THE OLD CRAB-CATCHER--MR. WARREN--AMERICAN FRIENDSHIP--THE AMERICAN
PRESS--EDUCATION IN AMERICA--AMERICANS GOOD COLONISTS--CALIFORNIAN
CORRESPONDENCE.
_April, 1851._
At daylight the next morning we found ourselves among the shipping that
lay moored in crowds in front of San Francisco. Whilst threading our way
to the wharf, we narrowly escaped being swamped by one of the Stockton
river steamboats, which, in fact, did graze our stern. The Yankee
freshwater skippers of those days expected everything to get out of
their way, regardless of any difficulties that might prevent a small
boat doing so; but one of these go-ahead commanders received, to my
knowledge, a check. A fisherman of the bay had his smack damaged, and
his trawling apparatus unnecessarily carried away by one of the river
boats. His application to the captain for compensation was met with the
remark, that the next time he got in the way he would swamp him. But
might did not so easily triumph over right, and for this reason. The
small river-boats are very low in the hull, and as the steering
apparatus leads forward, the helmsman stands prominently (under a booby
hatch) near the bow of the boat. The old smack, as usual, was bobbing
about with her trawls and lines out, when down comes the steamboat one
day, the fishing-boat evidently directly in her course, and showing no
disposition to move. “D--n that old crab-catcher!” said the Captain.
“I’ll give him a close shave this time.” But the “old crab-catcher,”
standing up in his boat, levelled a long wicked-looking Kentucky rifle,
and “drew a bead” on the Captain, who, having taken the helm, formed a
splendid target. Upon this, that brave sailor thought better of it, and
not only dispensed with the close shave, but “concluded” to allow the
small smack to bob about in peace from that time forth.
On landing at San Francisco, I found so many changes on every side, that
my knowledge of locality was at fault; wharves extended on all sides
into the sea, and the spot where I last had landed was scarcely
recognisable, it was now so far inland; the steam-paddy had worked
incessantly, and the front of the town still advanced into the bay.
The winter had been (compared with that of 1849) a dry one, and some of
the streets having been graded and planked, the town was under the
worst circumstances navigable for jack-boots.
What first struck me, among the many changes of a few months, was that
the inhabitants generally were less eccentric in dress. When first I
arrived, the people were most capricious in this respect; they wore, in
fact, whatever pleased them, long hair and beards included; sobered down
by circumstances, however, they had now quietly relapsed into the habits
of ordinary mortals.
Places of rational amusement had sprung up, and replaced in a great
measure the gambling saloons, whose fortunes were rather on the wane
from over competition. There were clubs, reading-rooms, and a small
theatre, called the Dramatic Museum. This last was sadly in want of
actors, and as my time hung very heavily on my hands (I was awaiting the
arrival of a vessel from England) I gave way to a vicious propensity
that had long been my bane, and joined the company as a volunteer. For
about a month, under an assumed name, I nightly “Used Up” and “Jeremy
Diddlered” my Californian audiences, who never having fortunately seen
Charles Matthews, did not, therefore, stone me to death for my
presumptuous attempts to personate that unrivalled actor’s characters.
I became, at last, so used to seeing my “last appearance but one”
displayed on the advertising posters, that I began to associate myself
with the profession altogether, and to believe my name _was_ Warren; and
what with the excitement of acting in leading parts, and the pleasant
parties, and picnics, with our troupe, I forgot all about Russian River
Farm, and became a very slave to the buskin.
The dreadful experience of the place had made people so nervous
respecting fire, that the sound of the fire-bell would cause every man
to rush to his house, and get ready for the defence of his property; and
as small fires on the outskirts of the town were of continual
occurrence, there was scarcely a night but the deep-toned bell would
keep the citizens on the alert. On these occasions the theatre would be
deserted rapidly, whilst every other man would vociferate fire, but
almost immediately the leading columns would return, with cries of “all
over!” and “all out!” and the theatre would refill, and the performances
proceed, until the “fire-bell” took them off again, which occasionally
it would in ten minutes.
The market at this time was so overstocked with merchandise, that goods
sold at auction at less than cost-price. Ready-made clothing, in
particular, was cheaper in San Francisco than it was in New York or
London. So that the storehouses being everywhere crammed with goods,
great depression in trade existed. The city of San Francisco at this
time was in debt, about a million of dollars, and the Treasury being
empty, scrip was issued bearing the ruinous interest of thirty-six per
cent. per annum. But this state of affairs was remedied by funding the
debt, and issuing bonds payable in twenty years, bearing interest at ten
per cent. The citizens cooperated in this movement, and submitted to a
heavy tax, and thus, in spite of repeated conflagrations following on a
state of apparently hopeless bankruptcy, the energy of the San
Franciscans not only enabled the municipality to redeem annually a
portion of their bonds, but placed the credit of the city on a firm and
secure basis.
