USA > California > California; an intimate history > Part 18
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In 1859 he was a candidate for renomination to the Supreme Bench. Before the convention he delivered himself of his present opinion of the junior Senator from California.
They-the anti-Lecompton party-are a miserable remnant of a faction sailing under false colors, trying to obtain votes under false pretenses. They are the followers of one man, the personal chattels of a single individual whom they are ashamed of. They belong heart and soul, body and breeches, to David C. Broderick. They are yet ashamed to acknowledge their master and are calling themselves, for- sooth, Douglas Democrats, when it is known that the gallant Senator from Illinois has no affiliation with them. Perhaps, Mr. President, I am mistaken in denying their right to claim Douglas as their leader, but it is the banner of the black Douglas, whose name is Frederick, not Stephen,
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Broderick did not like this speech. Personally, I never read anything more childish, but it is truly said that no man is sane during a political campaign; which means, no doubt, that the blood-poisoned blood, at that-is in the head all the time. A few days later Broderick was breakfasting at the International Hotel in San Francisco, surrounded by a number of people. He suddenly turned to a man named Perley and said, biting out his words:
"I see that your friend Terry has been abusing me in Sacramento."
"Ah?" said Perley. "How so?"
Then Broderick, whose magnificent self-control had been strained to the breaking-point by the long campaign in the face of almost certain defeat, burst forth:
"The miserable wretch, after being kicked out of the convention, went down there and made a speech abusing me. I paid and supported three newspapers to defend him during the Vigilance Committee days, and this is all the gratitude I get from the miserable wretch. I have hitherto spoken of him as an honest man-as the only honest man on the bench of a corrupt Supreme Court, but now I find I was mistaken; I take it all back. He is just as bad as the others."
Perley said he should inform Terry of the language that so neatly summed him up, and Broderick told him to carry his news as quickly as possible. But Perley, who saw a chance here to swing his little name before the public camera, promptly challenged Broderick to a duel. No reply could be more insulting. Broderick sent him word that if he should be compelled to accept a challenge it would be from some one of his own importance and responsibility. That disposed of Perley, but Broderick's
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DAVID C. BRODERICK
COL. E. D. BAKER
DAVID S. TERRY
WILLIAM M. GWIN
THE BRODERICK-TERRY DUEL
recklessness was due not only to the certainty that his life was sought, and to the desire to have the crisis come and be done with: his health was almost shattered. The mental and physical strain of the campaign had been terrific, and, moreover, he had a heavy and persistent cold. His friends should have put him to bed; but Broderick, no doubt, like other men, was a fractious child where his health was concerned, and willing to send for a doctor only when in a state of collapse.
The following extract-apropos of Broderick's refusal to fight Perley-from a San Francisco newspaper, may be taken as significant of the general understanding that Broderick's enemies had resolved to eliminate him, and of the matter-of-fact acceptance of the methods of the day:
For refusing to fight a duel under the circumstances the large masses of the people will honor David C. Broderick. The belief is quite gen- eral that there are certain political opponents of his who long for a chance to shoot him, either in a fair or unfair fight, and that efforts would be made sooner or later to involve him in a personal difficulty. It is wisdom on his part to avoid the traps set for him and thus defeat all the plans of those in whose path he happens just now to stand. His seat in the Senate would be quite acceptable to a number of gentlemen of this state. The people of California ought to manifest in a manner not to be mistaken their approval of the conduct of a public man who exhibits courage to refuse on any ground to accept a challenge.
Terry, knowing that Broderick would not consider a challenge during the campaign, and finding no oppor- tunity for a fierce personal encounter in which his ready knife could do the deadly work with neatness and de- spatch, held his peace until after election day, September 7th. His duration of office would expire with the year. He failed of re-election, and immediately sent his resigna- tion to the governor, left Sacramento for Oakland, and
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entered at once into the correspondence with Broderick that terminated in the long-expected duel. Broderick was staying at the house of a friend at Black Point, almost in a state of collapse, and undoubtedly in the first stages of pneumonia. His friends, instead of permitting him to rest until the last minute, routed him out at midnight on the roth and drove him into the city to be presented with the cartel. Calhoun Benham and Thomas Hayes were the seconds chosen by Terry; David D. Colton and Joseph C. Mckibben acted for Broderick.
