companies. Too unlawful and unsavory to last, the Five Points’ “Plug Uglies” and “Dead Rabbits” from the Empire Club on Park Row had come west with Broderick’s mentor Colonel Jonathan Drake Stevenson in March 1847. The Hounds were remnants of the 750 ragtag soldiers in the First New York Volunteers that Stevenson commanded to secure California during the Mexican War. Hostilities had ceased by the time they reached the Pacific Coast, so in San Francisco they were idled and ill content. Because sailors deserted every ship that arrived in the cove, the city hired the ex-soldiers as peace officers, called them the Regulators, and paid $25 a head for each runaway sailor they captured. Finally, the Regulators became a greater evil than the lawbreakers they had been hired to apprehend. They formed a ravening gang of sharpers and gamblers, named themselves the Hounds, and set up headquarters in a big tent they called the Shades, at the corner of Kearny and Commercial streets.
In the Square the intimidated restaurant owner served Roberts and his men for free. He would endure. Soon there would be no Hounds. In the meantime, it was wiser to let them take out their viciousness on the town’s minorities. Allegedly under orders from the former alcalde, T. M. Leavenworth, the Hounds set out to rid the town of Spanish Americans. In the lee of Telegraph Hill lay Spanish Town, the Chileno quarter. The Hounds, who lived at the base of the hill, launched murderous raids on the villagers on the slopes above. The night of July 14 in the year before, their self-appointed committee of justice perpetrated a drunken racist attack on Little Chile. Beating, killing, and raping, they stole a fortune in gold dust and set ablaze what they could not use. W. E. Spofford organized 230 citizens into armed police squads and headed toward the Shades, which was empty at the time. Roberts escaped, but the search of a Stockton-bound steamer unearthed him in the hold hiding behind bags of sugar. In a single day Sam Brannan tried, convicted, and deported twenty Hounds and sentenced the ringleaders, including Roberts, to terms ranging from one to ten years at hard labor. Because at the time the city had no jail to confine them, they were temporarily lodged on the warship Warren in the cove, then released into the city. Everyone knew the Hounds set fires for protection money. In the Square the six thugs finally left and staggered down the street. The sound ofthe fife and drum and their calls of “Woof! Woof! Woof!” faded into the distance. The thin man paid for his meal and strode in the direction of the waterfront. “Woof! Woof! Woof! indeed,” thought the Lightkeeper.
When Sawyer returned to Broderick One, he heard terrible news. Recently an incumbent state legislator had been named to the California Supreme Court and left a vacant State Senate seat. Broderick, revered because of his heroic actions during the Christmas Eve fire, was overwhelmingly elected 50 to 1 to replace the departing senator. Broderick’s dream had been realized, but now the chief’s time would be divided between San Francisco and San Jose, the temporary state capital forty-nine miles to the south. Thus a strong leader and calming influence that might have prevented the next city-destroying fire would be absent.
Because there had been no major new fires, the movement to build well-equipped firehouses began to decline and the pursuit of daily business again took precedence over the city’s survival. In short, the citizens forgot to be afraid and fell back upon their indolent ways—just what the Lightkeeper had been waiting for. The first real trouble came from the volunteers themselves, not the arsonist. As more fire units rapidly formed, the firefighters, having no fires to fight, felt their special niche in society slipping away and began to battle one another for dominance. Earlier the discord had been kept to the playing field where Broderick One, with little
In the Square the intimidated restaurant owner served Roberts and his men for free. He would endure. Soon there would be no Hounds. In the meantime, it was wiser to let them take out their viciousness on the town’s minorities. Allegedly under orders from the former alcalde, T. M. Leavenworth, the Hounds set out to rid the town of Spanish Americans. In the lee of Telegraph Hill lay Spanish Town, the Chileno quarter. The Hounds, who lived at the base of the hill, launched murderous raids on the villagers on the slopes above. The night of July 14 in the year before, their self-appointed committee of justice perpetrated a drunken racist attack on Little Chile. Beating, killing, and raping, they stole a fortune in gold dust and set ablaze what they could not use. W. E. Spofford organized 230 citizens into armed police squads and headed toward the Shades, which was empty at the time. Roberts escaped, but the search of a Stockton-bound steamer unearthed him in the hold hiding behind bags of sugar. In a single day Sam Brannan tried, convicted, and deported twenty Hounds and sentenced the ringleaders, including Roberts, to terms ranging from one to ten years at hard labor. Because at the time the city had no jail to confine them, they were temporarily lodged on the warship Warren in the cove, then released into the city. Everyone knew the Hounds set fires for protection money. In the Square the six thugs finally left and staggered down the street. The sound ofthe fife and drum and their calls of “Woof! Woof! Woof!” faded into the distance. The thin man paid for his meal and strode in the direction of the waterfront. “Woof! Woof! Woof! indeed,” thought the Lightkeeper.
When Sawyer returned to Broderick One, he heard terrible news. Recently an incumbent state legislator had been named to the California Supreme Court and left a vacant State Senate seat. Broderick, revered because of his heroic actions during the Christmas Eve fire, was overwhelmingly elected 50 to 1 to replace the departing senator. Broderick’s dream had been realized, but now the chief’s time would be divided between San Francisco and San Jose, the temporary state capital forty-nine miles to the south. Thus a strong leader and calming influence that might have prevented the next city-destroying fire would be absent.
Because there had been no major new fires, the movement to build well-equipped firehouses began to decline and the pursuit of daily business again took precedence over the city’s survival. In short, the citizens forgot to be afraid and fell back upon their indolent ways—just what the Lightkeeper had been waiting for. The first real trouble came from the volunteers themselves, not the arsonist. As more fire units rapidly formed, the firefighters, having no fires to fight, felt their special niche in society slipping away and began to battle one another for dominance. Earlier the discord had been kept to the playing field where Broderick One, with little
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