. I first saw him at the
Blue Wing, a popular rendezvous for politicians, on Montgomery street,
east side, between Clay and Commercial streets, and my impression then
was that he was a lawyer or a well-to-do merchant. General Richardson
was a morose and at times a very disagreeable man. He was of low
stature, thick set, dark complexion, black hair, and usually wore a
bull-dog look. He was known by his intimate friends to be a dangerous
man as a foe, and he always went armed with a pair of deringers. The
Thursday night prior to the shooting General Richardson and Col. Jo. C.
McKibben, afterwards member of Congress, were at the Blue Wing in
company. After midnight Richardson went out for a moment on the
sidewalk. A man passed him, made a jocular remark and entered the
saloon. Richardson followed him in, and asked of Perkins his name. He
had been drinking heavily. McKibben prevailed upon him to start for his
home. It was on Minna street, near Fred Woodworth's, just above Jessie
street. Jo. accompanied him most of the way. Richardson spoke to him of
an "insult" he had received from "that fellow Carter"--as he seemed to
think the name to be--and declared his purpose to make him answer for
it. McKibben knew Cora, and that Cora was the man to whom Richardson
referred; but he likewise knew enough of Richardson to not correct him,
and let him believe that "Carter" was the name, in the hope that, in his
condition, he would either not think of the occurrence the next day, or
would not be able to recognize Cora if he did. The following Saturday
afternoon a party of us--Jo. McKibben, John Monroe, Clerk of Judge
Hoffman's Court, E. V. Joice, Pen. Johnston, Josh Haven and myself were
in the Court Exchange, corner of Battery and Washington streets.
Richardson came in while we were there, and was in drinking humor. He
became sullen and, as we all knew his nature, it was quietly agreed
among ourselves that we would leave and try to get him away. He was
devoted to his wife, whom he married in San Francisco. McKibben and
myself accompanied him on his way home, as far as the old Oriental
Hotel, within a few blocks of his residence. There he insisted on a
"last drink," and we left him--he to go straight home. It turned out
that he did not. He brooded over the "insult" of Carter, as he still
called him, and made his way to the Blue Wing to find him, Unfortunately
he found Cora there. He called him out, and, as one man wilt lead
another by his