America's Last Emperor: A Tale of Old San Francisco

By Darren P Mckeeman

Joshua Abraham Norton is an immigrant with a secret. He comes to San Francisco during the 1849 Gold Rush to set himself up in business but finds himself swept up in dramatic events unfolding all around him with little to no way of controlling what happens to him or the people that he considers friends. San Fran

• Language: English
• Publisher: Barbary Coast Publishing
• Release date: May 18, 2021
• ISBN: 9781737199717

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Darren P. Mckeeman

America’s Last Emperor

A Tale of Old San Francisco

First published by Barbary Coast Books 2021

Copyright © 2021 by Darren P. Mckeeman

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

Darren P. Mckeeman asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

Darren P. Mckeeman has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of URLs for external or third-party Internet Websites referred to in this publication and does not guarantee that any content on such Websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate.

This novel is a work of fiction inspired by true events. The characters in it are both totally made up and also based on real people. By no means is this actually what happened. Any situations that are deemed improbable probably are. Any utterances that are inaccurate are wholly the fault of the author.

First edition

ISBN: 978-1-7371997-1-7

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Contents

Acknowledgement

1. Genesee

2. Alcalde

3. Miser

4. Broderick

5. Fire

6. Vigilance

7. Theater

8. Rope

9. Rice

10. Sherman

11. Wharf

12. American

13. Foreclosure

14. Monkey

15. Cora and Casey

16. Warning

17. Knickerbocker

18. Duel

19. Bulletin

About the Author

Also by Darren P. Mckeeman

Acknowledgement

This is a work of fiction. While most of the characters and names in this novel are based on real people, there are a few that are completely made up. There are situations that are changed to increase drama, and some that are completely ignored because they are boring.

Major research on this book was helped along by the following sources:

The Emperor Norton Trust -A nonprofit advancing the legacy of the 19th-century San Francisco eccentric and visionary Emperor Norton (1818-1880) emperornortontrust.org

San Francisco Public Library — sfpl.org

Herbert Asbury’s Book, THE BARBARY COAST. https://www.amazon.com/Barbary-Coast-Informal-Francisco-Underworld/dp/1560254084

Guardians of The City guardiansofthecity.org

OpenSFHistory - Western Neighborhoods Project

opensfhistory.org

Finally, the following people need to be acknowledged: Catherine Connor (my first reader), David Gallagher of OpenSFHistory (my favorite SF historian), Soul Pak (inspiration), Lillie Hitchcock Coit for her park at the top of the hill behind our apartment, and of course, Emperor Norton.

1

Genesee

Friday, November 23, 1849, 5:45pm

The sky turned golden as the boy peered through the spyglass at the narrow gap of water a mile away. The glow of the sunset did this almost every day, and it never failed to awe him as he saw it. He noticed it again, letting it distract him for a split second before he told the old soldier what he saw.

Brigantine. Looks loaded. Flying Stars and Stripes.

Flash ‘em said the old soldier.

The boy turned his attention to the arrangement of mirrors set upon another tripod next to that of the telescope. He set the crosshairs in the middle of the hole in one mirror on the distant sails of the brigantine. His finger tapped on the lever of the signal mirror, and the golden rays of the setting sun hit a second mirror that swung across the first mirror in time to his tapping. When he’d finished his quick series of taps, he went back to the telescope to await a reply.

Dash dash dot. Dot. Dash Dot. Dot. Dot dot dot. Dot. Dot. said the boy, dutifully expressing the pattern of pauses in the flashes as the old man wrote in the book. They finished transcribing the dots, and his eye lingered on the boat through the spyglass as he tapped the confirmation flashes on the helioscope. He felt vaguely disappointed that it wasn’t the sidewheel steamer with the mail, but there would be considerable excitement anyway.

The old man took a piece of writing paper out and scribbled as he spoke to the boy.

Take this down to the Alcalde, I’ll put the semaphore up.

The boy took the piece of paper and ran out the door of the castle-like hut on top of the hill. A large tree trunk sprang out of the turret of the hut, and as he sped up his pace he heard the ratcheting of the semaphore at the top crank the two hands of the device into position, signaling a brigantine arriving. The path he headed down ran across the sand-covered hill, winding its way through the creeping plants topped with tiny white flowers that dotted the hillside. He ran along the path through the rocks and dunes on the leeward side of the hill, giving a wide berth to the tents and houses that sprung out of the sand. He rolled down a particularly long hill more by design than accident, and then he was on the first rough street of the town, marked by a sign that said in big block letters KEARNY. A final hill looked out over the natural harbor of the hamlet. He didn’t pause to consider the tangled rat’s nest of rigging and ship masts that was visible for half a mile out into the bay. At least two hundred boats in various stages of decay choked the water across most of the available anchorage.

