By the Golden Gate
by
Joseph Carey
Part 1 out of 3
Team
BY THE GOLDEN GATE
or
San Francisco, the Queen City of the Pacific Coast; with Scenes
and Incidents Characteristic of its Life
By
JOSEPH CAREY, D.D.
A Member of the American Historical Association
1902
To My Beloved Wife
this volume
is affectionately inscribed.
PREFACE
This work now offered to the public owes its origin largely to the
following circumstance: On the return of the author from California
and the city of Mexico, in November, 1901, his friend, the Rev. John
N. Marvin, President of the _Diocesan Press_, asked him to contribute
some articles to the _Diocese of Albany_. From these "sketches" of San
Francisco this book has taken form. There are chapters in the volume
which have not appeared in print hitherto, and such portions as have
been already published have been thoroughly revised. Much of the
work has been written from copious notes made in San Francisco, and
impressions received there naturally give a local colouring to it in
its composition.
It is not a history, nor yet is it a guide book; but it is thought
that it will be helpful to tourists who visit one of the most
picturesque and interesting cities in the United States. It furnishes
in a convenient form just such information as the intelligent
traveller needs in order to enjoy his walks and rides through the
city. The writer in his quest among books could not find any thing
exactly of the character here produced; and therefore he is led to
give the results of his observations and studies with the hope that
the perusal of this volume, sent forth modestly on its errand, will
not prove an unprofitable task.
THE AUTHOR.
November 1st, 1902.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
WESTWARD
CHAPTER II
VIEWS FROM THE BOAT ON THE BAY
CHAPTER III
SAN FRANCISCO AND THE DISCOVERY OF GOLD
CHAPTER IV
THE STORY OF GOLDEN GATE PARK AND THE CEMETERIES
CHAPTER V
THEN AND NOW, OR EIGHTEEN HUNDRED FORTY-NINE AND NINETEEN HUNDRED AND
ONE
CHAPTER VI
FROM STREET NOMENCLATURE TO A CANNON
CHAPTER VII
CHINAMEN OF SAN FRANCISCO--THEIR CALLINGS AND CHARACTERISTICS
CHAPTER VIII
A CHINESE NEWSPAPER, LITTLE FEET, AND AN OPIUM-JOINT
CHAPTER IX
MUSIC, GAMBLING, EATING, THEATRE-GOING
CHAPTER X
THE JOSS-HOUSE, CHINESE IMMIGRATION AND CHINESE THEOLOGY
CHAPTER XI
THE GENERAL CONVENTION OF 1901
CHAPTER XII
THROUGH THE CITY TO THE GOLDEN GATE
CHAPTER I
WESTWARD
Choice of Route--The Ticket--Journey Begun--Pan-American Exposition
and President McKinley--The Cattle-Dealer and His Story--Horses--Old
Friends--The Father of Waters--Two Noted Cities--Rocky Mountains--A
City Almost a Mile High--The Dean and His Anti-tariff Window--Love
and Revenge--Garden of the Gods--Haunted House--Grand Canon and Royal
Gorge--Arkansas River--In Salt Lake City--A Mormon and His Wives--The
Lake--Streets--Tabernacle and Temple--In St. Mark's--Salt Lake
Theatre--Impressions--Ogden--Time Sections--Last Spike--Piute
Indians--El Dorado--On the Sierras--A Promised Land.
The meeting of the General Convention of the Church in San Francisco,
in 1901, gave the writer the long-desired opportunity to visit the
Pacific coast and see California, which since the early discoveries,
has been associated with adventure and romance. Who is there indeed
who would not travel towards the setting sun to feast his eyes on a
land so famous for its mineral wealth, its fruits and flowers, and its
enchanting scenery from the snowy heights of the Sierras to the waters
of the ocean first seen by Balboa in 1513, and navigated successively
by Magalhaes and Drake, Dampier and Anson?
The question, debated for weeks before setting out on the journey,
was, which route of travel will I take? It is hard to choose where all
are excellent. I asked myself again and again, which line will afford
the greatest entertainment and be most advantageous in the study of
the country from a historic standpoint? The Canadian Pacific route,
and also the Northern Pacific, with their grand mountainous scenery
and other attractions, had much to commend them; so also other lines
of importance like the Santa Fe with its connecting roads; and the
only regret was that one could not travel over them all. But one way
had to be selected, and the choice at last fell on the Delaware and
Hudson, the Erie, Rock Island, the Denver and Rio Grande, and the
Southern Pacific roads. This route was deemed most feasible, and one
that would give a special opportunity to pass through cities and
places famous in the history of the Nation, which otherwise could not
be visited without great expense and consumption of time. It enabled
one also to travel through such great States as Pennsylvania, Ohio,
Indiana, Illinois, Iowa, Nebraska, Colorado, Utah, and Nevada, as well
as central California. As the return journey had also to be determined
before leaving home, the writer, desirous of visiting the coast towns
of California south of San Francisco, and as far down as San Diego,
the first settlement in California by white men, arranged to take
the Southern Pacific Railway and the direct lines with which it
communicates. In travelling over the "Sunset Route," as the Southern
Pacific is styled, he would pass across the southern section of
California from Los Angeles, through Arizona, New Mexico, Texas and
Louisiana, the line over which President McKinley travelled when he
made his tour in the spring of 1901. From New Orleans, by taking the
Louisville and Nashville Railroad, he would journey through southern
Mississippi, Tennessee, Kentucky, and so back through Ohio from
Cincinnati, and across Pennsylvania into the Empire State, over the
Erie and the "D. & H." Railways. By the "Sunset Route," too, the
writer could avail himself of the privilege of going into the country
of Mexico at Eagle Pass, and so down to the City of Mexico, famous
with the memories of the Montezumas and of Cortez and furnishing also
a memorable chapter in our own history, when, in September 1847, the
heights of Chapultepec were stormed by General Pillow and his brave
followers.
The journey from beginning to end was one of delightful experiences,
full of pleasure and profit, and without a single accident or mishap.
This is largely owing to the excellent service afforded and the
courtesy of the railway officials, who were ready at all times to
answer questions and to promote the comfort of the passengers. The
obliging agent of the "D. & H." Railway in Saratoga Springs made all
the necessary arrangements for the ticket, with its coupons, which
was to take me to and fro; and baggage checked in Saratoga was found
promptly, and in good condition, on my arrival in San Francisco. How
different our system, in this respect, from that of the English and
Continental and Oriental railways! Luggage in those far off countries
is a source of constant care, and in Continental Europe and Asiatic
lands a heavy item of expense. The old world might learn in several
particulars from our efficient American railway system, which has
for its prime object facility of travel. The ticket was an object of
interest from its length, with its privileges of stopping over at
important towns; and strangely, as I travelled down the Pacific coast,
with new coupons added, it seemed to grow instead of diminishing. One
could not but smile at times at its appearance, and the wonder of more
than one conductor on the trains was excited as it was unfolded, and
it streamed out like the tail of a kite. It was most generous in
its proportions as the railway companies were liberal in their
concessions.
It was on September the 23rd, 1901, a bright Monday morning, when
I stepped on the "D. & H." for Albany, thence proceeding from the
Capital City to Binghamton, where I made connection with the Erie
Railway. Travelling on the train with me as far as Albany were Mr. W.
Edgar Woolley, proprietor of the Grand Union Hotel, Saratoga, and Mrs.
James Amory Moore, of Saratoga and New York city, whose hearty wish
that I might have a prosperous journey was prophetic. The country
traversed from Saratoga to Binghamton by the "D. & H." Railway affords
many beautiful views of hill and valley, and, besides Albany with
its long and memorable history and magnificent public buildings and
churches, including St. Peter's and All Saints' Cathedral, there are
places of note to be seen, such as Howe's Cave and Sharon Springs. By
this branch of the "D. & H" system, Cooperstown, rendered famous by
James Fenimore Cooper in his works, is reached. On alighting from
the train at Binghamton I was greeted by my old friends, Col. Arthur
MacArthur, the genial and accomplished editor of the _Troy Budget_,
and that witty soul, Rev. Cornelius L. Twing, Rector of Calvary
Church, Brooklyn, N.Y., who had come here for the purpose of attending
the Annual Conclave of the Grand Commandery of the State of New York.
At Buffalo I had sufficient time, before taking the through sleeping
car "Sweden," on the Erie Railway, to Chicago, to visit the
Pan-American Exposition grounds. The scene, at night, as I approached,
was very impressive. The buildings, illuminated with electricity
furnished by the power-house at Niagara's thundering cataract, looked
like palaces of gold. The flood of light was a brilliant yellow. The
main avenue was broad and attractive. The tower, with the fountains
and cascade, appealed wonderfully to the imagination. Machinery,
Agricultural, and the Electrical buildings, had an air of grandeur.
Music Hall, where the members of Weber's Orchestra from Cincinnati
were giving a concert before an audience of three hundred persons, had
a melancholy interest for me. It was here, only a short time before,
that President McKinley, at a public reception, was stricken down by
the hand of an assassin; and the exact spot was pointed out to me by a
policeman. In that late hour of the evening, as I stood there rapt in
contemplation over the tragic scene which deprived a nation of one of
the wisest and best of rulers, I seemed to hear his voice uplifted
as in the moment when he was smitten, pleading earnestly with the
horrified citizens and officers around him, to have mercy on his
murderer,--"Let no one do him harm!" It was Christian, like the
Protomartyr; it was the spirit of the Divine Master, Who teaches us to
pray for our persecutors and enemies! Happy the nation with such an
example before it!
In travelling westward one meets now and then with original and
striking characters. They are interesting, too, and you can learn
lessons of practical wisdom from them if you will. They will be
friendly and communicative if you encourage them. Answering this
description was a Mr. H.W. Coffman, a dealer in Short Horn cattle, who
was travelling from Buffalo on the Erie road to Chicago. He lives at
Willow Grove Stock Farm, a hundred miles west of Chicago on the Great
Western Railway, one mile South of German Valley. Naturally we
talked about cows, and we discussed the different breeds of cattle,
especially the Buffalo cows of the present-day Egypt, and the Apis of
four thousand years ago, which according to the representations, on
the monuments, was more like the Devon breed than the Buffalo. The
names which he gave to his cows were somewhat poetic. One, for
example, was named "Gold Bud;" and another, called "Sweet Violet,"
owing to her fine build, was sold for $3,705. As the conversation
drifted, sometimes into things serious, and then into a lighter vein,
Mr. Coffman told a story about a man who had three fine calves. One of
them died, and, when his foreman told him, he said he was sorry, but
no doubt it was "all for the best." "Skin him," said he, "and sell his
hide." Another one died, and he said the same thing. When the last and
the best died, his wife said to him, "Now the Lord is punishing you
for your meanness!" His reply was, "If the Lord will take it out in
calves it is not so bad." I could not but moralise that the Divine
judgments on us, for our sins, are not as severe as they might be,
and that few of us get what we deserve in the way of punishment or
chastening. I also met a horse dealer, who said that he shipped some
sixty horses every week to a commission merchant in Buffalo. The
latter made three dollars per head for selling them. They brought
about $60 a piece. When shipped at New York, by English buyers, for
France, South Africa, and elsewhere, they cost about $190 a head. The
farmers of Ohio, Indiana, Iowa, and Wisconsin, are getting rich from
horse culture and the raising of cattle. He said that fifteen years
ago, the farmers, in many instances, had heavy notes discounted in the
banks. Now they have no such indebtedness. When formerly he entered a
town he would go to a bank and find out from the cashier who had notes
there; and then he would go and buy the horses of such men at reduced
rates. All is different now. The European demand has helped the
American farmer.
At Akron, Ohio, the energetic and successful Rector of St. Paul's
Church, the Rev. James H.W. Blake, accompanied by his wife and Miss
Graham, his parishioner, boarded the train; and I found them most
agreeable travelling companions to San Francisco. In Chicago, in the
Rock Island Station, I was met by tourist agent Donaldson, in the
employ of the Rock Island Railway Company, and during all the journey
he was most courteous and helpful. Here also I found my old classmate
in the General Theological Seminary, Rev. Dr. Alfred Brittin Baker,
Rector of Trinity Church, Princeton, N.J., Rev. Dr. Henry L. Jones,
of Wilkesbarre, Pa., Rev. Dr. A.S. Woodle, of Altoona, Pa., the Rev.
Henry S. Foster, of Green Bay, Wis., and the Rev. Wm. B. Thorne, of
Marinette, Wis., all journeying to San Francisco. It was a pleasure to
see these friends, and to have their delightful companionship.
