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VIII
AROUND THE GOLDEN GATE THE situation of San Francisco makes it a logical metropolis. It has one of the largest harbors in the world, and there is no other that can in the least rival this between San Diego and Puget Sound. Besides, the bay and its rivers give an admirable opportunity for extensive and cheap water commerce inland, and the great fertile valleys which open away toward the interior are naturally tributary to the city that guards the Golden Gate. The city is built on about a dozen hills which add greatly to its picturesqueness. It turns its back on the sea, and its wharves front the bay easterly. The name which designates the passage from the Pacific into the harbor was applied by Fremont in 1848, and has nothing to do with the gold-bearing districts. “Golden” referred to the fertility of the country on the shores of the bay. Looking from the Fishermen's Wharf toward the Golden Gate
The settlement of
the place dates back to 1776 when the Franciscan Friars established a Mission
here. The Mission was in the center of the peninsula, half way between the sea
and the harbor. For over fifty years it was the nucleus of quite a village, and
the community in its prime had a population of five hundred Indians and
Mexicans. Another settlement was presently established on the shore of the bay
for commercial purposes and came to have a considerable trade in hides and
tallow. In January, 1848,
James W. Marshall discovered gold while digging a ditch for a sawmill about
forty-five miles northeast of Sacramento. This caused tremendous excitement in
San Francisco and two thirds of the population left for the new region of
promise. Lots in the city sold for one half what they were worth a month
before; but the necessities of life began to get scarce in the gold camps, and
some of the miners returned to San Francisco and prepared to profit through the
rapid increase of business that was sure to come. The large finds of gold in
the interior brought an inrush of newcomers and the population early in 1849
was two thousand. By July it was five thousand, and this number doubled the
following year. Between April and December 1849 over five hundred vessels
arrived bringing thirty-five thousand passengers. As many more immigrants came
overland; but the great majority found their way with little delay to the
mines. Such was the eagerness to share in the golden fortune that scores of
vessels lay in the harbor unable to proceed farther for want of sailors because
the crews had deserted in a body almost as soon as the anchors were dropped.
Some of these vessels eventually rotted where they were moored. Others were
hauled up on the beach to serve as storehouses, lodging-houses and saloons. For
a long time several of them, flanked by buildings and wharves, and forming part
of a street, were original features of the town. Money in the period
of sudden growth was scarce, and gold dust was the principal medium of
exchange. During 1848 the monthly yield of gold in California averaged three
hundred thousand dollars, in 1849 a million and a half, in 1850 three million.
Prices of labor and all supplies were very high. Flour was forty dollars a
barrel, butter ninety cents a pound, a loaf of bread fifty cents, a hard boiled
egg one dollar. A tin pan or a wooden bowl cost five dollars, and a pick or a
shovel ten dollars. But laborers received a dollar an hour, and in spite of the
cost of living everybody made money. Bayard Taylor who
visited San Francisco at this time says that, “Around the curve of the bay
hundreds of tents and houses appeared, scattered all over the heights and along
the shore for more than a mile. On every side stood buildings begun or half
finished, and the greater part of them were canvas sheds open in front, and
with signs in all languages. Great quantities of goods were piled in the open
air for want of a place to store them. The streets were full of people hurrying
to and fro, and of as diverse and bizarre a character as the houses.” The winter season
of 1849 and 1850 was very rainy, and the streets, which had not as yet been
either graded or paved, became simply impassable. In many places wagons would
sink to the wheel-hubs, and the animals were sometimes so deeply mired they
could not be extricated and were left to die where they were. Trees and
shrubbery and boxes and barrels of goods were thrown into the streets to afford
a passage-way. The city continued
its rapid growth, and by 1853 the population had increased to forty-two
thousand. With the influx of treasure-seekers came a motley crowd of
adventurers from all points on the Pacific Coast, Australia and the East, and
many of them made a living by preying on their fellows. Gambling jumped into
popular favor, and though stringent measures were adopted for its abatement
they did not avail. Fortunes were made and lost in a single day, and many a
miner who came from the interior to embark for his home, by trying to increase
his fortune at the gaming table found himself penniless and obliged to return
to the mines and begin all over. There were parts of
the city where even a policeman hardly dared to go, and night was made hideous
with debauchery and assaults. During the early years of the city’s awakening
many murders were committed by the desperadoes, yet no one was hanged for the
crimes, and the courts became a byword. The situation was intolerable and in
1851 the famous Vigilance Committee was organized in the interests of law and
order. This Committee within a month tried and hanged four men and banished
thirty others, and the course pursued was universally upheld by public opinion.
