SAN FRANCISCO (_continued_).
Here in San Francisco, our National greenbacks were no longer a legal
tender, but everything was on a coin basis. Just as in New York,
you sell gold and buy greenbacks, if you want a convenient medium
of exchange, so here we had to sell greenbacks and buy gold. A dime
was the smallest coin, and "two bits" (twenty-five cents) the usual
gratuity. A newspaper cost a dime, or two for twenty-five cents--the
change never being returned. Fruits and vegetables were cheap, but
dry-goods, groceries, clothing, books, etc., about the same in gold,
as East in greenbacks. The general cost of living, therefore, seemed
to be about the same as in New York, _plus_ the premium on gold.
California and the Pacific slope generally had refused to adopt the
National currency, and it was still a mooted question whether they
had lost or gained by this. At first, they thought it a great gain to
be rid of our paper dollars; but public opinion had changed greatly,
and many were getting to think they had made a huge mistake, in not
originally acquiescing in the national necessity. The prosperity of
the East during the war, and the pending sluggishness of trade on
the Coast (still continuing), were much commented on, as connected
with this question of Coin _vs._ Greenbacks; but it was thought too
late to remedy the matter now. This hostility to our Greenbacks
did not seem to arise from a want of patriotism, so much as from
a difference of opinion, as to the necessity or propriety of their
using a paper currency, when they had all the gold and silver they
wanted, and were exporting a surplus by every steamer. If there was
a speck of Secession there at first, California afterwards behaved
very nobly, especially when she came with her bullion by the many
thousands to the rescue of the Sanitary Commission; and Starr King's
memory was still treasured everywhere, as that of a martyr for the
Union. The oncoming Pacific Railroad was constantly spoken of, as
a new "bond of union," to link the Coast to the Atlantic States as
with "hooks of steel;" and, evidently, nothing (unless it may be the
Chinese Question) can disturb the repose of the Republic there, for
long years to come. The people almost universally spoke lovingly
and tenderly of the East, as their old "home," and thousands were
awaiting the completion of the Railroad to go thither once again.
Their great passion, however, just then, was for territorial
aggrandizement. Mr. Seward had just announced his purchase of Alaska,
and of course, everybody was delighted, as they would have been if
he had bought the North Pole, or even the tip end of it. Next they
wanted British Columbia and the Sandwich Islands, and hoped before
long also to possess Mexico and down to the Isthmus. The Sitka Ice
Company, which for some years had supplied San Francisco and the
Coast with their only good ice, was proof positive, that there was
cold weather sometimes in Alaska; nevertheless, they claimed, the
Sage of Auburn had certainly shown himself to be a great statesman,
by going into this Real Estate business, however hyperborean the
climate. It was soon alleged to be a region of fair fields and
dimpled meadows, of luscious fruits and smiling flowers, of
magnificent forests and inexhaustible mines, as well as of icebergs
and walrusses; and straightway a steamer cleared for Sitka, with a
full complement of passengers, expecting to locate a "city" there
and sell "corner lots," start a Mining Company and "water" stock, or
initiate some other California enterprise.
Christmas and New Year in San Francisco were observed very generally,
and with even more spirit than in the East. The shops and stores
had been groaning with gifts and good things for some time, and on
Christmas Eve the whole city seems to pour itself into Montgomery
street. Early in the evening, there was a scattering tooting of
trumpets, chiefly by boys; but along toward midnight, a great
procession of men and boys drifted together, and traversing Montgomery,
Kearney, and adjacent streets, made the night hideous with every kind
of horn, from a dime trumpet to a trombone. New Year was ushered in
much the same way, though not quite so elaborately. On both of these
winter holidays there happened to be superb weather, much like what
we have East in May, with the sky clear, and the air crisp, and the
whole city--with his wife and child--seemed to be abroad. The good
old Knickerbocker custom of New Year calls was apparently everywhere
accepted, and thoroughly enjoyed. Every kind of vehicle was in demand,
and "stag" parties of four or five gentlemen--out calling on their
lady friends--were constantly met, walking hilariously along, or
driving like mad. Quite a number of army officers happened to be in
San Francisco just then, and their uniforms of blue and brass made
many a parlor gay. Of names known east, there were Generals Halleck,
McDowell, Allen, Steele, Irvin Gregg, French, King, Fry, etc., and
these with their brother officers were everywhere heartily welcomed.
Indeed, army officers are nowhere more esteemed or better treated,
than on the Pacific Coast, and all are usually delighted with their
tour of duty there. In former years, many of them married magnificent
ranches--encumbered, however, with native señoritas--and here and there
we afterwards met them, living like grand seignors on their broad and
baronial acres. Ranches leagues in extent, and maintaining thousands
of cattle and sheep, are still common in California, and some of the
best of these belong to ex-army officers. Their owners, however, do
but little in the way of pure farming, and are always ready to give a
quarter section or so to any stray emigrant, who will settle down and
cultivate it--especially to old comrades.
