Port O' Gold

by Louis J. Stellman

Unexpected gathering anti-slavery forces. Looks bad for LecomptonResolution. President worried about California.

  In the southeastern part of San Francisco a few tea and silk merchantshad, years before, established the nucleus of an Oriental quarter.Gradually it had grown until there were provision shops wherequeer-looking dried vegetables, oysters strung necklace-wise on rings ofbamboo, eggs preserved in a kind of brown mold, strange brown nuts andsweetmeats were displayed; there were drugs-shops with wondrous gold andebony fret work, temples with squat gods above amazing shrines.

  There were stark-odored fish-stalls in alleyways so narrow that the suntouched them rarely, barred upper-windows from which the faces ofslant-eyed women peeped in eager wistfulness as if upon an unfamiliarworld. Cellar doorways from which slipper-shod, pasty-faced Cantonesecrept furtively at dawn; sentineled portals, which gave ingress togambling houses protected by sheet-iron doors.

  On a pleasant Sunday, early in February, Benito, Alice, Adrian and Inezwalked in Chinatown with David Broderick. The latter was about to leavefor Washington to attend his second session in Congress. Things hadfared ill with him politically there and at home.

  Just now David Broderick was trying to forget Congress and those battleswhich the next few weeks were sure to bring. He wanted to carry with himto Washington the memory of Alice Windham as she walked beside him inthe mellow Winter sunshine. An odor of fruit blossoms came to themalmost unreally sweet, and farther down the street they saw many littlestreet-stands where flowering branches of prune and almond weredisplayed.

  "It's their New Year festival," Adrian explained. "Come, we'll visitsome of the shops; they'll give us tea and cakes, for that'stheir custom."

  "How interesting!" remarked Inez. She shook hands cordially with agrave, handsomely gowned Chinese merchant, whose emporium they nowentered. To her astonishment he greeted her in perfect English. "Agraduate of Harvard College," Broderick whispered in her ear.

  Wong Lee brought forward a tray on which was an assortment of strangesweetmeats in little porcelain dishes; he poured from a large tea-pot atiny bowl of tea for each of his visitors. While they drank and nibbledat the candy he pressed his hands together, moved them up and down andbowed low as a visitor entered; the latter soon departed, apparentlyabashed by the Americans.

  "He would not mingle with the 'foreign devils,'" Broderick smiled. "Thatwas Chang Foo, who runs the Hall of Everlasting Fortune, wasn't it?"

  "Yes, the gambling house," Wong Lee answered. "A bad man," his voicesank to a whisper. "Chief of the Hip Lee tong, for the protection of thetrade in slave women. He came, no doubt, to threaten me because I amharboring a Christian convert. See," he opened a drawer and tooktherefrom a rectangle of red paper. "Last night this was found on mydoor. It reads something like this:

  "Withdraw your shelter from the renegade Po Lun, who renounces the godsof his fathers. Send him forth to meet his fate--lest the blade of anavenger cleave your meddling skull."

  "Po was a member of the Hip Yees when he was converted; they stole aChinese maiden--his beloved and Po Sun hoped to rescue her. That is whyhe joined that band of rascals."

  "And did he succeed?" asked Alice.

  "No," Wong Lee sighed. "They spirited her away--out of the city. She isdoubtless in some slave house at Vancouver or Seattle. Poor Po! He isheartbroken."

  "And what of yourself; are you not in danger?" Broderick questioned.

  Wong smiled wanly. "Until the New Year season ends I am safe at anyrate."

  CHAPTER LIII

  ENTER PO LUN

  Broderick returned to Washington; he wrote seldom, but the newspapersprinted, now and then, extracts from his speeches. The Democrats wereonce more a dominating power and their organs naturally attacked theCalifornia Senator who defied both President and party; they assertedthat Broderick was an ignorant boor, whose speeches were written for himby a journalist named Wilkes. But they did not explain how Broderickmore than held his own in extemporaneous debate with the nation'sseasoned orators. Many of these would have taken advantage of hisinexperience, for he was the second youngest Senator in Congress. But herevealed a natural and disconcerting skill at verbal riposte which madehim respected, if not feared by his opponents. One day, being harried byadministration Senators, he struck back with a savagery which, for themoment, silenced them.

