In 1861 Dr. Wm. A. Scott, pastor of the Calvary Presbyterian church, on the north side of Bush street between Montgomery and Sansome streets, closed his services praying for the presidents of the Union and of the Confederate States. As soon as the benediction was pronounced Mrs. Thomas H. Selby smuggled him out of the side door into her carriage and off to her home, fearing the congregation, which had became a seething mob, might capture and do him bodily harm. There was no demonstration at this time but the next morning there was to be seen in effigy Dr. Scott's form hanging from the top of the second story of a building in course of construction on the same block. It created some excitement for the time being, but it soon simmered out.
Lloyd Tevis was getting badly frightened about this time for fear his home on the corner of Taylor and Jackson streets would be destroyed and appealed to the police for protection. He was told to go home and drape his home in black. This he did most effectually, the occasion being the assassination of President Abraham Lincoln.
One of the exciting times in San Francisco in 1865 was when a mob went to the office of "The Examiner" on Washington street near Sansome and carried everything that was movable into the street and piled it up with the intention of burning. It seems that this paper was so pronounced in its sympathy with the cause of the Confederacy that it aroused such a feeling as to cause drastic measures. The police authorities were informed of what was going on and Colonel Wood, captain of police, got a squad of policemen together and proceeded to the scene, but their movements were so slow that it was hard to tell whether they were moving or not and by the time they had reached the place the boys had carried off nearly everything that had been thrown out. I have two pieces of type now that I picked up in the street about that time.
Uncle Phil Roach, the editor, was in later years a member of the State Legislature and tried to get an appropriation to cover his loss but his efforts were of no avail.
President Lincoln and Gen. Vallejo.
President Lincoln in the early part of the Civil War called General Vallejo to Washington on business. While there General Vallejo suggested to Mr. Lincoln that the United States build a railroad into Mexico, believing as he said, it would be a benefit to both nations. Mr. Lincoln smilingly asked, "What good would it do for our people to go down to Mexico even if the railroads were built? They would all die of fever and according to your belief go down yonder," with a motion of his hand towards the supposed location of the infernal regions. "I wouldn't be very sorry about that," remarked General Vallejo coolly. "How so?" said Mr. Lincoln. "I thought you liked the Yankees." "So I do," was the answer. "The Yankees are a wonderful people, wonderful. Wherever they go they make improvements. If they were to emigrate in large numbers to hell itself, they would somehow manage to change the climate."
Off to the Nevada Mines.
Uncle Billy Rodgers, from Peoria, Ill., was a fellow passenger of mine when crossing the plains in 1849 in the first division of the "Turner, Allen & Co. Pioneer Mule Train," consisting of 40 wagons, 150 mules and 150 passengers. He was a gambler before he left home and he gambled all the way across the plains. Many people think that a gambler has no heart but this man was all heart. I knew him on one occasion, after visiting a sick man in camp, to take off his shirt and give it to the sick man and go about camp for an hour to find one for himself.
We arrived in California on September 10, 1849. We parted about that time and I saw no more of him until the winter of '68 and '69 when I was on my way to White Pine in Nevada. We had to lay over a few days at Elko, Nevada, in order to get passage in the stage. As we had saddles and bridles we made an effort to get some horses and furnish our own transportation, and we had partly made arrangements with a man by the name of Murphy. The day previous to this I overheard a conversation between two gentlemen sitting at the opposite end of a red hot stove. After they parted I approached the one left and said, "Is this Uncle Billy?" He said, "Yes, everybody calls me 'Uncle Billy' but I do not know you." I gave him my name and he was as glad to see me as I was to see him. We had a long and very pleasant chat.
Now to take up the line of march where I left off, I said, "Hold on boys a little while I go and see a friend of mine." "All right," said they. I called on Uncle Billy and told him what we were doing and asked him what kind of a man Murphy was, and his answer was, "He's a very good blacksmith," and repeated it two or three times, then said, "I am in a wild country and never say anything against anybody." I said, "That's enough Uncle Billy, I understand you thoroughly." I parted with him and we took the stage for Hamilton and Treasure Hill. The last I heard of Uncle Billy was that he went north as an escort to some party and died there. Uncle Billy was a gambler all his life but not a drinker. His heart, his hand and his pocket were ever open and ready to respond to the relief of the distress of others. The writing of the above calls to mind another meeting with Uncle Billy of which I had lost sight, the date of which I cannot fix. I think it was in the first half of '60 I met him on the street in San Francisco and our meeting was most cordial. We had a very pleasant street visit and he said to me, "Woolley, I am going home, I shall take the next steamer for New York." I said to him, "How are you fixed, Uncle Billy?" He said, "I have eleven thousand dollars and I am going home." I congratulated him for his courage and good luck and wished him a pleasant voyage and a happy reunion with his old friends. About a week later I met Uncle Billy on the street again and said to him, "How is this Uncle Billy, I thought you were going home on the last steamer?"