QUILP DEPARTS FOR THE SOUTH--SAN LUIS--RAMSEY--I AM LEFT FOR
DEAD--THE EARLY HISTORY OF CALIFORNIA--DISCOVERY OF SAN
FRANCISCO--SPANISH MISSIONS--A DIGRESSION--DIGRESSION, CONTINUED--A
RAINY SEASON--A LITTLE CRAB.
_April, 1851._
It was long after dark when I arrived at Santa Rosa Valley, perfectly
“knocked up.” Englishmen are generally good pedestrians; but there is a
great difference between walking on the level in well-made shoes, and
dragging through deep sloughs and acres of thick clayey mud in heavy
ill-fitting jack-boots, particularly when the boots appear unwilling to
proceed in your society, and one or other of them is continually
disengaging itself, as if wishing to be left behind regardless of
expense.
I found that the Carillo family had left Santa Rosa, and the valley had
been purchased by Americans for the purpose of cultivating grain, for
which many parts of it were well adapted. The Carillos had departed,
with horses, dogs, Indians, and Quilp, for the south, _where the wine
came from_, where the temperature was better adapted to their
“far-niente” dispositions, and where in particular Quilp was likely to
enjoy a longer lease of life than his undisguised hatred of Americans
would probably have permitted had he remained much longer at the valley.
As slothfulness and ignorance stepped out, intelligence and industry
usurped their place, and on the rich plain the wild waving oats fell to
the ruthless scythe, whilst the plough upturned the maiden soil on every
side.
And so must other lands and other people of this continent succumb to
the increasing wants of Anglo-Saxon man. As the red-Indian retires
before the pale-face, so will inert bigotry in the new world disappear
before the march of energy; and the bounteous riches with which the
Creator has strewed this portion of the globe must some day be under a
rule that will admit of these benefits being extended to mankind, no
longer to be closed to the world, through the petty warfares or
restrictive seclusion of a people too inert to seize the advantages
around them, and (with a full sense of this) too jealous to admit others
to do so.
* * * * *
About five miles from Sonoma is an “embarcadero,” or landing place,
situated on a mud creek, which is navigable for small boats, and
communicates with the bay of San Francisco. Here are three houses,
which conjointly represent the town of San Luis; opposite the town some
fishing-boats lay at anchor, and in one of these I bargained for a
passage to San Francisco, in company with eight live bullocks, that were
now lying on the strand, bound neck and heels together, moaning
piteously, as if impatient to get to the butcher’s and have it all over.
With the exception of the owners of the three houses, the population of
San Luis was a particularly floating one, being represented for the most
part by the crews of the fishing-smacks, of which there were at times a
great number in port.
From the centre house there proceeded the sound of a fiddle, and, as no
one could be perceived outside, it became evident that the floating
population had here assembled to wile away the hours until the tide
served to enable the boats to leave.
I entered the house and found it to consist of a store and drinking-shop
combined; and, in virtue of its latter attraction, it was filled, as I
had anticipated, by the men belonging to the boats, who, already half
drunk, were tossing off champagne,[7] out of tin pannikins, and drinking
to a speedy voyage across the bay. The proprietor of the establishment
was not only an Englishman, but he was one of those plump, rosy-cheeked,
good-natured-looking fellows that attract the eye at once, and whose
smile is sympathetic; he was a gentleman, that is to say, he had been
educated as one, and had lived as one, and was none the less one (as I
found afterwards), now that he kept a grog-shop. I shall call him
Ramsey; he was one of those men who never make money, for they cannot
save; so that when Ramsey left, as he did, a high and very remunerative
position of trust on the Pacific coast, and came up to San Francisco
with a cargo of flour, in the expectation of making a fortune; and when
he determined on taking the flour up the river Sacramento, and the flour
was caught in a squall in the bay and went down, Ramsey found that he
had done a very foolish thing. However, all smiles and good-humour, he
took the grog-shop and store at San Luis, where I found him.
