ASSASSINATION OF LINCOLN
1864-1865
Of all years of adversity before, during or since the Civil War, the
seemingly interminable year of 1864 was for Southern California the
worst. The varying moves in the great struggle, conducted mostly by
Grant and Lee, Sherman and Farragut, buoyed now one, now the other
side; but whichever way the tide of battle turned, business and
financial conditions here altered but little and improved not a whit.
The Southwest, as I have already pointed out, was more dependent for
its prosperity on natural conditions, such as rain, than upon the
victory of any army or fleet; and as this was the last of three
successive seasons of annihilating drought, ranchman and merchant
everywhere became downhearted. During the entire winter of 1862-63 no
more than four inches of rain had fallen, and in 1864 not until March
was there a shower, and even then the earth was scarcely moistened.
With a total assessment of something like two million dollars in the
County, not a cent of taxes (at least in the city) was collected. Men
were so miserably poor that confidence mutually weakened, and
merchants refused to trust those who, as land and cattle-barons, but a
short time before had been so influential and most of whom, in another
and more favorable season or two, were again operators of affluence.
How great was the depreciation in values may be seen from the fact
that notes given by Francis Temple, and bearing heavy interest, were
peddled about at fifty cents on the dollar and even then found few
purchasers.
As a result of these very infrequent rains, grass started up only to
wither away, a small district around Anaheim independent of the
rainfall on account of its fine irrigation system, alone being green;
and thither the lean and thirsty cattle came by thousands, rushing in
their feverish state against the great willow-fence I have elsewhere
described. This stampede became such a menace, in fact, that the
Anaheimers were summoned to defend their homes and property, and
finally they had to place a mounted guard outside of the willow
enclosures. Everywhere large numbers of horses and cattle died, as
well as many sheep, the plains at length being strewn with carcasses
and bleached bones. The suffering of the poor animals beggars
description; and so distressed with hunger were they that I saw
famished cattle (during the summer of 1864 while on a visit to the
springs at Paso de Robles) crowd around the hotel veranda for the
purpose of devouring the discarded matting-containers which had held
Chinese rice. I may also add that with the approach of summer the
drought became worse and worse, contributing in no small degree to the
spread of smallpox, then epidemic here. Stearns lost forty or fifty
thousand head of live stock, and was much the greatest sufferer in
this respect; and as a result, he was compelled, about June, 1865, to
mortgage Los Alamitos _rancho_, with its twenty-six thousand acres, to
Michael Reese of San Francisco, for the almost paltry sum of twenty
thousand dollars. Even this sacrifice, however, did not save him from
still greater financial distress.
In 1864, two Los Angeles merchants, Louis Schlesinger and Hyman
Tischler, owing to the recent drought foreclosed a mortgage on several
thousand acres of land known as the Ricardo Vejar property, lying
between Los Angeles and San Bernardino. Shortly after this
transaction, Schlesinger was killed while on his way to San Francisco,
in the _Ada Hancock_ explosion; after which Tischler purchased
Schlesinger's interest in the ranch and managed it alone.
In January, Tischler invited me to accompany him on one of the
numerous excursions which he made to his newly-acquired possession,
but, though I was inclined to go, a business engagement interfered
and kept me in town. Poor Edward Newman, another friend of Tischler's,
took my place. On the way to San Bernardino from the _rancho_, the
travelers were ambushed by some Mexicans, who shot Newman dead. It was
generally assumed that the bullets were intended for Tischler, in
revenge for his part in the foreclosure; at any rate, he would never
go to the ranch again, and finally sold it to Don Louis Phillips, on
credit, for thirty thousand dollars. The inventory included large
herds of horses and cattle, which Phillips (during the subsequent wet
season) drove to Utah, where he realized sufficient from their sale
alone to pay for the whole property. Pomona and other important places
now mark the neighborhood where once roamed his herds. Phillips died
some years ago at the family residence which he had built on the ranch
near Spadra.
James R. Toberman, after a trying experience with Texan Redskins, came
to Los Angeles in 1864, President Lincoln having appointed him United
States Revenue Assessor here, an office which he held for six years.
