afterwards informed me of his conversation with Baldwin, and asked me if I would act as he had stated I would.  “Most certainly,” I replied; “never fear for me; I will meet the case as it should be met.”  Accordingly, when the House opened, I took my seat at my desk as usual.  Looking around I saw that Broderick was seated near me, and behind him were eight or nine of his personal friends, all armed to the teeth and ready for any emergency.  In the meantime, and just before the House met, General John E. Addison, who had found out what was going on and knew the seriousness of the affair, called on Moore, who was his friend, and urged him to retract what he had said and make a suitable apology, and for that purpose drew up a document for him to read to the House, but of this I was not at the time informed.  As soon as the journal was read I rose in my seat and said, “Mr. Speaker.”  At the same moment Moore rose in his seat and said, “Mr. Speaker.”  The Speaker recognized Moore first; and Moore thereupon proceeded to read the written apology prepared by Addison for his conduct and language to me.  It was full, ample, and satisfactory; and of course with that the matter ended.  From that time forward to the end of the session I had no further trouble with any one.

[1] See Exhibit H, in Appendix.

FRIENDSHIP FOR DAVID C. BRODERICK.

The narrative which I have given of my difficulty with Moore explains how Broderick befriended me at a very trying time.  But that was not the only occasion on which he befriended me.  When I came to San Francisco after the adjournment of the Legislature, in May, 1851, I went several times to see him at the hotel where he stopped.  On one occasion in the evening, while we were in the saloon of the hotel, he asked me to take a glass of wine with him.  We stepped up to the bar and were about drinking, when he suddenly threw himself before me and with great violence pushed me out of the room.  The proceeding was so sudden and unexpected that I was astonished and for a moment indignant.  I demanded an explanation, saying “What does this mean, Mr. Broderick?” He then told me that while we were standing at the bar he had noticed Vi.—­or to give his full name, Vicesimus—­Turner, a brother of the Judge, a man of desperate character, come into the bar-room, throw back his Spanish cloak, draw forth a navy revolver, and level it at me.  Seeing the movement, he had thrown himself between me and the desperado and carried me off.  These good offices on the part of Mr. Broderick filled me with a profound sense of gratitude.  For years afterwards I thought and felt as if there was nothing I could do that would be a sufficient return for his kindness.  On his account I took much greater interest in political matters than I otherwise should.  In order to aid him in his aspirations for election to the United States Senate, upon which he had set his heart, I attended conventions and gave liberally, often to my great inconvenience, to assist the side to which he belonged.  To many persons it was a matter of surprise that I should take such an interest in his success and through good and evil report remain so constant and determined in my support of him; but the explanation lies in the circumstances I have narrated and the brave manner in which he had stood by me in a most critical moment of my life.