  The San Francisco papers--for that matter, all the journals of thenation--printed Broderick's words conspicuously. And, as they held withNorth or South, with Abolition or with Slavery, they praised orcensured him.

  "I hope, in mercy to the boasted intelligence of this age, thehistorian, when writing the history of these times, will ascribe theattempt of the President to enforce the Lecompton resolution upon anunwilling people to the fading intellect, the petulant passion and thetrembling dotage of an old man on the verge of the grave."

  "Buchanan will be furious," said Benito. "They say he's an old beau whowears a toupee and knee-breeches. All Washington that dares to do sowill be laughing at him, especially the ladies."

  Benito returned from the office one foggy June evening with a copy ofThe Bulletin that contained a speech by Broderick. It was dusk and Alicehad lighted the lamp to read the Washington dispatch as she always didwith eager interest, when there came a light, almost stealthy knock atthe door. Benito, rather startled, opened it. There stood a Chineseyouth of about 18, wrapped in a huge disguising cloak. He bowed lowseveral times, then held forth a letter addressed in brush-fashioned,India-ink letters to "B. Windham Esquire."

  Curiously he opened it and read:

  "The hand of the 'avenger' has smitten. I have not long to live. Willyou, in your honorable kindness, protect my nephew, Po Lun? He will makea good and faithful servant, requiting kindness with zeal. May the Lordof Heaven bless you."

  "WONG LEE."

  Excitedly and with many gestures Po Lun described the killing of hisuncle by a Hip Yee "hatchetman." But even in his dying hour Wong Lee hadfound means to protect a kinsman. Po Lun wept as he told of Wong Lee'sgoodness. Suddenly he knelt and touched his forehead three times to thefloor at Alice's feet. "Missee, please, you let me stay?" he pleaded."Po Lun plenty work. Washee, cookee, clean-em house." His glance strayedtoward the cradle. "Takem care you' li'l boy."

  Benito glanced at Alice questioningly. "Would you--trust him?" hewhispered.

  "Yes," she said impulsively. "He has a good face ... and we need aservant." She beckoned to Po Lun. "Come, I will show you the kitchen anda place to sleep."

  * * * * *

  Broderick came back from Washington and entered actively into the Statecampaign. He found its politics a hodge-podge of unsettled, bitterpolicies. The Republicans made overtures to him; they sought a coalitionwith the Anti-Lecompton Democrats as opposed to Chivalry or Solid SouthDemocracy.

  Benito and Alice saw little of Broderick. He was here, there,everywhere, making impassioned, often violent speeches. Most of themwere printed in the daily papers.

  "They'll be duelling soon," said Windham anxiously, as he read ofBroderick's accusations of "The Lime Point Swindle," "The Mail-carryingConspiracy," his reference to Gwin and Latham as "two great criminals,"to the former, "dripping with corruption."

  Then came Judge Terry with an unprovoked attack on members of theAnti-Lecompton party. "They are the personal chattels of one man," hesaid, "a single individual whom they are ashamed of. They belong heart,soul, body and breeches to David C. Broderick. Afraid to acknowledgetheir master they call themselves Douglas Democrats.... Perhaps theysail under the flag of Douglas, but it is the Black Douglas, whose nameis Frederick, not Stephen."

  Frederick Douglas was a negro. Therefore, Terry's accusation was theacme of insult and contumely, which a Southerner's imagination coulddevise. Broderick read it in a morning paper as he breakfasted withfriends in the International Hotel and, wounded by the thrust from onehe deemed a friend, spoke bitterly:

  "I have always said that Terry was the only honest man on the bench of amiserably corrupt c
ourt. But I take it all back. He is just as bad asthe others."

  By some evil chance, D.W. Perley overheard that statement--whichproceeded out of Broderick's momentary irritation. Perley was a man ofsmall renown, a lawyer, politician and a whilom friend of Terry.Instantly he seized the opportunity to force a quarrel, and, in Terry'sname, demanded "satisfaction." Broderick was half amused at first, butin the end retorted angrily. They parted in a violent altercation.

  "Dave," said Alice, as he dined with them that evening, "your're notgoing to fight this man?"