Ramsey had related these adventures to me before we had been an hour
acquainted; and on my presenting myself as a countryman (for there was
no mistaking his Anglo-Saxon physiognomy), he had immediately relapsed
into beaming smiles, and placing a bottle of champagne under each arm,
he had ushered me into his little bed-room, leaving his assistant to
attend to the wants of the freshwater sailors.
Understanding from him that he had lost all his personal effects when
his cargo disappeared, I was surprised to find so many evidences in his
bed-room of an English establishment;--a well-browned hunting-saddle and
bridle, the stalk of a whip and a pair of spurs, a double-barrelled gun
and fishing-rod, with some pairs of “cords,” were observable about the
little pig-sty he called his room. In answer to my inquiring look, he
said he had just had time to save _these only_ from his wreck, and that
they were pleasant things to have about one as reminiscences of old
England and happy days spent in fishing and hunting there; the smile
forsook his face, as it did mine, when he said this, but it soon
returned again to both of us, and as we chatted away I found much to
like in my new acquaintance, who was not only intelligent and
well-informed, but very humorous. There was to be a ball that night at
Sonoma, at the house of one Judge White, and as the boatmen had (from
the effects of the champagne) delayed their departure until the next
morning, I agreed to accompany Ramsey, who had been especially invited,
to this festivity.
At the ball everything appeared to be conducted with great propriety;
but the company was composed of honest mechanics, who, with the best
intentions, danced quadrilles on a peculiar principle, inasmuch as they
cut capers to such an extent as obliged the spectator, however
disinclined, to smile. In no uncomplimentary spirit I made a remark in
French to Ramsey on the subject, and this being overheard and but half
understood, was retaliated in the following manner.
During a pause in the dances, a small gentleman, who had overheard my
remark, and who was one of the most active of the _chassez-croisez_
dancers, and was a blacksmith, though apparently small for his
profession, informed me audibly, with fire in his eyes, “that if I did
not like the company, I might leave it, and that d--d soon.” To this I
could only bow my assent, and shortly afterwards, being unable to find
Ramsey, I left the room, intending to wait for him at our hotel, that
was close by. I had not proceeded very far, when I was suddenly attacked
by the small blacksmith and three other gentlemen--blacksmiths, too, I
presume; if so, they evidently mistook my head for an anvil, for they so
belaboured it with bludgeons and other weapons that they almost killed
me, and left me for dead, before I had time to strike a blow in
defence.
When I recovered my senses, I found myself alone on the grass, and I
then managed to crawl to the hotel, where I found Ramsey awaiting me,
quite unsuspicious of the cause of my detention. I returned with him to
San Luis, and soon found that, further than having been stunned, I had
not suffered any material damage. This delayed, however, my departure
for San Francisco; and during this time a circumstance occurred which is
characteristic of the easy state of the law in the provincial districts
at this time. The house next to Ramsey’s was occupied by a choleric old
fellow, who also dispensed “notions.” This old rascal coolly shot a man
over his bar on the most trifling provocation; the man died, and the
murderer was taken before Judge White (who also kept a store, by the by,
and gave his ball with an eye to business); the Judge not only (good,
merciful fellow!) refused to detain the prisoner, but discharged him
without bail, which, he said, was not requisite; and this was all that
justice ever exacted at the hands of this cold-blooded villain.
I started at last, with fair wind and tide, for San Francisco, in a
small yawl, with a crew of three men, who were not only half-drunk, but
were about the greatest lubbers that ever went afloat. Before we reached
the mouth of the creek, they managed to run the boat on the bank, where
the ebb tide soon left her high and dry.
Under these circumstances, I cannot do better than introduce a sketch of
the early history of California, which, however uninteresting, must be
brought in somewhere; and there is no better place, I think, for
imposing it on the reader, than whilst we are waiting for the flood tide
to take us off, and are spitefully pelting, out of a bag of beans, the
muddy little crabs that surround our stranded bark.
