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Updated: June 7, 2025
She caught a glimpse of Ben Broderick's face, though he hid it from her instantly, whirling about upon his heel; she felt sick and dizzy with a sudden dread of she knew not what.
Ninety-nine out of every hundred self-made men are at first more or less sensitive concerning their low birth; the hundredth man who is not is a man indeed. Broderick's great rival was Gwin. The men were antipodes in every thing except that they belonged to the same party. Gwin still lives, the most colossal figure in the history of California. He looks the man he is.
The clarion press assail the awful deed. Boldly, the opponents of slavery draw out in the community. There is henceforth no room for treason on the Western coast. Only covert conspiracy can neutralize the popular wave following Broderick's death. Dissension rages until the fever of the Lincoln campaign excites the entire community.
They even advertise their meetings and the boatmen run excursions to some point where two idiots shoot wildly at each other for some fancied slight. No, Coleman, I'm not that particular kind of a fool." "Well, you'd better carry a derringer," the other warned. "There are Broderick's plug-uglies. They won't wait to send a challenge." King gave him an odd look.
"I ought to have known the meat would not go round properly; but happily Marcus did not notice, or else there would have been a fuss. He and Martha dined properly, and I mean to enjoy my tea." But Mrs. Broderick's only answer was to ring her handbell. "Deb, boil two of those nice new-laid eggs that Mrs. Broughton sent me. Mrs.
The Washington Constitution might explain his death as an affair of honor he was shot in a duel but intelligent men knew that Broderick's assailant had desired to rid Southern "chivalry" of a hated political opponent. A month later, on the night of October 16th, John Brown of Kansas fame marshalled his little band of eighteen men and descended upon the United States arsenal at Harper's Ferry.
Now he was going to Washington. He had made William Gwin, the magnificent, do homage. He had all of the federal patronage for California. For years it had gone to Southern men. San Francisco's governmental offices had long been known as "The Virginia Poorhouse." Now its plums would be apportioned to the politicians of the North. Everywhere one heard the praise of Broderick's astuteness.
"Oh, Aunt Madge, if you could only see his clothes, they are so worn and threadbare, and when Martha washed his shirt and socks she almost cried over the holes; and then his boots!" "Say no more, my child, it shall be done, and at once," and Mrs. Broderick's mouth looked unusually firm. The very next day Marcus carried a big parcel upstairs and opened it before Robert Barton's astonished eyes.
Gaythorne's face insensibly relaxed; hesitation, nervousness, a touch of self-consciousness even, would have repelled him; but her gentleness and childlike directness seemed to soothe him in spite of himself. And as she repeated Mrs. Broderick's message, though he shrugged his shoulders and muttered "Pshaw," she could see that he was gratified; and even his remark "that Mrs.
David Terry's ball cuts the heart-strings of a man who had been his loving political brother. His personal friend once and a gallant comrade. Broderick's blood marks the fatal turning-off of the Northern Democrats from their Southern brothers. As Terry lowers his pistol, looking unpityingly at the fallen giant, he does not realize he has cut the cords tying the West to the South.
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