
on board any who had ever been in the Upper Bay, and learning that
there was a midshipman (Whittaker) he was sent for. It so happened
that this midshipman had been on a frolic on shore a few nights
before, and was accordingly much frightened when summoned into the
commodore’s presence, but as soon as he was questioned as to his
knowledge of the bay, he was sensibly relieved, and professed to
know every thing about it.

Accordingly, the long boat was ordered with this midshipman and
eight sailors, prepared with water and provisions for several days
absence. Biddle then asked me if I knew any of his own officers,
and which one of them I would prefer to accompany me. I knew most
of them, and we settled down on Louis McLane. He was sent for, and
it was settled that McLane and I were to conduct this important
mission, and the commodore enjoined on us complete secrecy, so as
to insure success, and he especially cautioned us against being
pumped by his ward-room officers, Chapman, Lewis, Wise, etc., while
on board his ship. With this injunction I was dismissed to the
wardroom, where I found Chapman, Lewis, and Wise, dreadfully
exercised at our profound secrecy. The fact that McLane and I had
been closeted with the commodore for an hour, that orders for the
boat and stores had been made, that the chaplain and clerk had been
sent out of the cabin, etc., etc., all excited their curiosity; but
McLane and I kept our secret well. The general impression was, that
we had some knowledge about the fate of Captain Montgomery’s two
sons and the crew that had been lost the year before. In 1846
Captain Montgomery commanded at Yerba Buena, on board the St. Mary
sloop-of-war, and he had a detachment of men stationed up at
Sonoma. Occasionally a boat was sent up with provisions or
intelligence to them. Montgomery had two sons on board his ship,
one a midshipman, the other his secretary. Having occasion to send
some money up to Sonoma, he sent his two sons with a good boat and
crew. The boat started with a strong breeze and a very large sail,
was watched from the deck until she was out of sight, and has never
been heard of since. There was, of coarse, much speculation as to
their fate, some contending that the boat must have been capsized
in San Pablo Bay, and that all were lost; others contending that
the crew had murdered the officers for the money, and then escaped;
but, so far as I know, not a man of that crew has ever been seen or
heard of since. When at last the boat was ready for us, we started,
leaving all hands, save the commodore, impressed with the belief
that we were going on some errand connected with the loss of the
missing boat and crew of the St. Mary. We sailed directly north, up
the bay and across San Pablo, reached the month of Sonoma Creek
about dark, and during the night worked up the creek some twelve
miles by means of the tide, to a landing called the Embarcadero. To
maintain the secrecy which the commodore had enjoined on us, McLane
and I agreed to keep up the delusion by pretending to be on a
marketing expedition to pick up chickens, pigs, etc., for the mess
of the Columbus, soon to depart for home.

Leaving the midshipman and four sailors to guard the boat, we
started on foot with the other four for Sonoma Town, which we soon
reached. It was a simple open square, around which were some
adobe-houses, that of General Vallejo occupying one side. On
another was an unfinished two-story adobe building, occupied as a
barrack by Bracken’s company. We soon found Captain Brackett, and I
told him that I intended to take Nash a prisoner and convey him
back to Monterey to answer for his mutinous behavior. I got an old
sergeant of his company, whom I had known in the Third Artillery,
quietly to ascertain the whereabouts of Nash, who was a bachelor,
stopping with the family of a lawyer named Green. The sergeant soon
returned, saying that Nash had gone over to Napa, but would be back
that evening; so McLane and I went up to a farm of some
pretensions, occupied by one Andreas Hoepner, with a pretty Sitka
wife, who lived a couple of miles above Sonoma, and we bought of
him some chickens, pigs, etc. We then visited Governor Boggs’s
family and that of General Vallejo, who was then, as now, one of
the most prominent and influential natives of California. About
dark I learned that Nash had come back, and then, giving Brackett
orders to have a cart ready at the corner of the plaza, McLane and
I went to the house of Green. Posting an armed sailor on each side
of the house, we knocked at the door and walked in. We found Green,
Nash, and two women, at supper. I inquired if Nash were in, and was
first answered “No,” but one of the women soon pointed to him, and
he rose. We were armed with pistols, and the family was evidently
alarmed. I walked up to him and took his arm, and told him to come
along with me. He asked me, “Where?” and I said, “Monterey.” “Why?”
I would explain that more at leisure. Green put himself between me
and the door, and demanded, in theatrical style, why I dared arrest
a peaceable citizen in his house. I simply pointed to my pistol,
and told him to get out of the way, which he did. Nash asked to get
some clothing, but I told him he should want for nothing. We passed
out, Green following us with loud words, which brought the four
sailors to the front-door, when I told him to hush up or I would
take him prisoner also. About that time one of the sailors,
handling his pistol carelessly, discharged it, and Green
disappeared very suddenly. We took Nash to the cart, put him in,
and proceeded back to our boat. The next morning we were gone.

Nash being out of the way, Boggs entered on his office, and the
right to appoint or remove from civil office was never again
questioned in California during the military regime. Nash was an
old man, and was very much alarmed for his personal safety. He had
come across the Plains, and had never yet seen the sea. While on
our way down the bay, I explained fully to him the state of things
in California, and he admitted he had never looked on it in that
light before, and professed a willingness to surrender his office;
but, having gone so far, I thought it best to take him to Monterey.
On our way down the bay the wind was so strong, as we approached
the Columbus, that we had to take refuge behind Yerba Buena Island,
then called Goat Island, where we landed, and I killed a gray seal.
The next morning, the wind being comparatively light, we got out
and worked our way up to the Columbus, where I left my prisoner on
board, and went on shore to find Commodore Biddle, who had gone to
dine with Frank Ward. I found him there, and committed Nash to his
charge, with the request that he would send him down to Monterey,
which he did in the sloop-of-war Dale, Captain Selfridge
commanding. I then returned to Monterey by land, and, when the Dale
arrived, Colonel Mason and I went on board, found poor old Mr. Nash
half dead with sea-sickness and fear, lest Colonel Mason would
treat him with extreme military rigor. But, on the contrary, the
colonel spoke to him kindly, released him as a prisoner on his
promise to go back to Sonoma, surrender his office to Boggs, and
account to him for his acts while in office. He afterward came on
shore, was provided with clothing and a horse, returned to Sonoma,
and I never have seen him since.

Matters and things settled down in Upper California, and all
moved along with peace and harmony. The war still continued in
Mexico, and the navy authorities resolved to employ their time with
the capture of Mazatlan and Guaymas. Lower California had already
been occupied by two companies of Stevenson’s regiment, under
Lieutenant-Colonel Burton, who had taken post at La Paz, and a
small party of sailors was on shore at San Josef, near Cape San
Lucas, detached from the Lexington, Lieutenant-Commander Bailey.
The orders for this occupation were made by General Kearney before
he left, in pursuance of instructions from the War Department,
merely to subserve a political end, for there were few or no people
in Lower California, which is a miserable, wretched, dried-up
peninsula. I remember the proclamation made by Burton and Captain
Bailey, in taking possession, which was in the usual florid style.
Bailey signed his name as the senior naval officer at the station,
but, as it was necessary to put it into Spanish to reach the
inhabitants of the newly-acquired country, it was interpreted, “El
mas antiguo de todos los oficiales de la marina,” etc., which,
literally, is “the most ancient of all the naval officers,” etc., a
translation at which we made some fun.

The expedition to Mazatlan was, however, for a different
purpose, viz., to get possession of the ports of Mazatlan and
Guaymas, as a part of the war against Mexico, and not for permanent
conquest.

Commodore Shubrick commanded this expedition, and took Halleck
along as his engineer-officer. They captured Mazatlan and Guaymas,
and then called on Colonel Mason to send soldiers down to hold
possession, but he had none to spare, and it was found impossible
to raise other volunteers either in California or Oregon, and the
navy held these places by detachments of sailors and marines till
the end of the war. Burton also called for reenforcements, and
Naglee’a company was sent to him from Monterey, and these three
companies occupied Lower California at the end of the Mexican War.
Major Hardie still commanded at San Francisco and above; Company F,
Third Artillery, and Shannon’s company of volunteers, were at
Monterey; Lippett’s company at Santa Barbara; Colonel Stevenson,
with one company of his regiment, and the company of the First
Dragoons, was at Los Angeles; and a company of Mormons, reenlisted
out of the Mormon Battalion, garrisoned San Diego—and thus
matters went along throughout 1847 into 1848. I had occasion to
make several trips to Yerba Buena and back, and in the spring of
1848 Colonel Mason and I went down to Santa Barbara in the
sloop-of-war Dale.

I spent much time in hunting deer and bear in the mountains back
of the Carmel Mission, and ducks and geese in the plains of the
Salinas. As soon as the fall rains set in, the young oats would
sprout up, and myriads of ducks, brant, and geese, made their
appearance. In a single day, or rather in the evening of one day
and the morning of the next, I could load a pack-mule with geese
and ducks. They had grown somewhat wild from the increased number
of hunters, yet, by marking well the place where a flock lighted, I
could, by taking advantage of gullies or the shape of the ground,
creep up within range; and, giving one barrel on the ground, and
the other as they rose, I have secured as many as nine at one
discharge. Colonel Mason on one occasion killed eleven geese by one
discharge of small shot. The seasons in California are well marked.
About October and November the rains begin, and the whole country,
plains and mountains, becomes covered with a bright-green grass,
with endless flowers. The intervals between the rains give the
finest weather possible. These rains are less frequent in March,
and cease altogether in April and May, when gradually the grass
dies and the whole aspect of things changes, first to yellow, then
to brown, and by midsummer all is burnt up and dry as an
ashheap.

When General Kearney first departed we took his office at
Larkin’s; but shortly afterward we had a broad stairway constructed
to lead from the outside to the upper front porch of the barracks.
By cutting a large door through the adobe-wall, we made the upper
room in the centre our office; and another side-room, connected
with it by a door, was Colonel Mason’s private office.

I had a single clerk, a soldier named Baden; and William E. P.
Hartnell, citizen, also had a table in the same room. He was the
government interpreter, and had charge of the civil archives. After
Halleck’s return from Mazatlan, he was, by Colonel Mason, made
Secretary of State; and he then had charge of the civil archives,
including the land-titles, of which Fremont first had possession,
but which had reverted to us when he left the country.

I remember one day, in the spring of 1848, that two men,
Americans, came into the office and inquired for the Governor. I
asked their business, and one answered that they had just come down
from Captain Sutter on special business, and they wanted to see
Governor Mason in person. I took them in to the colonel, and left
them together. After some time the colonel came to his door and
called to me. I went in, and my attention was directed to a series
of papers unfolded on his table, in which lay about half an ounce
of placer gold. Mason said to me, “What is that?” I touched it and
examined one or two of the larger pieces, and asked, “Is it gold?”
Mason asked me if I had ever seen native gold. I answered that, in
1844, I was in Upper Georgia, and there saw some native gold, but
it was much finer than this, and that it was in phials, or in
transparent quills; but I said that, if this were gold, it could be
easily tested, first, by its malleability, and next by acids. I
took a piece in my teeth, and the metallic lustre was perfect. I
then called to the clerk, Baden, to bring an axe and hatchet from
the backyard. When these were brought, I took the largest piece and
beat it out flat, and beyond doubt it was metal, and a pure metal.
Still, we attached little importance to the fact, for gold was
known to exist at San Fernando, at the south, and yet was not
considered of much value. Colonel Mason then handed me a letter
from Captain Sutter, addressed to him, stating that he (Sutter) was
engaged in erecting a saw-mill at Coloma, about forty miles up the
American Fork, above his fort at New Helvetia, for the general
benefit of the settlers in that vicinity; that he had incurred
considerable expense, and wanted a “preemption” to the
quarter-section of land on which the mill was located, embracing
the tail-race in which this particular gold had been found. Mason
instructed me to prepare a letter, in answer, for his signature. I
wrote off a letter, reciting that California was yet a Mexican
province, simply held by us as a conquest; that no laws of the
United States yet applied to it, much less the land laws or
preemption laws, which could only apply after a public survey.
Therefore it was impossible for the Governor to promise him
(Sutter) a title to the land; yet, as there were no settlements
within forty miles, he was not likely to be disturbed by
trespassers. Colonel Mason signed the letter, handed it to one of
the gentlemen who had brought the sample of gold, and they
departed. That gold was the first discovered in the Sierra Nevada,
which soon revolutionized the whole country, and actually moved the
whole civilized world. About this time (May and June, 1848), far
more importance was attached to quicksilver. One mine, the New
Almaden, twelve miles south of San Jose, was well known, and was in
possession of the agent of a Scotch gentleman named Forties, who at
the time was British consul at Tepic, Mexico. Mr. Forties came up
from San Blas in a small brig, which proved to be a Mexican vessel;
the vessel was seized, condemned, and actually sold, but Forties
was wealthy, and bought her in. His title to the quicksilver-mine
was, however, never disputed, as he had bought it regularly, before
our conquest of the country, from another British subject, also
named Forties, a resident of Santa Clara Mission, who had purchased
it of the discoverer, a priest; but the boundaries of the land
attached to the mine were even then in dispute. Other men were in
search of quicksilver; and the whole range of mountains near the
New Almaden mine was stained with the brilliant red of the
sulphuret of mercury (cinnabar). A company composed of T. O.
Larkin, J. R. Snyder, and others, among them one John Ricord (who
was quite a character), also claimed a valuable mine near by.
Ricord was a lawyer from about Buffalo, and by some means had got
to the Sandwich Islands, where he became a great favorite of the
king, Kamehameha; was his attorney-general, and got into a
difficulty with the Rev. Mr. Judd, who was a kind of prime-minister
to his majesty. One or the other had to go, and Ricord left for San
Francisco, where he arrived while Colonel Mason and I were there on
some business connected with the customs. Ricord at once made a
dead set at Mason with flattery, and all sorts of spurious
arguments, to convince him that our military government was too
simple in its forms for the new state of facts, and that he was the
man to remodel it. I had heard a good deal to his prejudice, and
did all I could to prevent Mason taking him, into his confidence.
We then started back for Monterey. Ricord was along, and night and
day he was harping on his scheme; but he disgusted Colonel Mason
with his flattery, and, on reaching Monterey, he opened what he
called a law-office, but there were neither courts nor clients, so
necessity forced him to turn his thoughts to something else, and
quicksilver became his hobby. In the spring of 1848 an appeal came
to our office from San Jose, which compelled the Governor to go up
in person. Lieutenant Loeser and I, with a couple of soldiers, went
along. At San Jose the Governor held some kind of a court, in which
Ricord and the alcalde had a warm dispute about a certain mine
which Ricord, as a member of the Larkin Company, had opened within
the limits claimed by the New Almaden Company. On our way up we had
visited the ground, and were therefore better prepared to
understand the controversy. We had found at New Almaden Mr.
Walkinshaw, a fine Scotch gentleman, the resident agent of Mr.
Forbes. He had built in the valley, near a small stream, a few
board-houses, and some four or five furnaces for the distillation
of the mercury. These were very simple in their structure, being
composed of whalers’ kettles, set in masonry. These kettles were
filled with broken ore about the size of McAdam-stone, mingled with
lime. Another kettle, reversed, formed the lid, and the seam was
luted with clay. On applying heat, the mercury was volatilized and
carried into a chimney-stack, where it condensed and flowed back
into a reservoir, and then was led in pipes into another kettle
outside. After witnessing this process, we visited the mine itself,
which outcropped near the apex of the hill, about a thousand feet
above the furnaces. We found wagons hauling the mineral down the
hill and returning empty, and in the mines quite a number of Sonora
miners were blasting and driving for the beautiful ore (cinnabar).
It was then, and is now, a most valuable mine. The adit of the mine
was at the apex of the hill, which drooped off to the north. We
rode along this hill, and saw where many openings had been begun,
but these, proving of little or no value, had been abandoned. Three
miles beyond, on the west face of the bill, we came to the opening
of the “Larkin Company.” There was evidence of a good deal of work,
but the mine itself was filled up by what seemed a land-slide. The
question involved in the lawsuit before the alcalde at San Jose
was, first, whether the mine was or was not on the land belonging
to the New Almaden property; and, next, whether the company had
complied with all the conditions of the mite laws of Mexico, which
were construed to be still in force in California.

These laws required that any one who discovered a valuable mine
on private land should first file with the alcalde, or judge of the
district, a notice and claim for the benefits of such discovery;
then the mine was to be opened and followed for a distance of at
least one hundred feet within a specified time, and the claimants
must take out samples of the mineral and deposit the same with the
alcalde, who was then required to inspect personally the mine, to
see that it fulfilled all the conditions of the law, before he
could give a written title. In this case the alcalde had been to
the mine and had possession of samples of the ore; but, as the
mouth of the mine was closed up, as alleged, from the act of God,
by a land-slide, it was contended by Ricord and his associates that
it was competent to prove by good witnesses that the mine had been
opened into the hill one hundred feet, and that, by no negligence
of theirs, it had caved in. It was generally understood that Robert
J. Walker, United States Secretary of the Treasury, was then a
partner in this mining company; and a vessel, the bark Gray Eagle,
was ready at San Francisco to sail for New York with the
title-papers on which to base a joint-stock company for speculative
uses. I think the alcalde was satisfied that the law had been
complied with, that he had given the necessary papers, and, as at
that time there was nothing developed to show fraud, the Governor
(Mason) did not interfere. At that date there was no public house
or tavern in San Jose where we could stop, so we started toward
Santa Cruz and encamped about ten miles out, to the west of the
town, where we fell in with another party of explorers, of whom
Ruckel, of San Francisco, was the head; and after supper, as we sat
around the camp-fire, the conversation turned on quicksilver in
general, and the result of the contest in San Jose in particular.
Mason was relating to Ruckel the points and the arguments of
Ricord, that the company should not suffer from an act of God,
viz., the caving in of the mouth of the mine, when a man named
Cash, a fellow who had once been in the quartermaster’s employ as a
teamster, spoke up: “Governor Mason, did Judge Ricord say that?”
“Yes,” said the Governor; and then Cash related how he and another
man, whose name he gave, had been employed by Ricord to undermine a
heavy rock that rested above the mouth of the mine, so that it
tumbled down, carrying with it a large quantity of earth, and
completely filled it up, as we had seen; “and,” said Cash, “it took
us three days of the hardest kind of work.” This was the act of
God, and on the papers procured from the alcalde at that time, I
understand, was built a huge speculation, by which thousands of
dollars changed hands in the United States and were lost. This
happened long before the celebrated McGarrahan claim, which has
produced so much noise, and which still is being prosecuted in the
courts and in Congress.

On the next day we crossed over the Santa Cruz Mountains, from
which we had sublime views of the scenery, first looking east
toward the lower Bay of San Francisco, with the bright plains of
Santa Clara and San Jose, and then to the west upon the ocean, the
town of Monterey being visible sixty miles off. If my memory is
correct, we beheld from that mountain the firing of a salute from
the battery at Monterey, and counted the number of guns from the
white puffs of smoke, but could not hear the sound. That night we
slept on piles of wheat in a mill at Soquel, near Santa Cruz, and,
our supplies being short, I advised that we should make an early
start next morning, so as to reach the ranch of Don Juan Antonio
Vallejo, a particular friend, who had a large and valuable
cattle-ranch on the Pajaro River, about twenty miles on our way to
Monterey. Accordingly, we were off by the first light of day, and
by nine o’clock we had reached the ranch. It was on a high point of
the plateau, overlooking the plain of the Pajaro, on which were
grazing numbers of horses and cattle. The house was of adobe, with
a long range of adobe-huts occupied by the semi-civilized Indians,
who at that time did all the labor of a ranch, the herding and
marking of cattle, breaking of horses, and cultivating the little
patches of wheat and vegetables which constituted all the farming
of that day. Every thing about the house looked deserted, and,
seeing a small Indian boy leaning up against a post, I approached
him and asked him in Spanish, “Where is the master?” “Gone to the
Presidio” (Monterey). “Is anybody in the house?” “No.” “Is it
locked up?” “Yes.” “Is no one about who can get in?” “No.” “Have
you any meat?” “No.” “Any flour or grain?” “No.” “Any chickens?”
“No.” “Any eggs?” “No.” “What do you live on?” “Nada” (nothing).
The utter indifference of this boy, and the tone of his answer
“Nada,” attracted the attention of Colonel Mason, who had been
listening to our conversation, and who knew enough of Spanish to
catch the meaning, and he exclaimed with some feeling, “So we get
nada for our breakfast.” I felt mortified, for I had held out the
prospect of a splendid breakfast of meat and tortillas with rice,
chickens, eggs, etc., at the ranch of my friend Josh Antonio, as a
justification for taking the Governor, a man of sixty years of age,
more than twenty miles at a full canter for his breakfast. But
there was no help for it, and we accordingly went a short distance
to a pond, where we unpacked our mules and made a slim breakfast;
on some scraps of hard bread and a bone of pork that remained in
our alforjas. This was no uncommon thing in those days, when many a
ranchero with his eleven leagues of land, his hundreds of horses
and thousands of cattle, would receive us with all the
grandiloquence of a Spanish lord, and confess that he had nothing
in his house to eat except the carcass of a beef hung up, from
which the stranger might cut and cook, without money or price, what
he needed. That night we slept on Salinas Plain, and the next
morning reached Monterey. All the missions and houses at that
period were alive with fleas, which the natives looked on as
pleasant titillators, but they so tortured me that I always gave
them a wide berth, and slept on a saddle-blanket, with the saddle
for a pillow and the serape, or blanket, for a cover. We never
feared rain except in winter. As the spring and summer of 1848
advanced, the reports came faster and faster from the gold-mines at
Sutter’s saw-mill. Stories reached us of fabulous discoveries, and
spread throughout the land. Everybody was talking of “Gold! gold!”
until it assumed the character of a fever. Some of our soldiers
began to desert; citizens were fitting out trains of wagons and
packmules to go to the mines. We heard of men earning fifty, five
hundred, and thousands of dollars per day, and for a time it seemed
as though somebody would reach solid gold. Some of this gold began
to come to Yerba Buena in trade, and to disturb the value of
merchandise, particularly of mules, horses, tin pans, and articles
used in mining: I of course could not escape the infection, and at
last convinced Colonel Mason that it was our duty to go up and see
with our own eyes, that we might report the truth to our
Government. As yet we had no regular mail to any part of the United
States, but mails had come to us at long intervals, around Cape
Horn, and one or two overland. I well remember the first overland
mail. It was brought by Kit Carson in saddle-bags from Taos in New
Mexico. We heard of his arrival at Los Angeles, and waited
patiently for his arrival at headquarters. His fame then was at its
height, from the publication of Fremont’s books, and I was very
anxious to see a man who had achieved such feats of daring among
the wild animals of the Rocky Mountains, and still wilder Indians
of the Plains. At last his arrival was reported at the tavern at
Monterey, and I hurried to hunt him up. I cannot express my
surprise at beholding a small, stoop-shouldered man, with reddish
hair, freckled face, soft blue eyes, and nothing to indicate
extraordinary courage or daring. He spoke but little, and answered
questions in monosyllables. I asked for his mail, and he picked up
his light saddle-bags containing the great overland mail, and we
walked together to headquarters, where he delivered his parcel into
Colonel Mason’s own hands. He spent some days in Monterey, during
which time we extracted with difficulty some items of his personal
history. He was then by commission a lieutenant in the regiment of
Mounted Rifles serving in Mexico under Colonel Sumner, and, as he
could not reach his regiment from California, Colonel Mason ordered
that for a time he should be assigned to duty with A. J. Smith’s
company, First Dragoons, at Los Angeles. He remained at Los Angeles
some months, and was then sent back to the United Staten with
dispatches, traveling two thousand miles almost alone, in
preference to being encumbered by a large party.

Toward the close of June, 1848, the gold-fever being at its
height, by Colonel Mason’s orders I made preparations for his trip
to the newly-discovered gold-mines at Sutter’s Fort. I selected
four good soldiers, with Aaron, Colonel Mason’s black servant, and
a good outfit of horses and pack-mules, we started by the usually
traveled route for Yerba Buena. There Captain Fulsom and two
citizens joined our party. The first difficulty was to cross the
bay to Saucelito. Folsom, as quartermaster, had a sort of scow with
a large sail, with which to discharge the cargoes of ships, that
could not come within a mile of the shore. It took nearly the whole
day to get the old scow up to the only wharf there, and then the
water was so shallow that the scow, with its load of horses, would
not float at the first high tide, but by infinite labor on the next
tide she was got off and safely crossed over to Saucelito. We
followed in a more comfortable schooner. Having safely landed our
horses and mules, we picked up and rode to San Rafael Mission,
stopping with Don Timoteo Murphy. The next day’s journey took us to
Bodega, where lived a man named Stephen Smith, who had the only
steam saw-mill in California. He had a Peruvian wife, and employed
a number of absolutely naked Indians in making adobes. We spent a
day very pleasantly with him, and learned that he had come to
California some years before, at the personal advice of Daniel
Webster, who had informed him that sooner or later the United
States would be in possession of California, and that in
consequence it would become a great country. From Bodega we
traveled to Sonoma, by way of Petaluma, and spent a day with
General Vallejo. I had been there before, as related, in the
business of the alcalde Nash. From Sonoma we crossed over by way of
Napa, Suisun, and Vaca’s ranch, to the Puta. In the rainy season,
the plain between the Puta and Sacramento Rivers is impassable, but
in July the waters dry up; and we passed without trouble, by the
trail for Sutter’s Embarcadero. We reached the Sacramento River,
then full of water, with a deep, clear current. The only means of
crossing over was by an Indian dugout canoe. We began by carrying
across our packs and saddles, and then our people. When all things
were ready, the horses were driven into the water, one being guided
ahead by a man in the canoe. Of course, the horses and mules at
first refused to take to the water, and it was nearly a day’s work
to get them across, and even then some of our animals after
crossing escaped into the woods and undergrowth that lined the
river, but we secured enough of them to reach Sutter’s Fort, three
miles back from the embcarcadero, where we encamped at the old
slough, or pond, near the fort. On application, Captain Butter sent
some Indians back into the bushes, who recovered and brought in all
our animals. At that time there was not the sign of a habitation
there or thereabouts, except the fort, and an old adobe-house, east
of the fort, known as the hospital. The fort itself was one of
adobe-walls, about twenty feet high, rectangular in form, with
two-story block houses at diagonal corners. The entrance was by a
large gate, open by day and closed at night, with two iron ship’s
guns near at hand. Inside there was a large house, with a good
shingle-roof, used as a storehouse, and all round the walls were
ranged rooms, the fort wall being the outer wall of the house. The
inner wall also was of adobe. These rooms were used by Captain
Sutter himself and by his people. He had a blacksmith’s shop,
carpenter’s shop, etc., and other rooms where the women made
blankets. Sutter was monarch of all he surveyed, and had authority
to inflict punishment even unto death, a power he did not fail to
use. He had horses, cattle, and sheep, and of these he gave
liberally and without price to all in need. He caused to be driven
into our camp a beef and some sheep, which were slaughtered for our
use. Already the goldmines were beginning to be felt. Many people
were then encamped, some going and some coming, all full of
gold-stories, and each surpassing the other. We found preparations
in progress for celebrating the Fourth of July, then close at hand,
and we agreed to remain over to assist on the occasion; of course,
being the high officials, we were the honored guests. People came
from a great distance to attend this celebration of the Fourth of
July, and the tables were laid in the large room inside the
storehouse of the fort. A man of some note, named Sinclair,
presided, and after a substantial meal and a reasonable supply of
aguardiente we began the toasts. All that I remember is that Folsom
and I spoke for our party; others, Captain Sutter included, made
speeches, and before the celebration was over Sutter was
enthusiastic, and many others showed the effects of the
aguardiente. The next day (namely, July 5, 1848) we resumed our
journey toward the mines, and, in twenty-five miles of as hot and
dusty a ride as possible, we reached Mormon Island. I have
heretofore stated that the gold was first found in the tail-race of
the stew-mill at Coloma, forty miles above Sutter’s Fort, or
fifteen above Mormon Island, in the bed of the American Fork of the
Sacramento River. It seems that Sutter had employed an American
named Marshall, a sort of millwright, to do this work for him, but
Marshall afterward claimed that in the matter of the saw-mill they
were copartners. At all events, Marshall and the family of Mr.
Wimmer were living at Coloma, where the pine-trees afforded the
best material for lumber. He had under him four white men, Mormons,
who had been discharged from Cooke’s battalion, and some Indians.
These were engaged in hewing logs, building a mill-dam, and putting
up a saw-mill. Marshall, as the architect, had made the
“tub-wheel,” and had set it in motion, and had also furnished some
of the rude parts of machinery necessary for an ordinary
up-and-down saw-mill.

Labor was very scarce, expensive, and had to be economized. The
mill was built over a dry channel of the river which was calculated
to be the tail-race. After arranging his head-race, dam and
tub-wheel, he let on the water to test the goodness of his
machinery. It worked very well until it was found that the
tail-race did not carry off the water fast enough, so he put his
men to work in a rude way to clear out the tail-race. They
scratched a kind of ditch down the middle of the dry channel,
throwing the coarser stones to one side; then, letting on the water
again, it would run with velocity down the channel, washing away
the dirt, thus saving labor. This course of action was repeated
several times, acting exactly like the long Tom afterward resorted
to by the miners. As Marshall himself was working in this ditch, he
observed particles of yellow metal which he gathered up in his
hand, when it seemed to have suddenly flashed across his mind that
it was gold. After picking up about an ounce, he hurried down to
the fort to report to Captain Sutter his discovery. Captain Sutter
himself related to me Marshall’s account, saying that, as he sat in
his room at the fort one day in February or March, 1848, a knock
was heard at his door, and he called out, “Come in.” In walked
Marshall, who was a half-crazy man at best, but then looked
strangely wild. “What is the matter, Marshall!” Marshall inquired
if any one was within hearing, and began to peer about the room,
and look under the bed, when Sutter, fearing that some calamity had
befallen the party up at the saw-mill, and that Marshall was really
crazy, began to make his way to the door, demanding of Marshall to
explain what was the matter. At last he revealed his discovery, and
laid before Captain Sutter the pellicles of gold he had picked up
in the ditch. At first, Sutter attached little or no importance to
the discovery, and told Marshall to go back to the mill, and say
nothing of what he had seen to Mr. Wimmer, or any one else. Yet, as
it might add value to the location, he dispatched to our
headquarters at Monterey, as I have already related, the two men
with a written application for a preemption to the quarter-section
of land at Coloma. Marshall returned to the mill, but could not
keep out of his wonderful ditch, and by some means the other men
employed there learned his secret. They then wanted to gather the
gold, and Marshall threatened to shoot them if they attempted it;
but these men had sense enough to know that if “placer”-gold
existed at Coloma, it would also be found farther down-stream, and
they gradually “prospected” until they reached Mormon Island,
fifteen miles below, where they discovered one of the richest
placers on earth. These men revealed the fact to some other Mormons
who were employed by Captain Sutter at a grist-mill he was building
still lower down the American Fork, and six miles above his fort.
All of them struck for higher wages, to which Sutter yielded, until
they asked ten dollars a day, which he refused, and the two mills
on which he had spent so much money were never built, and fell into
decay.

In my opinion, when the Mormons were driven from Nauvoo,
Illinois, in 1844, they cast about for a land where they would not
be disturbed again, and fixed on California. In the year 1845 a
ship, the Brooklyn, sailed from New York for California, with a
colony of Mormons, of which Sam Brannan was the leader, and we
found them there on our arrival in January, 1847. When General
Kearney, at Fort Leavenworth, was collecting volunteers early in
1846, for the Mexican War, he, through the instrumentality of
Captain James Allen, brother to our quartermaster, General Robert
Allen, raised the battalion of Mormons at Kanesville, Iowa, now
Council Bluffs, on the express understanding that it would
facilitate their migration to California. But when the Mormons
reached Salt Lake, in 1846, they learned that they had been
forestalled by the United States forces in California, and they
then determined to settle down where they were. Therefore, when
this battalion of five companies of Mormons (raised by Allen, who
died on the way, and was succeeded by Cooke) was discharged at Los
Angeles, California, in the early summer of 1847, most of the men
went to their people at Salt Lake, with all the money received, as
pay from the United States, invested in cattle and breeding-horses;
one company reenlisted for another year, and the remainder sought
work in the country. As soon as the fame of the gold discovery
spread through California, the Mormons naturally turned to Mormon
Island, so that in July, 1848, we found about three hundred of them
there at work. Sam Brannan was on hand as the high-priest,
collecting the tithes. Clark, of Clark’s Point, an early pioneer,
was there also, and nearly all the Mormons who had come out in the
Brooklyn, or who had staid in California after the discharge of
their battalion, had collected there. I recall the scene as
perfectly to-day as though it were yesterday. In the midst of a
broken country, all parched and dried by the hot sun of July,
sparsely wooded with live-oaks and straggling pines, lay the valley
of the American River, with its bold mountain-stream coming out of
the Snowy Mountains to the east. In this valley is a fiat, or
gravel-bed, which in high water is an island, or is overflown, but
at the time of our visit was simply a level gravel-bed of the
river. On its edges men were digging, and filling buckets with the
finer earth and gravel, which was carried to a machine made like a
baby’s cradle, open at the foot, and at the head a plate of
sheet-iron or zinc, punctured full of holes. On this metallic plate
was emptied the earth, and water was then poured on it from
buckets, while one man shook the cradle with violent rocking by a
handle. On the bottom were nailed cleats of wood. With this rude
machine four men could earn from forty to one hundred dollars a
day, averaging sixteen dollars, or a gold ounce, per man per day.
While the’ sun blazed down on the heads of the miners with tropical
heat, the water was bitter cold, and all hands were either standing
in the water or had their clothes wet all the time; yet there were
no complaints of rheumatism or cold. We made our camp on a small
knoll, a little below the island, and from it could overlook the
busy scene. A few bush-huts near by served as stores,
boardinghouses, and for sleeping; but all hands slept on the
ground, with pine-leaves and blankets for bedding. As soon as the
news spread that the Governor was there, persons came to see us,
and volunteered all kinds of information, illustrating it by
samples of the gold, which was of a uniform kind, “scale-gold,”
bright and beautiful. A large variety, of every conceivable shape
and form, was found in the smaller gulches round about, but the
gold in the river-bed was uniformly “scale-gold.” I remember that
Mr. Clark was in camp, talking to Colonel Mason about matters and
things generally, when he inquired, “Governor, what business has
Sam Brannan to collect the tithes here?” Clark admitted that
Brannan was the head of the Mormon church in California, and he was
simply questioning as to Brannan’s right, as high-priest, to compel
the Mormons to pay him the regular tithes. Colonel Mason answered,
“Brannan has a perfect right to collect the tax, if you Mormons are
fools enough to pay it.” “Then,” said Clark, “I for one won’t pay
it any longer.” Colonel Mason added: “This is public land, and the
gold is the property of the United States; all of you here are
trespassers, but, as the Government is benefited by your getting
out the gold, I do not intend to interfere.” I understood,
afterward, that from that time the payment of the tithes ceased,
but Brannan had already collected enough money wherewith to hire
Sutter’s hospital, and to open a store there, in which he made more
money than any merchant in California, during that summer and fall.
The understanding was, that the money collected by him as tithes
was the foundation of his fortune, which is still very large in San
Francisco. That evening we all mingled freely with the miners, and
witnessed the process of cleaning up and “panning” out, which is
the last process for separating the pure gold from the fine dirt
and black sand.