Many interesting chapters might be written about this journey; and to
give all the incidents by the way and descriptions of places visited
and pen pictures of persons met would detain you, dear reader, too
long, as you are hastening on to the City by the Golden Gate. Some
things, however, we may not omit as we travel over great prairies and
cross rivers and plains and mountains and valleys. At Rock Island our
train crossed the Mississippi, reaching Davenport by one of the finest
railway bridges in the country; and as the "Father of Waters" sped on
in its course to the Gulf of Mexico, it made one think of the Nile and
the long stretches of country through which that ancient river wends
its way; but the teeming populations on the banks of the Mississippi
have a more noble destiny than the subjects of the Pharaohs who sleep
in the necropolis of Sakkarah and among the hills of Thebes and in
innumerable tombs elsewhere. They have the splendid civilisation of
the Gospel, and they are a mighty force in the growth and stability of
this nation, whose mission is worldwide. At Transfer we passed over
the Missouri by a long bridge, and entered Omaha, a city picturesquely
situated, the home of that doughty churchman, Rev. John Williams, and
of Chancellor James M. Woolworth, a noble representative of the laity
of the Church. Well may this place be called the "Gate City" of the
Antelope State. Towards evening we reached Lincoln, the home of
William Jennings Bryan, the Democratic candidate for the presidency in
1896, and also four years later. The house where he lives was pointed
out to us. It is a modest structure on the outskirts of the city,
comporting with the simplicity of the man himself. In the morning we
found ourselves riding over the plains of Colorado. Here are miles and
miles of prairie, with great herds of cattle here and there. Here also
the eye of the traveller rests on hundreds of miles of snow fences. At
last we have our first view of the Rocky Mountains, that great rampart
rising up from the plains like huge banks of clouds. It was indeed an
imposing view; and it reminded me of the day when, sailing across the
sea from Cyprus, I first saw the mountains of Lebanon. You almost feel
as if you are going over a sea on this plain, with the Rocky Mountains
as an immovable wall to curb it in its tempests. One thought greatly
impressed me in the journey thus far, and this is the wonderful
agricultural resources of our country. We were travelling over but one
belt of the landscape. Its revelations of fertility, of cultivation,
of products, of prosperity, of thrifty homes, of contented peoples,
made one feel indeed that this is a land of plenty, and that we are a
nation blessed in no ordinary way.
The City of Denver is beautiful for situation, with the Rocky
Mountains fifteen miles to the west. As it is on the western border of
the great plain, you can hardly at first realise what its elevation
is. Yet it is 5,270 feet above the sea, lacking only ten feet of being
a mile above tide water. The atmosphere is clear and crisp, and the
mountain air exhilarates one in no ordinary degree. Although founded
only as far back as 1858, it has to-day a population of 134,000,
and it is steadily growing. It has well equipped hotels such as the
Palace, the Windsor, the Albany and the St. James. It has also fine
public buildings, flourishing churches and schools, and many beautiful
homes. There is an air of prosperity everywhere. Here among other
places which I visited is Wolfe Hall, a boarding and day school
for girls, well equipped for its work, with Miss Margaret Kerr, a
grand-daughter of the late Rev. Dr. John Brown, of Newburgh, N.Y., for
its principal. I also met the Rev. Dr. H. Martyn Hart, a man of strong
personality. I found him in St. John's Cathedral, of which he is the
Dean, and of which he is justly proud. It is a churchly edifice,
and it suggests some of the architectural form of Sancta Sophia in
Constantinople. Dean Hart showed my companions and me what he calls
his anti-tariff window. The window was purchased abroad, and the
original tariff was to be ten per cent of the cost price. This would
be about $75. The window cost $750. Meanwhile the McKinley tariff bill
was passed by Congress, and as the duty was greatly increased he would
not pay it. Finally the window was sold at auction by the customs'
officials, and Dean Hart bought it for $25. As we rode about the city
the courteous driver, a Mr. Haney, pointed out a beautiful house
embowered in trees, which had a romantic history. A young man of
Denver was engaged to be married to a young woman. She jilted him and
married another, and while she was on her wedding tour her husband
died. The house in which she lived was offered for sale at this
juncture, and the original suitor bought it and turned her out into
the street. He had his revenge, which shows that human nature is the
same the world over. Had he offered her the house to live in, however,
it would have been a nobler revenge, "overcoming evil with good."
It is but a short ride from Denver to Colorado Springs, which is a
delightful spot with 21,000 inhabitants, and here is a magnificent
hotel a block or two from the railway station called the New Antlers.
The Rev. Dr. H.H. Messenger, of Summit, Mississippi, an apostolic
looking clergyman, with his wife, accompanied us from Denver to
Colorado Springs, and also to Manitou, at the foot of Pike's Peak and
the mouth of the Ute Pass. From Manitou we drove to the Garden of
the Gods, comprising about five hundred acres, and went through this
mysterious region with its fantastic and wonderful formations,
which seem to caricature men and beasts and to mimic architectural
creations. Here we saw the Scotchman, Punch and Judy, the Siamese
Twins, the Lion, the elephant, the seal, the bear, the toad, and
numerous other creatures. We also viewed the balanced rock, at the
entrance, and the Gateway Cliffs, at the northeast end of the Garden,
and the Cathedral spires. Everything was indeed startling, and as
puzzling as the Sphinx in old Egypt. Nature was certainly in a playful
mood when, with her chisel and mallet, she carved these grotesque
forms out of stones and rocks.
On the outskirts of Manitou the "Haunted House" was pointed out by
the guide, who said that a man and his wife and their son had been
murdered here. No one would live in the house now. He asked me if I
believed in "Ghosts." I said I was not afraid of dead men, and that I
did not think they came back to disturb us. He seemed to agree with
me, but hastened to say that he "met a clergyman yesterday who said
he believed in them." The house in Manitou which, of all others,
interested me most, was the pretty vine-covered cottage of Helen Hunt
Jackson, who wrote "Ramona." It was she, who, with a fine appreciation
of nature, gave this wild and secluded spot, with its riddles in
stone, the suggestive name of "The Garden of the Gods."
At noon on Friday, October 7th, I boarded the Pullman train at
Colorado Springs, on the Denver and Rio Grande Railway, for Salt Lake
City. On this train was my old friend the Rev. James W. Ashton, Rector
of St. Stephen's Church, Olean, N.Y., whom I had not seen for years,
and from this hour he was my constant travelling companion for weeks
in the California tour, ready for every enterprise and adventure. At
Pueblo were some quaint Spanish-looking buildings, and farther on we
were among the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. Our train gradually
ascended the heights skirting the bank of the Arkansas River, which
was tawny and turbid for many a mile. But the Grand Canon of the
Arkansas, with its eight miles of granite walls and its Royal Gorge
towering nearly three thousand feet above us! It is rightly named.
I cannot undertake to describe it accurately. Here are grand cliffs
which seemingly reach the heavens, and in some places the rocky walls
come so near that they almost touch each other. As you look up, even
in midday, the stars twinkle for you in the azure vault. As the train
sped on, toiling up the pass through the riven hills and crossing a
bridge fastened in the walls of the gorge and spanning the foaming
waters, you felt as if you were shut up in the mysterious chambers of
these eternal mountains. It is a stupendous work of the Creator, and
man dwarfs into littleness in the presence of the majesty of God here
manifested as when Elijah stood on Horeb's heights.
It was a pleasant task to study the scenery, wild beyond description
at times; and then you would pass upland plains with cattle here and
there, and mining camps. That is Leadville, a mile or so yonder to
the north; and the children who have come down to the station have
valuable specimens of ore in their little baskets, to sell to you for
a trifle. Off to the left hand, a little farther on, was a "placer
mine," with water pouring out of a conduit, muddy and yellow with
"washings." This emptied itself into the Arkansas River, which, from
this point down to the foot of the mountains, was as if its bed had
been stirred up with all its clay and other deposit. Above this
junction the waters of the river were clear and sparkling. It is a
picture of life, whose stream is pure and sweet until sin enters it
and vitiates its current. Miles beyond are snow sheds, and the famous
Tennessee Pass, 10,440 feet above the sea level. This is the great
watershed of the Rocky Mountains, and two drops of water from a cloud
falling here,--the one on the one side and the other on the other side
of the Pass,--are separated forever. One runs to the Atlantic Ocean
through rivers to the Gulf of Mexico, and the other to the Pacific
Ocean. So there is the parting of the ways in human experience. There
are the two ways, and the little turns of life determine your eternal
destiny!
Even after a night of travel through the mountains and across the
Colorado Desert, we still, in the morning, find our train speeding on
amid imposing hills, but now we are in Utah. This we entered at Utah
Line. At length we cross the Pass of the Wahsatch Mountains at Soldier
Summit, 7,465 feet above the sea, and some thirty miles farther west
we enter the picturesque Utah Valley. At length we see the stream of
the River Jordan, which is the connecting link between Utah Lake and
the Great Salt Lake, and at last we find ourselves in the city founded
by Brigham Young and his pioneer followers in 1847. There is a
monument of the Mormon prophet in Salt Lake City, commemorating this
founding. Standing on the hill above the present city and looking out
on the great valley, with his left hand uplifted, he said: "Here we
will found an empire!" And here to-day in this city, which bears his
marks everywhere, is a population of 54,000 souls, two-thirds of whom
profess the Mormon faith.
Here we were met by Bishop Abiel Leonard, D.D., of Salt Lake, who was
a most gracious host and who welcomed us with all the warmth of his
heart. He had engaged accommodations for us at the Cullen House; and
when I went to my room, I looked out on a courtyard bounded on one
side by the rear end of a long block of stores. There I saw a wagon
which had just been driven into the grounds. Two men were on the seat,
the driver and another person, and seated on the floor of the wagon,
with their backs toward me, were four women. They wore no hats, as the
day was balmy, and I noticed that one had flaxen, another brown,
and the two others dark hair. Seeing everything here with a Mormon
colouring, I said, "This is a Mormon family. The Mormon farmer has
come to town to give his four wives a holiday." It reminded me of
similar groups which I had seen in old Cairo, on Fridays, when the
Mohammedan went with his wives in the donkey cart to the Mosque. And
is there not a strong resemblance between Mormon and Mohammedan? The
Mormon husband alighted and gently and affectionately took up one of
his wives and carried her into the adjoining store, then a second, and
a third. My interest deepened as I watched the proceeding. I said to
myself--"How devoted these Mormon husbands, if this is a true example,
and how trusting the women!" When he took up the fourth wife to carry
her in where her companions were, he turned her face toward me,
so that I had a good view of her, and then, to my surprise, nay,
amazement, I discovered that she had no feet! But quickly it dawned
on my mind, that, instead of real, living Mormon wives, I had been
looking on waxen figures, models for show windows! Well, are there not
manikins in human life, unreal creatures, who never accomplish more
than the models in the windows, who may be looked at, but who perform
no noble and lasting deeds?
Our sojourn in Salt Lake City gave ample time to visit the Great Salt
Lake, eighty miles long and thirty miles wide, with two principal
islands, Antelope and Stansbury; to make a complete study of the city,
whose streets run at right angles to each other, with one street
straight as an arrow and twenty miles long, and many of them bordered
with poplar trees which, as has been facetiously said, were "popular"
with Brigham Young; to attend the Saturday afternoon recital on the
great organ, in the Tabernacle, which is oval in shape, and has a
roof like a turtle's back, and where some three thousand people were
assembled; to walk around Temple Square and examine the architecture
of the Mormon Temple, which is like a great Cathedral, and into which
no one is admitted but the specially initiated and privileged among
the Latter-day Saints; to visit many buildings famous in Mormon
history, and especially "Zion's Co-operative Mutual Institute," which,
in its initials has been said wittily to mean, "Zion's Children
Multiply Incessantly;" and on Sunday morning to attend the beautiful
service in St. Mark's Church, where Bishop Tuttle, of Missouri,
preached a striking sermon from the text "A horse is counted but a
vain thing to save a man;" and in the evening to participate in the
grand missionary service in Salt Lake Theatre, where the congregation
was led by a choir of sixty voices, and stirring addresses were made
by Bishop Leonard of Salt Lake, Bishop Gailor of Tennessee, Bishop
Jacob, of Newcastle, England, Bishop Dudley, of Kentucky, and Bishop
Tuttle, who was formerly Bishop here, before an audience of four
thousand people, made up, as the Bishop said, of "Methodists,
Presbyterians, Congregationalists, Hebrews, Latter-Day Saints and
Churchmen."
What I saw and heard here in Salt Lake City and in other parts of Utah
would make a book of itself, but I may say that the only place in
which to study Mormonism in all its workings is here in its seat.