It was about the middle of the sixteenth century that stories of the
existence of untold wealth first inflamed the minds and excited the
ardour of the Mexicans and Spaniards. The expedition of Hernando de
Alarcon and Francisco de Ulloa had returned in safety to Mexico, after
having visited the river Colorado, and the Pacific coast as high as 30°
North. Many and wondrous were the tales these bold adventurers related
of precious stones, and gold and pearls; of Amazons, and wealthy cities;
so that naturally the attention of the adventurous was turned in one
direction only; and the dream of the young, the ambition of the aged,
was to discover this Cibola--this undeveloped El-Dorado. The Viceroy of
Mexico at this period was one Mendoza, a jealous opponent of the
renowned Cortes. This man was sufficiently sagacious to perceive the
advantages of obtaining, if possible, possession of the reported gold
regions, and fitted out an expedition in the port of Natividad,
consisting of two vessels, which were placed under the command of Juan
Rodriguez Cabrillo, who had with him as lieutenant Bartolomé Ferrelo.
It is no honour to the viceroy that this expedition was set on foot by
him, for in those days the discovery of new lands, as is well known,
conferred large benefits and rewards on the potentates under whose rule
the expeditions originated; whilst the brave fellows who risked their
lives in carrying out the work were not only unrewarded then, but in few
instances have been considered worthy even of a _name_ in the history of
the countries they have discovered. It was no slight proof of courage to
undertake this voyage, for it will be remembered that not only were the
vessels in use of such a class that the wonder now is that they ever
rode out a gale; but the impression was strong in the minds of the
mariners of that day, that the world was square, and that to arrive at
its limits would bring down the punishment of Heaven for their
presumption, even if they did not tumble over the edge. Nor need we
wonder that such a belief existed in those superstitious days. Are there
not many now among the civilised and enlightened who refuse to
investigate the palpable evidences of the power of animal magnetism,
from the fixed belief that there should be a limit to man’s inquiry into
the mysteries of nature?
The expedition sailed, it appears, in 1542, jogging on at the rate of
about ten miles a day. Cabrillo discovered in succession the southern
ports of California. At some of these he touched, and found the
inhabitants to consist of a half-civilised tribe of Indians, who treated
him with kindness. The existence of these Indians is confirmed by later
writers. Vizcaino, who visited these shores in 1602, mentions having
discovered idolatrous temples on the island of Catalina.
The surveys of this expedition are not of much value to the present age,
as the nautical instruments of that period were not very true; but
Cabrillo’s explorations none the less assisted those who came after him,
who, with instruments equally defective, hit his points with tolerable
accuracy, although there was generally an error in _his_ latitude by
observation of about a hundred miles.
Cabrillo at last worked up towards San Francisco, but the heavy surf and
iron-bound coast, together with the thick fogs that hang about the bay,
no doubt prevented his entering, and he resolved on returning and
awaiting a more favourable season; but anchoring for repairs in one of
the harbours of the Santa Barbara Islands, the old sailor died, probably
from fatigue and exposure to the damps and north-west winds.
The command of the expedition then devolved upon Ferrelo, who bravely
made another attempt; but failing in effecting a landing, he returned to
Natividad, after a voyage of 283 days. Sir Francis Drake next visited
California in 1579; Juan de Fuca in 1595, and Sebastian Vizcaino in
1602. This latter entered the bay of San Francisco, though probably he
was not its discoverer, and proceeded in boats as far as where Benicia
now stands.
In 1769 the settlement of Upper California was commenced by Spanish
priests at San Diego, and several small expeditions followed in
succession until 1776, when the Roman Catholic missionaries Palou and
Cambon landed in San Francisco, and established their head-quarters in
that place. The settlement at this period was known by the name of Yerba
Buena, from the presence of a medicinal herb which abounded in the
neighbourhood, and which was held in high estimation by the Indians.
Here the missionaries erected a church and other buildings, of “adobes,”
or sun-dried bricks. The Mission flourished rapidly. The Indians soon
learnt, under the tuition of the Padres, the advantages of cultivating
the earth; and those of them that embraced the Catholic religion began
to drink rum, and value beads, as is usual with converted savage tribes.
Mexican settlers also made their appearance, and the richest portions of
the country were soon appropriated by them. Gradually cattle and sheep
were introduced, which in their wild state increased rapidly without
much trouble to their owners, who, having nothing to do but to kill
their meat and eat it, basked in the sun like lazy dogs as they were,
and thought themselves the happiest of men;--and it is difficult for any
one to prove they were not.