The next day we continued our journey up the valley of the
American Fork, stopping at various camps, where mining was in
progress; and about noon we reached Coloma, the place where gold
had been first discovered. The hills were higher, and the timber of
better quality. The river was narrower and bolder, and but few
miners were at work there, by reason of Marshall’s and Sutter’s
claim to the site. There stood the sawmill unfinished, the dam and
tail-race just as they were left when the Mormons ceased work.
Marshall and Wimmer’s family of wife and half a dozen children were
there, guarding their supposed treasure; living in a house made of
clapboards. Here also we were shown many specimens of gold, of a
coarser grain than that found at Mormon Island. The next day we
crossed the American River to its north side, and visited many
small camps of men, in what were called the “dry diggings.” Little
pools of water stood in the beds of the streams, and these were
used to wash the dirt; and there the gold was in every conceivable
shape and size, some of the specimens weighing several ounces. Some
of these “diggings” were extremely rich, but as a whole they were
more precarious in results than at the river. Sometimes a lucky
fellow would hit on a “pocket,” and collect several thousand
dollars in a few days, and then again he would be shifting about
from place to place, “prospecting,” and spending all he had made.
Little stores were being opened at every point, where flour, bacon,
etc., were sold; every thing being a dollar a pound, and a meal
usually costing three dollars. Nobody paid for a bed, for he slept
on the ground, without fear of cold or rain. We spent nearly a week
in that region, and were quite bewildered by the fabulous tales of
recent discoveries, which at the time were confined to the several
forks of the American and Yuba Rivers.’ All this time our horses
had nothing to eat but the sparse grass in that region, and we were
forced to work our way down toward the Sacramento Valley, or to see
our animals perish. Still we contemplated a visit to the Yuba and
Feather Rivers, from which we had heard of more wonderful
“diggings;” but met a courier, who announced the arrival of a ship
at Monterey, with dispatches of great importance from Mazatlan. We
accordingly turned our horses back to Sutter’s Fort. Crossing the
Sacramento again by swimming our horses, and ferrying their loads
in that solitary canoe, we took our back track as far as the Napa,
and then turned to Benicia, on Carquinez Straits. We found there a
solitary adobe-house, occupied by Mr. Hastings and his family,
embracing Dr. Semple, the proprietor of the ferry. This ferry was a
ship’s-boat, with a latteen-sail, which could carry across at one
time six or eight horses.

It took us several days to cross over, and during that time we
got well acquainted with the doctor, who was quite a character. He
had come to California from Illinois, and was brother to Senator
Semple. He was about seven feet high, and very intelligent. When we
first reached Monterey, he had a printing-press, which belonged to
the United States, having been captured at the custom-house, and
had been used to print custom-house blanks. With this Dr. Semple,
as editor, published the Californian, a small sheet of news, once a
week; and it was a curiosity in its line, using two v’s for a w,
and other combinations of letters, made necessary by want of type.
After some time he removed to Yerba Buena with his paper, and it
grew up to be the Alta California of today. Foreseeing, as he
thought, the growth of a great city somewhere on the Bay of San
Francisco, he selected Carquinez Straits as its location, and
obtained from General Vallejo a title to a league of land, on
condition of building up a city thereon to bear the name of
Vallejo’s wife. This was Francisca Benicia; accordingly, the new
city was named “Francisca.” At this time, the town near the mouth
of the bay was known universally as Yerba Buena; but that name was
not known abroad, although San Francisco was familiar to the whole
civilized world. Now, some of the chief men of Yerba Buena, Folsom,
Howard, Leidesdorf, and others, knowing the importance of a name,
saw their danger, and, by some action of the ayuntamiento, or town
council, changed the name of Yerba Buena to “San Francisco.” Dr.
Semple was outraged at their changing the name to one so like his
of Francisca, and he in turn changed his town to the other name of
Mrs. Vallejo, viz., “Benicia;” and Benicia it has remained to this
day. I am convinced that this little circumstance was big with
consequences. That Benicia has the best natural site for a
commercial city, I am, satisfied; and had half the money and half
the labor since bestowed upon San Francisco been expended at
Benicia, we should have at this day a city of palaces on the
Carquinez Straits. The name of “San Francisco,” however, fixed the
city where it now is; for every ship in 1848-’49, which cleared
from any part of the world, knew the name of San Francisco, but not
Yerba Buena or Benicia; and, accordingly, ships consigned to
California came pouring in with their contents, and were anchored
in front of Yerba Buena, the first town. Captains and crews
deserted for the gold-mines, and now half the city in front of
Montgomery Street is built over the hulks thus abandoned. But Dr.
Semple, at that time, was all there was of Benicia; he was captain
and crew of his ferry boat, and managed to pass our party to the
south side of Carquinez Straits in about two days.

Thence we proceeded up Amador Valley to Alameda Creek, and so on
to the old mission of San Jose; thence to the pueblo of San Jose,
where Folsom and those belonging in Yerba Buena went in that
direction, and we continued on to Monterey, our party all the way
giving official sanction to the news from the gold-mines, and
adding new force to the “fever.”

On reaching Monterey, we found dispatches from Commodore
Shubrick, at Mazatlan, which gave almost positive assurance that
the war with Mexico was over; that hostilities had ceased, and
commissioners were arranging the terms of peace at Guadalupe
Hidalgo. It was well that this news reached California at that
critical time; for so contagious had become the “gold-fever” that
everybody was bound to go and try his fortune, and the volunteer
regiment of Stevenson’s would have deserted en masse, had the men
not been assured that they would very soon be entitled to an
honorable discharge.

Many of our regulars did desert, among them the very men who had
escorted us faithfully to the mines and back. Our servants also
left us, and nothing less than three hundred dollars a month would
hire a man in California; Colonel Mason’s black boy, Aaron, alone
of all our then servants proving faithful. We were forced to resort
to all manner of shifts to live. First, we had a mess with a black
fellow we called Bustamente as cook; but he got the fever, and had
to go. We next took a soldier, but he deserted, and carried off my
double-barreled shot-gun, which I prized very highly. To meet this
condition of facts, Colonel Mason ordered that liberal furloughs
should be given to the soldiers, and promises to all in turn, and
he allowed all the officers to draw their rations in kind. As the
actual valve of the ration was very large, this enabled us to live.
Halleck, Murray, Ord, and I, boarded with Dona Augustias, and
turned in our rations as pay for our board.

Some time in September, 1848, the official news of the treaty of
peace reached us, and the Mexican War was over. This treaty was
signed in May, and came to us all the way by land by a courier from
Lower California, sent from La Paz by Lieutenant-Colonel Burton. On
its receipt, orders were at once made for the muster-out of all of
Stevenson’s regiment, and our military forces were thus reduced to
the single company of dragoons at Los Angeles, and the one company
of artillery at Monterey. Nearly all business had ceased, except
that connected with gold; and, during that fall, Colonel Mason,
Captain Warner, and I, made another trip up to Sutter’s Fort, going
also to the newly-discovered mines on the Stanislaus, called
“Sonora,” named from the miners of Sonora, Mexico, who had first
discovered them. We found there pretty much the same state of facts
as before existed at Mormon Island and Coloma, and we daily
received intelligence of the opening of still other mines north and
south.

But I have passed over a very interesting fact. As soon as we
had returned from our first visit to the gold-mines, it became
important to send home positive knowledge of this valuable
discovery. The means of communication with the United States were
very precarious, and I suggested to Colonel Mason that a special
courier ought to be sent; that Second-Lieutenant Loeser had been
promoted to first-lieutenant, and was entitled to go home. He was
accordingly detailed to carry the news. I prepared with great care
the letter to the adjutant-general of August 17, 1848, which
Colonel Mason modified in a few Particulars; and, as it was
important to send not only the specimens which had been presented
to us along our route of travel, I advised the colonel to allow
Captain Folsom to purchase and send to Washington a large sample of
the commercial gold in general use, and to pay for the same out of
the money in his hands known as the “civil fund,” arising from
duties collected at the several ports in California. He consented
to this, and Captain Folsom bought an oyster-can full at ten
dollars the ounce, which was the rate of value at which it was then
received at the custom house. Folsom was instructed further to
contract with some vessel to carry the messenger to South America,
where he could take the English steamers as far east as Jamaica,
with a conditional charter giving increased payment if the vessel
could catch the October steamer. Folsom chartered the bark La
Lambayecana, owned and navigated by Henry D. Cooke, who has since
been the Governor of the District of Columbia. In due time this
vessel reached Monterey, and Lieutenant Loeser, with his report and
specimens of gold, embarked and sailed. He reached the South
American Continent at Payta, Peru, in time; took the English
steamer of October to Panama, and thence went on to Kingston,
Jamaica, where he found a sailing vessel bound for New Orleans. On
reaching New Orleans, he telegraphed to the War Department his
arrival; but so many delays had occurred that he did not reach
Washington in time to have the matter embraced in the President’s
regular message of 1848, as we had calculated. Still, the President
made it the subject of a special message, and thus became
“official” what had before only reached the world in a very
indefinite shape. Then began that wonderful development, and the
great emigration to California, by land and by sea, of 1849 and
1850.

As before narrated, Mason, Warner, and I, made a second visit to
the mines in September and October, 1848. As the winter season
approached, Colonel Mason returned to Monterey, and I remained for
a time at Sutter’s Fort. In order to share somewhat in the riches
of the land, we formed a partnership in a store at Coloma, in
charge of Norman S. Bestor, who had been Warner’s clerk. We
supplied the necessary money, fifteen hundred dollars (five hundred
dollars each), and Bestor carried on the store at Coloma for his
share. Out of this investment, each of us realized a profit of
about fifteen hundred dollars. Warner also got a regular leave of
absence, and contracted with Captain Sutter for surveying and
locating the town of Sacramento. He received for this sixteen
dollars per day for his services as surveyor; and Sutter paid all
the hands engaged in the work. The town was laid off mostly up
about the fort, but a few streets were staked off along the river
bank, and one or two leading to it. Captain Sutter always
contended, however, that no town could possibly exist on the
immediate bank of the river, because the spring freshets rose over
the bank, and frequently it was necessary to swim a horse to reach
the boat-landing. Nevertheless, from the very beginning the town
began to be built on the very river-bank, viz., First, Second, and
Third Streets, with J and K Streets leading back. Among the
principal merchants and traders of that winter, at Sacramento, were
Sam Brannan and Hensley, Reading & Co. For several years the
site was annually flooded; but the people have persevered in
building the levees, and afterward in raising all the streets, so
that Sacramento is now a fine city, the capital of the State, and
stands where, in 1848, was nothing but a dense mass of bushes,
vines, and submerged land. The old fort has disappeared
altogether.

During the fall of 1848, Warner, Ord, and I, camped on the bank
of the American River, abreast of the fort, at what was known as
the “Old Tan-Yard.” I was cook, Ord cleaned up the dishes, and
Warner looked after the horses; but Ord was deposed as scullion
because he would only wipe the tin plates with a tuft of grass,
according to the custom of the country, whereas Warner insisted on
having them washed after each meal with hot water. Warner was in
consequence promoted to scullion, and Ord became the hostler. We
drew our rations in kind from the commissary at San Francisco, who
sent them up to us by a boat; and we were thus enabled to dispense
a generous hospitality to many a poor devil who otherwise would
have had nothing to eat.

The winter of 1848 ’49 was a period of intense activity
throughout California. The rainy season was unfavorable to the
operations of gold-mining, and was very hard upon the thousands of
houseless men and women who dwelt in the mountains, and even in the
towns. Most of the natives and old inhabitants had returned to
their ranches and houses; yet there were not roofs enough in the
country to shelter the thousands who had arrived by sea and by
land. The news had gone forth to the whole civilized world that
gold in fabulous quantities was to be had for the mere digging, and
adventurers came pouring in blindly to seek their fortunes, without
a thought of house or food. Yerba Buena had been converted into San
Francisco. Sacramento City had been laid out, lots were being
rapidly sold, and the town was being built up as an entrepot to the
mines. Stockton also had been chosen as a convenient point for
trading with the lower or southern mines. Captain Sutter was the
sole proprietor of the former, and Captain Charles Weber was the
owner of the site of Stockton, which was as yet known as “French
Camp.”

The department headquarters still remained at Monterey, but,
with the few soldiers, we had next to nothing to do. In midwinter
we heard of the approach of a battalion of the Second Dragoons,
under Major Lawrence Pike Graham, with Captains Rucker, Coutts,
Campbell, and others, along. So exhausted were they by their long
march from Upper Mexico that we had to send relief to meet them as
they approached. When this command reached Los Angeles, it was left
there as the garrison, and Captain A. J. Smith’s company of the
First Dragoons was brought up to San Francisco. We were also
advised that the Second Infantry, Colonel B. Riley, would be sent
out around Cape Horn in sailing-ships; that the Mounted Rifles,
under Lieutenant-Colonel Loring, would march overland to Oregon;
and that Brigadier-General Persifer F. Smith would come out in
chief command on the Pacific coast. It was also known that a
contract had been entered into with parties in New York and New
Orleans for a monthly line of steamers from those cities to
California, via Panama. Lieutenant-Colonel Burton had come up from
Lower California, and, as captain of the Third Artillery, he was
assigned to command Company F, Third Artillery, at Monterey.
Captain Warner remained at Sacramento, surveying; and Halleck,
Murray, Ord, and I, boarded with Dona Augustias. The season was
unusually rainy and severe, but we passed the time with the usual
round of dances and parties. The time fixed for the arrival of the
mail-steamer was understood to be about January 1, 1849, but the
day came and went without any tidings of her. Orders were given to
Captain Burton to announce her arrival by firing a national salute,
and each morning we listened for the guns from the fort. The month
of January passed, and the greater part of February, too. As was
usual, the army officers celebrated the 22d of February with a
grand ball, given in the new stone school-house, which Alcalde
Walter Colton had built. It was the largest and best hall then in
California. The ball was really a handsome affair, and we kept it
up nearly all night. The next morning we were at breakfast:
present, Dona Augustias, and Manuelita, Halleck, Murray, and
myself. We were dull and stupid enough until a gun from the fort
aroused us, then another and another. “The steamer” exclaimed all,
and, without waiting for hats or any thing, off we dashed. I
reached the wharf hatless, but the dona sent my cap after me by a
servant. The white puffs of smoke hung around the fort, mingled
with the dense fog, which hid all the water of the bay, and well
out to sea could be seen the black spars of some unknown vessel. At
the wharf I found a group of soldiers and a small row-boat, which
belonged to a brig at anchor in the bay. Hastily ordering a couple
of willing soldiers to get in and take the oars, and Mr. Larkin and
Mr. Hartnell asking to go along, we jumped in and pushed off.
Steering our boat toward the spars, which loomed up above the fog
clear and distinct, in about a mile we came to the black hull of
the strange monster, the long-expected and most welcome steamer
California. Her wheels were barely moving, for her pilot could not
see the shore-line distinctly, though the hills and Point of Pines
could be clearly made out over the fog, and occasionally a glimpse
of some white walls showed where the town lay. A “Jacob’s ladder”
was lowered for us from the steamer, and in a minute I scrambled up
on deck, followed by Larkin and Hartnell, and we found ourselves in
the midst of many old friends. There was Canby, the
adjutant-general, who was to take my place; Charley Hoyt, my
cousin; General Persifer F. Smith and wife; Gibbs, his
aide-de-camp; Major Ogden, of the Engineers, and wife; and, indeed,
many old Californians, among them Alfred Robinson, and Frank Ward
with his pretty bride. By the time the ship was fairly at anchor we
had answered a million of questions about gold and the state of the
country; and, learning that the ship was out of fuel, had informed
the captain (Marshall) that there was abundance of pine-wood, but
no willing hands to cut it; that no man could be hired at less than
an ounce of gold a day, unless the soldiers would volunteer to do
it for some agreed-upon price. As for coal, there was not a pound
in Monterey, or anywhere else in California. Vessels with coal were
known to be en route around Cape Horn, but none had yet reached
California.

The arrival of this steamer was the beginning of a new epoch on
the Pacific coast; yet there she lay, helpless, without coal or
fuel. The native Californians, who had never seen a steamship,
stood for days on the beach looking at her, with the universal
exclamation, “Tan feo!”—how ugly!—and she was truly
ugly when compared with the clean, well-sparred frigates and
sloops-of-war that had hitherto been seen on the North Pacific
coast. It was first supposed it would take ten days to get wood
enough to prosecute her voyage, and therefore all the passengers
who could took up their quarters on shore. Major Canby relieved me,
and took the place I had held so long as adjutant-general of the
Department of California. The time seemed most opportune for me to
leave the service, as I had several splendid offers of employment
and of partnership, and, accordingly, I made my written
resignation; but General Smith put his veto upon it, saying that he
was to command the Division of the Pacific, while General Riley was
to have the Department of California, and Colonel Loring that of
Oregon. He wanted me as his adjutant-general, because of my
familiarity with the country, and knowledge of its then condition:
At the time, he had on his staff Gibbs as aide-de-camp, and
Fitzgerald as quartermaster. He also had along with him quite a
retinue of servants, hired with a clear contract to serve him for a
whole year after reaching California, every one of whom deserted,
except a young black fellow named Isaac. Mrs. Smith, a pleasant but
delicate Louisiana lady, had a white maid-servant, in whose
fidelity she had unbounded confidence; but this girl was married to
a perfect stranger, and off before she had even landed in San
Francisco. It was, therefore, finally arranged that, on the
California, I was to accompany General Smith to San Francisco as
his adjutant-general. I accordingly sold some of my horses, and
arranged for others to go up by land; and from that time I became
fairly enlisted in the military family of General Persifer F.
Smith.

I parted with my old commander, Colonel Mason, with sincere
regret. To me he had ever been kind and considerate, and, while
stern, honest to a fault, he was the very embodiment of the
principle of fidelity to the interests of the General Government.
He possessed a native strong intellect, and far more knowledge of
the principles of civil government and law than he got credit for.
In private and public expenditures he was extremely economical, but
not penurious. In cases where the officers had to contribute money
for parties and entertainments, he always gave a double share,
because of his allowance of double rations. During our frequent
journeys, I was always caterer, and paid all the bills. In settling
with him he required a written statement of the items of account,
but never disputed one of them. During our time, California was, as
now, full of a bold, enterprising, and speculative set of men, who
were engaged in every sort of game to make money. I know that
Colonel Mason was beset by them to use his position to make a
fortune for himself and his friends; but he never bought land or
town-lots, because, he said, it was his place to hold the public
estate for the Government as free and unencumbered by claims as
possible; and when I wanted him to stop the public-land sales in
San Francisco, San Jose, etc., he would not; for, although he did
not believe the titles given by the alcaldes worth a cent, yet they
aided to settle the towns and public lands, and he thought, on the
whole, the Government would be benefited thereby. The same thing
occurred as to the gold-mines. He never took a title to a town lot,
unless it was one, of no real value, from Alcalde Colton, in
Monterey, of which I have never heard since. He did take a share in
the store which Warner, Beator, and I, opened at Coloma, paid his
share of the capital, five hundred dollars, and received his share
of the profits, fifteen hundred dollars. I think also he took a
share in a venture to China with Larkin and others; but, on leaving
California, he was glad to sell out without profit or loss. In the
stern discharge of his duty he made some bitter enemies, among them
Henry M. Naglee, who, in the newspapers of the day, endeavored to
damage his fair name. But, knowing him intimately, I am certain
that he is entitled to all praise for having so controlled the
affairs of the country that, when his successor arrived, all things
were so disposed that a civil form of government was an easy matter
of adjustment. Colonel Mason was relieved by General Riley some
time in April, and left California in the steamer of the 1st May
for Washington and St. Louis, where he died of cholera in the
summer of 1850, and his body is buried in Bellefontaine Cemetery.
His widow afterward married Major (since General) Don Carlos Buell,
and is now living in Kentucky.

In overhauling the hold of the steamer California, as she lay at
anchor in Monterey Bay, a considerable amount of coal was found
under some heavy duplicate machinery. With this, and such wood as
had been gathered, she was able to renew her voyage. The usual
signal was made, and we all went on board. About the 1st of March
we entered the Heads, and anchored off San Francisco, near the
United States line-of-battle-ship Ohio, Commodore T. Catesby Jones.
As was the universal custom of the day, the crew of the California
deserted her; and she lay for months unable to make a trip back to
Panama, as was expected of her. As soon as we reached San
Francisco, the first thing was to secure an office and a house to
live in. The weather was rainy and stormy, and snow even lay on the
hills back of the Mission. Captain Folsom, the quartermaster,
agreed to surrender for our office the old adobe custom house, on
the upper corner of the plaza, as soon as he could remove his
papers and effects down to one of his warehouses on the beach; and
he also rented for us as quarters the old Hudson Bay Company house
on Montgomery Street, which had been used by Howard & Mellua as
a store, and at that very time they were moving their goods into a
larger brick building just completed for them. As these changes
would take some time, General Smith and Colonel Ogden, with their
wives, accepted the hospitality offered by Commodore Jones on board
the Ohio. I opened the office at the custom house, and Gibbs,
Fitzgerald, and some others of us, slept in the loft of the Hudson
Bay Company house until the lower part was cleared of Howard’s
store, after which General Smith and the ladies moved in. There we
had a general mess, and the efforts at house-keeping were simply
ludicrous. One servant after another, whom General Smith had
brought from New Orleans, with a solemn promise to stand by him for
one whole year, deserted without a word of notice or explanation,
and in a few days none remained but little Isaac. The ladies had no
maid or attendants; and the general, commanding all the mighty
forces of the United States on the Pacific coast, had to scratch to
get one good meal a day for his family! He was a gentleman of fine
social qualities, genial and gentle, and joked at every thing. Poor
Mrs. Smith and Mrs. Ogden did not bear it so philosophically.
Gibbs, Fitzgerald, and I, could cruise around and find a meal,
which cost three dollars, at some of the many restaurants which had
sprung up out of red-wood boards and cotton lining; but the general
and ladies could not go out, for ladies were rara aves at that day
in California. Isaac was cook, chamber-maid, and everything,
thoughtless of himself, and struggling, out of the slimmest means,
to compound a breakfast for a large and hungry family. Breakfast
would be announced any time between ten and twelve, and dinner
according to circumstances. Many a time have I seen General Smith,
with a can of preserved meat in his hands, going toward the house,
take off his hat on meeting a negro, and, on being asked the reason
of his politeness, he would answer that they were the only real
gentlemen in California. I confess that the fidelity of Colonel
Mason’s boy “Aaron,” and of General Smith’s boy “Isaac,” at a time
when every white man laughed at promises as something made to be
broken, has given me a kindly feeling of respect for the negroes,
and makes me hope that they will find an honorable “status” in the
jumble of affairs in which we now live.

That was a dull hard winter in San Francisco; the rains were
heavy, and the mud fearful. I have seen mules stumble in the
street, and drown in the liquid mud! Montgomery Street had been
filled up with brush and clay, and I always dreaded to ride on
horseback along it, because the mud was so deep that a horse’s legs
would become entangled in the bushes below, and the rider was
likely to be thrown and drowned in the mud. The only sidewalks were
made of stepping-stones of empty boxes, and here and there a few
planks with barrel-staves nailed on. All the town lay along
Montgomery Street, from Sacramento to Jackson, and about the plaza.
Gambling was the chief occupation of the people. While they were
waiting for the cessation of the rainy season, and for the
beginning of spring, all sorts of houses were being put up, but of
the most flimsy kind, and all were stores, restaurants, or gambling
-saloons. Any room twenty by sixty feet would rent for a thousand
dollars a month. I had, as my pay, seventy dollars a month, and no
one would even try to hire a servant under three hundred dollars.
Had it not been for the fifteen hundred dollars I had made in the
store at Coloma, I could not have lived through the winter. About
the 1st of April arrived the steamer Oregon; but her captain
(Pearson) knew what was the state of affairs on shore, and ran his
steamer alongside the line-of-battle-ship Ohio at Saucelito, and
obtained the privilege of leaving his crew on board as “prisoners”
until he was ready to return to sea. Then, discharging his
passengers and getting coal out of some of the ships which had
arrived, he retook his crew out of limbo and carried the first
regular mail back to Panama early in April. In regular order
arrived the third steamer, the Panama; and, as the vessels were
arriving with coal, The California was enabled to hire a crew and
get off. From that time forward these three ships constituted the
regular line of mail-steamers, which has been kept up ever since.
By the steamer Oregon arrived out Major R. P. Hammond, J. M.
Williams, James Blair, and others; also the gentlemen who, with
Major Ogden, were to compose a joint commission to select the sites
for the permanent forts and navyyard of California. This commission
was composed of Majors Ogden, Smith, and Leadbetter, of, the army,
and Captains Goldsborough, Van Brunt, and Blunt, of the navy. These
officers, after a most careful study of the whole subject, selected
Mare Island for the navy-yard, and “Benicia” for the storehouses
and arsenals of the army. The Pacific Mail Steamship Company also
selected Benicia as their depot. Thus was again revived the old
struggle for supremacy of these two points as the site of the
future city of the Pacific. Meantime, however, San Francisco had
secured the name. About six hundred ships were anchored there
without crews, and could not get away; and there the city was, and
had to be.

Nevertheless, General Smith, being disinterested and
unprejudiced, decided on Benicia as the point where the city ought
to be, and where the army headquarters should be. By the Oregon
there arrived at San Francisco a man who deserves mention
here—Baron Steinberger. He had been a great cattle-dealer in
the United States, and boasted that he had helped to break the
United States Bank, by being indebted to it five million dollars!
At all events, he was a splendid looking fellow, and brought with
him from Washington a letter to General Smith and another for
Commodore Jones, to the effect that he was a man of enlarged
experience in beef; that the authorities in Washington knew that
there existed in California large herds of cattle, which were only
valuable for their hides and tallow; that it was of great
importance to the Government that this beef should be cured and
salted so as to be of use to the army and navy, obviating the
necessity of shipping salt-beef around Cape Horn. I know he had
such a letter from the Secretary of War, Marcy, to General Smith,
for it passed into my custody, and I happened to be in Commodore
Jones’s cabin when the baron presented the one for him from the
Secretary of the Navy. The baron was anxious to pitch in at once,
and said that all he needed to start with were salt and barrels.
After some inquiries of his purser, the commodore promised to let
him have the barrels with their salt, as fast as they were emptied
by the crew. Then the baron explained that he could get a nice lot
of cattle from Don Timoteo Murphy, at the Mission of San Rafael, on
the north aide of the bay, but he could not get a boat and crew to
handle them. Under the authority from the Secretary of the Navy,
the commodore then promised him the use of a boat and crew, until
he (the baron) could find and purchase a suitable one for himself.
Then the baron opened the first regular butcher-shop in San
Francisco, on the wharf about the foot of Broadway or Pacific
Street, where we could buy at twenty-five or fifty cents a pound
the best roasts, steaks, and cuts of beef, which had cost him
nothing, for he never paid anybody if he could help it, and he soon
cleaned poor Don Timoteo out. At first, every boat of his, in
coming down from the San Rafael, touched at the Ohio, and left the
best beefsteaks and roasts for the commodore, but soon the baron
had enough money to dispense with the borrowed boat, and set up for
himself, and from this small beginning, step by step, he rose in a
few months to be one of the richest and most influential men in San
Francisco; but in his wild speculations he was at last caught, and
became helplessly bankrupt. He followed General Fremont to St.
Louis in 1861, where I saw him, but soon afterward he died a pauper
in one of the hospitals. When General Smith had his headquarters in
San Francisco, in the spring of 1849, Steinberger gave dinners
worthy any baron of old; and when, in after-years, I was a banker
there, he used to borrow of me small sums of money in repayment for
my share of these feasts; and somewhere among my old packages I
hold one of his confidential notes for two hundred dollars, but on
the whole I got off easily. I have no doubt that, if this man’s
history could be written out, it would present phases as wonderful
as any of romance; but in my judgment he was a dangerous man,
without any true-sense of honor or honesty.

Little by little the rains of that season grew less and less,
and the hills once more became green and covered with flowers. It
became perfectly evident that no family could live in San Francisco
on such a salary as Uncle Sam allowed his most favored officials;
so General Smith and Major Ogden concluded to send their families
back to the United States, and afterward we men-folks could take to
camp and live on our rations. The Second Infantry had arrived, and
had been distributed, four companies to Monterey, and the rest
somewhat as Stevenson’s regiment had been. A. J. Smith’s company of
dragoons was sent up to Sonoma, whither General Smith had resolved
to move our headquarters. On the steamer which sailed about May 1st
(I think the California), we embarked, the ladies for home and we
for Monterey. At Monterey we went on shore, and Colonel Mason, who
meantime had been relieved by General Riley, went on board, and the
steamer departed for Panama. Of all that party I alone am
alive.

General Riley had, with his family, taken the house which
Colonel Mason had formerly used, and Major Canby and wife had
secured rooms at Alvarado’s. Captain Bane was quartermaster, and
had his family in the house of a man named Garner, near the
redoubt. Burton and Company F were still at the fort; the four
companies of the Second Infantry were quartered in the barracks,
the same building in which we had had our headquarters; and the
company officers were quartered in hired buildings near by. General
Smith and his aide, Captain Gibbs, went to Larkin’s house, and I
was at my old rooms at Dona Augustias. As we intended to go back to
San Francisco by land and afterward to travel a good deal, General
Smith gave me the necessary authority to fit out the party. There
happened to be several trains of horses and mules in town, so I
purchased about a dozen horses and mules at two hundred dollars a
head, on account of the Quartermaster’s Department, and we had them
kept under guard in the quartermaster’s corral.

I remember one night being in the quarters of Lieutenant Alfred
Sully, where nearly all the officers of the garrison were
assembled, listening to Sully’s stories. Lieutenant Derby,
“Squibob,” was one of the number, as also Fred Steele, “Neighbor”
Jones, and others, when, just after “tattoo,” the orderly-sergeants
came to report the result of “tattoo” roll-call; one reported five
men absent, another eight, and so on, until it became certain that
twenty-eight men had deserted; and they were so bold and open in
their behavior that it amounted to defiance. They had deliberately
slung their knapsacks and started for the gold-mines. Dr. Murray
and I were the only ones present who were familiar with the
country, and I explained how easy they could all be taken by a
party going out at once to Salinas Plain, where the country was so
open and level that a rabbit could not cross without being seen;
that the deserters could not go to the mines without crossing that
plain, and could not reach it before daylight. All agreed that the
whole regiment would desert if these men were not brought back.
Several officers volunteered on the spot to go after them; and, as
the soldiers could not be trusted, it was useless to send any but
officers in pursuit. Some one went to report the affair to the
adjutant-general, Canby, and he to General Riley. I waited some
time, and, as the thing grew cold, I thought it was given up, and
went to my room and to bed.

About midnight I was called up and informed that there were
seven officers willing to go, but the difficulty was to get horses
and saddles. I went down to Larkin’s house and got General Smith to
consent that we might take the horses I had bought for our trip. It
was nearly three o’clock a.m. before we were all mounted and ready.
I had a musket which I used for hunting. With this I led off at a
canter, followed by the others. About six miles out, by the faint
moon, I saw ahead of us in the sandy road some blue coats, and,
fearing lest they might resist or escape into the dense bushes
which lined the road, I halted and found with me Paymaster Hill,
Captain N. H. Davis, and Lieutenant John Hamilton. We waited some
time for the others, viz., Canby, Murray, Gibbs, and Sully, to come
up, but as they were not in sight we made a dash up the road and
captured six of the deserters, who were Germans, with heavy
knapsacks on, trudging along the deep, sandy road. They had not
expected pursuit, had not heard our horses, and were accordingly
easily taken. Finding myself the senior officer present, I ordered
Lieutenant Hamilton to search the men and then to march them back
to Monterey, suspecting, as was the fact, that the rest of our
party had taken a road that branched off a couple of miles back.
Daylight broke as we reached the Saunas River, twelve miles out,
and there the trail was broad and fresh leading directly out on the
Saunas Plain. This plain is about five miles wide, and then the
ground becomes somewhat broken. The trail continued very plain, and
I rode on at a gallop to where there was an old adobe-ranch on the
left of the road, with the head of a lagoon, or pond, close by. I
saw one or two of the soldiers getting water at the pond, and
others up near the house. I had the best horse and was considerably
ahead, but on looking back could see Hill and Davis coming up
behind at a gallop. I motioned to them to hurry forward, and turned
my horse across the head of the pond, knowing the ground well, as
it was a favorite place for shooting geese and ducks. Approaching
the house, I ordered the men who were outside to go in. They did
not know me personally, and exchanged glances, but I had my musket
cocked, and, as the two had seen Davis and Hill coming up pretty
fast, they obeyed. Dismounting, I found the house full of
deserters, and there was no escape for them. They naturally
supposed that I had a strong party with me, and when I ordered them
to “fall in” they obeyed from habit. By the time Hill and Davis
came up I had them formed in two ranks, the front rank facing
about, and I was taking away their bayonets, pistols, etc. We
disarmed them, destroying a musket and several pistols, and, on
counting them, we found that we three had taken eighteen, which,
added to the six first captured, made twenty-four. We made them
sling their knapsacks and begin their homeward march. It was near
night when we got back, so that these deserters had traveled nearly
forty miles since “tattoo” of the night before. The other party had
captured three, so that only one man had escaped. I doubt not this
prevented the desertion of the bulk of the Second Infantry that
spring, for at that time so demoralizing was the effect of the
gold-mines that everybody not in the military service justified
desertion, because a soldier, if free, could earn more money in a
day than he received per month. Not only did soldiers and sailors
desert, but captains and masters of ships actually abandoned their
vessels and cargoes to try their luck at the mines. Preachers and
professors forgot their creeds and took to trade, and even to
keeping gambling-houses. I remember that one of our regular
soldiers, named Reese, in deserting stole a favorite
double-barreled gun of mine, and when the orderly-sergeant of the
company, Carson, was going on furlough, I asked him when he came
across Reese to try and get my gun back. When he returned he told
me that he had found Reese and offered him a hundred dollars for my
gun, but Reese sent me word that he liked the gun, and would not
take a hundred dollars for it. Soldiers or sailors who could reach
the mines were universally shielded by the miners, so that it was
next to useless to attempt their recapture. In due season General
Persifer Smith, Gibbs, and I, with some hired packers, started back
for San Francisco, and soon after we transferred our headquarters
to Sonoma. About this time Major Joseph Hooker arrived from the
East—the regular adjutant-general of the
division—relieved me, and I became thereafter one of General
Smith’s regular aides-de-camp.

As there was very little to do, General Smith encouraged us to
go into any business that would enable us to make money. R. P.
Hammond, James Blair, and I, made a contract to survey for Colonel
J. D. Stevenson his newly-projected city of “New York of the
Pacific,” situated at the month of the San Joaquin River. The
contract embraced, also, the making of soundings and the marking
out of a channel through Suisun Bay. We hired, in San Francisco, a
small metallic boat, with a sail, laid in some stores, and
proceeded to the United States ship Ohio, anchored at Saucelito,
where we borrowed a sailor-boy and lead-lines with which to sound
the channel. We sailed up to Benicia, and, at General Smith’s
request, we surveyed and marked the line dividing the city of
Benicia from the government reserve. We then sounded the bay back
and forth, and staked out the best channel up Suisun Bay, from
which Blair made out sailing directions. We then made the
preliminary surveys of the city of “New York of the Pacific,” all
of which were duly plotted; and for this work we each received from
Stevenson five hundred dollars and ten or fifteen lots. I sold
enough lots to make up another five hundred dollars, and let the
balance go; for the city of “New York of the Pacific” never came to
any thing. Indeed, cities at the time were being projected by
speculators all round the bay and all over the country.

