"GIVE US OUR SAVINGS!"
As he left the bank Sherman cast over in his mind with desperate
swiftness the list of men to whom he could go for financial support.
Turner, Lucas & Co. had loaned Captain Folsom $25,000 on his two late
ventures, the Metropolitan Theatre and the Tehama House. Both, under
normal conditions, would have made their promoter rich. But nothing was
at par these days.
Sherman wondered uneasily whether Folsom could help. He was not a man to
save money, and the banker, who made it his business to know what
borrowers of the bank's money did, knew that Folsom liked gambling,
frequented places where the stakes ran high. Of late he had met heavy
losses. However, he was a big man, Sherman reasoned; he should have
large resources. Both of them were former army officers. That should
prove a bond between them. At Captain Folsom's house an old negro
servant opened the door, his wrinkled black face anxious.
"Mars Joe, he ain't right well dis evenin'," he said, evasively, but
when Sherman persisted he was ushered into a back room where sat the
redoubtable captain, all the fierceness of his burnside whiskers, the
austerity of his West Point manner, melted in the indignity of sneezes
and wheezes.
Sherman looked at him in frank dismay.
"Heavens, man," he said, "I'm sorry to intrude on you in this condition
... but my errand won't wait...."
"What do you want, Bill Sherman?" the sick man glowered.
"Money," Sherman answered crisply. "You know, perhaps, that Page, Bacon
& Co. have failed. Everyone's afraid of his deposits. We've got to have
cash tomorrow. How about your--?"
With a cry of irritation Folsom threw up his hands. "Money! God
Almighty! Sherman, there's not a loose dollar in town. My agent, Van
Winkle, has walked his legs off, talked himself hoarse.... He can't get
anything. It's impossible."
"Then you can do nothing?"
For answer Folsom broke into a torrent of sneezes and coughs. The old
negro came running. Sherman shook his head and left the room.
There remained Major Hammond, collector of the port, two of whose notes
the bank held.
He and Sherman were not over-friendly; yet Hammond must be asked.
Sherman made his way to the customs house briskly, stated his business
to the doorkeeper and sat down in an anteroom to await Hammond's
pleasure. There he cooled his heels for a considerable period before he
was summoned to an inner office.
"Well, Sherman," he asked, not ungraciously, "what can I do for you?"
"You can take up one of your notes with our bank," replied Sherman,
without ado. "We need cash desperately."
"'Fraid of a run, eh?"
"Not afraid, no. But preparing for it."
The other nodded his approval. "Quite right! quite right!" he said with
unexpected warmth.... "So you'd like me to cash one of my notes,
Mr. Sherman?"
"Why, yes, sir, if it wouldn't inconvenience you," the banker answered,
"it would aid us greatly." He looked into the collector's keen,
inquiring eyes, then added: "I may as well say quite frankly, Mr.
Hammond, you're our last resort."
"Then why"--the other's smile was whimsical--"then why not both of my
notes?"
[Illustration: There sat the redoubtable captain, all the ... austerity
of his West Point manner melted in the indignity of sneezes and
wheezes.... "Money! God Almighty! Sherman, there's not a loose dollar
in town."]
"Do you mean it?" Sherman asked breathlessly.
By way of answer Hammond drew a book of printed forms toward him.
Calmly, leisurely, he wrote several lines; tore a long, narrow strip
from the book and handed it to Sherman.
"Here's my check for $40,000 on the United States Treasurer. He will
cash it in gold. Never mind, don't thank me, this is purely business. I
know what's up, young man. I can't see your people go under. Good day!"
* * * * *
Ten o'clock on the following morning. Hundreds of people lined up before
the doors of San Francisco banks. Men of all classes; top-hatted
merchants rubbed elbows with red-shirted miners, Irish laborers smoking
clay pipes, Mexican vaqueros, roustabouts from the docks, gamblers,
bartenders, lawyers, doctors, politicians. Here and there one saw women
with children in their arms or holding them by the hand. They pressed
shoulder to shoulder. Those at the head had their noses almost against
the glass. Inside of the counting houses men with pale, harried faces
stood behind their grilled iron wickets, wondering how long the pile of
silver and gold within their reach would stay that clamorous human tide.
Doors swung back and it swept in, a great wave, almost overturning
the janitors.
The cashier and assistant manager of Lucas & Co. watched nervously, the
former now and then running his fingers through his sparse hair; the
assistant manager at intervals retired to a back room where he consulted
a decanter and a tall glass. Frequently he summoned the bookkeeper.
"How's the money lasting?" he would inquire almost in a whisper, and the
other answered, "Still holding out."
But now the assistant manager saw that the cash on hand was almost
exhausted. He was afraid to ask the bookkeeper any more questions.
"Where the devil's Sherman?" he snapped at the cashier. That official
started. "Why--er--how should I know?... He was hunting Major Snyder
this morning. He had a check from Hammond, the collector of the port."
"Damnation!" cried the assistant manager. "Sherman ought to be here. He
ought to talk to these people. They think he's skipped."
He broke off hurriedly as the assistant teller came up trembling. "We'll
have to close in ten minutes," he said. "There's less than $500 left."
His mouth twitched. "I don't know what we'll do, sir, when the time
comes ... and God only knows what they'll do."
"Good God! what's that?"
Some new commotion was apparent at the entrance of the bank. The
assistant teller grasped his pistol. The line of waiting men and women
turned, for the moment forgetting their quest. William Sherman, attended
by two armed constables, entered the door. Between them the trio carried
two large canvas bags, each bearing the imprint of the United
States Treasury.
Sherman halted just inside the door.
"Forty thousand in gold, boys," he cried, "and plenty more where it came
from. Turner, Lucas & Co. honors every draft."
His face pressed eagerly against the lattice of the paying teller's cage
stood a little Frenchman. His hat had fallen from his pomaded hair; his
waxed moustache bristled.
"Do you mean you have ze monnaie? All ze monnaie zat we wish?" he asked
gesticulating excitedly with his hands.
"Sure," returned the teller. Sherman and his aids were carrying the two
sacks into the back of the cage, depositing them on a marble shelf.
"See!" The teller turned one over and a tinkling flood of shining golden
disks poured forth.
"Ah, bon! bon!" shrieked the little Frenchman, dancing up and down upon
his high-heeled boots. "If you have ze monnaie, zen I do not want heem."
He broke out of the line, happily humming a chanson. Half a dozen
people laughed.
"That's what I say," shouted other voices. "We don't want our money if
it's safe."