While polygamy must drop out of the system owing to the laws of the
United States, the religious elements will not so soon perish. It
has enough of Christianity in it to give it a certain stability like
Mohammedanism; but we believe that the Church of the Living God
will sooner or later triumph over all forms and teachings which are
antagonistic to the Christian Creeds and Apostolic Order. I visited a
Mormon bookstore, among other places, and I was amazed at the number
of volumes which I found here on the religion of the Latter-Day
Saints. In a history of Mormonism, which I opened, was this pregnant
sentence--"The pernicious tendency of Luther's doctrine." Surely here
is something for reflection!
From Salt Lake City to Ogden, the great centre of railway travel,
where several lines converge, is but a ride of thirty-six miles. Here
the train, which was very heavy, was divided into two sections, and,
after some delay, we went on our journey with hopeful hearts. The Salt
Lake Valley and the Great Salt Lake, which we had traced for a long
distance, finally disappeared from view. The journey was begun from
Ogden on what is known as Pacific time. There are four time
sections employed in the United States, adopted for convenience in
1883,--Eastern, Central, Mountain, and Pacific. It is Eastern time
until you reach 82-1/2 degrees west longitude from Greenwich, Central
time up to 97-1/2, Mountain time till you arrive at 11-1/2, Pacific
time to 127-1/2, which will take you out into the Pacific Ocean;
and there is just one hour's difference between each time section,
covering fifteen degrees. So that when it is twelve o'clock, midday,
in New York city, it is eleven in Chicago, ten o'clock in Denver,
and nine o'clock in San Francisco. You adapt yourself, however, very
readily to these changes of time, in your hours of sleep and in other
matters.
One of the places of special interest through which we passed before
leaving Utah is Promontory. Here the last tie was laid and here the
last spike was driven, on the 10th of May, 1869, when the Central
Pacific and the Union Pacific Railways were united and the great
cities of the Atlantic seaboard and San Francisco at the setting sun
were brought into communication with each other by an iron way which
has promoted our civilisation in a marked degree. A night ride over
the Alkali Plains of Nevada, famous for their sage brush, was a
novelty, and in the clear atmosphere they looked like fields of snow.
At Wadsworth, where our train began to ascend the lower slopes of the
Sierra Nevada Mountains, were several Piute Indians. They sell beads,
blankets, baskets, and other mementoes. A papoose, all done up in
swathing bands, aroused no little curiosity, and when some venturesome
passenger with a kodak tried to take a picture of the infant, the
mother quickly turned away. They think that the kodak is "the evil
eye." There was an old squaw here with whom I conversed, who had a
remarkable face on account of its wrinkled condition. She said her
name was Marie Martile, and at first she said she was one hundred
years old, and later that she was one hundred and fifty. At Reno I saw
more Indians with papooses. The thought, however, that this old race
is passing away like the fading leaf before the "pale face," is
saddening. Soon we arrive in the El Dorado State, we are at last on
California soil, and the train with panting engines climbs the dizzy
heights of the Sierras, through beautiful forests, along the slopes
of hills, through tunnels, beneath long snow sheds. These sheds are a
striking feature, and are, with broken intervals, forty miles long.
The scenery is remarkable, entirely different from that of the Rocky
Mountains; and Donner Lake, into whose clear depths we look from lofty
heights, recalls the terrible story of hardship, isolation, suffering
and death, here in the winter of 1846 and 1847, when snow-fall on
snow-fall cut the elder Donners and several members of this party off
from the outside world, and they perished from cold and starvation.
Oh, what a tragic, harrowing history it is!
At Summit Station, the loftiest point of the pass over the Sierras,
in the path of our railway, engines are changed, and while the train
halts passengers amuse themselves by making snowballs. Then we begin
the descent along the slopes of the mountains into the great valleys
of California. Already we have passed from the region of perpetual
snows to a milder clime. We begin to feel the tempered breezes from
the Pacific fanning our cheeks. Yes, we are now in the land of a
semi-tropical vegetation, a land of beauty and fertility, which in
many respects resembles Palestine; and surely it is a Promised Land,
rich in God's good gifts. Blue Canon and Cape Horn and beautiful
landscapes with vineyards and orange groves are passed, and as night
with its sable pall descends upon us, we rest in peace with a feeling
of satisfaction and thankfulness to Him Who has led us safely by the
way thus far. When the train halted at Sacramento, I had a midnight
view of it, and then we sped on to our destination. Some three weeks
later, in company with Rev. Dr. Ashton, I visited the valley west of
Sacramento, Suisun and Benicia, that I might not lose the view which
night had obscured. The Carquinez Straits, with the railway ferryboat
"Solano," the largest of its kind in the world, and the upper view of
the great Bay of San Francisco, make a deep impression on the mind.
I was well repaid for all my pains. But on that first night, as we
hastened to our goal, amid landscapes of beauty and fruitfulness
traversed in the olden days by the feet of pioneers and gold-seekers,
it all seemed as if we were in fairyland. Will the dream be
substantial when we enter the City by the Golden Gate?
CHAPTER II
VIEWS FROM THE BOAT ON THE BAY
Arrival at Oakland--"Ticket!"--On the Ferryboat--The City of "Live
Oaks"--Mr. Young, a Citizen of Oakland--Distinguished Members of
General Convention--Alameda--Berkeley and Its University--Picturesque
Scenery--Yerba Buena, Alcatraz and Angel Islands--San Francisco at
Last.
It was on the morning of Wednesday, October the second, 1901, when
I had my first view of that Queen City of the Pacific coast, San
Francisco. Our train, fully nine hours late, in our journey from Salt
Lake City, arrived at its destination on the great Oakland pier or
mole at 2:30 A.M. The understanding with the conductor the evening
before, as we were descending the Sierra Nevada Mountains, was that
we would not be disturbed until day break. When the end of our long
journey was reached I was oblivious to the world of matter in midnight
slumber; but as soon as the wheels of the sleeping coach had ceased to
revolve I was aroused with the cry, "Ticket!" First I thought I was
dreaming, as I had heard the phrase, "Show your tickets," so often;
but the light of "a lantern dimly burning" and a stalwart figure
standing before the curtains of my sleeping berth, soon convinced
me that I was in a world of reality. This, I may say, was my only
experience of the kind, in all my travelling over the Southern Pacific
Railway, the Sante Fe, and the Mexican International and Mexican
Central Railways. There was little sleep after the interruption; and
when the morning came with its interest and novelty I was ready to
proceed across the Bay of San Francisco. Our faithful porter, John
Williams, whose name is worthy of mention in these pages, as I stepped
from the Pullman car, said, "Good-bye, Colonel!" He always addressed
me as "Colonel." The porters on all the western roads and on the
Mexican railways are polite and obliging, and a word of commendation
must be said for them as a class.
The Rev. Dr. James W. Ashton, of Olean, N.Y., my fellow-traveller, and
I were soon in the ferry house. We ascended a wide staircase and then
found ourselves in a large waiting room, through whose windows I
looked out on the Bay of San Francisco for the first time. Off in the
distance, in the morning light, I could catch a glimpse of the Golden
City of the West. Near by was a departing ferryboat bound for San
Francisco. Just then a young man, evidently a stranger, accompanied by
a young woman, apparently a bride, accosted me and asked the question,
"Sir, do you think we can get on from up here?" Looking at the
bay-steamer fast receding, I assured him, somewhat pensively, that I
thought we could. In a few moments another steamer appeared in view
and speedily entered the dock. The gates of the ferry house were
opened and we went on board at once. Most of the passengers at this
early hour were those who had come across the Sierras, but there were
a few persons from Oakland going over to their places of business in
San Francisco. Oakland, so named from the abundance of its live-oaks,
has been styled the "Brooklyn" of San Francisco. It is largely a place
of residence for business men, and from fifteen to twenty thousand
cross the Bay daily in pursuit of their avocations. It is pleasantly
situated on the east side of the Bay, gradually rising up to the
terraced hills which skirt it on the east. The streets are regularly
laid out and lined with shade trees of tropical luxuriance as well as
the live-oaks. Pretty lawns, green and well kept, are in front of many
of the houses in the residence part of the city, and here the eye has
a continual feast in gazing on flowers in bloom, fuschias, verbenas,
geraniums and roses especially. At a later day I visited Oakland, and
found it just as beautiful and attractive as it looked in the distance
from the deck of the ferry boat. It has several banks, numerous
churches, five of our own faith, with some twelve hundred
communicants, also good schools, and some fine business blocks.
Trolley cars conduct you through its main streets in all directions.
Landing at the Oakland pier, one of the largest in the world, and
extending out into the Bay some two miles from the shore, the Southern
Pacific Railway will soon carry you to the station within the city
limits. As you wander hither and thither you see on all sides tokens
of prosperity. There is an air of refinement about the place, and you
find the atmosphere clear and stimulating. There is not a very marked
difference in the temperature of the climate between summer and
winter. Frosts are unknown. It is no disparagement to San Francisco
to say that Oakland for delicate persons is more desirable. The trade
winds as they blow from the Pacific ocean, and make one robust and
hardy in San Francisco, when there is vitality to resist them, are
tempered as they blow across the Bay some fourteen miles or more,
while the fogs, so noted, as they rush in through the Golden Gate and
speed onward, are greatly modified as they reach the further shore. As
it has such a splendid climate and natural advantages, and enjoys the
distinction of being at the terminus of the great overland railway
systems, it is constantly attracting to itself population and capital.
Ten years ago it had 48,682 inhabitants; to-day it numbers 66,960.
Its people are very hospitable and are glad to welcome the traveller
from the east to their comfortable homes. On the ferry boat I was
accosted by a ruddy-faced and genial gentleman, a Mr. Young, a
resident of Oakland, who was proceeding to his place of business in
San Francisco. He gave me some valuable information, and pointed out
objects and places of interest. He seemed to be well informed about
the General Convention appointed to meet on the day of my arrival, in
Trinity church, San Francisco. He spoke with intelligence about its
character and purpose, and with enthusiasm concerning its members whom
he had met as they were crossing the Bay. The names of Bishop Doane,
of Albany, Bishop Potter, of New York, and Mr. J. Pierpont Morgan,
were as household words on his lips, and there was a gleam of delight
in his eye as he pictured to us the pleasures and surprises in store
for us during our sojourn in the Capital of the Golden West.
"That town," said he, "which you see to the south of Oakland, with
its long mole, is Alameda. It is a great place of resort, a kind of
pleasure grove. Alameda in the Spanish language means 'Poplar Avenue.'
Many people go there on excursions and picnic parties from San
Francisco, and other places along the Bay. It is, as you see, a very
pretty spot. In time it will become a part of Oakland. It has to-day
a population of over sixteen thousand people." When I asked him if it
had an Episcopal Church, he said, "Yes. Its name is Christ Church, and
there are in it four hundred communicants. Do you know its rector?
He is the Rev. Thomas James Lacey." Mr. Young, who was a native of
Massachusetts and just as proud of California as he was of his old
home in the east, turned with considerable elation to Berkeley,
the University town. "There," said he, "to the north of Oakland is
Berkeley, with a population of thirteen thousand. It is, as you see,
situated at the foot of the San Pablo hills, and is about eleven miles
from the Market street ferry in San Francisco. To reach it you go
by ferry to the Oakland pier and then take the cars on the Southern
Pacific road." As I gazed northward, there, as a right arm of Oakland,
was the classic town with its aristocratic name, nestling at the foot
of the hills in the midst of trees and flowers. It was like a dainty
picture with the Bay in the foreground. A nearer view or a visit to it
brings the traveller into line with the Golden Gate, through which his
eye wanders straight out into the Pacific ocean with all its mystery
and grandeur. The University of California was organised by an act
of the Legislature in 1868. A law passed then set apart for its work
$200,000, proceeds from the sale of tide lands. To this endowment was
added the sum of $100,000, from a "Seminary and Public Building Fund."