While we were surveying at “New York of the Pacific,” occurred
one of those little events that showed the force of the gold-fever.
We had a sailor-boy with us, about seventeen years old, who cooked
our meals and helped work the boat. Onshore, we had the sail spread
so as to shelter us against the wind and dew. One morning I awoke
about daylight, and looked out to see if our sailor-boy was at work
getting breakfast; but he was not at the fire at all. Getting up, I
discovered that he had converted a tule-bolsa into a sail boat, and
was sailing for the gold-mines. He was astride this bolsa, with a
small parcel of bread and meat done up in a piece of cloth; another
piece of cloth, such as we used for making our signal-stations, he
had fixed into a sail; and with a paddle he was directing his
precarious craft right out into the broad bay, to follow the
general direction of the schooners and boats that he knew were
ascending the Sacramento River. He was about a hundred yards from
the shore. I jerked up my gun, and hailed him to come back. After a
moment’s hesitation, he let go his sheet and began to paddle back.
This bolsa was nothing but a bundle of tule, or bullrush, bound
together with grass-ropes in the shape of a cigar, about ten feet
long and about two feet through the butt. With these the California
Indiana cross streams of considerable size. When he came ashore, I
gave him a good overhauling for attempting to desert, and put him
to work getting breakfast. In due time we returned him to his ship,
the Ohio. Subsequently, I made a bargain with Mr. Hartnell to
survey his ranch at Cosnmnes River, Sacramento Valley. Ord and a
young citizen, named Seton, were associated with me in this. I
bought of Rodman M. Price a surveyor’s compass, chain, etc., and,
in San Francisco, a small wagon and harness. Availing ourselves of
a schooner, chartered to carry Major Miller and two companies of
the Second Infantry from San Francisco to Stockton, we got up to
our destination at little cost. I recall an occurrence that
happened when the schooner was anchored in Carquinez Straits,
opposite the soldiers’ camp on shore. We were waiting for daylight
and a fair wind; the schooner lay anchored at an ebb-tide, and
about daylight Ord and I had gone ashore for something. Just as we
were pulling off from shore, we heard the loud shouts of the men,
and saw them all running down toward the water. Our attention thus
drawn, we saw something swimming in the water, and pulled toward
it, thinking it a coyote; but we soon recognized a large grizzly
bear, swimming directly across the channel. Not having any weapon,
we hurriedly pulled for the schooner, calling out, as we neared it,
“A bear! a bear!” It so happened that Major Miller was on deck,
washing his face and hands. He ran rapidly to the bow of the
vessel, took the musket from the hands of the sentinel, and fired
at the bear, as he passed but a short distance ahead of the
schooner. The bear rose, made a growl or howl, but continued his
course. As we scrambled up the port-aide to get our guns, the mate,
with a crew, happened to have a boat on the starboard-aide, and,
armed only with a hatchet, they pulled up alongside the bear, and
the mate struck him in the head with the hatchet. The bear turned,
tried to get into the boat, but the mate struck his claws with
repeated blows, and made him let go. After several passes with him,
the mate actually killed the bear, got a rope round him, and towed
him alongside the schooner, where he was hoisted on deck. The
carcass weighed over six hundred pounds. It was found that Major
Miller’s shot had struck the bear in the lower jaw, and thus
disabled him. Had it not been for this, the bear would certainly
have upset the boat and drowned all in it. As it was, however, his
meat served us a good turn in our trip up to Stockton. At Stockton
we disembarked our wagon, provisions, and instruments. There I
bought two fine mules at three hundred dollars each, and we hitched
up and started for the Coaumnes River. About twelve miles off was
the Mokelumne, a wide, bold stream, with a canoe as a ferry-boat.
We took our wagon to pieces, and ferried it and its contents
across, and then drove our mules into the water. In crossing, one
mule became entangled in the rope of the other, and for a time we
thought he was a gone mule; but at last he revived and we hitched
up. The mules were both pack-animals; neither had ever before seen
a wagon. Young Seton also was about as green, and had never handled
a mule. We put on the harness, and began to hitch them in, when one
of the mules turned his head, saw the wagon, and started. We held
on tight, but the beast did not stop until he had shivered the
tongue-pole into a dozen fragments. The fact was, that Seton had
hitched the traces before he had put on the blind-bridle. There was
considerable swearing done, but that would not mend the pole. There
was no place nearer than Sutter’s Fort to repair damages, so we
were put to our wits’ end. We first sent back a mile or so, and
bought a raw-hide. Gathering up the fragments of the pole and
cutting the hide into strips, we finished it in the rudest manner.
As long as the hide was green, the pole was very shaky; but
gradually the sun dried the hide, tightened it, and the pole
actually held for about a month. This cost us nearly a day of
delay; but, when damages were repaired, we harnessed up again, and
reached the crossing of the Cosumnes, where our survey was to
begin. The expediente, or title-papers, of the ranch described it
as containing nine or eleven leagues on the Cosumnes, south side,
and between the San Joaquin River and Sierra Nevada Mountains. We
began at the place where the road crosses the Cosumnes, and laid
down a line four miles south, perpendicular to the general
direction of the stream; then, surveying up the stream, we marked
each mile so as to admit of a subdivision of one mile by four. The
land was dry and very poor, with the exception of here and there
some small pieces of bottom land, the great bulk of the bottom-land
occurring on the north side of the stream. We continued the survey
up some twenty miles into the hills above the mill of Dailor and
Sheldon. It took about a month to make this survey, which, when
finished, was duly plotted; and for it we received one-tenth of the
land, or two subdivisions. Ord and I took the land, and we paid
Seton for his labor in cash. By the sale of my share of the land,
subsequently, I realized three thousand dollars. After finishing
Hartnell’s survey, we crossed over to Dailor’s, and did some work
for him at five hundred dollars a day for the party. Having
finished our work on the Cosumnes, we proceeded to Sacramento,
where Captain Sutter employed us to connect the survey of
Sacramento City, made by Lieutenant Warner, and that of
Sutterville, three miles below, which was then being surveyed by
Lieutenant J. W. Davidson, of the First Dragoons. At Sutterville,
the plateau of the Sacramento approached quite near the river, and
it would have made a better site for a town than the low, submerged
land where the city now stands; but it seems to be a law of growth
that all natural advantages are disregarded wherever once business
chooses a location. Old Sutter’s embarcadero became Sacramento
City, simply because it was the first point used for unloading
boats for Sutter’s Fort, just as the site for San Francisco was
fixed by the use of Yerba Buena as the hide-landing for the Mission
of “San Francisco de Asis.”

I invested my earnings in this survey in three lots in
Sacramento City, on which I made a fair profit by a sale to one
McNulty, of Mansfield, Ohio. I only had a two months’ leave of
absence, during which General Smith, his staff, and a retinue of
civil friends, were making a tour of the gold-mines, and hearing
that he was en route back to his headquarters at Sonoma, I knocked
off my work, sold my instruments, and left my wagon and mules with
my cousin Charley Hoyt, who had a store in Sacramento, and was on
the point of moving up to a ranch, for which he had bargained, on
Bear Creek, on which was afterward established Camp “Far West.” He
afterward sold the mules, wagon, etc., for me, and on the whole I
think I cleared, by those two months’ work, about six thousand
dollars. I then returned to headquarters at Sonoma, in time to
attend my fellow aide-de-camp Gibbs through a long and dangerous
sickness, during which he was on board a store-ship, guarded by
Captain George Johnson, who now resides in San Francisco. General
Smith had agreed that on the first good opportunity he would send
me to the United States as a bearer of dispatches, but this he
could not do until he had made the examination of Oregon, which was
also in his command. During the summer of 1849 there continued to
pour into California a perfect stream of people. Steamers came, and
a line was established from San Francisco to Sacramento, of which
the Senator was the pioneer, charging sixteen dollars a passage,
and actually coining money. Other boats were built out of materials
which had either come around Cape Horn or were brought from the
Sandwich Islands. Wharves were built, houses were springing up as
if by magic, and the Bay of San Francisco presented as busy a scene
of life as any part of the world. Major Allen, of the
Quartermaster’s Department, who had come out as chief-quartermaster
of the division, was building a large warehouse at Benicia, with a
row of quarters, out of lumber at one hundred dollars per thousand
feet, and the work was done by men at sixteen dollars a day. I have
seen a detailed soldier, who got only his monthly pay of eight
dollars a month, and twenty cents a day for extra duty, nailing on
weather-boards and shingles, alongside a citizen who was paid
sixteen dollars a day. This was a real injustice, made the soldiers
discontented, and it was hardly to be wondered at that so many
deserted.

While the mass of people were busy at gold and in mammoth
speculations, a set of busy politicians were at work to secure the
prizes of civil government. Gwin and Fremont were there, and T.
Butler King, of Georgia, had come out from the East, scheming for
office. He staid with us at Sonoma, and was generally regarded as
the Government candidate for United States Senator. General Riley
as Governor, and Captain Halleck as Secretary of State, had issued
a proclamation for the election of a convention to frame a State
constitution. In due time the elections were held, and the
convention was assembled at Monterey. Dr. Semple was elected
president; and Gwin, Sutter, Halleck, Butler King, Sherwood,
Gilbert, Shannon, and others, were members. General Smith took no
part in this convention, but sent me down to watch the proceedings,
and report to him. The only subject of interest was the slavery
question. There were no slaves then in California, save a few who
had come out as servants, but the Southern people at that time
claimed their share of territory, out of that acquired by the
common labors of all sections of the Union in the war with Mexico.
Still, in California there was little feeling on the subject. I
never heard General Smith, who was a Louisianian, express any
opinion about it. Nor did Butler King, of Georgia, ever manifest
any particular interest in the matter. A committee was named to
draft a constitution, which in due time was reported, with the
usual clause, then known as the Wilmot Proviso, excluding slavery;
and during the debate which ensued very little opposition was made
to this clause, which was finally adopted by a large majority,
although the convention was made up in large part of men from our
Southern States. This matter of California being a free State,
afterward, in the national Congress, gave rise to angry debates,
which at one time threatened civil war. The result of the
convention was the election of State officers, and of the
Legislature which sat in San Jose in October and November, 1849,
and which elected Fremont and Gwin as the first United States
Senators in Congress from the Pacific coast.

Shortly after returning from Monterey, I was sent by General
Smith up to Sacramento City to instruct Lieutenants Warner and
Williamson, of the Engineers, to push their surveys of the Sierra
Nevada Mountains, for the purpose of ascertaining the possibility
of passing that range by a railroad, a subject that then elicited
universal interest. It was generally assumed that such a road could
not be made along any of the immigrant roads then in use, and
Warner’s orders were to look farther north up the Feather River, or
some one of its tributaries. Warner was engaged in this survey
during the summer and fall of 1849, and had explored, to the very
end of Goose Lake, the source of Feather River. Then, leaving
Williamson with the baggage and part of the men, he took about ten
men and a first-rate guide, crossed the summit to the east, and had
turned south, having the range of mountains on his right hand, with
the intention of regaining his camp by another pass in the
mountain. The party was strung out, single file, with wide spaces
between, Warner ahead. He had just crossed a small valley and
ascended one of the spurs covered with sage-brush and rocks, when a
band of Indians rose up and poured in a shower of arrows. The mule
turned and ran back to the valley, where Warner fell off dead,
punctured by five arrows. The mule also died. The guide, who was
near to Warner, was mortally wounded; and one or two men had arrows
in their bodies, but recovered. The party gathered about Warner’s
body, in sight of the Indians, who whooped and yelled, but did not
venture away from their cover of rocks. This party of men remained
there all day without burying the bodies, and at night, by a wide
circuit, passed the mountain, and reached Williamson’s camp. The
news of Warner’s death cast a gloom over all the old Californians,
who knew him well. He was a careful, prudent, and honest officer,
well qualified for his business, and extremely accurate in all his
work. He and I had been intimately associated during our four years
together in California, and I felt his loss deeply. The season was
then too far advanced to attempt to avenge his death, and it was
not until the next spring that a party was sent out to gather up
and bury his scattered bones.

As winter approached, the immigrants overland came pouring into
California, dusty and worn with their two thousand miles of weary
travel across the plains and mountains. Those who arrived in
October and November reported thousands still behind them, with
oxen perishing, and short of food. Appeals were made for help, and
General Smith resolved to attempt relief. Major Rucker, who had
come across with Pike. Graham’s Battalion of Dragoons, had
exchanged with Major Fitzgerald, of the Quartermaster’s Department,
and was detailed to conduct this relief. General Smith ordered him
to be supplied with one hundred thousand dollars out of the civil
fund, subject to his control, and with this to purchase at
Sacramento flour, bacon, etc., and to hire men and mules to send
out and meet the immigrants. Major Rucker fulfilled this duty
perfectly, sending out pack-trains loaded with food by the many
routes by which the immigrants were known to be approaching, went
out himself with one of these trains, and remained in the mountains
until the last immigrant had got in. No doubt this expedition saved
many a life which has since been most useful to the country. I
remained at Sacramento a good part of the fall of 1849, recognizing
among the immigrants many of my old personal friends—John C.
Fall, William King, Sam Stambaugh, Hugh Ewing, Hampton Denman, etc.
I got Rucker to give these last two employment along with the train
for the relief of the immigrants. They had proposed to begin a
ranch on my land on the Cosumnes, but afterward changed their
minds, and went out with Rucker.

While I was at Sacramento General Smith had gone on his
contemplated trip to Oregon, and promised that he would be back in
December, when he would send me home with dispatches. Accordingly,
as the winter and rainy season was at hand, I went to San
Francisco, and spent some time at the Presidio, waiting patiently
for General Smith’s return. About Christmas a vessel arrived from
Oregon with the dispatches, and an order for me to deliver them in
person to General Winfield Scott, in New York City. General Smith
had sent them down, remaining in Oregon for a time. Of course I was
all ready, and others of our set were going home by the same
conveyance, viz., Rucker, Ord, A. J. Smith—some under orders,
and the others on leave. Wanting to see my old friends in Monterey,
I arranged for my passage in the steamer of January 1, 1850, paying
six hundred dollars for passage to New York, and went down to
Monterey by land, Rucker accompanying me. The weather was unusually
rainy, and all the plain about Santa Clara was under water; but we
reached Monterey in time. I again was welcomed by my friends, Dona
Augustias, Manuelita, and the family, and it was resolved that I
should take two of the boys home with me and put them at Georgetown
College for education, viz., Antonio and Porfirio, thirteen and
eleven years old. The dona gave me a bag of gold-dust to pay for
their passage and to deposit at the college. On the 2d day of
January punctually appeared the steamer Oregon.

We were all soon on board and off for home. At that time the
steamers touched at San Diego, Acapulco, and Panama. Our passage
down the coast was unusually pleasant. Arrived at Panama, we hired
mules and rode across to Gorgona, on the Cruces River, where we
hired a boat and paddled down to the mouth of the river, off which
lay the steamer Crescent City. It usually took four days to cross
the isthmus, every passenger taking care of himself, and it was
really funny to watch the efforts of women and men unaccustomed to
mules. It was an old song to us, and the trip across was easy and
interesting. In due time we were rowed off to the Crescent City,
rolling back and forth in the swell, and we scrambled aboard by a
“Jacob’s ladder” from the stern. Some of the women had to be
hoisted aboard by lowering a tub from the end of a boom; fun to us
who looked on, but awkward enough to the poor women, especially to
a very fat one, who attracted much notice. General Fremont, wife
and child (Lillie) were passengers with us down from San Francisco;
but Mrs. Fremont not being well, they remained over one trip at
Panama.

Senator Gwin was one of our passengers, and went through to New
York. We reached New York about the close of January, after a safe
and pleasant trip. Our party, composed of Ord, A. J. Smith, and
Rucker, with the two boys, Antonio and Porfirio, put up at
Delmonico’s, on Bowling Green; and, as soon as we had cleaned up
somewhat, I took a carriage, went to General Scott’s office in
Ninth Street, delivered my dispatches, was ordered to dine with him
next day, and then went forth to hunt up my old friends and
relations, the Scotts, Hoyts, etc., etc.

On reaching New York, most of us had rough soldier’s clothing,
but we soon got a new outfit, and I dined with General Scott’s
family, Mrs. Scott being present, and also their son-in-law and
daughter (Colonel and Mrs. H. L. Scott). The general questioned me
pretty closely in regard to things on the Pacific coast, especially
the politics, and startled me with the assertion that “our country
was on the eve of a terrible civil war.” He interested me by
anecdotes of my old army comrades in his recent battles around the
city of Mexico, and I felt deeply the fact that our country had
passed through a foreign war, that my comrades had fought great
battles, and yet I had not heard a hostile shot. Of course, I
thought it the last and only chance in my day, and that my career
as a soldier was at an end. After some four or five days spent in
New York, I was, by an order of General Scott, sent to Washington,
to lay before the Secretary of War (Crawford, of Georgia) the
dispatches which I had brought from California. On reaching
Washington, I found that Mr. Ewing was Secretary of the Interior,
and I at once became a member of his family. The family occupied
the house of Mr. Blair, on Pennsylvania Avenue, directly in front
of the War Department. I immediately repaired to the War
Department, and placed my dispatches in the hands of Mr. Crawford,
who questioned me somewhat about California, but seemed little
interested in the subject, except so far as it related to slavery
and the routes through Texas. I then went to call on the President
at the White House. I found Major Bliss, who had been my teacher in
mathematics at West Point, and was then General Taylor’s son-in-law
and private secretary. He took me into the room, now used by the
President’s private secretaries, where President Taylor was. I had
never seen him before, though I had served under him in Florida in
1840-’41, and was most agreeably surprised at his fine personal
appearance, and his pleasant, easy manners. He received me with
great kindness, told me that Colonel Mason had mentioned my name
with praise, and that he would be pleased to do me any act of
favor. We were with him nearly an hour, talking about California
generally, and of his personal friends, Persifer Smith, Riley,
Canby, and others: Although General Scott was generally regarded by
the army as the most accomplished soldier of the Mexican War, yet
General Taylor had that blunt, honest, and stern character, that
endeared him to the masses of the people, and made him President.
Bliss, too, had gained a large fame by his marked skill and
intelligence as an adjutant-general and military adviser. His
manner was very unmilitary, and in his talk he stammered and
hesitated, so as to make an unfavorable impression on a stranger;
but he was wonderfully accurate and skillful with his pen, and his
orders and letters form a model of military precision and
clearness.

Having returned from California in January, 1850, with
dispatches for the War Department, and having delivered them in
person first to General Scott in New York City, and afterward to
the Secretary of War (Crawford) in Washington City, I applied for
and received a leave of absence for six months. I first visited my
mother, then living at Mansfield, Ohio, and returned to Washington,
where, on the 1st day of May, 1850, I was married to Miss Ellen
Boyle Ewing, daughter of the Hon. Thomas Ewing, Secretary of the
Interior. The marriage ceremony was attended by a large and
distinguished company, embracing Daniel Webster, Henry Clay, T. H.
Benton, President Taylor, and all his cabinet. This occurred at the
house of Mr. Ewing, the same now owned and occupied by Mr. F. P.
Blair, senior, on Pennsylvania Avenue, opposite the War Department.
We made a wedding tour to Baltimore, New York, Niagara, and Ohio,
and returned to Washington by the 1st of July. General Taylor
participated in the celebration of the Fourth of July, a very hot
day, by hearing a long speech from the Hon. Henry S. Foote, at the
base of the Washington Monument. Returning from the celebration
much heated and fatigued, he partook too freely of his favorite
iced milk with cherries, and during that night was seized with a
severe colic, which by morning had quite prostrated him. It was
said that he sent for his son-in-law, Surgeon Wood, United States
Army, stationed in Baltimore, and declined medical assistance from
anybody else. Mr. Ewing visited him several times, and was
manifestly uneasy and anxious, as was also his son-in-law, Major
Bliss, then of the army, and his confidential secretary. He rapidly
grew worse, and died in about four days.

At that time there was a high state of political feeling
pervading the country, on account of the questions growing out of
the new Territories just acquired from Mexico by the war. Congress
was in session, and General Taylor’s sudden death evidently created
great alarm. I was present in the Senate-gallery, and saw the oath
of office administered to the Vice-President, Mr. Fillmore, a man
of splendid physical proportions and commanding appearance; but on
the faces of Senators and people could easily be read the feelings
of doubt and uncertainty that prevailed. All knew that a change in
the cabinet and general policy was likely to result, but at the
time it was supposed that Mr. Fillmore, whose home was in Buffalo,
would be less liberal than General Taylor to the politicians of the
South, who feared, or pretended to fear, a crusade against slavery;
or, as was the political cry of the day, that slavery would be
prohibited in the Territories and in the places exclusively under
the jurisdiction of the United States. Events, however, proved the
contrary.

I attended General Taylor’s funeral as a sort of aide-decamp, at
the request of the Adjutant-General of the army, Roger Jones, whose
brother, a militia-general, commanded the escort, composed of
militia and some regulars. Among the regulars I recall the names of
Captains John Sedgwick and W. F. Barry.

Hardly was General Taylor decently buried in the Congressional
Cemetery when the political struggle recommenced, and it became
manifest that Mr. Fillmore favored the general compromise then
known as Henry Clay’s “Omnibus Bill,” and that a general change of
cabinet would at once occur: Webster was to succeed Mr. Clayton as
Secretary of State, Corwin to succeed Mr. Meredith as Secretary of
the Treasury, and A. H. H. Stuart to succeed Mr. Ewing as Secretary
of the Interior. Mr. Ewing, however, was immediately appointed by
the Governor of the State to succeed Corwin in the Senate. These
changes made it necessary for Mr. Ewing to discontinue
house-keeping, and Mr. Corwin took his home and furniture off his
hands. I escorted the family out to their home in Lancaster, Ohio;
but, before this had occurred, some most interesting debates took
place in the Senate, which I regularly attended, and heard Clay,
Benton, Foots, King of Alabama, Dayton, and the many real orators
of that day. Mr. Calhoun was in his seat, but he was evidently
approaching his end, for he was pale and feeble in the extreme. I
heard Mr. Webster’s last speech on the floor of the Senate, under
circumstances that warrant a description. It was publicly known
that he was to leave the Senate, and enter the new cabinet of Mr.
Fillmore, as his Secretary of State, and that prior to leaving he
was to make a great speech on the “Omnibus Bill.” Resolved to hear
it, I went up to the Capitol on the day named, an hour or so
earlier than usual. The speech was to be delivered in the old
Senate-chamber, now used by the Supreme Court. The galleries were
much smaller than at present, and I found them full to overflowing,
with a dense crowd about the door, struggling to reach the stairs.
I could not get near, and then tried the reporters’ gallery, but
found it equally crowded; so I feared I should lose the only
possible opportunity to hear Mr. Webster.

I had only a limited personal acquaintance with any of the
Senators, but had met Mr. Corwin quite often at Mr. Ewing’s house,
and I also knew that he had been extremely friendly to my father in
his lifetime; so I ventured to send in to him my card, “W. T. S.,
First-Lieutenant, Third Artillery.” He came to the door promptly,
when I said, “Mr. Corwin, I believe Mr. Webster is to speak
to-day.” His answer was, “Yes, he has the floor at one o’clock.” I
then added that I was extremely anxious to hear him. “Well,” said
he, “why don’t you go into the gallery?” I explained that it was
full, and I had tried every access, but found all jammed with
people. “Well,” said he, “what do you want of me?” I explained that
I would like him to take me on the floor of the Senate; that I had
often seen from the gallery persons on the floor, no better
entitled to it than I. He then asked in his quizzical way, “Are you
a foreign embassador?” “No.” “Are you the Governor of a State?”
“No.” “Are you a member of the other House?” “Certainly not” “Have
you ever had a vote of thanks by name?” “No!” “Well, these are the
only privileged members.” I then told him he knew well enough who I
was, and that if he chose he could take me in. He then said, “Have
you any impudence?” I told him, “A reasonable amount if occasion
called for it.” “Do you think you could become so interested in my
conversation as not to notice the door-keeper?” (pointing to him).
I told him that there was not the least doubt of it, if he would
tell me one of his funny stories. He then took my arm, and led me a
turn in the vestibule, talking about some indifferent matter, but
all the time directing my looks to his left hand, toward which he
was gesticulating with his right; and thus we approached the
door-keeper, who began asking me, “Foreign ambassador? Governor of
a State? Member of Congress?” etc.; but I caught Corwin’s eye,
which said plainly, “Don’t mind him, pay attention to me,” and in
this way we entered the Senate-chamber by a side-door. Once in,
Corwin said, “Now you can take care of yourself,” and I thanked him
cordially.

I found a seat close behind Mr. Webster, and near General Scott,
and heard the whole of the speech. It was heavy in the extreme, and
I confess that I was disappointed and tired long before it was
finished. No doubt the speech was full of fact and argument, but it
had none of the fire of oratory, or intensity of feeling, that
marked all of Mr. Clay’s efforts.

Toward the end of July, as before stated, all the family went
home to Lancaster. Congress was still in session, and the bill
adding four captains to the Commissary Department had not passed,
but was reasonably certain to, and I was equally sure of being one
of them. At that time my name was on the muster-roll of (Light)
Company C, Third Artillery (Bragg’s), stationed at Jefferson
Barracks, near St. Louis. But, as there was cholera at St. Louis,
on application, I was permitted to delay joining my company until
September. Early in that month, I proceeded to Cincinnati, and
thence by steamboat to St. Louis, and then to Jefferson Barracks,
where I reported for duty to Captain and Brevet-Colonel Braxton
Bragg, commanding (Light) Company C, Third Artillery. The other
officers of the company were First-Lieutenant James A. Hardie, and
afterward Haekaliah Brown. New horses had just been purchased for
the battery, and we were preparing for work, when the mail brought
the orders announcing the passage of the bill increasing the
Commissary Department by four captains, to which were promoted
Captains Shiras, Blair, Sherman, and Bowen. I was ordered to take
post at St. Louis, and to relieve Captain A. J. Smith, First
Dragoons, who had been acting in that capacity for some months. My
commission bore date September 27,1850. I proceeded forthwith to
the city, relieved Captain Smith, and entered on the discharge of
the duties of the office.

Colonel N. S. Clarke, Sixth Infantry, commanded the department;
Major D. C. Buell was adjutant-general, and Captain W. S. Hancock
was regimental quartermaster; Colonel Thomas Swords was the depot
quartermaster, and we had our offices in the same building, on the
corner of Washington Avenue and Second. Subsequently Major S. Van
Vliet relieved Colonel Swords. I remained at the Planters’ House
until my family arrived, when we occupied a house on Chouteau
Avenue, near Twelfth.

During the spring and summer of 1851, Mr. Ewing and Mr. Henry
Stoddard, of Dayton, Ohio, a cousin of my father, were much in St.
Louis, on business connected with the estate of Major Amos
Stoddard, who was of the old army, as early as the beginning of
this century. He was stationed at the village of St. Louis at the
time of the Louisiana purchase, and when Lewis and Clarke made
their famous expedition across the continent to the Columbia River.
Major Stoddard at that early day had purchased a small farm back of
the village, of some Spaniard or Frenchman, but, as he was a
bachelor, and was killed at Fort Meigs, Ohio, during the War of
1812, the title was for many years lost sight of, and the farm was
covered over by other claims and by occupants. As St. Louis began
to grow, his brothers and sisters, and their descendants, concluded
to look up the property. After much and fruitless litigation, they
at last retained Mr. Stoddard, of Dayton, who in turn employed Mr.
Ewing, and these, after many years of labor, established the title,
and in the summer of 1851 they were put in possession by the United
States marshal. The ground was laid off, the city survey extended
over it, and the whole was sold in partition. I made some
purchases, and acquired an interest, which I have retained more or
less ever since.

We continued to reside in St. Louis throughout the year 1851,
and in the spring of 1852 I had occasion to visit Fort Leavenworth
on duty, partly to inspect a lot of cattle which a Mr. Gordon, of
Cass County, had contracted to deliver in New Mexico, to enable
Colonel Sumner to attempt his scheme of making the soldiers in New
Mexico self-supporting, by raising their own meat, and in a measure
their own vegetables. I found Fort Leavenworth then, as now, a most
beautiful spot, but in the midst of a wild Indian country. There
were no whites settled in what is now the State of Kansas. Weston,
in Missouri, was the great town, and speculation in town-lots there
and thereabout burnt the fingers of some of the army-officers, who
wanted to plant their scanty dollars in a fruitful soil. I rode on
horseback over to Gordon’s farm, saw the cattle, concluded the
bargain, and returned by way of Independence, Missouri. At
Independence I found F. X. Aubrey, a noted man of that day, who had
just made a celebrated ride of six hundred miles in six days. That
spring the United States quartermaster, Major L. C. Easton, at Fort
Union, New Mexico, had occasion to send some message east by a
certain date, and contracted with Aubrey to carry it to the nearest
post-office (then Independence, Missouri), making his compensation
conditional on the time consumed. He was supplied with a good
horse, and an order on the outgoing trains for an exchange. Though
the whole route was infested with hostile Indians, and not a house
on it, Aubrey started alone with his rifle. He was fortunate in
meeting several outward-bound trains, and there, by made frequent
changes of horses, some four or five, and reached Independence in
six days, having hardly rested or slept the whole way. Of course,
he was extremely fatigued, and said there was an opinion among the
wild Indians that if a man “sleeps out his sleep,” after such
extreme exhaustion, he will never awake; and, accordingly, he
instructed his landlord to wake him up after eight hours of sleep.
When aroused at last, he saw by the clock that he had been asleep
twenty hours, and he was dreadfully angry, threatened to murder his
landlord, who protested he had tried in every way to get him up,
but found it impossible, and had let him “sleep it out” Aubrey, in
describing his sensations to me, said he took it for granted he was
a dead man; but in fact he sustained no ill effects, and was off
again in a few days. I met him afterward often in California, and
always esteemed him one of the best samples of that bold race of
men who had grown up on the Plains, along with the Indians, in the
service of the fur companies. He was afterward, in 1856, killed by
R. C. Weightman, in a bar-room row, at Santa Fe, New Mexico, where
he had just arrived from California.

In going from Independence to Fort Leavenworth, I had to swim
Milk Creek, and sleep all night in a Shawnee camp. The next day I
crossed the Kaw or Kansas River in a ferry boat, maintained by the
blacksmith of the tribe, and reached the fort in the evening. At
that day the whole region was unsettled, where now exist many rich
counties, highly cultivated, embracing several cities of from ten
to forty thousand inhabitants. From Fort Leavenworth I returned by
steamboat to St. Louis.

In the summer of 1852, my family went to Lancaster, Ohio; but I
remained at my post. Late in the season, it was rumored that I was
to be transferred to New Orleans, and in due time I learned the
cause. During a part of the Mexican War, Major Seawell, of the
Seventh Infantry, had been acting commissary of subsistence at New
Orleans, then the great depot of supplies for the troops in Texas,
and of those operating beyond the Rio Grande. Commissaries at that
time were allowed to purchase in open market, and were not
restricted to advertising and awarding contracts to the lowest
bidders. It was reported that Major Seawell had purchased largely
of the house of Perry Seawell & Co., Mr. Seawell being a
relative of his. When he was relieved in his duties by Major
Waggman, of the regular Commissary Department, the latter found
Perry Seawell & Co. so prompt and satisfactory that he
continued the patronage; for which there was a good reason, because
stores for the use of the troops at remote posts had to be packed
in a particular way, to bear transportation in wagons, or even on
pack-mules; and this firm had made extraordinary preparations for
this exclusive purpose. Some time about 1849, a brother of Major
Waggaman, who had been clerk to Captain Casey, commissary of
subsistence, at Tampa Bay, Florida, was thrown out of office by the
death of the captain, and he naturally applied to his brother in
New Orleans for employment; and he, in turn, referred him to his
friends, Messrs. Perry Seawell & Co. These first employed him
as a clerk, and afterward admitted him as a partner. Thus it
resulted, in fact, that Major Waggaman was dealing largely, if not
exclusively, with a firm of which his brother was a partner.

One day, as General Twiggs was coming across Lake Pontchartrain,
he fell in with one of his old cronies, who was an extensive
grocer. This gentleman gradually led the conversation to the
downward tendency of the times since he and Twiggs were young,
saying that, in former years, all the merchants of New Orleans had
a chance at government patronage; but now, in order to sell to the
army commissary, one had to take a brother in as a partner. General
Twiggs resented this, but the merchant again affirmed it, and gave
names. As soon as General Twiggs reached his office, he instructed
his adjutant-general, Colonel Bliss—who told me this—to
address a categorical note of inquiry to Major Waggaman. The major
very frankly stated the facts as they had arisen, and insisted that
the firm of Perry Seawell & Co. had enjoyed a large patronage,
but deserved it richly by reason of their promptness, fairness, and
fidelity. The correspondence was sent to Washington, and the result
was, that Major Waggaman was ordered to St. Louis, and I was
ordered to New Orleans.

I went down to New Orleans in a steamboat in the month of
September, 1852, taking with me a clerk, and, on arrival, assumed
the office, in a bank-building facing Lafayette Square, in which
were the offices of all the army departments. General D. Twiggs was
in command of the department, with Colonel W. W. S. Bliss
(son-in-law of General Taylor) as his adjutant-general. Colonel A.
C. Myers was quartermaster, Captain John F. Reynolds aide-de-camp,
and Colonel A. J. Coffee paymaster. I took rooms at the St. Louis
Hotel, kept by a most excellent gentleman, Colonel Mudge.

Mr. Perry Seawell came to me in person, soliciting a continuance
of the custom which he had theretofore enjoyed; but I told him
frankly that a change was necessary, and I never saw or heard of
him afterward. I simply purchased in open market, arranged for the
proper packing of the stores, and had not the least difficulty in
supplying the troops and satisfying the head of the department in
Washington.

About Christmas, I had notice that my family, consisting of Mrs.
Sherman, two children, and nurse, with my sister Fanny (now Mrs.
Moulton, of Cincinnati, Ohio), were en route for New Orleans by
steam-packet; so I hired a house on Magazine Street, and furnished
it. Almost at the moment of their arrival, also came from St. Louis
my personal friend Major Turner, with a parcel of documents, which,
on examination, proved to be articles of copartnership for a bank
in California under the title of “Lucas, Turner & Co.,” in
which my name was embraced as a partner. Major Turner was, at the
time, actually en route for New York, to embark for San Francisco,
to inaugurate the bank, in the nature of a branch of the firm
already existing at St. Louis under the name of “Lucas &
Symonds.” We discussed the matter very fully, and he left with me
the papers for reflection, and went on to New York and
California.

Shortly after arrived James H. Lucas, Esq., the principal of the
banking-firm in St. Louis, a most honorable and wealthy gentleman.
He further explained the full programme of the branch in
California; that my name had been included at the insistence of
Major Turner, who was a man of family and property in St. Louis,
unwilling to remain long in San Francisco, and who wanted me to
succeed him there. He offered me a very tempting income, with an
interest that would accumulate and grow. He also disclosed to me
that, in establishing a branch in California, he was influenced by
the apparent prosperity of Page, Bacon & Co., and further that
he had received the principal data, on which he had founded the
scheme, from B. R. Nisbet, who was then a teller in the firm of
Page, Bacon & Co., of San Francisco; that he also was to be
taken in as a partner, and was fully competent to manage all the
details of the business; but, as Nisbet was comparatively young,
Mr. Lucas wanted me to reside in San Francisco permanently, as the
head of the firm. All these matters were fully discussed, and I
agreed to apply for a six months’ leave of absence, go to San
Francisco, see for myself, and be governed by appearances there. I
accordingly, with General Twiggs’s approval, applied to the
adjutant-general for a six months’ leave, which was granted; and
Captain John F. Reynolds was named to perform my duties during my
absence.

During the stay of my family in New Orleans, we enjoyed the
society of the families of General Twiggs, Colonel Myers, and
Colonel Bliss, as also of many citizens, among whom was the wife of
Mr. Day, sister to my brother-in-law, Judge Bartley. General Twiggs
was then one of the oldest officers of the army. His history
extended back to the War of 1812, and he had served in early days
with General Jackson in Florida and in the Creek campaigns. He had
fine powers of description, and often entertained us, at his
office, with accounts of his experiences in the earlier settlements
of the Southwest. Colonel Bliss had been General Taylor’s adjutant
in the Mexican War, and was universally regarded as one of the most
finished and accomplished scholars in the army, and his wife was a
most agreeable and accomplished lady.

Late in February, I dispatched my family up to Ohio in the
steamboat Tecumseh (Captain Pearce); disposed of my house and
furniture; turned over to Major Reynolds the funds, property, and
records of the office; and took passage in a small steamer for
Nicaragua, en route for California. We embarked early in March, and
in seven days reached Greytown, where we united with the passengers
from New York, and proceeded, by the Nicaragua River and Lake, for
the Pacific Ocean. The river was low, and the little steam
canal-boats, four in number, grounded often, so that the passengers
had to get into the water, to help them over the bare. In all there
were about six hundred passengers, of whom about sixty were women
and children. In four days we reached Castillo, where there is a
decided fall, passed by a short railway, and above this fall we
were transferred to a larger boat, which carried us up the rest of
the river, and across the beautiful lake Nicaragua, studded with
volcanic islands. Landing at Virgin Bay, we rode on mules across to
San Juan del Sur, where lay at anchor the propeller S. S. Lewis
(Captain Partridge, I think). Passengers were carried through the
surf by natives to small boats, and rowed off to the Lewis. The
weather was very hot, and quite a scramble followed for
state-rooms, especially for those on deck. I succeeded in reaching
the purser’s office, got my ticket for a berth in one of the best
state-rooms on deck, and, just as I was turning from the window, a
lady who was a fellow-passenger from New Orleans, a Mrs. D-, called
to me to secure her and her lady friend berths on deck, saying that
those below were unendurable. I spoke to the purser, who, at the
moment perplexed by the crowd and clamor, answered: “I must put
their names down for the other two berths of your state-room; but,
as soon as the confusion is over, I will make some change whereby
you shall not suffer.” As soon as these two women were assigned to
a state-room, they took possession, and I was left out. Their names
were recorded as “Captain Sherman and ladies.” As soon as things
were quieted down I remonstrated with the purser, who at last gave
me a lower berth in another and larger state-room on deck, with
five others, so that my two ladies had the state-room all to
themselves. At every meal the steward would come to me, and say,
“Captain Sherman, will you bring your ladies to the table?” and we
had the best seats in the ship.