There were seven or eight churches already in San Francisco, all of
different denominations--these were well attended on Sundays, but the
price of pews was very exorbitant, reaching as high, sometimes, as ten
pounds a month. Some of these churches were built entirely in a spirit
of speculation, and on asking an acquaintance once what security he had
for some money he had lent, he told me, so many shares in ---- Church;
and the same building was afterwards sold, I think, by auction, to
satisfy its creditors. Now that ladies begin to flock into California so
rapidly, the churches are crammed to overflowing on a Sunday. The
Americans are rather strict observers of congregational worship, which
has this drawback, however, that it here imposes the necessity of so
many becoming hypocrites on the Sabbath, for as regards the amount of
religious feeling that exists at this time, one can neither judge of it
by the attendance or the absence of the people from public worship. But
I will say this for them, that as a nation they are most charitable, and
that they are true friends to one another in adversity; _once_ your
friend, the American will share all he has with you, and risk his life
in defence of your honour and name--more, he will not even permit
merited censure to be passed upon you in his presence, and however
suspicious of others worldly contact may have made him, he will repose
his confidence in you like a child. And so common are these friendships,
that the true generosity which cements them forms a prominent feature of
the American character; but whether it springs from deep religious
feeling or not is a question I do not care to argue. A great portion of
the working-classes of America are Methodists, or of somewhat similar
persuasions; they have their camp-meetings, read their Bible very
generally, are given to psalm-singing, and have the appearance of being
a religious people.
I attended one of these camp-meetings. My old friend of the English
Barque, who wished to “rip up the cook,” was officiating with “tears in
his eyes.” There was a great deal of excited praying, but the greater
proportion of the people seemed to have come out for any purpose but
that of worship--in fact, the scene was very lively, and if it had not
been for the weeping priest, it would have been a merry pic-nic.
* * * * *
There are now seven daily papers at San Francisco, and each mining town
of importance in the country publishes its weekly sheet. If the
Americans were not thirsty people for news, warm party politicians, and
all able to read, so great a number of periodicals could never be
supported.
There is an independence about American journalism in strict accordance
with the character of the institutions of the country, but which, in my
opinion, detracts greatly from the value of the press. As, for instance,
many journals of wide circulation, conducted by men of ability, enforce
injudicious opinions that not only closely affect the vital interests of
the state, but, to a great extent, the passions of the people. For this
reason the American press has not so much weight with the highest class
of Americans, and there is no leading journal of sufficient influence to
direct and _admonish_ them; or which, from its impartiality and
justness, can give a healthy tone to the thousands of minnows that
follow in its track--none, in fact, that occupies the position of the
“Times” with us.
The Americans are prone to throw in our teeth that we are led by the
“Times,” and form no opinion for ourselves; but they forget that our
faith in the practical essays of that journal is not the result of a
blind adherence to custom, but of the confidence that, among the
rational, will ever cling to opinions that are seldom proved, under the
strongest test, to be fallacious. _Socially_, the “Times” is our
expounder and monitor, and if, in this respect, it leads us, it leads us
by conviction, as we should be led, and when you hear a man say that “he
doesn’t care what the ‘Times’ says on this or that subject,” he is
generally one not open to conviction, or not sufficiently noble to
surrender to it his own false impressions. In political matters the
“Times” may be strategical, as great statesmen have been.
The press of England has not hitherto been widely disseminated among the
working classes (fault we will say of their narrow means and education)
nor were it so, would they, as in America, be so influenced politically
by its tone; but that _which is_ disseminated either takes its tone
from the “Times,” so far as to echo weekly the strictures which that
journal passes on our _home abuses_, or otherwise is conducted in the
same spirit. Therefore there is an unanimity of opinion in the English
press, and as its expositions are by no means flattering, as a general
rule, to the public, and meet no contradiction, we may presume, from
that fact alone, that the principles it inculcates on these matters are
sound. Putting aside the slave question, the great proportion of the
American press by no means devotes itself to the exposure of abuses: in
the first place, the Americans are not fond of having their faults
pointed out, and an editor is naturally anxious to place before his
readers only what is palatable. Therefore the press declines to
admonish, and following no just and truthful leader, each provincial
journal disseminates its own doctrine, whatever that may be; and thus,
in a country where all read, the press exercises its power to excite the
passions, but seldom to control them. For instance, at the time I write
the press of California upholds strongly the doctrine of forcible
annexation; some of these journals inform the public (many of whom, by
the way, are ripe for novel enterprise) that the Sandwich Islands _must_
become subject to the United States; whilst the more ambitious point to
Mexico on one side, and British Oregon on the other--undecided only,
which first should bow to American rule. The higher classes, it will be
said, disregard these “fillibustering” doctrines; but of the 200,000
souls in California how large a proportion does not foster them until a
spirit is diffused that can never be countenanced even by the warmest
admirers of the “Munro Doctrine.”