At the same time, as an exceptional privilege for a Government
officer, Toberman was permitted to become agent for Wells Fargo &
Company.
Again the Fourth of July was not celebrated here, the two factions in
the community still opposing each other with bitterness. Hatred of the
National Government had increased through an incident of the previous
spring which stirred the town mightily. On the eighth or ninth of May,
a group stood discussing the Fort Pillow Massacre, when J. F.
Bilderback indiscreetly expressed the wish that the Confederates would
annihilate every negro taken with arms, and every white man, as well,
who might be found in command of colored troops; or some such equally
dangerous and foolish sentiment. The indiscretion was reported to the
Government authorities, and Bilderback was straightway arrested by a
lieutenant of cavalry, though he was soon released.
Among the most rabid Democrats, particularly during the Civil War
period, was Nigger Pete the barber. One hot day in August, patriotic
Biggs vociferously proclaimed his ardent attachment to the cause of
Secession; whereupon he was promptly arrested, placed in charge of
half a dozen cavalrymen, and made to foot it, with an iron chain and
ball attached to his ankle, all the way from Los Angeles to Drum
Barracks at Wilmington. Not in the least discouraged by his uncertain
position, however, Pete threw his hat up into the air as he passed
some acquaintances on the road, and gave three hearty cheers for Jeff
Davis, thus bringing about the completion of his difficulty.
For my part, I have good reason to remember the drought and crisis of
1864, not alone because times were miserably hard and prosperity
seemed to have disappeared forever, or that the important revenue from
Uncle Sam, although it relieved the situation, was never sufficient to
go around, but also because of an unfortunate investment. I bought and
shipped many thousands of hides which owners had taken from the
carcasses of their starved cattle, forwarding them to San Francisco by
schooner or steamer, and thence to New York by sailing vessel. A large
number had commenced to putrefy before they were removed, which fact
escaped my attention; and on their arrival in the East, the
decomposing skins had to be taken out to sea again and thrown
overboard, so that the net results of this venture were disastrous.
However, we all met the difficulties of the situation as
philosophically as we could.
There were no railroads in California until the late sixties and,
consequently, there was no regular method of concentration, nor any
systematic marketing of products; and this had a very bad economic
effect on the whole State. Prices were extremely high during her early
history, and especially so in 1864. Barley sold at three and a half
cents per pound; potatoes went up to twelve and a half cents; and
flour reached fifteen dollars per barrel, at wholesale. Much flour in
wooden barrels was then brought from New York by sailing vessels; and
my brother imported a lot during a period of inflation, some of which
he sold at thirteen dollars. Isaac Friedlander, a San Francisco
pioneer, who was not alone the tallest man in that city but was as
well a giant operator in grain and its products, practically
monopolized the wheat and flour business of the town; and when he
heard of this interference, he purchased all the remainder of my
brother's flour at thirteen dollars a barrel, and so secured control
of the situation.
Just before this transaction, I happened to be in San Francisco and
noticing the advertisement of an approaching flour auction, I attended
the sale. This particular lot was packed in sacks which had been eaten
into by rats and mice and had, in consequence, to be resacked,
sweepings and all. I bought one hundred barrels and shipped the flour
to Los Angeles, and B. Dubordieu, the corpulent little French baker,
considered himself fortunate in obtaining it at fifteen dollars per
barrel.
Speaking of foodstuffs, I may note that red beans then commanded a
price of twelve and a half cents per pound, until a sailing vessel
from Chile unexpectedly landed a cargo in San Francisco and sent the
price dropping to a cent and a quarter; when commission men, among
them myself, suffered heavy losses.
In 1864, F. Bachman & Company sold out. Their retirement was ascribed
in a measure to the series of bad years, but the influence of their
wives was a powerful factor in inducing them to withdraw. The firm had
been compelled to accept large parcels of real estate in payment of
accounts; and now, while preparing to leave, Bachman & Co. sacrificed
their fine holdings at prices considered ridiculous even then. The
only one of these sales that I remember was that of a lot with a
frontage of one hundred and twenty feet on Fort Street, and a
one-story adobe house, which they disposed of for four hundred
dollars.