Broderick's seconds, exercising their privilege, chose pistols. The principals were to stand ten paces apart, facing each other, the pistols to be held with the muzzles pointed downward until the signal was given to fire. Broderick was one of the best shots in the state, but with the long heavy dueling-pistol then in common use. His seconds might have been in league with the enemy, so little did they watch his interests. They permitted themselves to be persuaded to accept a pair of famous dueling-pistols of Belgian make and of well-known idiosyncrasies, which belonged to a friend of Terry's, Dr. Aylette, of Stockton. As a matter of fact, it trans- pired afterward that Terry had practised with these pistols during the interval between his provocative speech in June and the challenge in September.
Broderick was a large man with a large hand, and the Aylette pistols were very small, with a hair-trigger. It is not even certain that his seconds told him of the sort of pistol with which he would defend his life. However, it is possible that he was too much absorbed during the time that remained to him to pay any attention to the details of the meeting. He roused himself from his lethargy and
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put his affairs in order, seemingly convinced that he had come to the end of his days.
It would have been possible also for Broderick's sec- onds, on a doctor's certificate, to have postponed the duel until he had recovered his usual alertness of mind and steadiness of hand, but they did nothing of the sort. Perhaps they were merely fatalists; perhaps, like so many others, they were eager for the dramatic finale of the great political drama. The meeting was arranged for half past five on Monday morning, September 12th, but was in- terrupted by some legal formality and postponed until the following morning at the same time. The night be- fore, in place of permitting Broderick to sleep comfort- ably in his bed, Messrs. Colton and Mckibben drove him in a lumbering hack to a road-house on the old Mission road several miles from both town and the rendezvous. There they slept in one room on cots or in bunks, and on mattresses stuffed with "pulu," a Hawaiian vegetable be- loved of wayside shacks and invariably infested with ver- min. Nights in San Francisco, or close to the sea in any part of central California, are cold and often raw. The coverings were scanty, and between chilly and the battalions that promptly deserted the pulu, no one closed his eyes. They rose at five and were unable to obtain even a cup of coffee. Shivering in their overcoats, and depressed as only men can be before breakfast, they entered the hack and were jolted over the sand-dunes to the dueling- ground on the shores of Lake Merced. Terry and his seconds, who had slept comfortably in a farm-house near by and eaten a good breakfast, were already on the ground.
It was a dismal spot. The fog was drifting over the 17 255
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bare ugly hills, the gray sea was booming in its heavy sullen fashion; but the hills were covered with people, and several other hacks stood beside the lake. The un- asked witnesses to this most famous of California's duels bored people for the rest of their lives.
According to Article 7 of the dueling-code Broderick, who had brought a brace of pistols along, might have been favored by chance if his seconds had demanded that a coin be tossed to determine the choice of weapons. But they did nothing of the sort, and even when the little Belgian pistols were handed to Mckibben he merely snapped a cap on the one Terry was to use and said, "All right." The armorer then inspected the two and pronounced them in perfect condition, but told Colton and Mckibben that the one allotted to their principal was lighter on the trigger than the other. At the inquest he testified that the one intended for Broderick was so delicate that it would explode by a sudden jar or move- ment.
Broderick turned the little pistol over and over in his big hand. Then he turned to his friend Elliot More, who stood beside him until he took his position, and said contemptuously :
"My seconds are children. As likely as not they have traded away my life."
The principals were told to take off their overcoats- the seconds had talked until nearly seven o'clock. They obeyed and revealed themselves in the formal dueling- costume of the day: full black suits, the frock coat tight- ly buttoned, and no collars. Broderick wore a soft hat pulled low over his eyes. Both were felt over for possible suits of mail. Broderick's pistol was loaded by the
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armorer; Terry's by S. A. Brooks, a well-known Chivalry Democrat and relative of the powerful Crittenden and Thornton factions.