They’d built a series of steps out of wood here, and at the bottom of the hill it was hard to tell where the boats began and the buildings ended. In fact, this boundary was blurred even further — several of the boats had been hauled out of the water and roofed over to make buildings. The boy ran across the wooden sidewalks downhill until he got to a dance hall across from the town square, the Stars and Stripes fluttering straight out from the flagpole in the center. There were already people running towards the waterfront, the beginning of the frenzy of activity that followed the arrival of any boat to San Francisco. It had almost been the first day without a boat arriving since January, he thought. He remembered the insanity of that day in April when forty-five boats of various makes pulled into the bay.

He dashed into the front to the desk and handed the paper to the man sitting there, who unfolded it and spread it on his desk to read the words there.

GENESEE. KEENE. UNITED STATES. BRIGANTINE.

* * *

Captain Keene folded the portable heliograph and handed it to the mate standing beside him to put away. As the man left, he nodded to the helmsman and took stock of the situation. The town was not yet visible. His seven passengers were on the deck, their bags beside them. After months at sea, he could tell that the landlubbers were ready to be off the boat as soon as possible — it was always that way with passengers. Mostly they were marveling at the scenery.

The hills are gold! one of them exclaimed at the trick of the setting sun. The amber light of sunset made everything turn the same golden color. All he could see, Captain Keene wryly thought, was miles of sand dunes.

He scanned the widening bay with his spyglass and ticked off all the landmarks he’d heard about from that captain in Panama. There was the island dead ahead in the mouth, covered with cormorants and pelicans. He had, in fact, called it the island of the pelicans. Isla de Los Alcatraces was what he said in Spanish. There was another larger island beyond that one. The captain saw another piece of land that looked like an island to the north, but it was so big that it may have been a peninsula poking into the bay.

Captain Keene pulled out his logbook and recorded the time and date of passage through the gate. Harbor porpoises were keeping pace with the Genesee, dipping up and under like they do. He noted that they were very tiny and wondered what other new creatures awaited him here. They passed the Isla de Los Alcatraces at about four knots. First call at this port he noted in his logbook.

Then he remembered what the other captain he’d shared drinks with in Rio de Janeiro told him about the bay and he looked to the distant mountains that lined the bay, looking for a very tall tree.

Helm, what are you steering at? asked Captain Keene.

The Genesee was moving fast still. Captain Keene had given the order to gather up sails in preparation for anchoring, but they’d kept a little yardage up for maneuvering. The captain felt a sudden panic when the helmsman answered.

I’m aiming at that big tree across the bay, it’s keeping me close to the hill there like you told me to.

Stop that, give me about ten degrees starboard of that tree! said Captain Keene, the urgency and command in his voice instantly making itself known.

Aye aye, sir, said the helmsman.

Almost as soon as he took action, two things happened without any warning. The first was a gasp from the passengers as they passed the hill with the semaphore hut on top. The captain turned to look at what the passengers were looking at and saw the natural harbor coming into view. Choked with boats of every type, all of them sailing vessels. The sheer number took his breath away. Gnawing at the pit of his stomach started, and then the Genesee lurched as a loud crash sounded below decks.

Damn it all! roared Captain Keene, as he looked over the port side of his brigantine. As the old salt in Rio had warned him, a large rock was right in the path of incoming boats, and it was exactly in line with the giant tree on the hill. Find out if we’re hulled!

The sailors on deck started scurrying around the anchor, and one man came up from below almost immediately.

Sir we’ve got a leak! They’re plugging it but we’ll need to go swimming to see how bad it really is.

Thank you, said Captain Keene, as he spotted the Englishman coming towards him. He knew what the coming conversation would be about.

Of all his passengers, the Englishman was the most important on this cruise. The other six were dirt scratchers, men running to see how much gold they could scrape out of the earth before this rush petered out. He’d been hoping to get a lot more passengers when he put into Rio, but this man had packed up an entire chandlery in South Africa and put it on a boat. When his boat was forced to stop in Rio to repair a broken mast, the Englishman had gotten impatient and hired the Genesee for the rest of his trip. The payment he laid down made it worth only bringing 7 passengers, and it was easier on his crew as well. The entire chandlery inventory — likely the Englishman’s entire life — was in the hold of the Genesee.

Captain Keene, I trust this is not a life-threatening bump that we just experienced?

No sir, Mr. Norton. I’m more concerned with that. Captain Keene said, nodding in the direction of the choked harbor. How are we going to unload the hold with that in the way?

As he said this, they both noticed a swarm of rowboats coming out of the mass of boats towards them. One of them had an unlit lantern on a hook coming out of the prow, one man standing, and one man rowing it. As they approached, the man standing shouted.

Ahoy! Need any help unloading? Any passengers

No, shouted Captain Keene. But we do need help figuring out where to go to do that. I have several passengers that might want to unload.

The captain looked towards Norton, who shook his head no.

The man grinned. Might be a few days, in the meantime, you’ll have to anchor over by the other point. He pointed to the other side of the natural harbor, where the boats were less crowded.

We can take passengers ashore for a dollar, the man added.

There was a commotion on deck as he said this. One of the passengers was laughing.

A dollar? That’s highway robbery, good man!

I ain’t good, and you don’t have to take it. Let’s go, Jim, the man in the boat said to his rower.

Wait! said one of the other passengers.