There was also applied to the new university another fund of $120,000,
realised from the old college of California, which had been organised
in 1855. Then by an act of Congress appropriating 150,000 acres of
land for an Agricultural College, which is a part of the equipment of
the University, it became still richer. It embraces 250 acres
within the area of its beautiful grounds, and so has ample room for
expansion. It has departments of Letters, Science, Agriculture,
Mechanics, Engineering, Chemistry, Mining, Medicine, Dentistry,
Pharmacy, Astronomy and Law. The famous Lick Observatory, stationed
on Mount Hamilton near San Jose, is a part of the institution. It has
prospered greatly under its present efficient President, Benjamin Ide
Wheeler, LL.D.; and it now has three hundred instructors, with over
three thousand students. Tuition is free to all students except in the
professional departments. It has a splendid library of seventy-three
thousand volumes. It will be readily seen that with such an
institution of learning, and with the Leland Stanford Jr. University,
at Palo Alto, the State of California is giving diligent attention to
matters of education. While also there are the various schools and
academies and seminaries of the different denominations, it may be
said that the church is not backward in this respect. St. Margaret's
School for girls, and St. Matthew's School for boys, as well as the
Church Divinity School of the Pacific, at San Mateo, where Bishop
Nichols resides, and the Irving Institute for girls, and Trinity
School in San Francisco, are an evidence of what she is doing for
the welfare of the people intellectually, aside from her spiritual
ministrations in the dioceses of California and Los Angeles and the
Missionary Jurisdiction of Sacramento. Mr. Young was forward to
mention the fact that in Berkeley there is the large and influential
parish of Saint Mark with a list of nearly four hundred communicants;
and this is a great factor for good in the life of such a unique
University town. As my eyes turned away from Berkeley, I naturally
recalled the great Bishop of Cloyne, after whom the place is named;
and as I took into view the wider range of the coast lands, and the
blue waters of the magnificent Bay, some fifty miles in length, and,
on an average, eight miles wide, and reflected on the significance
which attaches to this favoured region, and the influences which
go out from this seat of power, and fountain head of riches, I
instinctively recalled the noble lines which the eighteenth century
prophet wrote when he mused, "On the Prospect of Planting Arts and
Learning in America:"
"Westward the course of empire takes its way;
The four first acts already past,
A fifth shall close the drama with the day:
Time's noblest offspring is the last."
East of us, in picturesqueness, as in a panorama spread out, were the
counties of Alameda and Contra Costa, with their receding hills, and
Mount Diablo, 3,855 feet in height, lifting up its head proudly.
Farther to the south was the rich and beautiful valley of Santa Clara,
with its orchards and vineyards. On the west across the Bay were the
counties of San Mateo, and San Francisco, with their teeming life,
covering a Peninsula twenty-six miles long, and extending up to the
Golden Gate; while off to the north, and bordering on the ocean was
Marin in its grandeur, crowned with Tamalpais, 2,606 feet above the
sea;--and skirting San Pablo Bay was Sonoma with its vine-clad vale.
There were the islands of the Bay also, which attracted our attention.
Not far from the Oakland pier is Goat Island rising to the height of
340 feet out of the waters, and consisting of 300 acres. It was brown
on that October morning when I first saw it, but when the rains come
with refreshment in November the islands and all the surrounding
country are invested with a robe of emerald green, and flowers spring
up to gladden the eyes. Goat Island was so named because goats which
were brought in ships from southern ports to San Francisco, for fresh
meat, were turned loose here for pasturage for a time; and as these
creatures multiplied the island took their name. But it formerly bore
the more euphonious title, Yerba Buena, which means in Spanish
"Good Herbs." Later in my journeyings to and fro I overheard a lady
instructing another person as to the proper way in which to pronounce
it, and she made sad work of it. She gave the "B" the sound of the
letter G. It also had another name, as you may learn from an old
Spanish map of Miguel Costanso, where it is called--Ysla de Mal
Abrigo, which means that it afforded poor shelter. It is a government
possession, as also the other islands, Alcatraz and Angel. Alcatraz,
which Costanso styles, White Island, is smaller than Yerba Buena. In
its greatest elevation it is 135 feet above the Bay, and it embraces
in its surface about thirty-five acres, about the same area as the
Haram Esh-Sherif, or sacred enclosure of the Temple Hill in Jerusalem,
with the Mosque of Omar and the Mosque el-Aksa. On its top is a
lighthouse, which, on a clear night, sailors can see twelve miles
outside of the Golden Gate. Nature, with her wise forethought, seems
indeed to have formed this island opposite the Golden Gate, far
inside, in the Bay, as a sentinel to watch that pass into the Pacific,
and to guide the returning voyager after his perilous journeyings to
safe moorings in a land-locked haven. Farther to the north is Ysla de
los Angeles, Angel Island, with a varied landscape of hill and plain,
comprising some 800 acres of land.
Here are natural springs of water, and in the early days it was well
wooded with live-oak trees. To the eyes of Drake and other early
navigators and explorers it must have been a vision of beauty, lifting
itself out of the waters. Not many trees are seen here now, however,
but you may behold instead in harvest time fields of grain. It is
especially noted for its stone quarries, and out of these were taken
the materials for the fortifications of Alcatraz and Fort Point--as
well as the California bank building. It was my privilege at a later
day, in company with many of the members of the General Convention
to sail over the Bay and around these islands, which one can never
forget. The steamer "Berkeley" was courteously placed at the service
of the members of the Convention by the officers of the Southern
Pacific Railway; and it was indeed a most enjoyable afternoon under
clear and balmy skies as we rode along the shores of the Peninsula,
and up the eastern side of the Bay, and northward towards San Pablo,
and then around Angel Island and Alcatraz strongly fortified, a
distance altogether of forty miles. But now on the first morning,
veiled partly with clouds, San Francisco rises on the view, that city
of so many memories by the waters of the Pacific, where many a one has
been wrecked in body and soul as well as in fortune, while others have
grown rich and have led useful lives. Yes, it is San Francisco at
last! And while it looms upon the view with its varied landscape, its
hills and towered buildings, I am reminded of another October morning
when I first saw Constantinople, when old Stamboul with its Seraglio
Point, and Galata with its tower, and Pera on the heights above,
and Yildiz to the east, and Scutari across the Bosphorus, all were
revealed gradually as the mists rolled away. So the Golden City of
the West is disclosed to view as the shadows disappear and the clouds
break and flee away and the morning sun hastening across the lofty
Sierras gilds the homes of the rich and poor alike, and bathes water
and land in beauty. There is another city on the shore of a tideless
sea, and it will be the joyful morning of eternal life, when, earthly
journeys ended, we walk over its golden streets!
CHAPTER III
SAN FRANCISCO AND THE DISCOVERY OF GOLD
San Francisco--Her Hills--Her Landscapes--Population of Different
Decades--The Flag on the Plaza in 1846--Yerba Buena its Earliest
Name--First Englishman and First American to Build Here--The Palace
Hotel--The Story of the Discovery of. Gold in 1848--Sutter and
Marshall--The News Spread Abroad--Multitudes Flock to the Gold
Mines--San Francisco in 1849.
As we stand on the deck of the bay steamer and are fast approaching
the San Francisco ferry-house which looms up before us in dignity, we
look out on a great city with a population of 350,000 souls, and we
observe that it is seated on hills as well as on lowlands. Rome loved
her hills, Corinth had her Acropolis, and Athens, rising out of the
Plain of Attica, was not content until she had crowned Mars' Hill with
altars and her Acropolis with her Parthenon. Here in this golden
city of the Pacific the houses are climbing the hills, nay they have
climbed them already and they vie in stateliness with palaces and
citadels in the old historic places which give picturesqueness to the
coast lands of the Mediterranean. There is indeed in the aspect of San
Francisco, in her waters and her skies, and all her surroundings, that
which recalls to my mind landscapes and scenery of Italy and Greece
and old Syria. Yonder to the northeast of the city is Telegraph Hill,
294 feet high, a spot which in the olden days, that is, as far back
only as 1849, was wooded. Now it is teeming with life, and it looks
down with seeming satisfaction on miles and miles of streets and
warehouses and dwellings of rich and poor. But there are not many poor
people in this Queen City. In all my wanderings about the city for a
month, I was never accosted by a professional beggar. Everybody could
find work to do, and all seemed prosperous and happy. Off to the
west, serving as a sentinel, is Russian Hill, 360 feet high. It is
a striking feature in the ever-expanding city, and it is a notable
landmark for the San Franciscan. In the southeastern part of the city
is Rincon Hill, 120 feet in height, attracting to itself the interest
of that part of the population whose homes are in its shadow. There
are other hills of lesser importance as to altitude, but over their
tops extend long streets and broad avenues lined with the dwellings of
a contented and thrifty people. The business blocks and hotels, the
printing houses and railway and steamship offices, the stores and art
galleries, the places of amusement and lecture halls, the stores and
shops, the homes and the churches, fill all the spaces between those
hills in a compact manner and run around them and stretch beyond them,
and at your feet, as you stand on an eminence, is a panorama of life
which at once arrests your attention and enchains your mind. It was
all so different fifty or sixty years ago. According to the census
returns the population of San Francisco in 1850 was 34,000. In 1860
there was a gain of 22,802. In 1870 there were in the city 149,473
souls; while in 1880 there was a population of 233,959 including
30,000 Chinese. The census of 1890 gives an increase of 64,038 during
the decade, and the last enumeration shows that there has been a gain
of 44,785 in the ten years. If the towns across the bay and northward,
as well as San Mateo on the south, which are as much a part of San
Francisco as Brooklyn and Staten Island are of New York, there would
be a population of more than 450,000. The growth, as will be seen, is
steady, and San Francisco offers to such as seek a home within her
borders, all the refinements and comforts of life, all that ministers
to the intellect and the spiritual side of our nature as well as our
social tastes and desires.
There can be no greater contrast imaginable than that between the San
Francisco of 1846, when Commodore Montgomery, of the United States
sloop of war _Portsmouth_, raised the American flag over it, and the
noble city of to-day. And no one then in the band of marines who stood
on the Plaza as the flag was unfurled to the breeze by the waters of
the Pacific, in sight of the great bay, could have dreamed of the
golden future which was awaiting California--of the splendour which
would rest on little Yerba Buena in the lapse of time. Yerba Buena was
the early name of the settlement. This was applied also, as we have
learned, to Goat Island. The pueblo was then insignificant and
apparently with no prospect of expansion or grandeur. There were only
a few houses there, chiefly of adobe construction, clustering about
the Plaza. The Presidio, west of the stray hamlet, and the Mission
Dolores, to the southwest, were all that relieved a dreary landscape
beyond. There were the hills covered with chaparral and the shifting
sands all around, and far to the south, where now are wide streets and
great blocks of buildings. The ground sloped towards the bay on the
east, and a cove, long since filled in, which bore the name of Yerba
Buena, extended up to Montgomery street. The population of the town
was less than a hundred; there was hardly this number in the Presidio,
and not more than two hundred people were connected with the Mission
Dolores. In 1835 Captain William A. Richardson, an Englishman, the
first foreigner to enter the embryo town, erected a tent for his
residence; and on July 4th, 1836, the second house was built at the
corner of Clay and Dupont streets. The story runs that the first
American to build a house in San Francisco proper was Daniel Culwer,
who also founded Santa Barbara. This pioneer was born in Maryland in
1793, and died in California in 1857. He lived long enough to see the
greatness of the city assured. But on that day when he finished his
modest house on the corner of New Montgomery and Market streets, he
little thought that in after years there would spring up, as if
by magic, under the skillful hands of the Lelands, famous in San
Francisco as in Saratoga in the olden days, the magnificent Palace
Hotel, with its royal court, its great dining halls, and its seven
hundred and fifty-five rooms for guests, rivalling in its grandeur and
its luxurious appointments the palaces of kings.
The growth of San Francisco was very rapid after the discovery of
gold. The population immediately leaped into the thousands. California
was the goal of the gold-seeker, the El Dorado of his quest. Men in
search of fortune came from all parts of the world to the Golden West.
It was on the 19th of January, 1848, that gold was discovered. The
story reads like a romance. Captain John Augustus Sutter, who was born
in Baden, Germany, February 15th, 1803, after many adventures in New
York, Missouri, New Mexico, the Sandwich Islands, and Sitka, at last
found himself in San Francisco. From this spot he crossed the bay and
went up the Sacramento River, where he built a stockade, known as
Sutter's Fort, and erected a saw mill at a cost of $10,000, and a
flour mill at an outlay of $25,000. Here in 1847 he was joined by
James Wilson Marshall, born in New Jersey in 1812. Marshall was sent
up to the North Fork of the American River, where at Coloma he built a
saw mill. This was near the center of El Dorado county, and in a line
northeast from San Francisco. The mill, in the midst of a lumber
region, was finished on January 15th, 1848, and everything was in
readiness for the sawing of timber, which was in great demand in all
the coast towns and brought a high price. The mill-race, when the
water was let into it, was found too shallow, and in order to deepen
it Marshall opened the flood gates and allowed a strong, steady
volume of water to flow through it all night. Nature, aided by human
sagacity, having done her work well, the flood gates were closed, and
there in the gravel beneath the shallow stream lay several yellow
objects like pebbles. They aroused curiosity. The miller took one and
hammered it on a stone. He found it was gold. He then gave one of
the "yellow pebbles" to a Mrs. Wimmer, of his camp, to be boiled in
saleratus water. She threw it into a kettle of boiling soap, and after
several hours it came out bright and shining. It is yellow gold,
California gold, there can be no mistake! Next, we see Marshall, all
excitement, hastening to Sutter's Fort, and informing his employer, in
a mysterious way, that he has found gold. Sutter goes to the mill the
next day, and Marshall is impatiently waiting for him. More water
is turned on, and the race is ploughed deeper, and more nuggets are
brought to light. It is a day of supreme joy. The excitement is great.