I have told of Don Juan Forster's possessions--the Santa Margarita
_rancho_, where he lived until his death, and also the Las Flores.
These he obtained in 1864, when land was worth but the merest song,
buying the same from Pio Pico, his brother-in-law. The two ranches
included over a hundred and forty thousand acres, and pastured some
twenty-five thousand cattle, three thousand horses and six or seven
thousand sheep; yet the transaction, on account of the season, was a
fiscal operation of but minor importance.
The hard times strikingly conduced to criminality and, since there
were then probably not more than three or four policemen in Los
Angeles, some of the desperadoes, here in large numbers and not
confined to any particular nationality or color, took advantage of the
conditions, even making several peculiar nocturnal assaults upon the
guardians of the peace. The methods occasionally adopted satisfied the
community that Mexican _bandidos_ were at work. Two of these worthies
on horseback, while approaching a policeman, would suddenly dash in
opposite directions, bringing a _reata_ (in the use of which they were
always most proficient) taut to the level of their saddles; and
striking the policeman with the hide or hair rope, they would throw
him to the ground with such force as to disable him. Then the
ingenious robbers would carry out their well-planned depredations in
the neighborhood and disappear with their booty.
J. Ross Browne, one of the active Forty-niners in San Francisco and
author of _Crusoe's Island_ and various other volumes dealing with
early life in California and along the Coast, was on and off a visitor
to Los Angeles, first passing through here in 1859, _en route_ to the
Washoe Gold fields, and stopping again in 1864.
Politics enlivened the situation somewhat in the fall of this year of
depression. In September, the troops were withdrawn from Catalina
Island, and the following month most of the guard was brought in from
Fort Tejón; and this, creating possibly a feeling of security, paved
the way for still larger Union meetings in October and November.
Toward the end of October, Francisco P. Ramirez, formerly editor of
_El Clamor Público_, was made Postmaster, succeeding William G. Still,
upon whose life an attempt had been made while he was in office.
As an illustration of how a fortunate plunger acquired property now
worth millions, through the disinclination on the part of most people
here to add to their taxes in this time of drought, I may mention two
pieces of land included in the early Ord survey, one hundred and
twenty by one hundred and sixty-five feet in size--one at the
southwest corner of Spring and Fourth streets, the other at the
southeast corner of Fort and Fourth--which were sold on December 12th,
1864, for _two dollars and fifty-two cents_, delinquent taxes. The tax
on each lot was but one dollar and twenty-six cents, yet only one
purchaser appeared!
About that very time, there was another and noteworthy movement in
favor of the establishment of a railroad between Los Angeles and San
Pedro. In December, committees from outside towns met here with our
citizens to debate the subject; but by the end of the several days'
conference, no real progress had been made.
The year 1865 gave scant promise, at least in its opening, of better
times to come. To be sure, Northern arms were more and more
victorious, and with the approach of Lincoln's second inauguration the
conviction grew that under the leadership of such a man national
prosperity might return. Little did we dream that the most dramatic of
all tragedies in our history was soon to be enacted. In Southern
California the effects of the long drought continued, and the
certainty that the cattle-industry, once so vast and flourishing, was
now but a memory, discouraged a people to whom the vision of a far
more profitable use of the land had not yet been revealed.
For several years my family, including three children, had been
shifting from pillar to post owing to the lack of residences such as
are now built to sell or lease, and I could not postpone any longer
the necessity of obtaining larger quarters. We had occupied, at
various times, a little shanty on Franklin Street, owned by a
carpenter named Wilson; a small, one-story brick on Main Street near
First, owned by Henne, the brewer; and once we lived with the Kremers
in a one-story house, none too large, on Fort Street. Again we dwelt
on Fort Street in a little brick house that stood on the site of the
present Chamber of Commerce building, next door to Governor Downey's,
before he moved to Main Street. The nearest approach to convenience
was afforded by our occupancy of Henry Dalton's two-story brick on
Main Street near Second. One day a friend told me that Jim Easton had
an adobe on Main Street near Third, which he wished to sell; and on
inquiry, I bought the place, paying him a thousand dollars for
fifty-four feet, the entire frontage being occupied by the house. Main
Street, beyond First, was practically in the same condition as at the
time of my arrival, no streets running east having been opened south
of First.