By the year 1831, the number of Christian baptisms amounted to about
7000. After this period, the Indians, from some cause or other, perhaps
from a scarcity of rum, altered their minds on the subject; and although
a fresh supply of priests arrived, the number of converts rapidly
decreased, so much so that in the eight years preceding the discovery of
gold, only 400 savages were caught and converted. And if one may judge
from the specimens of converted Indians that are to be found here and
there in California at the present date, one has no reason to regret
that the efforts of the priests were unattended with success; for,
however we may deplore the abject misery and degradation of the
aboriginal tribes, it is not by the mummery of a form that such souls
can be redeemed, or such unhappy natures be remodeled. On the contrary,
their small glimpses of civilisation offer to their view both virtues
and vices equally unknown before; then, left untrammeled to choose
between the two, we see the baptised savage follow his impulses until he
sinks so low in the scale of men, that his original degradation stands
out almost as virtue beside him.
A holy task is that of the missionary, and bravely carried out. Let him
still strive to reclaim the savage, and bring his soul to God; but yet
take heed that the work be finished, for I have seen in my day converted
tribes that were a mockery on all that sanctifies the missionary work,
and had better, one would think, have eaten each other’s bodies in
primeval irresponsibility, than, having been only _half_ awakened to a
sense of right, but fully so to a knowledge of all that is wrong, have
been left to grovel in the vices that most debase humanity. How much
more care does it not require to avert the steps of the _converted
savage_ from crime, than that of others of your flock!--is he not
naturally more debased, more prone to adopt the broad and easy path that
ever lies plain and palpably before him? Can you take a young tiger
from the jungle, and having caged him, soften his natural propensities
easily? You can do so only by unceasing watchfulness and coercion; cease
these, and your tiger is a tiger again, as nature asserts her sway.
Somewhat so it is with the savage you allure from the freedom of his
hunting-ground; you show him the advantages of domestic life, and the
means of applying to his benefit the soil around him; you adapt to his
comprehension the simple outlines of religion, by pointing out to him
that, to live in brotherhood and amity is good (and beneficial); that to
wage war and hate and eat one’s enemy is bad (and detrimental); that a
good Supreme Being, who can reward or punish, has said so, and that the
evidence of this Supreme Being reigns, as even a savage can see, in all
around. The simple aborigine accords you his belief; regretfully,
perhaps, he leaves his wild prairie and the baked heads of his enemies,
and will worship the “Great Spirit,” whose presence the poetry of his
nature enables him to understand; sooner or later you baptise him, and
you have your savage in the first stage of Christianity. But now you
have a savage nature on your hand; you have implanted innocently what
with his impulses may grow to avarice if you leave him to himself; for
if he cultivates the land among the _civilised_ he will cheat--if
cheat, wrangle--if wrangle, murder; for the steps to crime are rapid in
such a constitution; but if he drinks, the savage ever becomes too
brutalised for reclamation.
In what does this fault lie? Not so much that the man is so constituted
that he must thus err, but that, like the tiger I have used for
illustration, his propensities must be ever _watched_ and _guided_. The
converted savage is never so alienated from his natural impulses that he
can be left;--yet he _is_ left.
If there is fault in this, it is not, I know, on the part of those who
_work_; but to those who direct these things it might be said that it is
better to convert a few, and _in reality increase Christ’s fold_, than
sign a million with His holy symbol, yet bring their souls no nearer
heaven. Yet how fruitlessly one may argue. To whom is the reproach, that
while we _may_ add our mite to aid the propagation of the Gospel abroad,
we dare not relieve gaunt misery in the street at home, for fear of
encouraging systematic mendicity; as if, forsooth, the blame of this
belonged by right alone to those who practised it.
There are black missionaries who work as faithfully as white, and it is
a startling fact to find that many of these, leaving their coloured
brethren at home to the care of our white missionaries, are in our
midst, attempting to alleviate, by God’s help, the misery and ignorance
that exist in our great towns; and if the most festering wounds have the
first claim upon the surgeon’s skill, the place of these black
missionaries is here, God knows!