  "I shall ignore the fellow. I've written him that I fight with no onebut my equal. He can make what he likes out of that. I've been in a duelor two. Nobody will question my courage."

  * * * * *

  Po Lun proved a model servitor, a careful nurse. Alice often left in hisefficient hands her household tasks. Sometimes she and Benito took anouting of a Saturday afternoon, for there was now a pleasant drive downthe Peninsula along the new San Bruno turnpike to San Mateo.

  The Windhams were returning from such a drive in the pleasant afternoonsunshine when a tumult of newsboys hawking an extra editionarrested them.

  "Big duel ... Broderick and Terry!" shrieked the "newsies." Benitostopped the horse and bought a paper, perusing the headlines feverishly.Alice leaned over his shoulder, her face white. Presently Benito facedher. "Terry's forced a fight on Dave," he said huskily. "They're to meeton Monday at the upper end of Lake Merced."

  CHAPTER LIV

  THE "FIELD OF HONOR"

  Chief of Police Burke lingered late in his office that Saturdayafternoon. Twilight had passed into dusk, through which the street lampswere beginning to glimmer, leaping here and there into sudden luminanceas the lamp-lighter made his rounds. Deep in the complexities of policereports Burke had scarcely noted the entrance of a police clerk wholighted the swinging lamp overhead. And he was only dimly aware of faintknocking at his door. It came a second, a third time before he rousedhimself. "Come in," he called, none too graciously.

  The door opened with an inrush of wind which caused his lamp to flicker.Before him stood a slight and well-gowned woman, heavily veiled. She wastrembling. He looked at her expectantly, but she did not speak.

  "Please be seated, madam," said the chief of police.

  But she continued to stand. Presently words came to her. "Can you stop aduel? Will you?" Her hands went out in a gesture of supplication,involuntary, unstudiedly dramatic.

  "What do you mean?" he asked. "What duel?"

  "Senator Broderick ... Justice Terry," a wealth of hate was in herutterance of the second name. "They fight at sunrise Monday morning."

  "It's not our custom to--interfere in such cases," Burke said slowly."What would you have me do? Arrest them?"

  "Anything," she cried. "Oh--ANYTHING!"

  He looked at her searchingly. "If you will raise your veil, madam, Iwill talk with you further. Otherwise I must bid you goodnight."

  For a moment she stood motionless. Then her hand went upward, strippedthe covering from her features. "Now," she asked him, in a half-shamedwhisper, "will you help me?"

  "Yes ... Mrs. Windham," said Burke.

  * * * * *

  At daybreak on a raw, cold Monday morning, Broderick, with his seconds,Joe McKibben and Dave Colton, arrived at the upper end of Lake Merced.Terry and his seconds were already waiting. The principals, clad in longovercoats, did not salute each other. Broderick looked toward the sea.Terry stood implacable and silent, turning now and then to spit into thesun dried grass. The seconds conferred with each other. All seemed readyto begin when an officer, springing from a foam-flecked horse, rushed upto Broderick and shouted, "You are under arrest."

  Broderick turned half-bewildered. He was very tired, for he had notslept the night before. "Arrest?" he said blankly.

  "You and Justice Terry," said the officer; "I've warrants for ye both.Come along and no nonsense. This duel is stopped."

  Terry began an angry denunciation of the officer, but his seconds,Calhoun Benham and Colonel Thomas Hayes, persuaded him at length into ablustering submission. Principals and seconds, feeling like the actorsin an ill-considered farce, rode off together. Later they were summonedto appear before Judge Coon.

  * * * * *

  "The whole thing was a farce," Benito told his wife. "The case wasdismissed. Our prosecuting counsel asked the judge to put them underbonds to keep the peace. But he refused."

  "Then the fight will go on?" asked Alice. Her face was white.

  "Doubtless," said Benito gloomily. "They say that Terry's beenpracticing with a pair of French pistols during the past two months andhopes to use them at the meeting. Old 'Natchez,' the gunsmith, tells meone's a tricky weapon ... discharges now and then before thetrigger's pressed."

  "Why--that would be murder," Alice spoke aghast. "You must find David'sseconds and warn them."

  "I've tried all afternoon to locate them ... they're hidden ... afraidof arrest."