Even the waters of the American River seem to "clap their hands" and
the trees of the wood wave their tops in homage and rejoice. At the
foot of the Sierras is the hidden treasure, which will thrill the
civilised world when it hears the tidings with a new joy, which will
bring delight beyond measure to thousands of adventurers, which will
enrich some beyond their wildest dreams, and which will prove the ruin
of many an one, wrecking, alas! both soul and body. Sutler's plan was
to keep the wonderful discovery a secret, but this was impossible.
Even the very birds of the air would carry the news afar to the coast
in their songs; the waters of mountain streams running down to the
Sacramento River and on to San Francisco Bay and out to the Pacific
Ocean through the Golden Gate would bear the report north and south to
all the cities and towns, to Central and South America, to China and
Japan, to Europe and more distant lands; and the wings of the wind
would serve as couriers to waft the story across the Sierras and the
Rocky Mountains and the plains, till the whole world would be startled
and gladdened with the cry, Gold is found, gold in California! One of
the women of Sutler's household told the secret, which was too big to
be kept in hiding, to a teamster, and he, overjoyed, in turn told it
to Merchant Smith and Merchant Brannan of the Fort. The "secret" was
out in brief space, and like an eagle with outspread wings, it flew
away into all quarters of the globe. Poor Sutter, strange to say,
it ruined him. The gold seekers came from the ends of the earth and
"squatted" on his lands, and he spent all the fortune he had amassed
in trying to dispossess them. But his efforts were unavailing. The
laws, loosely administered then, seemed to be against him, and fate,
relentless fate, spared him not. Almost all that was left to him in
the end was the ring which he had made out of the lumps of the first
gold found, and on which was inscribed this legend: "The first gold
found in California, January, 1848." It tells a melancholy as well as
a joyous tale, in it are bound up histories and tragedies, in it the
happiness of multitudes, and even the fate of immortal souls! The
California legislature at length took pity on Sutter, and granted him
a pension of $250 per month, on which he lived until he was summoned,
at Washington, D.C., on June 17th, 1880, by the Angel of Death, to a
land whose gold mocks us not, and where everyone's "claim" is good,
if he be found worthy to pass through the Golden Gate. Marshall, too,
died a poor man, August 8th, 1885, having lived on a pension from the
State of California, which also has seen fit to honour his memory, as
the discoverer of gold, by erecting a monument to him at Coloma, the
scene of the most exciting events in his life. The names of these two
men, however, will endure in the thrilling histories of 1848 and 1849,
as long as time lasts--for all unconsciously they set the civilised
world in motion, gave new impulse to armies of men, spread sails on
the ocean, filled coffers with yellow gold, and added new chapters to
the graphic history of San Francisco and many another city. When the
tidings of the discovery of gold reached the outside world thousands
on thousands set their faces towards the El Dorado of the Pacific
slopes. There were many new Jasons. The Golden Fleece of the sunny
West was beckoning them on. New Argos were fitted out for the new
Colchis. The Argonauts of 1849 were willing to brave all dangers. It
is Joaquin Miller who sings--
"Full were they
Of great endeavour. Brave and true
As stern Crusader clad in steel,
They died afield as it was fit--
Made strong with hope, they dared to do
Achievement that a host to-day
Would stagger at, stand back and reel,
Defeated at the thought of it."
There were three ways of reaching the gold fields. Men could travel
across the plains in the traditional emigrant wagon. It was a weary,
lonely journey, life was endangered among hostile Indians, and happy
were those who at last were strong enough to toil in the mines. Alas,
too many fell by the way and left their bones to bleach in arid
regions. It is the experience of life. We have our object of desire.
We often come short of it. Ere we reach the goal we perish and the
coveted prize is forever lost. Not so is it to him who seeks the Gold
of New Jerusalem. The Gold of that land is good, and all who will can
find it and enjoy it.
Another way was by the Isthmus of Panama, and then up the coast in
such a ship as one could find. It was the least toilsome journey and
the shortest, but still attended with hardships. Many fell a prey to
wasting fevers which burn out one's life, and so never reached the
destined port of San Francisco, through which they would pass to the
gold fields.
The longest way was around Cape Horn. Still there were those who took
it, even if months, five or six, it might be, were consumed in the
journey. The gold they sought would compensate them at last. These too
had to encounter storms, face probable shipwreck or contend with grim
death. Many who sold all to equip themselves, who turned away from
home and kindred, for a time they thought, to enrich themselves, who
would surely return to their loved ones with untold treasure, never
fulfilled their desire. Some perished in the voyage, others died
in San Francisco, and were laid to rest till the final day in her
cemeteries by the heaving ocean. Such as reached the mines did
not always gain the gold they coveted. There were those who were
fortunate, who made a success of life, who realised their day dreams;
and some of these returned to the old home, to the waiting parents,
to the longing wife and children. Some with their gold settled in San
Francisco and sent for their kindred. And what happy meetings were
those in the years of gold mining, when ships coming from many lands,
from American and foreign ports, brought to the city through the
Golden Gate the beloved ones whose dear faces had ever been an
inspiration to the toilers in darkest hours! Methinks the meetings
of loved ones parted here, on the shores of the crystal sea, will
compensate for all life's labours and trials. Yes, if we only have the
true treasures, the true gold of the Golden City.
In those days of 1848 and 1849 and during 1850 and 1851, San
Francisco--on which we are now looking, the stately, comely city of
to-day, was a city of tents in a large measure. Ships were pouring out
their passengers at the Long Wharf. They would tent for a time on the
shore, then hurry off to the mines. In those days you could meet in
the streets men of various nationalities. Here were gold seekers from
New England and old England, from our own Southland and the sunny land
of France and Italy, from Germany and Sweden and Norway, from Canada
and other British possessions, from China and Japan. And it was gold
which brought them all here, the statesman and the soldier, the
labouring man and the child of fortune, sons of adversity and sons
of prosperity, rich and poor, lawyers, doctors, merchants, sailors,
scholars, unlettered,--all are here for gold. Such is the San
Francisco of those early days. It is a romance of reality, of the
Golden West!
CHAPTER IV
THE STORY OF GOLDEN GATE PARK AND THE CEMETERIES
St. Andrew's Brotherhood--Patras--The Cross at Megara and the
Golden Gate--Portsmouth Square and its Life--Other City Squares
and Parks--Golden Gate Park, its Beauty, Objects and Places of
Interest--Prayer Book Cross--Chance Visitors--Logan the Guide--First
View of the Pacific Ocean--"Thy Way is in the Sea"--The Cemeteries of
San Francisco--World-wide Sentiment--Group Around Lone Mountain--Story
of the Graves--Earth's Ministries--Lesson of the Heavens.
When my companion Ashton and I landed at the Market Street Ferry
House, an imposing structure of two stories, with a wide hall on the
second floor and offices and bureaus of information on either side,
our newfound friend, Mr. Young, bade us a "Good-by" with a hearty
handshake, hoping he might meet us again. Before leaving us, however,
he introduced us to a young man a member of the Brotherhood of St.
Andrew, who took us to the temporary office of the Society in the
Ferry House, and gave us necessary directions about the street cars,
hotels and churches. We were in a strange city on the western shore
of the Continent, yet, we felt at home at once through the cordial
greeting of the Brotherhood. The St. Andrew's Cross, which our young
guide wore on his coat, was indeed a friendly token. It spoke volumes
to the heart; and I was carried back in memory to that early morning,
when, having sailed over Ionian Seas, our good ship cast anchor in the
Bay of Patras, and my feet pressed the soil which had been consecrated
by the blood of the Saint, whose cross was now a token of good will
and welcome at the ends of the earth. I could not but recall besides a
memorable incident in connection with the Saint Andrew's Cross. We had
passed the Isthmus of Corinth, and our train halted for a space at
Megara, a town of six or seven thousand people, where is the bluest
blood in all Greece; and as I alighted from my coach on the Athens and
Peloponnesus Railway, I saw, some twenty rods away, a Greek Papa or
Priest, who made a splendid figure. An impulse came over me to speak
to him, and I knew there was one sign which he would recognise and
understand. It was the Saint Andrew's Cross, which I made by crossing
my arms. He immediately came to me and we conversed briefly as the
time would permit, in the old language of Homer and Plato, which all
patriotic Greeks love. He asked me if I was a Papa, and was pleased
when I said, "Yes." I introduced him to my companions in the coach,
and he greeted them warmly; and as the train began to move on we bade
each other farewell. We may never meet again, but the Cross of Saint
Andrew was a bond between us, and we felt that we were brethren in
one Lord, Saint Andrew's Divine Master and ours. So the sight of that
Cross there by the Pacific, with all its history of faith and love and
martyrdom, caused our hearts to beat in unison with our brethren by
the Golden Gate. I thought then it would be a special advantage to
strangers in strange cities, if in some way the Brotherhood could
serve as a Bureau of Information to travellers, who understand the
meaning of the Cross. It would not be a matter of large expense after
all if Chapters in large centres would extend greeting to men and
women who are journeying hither and thither and who often stand in
need of just such services as the Brotherhood could give. In a few
hours after our arrival we were ready for the opening service of the
General Convention, in Trinity Church, on Gough street at the corner
of Bush street.
At intervals when duty would permit we made a study of San Francisco
and its life, rich in scene and incident, and most instructive as well
as attractive. Some of the noticeable features of the city are its
parks and squares. In the northern part or section, Washington and
Lobos Squares greet you, while Pioneer Park adorns Telegraph Hill,
and Portsmouth Square or the Plaza is just east of the famous Chinese
restaurant and close by police headquarters. This last was famous in
the early days as the centre of Yerba Buena, and here the American
flag was raised for the first time when our marines under Commodore
Montgomery took possession of the town. Indeed some of the most
exciting scenes in the early history of San Francisco were witnessed
in this locality. Volumes might be written about its Spanish and
Mexican families, its adobe buildings, its gambling places, its haunts
of vice, its public assemblies, its crowds of men from all lands, its
social and civic histories.
But all this is of the past, and it seems like a dream of by-gone
days. When I visited it on two occasions, in company with friends, it
was a quiet place enough; and the casual observer could never have
thought or realised that around this romantic spot fortunes made by
hard toil of weary months and years had been lost in a few short hours
in the saloon and gambling places for which the vicinity was noted,
that the worst passions of the human heart had been exhibited here,
and that betimes amid the laughter of the merry throng in midnight
revelry and above the strains of the "harp and viol" one could have
heard the voices of blasphemy and the sharp, loud reports of pistols
in the hands of careless characters, whose deadly bullets had sent
many a poor unfortunate wayfarer or unwary miner from the gold fields
to his long home.
If, in your saunterings, you go through the central part of the city
you will find Lafayette Square, Alta Plaza, Hamilton Square, Columbia
Square, and Franklin and Jackson Parks, at varying distances from each
other and affording variety to the tourist. In the south section you
will see Buena Vista Park and Garfield Square, while to the west you
have Hill Park and Golden Gate Park. The Golden Gate Park is now
famous the world over and vies in beauty and splendour with Central
Park in New York, nay, in some respects surpasses this, in that it has
a magnificent frontage on the Pacific ocean, a long coast view and a
wide range of sea with the Farallone Islands, about twenty miles off
in the foreground of the picture, and visible on a clear day always,
and most enchanting in the sunset hour as we gazed on them. The Golden
Gate Park dates back only to the year 1870, when the California
Legislature passed an act providing for the improvement of public
parks in San Francisco. At that time this lonely spot, now so like a
dream of fairy land, was but a waste, a wide stretch of sand dunes
among which the winds of the ocean played hide and seek. Its
entrances, with a wide avenue in the foreground running north and
south, are some five miles from the Market Street Ferry. The afternoon
that my friend Ashton and I visited it was clear and balmy. Just as we
were entering the park carriage I was greeted by a young friend from
the East, whom I had not seen for years; and then, more than three
thousand miles away from home, I realised how small our planet is
after all. As we rode along the flowery avenues with green lawns
stretching out on either hand and losing themselves in groups of
stately trees and hedges of shrubs and Monterey Cypress we were filled
with delight. We could see the birds, native and foreign, flying from
branch to branch of trees which grew within their gigantic cages, and
occasionally we heard the notes of some songster. Yonder, too, we saw
deer browsing, and elk and antelope. There also were the buffalo and
the grizzly bear; and apparently all forgot that, shut in as they
were in wide enclosures, they were in captivity. We could not fail to
observe the bright flower-beds on every hand, the pleasant groves, the
shady walks, the grottoes of wild design, the woodland retreats, the
sylvan bowers. The park, we were told by our communicative driver,
John Carter, comprises ten hundred and forty acres of ground. He also
pointed out various places and objects of interest. The Museum, by the
wayside, in its Egyptian architecture, is like one of the old temples
of the Pharaohs on the banks of the Nile.