Conditions became normal and the Committee ceased its labors. But in 1856 crime
had once more become rampant and the law impotent. The Vigilants reorganized
and acted with the same vigor and with the same results as before, and there was
again individual security and public order. The history of San Francisco’s beginnings are extremely interesting to anyone who visits the city and these strange happenings and conditions form a fascinating background. They were constantly in my mind when I was there early in 1906 and added much to the significance of what I saw. For a place of its size I was surprised to find so much of it built of wood. Of course certain fine residences and many of the big business blocks were of material more permanent and substantial, but even in the commercial heart of the town wooden structures were plentiful, while in the residence sections redwood dwellings were almost universal. I wondered what would happen if a big fire got started, and mentioned this thought to a native. He, however, assured me that I need have no apprehension on that score; for they had the finest fire department in the world, and no fire could get beyond control. A glimpse of the shipping
Another feature of
the city that engaged my attention was its weather. Someone had told me that,
“with its rains and fogs and rough winds San Francisco has about the meanest
climate that ever a man set foot in.” I suppose there is a modicum of truth in
the statement, but during my stay the weather was rather fine. If we had rain
it came at night, and though there was often fog and gloom in the early morning
the sun presently broke through. Then followed a period of dreamy calm, but
later the wind came blustering in from the sea and for much of the afternoon
blew with uncomfortable violence. This seemed to be the daily program. The city’s fame as
a seaport drew me early to the wharves. Everywhere here for miles were ships
loading and unloading, and I found toil and din and smoke and dubious smells no
matter whither I wandered. Against the sky was a dense forest of tapering masts
with their network of rigging, and here and there were stout steamer funnels
belching soot and fumes. The great drays banged and rattled along over the
rough pavements, there was clanking of chains, the panting of engines, the
shouts of men. Loafers strolled about or roosted on piles of boards and other
chance seats, and children and sight-seers mingled with the rest of the crowds,
all drawn by the allurement of the sea-going ships and the varied activity. It
was a rude region, and the business buildings which fronted toward the wharves
were dingy and forbidding. Saloons were predominant, and these endeavored to
interest the public by the individuality of their names, as for instance, the
North Pole, the Castle, the Tea Cup, Life Saving Station and Thirst Parlor, The
Fair Wind, and Jim’s Place. Whatever else the
stranger in San Francisco missed seeing he was sure to visit the Chinese
quarter. Here was an oriental community of fifteen thousand in the heart of the
city. It occupied an area of about ten square blocks. No space was wasted, and
besides the main thoroughfares there were many narrow byways running in all
directions and lined with little places of business. Often the buildings were
curiously ornamented and made resplendent with many-colored paints and big
paper lanterns, but the majority were battered and aged and grimy. The first Chinese
to arrive in California came on the brig Eagle in February, 1848. They were two
men and one woman. Within the next two years about five hundred came, and by
1852 there were eighteen thousand. Large numbers went direct to the mines where
they worked for a few cents a day. The enmity aroused by their competition in
the labor market resulted in exclusion laws, and latterly their numbers have
been decreasing. Naturally, therefore, the racial bitterness which the
Americans have felt toward the Mongolians is somewhat allayed. Yet harsh
feeling is still to be encountered, and one man enlightened me thus: “They ought to be
kept out — every one of ‘em. Go to the farming country and watch how they
manage on their ranches workin’ all the time, night and day, and Sundays, rain
or shine. A white man has no show against them — not a particle. When it comes
to disposing of what he raises, the Chinaman sells every time he starts out to
make a trade. Ask him the price of a bunch of beets. “‘Five cents,’ he
says. “‘Too much,’ you
say. “He picks up
another bunch and says, ‘Here, two bunches for five cents today;’ and you take
them. “A Chinaman knows
how to accumulate the cash. He will come into this country with nothing and go
away with a bag of money as long as your arm. “In the city they crowd into the smallest quarters and eat the cheapest food. Let them keep coming and they would take all the work and absorb all the wealth there is here; and we ain’t keepin” ‘em out either in spite of our laws. One way or another they are constantly sneaking in. Each Chinaman has to be photographed to identify him, but they all took alike, and if you catch one of those that have slipped in, he’ll show a photograph of some other Chinaman, and you can’t tell but that it is of him. A main thoroughfare in Chinatown
“They are a thrifty
people and an honest people, I’ll say that for them. They stand by their
bargains and always pay when they say they’ll pay. I’d rather sell goods to a
Chinese merchant than an American so far as finance goes. Some are
millionaires. But they don’t help develop the country. They don’t invest here.