After moving in, we were inconvenienced because there was no driveway,
and everything needed for housekeeping had to be carried, in
consequence, through the front door of the dwelling. I therefore
interviewed my friend and neighbor, Ygnácio Garcia, who owned a
hundred feet adjoining me, and asked him if he would sell or rent me
twenty feet of his property; whereupon he permitted me the free use of
twenty feet, thus supplying me with access to the rear of my house. A
few months later, Alfred B. Chapman, Garcia's legal adviser (who, by
the way, is still alive)[25] brought me a deed to the twenty feet of
land, the only expense being a fee of twenty-five dollars to Chapman
for making out the document; and later Garcia sold his remaining
eighty feet to Tom Mott for five dollars a foot. This lot is still in
my possession. In due time, I put up a large, old-fashioned wooden
barn with a roomy hay-loft, stalls for a couple of horses or mules,
and space for a large flat-truck, the first of the kind for years in
Los Angeles. John Simmons had his room in the barn and was one of my
first porters. I had no regular driver for the truck, but John usually
served in that capacity.
Incidentally to this story of my selecting a street on which to live,
I may say that during the sixties Main and San Pedro streets were
among the chief residential sections, and Spring Street was only
beginning to be popular for homes. The fact that some people living on
the west side of Main Street built their stables in back-yards
connecting with Spring Street, retarded the latter's growth.
Here I may well repeat the story of the naming of Spring Street,
particularly as it exemplifies the influence that romance sometimes
has upon affairs usually prosaic. Ord, the surveyor, was then more
than prepossessed in favor of the delightful Señorita Trinidad de la
Guerra, for whose hand he was, in fact, a suitor and to whom he always
referred as _Mi Primavera_--"My Springtime;" and when asked to name
the new thoroughfare, he gallantly replied, "Primavera, of course!
Primavera!"
On February 3d, a wind-storm, the like of which the proverbial "oldest
inhabitant" could scarcely recall, struck Los Angeles amidships,
unroofing many houses and blowing down orchards. Wolfskill lost
heavily, and Banning & Company's large barn at the northeast corner of
Fort and Second streets, near the old schoolhouse, was demolished,
scarcely a post remaining upright. A curious sight, soon after the
storm began to blow, was that of many citizens weighing down and
lashing fast their roofs, just as they do in Sweden, Norway and
Switzerland, to keep them from being carried to unexpected, not to say
inconvenient, locations.
In early days, steamers plying up and down the Pacific Coast, as I
have pointed out, were so poor in every respect that it was necessary
to make frequent changes in their names, to induce passengers to
travel on them at all. As far back as 1860, one frequently heard the
expression, "the old tubs;" and in 1865, even the best-known boat on
the Southern run was publicly discussed as "the rotten old _Senator_,"
"the old hulk" and "the floating coffin." At this time, there was a
strong feeling against the Steam Navigation Company for its arbitrary
treatment of the public, its steamers sometimes leaving a whole day
before the date on which they were advertised to depart; and this
criticism and dissatisfaction finally resulted in the putting on of
the opposition steamer _Pacific_ which for the time became popular.
In 1865, Judge Benjamin S. Eaton tried another agricultural experiment
which many persons of more experience at first predicted would be a
failure. He had moved into the cottage at _Fair Oaks_, built by the
estimable lady of General Albert Sidney Johnston, and had planted five
thousand or more grapevines in the good though dry soil; but the lack
of surface water caused vineyardists to shake their heads
incredulously. The vines prospered so well that, in the following
year, Eaton planted five or six times as many more. He came to the
conclusion, however, that he must have water; and so arranged to bring
some from what is now known as Eaton's Cañon. I remember that, after
his vines began to bear, the greatest worry of the Judge was not the
matter of irrigation, but the wild beasts that preyed upon the
clustering fruit. The visitor to Pasadena and Altadena to-day can
hardly realize that in those very localities both coyotes and bears
were rampant, and that many a night the irate Judge was roused by the
barking dogs as they drove the intruders out of the vineyard.