You are carried into the realm of immortal song when you gaze on the
busts of Goethe and Schiller, and your patriotism is stirred afresh
as you behold the monument of Francis Scott Key, author of the
Star-Spangled Banner. The Muses also have their abode here on the
colonnaded Music Stand or Pavilion erected by Claus Spreckles at a
cost of $80,000. Another interesting feature is the Japanese Tea
Garden. Then there is the well equipped Observatory on Strawberry Hill
from which you can look far out to sea, and where star-gazers can
study celestial scenery as the Heavens declare God's glory. Seven
lakelets give charm to the landscape, but the eye is never weary in
looking on Stone Lake, a mile and a quarter in circuit, beautiful
with its clear waters, its shelving shores, its bays and miniature
headlands, while on its calm bosom, ducks of rich plumage and
Australian swans are disporting themselves.
That, however, which attracted our attention most of all was the great
grey stone cross on the crest of the highest point of the Golden Gate
Park. This, chiseled after the fashion of the old crosses of lona and
linked with the name of St. Columba, is the monument erected by the
late George W. Childs, of Philadelphia, Pa., to commemorate the first
use of the Book of Common Prayer on the Pacific coast, when, in 1579,
under Admiral Drake, Chaplain Fletcher read Prayers in this vicinity,
either in San Francisco Bay, or a little further north in what is
called Drake's Bay. But more of this anon. As we walked from the
carriage road, beneath some spreading trees, to get a nearer view of
the Prayer Book Cross, numerous partridges were moving about, without
fear, in our pathway; and had we been minded to frighten them or
do them harm we would have been restrained by yonder symbol of our
redemption, which teaches us ever to be tender and humane towards bird
and beast and all others of God's helpless creatures. The Prayer
Book Cross is seen from afar. It looks down on the city with its
innumerable homes, on the cemeteries within its shadow, on the
Presidio with its tents and munitions of war, on the Golden Gate and
on the waters of the Pacific, and it brings a blessing to all with its
message of love and peace. It is a guide too, to the sailor coming
over the seas from distant lands. As he strains his eyes to catch a
glimpse of the coast the Cross stands out in bold relief against the
eastern sky, and it tells him that he will find a hospitable welcome
and safe harbourage within the Golden Gate. So it is dear to him after
his voyage over stormy seas as was of old
"Sunium's marbled steep"
to the Greek sailor nearing home.
Near Stone Lake we met the head commissioner of the Park who saluted
us with all the easy grace of the Californian; and on the way we had
the opportunity of receiving a Scotch gentleman and his wife into our
carriage; and, later, a clergyman who had been wandering about in the
midst of sylvan scenes, rode with us to the entrance of the Park,
where we bade our new found friends good-bye, each to go his own way,
at eventide.
The third day after our arrival in San Francisco I had a longing
to gaze on the Pacific ocean which I had never seen. There were
no laurels for us to win, such as Balboa justly deserved when he
discovered the Pacific and first beheld its wide waters in the year
1513; but it was a natural desire to look on its broad expanse and to
stand on its shores, along which bold navigators had sailed since the
days of Cabrillo and Drake. Taking a line of cars running out to the
Presidio, Ashton and I walked the rest of the way. A young man named
Logan, a cousin of the famous General Logan, who was in the service
of the government as a mail carrier, but off duty that afternoon,
volunteered most courteously to be our guide. He accompanied us for
more than a mile and a half of the distance beyond the Presidio, but
then had to return to meet an engagement. We went forward climbing the
steep hills and finally found that we were standing on the heights
above the immense ocean, in the grounds of the Government Reservation.
It was a solemn moment when we for the first time beheld the Pacific,
and we were greatly impressed. There the mighty waters, across which
the ships sail to China and Japan and the Sandwich Islands and the
Philippine Archipelago and the South Seas, lay before our eyes. The
darkness of the night was coming on, but the sky far off across the
waters, away beyond the Farallone Islands, was tinged with red and
gold, the fading glories of the dying day. We could see in the glow
of evening the heaving of the sea and the motion of its comparatively
calm surface, in that twilight hour.
Gathering clouds hung over the horizon and formed the shadows in the
picture. Every picture has light and shade. It is a portrait of life.
We stood silently for a time drinking in all the beauty of the scene,
well nigh entranced, awed, thrilled betimes; and at last in order to
give fitting expression to the thoughts within our hearts, I suggested
that we should hold a brief service in recognition of His power who
holds the seas in the hollow of His hands, Who had guided our feet in
safe paths and byways of the world, often over its troublesome waves.
Ashton said an appropriate Collect from the dear old Prayer Book of so
many tender and far off memories, while I expressed my feelings in the
grand words of the Psalm--"Thy way is in the sea, and Thy paths in the
great waters, and Thy footsteps are not known." We felt God's presence
in that hushed hour, we saw in vision the divine Christ walking over
the waters to us!
In our wanderings about the city the sleeping places of the dead
naturally attracted our attention; and where, especially, on Sunday
afternoons, the living congregate to mourn over their loved ones, to
scatter flowers on their graves, or to while away an hour amid scenes
which have a melancholy interest and tend to sobriety and remind one
of another land where there is no death for those who pass through the
Golden Gate of eternity. Cemeteries have always attracted the living
to their solemn precincts at stated times, anniversaries and fiestas.
It is so in all lands, among all peoples no matter what their creed,
and in all ages. Jew and Gentile alike, Mohammedan and Christian, by
visiting tomb or grassy mound with some token of their affection, the
prayer uttered, the tear shed, the blossoms laid on sacred soil, after
this manner cherish the memories of the departed. And it is well!
Scenes which the traveller may witness in the Campo Santo of Genoa or
in the Koimeteria of Athens, on Sundays, in the Mezaristans of Skutari
on the Bosphorus and Eyub on the Golden Horn, on Friday afternoons,
and in the Kibroth of old Tiberias by the Sea of Galilee or outside of
the walls of Jerusalem, on Saturday or in the Cimenterios of Mexico
City on fiestas, all testify to the universality of the deep and
tender feelings of reverence and affection which animate the human
heart and make all men as one in thought and sentiment as they stand
on time's shores and follow the receding forms of their kindred and
friends with wishful eyes bedimmed with tears across the Dark River!
While there is a Burial Place for the soldiers who die for their
country or in their country's cause, on the grounds of the Presidio,
the principal cemeteries of San Francisco seem to cluster around
Lone Mountain in the northwestern part of the city and south of the
Military Reservation. These are Laurel Hill, Calvary, Masonic and Odd
Fellows. The Jews have their special burying ground between Eighteenth
and Twentieth streets, and the old Mission cemetery where some of the
early Indian converts and Franciscan Fathers sleep their last sleep,
is close by the Mission Dolores, on the south side.
The group around Lone Mountain is dominated by a conspicuous cross on
the hill top, which, as a sentinel looks down with a benison on the
resting places of the dead, and, in heat and cold, in storm and
sunshine, seems to speak to the heart about Him "Who died, and was
buried, and rose again for us." To this picturesque spot too the
Chinese have been attracted, and they bury their departed west
of Laurel Hill, with all the rites peculiar to the followers of
Confucius.
But what thrilling histories of men from many lands are entombed in
all these tens of thousands of graves, what fond hopes are buried
here, what withered blossoms of life mingle with this consecrated soil
by the waters of the Pacific! Many a one who sought the Golden West in
pursuit of fortune found all too soon his goal here with unfulfilled
desire, while anxious friends and relatives beyond the seas and the
mountains or on the other side of the continent awaited his home
coming for years in vain. Here, indeed, are no rolls of papyrus, no
hieroglyphics, as in Egyptian tombs, to tell us the story of the
past, but it is written in the experiences of the gold seekers, it is
interwoven with the life of the city, now the mistress of the great
ocean which laves her feet, and it is burned into the memories of many
living witnesses.
If yonder grave could tell its tale it would speak to you of a
misspent life which might have been a blessing--of midnight revels and
mad excesses and Circe's feasts, the ruin of soul and body. And this
grave could talk to you about one who, far away from home and
kindred, had pined and wasted away in his loneliness, and had died of
homesickness. But while you are touched with the pathetic recital,
that grave near by reads you a lesson of patience, of heroism, of
faith, of purity of soul and body preserved in the midst of fiery
temptations, even while strong men were yielding themselves up to
"fleshly lusts which war against the soul."
The shrubs and trees and flowers on which you gaze, and which are
green and blossom the year round, now beautify all and mother earth
softens with her ministries the severities of the past, and sunlit
skies bend over the dead, as of old in many lands, and star-bedecked
heavens tell still to the living, as once to those whose bodies
mouldered here, the story of the life beyond, where glory and riches
and honour are the heritage of the faithful!
CHAPTER V
THEN AND NOW, OR EIGHTEEN HUNDRED FORTY-NINE AND NINETEEN HUNDRED AND
ONE
Triangular Section of San Francisco--Clay Banks, Mud and Rats
in 1849--Streets at That Time--Desperate Characters--Gambling
Houses--Thirst for Gold--Saloons and Sirens--The Bella Union--The
Leaven of the Church--Robbers' Dens and Justice in Mining Camps--The
Vigilance Committee and What It Did--San Francisco Well Governed
Now--Highway Robbers and the Courts--Chief of Police Wittman and His
Men--A Visit to Police Headquarters--The Cells--A Murderer--A Chinese
Woman in Tears--A Hardened Offender.
The traveller to the City of the Golden Gate, as he approaches it,
having crossed the great bay from Oakland, notices that the hundreds
of streets which greet his gaze run from east to west, and cross each
other at right angles, except a triangular section of this metropolis
of the west. This part of the city may be compared to a great wedge
with the broad end on the bay. It begins at the Market Street Ferry
house and runs south as far as South Street at the lower end of China
Basin. This triangle is bounded on the north by Market Street, which
follows a line west by southwest, and on the south by Channel and
Ridley Streets, the latter crossing Market Street at the sharp end of
the wedge-shaped section. The portion of the city within the triangle
embraces in its water-front the Mission, Howard, Folsom, Stewart,
Spear, Fremont, and Merrimac Piers, together with Mail and Hay Docks.
Here you may see steamships and sailing vessels from all parts of
the world moored at their piers, while others are riding at anchor a
little way out from the land. The whole scene is at once picturesque
and animated and suggests great activity. We must remember, however,
that where now are these massive piers with their richly laden ships
and noble argosies, as far back only as 1849 there were no stable
docks, no properly constructed wharfs, no convenient landing places.
Here only were clay banks, which gave no promise of the great future
with its commercial grandeur, and everything was insecure and
unsatisfactory, especially in rainy weather, which began in November
and continued with more or less interruption until April. The new
comer, not cautious to secure a sure footing would sometimes sink deep
in the soft mud or even disappear in the spongy earth. With the ships
too came not only the gold-seekers from many lands, but rats also as
if they had a right and title to the rising city. These swarmed along
the primitive wharfs, and at times they would invade the houses and
tents of the people and go up on their beds or find a lodging-place in
vessels and cup-boards. Some of these rodents which followed in the
wake of the new civilisation were from China and Japan, while others,
gray and black, came in ships from Europe and from American cities on
the Atlantic seaboard. Even wells had to be closed except at the time
of the drawing of water, in order to keep out these pests which made
the life of many a householder well nigh intolerable.
The streets were few in number then, not more than fifteen or twenty,
as the town, at the time of which we are speaking, had only a
population of about five thousand people. As San Francisco grew,
however, under the impetus which the discovery of gold gave to it, the
streets were naturally multiplied; and, to overcome the mire in wet
weather and also the sand of the dry season, which made it difficult
for pedestrians to walk hither and thither or for vehicles to move
to and fro, they were planked in due time. Wooden sewers were also
constructed on each side of the street to carry off the surface water.