Terry and Broderick were fine specimens of men, tall, upstanding, Broderick the more massive of the two, Terry the more agile and wiry. Both were in the prime of life, but neither could be adjudged handsome by any standard. Broderick's powerful prehistoric face was the more honest, however, for Terry's mild amiable vis- age belied the hot temper and deadly purposes of the man.
Terry, whose favorite weapon was the knife, was noticeably nervous before the two men advanced to position; but Benham whispered, it is assumed, the en- couraging information that his was the best pistol, for he immediately threw back his head and looked as if about to hum a tune. Broderick, who had been cool and collected throughout this long ordeal, in spite of his physical condition, seemed to lose some of his famous nerve, as he once more turned the little pistol over in his hand. Moreover, he had barely contained his rage at the thoroughness of Benham's exploration in search of a coat of mail. Mckibben merely had tapped Terry; but Broderick, whose courage never had been called into ques- tion, was subjected to an insulting examination. Cer- tainly the fates were obsessed in favor of Terry.
The men stood in position, ten paces apart. Broder- ick, upon whom apathy seemed to have descended again, and who was staring at the tiny weapon in his hand, projected his body in such a manner as to offer a fair mark. His seconds might have insisted upon his plant- ing himself squarely, but they merely informed him that
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he was slightly out of line. It is doubtful if he heard them. Colton asked:
"Gentlemen, are you ready?"
Broderick adjusted the weapon between his big fingers and nodded. Terry replied promptly :
"Ready."
The duelists held their pistols vertically at their sides. Colton enunciated slowly, "One, two, three-" The men raised their pistols at the word "One." Broderick's pistol went off and hit the ground. Terry fired before Colton had time to drawl out "Two," and hit Broderick in the right breast, penetrating the lung. The hair-trigger pistol, light at that, had done what was to be expected in the unaccustomed hand, and Terry had taken an im- mediate advantage. Broderick raised both his arms, looked out at the heavy dull waves of the Pacific, which he had crossed with such enthusiasm ten years before, shuddered, and dropped the pistol. But he stood upright for a few seconds longer ; then a powerful tremor convulsed his body, and he sank literally by inches, as if his will were protesting to the last. But when his friends reached him he lay in a heap. Terry stood with folded arms as Broderick's surgeon and seconds examined the fallen man. It was several moments before Terry was per- suaded that he could not have another shot at his ad- versary. "I hit too far out," he said, discontentedly, demonstrating that he had shot to kill and would not be balked. But he was finally convinced that Broderick was mortally wounded, and left the field.
Broderick's surgeon lost his head, and nothing was done to relieve the dying man until Terry's surgeon volunteered his services. Then Broderick was put into the same old
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lumbering hack in which he had suffered tortures already, and jolted out to Black Point. His friend Colonel Baker hastened to his side as soon as the news of the duel and its fatal termination flew over the town; and Broderick, with the blood gushing again from the wound, managed to gasp out, "Baker, when I was struck I tried to stand firm, but the blow blinded me and I could not." It is no wonder that the world loves the brave and forgives them all their sins.
He lived for three days, chloroform relieving him of some hours of suffering. In his delirium he revealed plainly that he had known all along he was being hunted to death; but as often he talked of the slave power, against which he had pitted all the great resources of his mind, and for which he was to die.
"They have killed me because I was opposed to a corrupt administration," he muttered again and again. "A corrupt administration and the extension of slavery."
Some of the newspapers had the courage to express the sentiments of a community almost as outraged as at the murder of James King of Wm.
What has this man done that he should be hunted and abused? [asked one]. Wherein was his offense against the land or the nation? What law of morality or religion did he violate? What treason did he commit against his country? What widow did he wrong? What orphan did he defraud? What act of his in an official capacity ever stained his hand? What was his crime?
But Broderick knew that the legislature was composed of his enemies, and he murmured as he sank into un- consciousness: "I die. Protect my honor."
He expired on Friday morning, September 16, 1859. That Friday is said to have been the gloomiest in the history of San Francisco. There was no excitement, for
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the duel had been anticipated for months, and Broderick's death for three days. But the bankers, the merchants, and all the shopkeepers closed their doors and draped them with crêpe or black cloth. The crowds, as the body of Broderick was carried past on its way to the Union Hotel, on the corner of Merchant and Kearney streets, looked terrified and spoke only in whispers, as if fearful that this time their city had been cursed by the powers above. Night and day there was a procession past the bier where the face of the dead man was exposed.