This continued throughout the voyage, and I assert that “my
ladies” were of the most modest and best-behaved in the ship; but
some time after we had reached San Francisco one of our
fellow-passengers came to me and inquired if I personally knew Mrs.
D—-, with flaxen tresses, who sang so sweetly for us, and who
had come out under my especial escort. I replied I did not, more
than the chance acquaintance of the voyage, and what she herself
had told me, viz., that she expected to meet her husband, who lived
about Mokelumne Hill. He then informed me that she was a woman of
the town. Society in California was then decidedly mixed. In due
season the steamship Lewis got under weigh. She was a wooden ship,
long and narrow, bark-rigged, and a propeller; very slow, moving
not over eight miles an hour. We stopped at Acapulco, and, in
eighteen days, passed in sight of Point Pinoa at Monterey, and at
the speed we were traveling expected to reach San Francisco at 4 A.
M. the next day. The cabin passengers, as was usual, bought of the
steward some champagne and cigars, and we had a sort of ovation for
the captain, purser, and surgeon of the ship, who were all very
clever fellows, though they had a slow and poor ship. Late at night
all the passengers went to bed, expecting to enter the port at
daylight. I did not undress, as I thought the captain could and
would run in at night, and I lay down with my clothes on. About 4
A. M. I was awakened by a bump and sort of grating of the vessel,
which I thought was our arrival at the wharf in San Francisco; but
instantly the ship struck heavily; the engines stopped, and the
running to and fro on deck showed that something was wrong. In a
moment I was out of my state-room, at the bulwark, holding fast to
a stanchion, and looking over the side at the white and seething
water caused by her sudden and violent stoppage. The sea was
comparatively smooth, the night pitch-dark, and the fog deep and
impenetrable; the ship would rise with the swell, and come down
with a bump and quiver that was decidedly unpleasant. Soon the
passengers were out of their rooms, undressed, calling for help,
and praying as though the ship were going to sink immediately. Of
course she could not sink, being already on the bottom, and the
only question was as to the strength of hull to stand the bumping
and straining. Great confusion for a time prevailed, but soon I
realized that the captain had taken all proper precautions to
secure his boats, of which there were six at the davits. These are
the first things that steerage-passengers make for in case of
shipwreck, and right over my head I heard the captain’s voice say
in a low tone, but quite decided: “Let go that falls, or, damn you,
I’ll blow your head off!” This seemingly harsh language gave me
great comfort at the time, and on saying so to the captain
afterward, he explained that it was addressed to a passenger who
attempted to lower one of the boats. Guards, composed of the crew,
were soon posted to prevent any interference with the boats, and
the officers circulated among the passengers the report that there
was no immediate danger; that, fortunately, the sea was smooth;
that we were simply aground, and must quietly await daylight.

They advised the passengers to keep quiet, and the ladies and
children to dress and sit at the doors of their state-rooms, there
to await the advice and action of the officers of the ship, who
were perfectly cool and self-possessed. Meantime the ship was
working over a reef-for a time I feared she would break in two;
but, as the water gradually rose inside to a level with the sea
outside, the ship swung broadside to the swell, and all her keel
seemed to rest on the rock or sand. At no time did the sea break
over the deck—but the water below drove all the people up to
the main-deck and to the promenade-deck, and thus we remained for
about three hours, when daylight came; but there was a fog so thick
that nothing but water could be seen. The captain caused a boat to
be carefully lowered, put in her a trustworthy officer with a
boat-compass, and we saw her depart into the fog. During her
absence the ship’s bell was kept tolling. Then the fires were all
out, the ship full of water, and gradually breaking up, wriggling
with every swell like a willow basket—the sea all round us
full of the floating fragments of her sheeting, twisted and torn
into a spongy condition. In less than an hour the boat returned,
saying that the beach was quite near, not more than a mile away,
and had a good place for landing. All the boats were then carefully
lowered, and manned by crews belonging to the ship; a piece of the
gangway, on the leeward side, was cut away, and all the women, and
a few of the worst-scared men, were lowered into the boats, which
pulled for shore. In a comparatively short time the boats returned,
took new loads, and the debarkation was afterward carried on
quietly and systematically. No baggage was allowed to go on shore
except bags or parcels carried in the hands of passengers. At times
the fog lifted so that we could see from the wreck the tops of the
hills, and the outline of the shore; and I remember sitting on, the
upper or hurricane deck with the captain, who had his maps and
compass before him, and was trying to make out where the ship was.
I thought I recognized the outline of the hills below the mission
of Dolores, and so stated to him; but he called my attention to the
fact that the general line of hills bore northwest, whereas the
coast south of San Francisco bears due north and south. He
therefore concluded that the ship had overrun her reckoning, and
was then to the north of San Francisco. He also explained that, the
passage up being longer than usual, viz., eighteen days, the coal
was short; that at the time the firemen were using some cut-up
spars along with the slack of coal, and that this fuel had made
more than usual steam, so that the ship must have glided along
faster than reckoned. This proved to be the actual case, for, in
fact, the steamship Lewis was wrecked April 9, 1853, on “Duckworth
Reef,” Baulinas Bay, about eighteen miles above the entrance to San
Francisco.

The captain had sent ashore the purser in the first boat, with
orders to work his way to the city as soon as possible, to report
the loss of his vessel, and to bring back help. I remained on the
wreck till among the last of the passengers, managing to get a can
of crackers and some sardines out of the submerged pantry, a thing
the rest of the passengers did not have, and then I went quietly
ashore in one of the boats. The passengers were all on the beach,
under a steep bluff; had built fires to dry their clothes, but had
seen no human being, and had no idea where they were. Taking along
with me a fellow-passenger, a young chap about eighteen years old,
I scrambled up the bluff, and walked back toward the hills, in
hopes to get a good view of some known object. It was then the
month of April, and the hills were covered with the beautiful
grasses and flowers of that season of the year. We soon found horse
paths and tracks, and following them we came upon a drove of horses
grazing at large, some of which had saddle-marks. At about two
miles from the beach we found a corral; and thence, following one
of the strongest-marked paths, in about a mile more we descended
into a valley, and, on turning a sharp point, reached a board
shanty, with a horse picketed near by. Four men were inside eating
a meal. I inquired if any of the Lewis’s people had been there;
they did not seem to understand what I meant when I explained to
them that about three miles from them, and beyond the old corral,
the steamer Lewis was wrecked, and her passengers were on the
beach. I inquired where we were, and they answered, “At Baulinas
Creek;” that they were employed at a saw-mill just above, and were
engaged in shipping lumber to San Francisco; that a schooner loaded
with lumber was then about two miles down the creek, waiting for
the tide to get out, and doubtless if we would walk down they would
take us on board.

I wrote a few words back to the captain, telling him where he
was, and that I would hurry to the city to send him help. My
companion and I their went on down the creek, and soon descried the
schooner anchored out in the stream. On being hailed, a small boat
came in and took us on board. The “captain” willingly agreed for a
small sum to carry us down to San Francisco; and, as his whole crew
consisted of a small boy about twelve years old, we helped him to
get up his anchor and pole the schooner down the creek and out over
the bar on a high tide. This must have been about 2 P.M. Once over
the bar, the sails were hoisted, and we glided along rapidly with a
strong, fair, northwest wind. The fog had lifted, so we could see
the shores plainly, and the entrance to the bay. In a couple of
hours we were entering the bay, and running “wing-and-wing.”
Outside the wind was simply the usual strong breeze; but, as it
passes through the head of the Golden Gate, it increases, and
there, too, we met a strong ebb-tide.

The schooner was loaded with lumber, much of which was on deck,
lashed down to ring bolts with raw-hide thongs. The captain was
steering, and I was reclining on the lumber, looking at the
familiar shore, as we approached Fort Point, when I heard a sort of
cry, and felt the schooner going over. As we got into the throat of
the “Heads,” the force of the wind, meeting a strong ebb-tide,
drove the nose of the schooner under water; she dove like a duck,
went over on her side, and began, to drift out with the tide. I
found myself in the water, mixed up with pieces of plank and ropes;
struck out, swam round to the stern, got on the keel, and clambered
up on the side. Satisfied that she could not sink, by reason of her
cargo, I was not in the least alarmed, but thought two shipwrecks
in one day not a good beginning for a new, peaceful career. Nobody
was drowned, however; the captain and crew were busy in securing
such articles as were liable to float off, and I looked out for
some passing boat or vessel to pick us up. We were drifting
steadily out to sea, while I was signaling to a boat about three
miles off, toward Saucelito, and saw her tack and stand toward us.
I was busy watching this sail-boat, when I heard a Yankee’s voice,
close behind, saying, “This is a nice mess you’ve got yourselves
into,” and looking about I saw a man in a small boat, who had seen
us upset, and had rowed out to us from a schooner anchored close
under the fort. Some explanations were made, and when the sail-boat
coming from Saucelito was near enough to be spoken to, and the
captain had engaged her to help his schooner, we bade him good by,
and got the man in the small boat-to carry us ashore, and land us
at the foot of the bluff, just below the fort. Once there, I was at
home, and we footed it up to the Presidio. Of the sentinel I
inquired who was in command of the post, and was answered, “Major
Merchant.” He was not then in, but his adjutant, Lieutenant
Gardner, was. I sent my card to him; he came out, and was much
surprised to find me covered with sand, and dripping with water, a
good specimen of a shipwrecked mariner. A few words of explanation
sufficed; horses were provided, and we rode hastily into the city,
reaching the office of the Nicaragua Steamship Company (C. K.
Garrison, agent) about dark, just as the purser had arrived; by a
totally different route. It was too late to send relief that night,
but by daylight next morning two steamers were en route for and
reached the place of wreck in time to relieve the passengers and
bring them, and most of the baggage. I lost my carpet-bag, but
saved my trunk. The Lewis went to pieces the night after we got
off, and, had there been an average sea during the night of our
shipwreck, none of us probably would have escaped. That evening in
San Francisco I hunted up Major Turner, whom I found boarding, in
company with General E. A. Hitchcock, at a Mrs. Ross’s, on Clay
Street, near Powell. I took quarters with them, and began to make
my studies, with a view to a decision whether it was best to
undertake this new and untried scheme of banking, or to return to
New Orleans and hold on to what I then had, a good army
commission.

At the time of my arrival, San Francisco was an the top wave of
speculation and prosperity. Major Turner had rented at six hundred
dollars a month the office formerly used and then owned by Adams
& Co., on the east side of Montgomery Street, between
Sacramento and California Streets. B. R. Nisbet was the active
partner, and James Reilly the teller. Already the bank of Lucas,
Turner & Co. was established, and was engaged in selling bills
of exchange, receiving deposits, and loaning money at three per
cent. a month.

Page, Bacon & Co., and Adams & Co., were in full blast
across the street, in Parrott’s new granite building, and other
bankers were doing seemingly a prosperous business, among them
Wells, Fargo & Co.; Drexel, Sather & Church; Burgoyne &
Co.; James King of Win.; Sanders & Brenham; Davidson & Co.;
Palmer, Cook & Co., and others. Turner and I had rooms at Mrs.
Ross’s, and took our meals at restaurants down-town, mostly at a
Frenchman’s named Martin, on the southwest corner of Montgomery and
California Streets. General Hitchcock, of the army, commanding the
Department of California, usually messed with us; also a Captain
Mason, and Lieutenant Whiting, of the Engineer Corps. We soon
secured a small share of business, and became satisfied there was
room for profit. Everybody seemed to be making money fast; the city
was being rapidly extended and improved; people paid their three
per cent. a month interest without fail, and without deeming it
excessive. Turner, Nisbet, and I, daily discussed the prospects,
and gradually settled down to the conviction that with two hundred
thousand dollars capital, and a credit of fifty thousand dollars in
New York, we could build up a business that would help the St.
Louis house, and at the same time pay expenses in California, with
a reasonable profit. Of course, Turner never designed to remain
long in California, and I consented to go back to St. Louis, confer
with Mr. Lucas and Captain Simonds, agree upon further details, and
then return permanently.

I have no memoranda by me now by which to determine the fact,
but think I returned to New York in July, 1853, by the Nicaragua
route, and thence to St. Louis by way of Lancaster, Ohio, where my
family still was. Mr. Lucas promptly agreed to the terms proposed,
and further consented, on the expiration of the lease of the Adams
& Co. office, to erect a new banking-house in San Francisco, to
cost fifty thousand dollars. I then returned to Lancaster,
explained to Mr. Ewing and Mrs. Sherman all the details of our
agreement, and, meeting their approval, I sent to the
Adjutant-General of the army my letter of resignation, to take
effect at the end of the six months’ leave, and the resignation was
accepted, to take effect September 6, 1853. Being then a citizen, I
engaged a passage out to California by the Nicaragua route, in the
steamer leaving New York September 20th, for myself and family, and
accordingly proceeded to New York, where I had a conference with
Mr. Meigs, cashier of the American Exchange Bank, and with Messrs.
Wadsworth & Sheldon, bankers, who were our New York
correspondents; and on the 20th embarked for San Juan del Norte,
with the family, composed of Mrs. Sherman, Lizzie, then less than a
year old, and her nurse, Mary Lynch. Our passage down was
uneventful, and, on the boats up the Nicaragua River, pretty much
the same as before. On reaching Virgin Bay, I engaged a native with
three mules to carry us across to the Pacific, and as usual the
trip partook of the ludicrous—Mrs. Sherman mounted on a
donkey about as large as a Newfoundland dog; Mary Lynch on another,
trying to carry Lizzie on a pillow before her, but her mule had a
fashion of lying down, which scared her, till I exchanged mules,
and my California spurs kept that mule on his legs. I carried
Lizzie some time till she was fast asleep, when I got our native
man to carry her awhile. The child woke up, and, finding herself in
the hands of a dark-visaged man, she yelled most lustily till I got
her away. At the summit of the pass, there was a clear-running
brook, where we rested an hour, and bathed Lizzie in its sweet
waters. We then continued to the end of our journey, and, without
going to the tavern at San Juan del Sur, we passed directly to the
vessel, then at anchor about two miles out. To reach her we engaged
a native boat, which had to be kept outside the surf. Mrs. Sherman
was first taken in the arms of two stout natives; Mary Lynch,
carrying Lizzie, was carried by two others; and I followed, mounted
on the back of a strapping fellow, while fifty or a hundred others
were running to and fro, cackling like geese.

Mary Lynch got scared at the surf, and began screaming like a
fool, when Lizzie became convulsed with fear, and one of the
natives rushed to her, caught her out of Mary’s arms, and carried
her swiftly to Mrs. Sherman, who, by that time, was in the boat,
but Lizzie had fainted with fear, and for a long time sobbed as
though permanently injured. For years she showed symptoms that made
us believe she had never entirely recovered from the effects of the
scare. In due time we reached the steamer Sierra Nevada, and got a
good state-room. Our passage up the coast was pleasant enough; we
reached San Francisco; on the 15th of October, and took quarters at
an hotel on Stockton Street, near Broadway.

Major Turner remained till some time in November, when he also
departed for the East, leaving me and Nisbet to manage the bank. I
endeavored to make myself familiar with the business, but of course
Nisbet kept the books, and gave his personal attention to the
loans, discounts, and drafts, which yielded the profits. I soon
saw, however, that the three per cent. charged as premium on bills
of exchange was not all profit, but out of this had to come one and
a fourth to one and a half for freight, one and a third for
insurance, with some indefinite promise of a return premium; then,
the, cost of blanks, boxing of the bullion, etc., etc. Indeed, I
saw no margin for profit at all. Nisbet, however, who had long been
familiar with the business, insisted there was a profit, in the
fact that the gold-dust or bullion shipped was more valuable than
its cost to us. We, of course, had to remit bullion to meet our
bills on New York, and bought crude gold-dust, or bars refined by
Kellogg & Humbert or E. Justh & Co., for at that time the
United States Mint was not in operation. But, as the reports of our
shipments came back from New York, I discovered that I was right,
and Nisbet was wrong; and, although we could not help selling our
checks on New York and St. Louis at the same price as other
bankers, I discovered that, at all events, the exchange business in
San Francisco was rather a losing business than profitable. The
same as to loans. We could loan, at three per cent. a month, all
our own money, say two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, and a
part of our deposit account. This latter account in California was
decidedly uncertain. The balance due depositors would run down to a
mere nominal sum on steamer-days, which were the 1st and 15th of
each month, and then would increase till the next steamer-day, so
that we could not make use of any reasonable part of this balance
for loans beyond the next steamer-day; or, in other words, we had
an expensive bank, with expensive clerks, and all the machinery for
taking care of other people’s money for their benefit, without
corresponding profit. I also saw that loans were attended with risk
commensurate with the rate; nevertheless, I could not attempt to
reform the rules and customs established by others before me, and
had to drift along with the rest toward that Niagara that none
foresaw at the time.

Shortly after arriving out in 1853, we looked around for a site
for the new bank, and the only place then available on Montgomery
Street, the Wall Street of San Francisco, was a lot at the corner
of Jackson Street, facing Montgomery, with an alley on the north,
belonging to James Lick. The ground was sixty by sixty-two feet,
and I had to pay for it thirty-two thousand dollars. I then made a
contract with the builders, Keyser, & Brown, to erect a
three-story brick building, with finished basement, for about fifty
thousand dollars. This made eighty-two thousand instead of fifty
thousand dollars, but I thought Mr. Lucas could stand it and would
approve, which he did, though it resulted in loss to him. After the
civil war, he told me he had sold the building for forty thousand
dollars, about half its cost, but luckily gold was then at 250, so
that he could use the forty thousand dollars gold as the equivalent
of one hundred thousand dollars currency. The building was erected;
I gave it my personal supervision, and it was strongly and
thoroughly built, for I saw it two years ago, when several
earthquakes had made no impression on it; still, the choice of site
was unfortunate, for the city drifted in the opposite direction,
viz., toward Market Street. I then thought that all the heavy
business would remain toward the foot of Broadway and Jackson
Street, because there were the deepest water and best wharves, but
in this I made a mistake. Nevertheless, in the spring of 1854, the
new bank was finished, and we removed to it, paying rents
thereafter to our Mr. Lucas instead of to Adams & Co. A man
named Wright, during the same season, built a still finer building
just across the street from us; Pioche, Bayerque & Co. were
already established on another corner of Jackson Street, and the
new Metropolitan Theatre was in progress diagonally opposite us.
During the whole of 1854 our business steadily grew, our average
deposits going up to half a million, and our sales of exchange and
consequent shipment of bullion averaging two hundred thousand
dollars per steamer. I signed all bills of exchange, and insisted
on Nisbet consulting me on loans and discounts. Spite of every
caution, however, we lost occasionally by bad loans, and worse by
the steady depreciation of real estate. The city of San Francisco
was then extending her streets, sewering them, and planking them,
with three-inch lumber. In payment for the lumber and the work of
contractors, the city authorities paid scrip in even sums of one
hundred, five hundred, one thousand, and five thousand dollars.
These formed a favorite collateral for loans at from fifty to sixty
cents on the dollar, and no one doubted their ultimate value,
either by redemption or by being converted into city bonds. The
notes also of H. Meiggs, Neeley Thompson & Co., etc.,
lumber-dealers, were favorite notes, for they paid their interest
promptly, and lodged large margins of these street-improvement
warrants as collateral. At that time, Meiggs was a prominent man,
lived in style in a large house on Broadway, was a member of the
City Council, and owned large saw-mills up the coast about
Mendocino. In him Nisbet had unbounded faith, but, for some reason,
I feared or mistrusted him, and remember that I cautioned Nisbet
not to extend his credit, but to gradually contract his loans. On
looking over our bills receivable, then about six hundred thousand
dollars, I found Meiggs, as principal or indorser, owed us about
eighty thousand dollars—all, however, secured by city
warrants; still, he kept bank accounts elsewhere, and was generally
a borrower. I instructed Nisbet to insist on his reducing his line
as the notes matured, and, as he found it indelicate to speak to
Meiggs, I instructed him to refer him to me; accordingly, when, on
the next steamer-day, Meiggs appealed at the counter for a draft on
Philadelphia, of about twenty thousand dollars, for which he
offered his note and collateral, he was referred to me, and I
explained to him that our draft was the same as money; that he
could have it for cash, but that we were already in advance to him
some seventy-five or eighty thousand dollars, and that instead of
increasing the amount I must insist on its reduction. He inquired
if I mistrusted his ability, etc. I explained, certainly not, but
that our duty was to assist those who did all their business with
us, and, as our means were necessarily limited, I must restrict him
to some reasonable sum, say, twenty-five thousand dollars. Meiggs
invited me to go with him to a rich mercantile house on Clay
Street, whose partners belonged in Hamburg, and there, in the
presence of the principals of the house, he demonstrated, as
clearly as a proposition in mathematics, that his business at
Mendocino was based on calculations that could not fail. The bill
of exchange which he wanted, he said would make the last payment on
a propeller already built in Philadelphia, which would be sent to
San Francisco, to tow into and out of port the schooners and brigs
that were bringing his lumber down the coast. I admitted all he
said, but renewed my determination to limit his credit to
twenty-five thousand dollars. The Hamburg firm then agreed to
accept for him the payment of all his debt to us, except the
twenty-five thousand dollars, payable in equal parts for the next
three steamer-days. Accordingly, Meiggs went back with me to our
bank, wrote his note for twenty-five thousand dollars, and secured
it by mortgage on real estate and city warrants, and substituted
the three acceptances of the Hamburg firm for the overplus. I
surrendered to him all his former notes, except one for which he
was indorser. The three acceptances duly matured and were paid; one
morning Meiggs and family were missing, and it was discovered they
had embarked in a sailing-vessel for South America. This was the
beginning of a series of failures in San Francisco, that extended
through the next two years. As soon as it was known that Meiggs had
fled, the town was full of rumors, and everybody was running to and
fro to secure his money. His debts amounted to nearly a million
dollars. The Hamburg house which, had been humbugged, were heavy
losers and failed, I think. I took possession of Meiggs’s
dwelling-house and other property for which I held his mortgage,
and in the city warrants thought I had an overplus; but it
transpired that Meiggs, being in the City Council, had issued
various quantities of street scrip, which was adjudged a forgery,
though, beyond doubt, most of it, if not all, was properly signed,
but fraudulently issued. On this city scrip our bank must have lost
about ten thousand dollars. Meiggs subsequently turned up in Chili,
where again he rose to wealth and has paid much of his San
Francisco debts, but none to us. He is now in Peru, living like a
prince. With Meiggs fell all the lumber-dealers, and many persons
dealing in city scrip. Compared with others, our loss was a trifle.
In a short time things in San Francisco resumed their wonted
course, and we generally laughed at the escapade of Meiggs, and the
cursing of his deluded creditors.

Shortly after our arrival in San Francisco, I rented of a Mr.
Marryat, son of the English Captain Marryat, the author, a small
frame-house on Stockton Street, near Green, buying of him his
furniture, and we removed to it about December 1,1853. Close by,
around on Green Street, a man named Dickey was building two small
brick-houses, on ground which he had leased of Nicholson. I bought
one of these houses, subject to the ground-rent, and moved into it
as soon as finished. Lieutenant T. H. Stevens, of the United States
Navy, with his family, rented the other; we lived in this house
throughout the year 1854, and up to April 17, 1855.

During the winter of 1854-’55, I received frequent intimations
in my letters from the St. Louis house, that the bank of Page,
Bacon & Co. was in trouble, growing out of their relations to
the Ohio & Mississippi Railroad, to the contractors for
building which they had made large advances, to secure which they
had been compelled to take, as it were, an assignment of the
contract itself, and finally to assume all the liabilities of the
contractors. Then they had to borrow money in New York, and raise
other money from time to time, in the purchase of iron and
materials for the road, and to pay the hands. The firm in St. Louis
and that in San Francisco were different, having different
partners, and the St. Louis house naturally pressed the San
Francisco firm to ship largely of “gold-dust,” which gave them a
great name; also to keep as large a balance as possible in New York
to sustain their credit. Mr. Page was a very wealthy man, but his
wealth consisted mostly of land and property in St. Louis. He was
an old man, and a good one; had been a baker, and knew little of
banking as a business. This part of his general business was
managed exclusively by his son-in-law, Henry D. Bacon, who was
young, handsome, and generally popular. How he was drawn into that
affair of the Ohio & Mississippi road I have no means of
knowing, except by hearsay. Their business in New York was done
through the American Exchange Bank, and through Duncan, Sherman
& Co. As we were rival houses, the St. Louis partners removed
our account from the American Exchange Bank to the Metropolitan
Bank; and, as Wadsworth & Sheldon had failed, I was instructed
to deal in time bills, and in European exchange, with Schnchardt
& Gebhard, bankers in Nassau Street.

In California the house of Page, Bacon & Co. was composed of
the same partners as in St. Louis, with the addition of Henry
Haight, Judge Chambers, and young Frank Page. The latter had charge
of the “branch” in Sacramento. Haight was the real head-man, but he
was too fond of lager-beer to be in trusted with so large a
business. Beyond all comparison, Page, Bacon & Co. were the
most prominent bankers in California in 1853-’55. Though I had
notice of danger in that quarter, from our partners in St. Louis,
nobody in California doubted their wealth and stability. They must
have had, during that winter, an average deposit account of nearly
two million dollars, of which seven hundred thousand dollars was in
“certificates of deposit,” the most stable of all accounts in a
bank. Thousands of miners invested their earnings in such
certificates, which they converted into drafts on New York, when
they were ready to go home or wanted to send their “pile” to their
families. Adams & Co. were next in order, because of their
numerous offices scattered throughout the mining country. A
gentleman named Haskell had been in charge of Adams & Co. in
San Francisco, but in the winter of 1854-’55 some changes were
made, and the banking department had been transferred to a
magnificent office in Halleck’s new Metropolitan Block. James King
of Wm. had discontinued business on his own account, and been
employed by Adams & Co. as their cashier and banker, and Isaiah
C. Wood had succeeded Haskell in chief control of the express
department. Wells, Fargo & Co. were also bankers as well as
expressmen, and William J. Pardee was the resident partner.

As the mail-steamer came in on February 17, 1855, according to
her custom, she ran close to the Long Wharf (Meiggs’s) on North
Beach, to throw ashore the express-parcels of news for speedy
delivery. Some passenger on deck called to a man of his
acquaintance standing on the wharf, that Page & Bacon had
failed in New York. The news spread like wild-fire, but soon it was
met by the newspaper accounts to the effect that some particular
acceptances of Page & Bacon, of St. Louis, in the hands of
Duncan, Sherman & Co., in New York, had gone to protest. All
who had balances at Page, Bacon & Co.’s, or held certificates
of deposit, were more or less alarmed, wanted to secure their
money, and a general excitement pervaded the whole community. Word
was soon passed round that the matter admitted of explanation,
viz., that the two houses were distinct and separate concerns, that
every draft of the California house had been paid in New York, and
would continue to be paid. It was expected that this assertion
would quiet the fears of the California creditors, but for the next
three days there was a steady “run” on that bank. Page, Bacon &
Co. stood the first day’s run very well, and, as I afterward
learned, paid out about six hundred thousand dollars in gold coin.
On the 20th of February Henry Height came to our bank, to see what
help we were willing to give him; but I was out, and Nisbet could
not answer positively for the firm. Our condition was then very
strong. The deposit account was about six hundred thousand dollars,
and we had in our vault about five hundred thousand dollars in coin
and bullion, besides an equal amount of good bills receivable.
Still I did not like to weaken ourselves to help others; but in a
most friendly spirit, that night after bank-hours, I went down to
Page, Bacon & Co., and entered their office from the rear. I
found in the cashier’s room Folsom, Parrott, Dewey and Payne,
Captain Ritchie, Donohue, and others, citizens and friends of the
house, who had been called in for consultation. Passing into the
main office, where all the book-keepers, tellers, etc., with
gas-lights, were busy writing up the day’s work, I found Mr. Page,
Henry Height, and Judge Chambers. I spoke to Height, saying that I
was sorry I had been out when he called at our bank, and had now
come to see him in the most friendly spirit. Height had evidently
been drinking, and said abruptly that “all the banks would break,”
that “no bank could instantly pay all its obligations,” etc. I
answered he could speak for himself, but not for me; that I had
come to offer to buy with cash a fair proportion of his bullion,
notes, and bills; but, if they were going to fail, I would not be
drawn in. Height’s manner was extremely offensive, but Mr. Page
tried to smooth it over, saying they had had a bad day’s run, and
could not answer for the result till their books were written
up.

I passed back again into the room where the before-named
gentlemen were discussing some paper which lay before them, and was
going to pass out, when Captain Folsom, who was an officer of the
army, a class-mate and intimate friend of mine, handed me the paper
the contents of which they were discussing. It was very short, and
in Henry Haight’s handwriting, pretty much in these terms: “We, the
undersigned property-holders of San Francisco, having personally
examined the books, papers, etc., of Page, Bacon & Co., do
hereby certify that the house is solvent and able to pay all its
debts,” etc. Height had drawn up and asked them to sign this paper,
with the intention to publish it in the next morning’s papers, for
effect. While I was talking with Captain Folsom, Height came into
the room to listen. I admitted that the effect of such a
publication would surely be good, and would probably stave off
immediate demand till their assets could be in part converted or
realized; but I naturally inquired of Folsom, “Have you personally
examined the accounts, as herein recited, and the assets, enough to
warrant your signature to this paper?” for, “thereby you in effect
become indorsers.” Folsom said they had not, when Height turned on
me rudely and said, “Do you think the affairs of such a house as
Page, Bacon & Co. can be critically examined in an hour?” I
answered: “These gentlemen can do what they please, but they have
twelve hours before the bank will open on the morrow, and if the
ledger is written up” (as I believed it was or could be by
midnight), “they can (by counting the coin, bullion on hand, and
notes or stocks of immediate realization) approximate near enough
for them to indorse for the remainder.” But Height pooh-poohed me,
and I left. Folsom followed me out, told me he could not afford to
imperil all he had, and asked my advice. I explained to him that my
partner Nisbet had been educated and trained in that very house of
Page, Bacon & Co.; that we kept our books exactly as they did;
that every day the ledger was written up, so that from it one could
see exactly how much actual money was due the depositors and
certificates; and then by counting the money in the vault,
estimating the bullion on hand, which, though not actual money,
could easily be converted into coin, and supplementing these
amounts by “bills receivable,” they ought to arrive at an
approximate-result. After Folsom had left me, John Parrott also
stopped and talked with me to the same effect. Next morning I
looked out for the notice, but no such notice appeared in the
morning papers, and I afterward learned that, on Parrott and Folsom
demanding an actual count of the money in the vault, Haight angrily
refused unless they would accept his word for it, when one after
the other declined to sign his paper.

The run on Page, Bacon & Co. therefore continued throughout
the 21st, and I expected all day to get an invitation to close our
bank for the next day, February 22, which we could have made a
holiday by concerted action; but each banker waited for Page, Bacon
& Co. to ask for it, and, no such circular coming, in the then
state of feeling no other banker was willing to take the
initiative. On the morning of February 22, 1855, everybody was
startled by receiving a small slip of paper, delivered at all the
houses, on which was printed a short notice that, for “want of
coin,” Page, Bacon & Co. found it necessary to close their bank
for a short time. Of course, we all knew the consequences, and that
every other bank in San Francisco would be tried. During the 22d we
all kept open, and watched our depositors closely; but the day was
generally observed by the people as a holiday, and the firemen
paraded the streets of San Francisco in unusual strength. But, on
writing up our books that night, we found that our deposit account
had diminished about sixty-five thousand dollars. Still, there was
no run on us, or any other of the banks, that day; yet, observing
little knots of men on the street, discussing the state of the
banks generally, and overhearing Haight’s expression quoted, that,
in case of the failure of Page, Bacon & Co., “all the other
banks would break,” I deemed it prudent to make ready. For some
days we had refused all loans and renewals, and we tried, without,
success, some of our call-loans; but, like Hotspur’s spirits, they
would not come.

Our financial condition on that day (February 22, 1855) was: Due
depositors and demand certificates, five hundred and twenty
thousand dollars; to meet which, we had in the vault: coin, three
hundred and eighty thousand dollars; bullion, seventy-five thousand
dollars; and bills receivable, about six hundred thousand dollars.
Of these, at least one hundred thousand dollars were on demand,
with stock collaterals. Therefore, for the extent of our business,
we were stronger than the Bank of England, or any bank in New York
City.

Before daylight next morning, our door-bell was rung, and I was
called down-stairs by E. Casserly, Esq. (an eminent lawyer of the
day, since United States Senator), who informed me he had just come
up from the office of Adams & Co., to tell me that their
affairs were in such condition that they would not open that
morning at all; and that this, added to the suspension of Page,
Bacon & Co., announced the day before, would surely cause a
general run on all the banks. I informed him that I expected as
much, and was prepared for it.

In going down to the bank that morning, I found Montgomery
Street full; but, punctually to the minute, the bank opened, and in
rushed the crowd. As usual, the most noisy and clamorous were men
and women who held small certificates; still, others with larger
accounts were in the crowd, pushing forward for their balances. All
were promptly met and paid. Several gentlemen of my personal
acquaintance merely asked my word of honor that their money was
safe, and went away; others, who had large balances, and no
immediate use for coin, gladly accepted gold-bars, whereby we paid
out the seventy-five thousand dollars of bullion, relieving the
coin to that amount.

Meantime, rumors from the street came pouring in that Wright
& Co. had failed; then Wells, Fargo & Co.; then Palmer,
Cook & Co., and indeed all, or nearly all, the banks of the
city; and I was told that parties on the street were betting high,
first, that we would close our doors at eleven o’clock; then
twelve, and so on; but we did not, till the usual hour that night.
We had paid every demand, and still had a respectable amount
left.

This run on the bank (the only one I ever experienced) presented
all the features, serious and comical, usual to such occasions. At
our counter happened that identical case, narrated of others, of
the Frenchman, who was nearly squeezed to death in getting to the
counter, and, when he received his money, did not know what to do
with it. “If you got the money, I no want him; but if you no got
him, I want it like the devil!”

Toward the close of the day, some of our customers deposited,
rather ostentatiously, small amounts, not aggregating more than
eight or ten thousand dollars. Book-keepers and tellers were kept
at work to write up the books; and these showed:

Due depositors and certificates, about one hundred and twenty
thousand dollars, for which remained of coin about fifty thousand
dollars. I resolved not to sleep until I had collected from those
owing the bank a part of their debts; for I was angry with them
that they had stood back and allowed the panic to fall on the banks
alone. Among these were Captain Folsom, who owed us twenty-five
thousand dollars, secured by a mortgage on the American Theatre and
Tehama Hotel; James Smiley, contractor for building the
Custom-House, who owed us two notes of twenty thousand and sixteen
thousand dollars, for which we held, as collateral, two acceptances
of the collector of the port, Major R. P. Hammond, for twenty
thousand dollars each; besides other private parties that I need
not name. The acceptances given to Smiley were for work done on the
Custom-House, but could not be paid until the work was actually
laid in the walls, and certified by Major Tower, United States
Engineers; but Smiley had an immense amount of granite, brick,
iron, etc., on the ground, in advance of construction, and these
acceptances were given him expressly that he might raise money
thereon for the payment of such materials.