A plank road besides ran out to Mission Dolores, the vicinity of which
was a great resort on Sundays, especially in the days when "bull
fighting" was a pastime and the old Spanish and Mexican elements of
the population had not been eliminated or had not lost their prestige.
As one went to and fro then and encountered men of all nationalities,
it was not an uncommon thing to meet many who had the look of
desperadoes, whose upper garment was a flannel shirt, while revolvers
looked threateningly out of their belts at the passerby. All this of
course, was changed after a time, when the days of reform came, as
they always come when the need arises. There is an element in human
society which acts as a corrective, and wrong is finally dethroned,
and right displays her power with a divine force and a vivid sweep as
a shaft of lightning from the sky. We need never despair about the
triumph of the good. It is a noble sentiment which Bryant utters in
"The Battle Field:"
"Truth crushed to earth shall rise again:
The eternal years of God are hers;
But Error, wounded, writhes in pain,
And dies among his worshippers."
And never was there a community or a city where Truth asserted her
sway more potently in the midst of evil than in San Francisco in the
trying days of her youth. With the rush from all lands to California
for the coveted gold came the lawless and the blood-thirsty. Men in
the gambling houses would sometimes quarrel over the results of the
game or over some "love affair." Fair Helen and unprincipled, gay,
thoughtless Paris were here by the Golden Gate. The old story is
constantly repeating itself since the Homeric days. Duels were fought
betimes as a consequence, and the issue for one or both of the
combatants was generally fatal. Gambling in those days was, from a
worldly stand-point, the most profitable business, that is for the
professional player or the saloon-keeper. Indeed it was looked upon
as quite respectable. It has a strange fascination at all times for a
certain class, with whom it becomes a passion as much as love for the
wine-cup, and one must be well grounded in principle to resist its
influences. Many once noble souls who had been tenderly brought up
were led astray. Away from home and its restraining associations,
gambling, drinking, and other sins and vices became their ruin. In
calm moments when alone or under some momentary impulse of goodness
there would rise before them the vision of God-fearing parents--of
open Bibles--of hallowed Sundays; but the thirst for gold could not be
quenched, the mad race must be run, and to the bitter end, dishonour,
death, the grave! Shelley, if he had stood in the midst of the
gamblers, staking all, even their souls, for gold, in those California
days of wild revelry, could not have expressed himself more appositely
than in his graphic and truthful lines, in Queen Mab:
"Commerce has set the mark of selfishness;
The signet of its all-enslaving power
Upon a shining ore, and called it gold:
Before whose image bow the vulgar great,
The vainly rich, the miserable proud,
The mob of peasants, nobles, priests, and kings,
And with blind feelings reverence the power
That grinds them to the dust of misery.
But in the temple of their hireling hearts
Gold is a living god, and rules in scorn
All earthly things but virtue."
The saloons fifty years ago were the centres of attraction for the
over-wrought miner, the aimless wanderer, the creature of impulse,
the child of passion. They were decorated with an eye to brilliant
colours, to gorgeous effect, to all that appeals to the sensuous
element in our nature. They were the best built and most richly
furnished houses in the San Francisco of that period. The walls were
adorned with costly paintings, and the furniture was in keeping with
this lavish outlay. In each gambling house was a band of music, and a
skillful player received some $30 per night for his services. Painted
women were the presiding geniuses at the wheels of fortune and these
modern Circes or Sirens played the piano and the harp with all the
passion of their art to drown men's cares and make them forget duty
and principle and honour. The tables of the players of the games were
piled high with yellow gold to serve as a tempting bait. The games
were chiefly what are called in the nomenclature of the gambling
fraternity. Rouge-et-noir, Monte-faro, and Roulette. The men who lost,
whatever their feelings might be, and they were often bitter, as a
rule disguised their sore disappointment. They would try their luck
again, but this only led them deeper in the mire. Many an one lost a
princely fortune in a night. The gambling houses were located chiefly
around the Plaza or Portsmouth Square, of which we have already
spoken. They were filled, as a general thing, all night, with an eager
throng, especially on Sunday. Indeed everything then had its full
course on Sunday. There were various sports; drinking and gambling ran
riot. Blasphemous words filled the air. Men swore without the least
thought. But profanity is not alone restricted to a frontier or border
community, where laws and a sense of propriety are wanting. One may
hear it in old and civilised towns, as he walks the streets, and
sometimes from the lips of boys. In these saloons people of all ages
congregated from youth up to hoary hairs. Here were the Indian and the
Negro, the American and the Mexican, the Spaniard and the Frenchman,
the Italian, the Dutchman and the German, the Dane and the Russian,
the English, the Irish and the Scotchman, the Chinaman and the
Japanese. One of the most noted of the saloons was the Bella Union, a
Monte Carlo in itself. Woe betide the miner from the mountains with
gold who entered it. Here was a richly appointed bar to tempt the
desire for drink, while costly mirrors were arranged in such wise as
to reflect the scenes of revelry, and pictures that were worth large
sums of money hung on the walls. The silverware too would have done
credit to a royal board. Both the tables and the bar were well
patronised at all times.
Naturally with such elements of society, with the mad thirst for gold,
with the loose morality which prevailed to a large extent, there
would be great lawlessness. It must be borne in mind however that the
Christian Church was at work in those perilous times, which live only
in memory now, and was gradually leavening the whole lump. There were
devout men and true women in early San Francisco, who, in the midst of
"a crooked generation," kept themselves pure and "unspotted from the
world." And is it not true that men can hold fast their crown, that no
man take it from them, if only they will make use of the grace of God?
God has His faithful witnesses in every place, in every age, no matter
how corrupt. There are the "seven thousand" who do not bow the kneel
to Baal, there are the faithful "few names" even in Sardis who do not
defile their garments with the world. San Francisco had them in those
days of special temptation, brave and noble souls who could say with
Sir Galahad:
"My strength is as the strength of ten,
Because my heart is pure."
In this strength they rose up and purged the place, even though as
difficult as a labour of Hercules. The men of the Vigilance Committee
will ever live in song and story. Even up in the mountains in the gold
mines of El Dorado county and elsewhere the spirit of the men of
San Francisco was at work in the camps. Robbers were there, bold
characters, dark-browed men, who would not hesitate to steal, and
kill, if need be, in their nefarious work. The miners had their perils
to encounter in these bandits. The robbers had their dens in the
mountains in lonely places, beside a trail sometimes, and in the
depths of the forests. The dens had generally two rooms on the ground
floor and a loft which was reached by a ladder. If a belated miner
sought shelter or food here he was given a lodging in the loft. If he
drank with his "host" it would most likely be some liquor that was
drugged, and in his heavy sleep he was sure to be robbed. In the
morning he had no redress, and he might consider himself fortunate if
he escaped with his life. Sometimes however the robber was brought
to quick justice by the miners. Robbery was not countenanced in the
camps. If one should steal, his fellows would rise up, try him in a
hastily convened court, and condemn him to death, and hang him on
the nearest tree. It was a rule that the body should be exposed for
twenty-four hours as a warning to others. All this may seem harsh, but
under the circumstances it was the only way in which justice could
be dealt out to offenders. The camps were in consequence orderly and
safe. We must not think, because the Vigilance Committees of the
mining camps and of the city took the administration of law into their
own hands that therefore they were lawless and that their rule was
that of the mob. No, this was the only way in which peaceable citizens
could be protected from the violence and crimes perpetrated by the
turbulent and disorderly and vicious elements of society. In the years
1851 and 1852 there was great lawlessness in San Francisco. Bad men,
who had served terms in prisons for their misdeeds, and men who
wished to disorganise society, who had the spirit of anarchy in their
breasts, organised themselves into bands for the purpose of stealing
and killing, and good citizens stood in mortal fear of them. Buildings
were burned at pleasure, houses were broken open and robberies
committed, and even murder was resorted to when the wrongdoers found
it necessary in the accomplishment of their hellish purposes. The
officials of the city were careless in punishing offenders, indeed
they were powerless to do so, and the lawbreakers knew this. It is
said that over a hundred persons were murdered during the period
of six months; and the blood of these victims cried to Heaven for
vengeance. To assert the majesty of law and to punish criminals a
large number of the best citizens, who grieved over the evils which
prevailed, organised themselves into the famous Vigilance Committee.
The seal which they adopted showed their worthy purpose. In the centre
was the figure of a human eye to denote watchfulness. Above the eye
was the word, Committee,--beneath, Vigilance; then the name, San
Francisco. Around the edge of the seal ran the legends: "Fiat Justitia
Ruat Coelum. No creed; no party; no sectional issues." While not
constituted exactly like the Court of Areopagus, yet the Vigilance
Committee of San Francisco did for a time exercise authority over
life and death like the Athenian judges on Mars' Hill. The shaft of
lightning first fell on an ex-convict who was caught stealing. Eighty
members of the Committee tried and convicted him, and on the same
night he was hanged in Portsmouth Square in view of the saloons. A
thrill ran through the whole community, and when, the next morning,
the people read the names of the prominent citizens who served on
the Committee, their action made a deep and salutary impression. The
Vigilance Committee prosecuted its work till the city was purged of
its evils, and it exercised from time to time its authority until the
year 1856. As a result of its firmness, its promptness in punishing
criminals, and its high-minded aims, the land had rest for twenty
years. A weak administration of justice is an encouragement to wrong
doing. Municipal and state officials can best serve their city and
country by dealing quick and severe blows at lawlessness; but to be
effective they must be men of integrity, above reproach, and withal
just. To-day San Francisco is one of the most orderly and best
governed cities in the United States. During my rambles through its
streets I went to and fro at all hours without being molested. I never
met a drunken man or a disorderly person. The city feels the effect of
the Committee's good work even to this latest hour. It serves as an
example. Justice is dealt out speedily to offenders. There are few
if any technical delays of the law and the criminal rarely escapes
without punishment. Some examples have occurred recently which show
that the judges of the superior courts are alive to their duty and
that they can perform it when the occasion arises. A man named John H.
Wood, a former soldier, was convicted of highway robbery, and he was
speedily sentenced to imprisonment for life in Folsom Penitentiary.
Judge Cook who passed sentence on him took the position that a man who
used a deadly weapon in the commission of his crime should receive the
full penalty of the law. A man who holds a pistol to shoot will take
life, therefore he ought to have a life sentence. Wood, who belongs
to a wealthy family in Texas, has a checkered history. He served as
a soldier for a time in the Philippine Islands. Here he deserted his
post and committed highway robbery. He was tried by court martial for
larceny and convicted. Then he was brought to San Francisco and put
in the military prison on the Island of Alcatraz. He was finally
discharged from the army in disgrace. A few months ago he tried to rob
a showcase man and held a revolver at his head while he seized a watch
and chain. He was immediately arrested by three officers, and a month
after he was sentenced for life. As showing the depravity of the
man he said after receiving sentence: "That is an awful dose, and I
haven't had my breakfast yet." Possibly in prison he will reflect upon
his evil life, and be softened, and repent. He might have been a good
citizen, worthy of his country; but he hardened his heart and sank
deeper and deeper in his degradation. Oh, the hardening of the heart!
It was Pharaoh's sin. It is the sin of many an one now.
Another highway robber, Edward Davis, was sentenced at the same time
with Wood to serve in the State Penitentiary for thirty-three years.
He also pointed a pistol to the head of his victim. But thirty-three
years! He will probably die in prison. It is a life thrown away, one
of God's best gifts. But if stern justice be meted out here in this
world, what must the unrepenting sinner, who has trampled the divine
law under foot, expect in the world to come? San Francisco teaches a
lesson which reaches farther than an earthly tribunal. The judge
on his bench is an image of the Judge who weighs human life in His
balances.
There is of course crime in San Francisco as in all other cities.
Indeed crime is universal, whether in the Orient or the Occident. The
Chief of Police Wittman accounts for highway robbery, to the extent
in which it prevails, from the fact that San Francisco is a garrison
city. Here are numerous recruits and discharged soldiers, and, as a
seaport, it draws to itself the scum and offscourings of all nations,
Hindoos, Chinese, Malays, and all other kinds of people.
The police force is hardly adequate to patrol the entire city. It
consists only of 589 men all told, and they are fine, manly looking
guardians of the law, always ready to do their duty, always courteous
to strangers, answering all questions intelligently. It is claimed,
moreover, that the criminal element of the country drifts to San
Francisco in the winter on account of the climate and also through the
attractions of the racetrack. The police also find that the places
where poker-games are played are a rendezvous for criminals. In 1887
and 1888 there was an outbreak of highway robbery, but the grand
jury acted promptly in the matter and the courts soon suppressed it.