Tomlinson & Company, always energetic competitors in the business of
transportation in Southern California, began running, about the first
of April, a new stage line between Los Angeles and San Bernardino,
making three trips a week.
On the fifteenth of April, my family physician, Dr. John S. Griffin,
paid a professional visit to my house on Main Street, which might have
ended disastrously for him. While we were seated together by an open
window in the dining-room, a man named Kane ran by on the street,
shouting out the momentous news that Abraham Lincoln had been shot!
Griffin, who was a staunch Southerner, was on his feet instantly,
cheering for Jeff Davis. He gave evidence, indeed, of great mental
excitement, and soon seized his hat and rushed for the door, hurrahing
for the Confederacy. In a flash, I realized that Griffin would be in
awful jeopardy if he reached the street in that unbalanced condition,
and by main force I held him back, convincing him at last of his
folly. In later years the genial Doctor frankly admitted that I had
undoubtedly saved him from certain death.
This incident brings to mind another, associated with Henry Baer,
whose father, Abraham, a native of Bavaria and one of the earliest
tailors here, had arrived from New Orleans in 1854. When Lincoln's
assassination was first known, Henry ran out of the house, singing
_Dixie_ and shouting for the South; but his father, overtaking him,
brought him back and gave him a sound whipping--an act nearly breaking
up the Baer family, inasmuch as Mrs. Baer was a pronounced
Secessionist.
The news of Lincoln's assassination made a profound impression in Los
Angeles, though it cannot be denied that some Southern sympathizers,
on first impulse, thought that it would be advantageous to the
Confederate cause. There was, therefore, for the moment, some
ill-advised exultation; but this was promptly suppressed, either by
the military or by the firm stand of the more level-headed members of
the community. Soon even radically-inclined citizens, in an effort to
uphold the fair name of the town, fell into line, and steps were taken
fittingly to mourn the nation's loss. On the seventeenth of April, the
Common Council passed appropriate resolutions; and Governor Low having
telegraphed that Lincoln's funeral would be held in Washington on the
nineteenth, at twelve o'clock noon, the Union League of Los Angeles
took the initiative and invited the various societies of the city to
join in a funeral procession.
On April 19th all the stores were closed, business was suspended and
soldiers as well as civilians assembled in front of Arcadia Block.
There were present United States officers, mounted cavalry under
command of Captain Ledyard; the Mayor and Common Council; various
lodges; the Hebrew Congregation B'nai-B'rith; the Teutonia, the French
Benevolent and the Junta Patriotica societies, and numerous citizens.
Under the marshalship of S. F. Lamson the procession moved slowly over
what to-day would be regarded as an insignificantly short route: west
on Arcadia Street to Main; down Main Street to Spring as far as First;
east on First Street to Main and up Main Street, proceeding back to
the City Hall by way of Spring, at which point the parade disbanded.
Later, on the same day, there were memorial services in the upper
story of the old Temple Court House, where Rev. Elias Birdsall, the
Episcopal clergyman, delivered a splendid oration and panegyric; and
at the same time, the members of the Hebrew Congregation met at the
house of Rabbi A. W. Edelman. Prayers for the martyred President were
uttered, and supplication was made for the recovery of Secretary of
State Seward. The resolutions presented on this occasion concluded as
follows:
RESOLVED, that with feelings of the deepest sorrow we
deplore the loss our country has sustained in the untimely
end of our late President; but as it has pleased the
Almighty to deprive this Country of its Chief and great
friend, we bow with submission to the All-wise Will.
I may add that, soon after the assassination of the President, the
Federal authorities sent an order to Los Angeles to arrest anyone
found rejoicing in the foul deed; and that several persons, soon in
the toils, were severely dealt with. In San Francisco, too, when the
startling news was flashed over the wires, Unionist mobs demolished
the plants of the _Democratic Press_, the _News Letter_ and a couple
of other journals very abusive toward the martyred Emancipator; the
editors and publishers themselves escaping with their lives only by
flight and concealment.
