Mrs. Sherwood prepared herself first of all by powdering her nose. This
simple operation, could it have been seen by the "respectable" members
of the community, would in itself have branded her as "fast," In those
days cosmetics of any sort were by most considered inventions of the
devil. It took extraordinary firmness of character even to protect
one's self against sunburn by anything more artificial than the shadow
of a hat or a parasol. Then she assumed a fascinating little round hat
that fitted well down over her small head. This, innocent of pins, was
held on by an elastic at the back. A ribbon, hanging down directly in
front, could be utilized to steady it in a breeze.
"All ready," she announced, picking up a tiny parasol, about big enough
for a modern doll. "You may carry my mantle."
Near the foot of the veranda steps waited Sam at the heads of a pair of
beautiful, slim, satiny horses. Their bay coats had been groomed until
they rippled and sparkled with every movement of the muscles beneath.
Wide red-lined nostrils softly expanded and contracted with a
restrained eagerness; and soft eyes rolled in the direction of the
Sherwoods--keen, lithe, nervous, high-strung creatures, gently stamping
little hoofs, impatiently tossing dainty heads, but nevertheless making
no movement that would stir the vehicle that stood "cramped" at the
steps. Their harness carried no blinders; their tails, undocked, swept
the ground; but their heads were pulled into the air by the old stupid
overhead check reins until their noses pointed almost straight ahead.
It gave them rather a haughty air.
Sherwood stepped in first, took the reins in one hand, and offered his
other hand to his wife. Sam instantly left the horses' heads to hold a
wicker contrivance against the arc of the wheels. This was to protect
skirts from dusty tires. Mrs. Sherwood settled as gracefully to her
place as a butterfly on its flower. Sam snatched away the wicker
guards. Sherwood spoke to the horses. With a purring little snort they
moved smoothly away. The gossamerlike wheels threw the light from their
swift spokes. Sam, half choked by the swirl of dust, gazed after them.
Sherwood, leaning slightly forward against the first eagerness of the
animals, showed a strong, competent, arresting figure, with his beaver
hat, his keen grim face, his snow-white linen, and the blue of his
brass-buttoned-coat. The beautiful horses were stepping as one, a
delight to the eye, making nothing whatever of the frail vehicle at
their heels. But Sam's eye lingered longest on the small stately figure
of his mistress. She sat very straight, her head high, the little
parasol poised against the sun, the other hand clasping the hat ribbon.
"Dem's quality foh sure!" said Sam with conviction.
Sherwood drove rapidly around the edge of the Plaza and, so into
Kearney Street. From here to the water front were by now many fireproof
brick and stone structures, with double doors and iron shatters, like
fortresses. So much had San Francisco learned from her five disastrous
fires. The stone had come from China, the brick also from overseas.
Down side streets one caught glimpses of huge warehouses--already in
this year of 1852 men talked of the open-air auctions of three years
before as of something in history inconceivably remote. The streets,
where formerly mule teams had literally been drowned in mud, now were
covered with planking. This made a fine resounding pavement. Horses'
hoofs went merrily _klop, klop, klop_, and the wheels rumbled a dull
undertone. San Francisco had been very proud of this pavement when it
was new. She was very grateful for it even now, for in the upper part
of town the mud and dust were still something awful. Unfortunately the
planks were beginning to wear out in places; and a city government,
trying to give the least possible for its taxes, had made no repairs.
There were many holes, large or small: jagged, splintered, ugly holes
going down to indeterminate blackness either of depth or mud. Private
philanthropists had fenced or covered these. Private facetiousness had
labelled most of them with signboards. These were rough pictures of
disaster painted from the marking pot, and various screeds--"Head of
Navigation," "No Bottom," "Horse and Dray Lost Here," "Take Soundings,"
"Storage, Inquire Below," "Good Fishing for Teal," and the like.
Among these obstructions Sherwood guided his team skilfully, dodging
not only them, but other vehicles darting or crawling in the same
direction. There were no rules of the road. Omnibuses careered along,
every window rattling loudly; drays creaked and strained, their horses'
hoofs slipping against wet planks; horsemen threaded their way;
nondescript delivery wagons tried to outrattle the omnibuses. The din
was something extraordinary--hoofs drumming, wheels rumbling, oaths and
shouts, and from the sidewalks the blare and bray of brass bands in
front of the various auction shops. Newsboys and bootblacks darted in
all directions, shouting raucously as they do to-day. Cigar boys, an
institution of the time, added to the hubbub. Everybody was going in
the same direction, some sauntering with an air of leisure, some
hurrying as though their fortunes were at stake.