The funeral took place on Saturday. The casket lay on a catafalque in the middle of the Plaza; and before some thirty thousand people Colonel Baker pronounced the funeral oration, a superb flight of oratory according to the standards of the day. After this ceremony the funeral procession, accompanied by almost the entire male population of San Francisco, took its slow way out to Lone Mountain-where so many famous San Francis- cans were to join Broderick, and where so much of San Francisco history seems crowded into a final chapter.
Broderick had his posthumous compensations, for not only was he venerated as a martyr in the greatest cause before the nation, but what influence he had lost during his last bitter struggle in California he regained in death. His party two years later swept back into power, their talisman the name of their lost leader, and the "Chivs" were routed for good and all. The Southerners had triumphed for the last time in California when they broke Broderick's heart and sent his body to Lone Mountain. The Civil War disposed of them as effectually as if California had returned to her old tricks and swal- lowed them up.
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As for Terry, although his trial was a farce, he expiated his sin so heavily that he demands a certain measure of sympathy. One must remember that he was a child of his times, poisoned with political bitternesses, and no more sensible of committing murder by dueling than by sending a criminal to the scaffold. He was a brave man, and willing to take his chances; and Broderick's death put an end to what ambitions he may have cherished. He never was elected to the Supreme Bench again; and although he continued to practise law in California, his position as a first-rate man had gone for ever. In the revolution of political feeling that began with Broderick's death and culminated when the next legislature expunged from its records the resolutions of censure compassed by his enemies, Terry came to be re- garded more and more as a pariah, and what had promised to be one of the most brilliant careers in California was over.
During the '80's he took the case of an adventuress named Sarah Althea Hill, who claimed to have made a contract marriage with William Sharon, then one of the city's leading millionaires. The case was lost, but he married the lady himself. In the legal tangle that en- sued Mrs. Terry appeared before Stephen J. Field, Asso- ciate Justice of the Supreme Court of the United States. Judge Field ruled unfavorably to Mrs. Terry, who sprang to her feet and screamed out her unfavorable opinion of the justice. He ordered her removed from the court- room; and Terry, whose self-control had not improved with the years and the frowns of society, drew his knife and attacked the bailiffs. He was overpowered, and both he and his wife were sentenced to short terms in jail.
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Terry emerged vowing vengeance on Judge Field. As he was not a man whose animosities burned out, but rather more fiercely for smoldering, the justice never appeared in the West again save in the company of a guard employed by the government. On the 15th of August, 1899, Judge Field and his guard, a man named Neagle, while on their way from Los Angeles to San Francisco, were obliged to leave the train for lunch at Lathrop, one of those dreary, dirty, fly-ridden eating- houses which still disgrace the West. Terry, with his wife, was on the same train, and when he entered the restaurant and saw Judge Field the blood flew to his head. He managed to control himself for a few moments, then sprang abruptly from his seat, and, approaching Judge Field from behind, slapped the esteemed justice in the face. The sequel did not consume a moment. The guard leaped to his feet and shot Terry dead. This was almost thirty years to a day from the September morning when Terry went out to Lake Merced with the deliberate intention of killing a far greater man than either himself or Judge Field. His wife lost her mind and died in an asylum for the insane.
Broderick had his grave faults, but they were the faults of the big men of history. He was a law unto him- self, and in his great strength he could be crushed only by a combination of factions and enemies. It was de- creed that he must die lest he emerge from defeat stronger than ever, and mount to the highest places in the land over the bodies of his foes. So he died. He was thirty- nine years old. He is still immovable on his lofty and solitary pedestal in the history of California. He re- mains in death as in life the greatest of her sons.