Therefore, as soon as I got my dinner, I took my saddle-horse,
and rode to Captain Folsom’s house, where I found him in great pain
and distress, mental and physical. He was sitting in a chair, and
bathing his head with a sponge. I explained to him the object of my
visit, and he said he had expected it, and had already sent his
agent, Van Winkle, down-town, with instructions to raise what money
he could at any cost; but he did not succeed in raising a cent. So
great was the shock to public confidence, that men slept on their
money, and would not loan it for ten per cent. a week, on any
security whatever—even on mint certificates, which were as
good as gold, and only required about ten days to be paid in coin
by the United States Mint. I then rode up to Hammond’s house, on
Rincon Hill, and found him there. I explained to him exactly
Smiley’s affairs, and only asked him to pay one of his acceptances.
He inquired, “Why not both?” I answered that was so much the
better; it would put me under still greater obligations. He then
agreed to meet me at our bank at 10 P.M. I sent word to others that
I demanded them to pay what they could on their paper, and then
returned to the bank, to meet Hammond. In due time, he came down
with Palmer (of Palmer, Cook & Co.), and there he met Smiley,
who was, of course, very anxious to retire his notes. We there
discussed the matter fully, when Hammond said, “Sherman, give me up
my two acceptances, and I will substitute therefor my check of
forty thousand dollars,” with “the distinct understanding that, if
the money is not needed by you, it shall be returned to me, and the
transaction then to remain statu quo.” To this there was a general
assent. Nisbet handed him his two acceptances, and he handed me his
check, signed as collector of the port, on Major J. R. Snyder,
United States Treasurer, for forty thousand dollars. I afterward
rode out, that night, to Major Snyder’s house on North Beach, saw
him, and he agreed to meet me at 8 a.m. next day, at the United
States Mint, and to pay the check, so that I could have the money
before the bank opened. The next morning, as agreed on, we met, and
he paid me the check in two sealed bags of gold-coin, each marked
twenty thousand dollars, which I had carried to the bank, but never
opened them, or even broke the seals.

That morning our bank opened as usual, but there was no
appearance of a continuation of the “run;” on the contrary, money
began to come back on deposit, so that by night we had a
considerable increase, and this went on from day to day, till
nearly the old condition of things returned. After about three
days, finding I had no use for the money obtained on Hammond’s
check, I took the identical two bags back to the cashier of the
Custom-House, and recovered the two acceptances which had been
surrendered as described; and Smiley’s two notes were afterward
paid in their due course, out of the cash received on those
identical acceptances. But, years afterward, on settling with
Hammond for the Custom-House contract when completed, there was a
difference, and Smiley sued Lucas, Turner & Co. for money had
and received for his benefit, being the identical forty thousand
dollars herein explained, but he lost his case. Hammond, too, was
afterward removed from office, and indicted in part for this
transaction. He was tried before the United States Circuit Court,
Judge McAlister presiding, for a violation of the sub-Treasury Act,
but was acquitted. Our bank, having thus passed so well through the
crisis, took at once a first rank; but these bank failures had
caused so many mercantile losses, and had led to such an utter
downfall in the value of real estate, that everybody lost more or
less money by bad debts, by depreciation of stocks and collaterals,
that became unsalable, if not worthless.

About this time (viz., February, 1855) I had exchanged my house
on Green, street, with Mr. Sloat, for the half of a fifty-vara lot
on Harrison Street, between Fremont and First, on which there was a
small cottage, and I had contracted for the building of a new
frame-house thereon, at six thousand dollars. This house was
finished on the 9th of April, and my family moved into it at
once.

For some time Mrs. Sherman had been anxious to go home to
Lancaster, Ohio, where we had left our daughter Minnie, with her
grandparents, and we arranged that S. M. Bowman, Esq., and wife,
should move into our new house and board us, viz., Lizzie, Willie
with the nurse Biddy, and myself, for a fair consideration. It so
happened that two of my personal friends, Messrs. Winters and
Cunningham of Marysville, and a young fellow named Eagan, now a
captain in the Commissary Department, were going East in the
steamer of the middle of April, and that Mr.. William H. Aspinwall,
of New York, and Mr. Chauncey, of Philadelphia, were also going
back; and they all offered to look to the personal comfort of Mrs.
Sherman on the voyage. They took passage in the steamer Golden Age
(Commodore Watkins), which sailed on April 17, 1855. Their passage
down the coast was very pleasant till within a day’s distance of
Panama, when one bright moonlit night, April 29th, the ship,
running at full speed, between the Islands Quibo and Quicara,
struck on a sunken reef, tore out a streak in her bottom, and at
once began to fill with water. Fortunately she did not sink fast,
but swung off into deep water, and Commodore Watkins happening to
be on deck at the moment, walking with Mr. Aspinwall, learning that
the water was rushing in with great rapidity, gave orders for a
full head of steam, and turned the vessel’s bow straight for the
Island Quicara. The water rose rapidly in the hold, the passengers
were all assembled, fearful of going down, the fires were out, and
the last revolution of the wheels made, when her bow touched gently
on the beach, and the vessel’s stern sank in deep water. Lines were
got out, and the ship held in an upright position, so that the
passengers were safe, and but little incommoded. I have often heard
Mrs. Sherman tell of the boy Eagan, then about fourteen years old,
coming to her state-room, and telling to her not to be afraid, as
he was a good swimmer; but on coming out into the cabin, partially
dressed, she felt more confidence in the cool manner, bearing, and
greater strength of Mr. Winters. There must have been nearly a
thousand souls on board at the time, few of whom could have been
saved had the steamer gone down in mid-channel, which surely would
have resulted, had not Commodore Watkins been on deck, or had he
been less prompt in his determination to beach his ship. A sailboat
was dispatched toward Panama, which luckily met the steamer John T.
Stephens, just coming out of the bay, loaded with about a thousand
passengers bound for San Francisco, and she at once proceeded to
the relief of the Golden Age. Her passengers were transferred in
small boats to the Stephens, which vessel, with her two thousand
people crowded together with hardly standing-room, returned to
Panama, whence the passengers for the East proceeded to their
destination without further delay. Luckily for Mrs. Sherman, Purser
Goddard, an old Ohio friend of ours, was on the Stephens, and most
kindly gave up his own room to her, and such lady friends as she
included in her party. The Golden Age was afterward partially
repaired at Quicara, pumped out, and steamed to Panama, when, after
further repairs, she resumed her place in the line. I think she is
still in existence, but Commodore Watkins afterward lost his life
in China, by falling down a hatchway.

Mrs. Sherman returned in the latter part of November of the same
year, when Mr. and Mrs. Bowman, who meantime had bought a lot next
to us and erected a house thereon, removed to it, and we thus
continued close neighbors and friends until we left the country for
good in 1857.

During the summer of 1856, in San Francisco, occurred one of
those unhappy events, too common to new countries, in which I
became involved in spite of myself.

William Neely Johnson was Governor of California, and resided at
Sacramento City; General John E. Wool commanded the Department of
California, having succeeded General Hitchcock, and had his
headquarters at Benicia; and a Mr. Van Ness was mayor of the city.
Politics had become a regular and profitable business, and
politicians were more than suspected of being corrupt. It was
reported and currently believed that the sheriff (Scannell) had
been required to pay the Democratic Central Committee a hundred
thousand dollars for his nomination, which was equivalent to an
election, for an office of the nominal salary of twelve thousand
dollars a year for four years. In the election all sorts of
dishonesty were charged and believed, especially of “ballot-box
stuffing,” and too generally the better classes avoided the
elections and dodged jury-duty, so that the affairs of the city
government necessarily passed into the hands of a low set of
professional politicians. Among them was a man named James Casey,
who edited a small paper, the printing office of which was in a
room on the third floor of our banking office. I hardly knew him by
sight, and rarely if ever saw his paper; but one day Mr. Sather, of
the excellent banking firm of Drexel, Sather & Church, came to
me, and called my attention to an article in Casey’s paper so full
of falsehood and malice, that we construed it as an effort to
black-mail the banks generally. At that time we were all laboring
to restore confidence, which had been so rudely shaken by the
panic, and I went up-stairs, found Casey, and pointed out to him
the objectionable nature of his article, told him plainly that I
could not tolerate his attempt to print and circulate slanders in
our building, and, if he repeated it, I would cause him and his
press to be thrown out of the windows. He took the hint and moved
to more friendly quarters. I mention this fact, to show my estimate
of the man, who became a figure in the drama I am about to
describe. James King of Wm., as before explained, was in 1853 a
banker on his own account, but some time in 1854 he had closed out
his business, and engaged with Adams & Co. as cashier. When
this firm failed, he, in common with all the employees, was thrown
out of employment, and had to look around for something else. He
settled down to the publication of an evening paper, called the
Bulletin, and, being a man of fine manners and address, he at once
constituted himself the champion of society against the public and
private characters whom he saw fit to arraign.

As might have been expected, this soon brought him into the
usual newspaper war with other editors, and especially with Casey,
and epithets a la “Eatanswill” were soon bandying back and forth
between them. One evening of May, 1856, King published, in the
Bulletin, copies of papers procured from New York, to show that
Casey had once been sentenced to the State penitentiary at Sing
Sing. Casey took mortal offense, and called at the Bulletin office,
on the corner of Montgomery and Merchant Streets, where he found
King, and violent words passed between them, resulting in Casey
giving King notice that he would shoot him on sight. King remained
in his office till about 5 or 6 p.m., when he started toward his
home on Stockton Street, and, as he neared the corner of
Washington, Casey approached him from the opposite direction,
called to him, and began firing. King had on a short cloak, and in
his breast-pocket a small pistol, which he did not use. One of
Casey’s shots struck him high up in the breast, from which he
reeled, was caught by some passing friend, and carried into the
express-office on the corner, where he was laid on the counter; and
a surgeon sent for. Casey escaped up Washington Street, went to the
City Hall, and delivered himself to the sheriff (Scannell), who
conveyed him to jail and locked him in a cell. Meantime, the news
spread like wildfire, and all the city was in commotion, for grog
was very popular. Nisbet, who boarded with us on Harrison Street,
had been delayed at the bank later than usual, so that he happened
to be near at the time, and, when he came out to dinner, he brought
me the news of this affair, and said that there was every
appearance of a riot downtown that night. This occurred toward the
evening of May 14, 1856.

It so happened that, on the urgent solicitation of Van Winkle
and of Governor Johnson; I had only a few days before agreed to
accept the commission of major-general of the Second Division of
Militia, embracing San Francisco. I had received the commission,
but had not as yet formally accepted it, or even put myself in
communication with the volunteer companies of the city. Of these,
at that moment of time, there was a company of artillery with four
guns, commanded by a Captain Johns, formerly of the army, and two
or three uniformed companies of infantry. After dinner I went down
town to see what was going on; found that King had been removed to
a room in the Metropolitan Block; that his life was in great peril;
that Casey was safe in jail, and the sheriff had called to his
assistance a posse of the city police, some citizens, and one of
the militia companies. The people were gathered in groups on the
streets, and the words “Vigilance Committee” were freely spoken,
but I saw no signs of immediate violence. The next morning, I again
went to the jail, and found all things quiet, but the militia had
withdrawn. I then went to the City Hall, saw the mayor, Van Ness,
and some of the city officials, agreed to do what I could to
maintain order with such militia as were on hand, and then formally
accepted the commission, and took the “oath.”

In 1851 (when I was not in California) there had been a
Vigilance Committee, and it was understood that its organization
still existed. All the newspapers took ground in favor of the
Vigilance Committee, except the Herald (John Nugent, editor), and
nearly all the best people favored that means of redress. I could
see they were organizing, hiring rendezvous, collecting arms, etc.,
without concealment. It was soon manifest that the companies of
volunteers would go with the “committee,” and that the public
authorities could not rely on them for aid or defense. Still, there
were a good many citizens who contended that, if the civil
authorities were properly sustained by the people at large, they
could and would execute the law. But the papers inflamed the public
mind, and the controversy spread to the country. About the third
day after the shooting of King, Governor Johnson telegraphed me
that he would be down in the evening boat, and asked me to meet him
on arrival for consultation. I got C. H. Garrison to go with me,
and we met the Governor and his brother on the wharf, and walked up
to the International Hotel on Jackson Street, above Montgomery. We
discussed the state of affairs fully; and Johnson, on learning that
his particular friend, William T. Coleman, was the president of the
Vigilance Committee, proposed to go and see him. En route we
stopped at King’s room, ascertained that he was slowly sinking, and
could not live long; and then near midnight we walked to the
Turnverein Hall, where the committee was known to be sitting in
consultation. This hall was on Bush Street, at about the
intersection of Stockton. It was all lighted up within, but the
door was locked. The Governor knocked at the door, and on inquiry
from inside “Who’s there?”—gave his name. After some delay we
were admitted into a sort of vestibule, beyond which was a large
hall, and we could hear the suppressed voices of a multitude. We
were shown into a bar-room to the right, when the Governor asked to
see Coleman. The man left us, went into the main hall, and soon
returned with Coleman, who was pale and agitated. After shaking
hands all round, the Governor said, “Coleman, what the devil is the
matter here?” Coleman said, “Governor, it is time this shooting on
our streets should stop.” The Governor replied, “I agree with you
perfectly, and have come down, from Sacramento to assist.” Coleman
rejoined that “the people were tired of it, and had no faith in the
officers of the law.” A general conversation then followed, in
which it was admitted that King would die, and that Casey must be
executed; but the manner of execution was the thing to be settled,
Coleman contending that the people would do it without trusting the
courts or the sheriff. It so happened that at that time Judge
Norton was on the bench of the court having jurisdiction, and he
was universally recognized as an able and upright man, whom no one
could or did mistrust; and it also happened that a grand-jury was
then in session. Johnson argued that the time had passed in
California for mobs and vigilance committees, and said if Coleman
and associates would use their influence to support the law, he
(the Governor) would undertake that, as soon as King died, the
grand-jury should indict, that Judge Norton would try the murderer,
and the whole proceeding should be as speedy as decency would
allow. Then Coleman said “the people had no confidence in Scannell,
the sheriff,” who was, he said, in collusion with the rowdy element
of San Francisco. Johnson then offered to be personally responsible
that Casey should be safely guarded, and should be forthcoming for
trial and execution at the proper time. I remember very well
Johnson’s assertion that he had no right to make these
stipulations, and maybe no power to fulfill them; but he did it to
save the city and state from the disgrace of a mob. Coleman
disclaimed that the vigilance organization was a “mob,” admitted
that the proposition of the Governor was fair, and all he or any
one should ask; and added, if we would wait awhile, he would submit
it to the council, and bring back an answer.

We waited nearly an hour, and could hear the hum of voices in
the hall, but no words, when Coleman came back, accompanied by a
committee, of which I think the two brothers Arrington, Thomas
Smiley the auctioneer, Seymour, Truett, and others, were members.
The whole conversation was gone over again, and the Governor’s
proposition was positively agreed to, with this further condition,
that the Vigilance Committee should send into the jail a small
force of their own men, to make certain that Casey should not be
carried off or allowed to escape.

The Governor, his brother William, Garrison, and I, then went up
to the jail, where we found the sheriff and his posse comitatus of
police and citizens. These were styled the “Law-and-Order party,”
and some of them took offense that the Governor should have held
communication with the “damned rebels,” and several of them left
the jail; but the sheriff seemed to agree with the Governor that
what he had done was right and best; and, while we were there, some
eight or ten armed men arrived from the Vigilance Committee, and
were received by the sheriff (Scannell) as a part of his regular
posse.

The Governor then, near daylight, went to his hotel, and I to my
house for a short sleep. Next day I was at the bank, as usual,
when, about noon the Governor called, and asked me to walk with him
down-street He said he had just received a message from the
Vigilance Committee to the effect that they were not bound by
Coleman’s promise not to do any thing till the regular trial by
jury should be had, etc. He was with reason furious, and asked me
to go with him to Truett’s store, over which the Executive
Committee was said to be in session. We were admitted to a
front-room up-stairs, and heard voices in the back-room. The
Governor inquired for Coleman, but he was not forthcoming. Another
of the committee, Seymour, met us, denied in toto the promise of
the night before, and the Governor openly accused him of treachery
and falsehood.

The quarrel became public, and the newspapers took it up, both
parties turning on the Governor; one, the Vigilantes, denying the
promise made by Coleman, their president; and the other, the
“Law-and-Order party,” refusing any farther assistance, because
Johnson had stooped to make terms with rebels. At all events, he
was powerless, and had to let matters drift to a conclusion.

King died about Friday, May 20th, and the funeral was appointed
for the next Sunday. Early on that day the Governor sent for me at
my house. I found him on the roof of the International, from which
we looked down on the whole city, and more especially the face of
Telegraph Hill, which was already covered with a crowd of people,
while others were moving toward the jail on Broadway. Parties of
armed men, in good order, were marching by platoons in the same
direction; and formed in line along Broadway, facing the jail-door.
Soon a small party was seen to advance to this door, and knock; a
parley ensued, the doors were opened, and Casey was led out. In a
few minutes another prisoner was brought out, who, proved to be
Cora, a man who had once been tried for killing Richardson, the
United States Marshal, when the jury disagreed, and he was awaiting
a new trial. These prisoners were placed in carriages, and escorted
by the armed force down to the rooms of the Vigilance Committee,
through the principal streets of the city. The day was exceedingly
beautiful, and the whole proceeding was orderly in the extreme. I
was under the impression that Casey and Cora were hanged that same
Sunday, but was probably in error; but in a very few days they were
hanged by the neck—dead—suspended from beams projecting
from the windows of the committee’s rooms, without other trial than
could be given in secret, and by night.

We all thought the matter had ended there, and accordingly the
Governor returned to Sacramento in disgust, and I went about my
business. But it soon became manifest that the Vigilance Committee
had no intention to surrender the power thus usurped. They took a
building on Clay Street, near Front, fortified it, employed guards
and armed sentinels, sat in midnight council, issued writs of
arrest and banishment, and utterly ignored all authority but their
own. A good many men were banished and forced to leave the country,
but they were of that class we could well spare. Yankee Sullivan, a
prisoner in their custody, committed suicide, and a feeling of
general insecurity pervaded the city. Business was deranged; and
the Bulletin, then under control of Tom King, a brother of James,
poured out its abuse on some of our best men, as well as the worst.
Governor Johnson, being again appealed to, concluded to go to work
regularly, and telegraphed me about the 1st of June to meet him at
General Wool’s headquarters at Benicia that night. I went up, and
we met at the hotel where General Wool was boarding. Johnson had
with him his Secretary of State. We discussed the state of the
country generally, and I had agreed that if Wool would give us arms
and ammunition out of the United States Arsenal at Benicia, and if
Commodore Farragat, of the navy, commanding the navy-yard on Mare
Island, would give us a ship, I would call out volunteers, and,
when a sufficient number had responded, I would have the arms come
down from Benicia in the ship, arm my men, take possession of a
thirty-two-pound-gun battery at the Marine Hospital on Rincon
Point, thence command a dispersion of the unlawfully-armed force of
the Vigilance Committee, and arrest some of the leaders.

We played cards that night, carrying on a conversation, in which
Wool insisted on a proclamation commanding the Vigilance Committee
to disperse, etc., and he told us how he had on some occasion, as
far back as 1814, suppressed a mutiny on the Northern frontier. I
did not understand him to make any distinct promise of assistance
that night, but he invited us to accompany him on an inspection of
the arsenal the next day, which we did. On handling some rifled
muskets in the arsenal storehouse he asked me how they would answer
our purpose. I said they were the very things, and that we did not
want cartridge boxes or belts, but that I would have the cartridges
carried in the breeches-pockets, and the caps in the vestpockets. I
knew that there were stored in that arsenal four thousand muskets,
for I recognized the boxes which we had carried out in the
Lexington around Cape Horn in 1846. Afterward we all met at the
quarters of Captain D. R. Jones of the army, and I saw the
Secretary of State, D. F. Douglass, Esq., walk out with General
Wool in earnest conversation, and this Secretary of State afterward
asserted that Wool there and then promised us the arms and
ammunition, provided the Governor would make his proclamation for
the committee to disperse, and that I should afterward call out the
militia, etc. On the way back to the hotel at Benicia, General
Wool, Captain Callendar of the arsenal, and I, were walking side by
side, and I was telling him (General Wool) that I would also need
some ammunition for the thirty-two-pound guns then in position at
Rineon Point, when Wool turned to Callendar and inquired, “Did I
not order those guns to be brought away?” Callendar said “Yes,
general. I made a requisition on the quartermaster for
transportation, but his schooner has been so busy that the guns are
still there.” Then said Wool: “Let them remain; we may have use for
them.” I therefrom inferred, of course, that it was all agreed to
so far as he was concerned.

Soon after we had reached the hotel, we ordered a buggy, and
Governor Johnson and I drove to Vallejo, six miles, crossed over to
Mare Island, and walked up to the commandant’s house, where we
found Commodore Farragut and his family. We stated our business
fairly, but the commodore answered very frankly that he had no
authority, without orders from his department, to take any part in
civil broils; he doubted the wisdom of the attempt; said he had no
ship available except the John Adams, Captain Boutwell, and that
she needed repairs. But he assented at last, to the proposition to
let the sloop John Adams drop down abreast of the city after
certain repairs, to lie off there for moral effect, which afterward
actually occurred.

We then returned to Benicia, and Wool’s first question was,
“What luck?” We answered, “Not much,” and explained what Commodore
Farragut could and would do, and that, instead of having a naval
vessel, we would seize and use one of the Pacific Mail Company’s
steamers, lying at their dock in Benicia, to carry down to San
Francisco the arms and munitions when the time came.

As the time was then near at hand for the arrival of the evening
boats, we all walked down to the wharf together, where I told
Johnson that he could not be too careful; that I had not heard
General Wool make a positive promise of assistance.

Upon this, Johnson called General Wool to one side, and we three
drew together. Johnson said: “General Wool, General Sherman is very
particular, and wants to know exactly what you propose to do.” Wool
answered: “I understand, Governor, that in the first place a writ
of Habeas corpus will be issued commanding the jailers of the
Vigilance Committee to produce the body of some one of the
prisoners held by them (which, of course, will be refused); that
you then issue your proclamation commanding them to disperse, and,
failing this, you will call out the militia, and command General
Sherman with it to suppress the Vigilance Committee as an unlawful
body;” to which the Governor responded, “Yes.” “Then,” said Wool,
“on General Sherman’s making his requisition, approved by you, I
will order the issue of the necessary arms and ammunition.” I
remember well that I said, emphatically: “That is all I want.
—Now, Governor, you may go ahead.” We soon parted; Johnson
and Douglas taking the boat to Sacramento, and I to San
Francisco.

The Chief-Justice, Terry, came to San Francisco the next day,
issued a writ of habeas corpus for the body of one Maloney, which
writ was resisted, as we expected. The Governor then issued his
proclamation, and I published my orders, dated June 4, 1855. The
Quartermaster-General of the State, General Kibbe, also came to San
Francisco, took an office in the City Hall, engaged several rooms
for armories, and soon the men began to enroll into companies. In
my general orders calling out the militia, I used the expression,
“When a sufficient number of men are enrolled, arms and ammunition
will be supplied.” Some of the best men of the “Vigilantes” came to
me and remonstrated, saying that collision would surely result;
that it would be terrible, etc. All I could say in reply was, that
it was for them to get out of the way. “Remove your fort; cease
your midnight councils; and prevent your armed bodies from
patrolling the streets.” They inquired where I was to get arms, and
I answered that I had them certain. But personally I went right
along with my business at the bank, conscious that at any moment we
might have trouble. Another committee of citizens, a conciliatory
body, was formed to prevent collision if possible, and the
newspapers boiled over with vehement vituperation. This second
committee was composed of such men as Crockett, Ritchie, Thornton,
Bailey Peyton, Foote, Donohue, Kelly, and others, a class of the
most intelligent and wealthy men of the city, who earnestly and
honestly desired to prevent bloodshed. They also came to me, and I
told them that our men were enrolling very fast, and that, when I
deemed the right moment had come, the Vigilance Committee must
disperse, else bloodshed and destruction of property would
inevitably follow. They also had discovered that the better men of
the Vigilance Committee itself were getting tired of the business,
and thought that in the execution of Casey and Cora, and the
banishment of a dozen or more rowdies, they had done enough, and
were then willing to stop. It was suggested that, if our
Law-and-Order party would not arm, by a certain day near at hand
the committee would disperse, and some of their leaders would
submit to an indictment and trial by a jury of citizens, which they
knew would acquit them of crime. One day in the bank a man called
me to the counter and said, “If you expect to get arms of General
Wool, you will be mistaken, for I was at Benicia yesterday, and
heard him say he would not give them.” This person was known to me
to be a man of truth, and I immediately wrote to General Wool a
letter telling him what I had heard, and how any hesitation on his
part would compromise me as a man of truth and honor; adding that I
did not believe we should ever need the arms, but only the promise
of them, for “the committee was letting down, and would soon
disperse and submit to the law,” etc. I further asked him to answer
me categorically that very night, by the Stockton boat, which would
pass Benicia on its way down about midnight, and I would sit up and
wait for his answer. I did wait for his letter, but it did not
come, and the next day I got a telegraphic dispatch from Governor
Johnson, who, at Sacramento, had also heard of General Wool’s
“back-down,” asking me to meet him again at Benicia that night.

I went up in the evening boat, and found General Wool’s
aide-de-camp, Captain Arnold, of the army, on the wharf, with a
letter in his hand, which he said was for me. I asked for it, but
he said he knew its importance, and preferred we should go to
General Wool’s room together, and the general could hand it to me
in person. We did go right up to General Wool’s, who took the
sealed parcel and laid it aside, saying that it was literally a
copy of one he had sent to Governor Johnson, who would doubtless
give me a copy; but I insisted that I had made a written
communication, and was entitled to a written answer.

At that moment several gentlemen of the “Conciliation party,”
who had come up in the same steamer with me, asked for admission
and came in. I recall the names of Crockett, Foote, Bailey Peyton,
Judge Thornton, Donohue, etc., and the conversation became general,
Wool trying to explain away the effect of our misunderstanding,
taking good pains not to deny his promise made to me personally on
the wharf. I renewed my application for the letter addressed to me,
then lying on his table. On my statement of the case, Bailey Peyton
said, “General Wool, I think General Sherman has a right to a
written answer from you, for he is surely compromised.” Upon this
Wool handed me the letter. I opened and read it, and it denied any
promise of arms, but otherwise was extremely evasive and
non-committal. I had heard of the arrival at the wharf of the
Governor and party, and was expecting them at Wool’s room, but,
instead of stopping at the hotel where we were, they passed to
another hotel on the block above. I went up and found there, in a
room on the second floor over the bar-room, Governor Johnson,
Chief-Justice Terry, Jones, of Palmer, Cooke & Co., E. D.
Baker, Volney E. Howard, and one or two others. All were talking
furiously against Wool, denouncing him as a d—-d liar, and
not sparing the severest terms. I showed the Governor General
Wool’s letter to me, which he said was in effect the same as the
one addressed to and received by him at Sacramento. He was so
offended that he would not even call on General Wool, and said he
would never again recognize him as an officer or gentleman. We
discussed matters generally, and Judge Terry said that the
Vigilance Committee were a set of d—-d pork-merchants; that
they were getting scared, and that General Wool was in collusion
with them to bring the State into contempt, etc. I explained that
there were no arms in the State except what General Wool had, or
what were in the hands of the Vigilance Committee of San Francisco,
and that the part of wisdom for us was to be patient and cautious.
About that time Crockett and his associates sent up their cards,
but Terry and the more violent of the Governor’s followers
denounced them as no better than “Vigilantes,” and wanted the
Governor to refuse even to receive them. I explained that they were
not “Vigilantes,” that Judge Thornton was a “Law-and-Order” man,
was one of the first to respond to the call of the sheriff, and
that he went actually to the jail with his one arm the night we
expected the first attempt at rescue, etc. Johnson then sent word
for them to reduce their business to writing. They simply sent in a
written request for an audience, and they were then promptly
admitted. After some general conversation, the Governor said he was
prepared to hear them, when Mr. Crockett rose and made a prepared
speech embracing a clear and fair statement of the condition of
things in San Francisco, concluding with the assertion of the
willingness of the committee to disband and submit to trial after a
certain date not very remote. All the time Crockett was speaking,
Terry sat with his hat on, drawn over his eyes, and with his feet
on a table. As soon as Crockett was through, they were dismissed,
and Johnson began to prepare a written answer. This was scratched,
altered, and amended, to suit the notions of his counselors, and at
last was copied and sent. This answer amounted to little or
nothing. Seeing that we were powerless for good, and that violent
counsels would prevail under the influence of Terry and others, I
sat down at the table, and wrote my resignation, which Johnson
accepted in a complimentary note on the spot, and at the same time
he appointed to my place General Volney E. Howard, then present, a
lawyer who had once been a member of Congress from Texas, and who
was expected to drive the d—-d pork-merchants into the bay at
short notice. I went soon after to General Wool’s room, where I
found Crockett and the rest of his party; told them that I was out
of the fight, having resigned my commission; that I had neglected
business that had been intrusted to me by my St. Louis partners;
and that I would thenceforward mind my own business, and leave
public affairs severely alone. We all returned to San Francisco
that night by the Stockton boat, and I never after-ward had any
thing to do with politics in California, perfectly satisfied with
that short experience. Johnson and Wool fought out their quarrel of
veracity in the newspapers and on paper. But, in my opinion, there
is not a shadow of doubt that General Wool did deliberately deceive
us; that he had authority to issue arms, and that, had he adhered
to his promise, we could have checked the committee before it
became a fixed institution, and a part of the common law of
California. Major-General Volney E. Howard came to San Francisco
soon after; continued the organization of militia which I had
begun; succeeded in getting a few arms from the country; but one
day the Vigilance Committee sallied from their armories, captured
the arms of the “Law-and-Order party,” put some of their men into
prison, while General Howard, with others, escaped to the country;
after which the Vigilance Committee had it all their own way.
Subsequently, in July, 1856, they arrested Chief-Justice Terry, and
tried him for stabbing one of their constables, but he managed to
escape at night, and took refuge on the John Adams. In August, they
hanged Hetherington and Brace in broad daylight, without any
jury-trial; and, soon after, they quietly disbanded. As they
controlled the press, they wrote their own history, and the world
generally gives them the credit of having purged San Francisco of
rowdies and roughs; but their success has given great stimulus to a
dangerous principle, that would at any time justify the mob in
seizing all the power of government; and who is to say that the
Vigilance Committee may not be composed of the worst, instead of
the best, elements of a community? Indeed, in San Francisco, as
soon as it was demonstrated that the real power had passed from the
City Hall to the committee room, the same set of bailiffs,
constables, and rowdies that had infested the City Hall were found
in the employment of the “Vigilantes;” and, after three months
experience, the better class of people became tired of the midnight
sessions and left the business and power of the committee in the
hands of a court, of which a Sydney man was reported to be the head
or chief-justice.

During the winter of 1855-’56, and indeed throughout the year
1856, all kinds of business became unsettled in California. The
mines continued to yield about fifty millions of gold a year; but
little attention was paid to agriculture or to any business other
than that of “mining,” and, as the placer-gold was becoming worked
out, the miners were restless and uneasy, and were shifting about
from place to place, impelled by rumors put afloat for speculative
purposes. A great many extensive enterprises by joint-stock
companies had been begun, in the way of water-ditches, to bring
water from the head of the mountain-streams down to the richer
alluvial deposits, and nearly all of these companies became
embarrassed or bankrupt. Foreign capital, also, which had been
attracted to California by reason of the high rates of interest,
was being withdrawn, or was tied up in property which could not be
sold; and, although our bank’s having withstood the panic gave us
great credit, still the community itself was shaken, and loans of
money were risky in the extreme. A great many merchants, of the
highest name, availed themselves of the extremely liberal bankrupt
law to get discharged of their old debts, without sacrificing much,
if any, of their stocks of goods on hand, except a lawyer’s fee;
thus realizing Martin Burke’s saying that “many a clever fellow had
been ruined by paying his debts.” The merchants and business-men of
San Francisco did not intend to be ruined by such a course. I
raised the rate of exchange from three to three and a half, while
others kept on at the old rate; and I labored hard to collect old
debts, and strove, in making new loans, to be on the safe side. The
State and city both denied much of their public debt; in fact,
repudiated it; and real estate, which the year before had been
first-class security, became utterly unsalable.

The office labor and confinement, and the anxiety attending the
business, aggravated my asthma to such an extent that at times it
deprived me of sleep, and threatened to become chronic and serious;
and I was also conscious that the first and original cause which
had induced Mr. Lucas to establish the bank in California had
ceased. I so reported to him, and that I really believed that he
could use his money more safely and to better advantage in St.
Louis. This met his prompt approval, and he instructed me gradually
to draw out, preparatory to a removal to New York City.
Accordingly, early in April, 1857, I published an advertisement in
the San Francisco papers, notifying our customers that, on the 1st
day of May, we would discontinue business and remove East,
requiring all to withdraw their accounts, and declaring that, if
any remained on that day of May, their balances would be
transferred to the banking-house of Parrott & Co. Punctually to
the day, this was done, and the business of Lucas, Turner &
Co., of San Francisco, was discontinued, except the more difficult
and disagreeable part of collecting their own moneys and selling
the real estate, to which the firm had succeeded by purchase or
foreclosure. One of the partners, B. R. Nisbet, assisted by our
attorney, S. M. Bowman, Esq., remained behind to close up the
business of the bank.

Having closed the bank at San Francisco on the 1st day of May,
1857, accompanied by my family I embarked in the steamer Sonora for
Panama, crossed the isthmus, and sailed to New York, whence we
proceeded to Lancaster, Ohio, where Mrs. Sherman and the family
stopped, and I went on to St. Louis. I found there that some
changes had been made in the parent, house, that Mr. Lucas had
bought out his partner, Captain Symonds, and that the firm’s name
had been changed to that of James H. Lucas & Co.

It had also been arranged that an office or branch was to be
established in New York City, of which I was to have charge, on
pretty much the same terms and conditions as in the previous San
Francisco firm.

Mr. Lucas, Major Turner, and I, agreed to meet in New York, soon
after the 4th of July. We met accordingly at the Metropolitan
Hotel, selected an office, No. 12 Pall Street, purchased the
necessary furniture, and engaged a teller, bookkeeper, and porter.
The new firm was to bear the same title of Lucas, Turner & Co.,
with about the same partners in interest, but the nature of the
business was totally different. We opened our office on the 21st of
July, 1857, and at once began to receive accounts from the West and
from California, but our chief business was as the resident agents
of the St. Louis firm of James H. Lucas & Co. Personally I took
rooms at No. 100 Prince Street, in which house were also quartered
Major J. G. Barnard, and Lieutenant J. B. McPherson, United States
Engineers, both of whom afterward attained great fame in the civil
war.

My business relations in New York were with the Metropolitan
Bank and Bank of America; and with the very wealthy and most
respectable firm of Schuchhardt & Gebhard, of Nassau Street.
Every thing went along swimmingly till the 21st of August, when all
Wall Street was thrown into a spasm by the failure of the Ohio Life
and Trust Company, and the panic so resembled that in San
Francisco, that, having nothing seemingly at stake, I felt amused.
But it soon became a serious matter even to me. Western stocks and
securities tumbled to such a figure, that all Western banks that
held such securities, and had procured advances thereon, were
compelled to pay up or substitute increased collaterals. Our own
house was not a borrower in New York at all, but many of our
Western correspondents were, and it taxed my tune to watch their
interests. In September, the panic extended so as to threaten the
safety of even some of the New York banks not connected with the
West; and the alarm became general, and at last universal.

In the very midst of this panic came the news that the steamer
Central America, formerly the George Law, with six hundred
passengers and about sixteen hundred thousand dollars of treasure,
coming from Aspinwall, had foundered at sea, off the coast of
Georgia, and that about sixty of the passengers had been
providentially picked up by a Swedish bark, and brought into
Savannah. The absolute loss of this treasure went to swell the
confusion and panic of the day.

A few days after, I was standing in the vestibule of the
Metropolitan Hotel, and heard the captain of the Swedish bark tell
his singular story of the rescue of these passengers. He was a
short, sailor-like-looking man, with a strong German or Swedish
accent. He said that he was sailing from some port in Honduras for
Sweden, running down the Gulf Stream off Savannah. The weather had
been heavy for some days, and, about nightfall, as he paced his
deck, he observed a man-of-war hawk circle about his vessel,
gradually lowering, until the bird was as it were aiming at him. He
jerked out a belaying-pin, struck at the bird, missed it, when the
hawk again rose high in the air, and a second time began to
descend, contract his circle, and make at him again. The second
time he hit the bird, and struck it to the deck…. This strange
fact made him uneasy, and he thought it betokened danger; he went
to the binnacle, saw the course he was steering, and without any
particular reason he ordered the steersman to alter the course one
point to the east.