All their money, sooner or later, goes back to China, and it’s a big drain.
That ain’t where we’re goin’ to get hit the worst, though. The Chinese who do
us the most harm are those that come to look around or to study. You see the
Chinamen are cracker-jacks to imitate. Give ‘em the chance and they’d steal all
our ideas about machinery and how to do things in a modern way. Then they’d go
back to China and start their manufactories, and we wouldn’t be in it at all. “There’s no other
race to which there’s the same objection. Lots of Mexicans come in, and they’re
kind of a mean, treacherous class that don’t like us any better than we like
them; but they’re lazy and shiftless, and their competition don’t count. Then
there’s Indians. I ain’t got no objection to them. The fact is they’re nearer
of kin to us than the Chinese, a good sight. The world has only three race
divisions. There’s the Caucasian, the Ethiopian and the Mongolian. The Indian
ain’t a Mongolian, is he? and he ain’t an Ethiopian. So he must be a
Caucasian.” I found a few of
the Chinatown shops large and fine, and the goods in them were often expensive,
rare, and delightfully original and charming in design. But for the most part
the shops were small and not by any means prepossessing. Usually they had open
fronts, and much of the stock was displayed on the sidewalk, and the walks were
also made use of for the conducting of many minor industries such as cobbling
and tinkering. I loitered about for hours watching the strange scenes. The
people with their yellow visages and unfamiliar garments looked as if they had
been exhumed from some prehistoric past. The men mostly wore black or dark
blue. Often the women wore these colors likewise, but a good many had clothing
as gay as a rainbow, and so did the children. The women went about bareheaded
and their garments consisted of large loose-fitting blouses with huge sleeves
and a pair of trousers of equally generous proportions. The inhabitants
included some persons of refinement and learning, and a considerable number of
keen and successful business men; but the larger part were of the lower class.
This, I suppose, is the reason why the women usually had normal feet; yet once
in a while I saw one stump along with feet that seemed to be nonexistent. In various places
were walls pasted over with hieroglyphic notices and bulletins, nearly all
printed on red or yellow paper, and the passers often paused to read. There was
always an absorbed group in front of a trinket stand where some colored
Japanese battle pictures were displayed. No space in the buildings was wasted,
and the occupants were much given to burrowing about underground. The filth of
the basements had formerly been superlative; but of late, by order of the city,
every cellar had been supplied with a cement floor. The shopkeepers seemed very
busy, yet sometimes I would see one taking his ease and smoking his long pipe
in contemplative peace and satisfaction, or I would see a group standing about
a table at the back of their cavernous little place of business eating with
their chop-sticks and drinking tea. Every butcher had an entire roasted hog
hung up from which he cut portions as they were wanted. Some of the meat and
dried fish and vegetables looked very uncanny. I often could not tell what the
things were, but I did recognize on sale in one shop a chicken’s feet minus the
skin. Almost every kind
of business was represented in Chinatown. They even had a bookstore, and they
published a daily newspaper. Barbers’ shops were numerous, for every man had
his head shaved about once a week; and when you looked into the tonsorial
establishment you perhaps saw the barber making the job thorough by shaving the
inside of the subject’s ears. One very busy alley was largely given up to the
sale of fish. The stores were full of the finny merchandise, the narrow walks
were almost covered, and numerous great shallow baskets spread with fish and
crabs and clams were put on boxes along the curb at either side of the street. I went into a
joss-house. In the lower room was a group of men smoking (and gambling, so I
was told). Up above was the room of worship, gorgeous, but tawdry. It was
crowded with paraphernalia and well supplied with wooden images. Near by was a
fine restaurant occupying an entire building. The furnishings were very
aristocratic, and there was much carving and heavy oriental chairs and tables.
