Johnston was born in Kentucky but he always in later years spoke of and considered Texas his State. Thus he had a double bond of sympathy for the South. This was the man who had the fate of California absolutely in his hands. No one doubted the drift of his inclinations. No one who knew the man and his exacting sense of honor doubted his absolute loyalty to any trust.
In all of our deliberations. General Johnston only figured as a factor to be taken by surprise and subdued with force. We wished him well, hoped he might not suffer in the brief struggle, but nobody dreamed for an instant that his integrity as a commander-in-chief of the army could be tampered with.
One of the most brilliant members of the early San Francisco bar was Edmond Randolph. He was a man of rare talents and great personal charm. Born in Virginia, a member of the famous Randolph family, he was naturally an outspoken advocate of the South. He was one of our committee, and on terms of social and professional intimacy with every one of Southern leanings. He was on the closest terms with General Johnston and there is hardly a doubt that, purely on his own motion, he approached the General with some kind of a questionable proposition. What happened at that interview no man knows, but Johnston’s answer made Randolph stark crazy. He indulged in all kinds of loose, unbridled talk, told several of our committee that he had seen Johnston, that the cause was lost and otherwise, in many ways, exhibited an incredible indiscretion that might easily have been fatal to our cause. No amount of warning was able to silence his unbalanced tongue.
This situation was discussed at several meetings and finally it was decided that a committee of three should visit General Johnston in a social way, not to commit further folly by any intimation or suggestion, but to gather, if possible, some serviceable hints for future use. I had become prominent in council through my zeal and discretion, and to my great joy I was named as one of the three.
I will never forget that meeting. We were ushered into the presence of General Albert Sidney Johnston. He was a blond giant of a man with a mass of heavy yellow hair, untouched by age, although he was nearing sixty. He had the nobility of bearing that marks a great leader of men and it seemed to my youthful imagination that I was looking at some superman of ancient history, like Hannibal or Cæsar, come to life again.
He bade us courteously to be seated. “Before we go further,” he said, in a matter-of-fact, off-hand way, “There is something I want to mention. I have heard foolish talk about an attempt to seize the strongholds of the government under my charge. Knowing this, I have prepared for emergencies, and will defend the property of the United States with every resource at my command, and with the last drop of blood in my body. Tell that to all our Southern friends.”
Whether it was a direct hint to us, I know not. We sat there like a lot of petrified stoten-bottles. Then in an easy way, he launched into a general conversation, in which we joined as best we might. After an hour, we departed. We had learned a lot, but not what we wished to know.
Of course the foreknowledge and inflexible stand of General Johnston was a body blow and facer combined. There was another very disturbing factor—the Comstock lode.