After this it became quite dark, and he continued to promenade
the deck, and had settled into a drowsy state, when as in a dream
he thought he heard voices all round his ship. Waking up, he ran to
the side of the ship, saw something struggling in the water, and
heard clearly cries for help. Instantly heaving his ship to, and
lowering all his boats, he managed to pick up sixty or more persons
who were floating about on skylights, doors, spare, and whatever
fragments remained of the Central America. Had he not changed the
course of his vessel by reason of the mysterious conduct of that
man-of-war hawk, not a soul would probably have survived the night.
It was stated by the rescued passengers, among whom was Billy
Birch, that the Central America had sailed from Aspinwall with the
passengers and freight which left San Francisco on the 1st of
September, and encountered the gale in the Gulf Stream somewhere
off Savannah, in which she sprung a leak, filled rapidly, and went
down. The passengers who were saved had clung to doors, skylights,
and such floating objects as they could reach, and were thus
rescued; all the rest, some five hundred in number, had gone down
with the ship.

The panic grew worse and worse, and about the end of September
there was a general suspension of the banks of New York, and a
money crisis extended all over the country. In New York, Lucas,
Turner & Co. had nothing at risk. We had large cash balances in
the Metropolitan Bank and in the Bank of America, all safe, and we
held, for the account of the St. Louis house, at least two hundred
thousand dollars, of St. Louis city and county bonds, and of
acceptances falling due right along, none extending beyond ninety
days. I was advised from St. Louis that money matters were
extremely tight; but I did not dream of any danger in that quarter.
I knew well that Mr. Lucas was worth two or three million dollars
in the best real estate, and inferred from the large balances to
their credit with me that no mere panic could shake his credit;
but, early on the morning of October 7th, my cousin, James M. Hoyt,
came to me in bed, and read me a paragraph in the morning paper, to
the effect that James H. Lucas & Co., of St. Louis, had
suspended. I was, of course, surprised, but not sorry; for I had
always contended that a man of so much visible wealth as Mr. Lucas
should not be engaged in a business subject to such vicissitudes. I
hurried down to the office, where I received the same information
officially, by telegraph, with instructions to make proper
disposition of the affairs of the bank, and to come out to St.
Louis, with such assets as would be available there. I transferred
the funds belonging to all our correspondents, with lists of
outstanding checks, to one or other of our bankers, and with the
cash balance of the St. Louis house and their available assets
started for St. Louis. I may say with confidence that no man lost a
cent by either of the banking firms of Lucas, Turner & Co., of
San Francisco or New York; but, as usual, those who owed us were
not always as just. I reached St. Louis October 17th, and found the
partners engaged in liquidating the balances due depositors as fast
as collections could be forced; and, as the panic began to subside,
this process became quite rapid, and Mr. Lucas, by making a loan in
Philadelphia, was enabled to close out all accounts without having
made any serious sacrifices, Of course, no person ever lost a cent
by him: he has recently died, leaving an estate of eight million
dollars. During his lifetime, I had opportunities to know him well,
and take much pleasure in bearing testimony to his great worth and
personal kindness. On the failure of his bank, he assumed
personally all the liabilities, released his partners of all
responsibility, and offered to assist me to engage in business,
which he supposed was due to me because I had resigned my army
commission. I remained in St. Louis till the 17th of December,
1857, assisting in collecting for the bank, and in controlling all
matters which came from the New York and San Francisco branches. B.
R. Nisbet was still in San Francisco, but had married a Miss
Thornton, and was coming home. There still remained in California a
good deal of real estate, and notes, valued at about two hundred
thousand dollars in the aggregate; so that, at Mr. Lucas’s request,
I agreed to go out again, to bring matters, if possible, nearer a
final settlement. I accordingly left St. Louis, reached Lancaster,
where my family was, on the 10th, staid there till after Christmas,
and then went to New York, where I remained till January 5th, when
I embarked on the steamer Moles Taylor (Captain McGowan) for
Aspinwall; caught the Golden Gate (Captain Whiting) at Panama,
January 15, 1858; and reached San Francisco on the 28th of January.
I found that Nisbet and wife had gone to St. Louis, and that we had
passed each other at sea. He had carried the ledger and books to
St. Louis, but left a schedule, notes, etc., in the hands of S. M.
Bowman, Esq., who passed them over to me.

On the 30th of January I published a notice of the dissolution
of the partnership, and called on all who were still indebted to
the firm of Lucas, Turner & Co. to pay up, or the notes would
be sold at auction. I also advertised that all the real property,
was for sale.

Business had somewhat changed since 1857. Parrott & Co.;
Garrison, Fritz & Ralston; Wells, Fargo & Co.; Drexel,
Sather & Church, and Tallant & Wilde, were the principal
bankers. Property continued almost unsalable, and prices were less
than a half of what they had been in 1853-’54. William Blending,
Esq., had rented my house on Harrison Street; so I occupied a room
in the bank, No. 11, and boarded at the Meiggs House, corner of
Broadway and Montgomery, which we owned. Having reduced expenses to
a minimum, I proceeded, with all possible dispatch, to collect
outstanding debts, in some instances making sacrifices and
compromises. I made some few sales, and generally aimed to put
matters in such a shape that time would bring the best result. Some
of our heaviest creditors were John M. Rhodes & Co., of
Sacramento and Shasta; Langton & Co., of Downieville; and E. M.
Stranger of Murphy’s. In trying to put these debts in course of
settlement, I made some arrangement in Downieville with the
law-firm of Spears & Thornton, to collect, by suit, a certain
note of Green & Purdy for twelve thousand dollars. Early in
April, I learned that Spears had collected three thousand seven
hundred dollars in money, had appropriated it to his own use, and
had pledged another good note taken in part payment of three
thousand and fifty-three dollars. He pretended to be insane. I had
to make two visits to Downieville on this business, and there, made
the acquaintance of Mr. Stewart, now a Senator from Nevada. He was
married to a daughter of Governor Foote; was living in a small
frame house on the bar just below the town; and his little daughter
was playing about the door in the sand. Stewart was then a lawyer
in Downieville, in good practice; afterward, by some lucky stroke,
became part owner of a valuable silver-mine in Nevada, and is now
accounted a millionaire. I managed to save something out of Spears,
and more out of his partner Thornton. This affair of Spears ruined
him, because his insanity was manifestly feigned.

I remained in San Francisco till July 3d, when, having collected
and remitted every cent that I could raise, and got all the
property in the best shape possible, hearing from St. Louis that
business had revived, and that there was no need of further
sacrifice; I put all the papers, with a full letter of
instructions, and power of attorney, in the hands of William
Blending, Esq., and took passage on the good steamer Golden Gate,
Captain Whiting, for Panama and home. I reached Lancaster on July
28, 1858, and found all the family well. I was then perfectly
unhampered, but the serious and greater question remained, what was
I to do to support my family, consisting of a wife and four
children, all accustomed to more than the average comforts of
life?

I remained at Lancaster all of August, 1858, during which time I
was discussing with Mr. Ewing and others what to do next. Major
Turner and Mr. Lucas, in St. Louis, were willing to do any thing to
aid me, but I thought best to keep independent. Mr. Ewing had
property at Chauncey, consisting of salt-wells and coal-mines, but
for that part of Ohio I had no fancy. Two of his sons, Hugh and T.
E., Jr., had established themselves at Leavenworth, Kansas, where
they and their father had bought a good deal of land, some near the
town, and some back in the country. Mr. Ewing offered to confide to
me the general management of his share of interest, and Hugh and T.
E., Jr., offered me an equal copartnership in their law-firm.

Accordingly, about the 1st of September, I started for Kansas,
stopping a couple of weeks in St. Louis, and reached Leavenworth. I
found about two miles below the fort, on the river-bank, where in
1851 was a tangled thicket, quite a handsome and thriving city,
growing rapidly in rivalry with Kansas City, and St. Joseph,
Missouri. After looking about and consulting with friends, among
them my classmate Major Stewart Van Vliet, quartermaster at the
fort, I concluded to accept the proposition of Mr. Ewing, and
accordingly the firm of Sherman & Ewing was duly announced, and
our services to the public offered as attorneys-at-law. We had an
office on Main Street, between Shawnee and Delaware, on the second
floor, over the office of Hampton Denman, Esq., mayor of the city.
This building was a mere shell, and our office was reached by a
stairway on the outside. Although in the course of my military
reading I had studied a few of the ordinary law-books, such as
Blackstone, Kent, Starkie, etc., I did not presume to be a lawyer;
but our agreement was that Thomas Ewing, Jr., a good and thorough
lawyer, should manage all business in the courts, while I gave
attention to collections, agencies for houses and lands, and such
business as my experience in banking had qualified me for. Yet, as
my name was embraced in a law-firm, it seemed to me proper to take
out a license. Accordingly, one day when United States Judge
Lecompte was in our office, I mentioned the matter to him; he told
me to go down to the clerk of his court, and he would give me the
license. I inquired what examination I would have to submit to, and
he replied, “None at all;” he would admit me on the ground of
general intelligence.

During that summer we got our share of the business of the
profession, then represented by several eminent law-firms,
embracing names that have since flourished in the Senate, and in
the higher courts of the country. But the most lucrative single
case was given me by my friend Major Van Vliet, who employed me to
go to Fort Riley, one hundred and thirty-six miles west of Fort
Leavenworth, to superintend the repairs to the military road. For
this purpose he supplied me with a four-mule ambulance and driver.
The country was then sparsely settled, and quite as many Indians
were along the road as white people; still there were embryo towns
all along the route, and a few farms sprinkled over the beautiful
prairies. On reaching Indianola, near Topeka, I found everybody
down with the chills and fever. My own driver became so shaky that
I had to act as driver and cook. But in due season I reconnoitred
the road, and made contracts for repairing some bridges, and for
cutting such parts of the road as needed it. I then returned to
Fort Leavenworth, and reported, receiving a fair compensation. On
my way up I met Colonel Sumner’s column, returning from their
summer scout on the plains, and spent the night with the officers,
among whom were Captains Sackett, Sturgis, etc. Also at Fort Riley
I was cordially received and entertained by some old army-friends,
among them Major Sedgwick, Captains Totted, Eli Long, etc.

Mrs. Sherman and children arrived out in November, and we spent
the winter very comfortably in the house of Thomas Ewing, Jr., on
the corner of Third and Pottawottamie Streets. On the 1st of
January, 1859, Daniel McCook, Esq., was admitted to membership in
our firm, which became Sherman, Ewing & McCook. Our business
continued to grow, but, as the income hardly sufficed for three
such expensive personages, I continued to look about for something
more certain and profitable, and during that spring undertook for
the Hon. Thomas Ewing, of Ohio, to open a farm on a large tract of
land he owned on Indian Creek, forty miles west of Leavenworth, for
the benefit of his grand-nephew, Henry Clark, and his grand-niece,
Mrs. Walker. These arrived out in the spring, by which time I had
caused to be erected a small frame dwelling-house, a barn, and
fencing for a hundred acres. This helped to pass away time, but
afforded little profit; and on the 11th of June, 1859, I wrote to
Major D. C. Buel, assistant adjutant-general, on duty in the War
Department with Secretary of War Floyd, inquiring if there was a
vacancy among the army paymasters, or any thing in his line that I
could obtain. He replied promptly, and sent me the printed
programme for a military college about to be organized in
Louisiana, and advised me to apply for the superintendent’s place,
saying that General G. Mason Graham, the half-brother of my old
commanding-general, R. B. Mason, was very influential in this
matter, and would doubtless befriend me on account of the relations
that had existed between General Mason and myself in California.
Accordingly, I addressed a letter of application to the Hon. R. C.
Wickliffe, Baton Rouge, Louisiana, asking the answer to be sent to
me at Lancaster, Ohio, where I proposed to leave my family. But,
before leaving this branch of the subject, I must explain a little
matter of which I have seen an account in print, complimentary or
otherwise of the firm of Sherman, Ewing & McCook, more
especially of the senior partner.

One day, as I sat in our office, an Irishman came in and said he
had a case and wanted a lawyer. I asked him to sit down and give me
the points of his case, all the other members of the firm being
out. Our client stated that he had rented a lot of an Irish
landlord for five dollars a month; that he had erected thereon a
small frame shanty, which was occupied by his family; that he had,
paid his rent regularly up to a recent period, but to his house he
had appended a shed which extended over a part of an adjoining
vacant lot belonging to the same landlord, for which he was charged
two and a half dollars a month, which he refused to pay. The
consequence was, that his landlord had for a few months declined
even his five dollars monthly rent until the arrears amounted to
about seventeen dollars, for which he was sued. I told him we would
undertake his case, of which I took notes, and a fee of five
dollars in advance, and in due order I placed the notes in the
hands of McCook, and thought no more of it.

A month or so after, our client rushed into the office and said
his case had been called at Judge Gardner’s (I think), and he
wanted his lawyer right away. I sent him up to the Circuit Court,
Judge Pettit’s, for McCook, but he soon returned, saying he could
not find McCook, and accordingly I hurried with him up to Judge
Gardner’s office, intending to ask a continuance, but I found our
antagonist there, with his lawyer and witnesses, and Judge Gardner
would not grant a continuance, so of necessity I had to act, hoping
that at every minute McCook would come. But the trial proceeded
regularly to its end; we were beaten, and judgment was entered
against our client for the amount claimed, and costs. As soon as
the matter was explained to McCook, he said “execution” could not
be taken for ten days, and, as our client was poor, and had nothing
on which the landlord could levy but his house, McCook advised him
to get his neighbors together, to pick up the house, and carry it
on to another vacant lot, belonging to a non-resident, so that even
the house could not be taken in execution. Thus the grasping
landlord, though successful in his judgment, failed in the
execution, and our client was abundantly satisfied.

In due time I closed up my business at Leavenworth, and went to
Lancaster, Ohio, where, in July, 1859, I received notice from
Governor Wickliffe that I had been elected superintendent of the
proposed college, and inviting me to come down to Louisiana as
early as possible, because they were anxious to put the college
into operation by the 1st of January following. For this honorable
position I was indebted to Major D. C. Buell and General G. Mason
Graham, to whom I have made full and due acknowledgment. During the
civil war, it was reported and charged that I owed my position to
the personal friendship of Generals Bragg and Beauregard, and that,
in taking up arms against the South, I had been guilty of a breach
of hospitality and friendship. I was not indebted to General Bragg,
because he himself told me that he was not even aware that I was an
applicant, and had favored the selection of Major Jenkins, another
West Point graduate. General Beauregard had nothing whatever to do
with the matter. .

In the autumn of 1859, having made arrangements for my family to
remain in Lancaster, I proceeded, via Columbus, Cincinnati, and
Louisville, to Baton Rouge, Louisiana, where I reported for duty to
Governor Wickliffe, who, by virtue of his office, was the president
of the Board of Supervisors of the new institution over which I was
called to preside. He explained to me the act of the Legislature
under which the institution was founded; told me that the building
was situated near Alexandria, in the parish of Rapides, and was
substantially finished; that the future management would rest with
a Board of Supervisors, mostly citizens of Rapides Parish, where
also resided the Governor-elect, T. O. Moore, who would soon
succeed him in his office as Governor and president ex officio; and
advised me to go at once to Alexandria, and put myself in
communication with Moore and the supervisors. Accordingly I took a
boat at Baton Rouge, for the mouth of Red River.

The river being low, and its navigation precarious, I there took
the regular mail-coach, as the more certain conveyance, and
continued on toward Alexandria. I found, as a fellow-passenger in
the coach, Judge Henry Boyce, of the United States District Court,
with whom I had made acquaintance years before, at St. Louis, and,
as we neared Alexandria, he proposed that we should stop at
Governor Moore’s and spend the night. Moore’s house and plantation
were on Bayou Robert, about eight miles from Alexandria. We found
him at home, with his wife and a married daughter, and spent the
night there. He sent us forward to Alexandria the next morning, in
his own carriage. On arriving at Alexandria, I put up at an inn, or
boarding-house, and almost immediately thereafter went about ten
miles farther up Bayou Rapides, to the plantation and house of
General G. Mason Graham, to whom I looked as the principal man with
whom I had to deal. He was a high-toned gentleman, and his whole
heart was in the enterprise. He at once put me at ease. We acted
together most cordially from that time forth, and it was at his
house that all the details of the seminary were arranged. We first
visited the college-building together. It was located on an old
country place of four hundred acres of pineland, with numerous
springs, and the building was very large and handsome. A carpenter,
named James, resided there, and had the general charge of the
property; but, as there was not a table, chair, black-board, or any
thing on hand, necessary for a beginning, I concluded to quarter
myself in one of the rooms of the seminary, and board with an old
black woman who cooked for James, so that I might personally push
forward the necessary preparations. There was an old rail-fence
about the place, and a large pile of boards in front. I immediately
engaged four carpenters, and set them at work to make out of these
boards mess-tables, benches, black-boards, etc. I also opened a
correspondence with the professors-elect, and with all parties of
influence in the State, who were interested in our work: At the
meeting of the Board of Supervisors, held at Alexandria, August 2,
1859, five professors had been elected: 1. W. T. Sherman,
Superintendent, and Professor of Engineering, etc.; 2. Anthony
Vallas, Professor of Mathematics, Philosophy, etc.; 3. Francis W.
Smith, Professor of Chemistry, etc.; 4. David F. Boyd, Professor of
Languages, English and Ancient; 5. E. Berti St. Ange, Professor of
French and Modern Languages.

These constituted the Academic Board, while the general
supervision remained in the Board of Supervisors, composed of the
Governor of the State, the Superintendent of Public Education, and
twelve members, nominated by the Governor, and confirmed by the
Senate. The institution was bound to educate sixteen beneficiary
students, free of any charge for tuition. These had only to pay for
their clothing and books, while all others had to pay their entire
expenses, including tuition.

Early in November, Profs. Smith, Yallas, St. Ange, and I, met a
committee of the Board of Supervisors, composed of T. C. Manning,
G. Mason Graham, and W. W. Whittington, at General Graham’s house,
and resolved to open the institution to pupils on the 1st day of
January, 1860. We adopted a series of bylaws for the government of
the institution, which was styled the “Louisiana Seminary of
Learning and Military Academy.” This title grew out of the original
grant, by the Congress of the United States, of a certain township
of public land, to be sold by the State, and dedicated to the use
of a “seminary of learning.” I do not suppose that Congress
designed thereby to fix the name or title; but the subject had so
long been debated in Louisiana that the name, though awkward, had
become familiar. We appended to it “Military Academy,” as
explanatory of its general design.

On the 17th of November, 1859, the Governor of the State,
Wickliffe, issued officially a general circular, prepared by us,
giving public notice that the “Seminary of Learning” would open on
the 1st day of January, 1860; containing a description of the
locality, and the general regulations for the proposed institution;
and authorizing parties to apply for further information to the
“Superintendent,” at Alexandria, Louisiana.

The Legislature had appropriated for the sixteen beneficiaries
at the rate of two hundred and eighty-three dollars per annum, to
which we added sixty dollars as tuition for pay cadets; and, though
the price was low, we undertook to manage for the first year on
that basis.

Promptly to the day, we opened, with about sixty cadets present.
Major Smith was the commandant of cadets, and I the superintendent.
I had been to New Orleans, where I had bought a supply of
mattresses, books, and every thing requisite, and we started very
much on the basis of West Point and of the Virginia Military
Institute, but without uniforms or muskets; yet with roll-calls,
sections, and recitations, we kept as near the standard of West
Point as possible. I kept all the money accounts, and gave general
directions to the steward, professors, and cadets. The other
professors had their regular classes and recitations. We all lived
in rooms in the college building, except Vallas, who had a family,
and rented a house near by. A Creole gentleman, B. Jarrean, Esq.,
had been elected steward, and he also had his family in a house not
far off. The other professors had a mess in a room adjoining the
mess-hall. A few more cadets joined in the course of the winter, so
that we had in all, during the first term, seventy-three cadets, of
whom fifty-nine passed the examination on the 30th of July, 1860.
During our first term many defects in the original act of the
Legislature were demonstrated, and, by the advice of the Board of
Supervisors, I went down to Baton Rouge during the session of the
Legislature, to advocate and urge the passage of a new bill,
putting the institution on a better footing. Thomas O. Moors was
then Governor, Bragg was a member of the Board of Public Works, and
Richard Taylor was a Senator. I got well acquainted with all of
these, and with some of the leading men of the State, and was
always treated with the greatest courtesy and kindness. In
conjunction with the proper committee of the Legislature, we
prepared a new bill, which was passed and approved on the 7th of
March, 1860, by which we were to have a beneficiary cadet for each
parish, in all fifty-six, and fifteen thousand dollars annually for
their maintenance; also twenty thousand dollars for the general use
of the college. During that session we got an appropriation of
fifteen thousand dollars for building two professors’ houses, for
the purchase of philosophical and chemical apparatus, and for the
beginning of a college library. The seminary was made a State
Arsenal, under the title of State Central Arsenal, and I was
allowed five hundred dollars a year as its superintendent. These
matters took me several times to Baton Rouge that winter, and I
recall an event of some interest, which most have happened in
February. At that time my brother, John Sherman, was a candidate,
in the national House of Representatives, for Speaker, against
Bocock, of Virginia. In the South he was regarded as an
“abolitionist,” the most horrible of all monsters; and many people
of Louisiana looked at me with suspicion, as the brother of the
abolitionist, John Sherman, and doubted the propriety of having me
at the head of an important State institution. By this time I was
pretty well acquainted with many of their prominent men, was
generally esteemed by all in authority, and by the people of
Rapides Parish especially, who saw that I was devoted to my
particular business, and that I gave no heed to the political
excitement of the day. But the members of the State Senate and
House did not know me so well, and it was natural that they should
be suspicions of a Northern man, and the brother of him who was the
“abolition” candidate for Speaker of the House.

One evening, at a large dinner-party at Governor Moore’s, at
which were present several members of the Louisiana Legislature,
Taylor, Bragg, and the Attorney-General Hyams, after the ladies had
left the table, I noticed at Governor Moore’s end quite a lively
discussion going on, in which my name was frequently used; at
length the Governor called to me, saying: “Colonel Sherman, you can
readily understand that, with your brother the abolitionist
candidate for Speaker, some of our people wonder that you should be
here at the head of an important State institution. Now, you are at
my table, and I assure you of my confidence. Won’t you speak your
mind freely on this question of slavery, that so agitates the land?
You are under my roof, and, whatever you say, you have my
protection.”

I answered: “Governor Moors, you mistake in calling my brother,
John Sherman, an abolitionist. We have been separated since
childhood—I in the army, and he pursuing his profession of
law in Northern Ohio; and it is possible we may differ in general
sentiment, but I deny that he is considered at home an
abolitionist; and, although he prefers the free institutions under
which he lives to those of slavery which prevail here, he would not
of himself take from you by law or force any property whatever,
even slaves.”

Then said Moore: “Give us your own views of slavery as you see
it here and throughout the South.”

I answered in effect that “the people of Louisiana were hardly
responsible for slavery, as they had inherited it; that I found two
distinct conditions of slavery, domestic and field hands. The
domestic slaves, employed by the families, were probably better
treated than any slaves on earth; but the condition of the
field-hands was different, depending more on the temper and
disposition of their masters and overseers than were those employed
about the house;” and I went on to say that, “were I a citizen of
Louisiana, and a member of the Legislature, I would deem it wise to
bring the legal condition of the slaves more near the status of
human beings under all Christian and civilized governments. In the
first place, I argued that, in sales of slaves made by the State, I
would forbid the separation of families, letting the father,
mother, and children, be sold together to one person, instead of
each to the highest bidder. And, again, I would advise the repeal
of the statute which enacted a severe penalty for even the owner to
teach his slave to read and write, because that actually qualified
property and took away a part of its value; illustrating the
assertion by the case of Henry Sampson, who had been the slave of
Colonel Chambers, of Rapides Parish, who had gone to California as
the servant of an officer of the army, and who was afterward
employed by me in the bank at San Francisco. At first he could not
write or read, and I could only afford to pay him one hundred
dollars a month; but he was taught to read and write by Reilley,
our bank-teller, when his services became worth two hundred and
fifty dollars a month, which enabled him to buy his own freedom and
that of his brother and his family.”

What I said was listened to by all with the most profound
attention; and, when I was through, some one (I think it was Mr.
Hyams) struck the table with his fist, making the glasses jingle,
and said, “By God, he is right!” and at once he took up the debate,
which went on, for an hour or more, on both sides with ability and
fairness. Of course, I was glad to be thus relieved, because at the
time all men in Louisiana were dreadfully excited on questions
affecting their slaves, who constituted the bulk of their wealth,
and without whom they honestly believed that sugar, cotton, and
rice, could not possibly be cultivated.

On the 30th and 31st of July, 1860, we had an examination at the
seminary, winding up with a ball, and as much publicity as possible
to attract general notice; and immediately thereafter we all
scattered—the cadets to their homes, and the professors
wherever they pleased—all to meet again on the 1st day of the
next November. Major Smith and I agreed to meet in New York on a
certain day in August, to purchase books, models, etc. I went
directly to my family in Lancaster, and after a few days proceeded
to Washington, to endeavor to procure from the General Government
the necessary muskets and equipments for our cadets by the
beginning of the next term. I was in Washington on the 17th day of
August, and hunted up my friend Major Buell, of the
Adjutant-General’s Department, who was on duty with the Secretary
of War, Floyd. I had with me a letter of Governor Moore’s,
authorizing me to act in his name. Major Buell took me into Floyd’s
room at the War Department, to whom I explained my business, and I
was agreeably surprised to meet with such easy success. Although
the State of Louisiana had already drawn her full quota of arms,
Floyd promptly promised to order my requisition to be filled, and I
procured the necessary blanks at the Ordnance-Office, filled them
with two hundred cadet muskets, and all equipments complete, and
was assured that all these articles would be shipped to Louisiana
in season for our use that fall. These assurances were faithfully
carried out.

I then went on to New York, there met Major Smith according to
appointment, and together we selected and purchased a good supply
of uniforms, clothing, and text books, as well as a fair number of
books of history and fiction, to commence a library.

When this business was completed, I returned to Lancaster, and
remained with my family till the time approached for me to return
to Louisiana. I again left my family at Lancaster, until assured of
the completion of the two buildings designed for the married
professors for which I had contracted that spring with Mr. Mills,
of Alexandria, and which were well under progress when I left in
August. One of these was designed for me and the other for Vallas.
Mr. Ewing presented me with a horse, which I took down the river
with me, and en route I ordered from Grimsley & Co. a full
equipment of saddle, bridle, etc., the same that I used in the war,
and which I lost with my horse, shot under me at Shiloh.

Reaching Alexandria early in October, I pushed forward the
construction of the two buildings, some fences, gates, and all
other work, with the object of a more perfect start at the opening
of the regular term November 1, 1860.

About this time Dr. Powhatan Clark was elected Assistant
Professor of Chemistry, etc., and acted as secretary of the Board
of Supervisors, but no other changes were made in our small circle
of professors.

November came, and with it nearly if not quite all our first set
of cadets, and others, to the number of about one hundred and
thirty. We divided them into two companies, issued arms and
clothing, and began a regular system of drills and instruction, as
well as the regular recitations. I had moved into my new house, but
prudently had not sent for my family, nominally on the ground of
waiting until the season was further advanced, but really because
of the storm that was lowering heavy on the political horizon. The
presidential election was to occur in November, and the nominations
had already been made in stormy debates by the usual conventions.
Lincoln and Hamlin (to the South utterly unknown) were the nominees
of the Republican party, and for the first time both these
candidates were from Northern States. The Democratic party
divided—one set nominating a ticket at Charleston, and the
other at Baltimore. Breckenridge and Lane were the nominees of the
Southern or Democratic party; and Bell and Everett, a kind of
compromise, mostly in favor in Louisiana. Political excitement was
at its very height, and it was constantly asserted that Mr.
Lincoln’s election would imperil the Union. I purposely kept aloof
from politics, would take no part, and remember that on the day of
the election in November I was notified that it would be advisable
for me to vote for Bell and Everett, but I openly said I would not,
and I did not. The election of Mr. Lincoln fell upon us all like a
clap of thunder. People saw and felt that the South had threatened
so long that, if she quietly submitted, the question of slavery in
the Territories was at an end forever. I mingled freely with the
members of the Board of Supervisors, and with the people of Rapides
Parish generally, keeping aloof from all cliques and parties, and I
certainly hoped that the threatened storm would blow over, as had
so often occurred before, after similar threats. At our seminary
the order of exercises went along with the regularity of the
seasons. Once a week, I had the older cadets to practise reading,
reciting, and elocution, and noticed that their selections were
from Calhoun, Yancey, and other Southern speakers, all treating of
the defense of their slaves and their home institutions as the very
highest duty of the patriot. Among boys this was to be expected;
and among the members of our board, though most of them declaimed
against politicians generally, and especially abolitionists, as
pests, yet there was a growing feeling that danger was in the wind.
I recall the visit of a young gentleman who had been sent from
Jackson, by the Governor of Mississippi, to confer with Governor
Moore, then on his plantation at Bayou Robert, and who had come
over to see our college. He spoke to me openly of secession as a
fixed fact, and that its details were only left open for
discussion. I also recall the visit of some man who was said to be
a high officer in the order of “Knights of the Golden Circle,” of
the existence of which order I was even ignorant, until explained
to me by Major Smith and Dr. Clark. But in November, 1860, no man
ever approached me offensively, to ascertain my views, or my
proposed course of action in case of secession, and no man in or
out of authority ever tried to induce me to take part in steps
designed to lead toward disunion. I think my general opinions were
well known and understood, viz., that “secession was treason, was
war;” and that in no event would the North and West permit the
Mississippi River to pass out of their control. But some men at the
South actually supposed at the time that the Northwestern States,
in case of a disruption of the General Government, would be drawn
in self-interest to an alliance with the South. What I now write I
do not offer as any thing like a history of the important events of
that time, but rather as my memory of them, the effect they had on
me personally, and to what extent they influenced my personal
conduct.

South Carolina seceded December 20, 1860, and Mississippi soon
after. Emissaries came to Louisiana to influence the Governor,
Legislature, and people, and it was the common assertion that, if
all the Cotton States would follow the lead of South Carolina, it
would diminish the chances of civil war, because a bold and
determined front would deter the General Government from any
measures of coercion. About this time also, viz., early in
December, we received Mr. Buchanan’s annual message to Congress, in
which he publicly announced that the General Government had no
constitutional power to “coerce a State.” I confess this staggered
me, and I feared that the prophecies and assertions of Alison and
other European commentators on our form of government were right,
and that our Constitution was a mere rope of sand, that would break
with the first pressure.

The Legislature of Louisiana met on the 10th of December, and
passed an act calling a convention of delegates from the people, to
meet at Baton Rouge, on the 8th of January, to take into
consideration the state of the Union; and, although it was
universally admitted that a large majority of the voters of the
State were opposed to secession, disunion, and all the steps of the
South Carolinians, yet we saw that they were powerless, and that
the politicians would sweep them along rapidly to the end,
prearranged by their leaders in Washington. Before the ordinance of
secession was passed, or the convention had assembled, on the faith
of a telegraphic dispatch sent by the two Senators, Benjamin and
Slidell, from their seats in the United States Senate at
Washington, Governor Moore ordered the seizure of all the United
States forts at the mouth of the Mississippi and Lake
Pontchartrain, and of the United States arsenal at Baton Rouge. The
forts had no garrisons, but the arsenal was held by a small company
of artillery, commanded by Major Haskins, a most worthy and
excellent officer, who had lost an arm in Mexico. I remember well
that I was strongly and bitterly impressed by the seizure of the
arsenal, which occurred on January 10, 1861.

When I went first to Baton Rouge, in 1859, en route to
Alexandria, I found Captain Rickett’s company of artillery
stationed in the arsenal, but soon after there was somewhat of a
clamor on the Texas frontier about Brownsville, which induced the
War Department to order Rickett’s company to that frontier. I
remember that Governor Moore remonstrated with the Secretary of War
because so much dangerous property, composed of muskets, powder,
etc., had been left by the United States unguarded, in a parish
where the slave population was as five or six to one of whites; and
it was on his official demand that the United States Government
ordered Haskinss company to replace Rickett’s. This company did not
number forty men. In the night of January 9th, about five hundred
New Orleans militia, under command of a Colonel Wheat, went up from
New Orleans by boat, landed, surrounded the arsenal, and demanded
its surrender. Haskins was of course unprepared for such a step,
yet he at first resolved to defend the post as he best could with
his small force. But Bragg, who was an old army acquaintance of
his, had a parley with him, exhibited to him the vastly superior
force of his assailants, embracing two field-batteries, and offered
to procure for him honorable terms, to march out with drums and
colors, and to take unmolested passage in a boat up to St. Louis;
alleging, further, that the old Union was at an end, and that a
just settlement would be made between the two new fragments for all
the property stored in the arsenal. Of course it was Haskins’s duty
to have defended his post to the death; but up to that time the
national authorities in Washington had shown such pusillanimity,
that the officers of the army knew not what to do. The result,
anyhow, was that Haskins surrendered his post, and at once embarked
for St. Louis. The arms and munitions stored in the arsenal were
scattered—some to Mississippi, some to New Orleans, some to
Shreveport; and to me, at the Central Arsenal, were consigned two
thousand muskets, three hundred Jager rifles, and a large amount of
cartridges and ammunition. The invoices were signed by the former
ordnance-sergeant, Olodowski, as a captain of ordnance, and I think
he continued such on General Bragg’s staff through the whole of the
subsequent civil war. These arms, etc., came up to me at
Alexandria, with orders from Governor Moore to receipt for and
account for them. Thus I was made the receiver of stolen goods, and
these goods the property of the United States. This grated hard on
my feelings as an ex-army-officer, and on counting the arms I
noticed that they were packed in the old familiar boxes, with the
“U. S.” simply scratched off. General G. Mason Graham had resigned
as the chairman of the Executive Committee, and Dr. S. A. Smith, of
Alexandria, then a member of the State Senate, had succeeded him as
chairman, and acted as head of the Board of Supervisors. At the
time I was in most intimate correspondence with all of these
parties, and our letters must have been full of politics, but I
have only retained copies of a few of the letters, which I will
embody in this connection, as they will show, better than by any
thing I can now recall, the feelings of parties at that critical
period. The seizure of the arsenal at Baton Rouge occurred January
10, 1861, and the secession ordinance was not passed until about
the 25th or 26th of the same month. At all events, after the
seizure of the arsenal, and before the passage of the ordinance of
secession, viz., on the 18th of January, I wrote as follows:

Louisiana State Seminary of Learning and Military Academy
January 18, 1861

Governor THOMAS O. MOORE, Baton, Rouge, Louisiana.

Sir: As I occupy a quasi-military position under the laws of the
State, I deem it proper to acquaint you that I accepted such
position when Louisiana was a State in the Union, and when the
motto of this seminary was inserted in marble over the main door:
“By the liberality of the General Government of the United States.
The Union—esto perpetua.”

Recent events foreshadow a great change, and it becomes all men to
choose. If Louisiana withdraw from the Federal Union, I prefer to
maintain my allegiance to the Constitution as long as a fragment of
it survives; and my longer stay here would be wrong in every sense
of the word.

In that event, I beg you will send or appoint some authorized agent
to take charge of the arms and munitions of war belonging to the
State, or advise me what disposition to make of them.

And furthermore, as president of the Board of Supervisors, I beg
you to take immediate steps to relieve me as superintendent, the
moment the State determines to secede, for on no earthly account
will I do any act or think any thought hostile to or in defiance of
the old Government of the United States.

With great respect, your obedient servant,

W. T. SHERMAN, Superintendent.

[PRIVATE.]

January 18, 1861.

To Governor Moore:

My Dear Sir: I take it for granted that you have been expecting for
some days the accompanying paper from me (the above official
letter). I have repeatedly and again made known to General Graham
and Dr. Smith that, in the event of a severance of the relations
hitherto existing between the Confederated States of this Union, I
would be forced to choose the old Union. It is barely possible all
the States may secede, South and North, that new combinations may
result, but this process will be one of time and uncertainty, and I
cannot with my opinions await the subsequent development.