A wild shriek arose, and everybody made room for the steam sand shovel
on its way to dump the sand hills into the bay. It was called the
"steam paddy" to distinguish it from the "hand paddy"--out of Cork or
Dublin. It rumbled by on its track, very much like juggernaut in its
calm indifference as to how many it ran over. Sherwood's horses looked
at it nervously askance; but he spoke to them, and though they trembled
they stood.
Now they debouched on the Central Wharf, and the sound of the hoofs and
the wheels changed its tone. Central Wharf extended a full mile into
the bay. It was lined on either side its narrow roadway by small
shacks, in which were offered fowls, fish, vegetables, candy,
refreshments. Some of them were tiny saloons or gambling houses. But by
far the majority were the cubicles where the Jewish slop sellers
displayed their wares. Men returning from the mines here landed, and
here replenished their wardrobes. Everything was exposed to view
outside, like clothes hung out after a rain.
The narrow way between this long row of shops was crowded almost
dangerously. Magnificent dray horses, with long hair on the fetlocks
above their big heavy hoofs, bridling in conscious pride of
silver-mounted harness and curled or braided manes, rose above the ruck
as their ancestors, the warhorses, must have risen in medieval battle.
The crowd parted before them and closed in behind them. Here and there,
too, a horseman could be seen--with a little cleared space at his
heels. Or a private calash picking its way circumspectly.
From her point of vantage on the elevated seat Mrs. Sherwood could see
over the heads of people. She sat very quietly, her body upright, but
in the poised repose characteristic of her. Many admiring glances were
directed at her. She seemed to be unconscious of them. Nevertheless,
nothing escaped her. She saw, and appreciated and enjoyed, every phase
of that heterogeneous crowd--miners in their exaggeratedly rough
clothes, brocaded or cotton clad Chinese, gorgeous Spaniards or
Chileños, drunken men, sober men, excited men, empty cans or cases
kicking around underfoot, frantic runners for hotels or steamboats
trying to push their way by, newsboys and cigar boys darting about and
miraculously worming their way through impenetrable places. Atop a
portable pair of steps a pale, well-dressed young man was playing
thimble-rig on his knees with a gilt pea. From an upturned keg a
preacher was exhorting. And occasionally, through gaps between the
shacks, she caught glimpses of blue water; or of ships at anchor; or,
more often, of the tall pile drivers whose hammers went steadily up and
down.
Sherwood guided his glossy team and light spidery vehicle with the
greatest delicacy and skill. He was wholly absorbed in his task.
Suddenly up ahead a wild turmoil broke out. People crowded to right and
left, clambering, shouting, screaming. A runaway horse hitched to a
light buggy came careering down the way.
A collision seemed inevitable. Sherwood turned his horses' heads
directly at an open shop front. They hesitated, their small pointed
ears working nervously. Sherwood spoke to them. They moved forward,
quivering, picking their way daintily. Sherwood spoke again. They
stopped. The runaway hurtled by, missing the tail of the buggy by two
feet. A moment later a grand crash marked the end of its career farther
down the line. Again Sherwood spoke to his horses, and exerted the
slightest pressure on the reins. Daintily, slowly, their ears twitching
back and forth, their fine eyes rolling, they backed out of the opening.
Throughout all this exciting little incident the woman had not altered
her pose nor the expression of her face. Her head high, her eye
ruminative, she had looked on it all as one quite detached from
possible consequences. The little parasol did not change its angle.
Only, quite deliberately, she had relinquished the ribbon by which she
held on her hat, and had placed her slender hand steadyingly on the
side of the vehicle.
The bystanders, already leaping down from their places of refuge and
again crowding the narrow way, directed admiring eyes toward the
beautiful, nervous, docile horses, the calm and dominating man, and the
poised, dainty creature at his side. One drunken individual cheered her
personally. At this a faint shell pink appeared in her cheeks, though
she gave no other sign that she had heard. Sherwood glanced down at
her, amused.
But now emerged the Jew slop seller, very voluble. He had darted like a
rat to some mysterious inner recess of his burrow; but now he was out
again filling the air with lamentations, claims, appeals for justice.
Sherwood did not even glance toward him; but in the very act of tooling
his horses into the roadway tossed the man some silver. Immediately,
with shouts and cheers and laughter, the hoodlums nearby began a
scramble.
The end of the long wharf widened to a great square, free of all
buildings but a sort of warehouse near one end. Here a rope divided off
a landing space. Close to the rope the multitude crowded, ready for its
entertainment. Here also stood in stately grandeur the three livery
hacks of which San Francisco boasted. They were magnificent affairs,
the like of which has never elsewhere been seen plying for public hire,
brightly painted, highly varnished, lined with silks, trimmed with
solid silver. The harnesses were heavily mounted with the same metal.