The great feature of San Francisco, of course, is her peerless bay. Yet
noble as it is for purposes of commerce, it avails little for pleasure
excursions; and 'Frisco, indeed, might be better off in this respect. A
trip to Oakland is sometimes quite enjoyable, and the ride by railroad
down the peninsula, skirting the bay, to San Josè, is always a delight.
But the bay itself is fickle and morose in winter, and in summer must
be raw and gusty. The suck of wind, from the Pacific into the interior,
through the Golden Gate, as through a funnel, always keeps the bay more
or less in a turmoil; and during the time we were there, it seemed
quite neglected, except for business purposes. One day, in the middle
of January, however, we had duties that took us to Alcatraz and Angel
Island, and essayed the trip thither in a little sloop. On leaving the
_Occidental_, the sky was overcast, and we had the usual drizzle of
that winter; but before we reached Meigg's Wharf, it had thickened into
a pouring rain, and as we crossed to Alcatraz squalls were churning
the outer bay into foam in all directions. After an hour or two there,
on that rocky fortress, the key of San Francisco, with the wind and
rain dashing fitfully about us, we took advantage of a temporary lull
to re-embark for Angel Island. We had hardly got off, however, before
squall after squall came charging down upon us; and as we beat up the
little strait between Angel Island and Socelito, the sloop careening
and the waves breaking over us, it seemed at times as if we were in a
fair way of going to the bottom. Just as we rounded the rocky point
of the Island, before reaching the landing, a squall of unusual force
struck us athwart the bows, wave after wave leaped aboard, and for
awhile our gallant little craft quivered in the blast like a spent
race-horse, as she struggled onward. An abrupt lee shore was on one
side, the squall howling on the other; but we faced it out, and in a
lull, that soon followed, shot by the landing (it being too rough to
halt there), and weathering the next point dropped anchor in a little
cove behind it, just in time to escape another squall even fiercer
than the former. Had we been off either point, or out in the bay, when
this last one struck us, no doubt we would have gone ashore or to Davy
Jones' locker; and altogether, as our Captain said, it was a "nasty,
dirty day," even for San Francisco. Returning, we had skies less
treacherous and a smoother run; but were glad to reach the grateful
welcome and spacious halls of the _Occidental_, best of hotels, again.
It may be, that the bay was a little ruder that day, than usual; but
it bears a bad name for sudden gusts and squalls, and San Franciscans
give it a wide berth generally. Sometimes, in summer, it is afflicted
by calms as well as squalls; we heard some amusing stories of parties
becalmed there until late at night, unable to reach either shore; so
that, altogether, however useful otherwise, it can hardly be regarded
as adding much _per se_ to the pleasures of a life in 'Frisco.
As an offset to this, however, all orthodox San Franciscans, swear by
the Cliff-House and the sea-lions. To "go to the Cliff," is the right
thing to do in San Francisco, and _not_ to go to the Cliff-House is
not to see or know California. In the summer, people drive there in
the early morning, to breakfast and return before the sea-breeze
rises, and then hundreds of gay equipages throng the well-kept road.
Even in winter, at the right hour, you are always sure to meet many
driving out or in. Of course, we went to the "Cliff"--wouldn't have
missed going there for anything. Past Lone Mountain Cemetery, that
picturesque city of the dead, the fine graveled road strikes straight
through the sand-hills, for five or six miles, to the Pacific; and
when you reach the overhanging bluff, on which the hotel perches like
an eagle's nest, you have a grand view of the Golden Gate and the
far-stretching sea beyond. On the very verge of the horizon hang the
Farallones, pointing the way to Japan and China, and the white sails
of vessels beating in or out the harbor dot the ocean far and near.
Just in front of the hotel are several groups of high shelving rocks,
among which the ocean moans and dashes ceaselessly, and here the
seals or "sea-lions," as 'Frisco lovingly calls them, have a favorite
rendezvous and home. The day we were there, there appeared to be a
hundred or more of them, large and small, swimming about the rocks
or clambering over them, while pelicans and gulls kept them company.
Some were small, not larger than a half-grown sturgeon, while others
again were huge unwieldy monsters, not unlike legless oxen, weighing
perhaps a thousand pounds or more. "Ben Butler" was an immense,
overgrown creature, as selfish and saucy, apparently, as he could
well be; and another, called "Gen. Grant," was not much better. They
kicked and cuffed the rest overboard quite indiscriminately, though
now and then they were compelled to take a plunge themselves. Many
contented themselves with merely gamboling around the water's edge;
but others had somehow managed slimily to roll and climb forty or
fifty feet up the rocks, and there lay sunning themselves in supreme
felicity, like veteran politicians snug in office. Sometimes two or
three would get to wrangling about the same position, as if one part
of the rocks were softer than another, and then they would bark and
howl at each other, and presently essay to fight in the most clumsy
and ludicrous way. "Ben Butler," or "Gen. Grant," would usually
settle the squabble, by a harsh bark, or by flopping the malcontents
overboard, and then would resume his nap with becoming satisfaction.