I have never been a politician, and therefore undervalue the
excited feelings and opinions of present rulers, but I do think, if
this people cannot execute a form of government like the present,
that a worse one will result.

I will keep the cadets as quiet as possible. They are nervous, but
I think the interest of the State requires them here, guarding this
property, and acquiring a knowledge which will be useful to your
State in after-times.

When I leave, which I now regard as certain, the present professors
can manage well enough, to afford you leisure time to find a
suitable successor to me. You might order Major Smith to receipt
for the arms, and to exercise military command, while the academic
exercises could go on under the board. In time, some gentleman will
turn up, better qualified than I am, to carry on the seminary to
its ultimate point of success. I entertain the kindest feelings
toward all, and would leave the State with much regret; only in
great events we must choose, one way or the other.

Truly, your friend,

W. T. SHERMAN

January 19, 1881—Saturday.

Dr. S. A. Smith, President Board of Supervisors, Baton Rouge,
Louisiana.

Dear Sir: I have just finished my quarterly reports to the parents
of all the cadets here, or who have been here. All my books of
account are written up to date. All bills for the houses, fences,
etc., are settled, and nothing now remains but the daily tontine of
recitations and drills. I have written officially and unofficially
to Governor Moore, that with my opinions of the claimed right of
accession, of the seizure of public forts, arsenals, etc., and the
ignominious capture of a United States garrison, stationed in your
midst, as a guard to the arsenal and for the protection of your own
people, it would be highly improper for me longer to remain. No
great inconvenience can result to the seminary. I will be the chief
loser. I came down two months before my pay commenced. I made
sacrifices in Kansas to enable me thus to obey the call of Governor
Wickliffe, and you know that last winter I declined a most
advantageous offer of employment abroad; and thus far I have
received nothing as superintendent of the arsenal, though I went to
Washington and New York (at my own expense) on the faith of the
five hundred dollars salary promised.

These are all small matters in comparison with those involved in
the present state of the country, which will cause sacrifices by
millions, instead of by hundreds. The more I think of it, the more
I think I should be away, the sooner the better; and therefore I
hope you will join with Governor Moors in authorizing me to turn
over to Major Smith the military command here, and to the academic
board the control of the daily exercises and recitations.

There will be no necessity of your coming up. You can let Major
Smith receive the few hundreds of cash I have on hand, and I can
meet you on a day certain in New Orleans, when we can settle the
bank account. Before I leave, I can pay the steward Jarrean his
account for the month, and there would be no necessity for other
payments till about the close of March, by which time the board can
meet, and elect a treasurer and superintendent also.

At present I have no class, and there will be none ready till about
the month of May, when there will be a class in “surveying.” Even
if you do not elect a superintendent in the mean time, Major Smith
could easily teach this class, as he is very familiar with the
subject-matter: Indeed, I think you will do well to leave the
subject of a new superintendent until one perfectly satisfactory
turns up.

There is only one favor I would ask. The seminary has plenty of
money in bank. The Legislature will surely appropriate for my
salary as superintendent of this arsenal. Would you not let me make
my drafts on the State Treasury, send them to you, let the
Treasurer note them for payment when the appropriation is made, and
then pay them out of the seminary fund? The drafts will be paid in
March, and the seminary will lose nothing. This would be just to
me; for I actually spent two hundred dollars and more in going to
Washington and New York, thereby securing from the United States,
in advance, three thousand dollars’ worth of the very best arms;
and clothing and books, at a clear profit to the seminary of over
eight hundred dollars. I may be some time in finding new
employment, and will stand in need of this money (five hundred
dollars); otherwise I would abandon it.

I will not ask you to put the Board of Supervisors to the trouble
of meeting, unless you can get a quorum at Baton Rouge.

With great respect, your friend,

W. T. SHERMAN.

By course of mail, I received the following answer from Governor
Moore, the original of which I still possess. It is all in General
Braggs handwriting, with which I am familiar.

Executive Office,

BATON ROUGE, LOUISIANA, January 23, 1861

MY DEAR SIR: It is with the deepest regret I acknowledge receipt of
your communication of the 18th inst. In the pressure of official
business, I can now only request you to transfer to Prof. Smith the
arms, munitions, and funds in your hands, whenever you conclude to
withdraw from the position you have filled with so much
distinction. You cannot regret more than I do the necessity which
deprives us of your services, and you will bear with you the
respect, confidence, and admiration, of all who have been
associated with you. Very truly, your friend,

Thomas O. Moore.

Colonel W. T. SHERMAN, Superintendent Military Academy,
Alexandria.

I must have received several letters from Bragg, about this
time, which have not been preserved; for I find that, on the 1st of
February, 1861, I wrote him thus:

Seminary of Learning Alexandria, LOUISIANA, February 1, 1881.

Colonel Braxton BRAGG, Baton, Rouge, Louisiana.

Dear Sir: Yours of January 23d and 27th are received. I thank you
most kindly, and Governor Moors through you, for the kind manner in
which you have met my wishes.

Now that I cannot be compromised by political events, I will so
shape my course as best to serve the institution, which has a
strong hold on my affections and respect.

The Board of Supervisors will be called for the 9th instant, and I
will cooperate with them in their measures to place matters here on
a safe and secure basis. I expect to be here two weeks, and will
make you full returns of money and property belonging to the State
Central Arsenal. All the arms and ammunition are safely stored
here. Then I will write you more at length. With sincere respect,
your friend,

W. T. SHERMAN.

Major Smith’s receipt to me, for the arms and property belonging
both to the seminary and to the arsenal, is dated February 19,
1861. I subjoin also, in this connection, copies of one or two
papers that may prove of interest

BATON ROUGE, January 28, 1881.
To Major SHERMAN, Superintendent, Alexandria.

My DEAR SIR: Your letter was duly receive, and would have been
answered ere this time could I have arranged sooner the matter of
the five hundred dollars. I shall go from here to New Orleans
to-day or tomorrow, and will remain there till Saturday after next,
perhaps. I shall expect to meet you there, as indicated in your
note to me.

I need not tell you that it is with no ordinary regret that I view
your determination to leave us, for really I believe that the
success of our institution, now almost assured, is jeopardized
thereby. I am sore that we will never have a superintendent with
whom I shall have more pleasant relations than those which have
existed between yourself and me.

I fully appreciate the motives which have induced you to give up a
position presenting so many advantages to yourself, and sincerely
hope that you may, in any future enterprise, enjoy the success
which your character and ability merit and deserve.

Should you come down on the Rapides (steamer), please look after my
wife, who will, I hope, accompany you on said boat, or some other
good one.

Colonel Bragg informs me that the necessary orders have been given
for the transfer and receipt by Major Smith of the public
property.

I herewith transmit a request to the secretary to convene the Board
of Supervisors, that they may act as seems best to them in the
premises.

In the mean time, Major Smith will command by seniority the cadets,
and the Academic Board will be able to conduct the scientific
exercises of the institution until the Board of Supervisors can
have time to act. Hoping to meet you soon at the St. Charles, I
am,

Most truly, your friend and servant, S. A. Smith

P. S. Governor Moors desires me to express his profound regret that
the State is about to lose one who we all fondly hoped had cast his
destinies for weal or for woe among us; and that he is sensible
that we lose thereby an officer whom it will be difficult, if not
impossible, to replace.

S. A. S.

BATON ROUGE, February 11, 1881.
To Major Sherman, Alexandria.

Dear Sir: I have been in New Orleans for ten days, and on returning
here find two letters from you, also your prompt answer to the
resolution of the House of Representatives, for which I am much
obliged.

The resolution passed the last day before adjournment. I was
purposing to respond, when your welcome reports came to hand. I
have arranged to pay you your five hundred dollars.

I will say nothing of general politics, except to give my opinion
that there is not to be any war.

In that event, would it not be possible for you to become a citizen
of our State? Everyone deplores your determination to leave us. At
the same time, your friends feel that you are abandoning a position
that might become an object of desire to any one.

I will try to meet you in New Orleans at any time you may indicate;
but it would be best for you to stop here, when, if possible, I
will accompany you. Should you do so, you will find me just above
the State-House, and facing it.

Bring with you a few copies of the “Rules of the Seminary.”

Yours truly,

S. A. Smith

Colonel W. T. SHERMAN.

Sir: I am instructed by the Board of Supervisors of this
institution to present a copy of the resolutions adopted by them at
their last meeting.

“Resolved, That the thanks of the Board of Supervisors are due, and
are hereby tendered, to Colonel William T. Sherman for the able and
efficient manner in which he has conducted the affairs of the
seminary during the time the institution has been under his
control—a period attended with unusual difficulties,
requiring on the part of the superintendent to successfully
overcome them a high order of administrative talent. And the board
further bear willing testimony to the valuable services that
Colonel Sherman has rendered them in their efforts to establish an
institution of learning in accordance with the beneficent design of
the State and Federal Governments; evincing at all times a
readiness to adapt himself to the ever-varying requirements of an
institution of learning in its infancy, struggling to attain a
position of honor and usefulness.

“Resolved, further, That, in accepting the resignation of Colonel
Sherman as Superintendent of the State Seminary of Learning and
Military Academy, we tender to him assurances of our high personal
regard, and our sincere regret at the occurrence of causes that
render it necessary to part with so esteemed and valued a friend,
as well as co-laborer in the cause of education.”

Powhatan Clarke, Secretary of the Board.

A copy of the resolution of the Academic Board, passed at their
session of April 1,1861:

“Resolved, That in the resignation of the late superintendent,
Colonel W. T. Sherman, the Academic Board deem it not improper to
express their deep conviction of the loss the institution has
sustained in being thus deprived of an able head. They cannot fail
to appreciate the manliness of character which has always marked
the actions of Colonel Sherman. While he is personally endeared to
many of them as a friend, they consider it their high pleasure to
tender to him in this resolution their regret on his separation,
and their sincere wish for his future welfare.”

I have given the above at some length, because, during the civil
war, it was in Southern circles asserted that I was guilty of a
breach of hospitality in taking up arms against the South. They
were manifestly the aggressors, and we could only defend our own by
assailing them. Yet, without any knowledge of what the future had
in store for me, I took unusual precautions that the institution
should not be damaged by my withdrawal. About the 20th of February,
having turned over all property, records, and money, on hand, to
Major Smith, and taking with me the necessary documents to make the
final settlement with Dr. S. A. Smith, at the bank in New Orleans,
where the funds of the institution were deposited to my credit, I
took passage from Alexandria for that city, and arrived there, I
think, on the 23d. Dr. Smith met me, and we went to the bank, where
I turned over to him the balance, got him to audit all my accounts,
certify that they were correct and just, and that there remained
not one cent of balance in my hands. I charged in my account
current for my salary up to the end of February, at the rate of
four thousand dollars a year, and for the five hundred dollars due
me as superintendent of the Central Arsenal, all of which was due
and had been fairly earned, and then I stood free and discharged of
any and every obligation, honorary or business, that was due by me
to the State of Louisiana, or to any corporation or individual in
that State.

This business occupied two or three days, during which I staid
at the St. Louis Hotel. I usually sat at table with Colonel and
Mrs. Bragg, and an officer who wore the uniform of the State of
Louisiana, and was addressed as captain. Bragg wore a colonel’s
uniform, and explained to me that he was a colonel in the State
service, a colonel of artillery, and that some companies of his
regiment garrisoned Forts Jackson and St. Philip, and the arsenal
at Baton Rouge.

Beauregard at the time had two sons at the Seminary of Learning.
I had given them some of my personal care at the father’s request,
and, wanting to tell him of their condition and progress, I went to
his usual office in the Custom-House Building, and found him in the
act of starting for Montgomery, Alabama. Bragg said afterward that
Beauregard had been sent for by Jefferson Davis, and that it was
rumored that he had been made a brigadier-general, of which fact he
seemed jealous, because in the old army Bragg was the senior.

Davis and Stephens had been inaugurated President and
Vice-President of the Confederate States of America, February 18,
1860, at Montgomery, and those States only embraced the seven
cotton States. I recall a conversation at the tea-table, one
evening, at the St. Louis Hotel. When Bragg was speaking of
Beauregard’s promotion, Mrs. Bragg, turning to me, said, “You know
that my husband is not a favorite with the new President.” My mind
was resting on Mr. Lincoln as the new President, and I said I did
not know that Bragg had ever met Mr. Lincoln, when Mrs. Bragg said,
quite pointedly, “I didn’t mean your President, but our President.”
I knew that Bragg hated Davis bitterly, and that he had resigned
from the army in 1855, or 1856, because Davis, as Secretary of War,
had ordered him, with his battery, from Jefferson Barracks,
Missouri, to Fort Smith or Fort Washita, in the Indian country, as
Bragg expressed it, “to chase Indians with six-pounders.”

I visited the quartermaster, Colonel A. C. Myers, who had
resigned from the army, January 28, 1861, and had accepted service
under the new regime. His office was in the same old room in the
Lafayette Square building, which he had in 1853, when I was there a
commissary, with the same pictures on the wall, and the letters “U.
S.” on every thing, including his desk, papers, etc. I asked him if
he did not feel funny. “No, not at all. The thing was inevitable,
secession was a complete success; there would be no war, but the
two Governments would settle all matters of business in a friendly
spirit, and each would go on in its allotted sphere, without
further confusion.” About this date, February 16th, General Twiggs,
Myers’s father-in-law, had surrendered his entire command, in the
Department of Texas, to some State troops, with all the Government
property, thus consummating the first serious step in the drama of
the conspiracy, which was to form a confederacy of the cotton
States, before working upon the other slave or border States, and
before the 4th of March, the day for the inauguration of President
Lincoln.

I walked the streets of New Orleans, and found business going
along as usual. Ships were strung for miles along the lower levee,
and steamboats above, all discharging or receiving cargo. The
Pelican flag of Louisiana was flying over the Custom House, Mint,
City Hall, and everywhere. At the levee ships carried every flag on
earth except that of the United States, and I was told that during
a procession on the 22d of February, celebrating their emancipation
from the despotism of the United States Government, only one
national flag was shown from a house, and that the houses of
Cuthbert Bullitt, on Lafayette Square. He was commanded to take it
down, but he refused, and defended it with his pistol.

The only officer of the army that I can recall, as being there
at the time, who was faithful, was Colonel C. L. Kilburn, of the
Commissary Department, and he was preparing to escape North.

Everybody regarded the change of Government as final; that
Louisiana, by a mere declaration, was a free and independent State,
and could enter into any new alliance or combination she chose.

Men were being enlisted and armed, to defend the State, and
there was not the least evidence that the national Administration
designed to make any effort, by force, to vindicate the national
authority. I therefore bade adieu to all my friends, and about the
25th of February took my departure by railroad, for Lancaster, via
Cairo and Cincinnati.

Before leaving this subject, I will simply record the fate of
some of my associates. The seminary was dispersed by the war, and
all the professors and cadets took service in the Confederacy,
except Yallas, St. Ange, and Cadet Taliaferro. The latter joined a
Union regiment, as a lieutenant, after New Orleans was retaken by
the United States fleet under Farragut. I think that both Yallas
and St. Ange have died in poverty since the war. Major Smith joined
the rebel army in Virginia, and was killed in April, 1865, as he
was withdrawing his garrison, by night, from the batteries at
Drury’s Bluff, at the time General Lee began his final retreat from
Richmond. Boyd became a captain of engineers on the staff of
General Richard Taylor, was captured, and was in jail at Natchez,
Mississippi, when I was on my Meridian expedition. He succeeded in
getting a letter to me on my arrival at Vicksburg, and, on my way
down to New Orleans, I stopped at Natchez, took him along, and
enabled him to effect an exchange through General Banks. As soon as
the war was over, he returned to Alexandria, and reorganized the
old institution, where I visited him in 1867; but, the next winter,
the building took fire end burned to the ground. The students,
library, apparatus, etc., were transferred to Baton Rouge, where
the same institution now is, under the title of the Louisiana
University. I have been able to do them many acts of kindness, and
am still in correspondence, with Colonel Boyd, its president.

General G. Mason Graham is still living on his plantation, on
Bayou Rapides, old and much respected.

Dr. S. A. Smith became a surgeon in the rebel army, and at the
close of the war was medical director of the trans-Mississippi
Department, with General Kirby Smith. I have seen him since the
war, at New Orleans, where he died about a year ago.

Dr. Clark was in Washington recently, applying for a place as
United States consul abroad. I assisted him, but with no success,
and he is now at Baltimore, Maryland.

After the battle of Shiloh, I found among the prisoners Cadet
Barrow, fitted him out with some clean clothing, of which he was in
need, and from him learned that Cadet Workman was killed in that
battle.

Governor Moore’s plantation was devastated by General Banks’s
troops. After the war he appealed to me, and through the
Attorney-General, Henry Stanbery, I aided in having his land
restored to him, and I think he is now living there.

Bragg, Beauregard, and Taylor, enacted high parts in the
succeeding war, and now reside in Louisiana or Texas.

During the time of these events in Louisiana, I was in constant
correspondence with my brother, John Sherman, at Washington; Mr.
Ewing, at Lancaster, Ohio; and Major H. S. Turner, at St. Louis. I
had managed to maintain my family comfortably at Lancaster, but was
extremely anxious about the future. It looked like the end of my
career, for I did not suppose that “civil war” could give me an
employment that would provide for the family. I thought, and may
have said, that the national crisis had been brought about by the
politicians, and, as it was upon us, they “might fight it out”
Therefore, when I turned North from New Orleans, I felt more
disposed to look to St. Louis for a home, and to Major. Turner to
find me employment, than to the public service.

I left New Orleans about the 1st of March, 1861, by rail to
Jackson and Clinton, Mississippi, Jackson, Tennessee, and Columbus,
Kentucky, where we took a boat to Cairo, and thence, by rail, to
Cincinnati and Lancaster. All the way, I heard, in the cars and
boats, warm discussions about polities; to the effect that, if Mr.
Lincoln should attempt coercion of the seceded States, the other
slave or border States would make common cause, when, it was
believed, it would be madness to attempt to reduce them to
subjection. In the South, the people were earnest, fierce and
angry, and were evidently organizing for action; whereas, in
Illinois, Indiana, and Ohio, I saw not the least sign of
preparation. It certainly looked to me as though the people of the
North would tamely submit to a disruption of the Union, and the
orators of the South used, openly and constantly, the expressions
that there would be no war, and that a lady’s thimble would hold
all the blood to be shed. On reaching Lancaster, I found letters
from my brother John, inviting me to come to Washington, as he
wanted to see me; and from Major Tamer, at St. Louis, that he was
trying to secure for me the office of president of the Fifth Street
Railroad, with a salary of twenty-five hundred dollars; that Mr.
Lucas and D. A. January held a controlling interest of stock, would
vote for me, and the election would occur in March. This suited me
exactly, and I answered Turner that I would accept, with thanks.
But I also thought it right and proper that I should first go to
Washington, to talk with my brother, Senator Sherman.

Mr. Lincoln had just been installed, and the newspapers were
filled with rumors of every kind indicative of war; the chief act
of interest was that Major Robert Anderson had taken by night into
Fort Sumter all the troops garrisoning Charleston Harbor, and that
he was determined to defend it against the demands of the State of
South Carolina and of the Confederate States. I must have reached
Washington about the 10th of March. I found my brother there, just
appointed Senator, in place of Mr. Chase, who was in the cabinet,
and I have no doubt my opinions, thoughts, and feelings, wrought up
by the events in Louisiana; seemed to him gloomy and extravagant.
About Washington I saw but few signs of preparation, though the
Southern Senators and Representatives were daily sounding their
threats on the floors of Congress, and were publicly withdrawing to
join the Confederate Congress at Montgomery. Even in the War
Department and about the public offices there was open, unconcealed
talk, amounting to high-treason.

One day, John Sherman took me with him to see Mr. Lincoln. He
walked into the room where the secretary to the President now sits,
we found the room full of people, and Mr. Lincoln sat at the end of
the table, talking with three or four gentlemen, who soon left.
John walked up, shook hands, and took a chair near him, holding in
his hand some papers referring to, minor appointments in the State
of Ohio, which formed the subject of conversation. Mr. Lincoln took
the papers, said he would refer them to the proper heads of
departments, and would be glad to make the appointments asked for,
if not already promised. John then turned to me, and said, “Mr.
President, this is my brother, Colonel Sherman, who is just up from
Louisiana, he may give you some information you want.” “Ah!” said
Mr. Lincoln, “how are they getting along down there?” I said, “They
think they are getting along swimmingly—they are preparing
for war.” “Oh, well!” said he, “I guess we’ll manage to keep
house.” I was silenced, said no more to him, and we soon left. I
was sadly disappointed, and remember that I broke out on John,
d—ning the politicians generally, saying, “You have got
things in a hell of a fig, and you may get them out as you best
can,” adding that the country was sleeping on a volcano that might
burst forth at any minute, but that I was going to St. Louis to
take care of my family, and would have no more to do with it. John
begged me to be more patient, but I said I would not; that I had no
time to wait, that I was off for St. Louis; and off I went. At
Lancaster I found letters from Major Turner, inviting me to St.
Louis, as the place in the Fifth Street Railroad was a sure thing,
and that Mr. Lucas would rent me a good house on Locust Street,
suitable for my family, for six hundred dollars a year.

Mrs. Sherman and I gathered our family and effects together,
started for St. Louis March 27th, where we rented of Mr. Lucas the
house on Locust Street, between Tenth and Eleventh, and occupied it
on the 1st of April. Charles Ewing and John Hunter had formed a
law-partnership in St. Louis, and agreed to board with us, taking
rooms on the third floor In the latter part of March, I was duly
elected president of the Fifth Street Railroad, and entered on the
discharge of my duties April 1, 1861. We had a central office on
the corner of Fifth and Locust, and also another up at the stables
in Bremen. The road was well stocked and in full operation, and all
I had to do was to watch the economical administration of existing
affairs, which I endeavored to do with fidelity and zeal. But the
whole air was full of wars and rumors of wars. The struggle was
going on politically for the border States. Even in Missouri, which
was a slave State, it was manifest that the Governor of the State,
Claiborne Jackson, and all the leading politicians, were for the
South in case of a war. The house on the northwest corner of Fifth
and Pine was the rebel headquarters, where the rebel flag was hung
publicly, and the crowds about the Planters’ House were all more or
less rebel. There was also a camp in Lindell’s Grove, at the end of
Olive, Street, under command of General D. M. Frost, a Northern
man, a graduate of West Point, in open sympathy with the Southern
leaders. This camp was nominally a State camp of instruction, but,
beyond doubt, was in the interest of the Southern cause, designed
to be used against the national authority in the event of the
General Government’s attempting to coerce the Southern Confederacy.
General William S. Harvey was in command of the Department of
Missouri, and resided in his own house, on Fourth Street, below
Market; and there were five or six companies of United States
troops in the arsenal, commanded by Captain N. Lyon; throughout the
city, there had been organized, almost exclusively out of the
German part of the population, four or five regiments of “Home
Guards,” with which movement Frank Blair, B. Gratz Brown, John M.
Schofield, Clinton B. Fisk, and others, were most active on the
part of the national authorities. Frank Blair’s brother Montgomery
was in the cabinet of Mr. Lincoln at Washington, and to him seemed
committed the general management of affairs in Missouri.

The newspapers fanned the public excitement to the highest
pitch, and threats of attacking the arsenal on the one hand, and
the mob of d—d rebels in Camp Jackson on the other, were
bandied about. I tried my best to keep out of the current, and only
talked freely with a few men; among them Colonel John O’Fallon, a
wealthy gentleman who resided above St. Louis. He daily came down
to my office in Bremen, and we walked up and down the pavement by
the hour, deploring the sad condition of our country, and the
seeming drift toward dissolution and anarchy. I used also to go
down to the arsenal occasionally to see Lyon, Totten, and other of
my army acquaintance, and was glad to see them making preparations
to defend their post, if not to assume the offensive.

The bombardment of Fort Sumter, which was announced by
telegraph, began April 12th, and ended on the 14th. We then knew
that the war was actually begun, and though the South was openly,
manifestly the aggressor, yet her friends and apologists insisted
that she was simply acting on a justifiable defensive, and that in
the forcible seizure of, the public forts within her limits the
people were acting with reasonable prudence and foresight. Yet
neither party seemed willing to invade, or cross the border. Davis,
who ordered the bombardment of Sumter, knew the temper of his
people well, and foresaw that it would precipitate the action of
the border States; for almost immediately Virginia, North Carolina,
Arkansas, and Tennessee, followed the lead of the cotton States,
and conventions were deliberating in Kentucky and Missouri.

On the night of Saturday, April 6th, I received the following,
dispatch:

Washington, April 6,1861.

Major W. T. Sherman:

Will you accept the chief clerkship of the War Department? We will
make you assistant Secretary of War when Congress meets.

M. Blair, Postmaster-General.

To which I replied by telegraph, Monday morning; “I cannot
accept;” and by mail as follows:

Monday, April 8, 1861.
Office of the St. Louis Railroad Company.

Hon. M. Blair, Washington, D. C.

I received, about nine o’clock Saturday night, your telegraph
dispatch, which I have this moment answered, “I cannot
accept.”

I have quite a large family, and when I resigned my place in
Louisiana, on account of secession, I had no time to lose; and,
therefore, after my hasty visit to Washington, where I saw no
chance of employment, I came to St. Louis, have accepted a place in
this company, have rented a house, and incurred other obligations,
so that I am not at liberty to change.

I thank you for the compliment contained in your offer, and assure
you that I wish the Administration all success in its almost
impossible task of governing this distracted and anarchical
people.

Yours truly,

W.T. SHERMAN

I was afterward told that this letter gave offense, and that
some of Mr. Lincoln’s cabinet concluded that I too would prove
false to the country.

Later in that month, after the capture of Fort Sumter by the
Confederate authorities, a Dr. Cornyn came to our house on Locust
Street, one night after I had gone to bed, and told me he had been
sent by Frank Blair, who was not well, and wanted to see me that
night at his house. I dressed and walked over to his house on
Washington Avenue, near Fourteenth, and found there, in the
front-room, several gentlemen, among whom I recall Henry T. Blow.
Blair was in the back-room, closeted with some gentleman, who soon
left, and I was called in. He there told me that the Government was
mistrustful of General Harvey, that a change in the command of the
department was to be made; that he held it in his power to appoint
a brigadier-general, and put him in command of the department, and
he offered me the place. I told him I had once offered my services,
and they were declined; that I had made business engagements in St.
Louis, which I could not throw off at pleasure; that I had long
deliberated on my course of action, and must decline his offer,
however tempting and complimentary. He reasoned with me, but I
persisted. He told me, in that event, he should appoint Lyon, and
he did so.

Finding that even my best friends were uneasy as to my political
status, on the 8th of May I addressed the following official letter
to the Secretary of War:

Office of the St. Louis Railroad Company,
May 8,1881.

Hon. S. Cameron, Secretary of War, Washington, D. C.

Dear Sir: I hold myself now, as always, prepared to serve my
country in the capacity for which I was trained. I did not and will
not volunteer for three months, because I cannot throw my family on
the cold charity of the world. But for the three-years call, made
by the President, an officer can prepare his command and do good
service.

I will not volunteer as a soldier, because rightfully or wrongfully
I feel unwilling to take a mere private’s place, and, having for
many years lived in California and Louisiana, the men are not well
enough acquainted with me to elect me to my appropriate
place.

Should my services be needed, the records of the War Department
will enable you to designate the station in which I can render most
service.

Yours truly, W. T. SHERMAN.

To this I do not think I received a direct answer; but, on the
10th of the same month, I was appointed colonel of the Thirteenth
Regular Infantry.

I remember going to the arsenal on the 9th of May, taking my
children with me in the street-cars. Within the arsenal wall were
drawn up in parallel lines four regiments of the “Home Guards,” and
I saw men distributing cartridges to the boxes. I also saw General
Lyon running about with his hair in the wind, his pockets full of
papers, wild and irregular, but I knew him to be a man of vehement
purpose and of determined action. I saw of course that it meant
business, but whether for defense or offense I did not know. The
next morning I went up to the railroad-office in Bremen, as usual,
and heard at every corner of the streets that the “Dutch” were
moving on Camp Jackson. People were barricading their houses, and
men were running in that direction. I hurried through my business
as quickly as I could, and got back to my house on Locust Street by
twelve o’clock. Charles Ewing and Hunter were there, and insisted
on going out to the camp to see “the fun.” I tried to dissuade
them, saying that in case of conflict the bystanders were more
likely to be killed than the men engaged, but they would go. I felt
as much interest as anybody else, but staid at home, took my little
son Willie, who was about seven years old, and walked up and down
the pavement in front of our house, listening for the sound of
musketry or cannon in the direction of Camp Jackson. While so
engaged Miss Eliza Dean, who lived opposite us, called me across
the street, told me that her brother-in-law, Dr. Scott, was a
surgeon in Frost’s camp, and she was dreadfully afraid he would be
killed. I reasoned with her that General Lyon was a regular
officer; that if he had gone out, as reported, to Camp Jackson, he
would take with him such a force as would make resistance
impossible; but she would not be comforted, saying that the camp
was made up of the young men from the first and best families of
St. Louis, and that they were proud, and would fight. I explained
that young men of the best families did not like to be killed
better than ordinary people. Edging gradually up the street, I was
in Olive Street just about Twelfth, when I saw a man running from
the direction of Camp Jackson at full speed, calling, as he went,
“They’ve surrendered, they’ve surrendered!” So I turned back and
rang the bell at Mrs. Dean’s. Eliza came to the door, and I
explained what I had heard; but she angrily slammed the door in my
face! Evidently she was disappointed to find she was mistaken in
her estimate of the rash courage of the best families.

I again turned in the direction of Camp Jackson, my boy Willie
with me still. At the head of Olive Street, abreast of Lindell’s
Grove, I found Frank Blair’s regiment in the street, with ranks
opened, and the Camp Jackson prisoners inside. A crowd of people
was gathered around, calling to the prisoners by name, some
hurrahing for Jeff Davis, and others encouraging the troops. Men,
women, and children, were in the crowd. I passed along till I found
myself inside the grove, where I met Charles Ewing and John Hunter,
and we stood looking at the troops on the road, heading toward the
city. A band of music was playing at the head, and the column made
one or two ineffectual starts, but for some reason was halted. The
battalion of regulars was abreast of me, of which Major Rufus
Saxton was in command, and I gave him an evening paper, which I had
bought of the newsboy on my way out. He was reading from it some
piece of news, sitting on his horse, when the column again began to
move forward, and he resumed his place at the head of his command.
At that part of the road, or street, was an embankment about eight
feet high, and a drunken fellow tried to pass over it to the people
opposite.

One of the regular sergeant file-closers ordered him back, but
he attempted to pass through the ranks, when the sergeant barred
his progress with his musket “a-port.” The drunken man seized his
musket, when the sergeant threw him off with violence, and he
rolled over and over down the bank. By the time this man had picked
himself up and got his hat, which had fallen off, and had again
mounted the embankment, the regulars had passed, and the head of
Osterhaus’s regiment of Home Guards had come up. The man had in his
hand a small pistol, which he fired off, and I heard that the ball
had struck the leg of one of Osterhaus’s staff; the regiment
stopped; there was a moment of confusion, when the soldiers of that
regiment began to fire over our heads in the grove. I heard the
balls cutting the leaves above our heads, and saw several men and
women running in all directions, some of whom were wounded. Of
course there was a general stampede. Charles Ewing threw Willie on
the ground and covered him with his body. Hunter ran behind the
hill, and I also threw myself on the ground. The fire ran back from
the head of the regiment toward its rear, and as I saw the men
reloading their pieces, I jerked Willie up, ran back with him into
a gully which covered us, lay there until I saw that the fire had
ceased, and that the column was again moving on, when I took up
Willie and started back for home round by way of Market Street. A
woman and child were killed outright; two or three men were also
killed, and several others were wounded. The great mass of the
people on that occasion were simply curious spectators, though men
were sprinkled through the crowd calling out, “Hurrah for Jeff
Davis!” and others were particularly abusive of the “damned Dutch”
Lyon posted a guard in charge of the vacant camp, and marched his
prisoners down to the arsenal; some were paroled, and others held,
till afterward they were regularly exchanged.

A very few days after this event, May 14th, I received a
dispatch from my brother Charles in Washington, telling me to come
on at once; that I had been appointed a colonel of the Thirteenth
Regular Infantry, and that I was wanted at Washington
immediately.

Of course I could no longer defer action. I saw Mr. Lucas, Major
Turner, and other friends and parties connected with the road, who
agreed that I should go on. I left my family, because I was under
the impression that I would be allowed to enlist my own regiment,
which would take some time, and I expected to raise the regiment
and organize it at Jefferson Barracks. I repaired to Washington,
and there found that the Government was trying to rise to a level
with the occasion. Mr. Lincoln had, without the sanction of law,
authorized the raising of ten new regiments of regulars, each
infantry regiment to be composed of three battalions of eight
companies each; and had called for seventy-five thousand State
volunteers. Even this call seemed to me utterly inadequate; still
it was none of my business. I took the oath of office, and was
furnished with a list of officers, appointed to my regiment, which
was still, incomplete. I reported in person to General Scott, at
his office on Seventeenth Street, opposite the War Department, and
applied for authority to return West, and raise my regiment at
Jefferson Barracks, but the general said my lieutenant-colonel,
Burbank, was fully qualified to superintend the enlistment, and
that he wanted me there; and he at once dictated an order for me to
report to him in person for inspection duty.

Satisfied that I would not be permitted to return to St. Louis,
I instructed Mrs. Sherman to pack up, return to Lancaster, and
trust to the fate of war.

I also resigned my place as president of the Fifth Street
Railroad, to take effect at the end of May, so that in fact I
received pay from that road for only two months’ service, and then
began my new army career.

And now that, in these notes, I have fairly reached the period
of the civil war, which ravaged our country from 1861 to
1865—an event involving a conflict of passion, of prejudice,
and of arms, that has developed results which, for better or worse,
have left their mark on the world’s history—I feel that I
tread on delicate ground.

I have again and again been invited to write a history of the
war, or to record for publication my personal recollections of it,
with large offers of money therefor; all of which I have heretofore
declined, because the truth is not always palatable, and should not
always be told. Many of the actors in the grand drama still live,
and they and their friends are quick to controversy, which should
be avoided. The great end of peace has been attained, with little
or no change in our form of government, and the duty of all good
men is to allow the passions of that period to subside, that we may
direct our physical and mental labor to repair the waste of war,
and to engage in the greater task of continuing our hitherto
wonderful national development.

What I now propose to do is merely to group some of my personal
recollections about the historic persons and events of the day,
prepared not with any view to their publication, but rather for
preservation till I am gone; and then to be allowed to follow into
oblivion the cords of similar papers, or to be used by some
historian who may need them by way of illustration.

I have heretofore recorded how I again came into the military
service of the United States as a colonel of the Thirteenth Regular
Infantry, a regiment that had no existence at the time, and that,
instead of being allowed to enlist the men and instruct them, as
expected, I was assigned in Washington City, by an order of
Lieutenant-General Winfield Scott, to inspection duty near him on
the 20th of June, 1861.

At that time Lieutenant-General Scott commanded the army in
chief, with Colonel E. D. Townsend as his adjutant-general,

Major G. W. Cullum, United States Engineers, and Major Schuyler
Hamilton, as aides.-de-camp. The general had an office up stairs on
Seventeenth Street, opposite the War Department, and resided in a
house close by, on Pennsylvania Avenue. All fears for the immediate
safety of the capital had ceased, and quite a large force of
regulars and volunteers had been collected in and about Washington.
Brigadier-General J. K. Mansfield commanded in the city, and
Brigadier-General Irvin McDowell on the other side of the Potomac,
with his headquarters at Arlington House. His troops extended in a
semicircle from Alexandria to above Georgetown. Several forts and
redoubts were either built or in progress, and the people were
already clamorous for a general forward movement. Another
considerable army had also been collected in Pennsylvania under
General Patterson, and, at the time I speak of, had moved forward
to Hagerstown and Williamsport, on the Potomac River. My brother,
John Sherman, was a volunteer aide-de-camp to General Patterson,
and, toward the end of June, I went up to Hagerstown to see him. I
found that army in the very act of moving, and we rode down to
Williamsport in a buggy, and were present when the leading division
crossed the Potomac River by fording it waist-deep. My friend and
classmate, George H. Thomas, was there, in command of a brigade in
the leading division. I talked with him a good deal, also with
General Cadwalader, and with the staff-officers of General
Patterson, viz., Fitz-John Porter, Belger, Beckwith, and others,
all of whom seemed encouraged to think that the war was to be short
and decisive, and that, as soon as it was demonstrated that the
General Government meant in earnest to defend its rights and
property, some general compromise would result.