XVIII
THE WAR
AT the Presidential election of 1860 California surprised itself by coming out for the Union. All efforts were made to consolidate the two wings of the Democratic party; but they were irreconcilable, and the new Republi- can party, composed of anti-Lecomptonites, remnants of the old Whig party and loyal Unionists of any faction, stopped playing with politics and declared for the flag. Gwin's term in the United States Senate expired on March 3, 1861. He was not mentioned as a candidate when the new legislature took up the business of filling the vacancy. James A. McDougal, an anti-Lecompton Democrat, re- ceived fifty-seven votes on the last ballot; John Nugent and John B. Weller, Chivalry Democrats, thirty-nine and four. Shortly afterward there was another duel in which once more a "Chiv" was victorious and an anti-Le- comptonite killed. This roused so much and such pro- longed comment that it proved to be the last of the duels in California.
Of course, there were plots and counterplots in a state that had been ruled by the proslavery faction during its brief history; and, although it was no new thing to hear that the Mexican-Californians of the South, who had been despoiled of their vast possessions by squatters, unfair rulings, and disproportionate taxation, were agitating to
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cut California in two, this time the rumor was investi- gated and the unrest traced to the Chivalry Democrats, who hoped to profit by a new state so dissatisfied with the federal government. Washington was informed- rumor said by Edmund Randolph-that not only was the southern part of the state on the verge of secession, but that Brig .- Gen. Albert Sidney Johnston, of Kentucky, in command of the Pacific Department, had entered into a plot with certain federal officials in San Francisco to seize the port and hold it for the Southern Confederacy. There was no proof of this, nor has any transpired since; but all rumors are alarming in war -time, and it was thought best to replace him with a strong Union general. Before the order reached him he had been warned by way of the pony express, and resigned. He afterward distinguished himself in the Confederate army.
In spite of the fact that Edmund Randolph was a Virginian and an F. F. V. he had been openly opposed to secession and had upheld the Union at the polls and on the stump. His family was among the most prominent socially, in those days when the Southern women ruled with an iron hand, and he himself was an odd mixture of the romantic and the practical. That is to say, he was practical when the blood was out of his head, and ro- mantic to the point of hysteria when wrought up on the stump or by any sudden acute crisis. He was a lawyer of striking ability and had been employed by the United States government in the New Almaden Quicksilver Mine case, and held his own against such men as Judah P. Benjamin and Reverdy Johnson. On the other hand, he had helped to finance the filibuster scheme of William Walker against Nicaragua-that same William Walker
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whom Joaquin Miller described in eloquent verse as a superb and picturesque figure in full regimentals, red sash and sombrero, standing on a hill-top and shading his eyes against the tropic sun, but whom my grandfather, who was in Nicaragua at the time, remembers in a wrinkled linen duster, battered "panama," and sandy beard.
In spite of Randolph's abilities no one was ever sur- prised at any of his abrupt departures from a former standard, and when he appeared before the Chivalry convention in Sacramento immediately after the news of the firing upon Sumter was received, and indulged in a wild recrudescence of all his Southern instincts, the mem- bers merely smiled; but when he died a few months later his right-about-face was ascribed to failing powers.
Gentlemen [he cried. He is described as a distraught figure spring- ing suddenly to his feet], my thoughts and my heart are not in this house to-night. Far to the east in the homes from which we came, tyranny and usurpation with arms in their hands, are this night, perhaps, slaughtering our fathers, our brothers, and our sisters, and outraging our homes in every conceivable way shocking to the heart of humanity and freedom. To me it seems a waste of time to talk. For God's sake tell me of battles fought and won. Tell me of usurpers overthrown; that Missouri is again a free state, no longer crushed under the armed heel of a reckless and odious despot. Tell me that the state of Maryland lives again; and oh, let us read, let us hear, at the first moment, that not one hostile foot now treads the soil of Vir- ginia. If this be rebellion, then I am a rebel. Do you want a traitor? Then I am a traitor. For God's sake speed the ball. May the lead go quick to his heart, and may our country be free from the despot usurper that now claims the name of President of the United States.
A good many other Southerners died hard, but they died. The Rev. William A. Scott, the leading Presby- terian minister of San Francisco and a native of New Orleans, delivered impassioned sermons in the cause of secession. He created a tremendous uproar, being hung
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