On their boxes sat fashionable creatures, dressed, not in livery, but
throughout in the very latest of the late styles, shod with varnished
leather, gloved with softest kid. Sherwood drove skilfully to the very
edge of the roped space, pushing aside the crowd on foot. They growled
at him savagely. He paid no attention to them, and they gave way. The
buggy came to a stop. The horses, tossing their heads, rolling their
eyes, stamping their little hoofs, nevertheless stood without need of
further attention.
Now the brass bands blared with a sudden overwhelming blast of sound,
the crowd cheered noisily; the runners for the hotels began to bark
like a pack of dogs. With a vast turmoil of paddle wheels, swirling of
white and green waters, bellowing of speaking trumpets, throwing of
handlines and scurrying of deck hands and dock hands, the _Panama_ came
to rest. After considerable delay the gangplank was placed. The
passengers began to disembark, facing the din much as they would have
faced the buffeting of a strong wind. This was the cream of the
entertainment for which the crowd had gathered; for which, indeed, the
Sherwoods had made their excursion. Each individual received his meed
of comment, sometimes audible and by no means always flattering.
Certainly in variety both of character and of circumstance they offered
plenty of material. From wild, half-civilized denizens of Louisiana's
canebrakes, clinging closely to their little bundles and their long
rifles, to the most polished exquisites of fashion they offered all
grades and intermediates. Some of them looked rather bewildered. Some
seemed to know just what to do and where to go. Most dove into the
crowd with the apparent idea of losing their identity as soon as
possible. The three magnificent hacks were filled, and managed, with
much plunging and excitement, to plow a way through the crowd and so
depart. Amusing things happened to which the Sherwoods called each
other's attention. Thus a man, burdened with a single valise, ducked
under the ropes near them. A paper boy happened to be standing near.
The passenger offered the boy a fifty-cent piece.
"Here, boy," said he, "just carry this valise for me."
The paper boy gravely contemplated the fifty cents, dove into his
pocket, and produced another.
"Here, man," said he, handing them both to the traveller, "take this
and carry it yourself."
One by one the omnibuses filled and departed. The stream of passengers
down the gangplank had ceased. The crowd began to thin. Sherwood
gathered his reins to go. Mrs. Sherwood suddenly laid her hand on his
forearm.
"Oh, the poor thing!" she cried, her voice thrilling with compassion.
A young man and a steward were supporting a girl down the gangplank.
Evidently she was very weak and ill. Her face was chalky white, with
dark rings under the eyes, her lips were pale, and she leaned heavily
on the men. Although she could not have heard Mrs. Sherwood's
exclamation of pity, she happened to look up at that instant, revealing
a pair of large, dark, and appealing eyes. Her figure, too, dressed in
a plain travelling dress, strikingly simple but bearing the
unmistakable mark of distinction, was appealing; as were her exquisite,
smooth baby skin and the downward drooping, almost childlike, curves of
her lips. The inequalities of the ribbed gangplank were sufficient to
cause her to stumble.
"She is very weak," commented Mrs. Sherwood.
"She is--or would be--remarkably pretty," added Sherwood. "I wonder
what ails her."
Arrived at the foot of the gangplank the young man removed his hat with
an air of perplexity, and looked about him. He was of the rather
florid, always boyish type; and the removal of his hat had revealed a
mat of close-curling brown hair, like a cap over his well-shaped head.
The normal expression of his face was probably quizzically humorous,
for already the little lines of habitual half laughter were sketched
about his eyes.
"A plunger," said John Sherwood to himself, out of his knowledge of
men; then as the young man glanced directly toward him, disclosing the
colour and expression of his eyes, "a plunger in something," he
amended, revising his first impression.
But now the humorous element was quite in abeyance, and a faint dismay
had taken its place. One arm supporting the drooping girl, he was
looking up and down the wharf. Not a vehicle remained save the heavy
drays already backing up to receive their loads of freight. The dock
hands had dropped and were coiling the line that had separated the
crowd from the landing stage.
With another exclamation the woman in the carriage rose, and before
Sherwood could make a move to assist her, had poised on the rim of the
wheel and leaped lightly to the dock. Like a thistledown she floated to
the little group at the foot of the gangplank. The steward instantly
gave way to her evident intention. She passed her arm around the girl's
waist. The three moved slowly toward the buggy, Mrs. Sherwood, her head
bent charmingly forward, murmuring compassionate, broken, little
phrases, supporting the newcomer's reviving footsteps.
Sherwood, a faint, fond amusement lurking in the depths of his eyes,
quietly cramped the wheels of the buggy.