Uncouth, and yet half-human in their way, with a cry that sometimes
startled you like a distant wail, we watched their movements from
the piazza of the hotel with much interest, and must congratulate
'Frisco on having such a first-class "sensation." May her "sea-lions"
long remain to her as a "lion" of the first water, and their numbers
and renown never grow less! In former years, they were much shot at
and annoyed, by thoughtless visitors. But subsequently the State
took them under her protection, and now it was a penal offence
to injure or disturb them. This is right, and California should
be complimented, for thus trying to preserve and perpetuate this
interesting colony of her original settlers.
Returning, we had a superb drive down the beach, with the surf
thundering at our wheels; and thence, by a winding road over and
through the hills, reached the city again. It was a glorious day in
February, after a fortnight of perpetual drizzle--a June day for
beauty, but toned by an October breeze--the sun flashing overhead
like a shield of gold; the road, over and between the hills, gave
us from time to time exquisite glimpses of the sea or bay and city;
every sense seemed keyed to a new life and power of enjoyment; and
the memory of that "drive to the Cliff," is something wonderfully
clear and charming still. It would be surprising, if Californians did
not brag considerably about it. They are not famed for modesty, and
would be heathens, if they kept silence.
Californians are proverbial for their ups and downs, and we heard much
of their varying fortunes. You will scarcely meet a leading citizen,
who has not been down to "hard-pan" once or twice in his career, and
everybody seems to enjoy telling about it. In former years, many had
been rich in "feet" or "corner-lots," who yet had not enough "dust" to
buy a "square-meal;" and men with Great Expectations, but small cash
in hand, were still not infrequent. I ran foul of an old school-mate
one day, who arrived in California originally as captain of an
ox-team, which he had driven across the Plains. But now he was deep in
mining-stocks, and twenty-vara lots, and was rated as a millionaire. I
met another who for years lost all he invested in "feet." But luckily,
at last, he went into Savage and Yellow Jacket, and now he owned
handsome blocks on Montgomery and California streets, and lived like
a prince at the _Occidental_. Another still, named O., an eccentric
genius, came out to California early, and his uncle (already there)
secured him a place in a dry-goods house. In a few months, the house
failed, and O. fell back on his uncle's hands again. Then he was
given a place in a silk-house, but in a short time this also failed.
A fatality seemed to accompany the poor fellow. Wherever he went, the
houses either failed, closed up, or burned out; and thus, time after
time, he came back to his uncle, like a bad penny. Once he was reduced
so low, he went to driving a dray, glad to get even that; and again,
turned chiffonier, and eked out a precarious living by collecting the
old bones, scraps of tin, sheet-iron, etc., that lay scattered about
the suburbs. Finally, he wisely concluded he had "touched bottom,"
and that California was no place for him. So, his kind-hearted uncle
bought him a ticket home by the "Golden City," and supposed when he
bade him good-bye on her gang-way, that that would be the last he would
see of O. in California. But a week or so afterwards, early one Sunday
morning, he was roused up by some one rapping lustily at the door,
and opening it lo! there was his hopeful nephew again--"large as life
and twice as natural!" It seems, the ill-fated steamer, when two or
three hundred miles down the Coast, had caught fire and been beached,
with the loss of many lives; but O., strange to say, had escaped
scot-free, and now was on hand again. He now tried two or three more
situations, thinking his "luck" perhaps had turned, but failed in all
of them or they soon failed; and finally set out for the East again,
but this time across the Plains, driving a "bull-team." He got safely
back to New York, and taking hold of his father's business--grain
and flour--for a wonder, made it prosper. He pushed ahead with this
swimmingly for awhile, until he had made fifty thousand dollars or so,
when he concluded to go into a flour speculation on his own account.
He did so, buying largely, when suddenly the bottom dropped out of the
market, leaving O. penniless again, with a large deficit--he meanwhile,
disappearing. Some years afterwards he turned up in Minnesota, where
he had married a border maiden, and gone to farming, and at the last
accounts was doing tolerably well again.
Californians will spin you such "yarns" by the evening--half
humorous, half pathetic--and it is upon such romantic histories, that
the Golden State has advanced to empire.
But the day of her adventurers is passing away, and society there is
fast settling down to its normal conditions. Fewer and still fewer
of her people return East, to spend their hard-earned fortunes;
and the generation now growing up there regard the Coast as their
natural home, and love it dearly. Proud of the soil and enamored of
the climate, they expect great things of the future, and surely all
the world should wish them well. There are no better or braver men,
than our citizens there generally, and the Pacific slope is safe in
their hands and brains, beyond peradventure. "Who helps himself, God
helps," is a wise old French maxim; and California believes in it,
fully and thoroughly, from the Sierras to the sea.