Patterson’s army crossed the Potomac River on the 1st or 2d of
July, and, as John Sherman was to take his seat as a Senator in the
called session of Congress, to meet July 4th, he resigned his place
as aide-de-camp, presented me his two horses and equipment, and we
returned to Washington together.

The Congress assembled punctually on the 4th of July, and the
message of Mr. Lincoln was strong and good: it recognized the fact
that civil war was upon us, that compromise of any kind was at an
end; and he asked for four hundred thousand men, and four hundred
million dollars, wherewith to vindicate the national authority, and
to regain possession of the captured forts and other property of
the United States.

It was also immediately demonstrated that the tone and temper of
Congress had changed since the Southern Senators and members had
withdrawn, and that we, the military, could now go to work with
some definite plans and ideas.

The appearance of the troops about Washington was good, but it
was manifest they were far from being soldiers. Their uniforms were
as various as the States and cities from which they came; their
arms were also of every pattern and calibre; and they were so
loaded down with overcoats, haversacks, knapsacks, tents, and
baggage, that it took from twenty-five to fifty wagons to move the
camp of a regiment from one place to another, and some of the camps
had bakeries and cooking establishments that would have done credit
to Delmonico.

While I was on duty with General Scott, viz., from June 20th to
about June 30th, the general frequently communicated to those about
him his opinions and proposed plans. He seemed vexed with the
clamors of the press for immediate action, and the continued
interference in details by the President, Secretary of War, and
Congress. He spoke of organizing a grand army of invasion, of which
the regulars were to constitute the “iron column,” and seemed to
intimate that he himself would take the field in person, though he
was at the time very old, very heavy, and very unwieldy. His age
must have been about seventy-five years.

At that date, July 4, 1861, the rebels had two armies in front
of Washington; the one at Manassas Junction, commanded by General
Beauregard, with his advance guard at Fairfax Court House, and
indeed almost in sight of Washington. The other, commanded by
General Joe Johnston, was at Winchester, with its advance at
Martinsburg and Harper’s Ferry; but the advance had fallen back
before Patterson, who then occupied Martinsburg and the line of the
Baltimore & Ohio Railroad.

The temper of Congress and the people would not permit the slow
and methodical preparation desired by General Scott; and the cry of
“On to Richmond!” which was shared by the volunteers, most of whom
had only engaged for ninety days, forced General Scott to hasten
his preparations, and to order a general advance about the middle
of July. McDowell was to move from the defenses of Washington, and
Patterson from Martinsburg. In the organization of McDowell’s army
into divisions and brigades, Colonel David Hunter was assigned to
command the Second Division, and I was ordered to take command of
his former brigade, which was composed of five regiments in
position in and about Fort Corcoran, and on the ground opposite
Georgetown. I assumed command on the 30th of June, and proceeded at
once to prepare it for the general advance. My command constituted
the Third Brigade of the First Division, which division was
commanded by Brigadier-General Daniel Tyler, a graduate of West
Point, but who had seen little or no actual service. I applied to
General McDowell for home staff-officers, and he gave me, as
adjutant-general, Lieutenant Piper, of the Third Artillery, and, as
aide-de-camp, Lieutenant McQuesten, a fine young cavalry-officer,
fresh from West Point.

I selected for the field the Thirteenth New York, Colonel
Quinby; the Sixty-ninth New York, Colonel Corcoran; the
Seventy-ninth New York, Colonel Cameron; and the Second Wisconsin,
Lieutenant—Colonel Peck. These were all good, strong,
volunteer regiments, pretty well commanded; and I had reason to
believe that I had one of the best brigades in the whole army.
Captain Ayres’s battery of the Third Regular Artillery was also
attached to my brigade. The other regiment, the Twenty-ninth New
York, Colonel Bennett, was destined to be left behind in charge of
the forts and camps during our absence, which was expected to be
short. Soon after I had assumed the command, a difficulty arose in
the Sixty-ninth, an Irish regiment. This regiment had volunteered
in New York, early in April, for ninety days; but, by reason of the
difficulty of passing through Baltimore, they had come via
Annapolis, had been held for duty on the railroad as a guard for
nearly a month before they actually reached Washington, and were
then mustered in about a month after enrollment. Some of the men
claimed that they were entitled to their discharge in ninety days
from the time of enrollment, whereas the muster-roll read ninety
days from the date of muster-in. One day, Colonel Corcoran
explained this matter to me. I advised him to reduce the facts to
writing, and that I would submit it to the War Department for an
authoritative decision. He did so, and the War Department decided
that the muster-roll was the only contract of service, that it
would be construed literally; and that the regiment would be held
till the expiration of three months from the date of muster-in,
viz., to about August 1, 1861. General Scott at the same time wrote
one of his characteristic letters to Corcoran, telling him that we
were about to engage in battle, and he knew his Irish friends would
not leave him in such a crisis. Corcoran and the officers generally
wanted to go to the expected battle, but a good many of the men
were not so anxious. In the Second Wisconsin, also, was developed a
personal difficulty. The actual colonel was S. P. Coon, a
good-hearted gentleman, who knew no more of the military art than a
child; whereas his lieutenant-colonel, Peck, had been to West
Point, and knew the drill. Preferring that the latter should remain
in command of the regiment, I put Colonel Coon on my personal
staff, which reconciled the difficulty.

In due season, about July 15th, our division moved forward
leaving our camps standing; Keyes’s brigade in the lead, then
Schenck’s, then mine, and Richardson’s last. We marched via Vienna,
Germantown, and Centreville, where all the army, composed of five
divisions, seemed to converge. The march demonstrated little save
the general laxity of discipline; for with all my personal efforts
I could not prevent the men from straggling for water,
blackberries, or any thing on the way they fancied.

At Centreville, on the 18th, Richardson’s brigade was sent by
General Tyler to reconnoitre Blackburn’s Ford across Bull Run, and
he found it strongly guarded. From our camp, at Centreville, we
heard the cannonading, and then a sharp musketry-fire. I received
orders from General Tyler to send forward Ayres’s battery, and very
soon after another order came for me to advance with my whole
brigade. We marched the three miles at the double-quick, arrived in
time to relieve Richardson’s brigade, which was just drawing back
from the ford, worsted, and stood for half an hour or so under a
fire of artillery, which killed four or five of my men. General
Tyler was there in person, giving directions, and soon after he
ordered us all back to our camp in Centreville. This reconnoissance
had developed a strong force, and had been made without the orders
of General McDowell; however, it satisfied us that the enemy was in
force on the other side of Bull Run, and had no intention to leave
without a serious battle. We lay in camp at Centreville all of the
19th and 20th, and during that night began the movement which
resulted in the battle of Bull Run, on July 21st. Of this so much
has been written that more would be superfluous; and the reports of
the opposing commanders, McDowell and Johnston, are fair and
correct. It is now generally admitted that it was one of the
best-planned battles of the war, but one of the worst-fought. Our
men had been told so often at home that all they had to do was to
make a bold appearance, and the rebels would run; and nearly all of
us for the first time then heard the sound of cannon and muskets in
anger, and saw the bloody scenes common to all battles, with which
we were soon to be familiar. We had good organization, good men,
but no cohesion, no real discipline, no respect for authority, no
real knowledge of war. Both armies were fairly defeated, and,
whichever had stood fast, the other would have run. Though the
North was overwhelmed with mortification and shame, the South
really had not much to boast of, for in the three or four hours of
fighting their organization was so broken up that they did not and
could not follow our army, when it was known to be in a state of
disgraceful and causeless flight. It is easy to criticise a battle
after it is over, but all now admit that none others, equally raw
in war, could have done better than we did at Bull Run; and the
lesson of that battle should not be lost on a people like ours.

I insert my official report, as a condensed statement of my
share in the battle:

HEADQUARTERS THIRD BRIGADE, FIRST DIVISION
FORT CORCORAN, July 25, 1861

To Captain A. BAIRD, Assistant Adjutant-General, First Division
(General Tyler’s).

Sir: I have the honor to submit this my report of the operations of
my brigade during the action of the 21st instant. The brigade is
composed of the Thirteenth New York Volunteers, Colonel Quinby’s
Sixty-ninth New York, Colonel Corcoran; Seventy-ninth New York,
Colonel Cameron; Second Wisconsin, Lieutenant-Colonel Peck; and
Company E, Third Artillery, under command of Captain R. B. Ayres,
Fifth Artillery.

We left our camp near Centreville, pursuant to orders, at half-past
2 A. M., taking place in your column, next to the brigade of
General Schenck, and proceeded as far as the halt, before the
enemy’s position, near the stone bridge across Bull Run. Here the
brigade was deployed in line along the skirt of timber to the right
of the Warrenton road, and remained quietly in position till after
10 a.m. The enemy remained very quiet, but about that time we saw a
rebel regiment leave its cover in our front, and proceed in
double-quick time on the road toward Sudley Springs, by which we
knew the columns of Colonels Hunter and Heintzelman were
approaching. About the same time we observed in motion a large mass
of the enemy, below and on the other side of the stone bridge. I
directed Captain Ayres to take position with his battery near our
right, and to open fire on this mass; but you had previously
detached the two rifle-guns belonging to this battery, and, finding
that the smooth-bore guns did not reach the enemy’s position, we
ceased firing, and I sent a request that you would send to me the
thirty-pounder rifle-gun attached to Captain Carlisle’s battery. At
the same time I shifted the New York Sixty-ninth to the extreme
right of the brigade. Thus we remained till we heard the
musketry-fire across Bull Run, showing that the head of Colonel
Hunter’s column was engaged. This firing was brisk, and showed that
Hunter was driving before him the enemy, till about noon, when it
became certain the enemy had come to a stand, and that our forces
on the other side of Bull Run were all engaged, artillery and
infantry.

Here you sent me the order to cross over with the whole brigade, to
the assistance of Colonel Hunter. Early in the day, when
reconnoitring the ground, I had seen a horseman descend from a
bluff in our front, cross the stream, and show himself in the open
field on this aide; and, inferring that we could cross over at the
same point, I sent forward a company as skirmishers, and followed
with the whole brigade, the New York Sixty-ninth leading.

We found no difficulty in crossing over, and met with no opposition
in ascending the steep bluff opposite with our infantry, but it was
impassable to the artillery, and I sent word back to Captain Ayres
to follow if possible, otherwise to use his discretion. Captain
Ayres did not cross Bull Run, but remained on that side, with the
rest of your division. His report herewith describes his operations
during the remainder of the day. Advancing slowly and cautiously
with the head of the column, to give time for the regiments in
succession to close up their ranks, we first encountered a party of
the enemy retreating along a cluster of pines; Lieutenant-Colonel
Haggerty, of the Sixty-ninth, without orders, rode out alone, and
endeavored to intercept their retreat. One of the enemy, in full
view, at short range, shot Haggerty, and he fell dead from his
horse. The Sixty-ninth opened fire on this party, which was
returned; but, determined to effect our junction with Hunter’s
division, I ordered this fire to cease, and we proceeded with
caution toward the field where we then plainly saw our forces
engaged. Displaying our colors conspicuously at the head of our
column, we succeeded in attracting the attention of our friends,
and soon formed the brigade in rear of Colonel Porter’s. Here I
learned that Colonel Hunter was disabled by a severe wound, and
that General McDowell was on the field. I sought him out, and
received his orders to join in pursuit of the enemy, who was
falling back to the left of the road by which the army had
approached from Sudley Springs. Placing Colonel Quinby’s regiment
of rifles in front, in column, by division, I directed the other
regiments to follow in line of battle, in the order of the
Wisconsin Second, New York Seventy-ninth, and New York Sixty-ninth.
Quinby’s regiment advanced steadily down the hill and up the ridge,
from which he opened fire upon the enemy, who had made another
stand on ground very favorable to him, and the regiment continued
advancing as the enemy gave way, till the head of the column
reached the point near which Rickett’s battery was so severely cut
up. The other regiments descended the hill in line of battle, under
a severe cannonade; and, the ground affording comparative shelter
from the enemy’s artillery, they changed direction, by the right
flank, and followed the road before mentioned. At the point where
this road crosses the ridge to our left front, the ground was swept
by a most severe fire of artillery, rifles, and musketry, and we
saw, in succession, several regiments driven from it; among them
the Zouaves and battalion of marines. Before reaching the crest of
this hill, the roadway was worn deep enough to afford shelter, and
I kept the several regiments in it as long as possible; but when
the Wisconsin Second was abreast of the enemy, by order of Major
Wadsworth, of General McDowell’s staff, I ordered it to leave the
roadway, by the left flank, and to attack the enemy.

This regiment ascended to the brow of the hill steadily, received
the severe fire of the enemy, returned it with spirit, and
advanced, delivering its fire. This regiment is uniformed in gray
cloth, almost identical with that of the great bulk of the
secession army; and, when the regiment fell into confusion and
retreated toward the road, there was a universal cry that they were
being fired on by our own men. The regiment rallied again, passed
the brow of the hill a second time, but was again repulsed in
disorder. By this time the New York Seventy-ninth had closed up,
and in like manner it was ordered to cross the brow of, the hill,
and drive the enemy from cover. It was impossible to get a good
view of this ground. In it there was one battery of artillery,
which poured an incessant fire upon our advancing column, and the
ground was very irregular with small clusters of pines, affording
shelter, of which the enemy took good advantage. The fire of rifles
and musketry was very severe. The Seventy-ninth, headed by its
colonel, Cameron, charged across the hill, and for a short time the
contest was severe; they rallied several times under fire, but
finally broke, and gained the cover of the hill.

This left the field open to the New York Sixty-ninth, Colonel
Corcoran, who, in his turn, led his regiment over the crest; and
had in full, open view the ground so severely contested; the fire
was very severe, and the roar of cannon, musketry, and rifles,
incessant; it was manifest the enemy was here in great force, far
superior to us at that point. The Sixty-ninth held the ground for
some time, but finally fell back in disorder.

All this time Quinby’s regiment occupied another ridge, to our
left, overlooking the same field of action, and similarly engaged.
Here, about half-past 3 p.m., began the scene of confusion and
disorder that characterized the remainder of the day. Up to that
time, all had kept their places, and seemed perfectly cool, and
used to the shell and shot that fell, comparatively harmless, all
around us; but the short exposure to an intense fire of small-arms,
at close range, had killed many, wounded more, and had produced
disorder in all of the battalions that had attempted to encounter
it. Men fell away from their ranks, talking, and in great
confusion. Colonel Cameron had been mortally wounded, was carried
to an ambulance, and reported dying. Many other officers were
reported dead or missing, and many of the wounded were making their
way, with more or less assistance, to the buildings used as
hospitals, on the ridge to the west. We succeeded in partially
reforming the regiments, but it was manifest that they would not
stand, and I directed Colonel Corcoran to move along the ridge to
the rear, near the position where we had first formed the brigade.
General McDowell was there in person, and need all possible efforts
to reassure the men. By the active exertions of Colonel Corcoran,
we formed an irregular square against the cavalry which were then
seen to issue from the position from which we had been driven, and
we began our retreat toward the same ford of Bull Run by which we
had approached the field of battle. There was no positive order to
retreat, although for an hour it had been going on by the operation
of the men themselves. The ranks were thin and irregular, and we
found a stream of people strung from the hospital across Bull Run,
and far toward Centreville. After putting in motion the irregular
square in person, I pushed forward to find Captain Ayres’s battery
at the crossing of Bull Run. I sought it at its last position,
before the brigade had crossed over, but it was not there; then
passing through the woods, where, in the morning, we had first
formed line, we approached the blacksmith’s shop, but there found a
detachment of the secession cavalry and thence made a circuit,
avoiding Cub Run Bridge, into Centreville, where I found General
McDowell, and from him understood that it was his purpose to rally
the forces, and make a stand at Centreville.

But, about nine o’clock at night, I received from General Tyler, in
person, the order to continue the retreat to the Potomac. This
retreat was by night, and disorderly in the extreme. The men of
different regiments mingled together, and some reached the river at
Arlington, some at Long Bridge, and the greater part returned to
their former camp, at or near Fort Corcoran. I reached this point
at noon the next day, and found a miscellaneous crowd crossing over
the aqueduct and ferries.. Conceiving this to be demoralizing, I at
once commanded the guard to be increased, and all persons
attempting to pass over to be stopped. This soon produced its
effect; men sought their proper companies and regiments.
Comparative order was restored, and all were posted to the best
advantage.

I herewith inclose the official report of Captain Belly, commanding
officer of the New York Sixty-ninth; also, fall lists of the
killed, wounded, and missing.

Our loss was heavy, and occurred chiefly at the point near where
Rickett’s battery was destroyed. Lieutenant-Colonel Haggerty was
killed about noon, before we had effected a junction with Colonel
Hunter’s division. Colonel Cameron was mortally wounded leading his
regiment in the charge, and Colonel Corcoran has been missing since
the cavalry-charge near the building used as a hospital.

For names, rank, etc., of the above, I refer to the lists
herewith.

Lieutenants Piper and McQuesten, of my personal staff, were under
fire all day, and carried orders to and fro with as much coolness
as on parade. Lieutenant Bagley, of the New York Sixty-ninth, a
volunteer aide, asked leave to serve with his company, during the
action, and is among those reported missing. I have intelligence
that he is a prisoner, and slightly wounded.

Colonel Coon, of Wisconsin, a volunteer aide, also rendered good
service during the day.

W. T. SHERMAN, Colonel commanding Brigade.

This report, which I had not read probably since its date till
now, recalls to me vividly the whole scene of the affair at
Blackburn’s Ford, when for the first time in my life I saw
cannonballs strike men and crash through the trees and saplings
above and around us, and realized the always sickening confusion as
one approaches a fight from the rear; then the night-march from
Centreville, on the Warrenton road, standing for hours wondering
what was meant; the deployment along the edge of the field that
sloped down to Bull-Run, and waiting for Hunter’s approach on the
other aide from the direction of Sudley Springs, away off to our
right; the terrible scare of a poor negro who was caught between
our lines; the crossing of Bull Run, and the fear lest we should be
fired on by our own men; the killing of Lieutenant-Colonel
Haggerty, which occurred in plain sight; and the first scenes of a
field strewed with dead men and horses. Yet, at that period of the
battle, we were the victors and felt jubilant. At that moment,
also, my brigade passed Hunter’s division; but Heintzelman’s was
still ahead of us, and we followed its lead along the road toward
Manassas Junction, crossing a small stream and ascending a long
hill, at the summit of which the battle was going on. Here my
regiments came into action well, but successively, and were driven
back, each in its turn. For two hours we continued to dash at the
woods on our left front, which were full of rebels; but I was
convinced their organization was broken, and that they had simply
halted there and taken advantage of these woods as a cover, to
reach which we had to pass over the intervening fields about the
Henry House, which were clear, open, and gave them a decided
advantage. After I had put in each of my regiments, and had them
driven back to the cover of the road, I had no idea that we were
beaten, but reformed the regiments in line in their proper order,
and only wanted a little rest, when I found that my brigade was
almost alone, except Syke’s regulars, who had formed square against
cavalry and were coming back. I then realized that the whole army
was “in retreat,” and that my own men were individually making back
for the stone bridge. Corcoran and I formed the brigade into an
irregular square, but it fell to pieces; and, along with a crowd,
disorganized but not much scared, the brigade got back to
Centreville to our former camps. Corcoran was captured, and held a
prisoner for some time; but I got safe to Centreville. I saw
General McDowell in Centreville, and understood that several of his
divisions had not been engaged at all, that he would reorganize
them at Centreville, and there await the enemy. I got my four
regiments in parallel lines in a field, the same in which we had
camped before the battle, and had lain down to sleep under a tree,
when I heard some one asking for me. I called out where I was, when
General Tyler in person gave me orders to march back to our camps
at Fort Corcoran. I aroused my aides, gave them orders to call up
the sleeping men, have each regiment to leave the field by a flank
and to take the same road back by which we had come. It was near
midnight, and the road was full of troops, wagons, and batteries.
We tried to keep our regiments separate, but all became
inextricably mixed. Toward morning we reached Vienna, where I slept
some hours, and the next day, about noon, we reached Fort
Corcoran.

A slow, mizzling rain had set in, and probably a more gloomy day
never presented itself. All organization seemed to be at an end;
but I and my staff labored hard to collect our men into their
proper companies and into their former camps, and, on the 23d of
July, I moved the Second Wisconsin and Seventy-ninth New York
closer in to Fort Corcoran, and got things in better order than I
had expected. Of course, we took it for granted that the rebels
would be on our heels, and we accordingly prepared to defend our
posts. By the 25th I had collected all the materials, made my
report, and had my brigade about as well governed as any in that
army; although most of the ninety-day men, especially the
Sixty-ninth, had become extremely tired of the war, and wanted to
go home. Some of them were so mutinous, at one time, that I had the
battery to unlimber, threatening, if they dared to leave camp
without orders, I would open fire on them. Drills and the daily
exercises were resumed, and I ordered that at the three principal
roll-calls the men should form ranks with belts and muskets, and
that they should keep their ranks until I in person had received
the reports and had dismissed them. The Sixty-ninth still occupied
Fort Corcoran, and one morning, after reveille, when I had just
received the report, had dismissed the regiment, and was leaving, I
found myself in a crowd of men crossing the drawbridge on their way
to a barn close by, where they had their sinks; among them was an
officer, who said: “Colonel, I am going to New York today. What can
I do for you?” I answered: “How can you go to New York? I do not
remember to have signed a leave for you.” He said, “No; he did not
want a leave. He had engaged to serve three months, and had already
served more than that time. If the Government did not intend to pay
him, he could afford to lose the money; that he was a lawyer, and
had neglected his business long enough, and was then going home.” I
noticed that a good many of the soldiers had paused about us to
listen, and knew that, if this officer could defy me, they also
would. So I turned on him sharp, and said: “Captain, this question
of your term of service has been submitted to the rightful
authority, and the decision has been published in orders. You are a
soldier, and must submit to orders till you are properly
discharged. If you attempt to leave without orders, it will be
mutiny, and I will shoot you like a dog! Go back into the fort now,
instantly, and don’t dare to leave without my consent.” I had on an
overcoat, and may have had my hand about the breast, for he looked
at me hard, paused a moment, and then turned back into the fort.
The men scattered, and I returned to the house where I was
quartered, close by.

That same day, which must have been about July 26th, I was near
the river-bank, looking at a block-house which had been built for
the defense of the aqueduct, when I saw a carriage coming by the
road that crossed the Potomac River at Georgetown by a ferry. I
thought I recognized in the carriage the person of President
Lincoln. I hurried across a bend, so as to stand by the road-side
as the carriage passed. I was in uniform, with a sword on, and was
recognized by Mr. Lincoln and Mr. Seward, who rode side by side in
an open hack. I inquired if they were going to my camps, and Mr.
Lincoln said: “Yes; we heard that you had got over the big scare,
and we thought we would come over and see the ‘boys.'” The roads
had been much changed and were rough. I asked if I might give
directions to his coachman, he promptly invited me to jump in and
to tell the coachman which way to drive. Intending to begin on the
right and follow round to the left, I turned the driver into a
side-road which led up a very steep hill, and, seeing a soldier,
called to him and sent him up hurriedly to announce to the colonel
(Bennett, I think) that the President was coming: As we slowly
ascended the hill, I discovered that Mr. Lincoln was full of
feeling, and wanted to encourage our men. I asked if he intended to
speak to them, and he said he would like to. I asked him then to
please discourage all cheering, noise, or any sort of confusion;
that we had had enough of it before Bull Run to ruin any set of
men, and that what we needed were cool, thoughtful, hard-fighting
soldiers—no more hurrahing, no more humbug. He took my
remarks in the most perfect good-nature. Before we had reached the
first camp, I heard the drum beating the “assembly,” saw the men
running for their tents, and in a few minutes the regiment was in
line, arms presented, and then brought to an order and “parade
rest!”

Mr. Lincoln stood up in the carriage, and made one of the
neatest, best, and most feeling addresses I ever listened to,
referring to our late disaster at Bull Run, the high duties that
still devolved on us, and the brighter days yet to come. At one or
two points the soldiers began to cheer, but he promptly checked
them, saying: “Don’t cheer, boys. I confess I rather like it
myself, but Colonel Sherman here says it is not military; and I
guess we had better defer to his opinion.” In winding up, he
explained that, as President, he was commander-in-chief; that he
was resolved that the soldiers should have every thing that the law
allowed; and he called on one and all to appeal to him personally
in case they were wronged. The effect of this speech was
excellent.

We passed along in the same manner to all the camps of my
brigade; and Mr. Lincoln complimented me highly for the order,
cleanliness, and discipline, that he observed. Indeed, he and Mr.
Seward both assured me that it was the first bright moment they had
experienced since the battle.

At last we reached Fort Corcoran. The carriage could not enter,
so I ordered the regiment, without arms, to come outside, and
gather about Mr. Lincoln, who would speak to them. He made to them
the same feeling address, with more personal allusions, because of
their special gallantry in the battle under Corcoran, who was still
a prisoner in the hands of the enemy; and he concluded with the
same general offer of redress in case of grievances. In the crowd I
saw the officer with whom I had had the passage at reveille that
morning. His face was pale, and lips compressed. I foresaw a scene,
but sat on the front seat of the carriage as quiet as a lamb. This
officer forced his way through the crowd to the carriage, and said:
“Mr. President, I have a cause of grievance. This morning I went to
speak to Colonel Sherman, and he threatened to shoot me.” Mr.
Lincoln, who was still standing, said, “Threatened to shoot you?”
“Yes, sir, he threatened to shoot me.” Mr. Lincoln looked at him,
then at me, and stooping his tall, spare form toward the officer,
said to him in a loud stage-whisper, easily heard for some yards
around: “Well, if I were you, and he threatened to shoot, I would
not trust him, for I believe he would do it.” The officer turned
about and disappeared, and the men laughed at him. Soon the
carriage drove on, and, as we descended the hill, I explained the
facts to the President, who answered, “Of course I didn’t know any
thing about it, but I thought you knew your own business best.” I
thanked him for his confidence, and assured him that what he had
done would go far to enable me to maintain good discipline, and it
did.

By this time the day was well spent. I asked to take my leave,
and the President and Mr. Seward drove back to Washington. This
spirit of mutiny was common to the whole army, and was not subdued
till several regiments or parts of regiments had been ordered to
Fort Jefferson, Florida, as punishment.

General McDowell had resumed his headquarters at the Arlington
House, and was busily engaged in restoring order to his army,
sending off the ninety-days men, and replacing them by regiments
which had come under the three-years call. We were all trembling
lest we should be held personally accountable for the disastrous
result of the battle. General McClellan had been summoned from the
West to Washington, and changes in the subordinate commands were
announced almost daily. I remember, as a group of officers were
talking in the large room of the Arlington House, used as the
adjutant-general’s office, one evening, some young officer came in
with a list of the new brigadiers just announced at the War
Department, which-embraced the names of Heintzehvan, Keyes,
Franklin, Andrew Porter, W. T. Sherman, and others, who had been
colonels in the battle, and all of whom had shared the common
stampede. Of course, we discredited the truth of the list; and
Heintzehvan broke out in his nasal voice, “Boys, it’s all a lie!
every mother’s son of you will be cashiered.” We all felt he was
right, but, nevertheless, it was true; and we were all announced in
general orders as brigadier-generals of volunteers.

General McClellan arrived, and, on assuming command, confirmed
McDowell’s organization. Instead of coming over the river, as we
expected, he took a house in Washington, and only came over from
time to time to have a review or inspection.

I had received several new regiments, and had begun two new
forts on the hill or plateau, above and farther out than Fort
Corcoran; and I organized a system of drills, embracing the
evolutions of the line, all of which was new to me, and I had to
learn the tactics from books; but I was convinced that we had a
long, hard war before us, and made up my mind to begin at the very
beginning to prepare for it.

August was passing, and troops were pouring in from all
quarters; General McClellan told me he intended to organize an army
of a hundred thousand men, with one hundred field-batteries, and I
still hoped he would come on our side of the Potomac, pitch his
tent, and prepare for real hard work, but his headquarters still
remained in a house in Washington City. I then thought, and still
think, that was a fatal mistake. His choice as general-in-chief at
the time was fully justified by his high reputation in the army and
country, and, if he then had any political views or ambition, I
surely did not suspect it.

About the middle of August I got a note from Brigadier-General
Robert Anderson, asking me to come and see him at his room at
Willard’s Hotel. I rode over and found him in conversation with
several gentlemen, and he explained to me that events in Kentucky
were approaching a crisis; that the Legislature was in session, and
ready, as soon as properly backed by the General Government, to
take open sides for the Union cause; that he was offered the
command of the Department of the Cumberland, to embrace Kentucky,
Tennessee, etc., and that he wanted help, and that the President
had offered to allow him to select out of the new brigadiers four
of his own choice. I had been a lieutenant in Captain Anderson’s
company, at Fort Moultrie, from 1843 to 1846, and he explained that
he wanted me as his right hand. He also indicated George H. Thomas,
D. C. Buell, and Burnside, as the other three. Of course, I always
wanted to go West, and was perfectly willing to go with Anderson,
especially in a subordinate capacity: We agreed to call on the
President on a subsequent day, to talk with him about it, and we
did. It hardly seems probable that Mr. Lincoln should have come to
Willard’s Hotel to meet us, but my impression is that he did, and
that General Anderson had some difficulty in prevailing on him to
appoint George H. Thomas, a native of Virginia, to be
brigadier-general, because so many Southern officers, had already
played false; but I was still more emphatic in my indorsement of
him by reason of my talk with him at the time he crossed the
Potomac with Patterson’s army, when Mr. Lincoln promised to appoint
him and to assign him to duty with General Anderson. In this
interview with Mr. Lincoln, I also explained to him my extreme
desire to serve in a subordinate capacity, and in no event to be
left in a superior command. He promised me this with promptness,
making the jocular remark that his chief trouble was to find places
for the too many generals who wanted to be at the head of affairs,
to command armies, etc.

The official order is dated:

[Special Order No. 114.]
HEADQUARTERS OF THE ARMY
Washington, August 24, 1881.

The following assignment is made of the general officers of the
volunteer service, whose appointment was announced in General
Orders No. 82, from the War Department

To the Department of the Cumberland, Brigadier-General Robert
Anderson commanding:

Brigadier-General W. T. Sherman,
Brigadier-General George H. Thomas.

By command of Lieutenant-General Scott:
E. D. TOWNSEND, Assistant adjutant-General.

After some days, I was relieved in command of my brigade and
post by Brigadier General Fitz-John Porter, and at once took my
departure for Cincinnati, Ohio, via Cresson, Pennsylvania, where
General Anderson was with his family; and he, Thomas, and I, met by
appointment at the house of his brother, Larz Anderson, Esq., in
Cincinnati. We were there on the 1st and 2d of September, when
several prominent gentlemen of Kentucky met us, to discuss the
situation, among whom were Jackson, Harlan, Speed, and others. At
that time, William Nelson, an officer of the navy, had been
commissioned a brigadier-general of volunteers, and had his camp at
Dick Robinson, a few miles beyond the Kentucky River, south of
Nicholasville; and Brigadier-General L. H. Rousseau had another
camp at Jeffersonville, opposite Louisville. The State Legislature
was in session at Frankfort, and was ready to take definite action
as soon as General Anderson was prepared, for the State was
threatened with invasion from Tennessee, by two forces: one from
the direction of Nashville, commanded by Generals Albert Sidney
Johnston and Buckner; and the other from the direction of
Cumberland Gap, commanded by Generals Crittenden and Zollicoffer.
General Anderson saw that he had not force enough to resist these
two columns, and concluded to send me in person for help to
Indianapolis and Springfield, to confer with the Governors of
Indiana, and Illinois, and to General Fremont, who commanded in St.
Louis.

McClellan and Fremont were the two men toward whom the country
looked as the great Union leaders, and toward them were streaming
the newly-raised regiments of infantry and cavalry, and batteries
of artillery; nobody seeming to think of the intervening link
covered by Kentucky. While I was to make this tour, Generals
Anderson and Thomas were to go to Louisville and initiate the
department. None of us had a staff, or any of the machinery for
organizing an army, and, indeed, we had no army to organize.
Anderson was empowered to raise regiments in Kentucky, and to
commission a few brigadier-generals.

At Indianapolis I found Governor Morton and all the State
officials busy in equipping and providing for the new regiments,
and my object was to divert some of them toward Kentucky; but they
were called for as fast as they were mustered in, either for the
army of McClellan or Fremont. At Springfield also I found the same
general activity and zeal, Governor Yates busy in providing for his
men; but these men also had been promised to Fremont. I then went
on to St. Louis, where all was seeming activity, bustle, and
preparation. Meeting R. M. Renick at the Planters’ House (where I
stopped), I inquired where I could find General Fremont. Renick
said, “What do you want with General Fremont?” I said I had come to
see him on business; and he added, “You don’t suppose that he will
see such as you?” and went on to retail all the scandal of the day:
that Fremont was a great potentate, surrounded by sentries and
guards; that he had a more showy court than any real king; that he
kept senators, governors, and the first citizens, dancing
attendance for days and weeks before granting an audience, etc.;
that if I expected to see him on business, I would have to make my
application in writing, and submit to a close scrutiny by his chief
of staff and by his civil surroundings. Of course I laughed at all
this, and renewed my simple inquiry as to where was his office, and
was informed that he resided and had his office at Major Brant’s
new house on Chouteau Avenue. It was then late in the afternoon,
and I concluded to wait till the next morning; but that night I
received a dispatch from General Anderson in Louisville to hurry
back, as events were pressing, and he needed me.

Accordingly, I rose early next morning before daybreak, got
breakfast with the early railroad-passengers, and about sunrise was
at the gate of General Fremont’s headquarters. A sentinel with
drawn sabre paraded up and down in front of the house. I had on my
undress uniform indicating my rank, and inquired of the sentinel,
“Is General Fremont up?” He answered, “I don’t know.” Seeing that
he was a soldier by his bearing, I spoke in a sharp, emphatic
voice, “Then find out.” He called for the corporal of the guard,
and soon a fine-looking German sergeant came, to whom I addressed
the same inquiry. He in turn did not know, and I bade him find out,
as I had immediate and important business with the general. The
sergeant entered the house by the front-basement door, and after
ten or fifteen minutes the main front-door above was slowly opened
from the inside, and who should appear but my old San Francisco
acquaintance Isaiah C. Woods, whom I had not seen or heard of since
his flight to Australia, at the time of the failure of Adams &
Co. in 1851! He ushered me in hastily, closed the door, and
conducted me into the office on the right of the hall. We were glad
to meet, after so long and eventful an interval, and mutually
inquired after our respective families and special acquaintances. I
found that he was a commissioned officer, a major on duty with
Fremont, and Major Eaton, now of the paymaster’s Department, was in
the same office with him. I explained to them that I had come from
General Anderson, and wanted to confer with General Fremont in
person. Woods left me, but soon returned, said the general would
see me in a very few minutes, and within ten minutes I was shown
across the hall into the large parlor, where General Fremont
received me very politely. We had met before, as early as 1847, in
California, and I had also seen him several times when he was
senator. I then in a rapid manner ran over all the points of
interest in General Anderson’s new sphere of action, hoped he would
spare us from the new levies what troops he could, and generally
act in concert with us. He told me that his first business would be
to drive the rebel General Price and his army out of Missouri, when
he would turn his attention down the Mississippi. He asked my
opinion about the various kinds of field-artillery which
manufacturers were thrusting on him, especially the then
newly-invented James gun, and afterward our conversation took a
wide turn about the character of the principal citizens of St.
Louis, with whom I was well acquainted.