It was run by a company of eight men, and their safe in one corner of an eating
apartment had eight padlocks on it. Each partner carried the key to his
individual padlock, and the safe could only be opened when all were present. Another place I
visited was the underground shop of an “inventor,” as he called himself. But
his inventions were more curious than original. They were all rather rude
mechanisms that did things of no particular use. One of the oddest was an
arrangement for reading by candlelight. When you were through you let go of
your book which was hitched to a string from above, and it was drawn up out of
the way. At the same time the candle swung back and an extinguisher dropped
over it. A somewhat similar
subterranean shop was occupied by a very old man who had two mimic theatres
fastened to his wall crowded with actors, one-half life size. He would set the
mechanism going and the figures would bob their heads and move their hands in a
most unearthly manner. He also had a wonder-stone, a polished disc about
eighteen inches across and with many smoky stains in the rock. The old man
pointed out in the stains a great number of figures — men, women and animals;
but it was seldom I would make out the things he said he saw. There were pawn-shops in Chinatown, and in the windows you were sure to see, among other articles, several opium pipes. Opium is less used than formerly, but opium dens still existed, and I wandered into one of them. Its entrance was at the back of a gloomy hallway. Within was a large apartment having a double tier of platforms at the sides on which were heaps of blankets and a few Chinamen sleeping or smoking. One ancient was lying on his side and toasting a bit of opium on the end of a slender stick over a little lamp. Then he crowded it into the orifice of his pipe and puffed away. Another fellow was smoking a water-pipe — that is, drawing tobacco fumes through a one-inch tube, two feet long, filled with water. This individual showed me various small trinkets which he said were very cheap because they had been smuggled in from abroad by friends. The Chinaman is not very particular about obeying laws that he can evade. He even holds slaves — for one alley was pointed out where, behind barred windows, the women slaves of this strange foreign community were kept. The view across San Francisco Bay to Mt. Tamalpais
My sojourn in San
Francisco came to an end at length, and one evening in the early dusk I crossed
the bay to go on by train to other regions. From the ferry-boat I looked back
and saw the great city with its masts and towers and heights, gray and
beautiful against the glow of the sunset sky. Lights were everywhere a-twinkle,
and the beholder could not but be impressed with the greatness of the city —
populous, rich, serene and powerful; and yet, one week later came the great
earthquake and the fire that reduced this metropolis of the west coast to a
blackened ruin. NOTE. — The old San
Francisco is no more, but the attraction of its situation will always remain,
and the new tragedy in its stirring history adds greatly to the interest of the
visitor. At about five o’clock of Wednesday morning, April 18, 1906, occurred
the first great shock of that elemental calamity. It had been a beautiful
night, and the Post-Lenten fever of society’s revels was at its height. That
night the climax of the Grand Opera season had been reached in a magnificent
performance, and never before had there been such enthusiasm in San Francisco’s
musical world. The performance was only concluded at midnight, and then for
hours the cafés had been gay with the laughter and discussions of the
opera-goers. Even at the time of the great shock some of the revelers were
still in the streets. There was a series of shuddering jerks and writhings of
the earth, here and there a crash of falling walls, then a profound silence for
several minutes. After that was heard the clangor of the gong on the cart of
the fire chief as he dashed through the heart of the city. Broken gas-pipes had
started fires; but worst of all, beneath the surface of the streets the water
mains had been severed, and the city was doomed. Not until three days later did
the conflagration burn itself out. Over four square miles of the city were gone
utterly, and property to the value of more than a third of a billion dollars had
been destroyed, and the larger portion of the inhabitants were homeless
refugees in the public parks. A new and more
substantial city has risen from the ashes, and it continues, as before, to be
the largest city on the Pacific Coast. It is at the north end of a long
peninsula. On the west is the ocean and on the east is San Francisco Bay, 50
miles long and 10 miles wide. The city lies mainly on the shore of the Bay and
on the steep hills that rise a little back from the water’s edge. The Golden Gate which
gives entrance from the sea to the Bay is one mile across. The Presidio, or
Government Military Reservation, stretches along the Golden Gate for 4 miles.