Why shall it still be said, and said again of us who are not loth to
_relieve_, that our aims are misdirected from want of judgment and from
ill-government? And why are the talents and energies of so many
churchmen, whose beck and nod the charitable, to a great extent, obey,
still turned to the Propagation of the Gospel abroad, when it requires
but the opening of a proper channel at home to rid us of this great
reproach?
We may condemn the love of political power, that in the main actuated
the Jesuits in their efforts to propagate their faith; but how much has
not the love of power, equally reprehensible, been a bar to the cure of
our evils at home? Would the young and energetic of our young clergy
seek a field abroad in which to work, with little reward and great
privation, if the field at home was open to them?
* * * * *
About the year 1845, some Americans began to congregate at Yerba Buena,
and these increased so rapidly, that San Francisco was in fact an
American settlement before California became a territory of the United
States.
During the war that broke out between the United States and Mexico in
1846, the settlement appears to have increased in population and
prosperity, although the exportation of hides never seems at any time to
have been of much importance. In 1847, the population of San Francisco
amounted to eight hundred, and everything gave promise that the country
would soon be sought for its agricultural advantages; the attention of
the Californian settlers was directed towards the supposed mineral
wealth of the country, but gold was the last metal thought of.
Quicksilver had already been found and worked at San Jose; and the
reported existence of veins of copper, silver, coal, and limestone,
caused a feverish excitement to disturb this small community.
The first discovery of gold was made in December, 1847, when some of the
labourers employed at Sutter’s Mill, near Sacramento, discovered some
flakes whilst constructing a ditch; ample evidence soon existed of the
truth of the first reports, and the whole population flocked to the gold
fields, and shortly afterwards the country became the property of the
United States. Events now followed one another with great rapidity:
adventurers poured in from all quarters of the globe, and ships arrived
in harbour freighted with merchandise which realised tremendous profits.
The rainy season of California commences about November, and the winter
of 1849 was more than ordinarily wet. It is said that nine inches of
water fell on the night of the 6th of November; the whole town, which
had now become important in extent, was a perfect quagmire; all rubbish
and hard materials that could be procured were thrown into the streets
to form a pathway, but to no purpose, for owing to the peculiar soil of
the place, the mud was unfathomable. The streets were impassable to
mules, for there were mud-holes large enough to drown them; in those
streets which had been connected by means of a pathway of bales of
damaged merchandise, it was necessary to exercise great caution in
crossing, for one false step would precipitate the unwary passenger into
a slough on either side, in which he stood a chance of meeting a muddy
grave.
The amount of rain that fell in this winter was undoubtedly so great,
that it is much to be regretted no careful record was kept, by some of
those who now so eloquently narrate their adventures in connection with
it.
The first of the conflagrations for which San Francisco has become so
famous, occurred in December, 1849. By this, fifty houses and an immense
quantity of merchandise were destroyed. Another occurred a month
afterwards, causing an almost equal amount of damage.
The great fire of the fourth of May, 1850, commenced at four in the
morning, in a drinking-house, and spreading with great rapidity, was not
arrested until it had consumed three hundred houses, and about a million
sterling of property.
These were hard blows for the young city, but nothing daunted, the
citizens renewed their exertions, and in a few weeks the burnt district
was again covered with buildings. Every effort was now made to secure
the city against future similar calamities; many brick houses were
erected, fire companies on a large scale were organised, and reservoirs
for water were constructed in different parts of the town. But on the
14th of June, fate again was relentless, and a fourth conflagration,
aided by a high wind, razed three hundred houses to the ground, and
scattered three million dollars of property to the winds. It was whilst
this fire was raging that (as the reader may remember) I arrived at San
Francisco; so here ends my digest of the early history of this brave
young city, and as the flood-tide is coming in, I take
[Illustration: THE WINTER OF 1849.]
a parting shot at a little crab that has not taken his eyes off me since
we arrived, and wonders, I suppose, why I don’t pelt one of my own size,
and gliding off our mud bank, we make sail for San Francisco.