  * * * * *

  Despite the secrecy with which the second meeting was arranged, somethree score spectators were already assembled at the duelling groundwhen Broderick and Terry arrived. It was not far from where they had meton the previous morning, but no officer appeared to interrupt theircombat. Both men looked nervous and worn, especially Broderick, who hadspent the night in a flea-infested hut on the ocean shore at thesuggestion of his seconds who feared further interference. Terry hadfared better, being quartered at the farm house of a friend who providedbreakfast and a flask of rum.

  The seconds tossed for position and those of Broderick won. The choiceof pistols, too, was left to chance, which favored Terry. Joe McKibbenthought he saw a smile light the faces of Benham and Hayes, a smile ofsecret understanding. The French pistols were produced and Hayes, withseeming care, selected one of them. McKibben took the other. He sawBenham whisper something to Terry as the latter grasped his weapon, sawthe judge's eyes light with a sudden satisfaction.

  "You will fire between the words 'one' and 'two'," Colton announcedcrisply. "Are you ready, gentlemen?"

  Terry answered "Yes" immediately. Broderick, who was endeavoring toadjust the unfamiliar stock of the foreign pistol to his grasp, did nothear. McKibben repeated, "Are you ready, Dave?" in an undertone.Broderick looked up with nervous and apologetic haste, "Yes, yes, quiteready," he replied.

  "One," called Colton. Broderick's pistol spoke. Discharged apparentlybefore aim could be taken; his bullet struck the ground at Terry's feet.Broderick, now defenseless, waited quietly. "Two," the word came. Terry,who had taken careful aim, now fired. Broderick staggered, recoveredhimself. His face was distorted with pain. Slowly he sank to one knee;sidewise upon his elbow, then lay prone.

  * * * * *

  It was Sunday, September 18th. In the plaza a catafalque had beenerected, draped in black. Upon it stood a casket covered with flowers.An immense crowd was about it, strangely silent. Across the platform aconstant stream of people filed, each stopping a moment to gaze at aface that lay still and peaceful, seemingly composed in sleep. It was akeen and striking face; the forehead bespoke intellect and high resolve;the jaw and chin indomitable; aggressive bravery. Over all there was astamp of sadness and of loneliness that caught one's heart. Friends,political compatriots and erstwhile enemies paid David Broderick a finaltribute as they passed; few without a twitching of the lips. Tears randown the faces of both men and women. The crowd murmured. Then thesplendid moving voice of Colonel Baker poured forth an oration like MarkAnthony above the bier of Caesar:

  "Citizens of California: A Senator lies dead.... It is not fit that such a man should pass into the tomb unheralded; that such a life should steal, unnoticed, to its close. It is not fit that such a death should call forth no rebuke...."

  His majestic voice rolled on, telling of Broderick's work, hischaracter, devotion to the people. He ass
ailed the practice of duelling,the bitter hatreds of a slave-impassioned South. His voice shook withemotion as he ended:

  "Thus, O brave heart! we bear thee to thy rest. As in life no other voice so rung its trumpet blast upon the ear of freemen, so in death its echoes will reverberate amid our valleys and mountains until truth and valor cease to appeal to the human heart.

  "Good friend! True hero! Hail and farewell."

  Terry, who had taken careful aim, now fired. Broderickstaggered, recovered himself. Slowly he sank to one knee.]

  CHAPTER LV

  THE SOUTHERN PLOT

  America stood on war's threshold. Even in the West one felt itsimminence. The Republican victory had been like a slap in the face toslave-holding democracy. Its strongholds were secretly arming,mobilizing, drilling. And though Lincoln wisely held his peace--warnedall the States which hummed with wild secession talk that theiraggression alone could disrupt the Union--the wily Stanton, through themachinery of the War Department, prepared with quiet grimness for thecoming struggle.

  Herbert Waters, after Broderick's death, returned to Windham's office.He was a full-fledged lawyer now, more of a partner than an employee.Waters was of Southern antecedents, a native of Kentucky, a friend,almost a protege, of General Albert Sydney Johnson, commanding themilitary district of the Pacific.

  One evening in January, 1861, he dined with the Windhams. Early in theevening Benito was called out to the bedside of an ailing client, whodesired him to write a will. After he was gone, young Waters turnedto Alice.