Daily drills of the troops stationed there are held from 9 to 11 A. M. Beyond the
Presidio, on the outermost portion of the peninsula that borders the Golden
Gate, is the popular resort, Sutro Heights Park. A great attraction here is the
view of the Seal Rocks. These rocks are three in number, conical in shape, and
from 20 to 50 feet high, and only a stone’s throw from the land. On them huge
sea-lions bask in the sun. Some of the creatures weigh over half a ton and are
from 12 to 15 feet long. They are protected by law, and scores of them are
always hovering about the rocks. Their evolutions in the water are very
interesting, and their singular barking can be heard above the roar of the
breakers. Near by are swimming pools and an aquarium. A little to the
south is Golden Gate Park with its fine lawns, serpentine drives, shady walks,
gorgeous flowers, and groves of tropical or semi-tropical trees, and its
wonderful collection of animals and birds. One of the most
interesting historical relics of the city is the old Mission Dolores at the
corner of Dolores and 16th streets. The superstitious believe that it escaped
by divine intervention the great fire which destroyed so much of the city. It
dates from about 1778. The adobe walls are three feet thick, it has a tile
roof, and the floor is of earth except near the altar. Adjoining it is a
neglected little churchyard. The Chinese Quarter
has been rebuilt since the fire, and is still one of the most fascinating
features of the city. It contains about 10,000 inhabitants, mostly men. The San Francisco
climate is notably equable, without extremes of either cold or heat.
Nevertheless, visitors should always have warm wraps available, for strong
chilling winds from the sea are frequent even in summer. Beyond the Golden
Gate, northward, rises Mt. Tamalpais, 2600 feet high. A scenic railroad climbs
to its summit, whence can be had an excellent view of the entire bay region. At Berkeley, just
across the bay from San Francisco, is the University of California, with its
extensive and picturesque grounds. It has over 3,000 students, one-third of
whom are women. An unusual feature of its equipment is an open-air Greek
theater, which accommodates 12,000 spectators, and is used for university
meetings, commencement exercises, and concerts. Automobile trips
can be made from San Francisco in every direction. One of the best roads is
that to Sacramento, the capital of the state, 136 miles distant. Perhaps an
even pleasanter way to make this trip is to go by steamer up the Sacramento
River. Orchards and gardens are almost continuous along the banks of the
stream. The motorist going
south from San Francisco will find good dirt roads in the main, but in places
they are very narrow, and have some sharp turns and steep grades. Thirty-four
miles takes one to Palo Alto. The name means tall tree, and the great redwood
which suggested the name still stands. Stanford University is the great
attraction at Palo Alto. It has an endowment of $30,000,000, and its buildings
in the Mission style of architecture, with long corridors and inner courts, are
the finest possessed by any university in the world. Twenty miles
farther south, is San José in the center of the largest compact orchard on the
globe, sheltered by the mountains roundabout from every asperity of land or
sea. This is the starting-point for Lick Observatory, 26 miles away on Mt.
Hamilton. Stages make the round trip in a day, allowing an hour’s stay on the
mountain. The road is excellent, and the views are beautiful and ever-changing.
The distance to the summit from the base of the mountain is only two miles in a
direct line, but by the road it is seven miles. The road is said to make 365
bends in this upward climb. The observatory is one of the most notable in the
world in point of situation, equipment, and achievement. Its great telescope
has a 36-inch object glass. James Lick, whose gift of $700,000 built the
observatory, is buried in the foundation pier of the telescope. Continuing the
journey southward from Palo Alto, we reach Santa Cruz, 91 miles from San
Francisco. This is a favorite summer and winter resort, with an excellent
bathing beach, fine cliffs, and good fishing. Six miles distant is a grove of
big trees, about 20 of which have a diameter of over 10 feet. One of them
attains a diameter of 23 feet. A large hollow tree is shown in which General
Fremont camped for several days in 1847. Somewhat farther
down the coast is charming Monterey, the old capital of California in the days
of Spanish rule. Dana, in his “Two Years Before the Mast,” describing Monterey
as it was in 1835, before California had become a part of the United States,
says: “It makes a very pretty appearance; its houses being of whitewashed
adobe. The red tiles, too, on the roofs contrast well with the white sides.
There are no streets nor fences (except that here and there a small patch might
be fenced in for a garden) so that the houses are placed at random. In the
center of the place is an open square, surrounded by four lines of one-story
buildings, with half a dozen cannon in the center; some mounted and others not.
This is the presidio, or fort. Every California town has a presidio in its
center; or rather every presidio has a town built around it; for the forts were
first built by the Mexican government, and then the people built near them, for
protection.” |