Ralston succeeded D. O. Mills as president of the Bank of California, in 1872. While conceding the titular supremacy to another, and contenting himself with the station of cashier, Ralston had always been the actual head. In all matters of policy and large accommodation his word was law. After the withdrawal of Mills, the directors practically gave him a free hand. All through the ascendancy of Ralston, the institution had the splendid reputation that the Bank of California enjoys to-day. It not only possessed the fullest confidence of the community, but ranked as one of the strongest banks of the United States, with agencies throughout the civilized world and unlimited credit everywhere. The splendor of Ralston’s hospitality, the immense enterprises in which he was engaged, and his vast holdings in real estate and corporate concerns, gave him the standing of a man whose wealth was almost beyond computation. There was not an intimation of embarrassment when, on August 25, 1875, the Bank of California closed its doors. I was not a witness of what followed. I was living quietly in my home in Kentucky. But from what I have heard, it was one of the most intense moments in the history of the West. For blocks around the Bank of California stood a packed mass of pale-faced men, anticipating ruin. What might have become an unparalleled panic and almost universal wreck, was happily averted by the closing of the stock exchange and the practical suspension of business for a period long enough to allow the community to catch its breath. Ralston stood the ordeal with all the resources of fortitude, met many patrons of the bank, admitted the grave conditions of its finances, but contended that its assets were very large. Everything he possessed in the world, he said, would be used to make good. On the afternoon of August 27 the directors called a meeting. Ralston was on hand as usual, but was barred from attendance by D. O. Mills. The incident, it is said, touched him to the quick. Every director had profited by his friendship in the days of his power and prosperity. This seemed a harsh return in the hour of his deep distress. He left the meeting with a dazed and haggard face. He proceeded to his home and thence to North Beach, where he was accustomed to take a swim in the bay when the weather was opportune. There are a number of living witnesses of what followed. Shortly after he entered the water other swimmers noticed that something was amiss. His body did not sink, but he was floating face downward. A boatman was quickly at his side. This boatman declared that the banker was still living. Be that as it may, when he reached the shore with his burden the once master spirit of the Pacific Coast was dead.