The captain observed Norton’s eyes slightly widen at this exchange.

I’ll go, said another. Before long the other five had pulled out money and were taking places on the rowboat. As they did so, the captain pulled out his logbook again and noted the time of passenger disembarkation. While he was doing this, the mate walked up and spoke softly to him.

May I have a word, sir?

The two moved away from Norton, speaking in hushed tones.

Sir, I don’t know if we can keep the crew.

What?

I’ve been listening to them. I estimate half of the crew is planning to desert when we get into port.

Well, I have to go to the agent in town for new orders, said the captain. Then we will load up and leave. We just have to keep them busy — that hole we just took should keep them busy you know.

Do you really think boats are sailing out of here? asked the mate.

God, I hope so, said the captain. I can’t imagine being trapped in this hell-hole.

The mate nodded, and then they turned their attention back to Norton.

Mr. Norton, how would you like to accompany me into town?

I would be delighted, sir, said Mr. Norton.

* * *

The captain secured the tender to the dock and helped Norton off. His exertions took them to the end of a long wharf labeled COMMERCIAL, which seemed the most promising so they found a cleat there. Once they were actually on the wharf, there was a large man standing next to a wagon hitched to a forlorn chestnut horse. The horse swung his head around as the captain considered both the horse and the man.

He was a good six and a half feet tall or more, with a chest like a barrel. He had some stubble on his craggy face, almost enough to cover up a cleft in his chin but not quite. What he did have was a most excellent mustache, curled and waxed. It actually complimented his suspenders, the captain thought. As he considered the man, he considered the wagon. It was a standard single horse cart, and along the side had been painted the words WAGON FOR HIRE.

Ahoy, called the captain. We’ve got a job for you.

The man spat onto the wharf and put away a small flask. The captain could see he was considering not being available.

We’re just about done for the day here. You come in on the Genesee?

The captain considered this. Everyone knew exactly who they were already. This town was sharp.

Yes sir, he said. I am the Captain, and this is my passenger Mr. Norton. We need to find lodging for him, and I need to find the custom house as soon as possible.

The man looked the captain up and down as he thought about what to say.

T’aint no custom house. You’ll have to see the alcalde in the morning.

Norton watched this entire exchange passively until the mention of the morning. He stepped forward and offered his hand.

Joshua Norton, of Cape Town, he said.

Tom Sawyer, of San Francisco, said the man.

Captain Keene, you should head back to your ship and watch over the cargo, said Norton. Mr. Sawyer, is there a good hotel in town?

Sawyer spit again and looked at Norton. You look like someone who’d be comfortable at the Jones Hotel, he stated.

Is it a good hotel? asked Norton

Oh, it’s the best. They shipped it here around the Horn and just got it together last month.

I have a trunk, said Norton.

We have a block and tackle, said Sawyer, patting a yardarm that swung away over the water, hemp trailing away into a pile on the wharf.

We shall make short work of it, stated Norton.

How about I do it and you pay me?

That will work also, said Norton.

* * *

Once the trunk had been loaded on the wagon and Norton shown off, Captain Keene took stock of the situation. He patted his coat and felt the percussion revolver he’d taken from his cabin. He checked his purse and made sure he had not lost it. He waited while the sound of the wagon rolled away from him.

The captain remembered the old salt in Rio telling him about the sailor bar in San Francisco where he’d be able to get a good drink as well as the local gossip. So far everything was as the old man had said — the rock in the bay, the Long Commercial Street wharf. What had not been in the old man’s stories was the harbor choked with boats. He knew in his heart why that was, but he held out hope that he’d be able to find a crew and sail the old girl out of the gate. The fog settled in, and he followed the directions that the old ship captain had him memorize to reach the old sailor bar and a badly needed drink that was not out of the hogshead of rum they kept on board the Genesee. Commercial to Montgomery to Jackson. The only bar in the town, he’d said.

Montgomery was a riot of hastily thrown-up stores. As he moved towards his goal, he could see that things had indeed changed since the old salt had been here. As far as he could tell he was still over water, but the buildings and sidewalks were made from a reddish wood. The direction he was headed in was a riot of noise, song, and piano music blending together. He could see men milling about, and he counted the streets as he walked up Montgomery. Two blocks, just as he had said. The last block was a bridge, and the single lot west of the bridge was a stinking fen — the rest of the block was packed sand until the next block curved gently up into a hill. At the base of this hill was a two-story adobe building. A sign affixed to the front read:

THE POINTS — LODGING, FOOD, AND DRINK

* * *

Joshua Norton considered the extremely nice hotel room that he had just rented. He’d deposited a large sum in the hotel’s safe, and this alone made them treat him like the royalty he was. The room was on the top floor and opened out onto a shared balcony that loomed over the rest of the town at four stories. He could see the entire town from up there, and at once he noticed the raucous noise coming from the direction of west on the street that passed in front of the hotel, Sansome. The hotel seemed to be built on stilts at the very end of the wharf, and the porter deposited his bag in the room.

The hotel was good, as his driver had recommended. The hotel had a bathing room where he could use a tub at no extra charge. He had taken