A Cold Greeting in San Francisco, California
By Ambrose Bierce in 1913
(Image: A vintage photograph depicts Market Street in San Francisco, California, circa 1900, capturing the bustling atmosphere of the era. Horse-drawn carriages and early automobiles share the road, while pedestrians stroll along the sidewalks lined with grand buildings. The image, attributed to the Detroit Photo Company, evokes a sense of nostalgia for a bygone era in the city’s history.)
The following narrative, a curious and unsettling anecdote, was recounted by the late Benson Foley, a resident of San Francisco, California. It speaks of coincidences, misinterpretations, and the lingering question of what lies beyond the veil of death.
In the summer of 1881, Foley found himself in the company of James H. Conway, a man hailing from Franklin, Tennessee. Conway, seeking respite and restoration, had journeyed to San Francisco in pursuit of improved health. He carried with him a letter of introduction addressed to Foley, penned by one Mr. Lawrence Barting. Foley held Barting in high regard, having known him as a captain in the Union army during the tumultuous years of the Civil War. After the war’s conclusion, Barting had established himself in Franklin, eventually achieving, in Foley’s estimation, a degree of prominence as a lawyer. Foley considered Barting an honorable and truthful man, and the warmth of friendship expressed in his letter towards Conway served as ample assurance that the latter was worthy of trust and esteem.
During a dinner conversation, Conway revealed a solemn pact that he and Barting had forged. They had agreed that the first to succumb to death would, if at all possible, attempt to communicate with the surviving friend from beyond the grave. The precise method of communication, they wisely decided, would be left to the discretion of the deceased, depending on the opportunities afforded by their altered circumstances. This pact, born of curiosity and perhaps a touch of morbid fascination, hung in the air between the two men, a testament to their shared interest in the mysteries of life and death.
Weeks later, Foley encountered Conway walking along Montgomery Street. Lost in thought, Conway appeared distant and preoccupied. He offered only a curt nod of acknowledgment, passing by Foley with a coldness that left the latter standing on the sidewalk, hand half-extended in greeting, feeling surprised and somewhat offended. The following day, Foley encountered Conway again, this time in the lobby of the Palace Hotel. Anticipating a repeat of the previous day’s unpleasantness, Foley intercepted Conway in a doorway, offering a friendly salutation. He then, with a touch of bluntness, demanded an explanation for Conway’s altered behavior.
Conway hesitated, then looked Foley directly in the eyes and replied, "I do not think, Mr. Foley, that I have any longer a claim to your friendship, since Mr. Barting appears to have withdrawn his own from me – for what reason, I protest, I do not know. If he has not already informed you, he probably will do so."
Foley, taken aback, responded, "But I have not heard from Mr. Barting."
Conway repeated, with apparent surprise, "Heard from him! Why, he is here. I met him yesterday, ten minutes before meeting you. I gave you the same greeting that he gave me. I met him again not a quarter of an hour ago, and his manner was precisely the same: he merely bowed and passed on. I shall not soon forget your civility to me. Good morning, or – as it may please you – farewell."
Foley found Conway’s actions incredibly considerate and thoughtful.
The situation, steeped in ambiguity and potential misunderstanding, was about to take a turn towards the truly bizarre. Dispensing with dramatic embellishments and literary flourishes, Foley then revealed a crucial piece of information: Mr. Barting was dead. He had passed away in Nashville four days prior to this conversation in San Francisco. Upon calling on Conway, Foley informed him of their friend’s death, presenting letters announcing the tragic news. Conway was visibly shaken, his reaction so genuine that Foley could not entertain any doubts about his sincerity.
"It seems incredible," Conway said after a period of reflection. "I suppose I must have mistaken another man for Barting, and that man’s cold greeting was merely a stranger’s civil acknowledgment of my own. I remember, indeed, that he lacked Barting’s mustache."
Foley, seeking to ease Conway’s distress, assented, "Doubtless it was another man." The subject was subsequently dropped, never to be mentioned again between them. However, Foley held a secret, a piece of information that cast a chilling light on the entire episode. He possessed a photograph of Barting, enclosed in a letter from his widow. The photograph, taken a week before Barting’s death, revealed that he was, in fact, without a mustache.
The tale of A Cold Greeting in San Francisco leaves the reader to ponder the inexplicable. Was it merely a series of coincidences, a case of mistaken identity fueled by grief and the power of suggestion? Or was it something more, a fleeting glimpse into the realm beyond, a chilling confirmation of the pact between two friends and the possibility of communication from beyond the grave? The ambiguity of the narrative is its strength, allowing for multiple interpretations and leaving a lingering sense of unease. The bustling streets of San Francisco, the grand hotels, and the familiar faces of friends become a backdrop for a story that questions the very nature of reality and the boundaries between life and death.
Ambrose Bierce, the author of this unsettling tale, was a master of the macabre and the mysterious. His stories often explored the dark side of human nature and the fragility of existence. "A Cold Greeting," like many of his other works, relies on atmosphere and suggestion rather than explicit horror, creating a sense of dread that lingers long after the story is finished. The city of San Francisco serves as more than just a setting; it becomes a character in itself, a place where the ordinary and the extraordinary can collide, where the veil between worlds seems thin and permeable.
The story of A Cold Greeting in San Francisco remains a captivating and thought-provoking exploration of friendship, loss, and the enduring mysteries of the afterlife.
Compiled and edited by Kathy Alexander/Legends of America, updated March 2025.
Excerpted from the book Present at a Hanging and Other Ghost Stories, by Ambrose Bierce, 1913. Ambrose Bierce was the author of several supernatural stories and tales of the Civil War, which he drew from his own experience as a Union cartographer and officer. Bierce worked as a journalist and editor for the San Francisco News-Letter and California Advertiser. In 1913, at 71, Bierce disappeared into revolution-torn Mexico to fight alongside the bandit Pancho Villa. Although a popular theory is that Bierce argued with Villa over military strategy and was subsequently shot, he probably perished in the battle of Ojinaga on January 11, 1914.