Notwithstanding the strong Secessionist sentiment in Los Angeles
during much of the Civil War period, the City election resulted in a
Unionist victory. José Mascarel was elected Mayor; William C. Warren,
Marshal; J. F. Burns, Treasurer; J. H. Lander, Attorney; and J. W.
Beebe, Assessor. The triumph of the Federal Government doubtless at
once began to steady and improve affairs throughout the country; but
it was some time before any noticeable progress was felt here.
Particularly unfortunate were those who had gone east or south for
actual service, and who were obliged to make their way, finally, back
to the Coast. Among such volunteers was Captain Cameron E. Thom who,
on landing at San Pedro, was glad to have J. M. Griffith advance him
money enough to reach Los Angeles and begin life again.
Outdoor restaurant gardens were popular in the sixties. On April 23d,
the Tivoli Garden was reopened by Henry Sohms, and thither, on
holidays and Sundays, many pleasure-lovers gravitated.
Sometime in the spring and during the incumbency of Rev. Elias
Birdsall as rector, the Right Reverend William Ingraham Kip, who had
come to the Pacific Coast in 1853, made his first visit to the
Episcopal Church in Los Angeles, as Bishop of California, although
really elevated to that high office seven years before. Bishop Kip was
one of the young clergy who pleaded with the unresponsive culprits
strung up by the San Francisco Vigilance Committee of 1856; and later
he was known as an author. The Reverend Birdsall, by the way, was
Rector of St. Paul's School on Olive Street, between Fifth and Sixth,
as late as 1887.
John G. Downey subdivided the extensive Santa Gertrudis _rancho_ on
the San Gabriel River in the spring, and the first deed was made out
to J. H. Burke, a son-in-law of Captain Jesse Hunter. Burke, a man of
splendid physique, was a blacksmith whose Main Street shop was next to
the site of the present Van Nuys Hotel. Downey and he exchanged
properties, the ex-Governor building a handsome brick residence on
Burke's lot, and Burke removing his blacksmith business to Downey's
new town where, by remaining until the property had appreciated, he
became well-to-do.
I have alluded to the Dominguez _rancho_, known as the San Pedro, but
I have not said that, in 1865, some four thousand acres of this
property were sold to Temple & Gibson at thirty-five cents an acre,
and that on a portion of this land G. D. Compton founded the town
named after him and first called Comptonville. It was really a
Methodist Church enterprise, planned from the beginning as a pledge to
teetotalism, and is of particular interest because it is one of the
oldest towns in Los Angeles County, and certainly the first "dry"
community. Compton paid Temple & Gibson five dollars an acre.
Toward the end of the War, that is, in May, Major-General Irwin
McDowell, the unfortunate commander of the Army of the Potomac who had
been nearly a year in charge of the Department of the Pacific, made
Los Angeles a long-announced visit, coming on the Government steamer
_Saginaw_. The distinguished officer, his family and suite were
speedily whirled to the Bella Union, the competing drivers shouting
and cursing themselves hoarse in their efforts to get the General or
the General's wife, in different stages, there first. As was customary
in those simpler days, most of the townsfolk whose politics would
permit called upon the guest; and Editor Conway and other Unionists
were long closeted with him. After thirty-six hours or more, during
which the General inspected the local Government headquarters and the
ladies were driven to, and entertained at, various homes, the party,
accompanied by Collector James and Attorney-General McCullough,
boarded the cutter and made off for the North.
Anticipating this visit of General McDowell, due preparations were
made to receive him. It happened, however, as I have indicated, that
José Mascarel was then Mayor; and since he had never been able to
express himself freely in English, though speaking Spanish as well as
French, it was feared that embarrassment must follow the meeting of
the civil and military personages. Luckily, however, like many scions
of early well-to-do American families, McDowell had been educated in
France, and the two chiefs were soon having a free and easy talk in
Mascarel's native tongue.
An effort, on May 2d, better to establish St. Vincent's College as the
one institution of higher learning here was but natural at that time.
In the middle of the sixties, quite as many children attended private
academies in Los Angeles County as were in the public schools, while
three-fifths of all children attended no school at all. At the
beginning of the Twentieth Century, two-thirds of all the children in
the county attended public schools.
FOOTNOTE:
[25] Died, January 22d, 1915.