Property and life therefore are jealously guarded in the City of the
Golden Gate, and bad characters who go thither to prey on the public
soon get their deserts. In this respect then San Francisco is a
desirable place in which to live.
One evening in company with a party of friends, Rev. Dr. Ashton of
Clean, N.Y., Rev. Dr. Reynold Marvin Kirby of Potsdam, N.Y., Rev.
Clarence Ernest Ball of Alexandria, Va., Rev. Henry Sidney Foster of
Green Bay, Wis., the Rev. William Barnaby Thorne of Marinette, Wis.,
and Doctor Robert J. Gibson, surgeon in the United States Army,
stationed at San Francisco, I visited the police headquarters,
situated on the east side of Portsmouth Square. This is a large
building of several stories with numerous offices. The chief in his
office on the main floor, on the right hand of the entrance, received
us courteously and assigned to us a detective according to an
arrangement previously made with Ashton. In the office were portraits
of police commissioners and the chiefs and others who had been
connected with the department for many years. Entering an elevator we
were soon on the topmost floor where were the cells in which prisoners
just arrested and waiting for trial were confined. The doors of the
cells, all of iron, were opened or closed by moving a lever. It was
now about 9:30 P.M., and officers were bringing in such persons as had
been arrested for theft, for assault and battery, for drunkenness and
other kinds of evil doing. Towards daybreak the cells are pretty well
filled, but now they were nearly empty. How true His words who knows
what is in man. "Men love darkness rather than light because their
deeds are evil!"
One young man who had killed another in a quarrel was pointed out to
us. The woman who loved him and who expected to be his wife, and still
had faith in him, was at his side, with her sister, conversing with
him between her sobs, in a low earnest tone. He seemed greatly
agitated. A detective stood a little way off from the trio. The
evidence was strong against the murderer, and an officer said to us
that there was no chance for him to escape from the penalty of the
law. In a cell was a young Chinese woman, just brought in, possibly
for disorderly conduct. She could not have been more than fifteen
or sixteen years old. She was pretty and refined in appearance and
handsomely dressed, and she wept as if her heart would break. Not yet
hardened by sin, and probably imprisoned for the first time, she felt
the shame and degradation of her lot. I could not but feel pity for
her, and expressed sorrow for her, though she may not have understood
my words. At least she could interpret the signs of sympathy in voice
and expression. These are a universal language. Maybe she was more
sinned against than sinning,--and that Divine One Who reads all hearts
and knows the temptations and snares which beset unwary feet, would
say to her--"Go, and sin no more!"
In another cell was an old offender who had a face furrowed with sin.
As we looked at her I could see that she regarded our presence as an
intrusion. I recalled Dr. Watt's lines:
"Sinners who grow old in sin
Are hardened in their crimes."
Yet there is an awakening of the conscience at last, and even a prison
house with its corrections may be a door of escape from that other
prison of the sinful soul from which no one can go forth, be he
culprit or juror, counsellor or judge, until his pardon is pronounced
by Him who can forgive sins.
CHAPTER VI
FROM STREET NOMENCLATURE TO A CANNON
The Streets of the City--Numbers and Names--Example of Athens--Names
of Men--Names of States and Countries--American Spirit--Flowers
and Trees--Market Street--Pleasantries--Mansions of California
Avenue--Grand Reception--Art in California--Cost of Living in
1849--Hotels and Private Houses now--Restaurants--New City
Hall--Monumental Group--Scenes and Representations--History of a
Cannon--Chance Meeting with General Shafter--Mission of the Republic.
The streets of the city! They are an important feature, and the
traveller naturally observes their direction and studies their
character. In the description of New Jerusalem, St. John noted the
fact that its street was "pure gold." The streets of earthly cities
cannot vie with the celestial, though the gold of commerce may be
found in their warehouses and mansions; but if men were as earnest in
seeking after the treasures of Heaven as were the tens of thousands
who flocked to the gold-fields of California in 1849, they would
surely win the fortune which awaits them within the Golden Gate of the
City on the banks of the Crystal River. San Francisco has her noted
streets, just as the City of Mexico has her San Francisco promenade,
leading from the Alameda to the Plaza de Zocalo; or Rome her famous
Corso, the old Via Flaminia, with its shops and its teeming life; or
Athens her Hodos Hermou, with its old Byzantine church of Kapnikaraea;
or Constantinople her Grande Rue de Pera, with its hotels and theatres
and bazaars; or old Damascus, her "street that is called straight,"
Suk et-Tawileh, the street of the Long Bazaar, with its Oriental life
and colouring; or Cairo her picturesque Muski, where you may find
illustrations of scenes in the Arabian Nights, and gratify your senses
with
"Sabean odours from the spicy shore
Of Araby the Blest."
The streets of the city by the Golden Gate have an interesting
nomenclature, which well deserves one's study for what it teaches.
Some streets in the triangular section of San Francisco, already
spoken of, are numbered. These begin west of Fremont street and run
up to Thirteenth, being bounded by Market street. Then the numbered
streets take a turn to the left hand and go from Fourteenth to
Twenty-Sixth, in the southwestern section of the city, and run due
west. Numbers on the streets of any city are of course a convenience,
but such a nomenclature has nothing else to commend it, and lacks
imagination and sacrifices bits of history which may be interwoven
with municipal life and show progress from small beginnings and
perpetuate pioneers' names and benefactors' memories. Modern Athens
in naming her streets has very wisely called them after some of the
demigods, heroes, generals, statesmen, and poets of Greece; and
grateful too for the work of Lord Byron in behalf of her independence,
she has honoured him who in immortal song spurred on her sons to
arise and cast off the Turkish yoke, with a name on one of her
thorough-fares--Hodos Tou Buronos--which the traveller reads with
emotion, even as he gazes also with admiration on the beautiful
Pentelic monument reared to the memory of her benefactor, near the
Arch of Hadrian, while Athenae is represented as crowning him with the
victorious olive. With feelings and sentiments akin to this the sons
of the Golden West have associated forever with the streets of their
great city the names of men who either benefited California or take
high rank in national life or are otherwise worthy of perpetual
commemoration. Hence we have a Berkeley street, a Buchanan, a Castro,
a Fillmore, a Franklin, a Fremont, a Grant, a Hancock, a Harrison,
a Hawthorne, and a Humboldt street. Juniper street is a memorial of
Father Junipero Serra, founder of Franciscan Missions. Kepler takes
us up to the stars, which shine beautifully over the lofty Sierras,
California's eternal rampart; while Lafayette speaks to us of
friendship and chivalry, still alive in these matter of fact days. As
you walk through the streets you see also the name of Kearney, not
Dennis of "sand-lot" fame, but that of General S.W. Kearney, whose
sword aided in placing the star of California in our Nation's Flag;
you read too the name of the old Indian chief, Marin, and that of
Montezuma takes you across the Rio Grande and back to the days of
Mexican romance and barbaric splendour. Here also Montgomery is
remembered, the patriotic commander of the Portsmouth, who gave orders
to his marines to raise the Stars and Stripes, in place of Spanish
ensigns and the Bear Flag, on the Plaza of Yerba Buena, old San
Francisco, in 1846. We find also such well known names as Scott,
Sherman and Stanford. We have too a St. Francis street and a St.
Joaquin street; Sumner, Sutter, Tilden and Webster are remembered
also. Nearly all the states of the Union speak to us by these waters
of the Pacific in the stones of the streets. All the original Thirteen
except Georgia have been honoured. Possibly this will receive
recognition in the future. It is to be noted, however, that the
adjectives are omitted in the Carolinas and New Hampshire. New York is
the exception together with Rhode Island. The other States which have
given their names to streets are Alabama, Arkansas, California, the
Dakotas without the qualifying adjective, Florida, Illinois, Indiana,
Iowa, Kansas, Kentucky, Louisiana, Michigan, Minnesota, Missouri,
Nebraska, Nevada, Tennessee, Utah, Vermont, Wisconsin and Wyoming.
The natural inference from this is that San Francisco has drawn
her population from all parts of the land; so that here you have
representatives of our great country, north, south, east and west
gathered together. While there are many who delight to call themselves
Native Sons, yet their fathers have sprung from households in New
England and in the South and in the Middle States and elsewhere and
new peoples are steadily migrating to the Pacific slopes, notably
to this Queen City by the Golden Gate. In my intercourse with San
Franciscans, this or that worthy citizen would say, with no little
pride, I was born in New York, Boston is my birthplace, I am a native
of Albany, or Saratoga, or Philadelphia, or Baltimore, or Savannah or
New Orleans. Sometimes one would say to me, I came from the East. What
part? The answer would be at times, Chicago, or St. Louis, or Omaha,
as the case might be. But one thing was very noticeable, that they
were all loyal Americans. I think it may be truly said that the spirit
of patriotism is even stronger in the Pacific States than at the East.
You could see the Flag of the Union everywhere, and there was abundant
evidence in the life and speech of the people of San Francisco and of
California generally that they were an integral part of the Republic
and as anxious to have it prosperous and great and united as the most
ardent American in any other part of the land.
The cosmopolitan character of San Francisco is further indicated by
the names of foreign countries and places which some of her streets
bear. Here we note in our walks the names of Denmark and Japan,
Honduras and Montenegro, Trinidad, Venezuela and Valencia, and also
the Spanish town De Haro. Certain names also of cities tell us whence
people have come to the City of the Golden Gate. We find an Albany, an
Austin, and a Chattanooga street. There are also streets called Erie,
Hartford, Vicksburg and York, San Jose and Santa Clara, while Fair
Oaks speaks of one of the great battlefields of the Civil War. Some of
the counties of the State have also fixed their names on the streets
as Butte, El Dorado, Mariposa, Napa, Solano and Sonoma. The Potomac
River has a name here also, while Sierra and Shasta represent the
mountains. There are names of streets besides which take us among the
trees and shrubs, such as the Cedar, the Locust, the Linden, the Oak,
the Walnut, the Willow, the Ivy, the Laurel and the Myrtle. Of flowers
there is a profusion in San Francisco. They bloom on every hand; and
wherever there is a bit of ground or lawn in front of a house there
you will see plants or flowers in blossom. Fuschias attain the height
of ten feet in some places and are magnificent in the colour and
beauty of their flowers. The heliotrope climbs up its support with
eagerness and its blossoms vie in hue with the blue skies. You may
also see the pink flowers of the Malva plant in abundance, the chaste
mignonette and the Australian pea-vine. The latter is a favourite and
clothes the bare walls of fence or house or trellis with a robe of
beauty which queens might envy. Roses are rich and fragrant, white and
pink chiefly, and delight the eye, no matter which way you turn. The
Acacia grows here in San Francisco as if it were native to the soil;
and the Monterey Cypress, green and beautiful, makes a handsome hedge,
or, when given room and air, it attains to stately proportions. Here
also you will find the Eucalyptus tree in its perfection, stately in
form with its ivy-green foliage, and you look upon it with an admiring
eye. California may be truly called a land of flowers as well as a
land of fruits; and we err not in judgment when we say that close
association with these beautiful products of the earth has a refining
and an uplifting influence on the human heart. A man who has love for
a flower is brought near to the Lord of the flowers, Who said as He
walked over the meadows of Palestine--"Consider the lilies of the
field, how they grow." So they have their sweet message of love and
gentleness and peace for all, yes, these "stars of the earth," as the
poet calls them. Such thoughts come to you as you gaze on the rich
gardens of San Francisco and note their wealth of bright blossoms,
brightening man's life and filling his soul with poetry and sentiment
and longing for the beautiful and for the good.
As we walk through the city we note that it is rapidly extending
itself towards the south and the slopes of the Pacific, and new homes
are constantly appearing in its suburbs, even climbing up the hills to
the west. Market street, broad and straight, is San Francisco's main
artery of business activity, and the cable cars which run through
it are so numerous that a person who undertakes to cross this great
avenue, especially during the busy hours of the day, must be careful
lest he be run over. It reminds one of Broadway, New York, in this
respect. All streets of the city converge towards Market street.
Crowds of people throng it, and this is true, particularly during
Saturday night, when the labours of the week are ended and the
populace seek recreation. There are many large and attractive
buildings on this street, as for example "The Call Building," "The
Chronicle Building," "The Palace Hotel," and the "Emporium." As you
walk up and down studying life you note many things, and you see good
nature depicted in the faces of the people whom you meet. They all
look bright and intelligent. I think there is something in the
surroundings and in the exhilarating atmosphere which promotes
fellowship and good feeling. There is a keen sense of humour often
manifest. Among many of the things which I saw was an illuminated
Back to Full Books
|