For although one may admit it to be probable that in time the American
people will add to their dominions the Sandwich Islands and the sickly
independencies of South America, they will do so, it is to be hoped,
only as becomes a great nation, and not through piracy or intimidation.
In fact, to sum up, I think a great part of the press of the United
States studies the foibles of the people instead of correcting them,
when they most need correction, which leads to this result, that the
Americans hear of their faults through the press of other countries, and
attribute those strictures to a feeling of injustice and envy.
An American gentleman of great intelligence assured me that the good
feeling which now exists (and I trust ever will) between the two
countries, would have been induced long previous had the “Times” (I use
his own expression) been _less silent_ on the subject of America.
“What,” he asked, “did your leading journal ever say _in our favour_
fifteen years ago, when this country was making the most unexampled
strides towards prosperity? Were we ever written of but with an open
allusion to the Pennsylvanian debt? Was anything connected with us
thought worthy of record but our steam-boat explosions and Lynch law?”
There is great truth in this--the press of Europe _has_ treated America
until latterly with silence if not contempt, and it is no wonder that
the Americans, who are the first to feel a slight, should retain some
bitterness on this score.
But this has passed away, the superficial travels of prejudiced
Englishmen (and women) no longer regulate our judgment of this country,
which indeed, even if their views were correct, has long outgrown, in
its rapid prosperity, the features they depicted.
The American newspapers are conducted with talent, and warmly encourage
and keep alive the spirit of energy and progress, from which the
country’s greatness springs; their moral tone generally is good, and the
amount of useful information they disseminate renders them of great
value to the greater proportion of readers; but it is to be deplored
that so many are connected with the press, whose feelings prompt them to
keep alive a jealousy and hatred of the mother country. The best of us
need at times to have the scales removed from our eyes, and the
fallacies we hug so stubbornly must be made to fall before conviction.
Therefore, with so large a mass of readers of the lower class dependent
almost on the press for information; among a people of warm blood and
quick impulses, but a people, whom it is as easy to mould to think
calmly and dispassionately as to inflame and excite until the judgment
falls before the power of doctrines flattering to national vanity; is it
not to be lamented that that portion of the press to which the bone and
sinew of the country looks naturally for guidance and advice, should in
few instances be directed by a wise and sound policy, principally from
the absence of leading journals sufficiently courageous to _chastise_?
* * * * *
There is nothing more pleasant than to revert to the good traits of a
country, particularly after having recorded what in one’s judgment
appears an infirmity. I allude therefore with pleasure to the
educational system of the Americans, honourable as it is to the good
feeling of the country, although it must be remembered I am speaking of
the Americans as _colonists_. The base of the American system of
education is simply to educate everybody, and to develope the natural
faculties; thus the way is opened to all to raise themselves by
assiduity and talent to independence and mayhap renown. How is it that
great and wise countries in the matter of education discuss so much and
so idly the manner of the doing; leaving the patient unrelieved whilst
the wise doctors disagree? Or how is it that it requires a Bishop and
his staff to plant a school in certain colonies, and why is so much fuss
made about the matter when the Bishop comes home and informs the public,
as bishops always do at some meeting or other, of the glorious success
that has attended his labours, and how he has called together
twenty-five small Carribean children in a wooden building forty feet by
twelve, as if a sacrifice had been offered up to Heaven, the incense of
which should diffuse itself gratefully over the whole land?
Now if one turns to the accounts of San Francisco in 1848, they will be
found to convey a tolerably truthful account of the society of that then
city of tents. It was scarcely a fortuitous commencement for a colony,
that its earlier inhabitants were for the most part maddened to excess
by the easy acquisition of wealth; and that under the influence of an
all-absorbing pursuit (such as few of us, I venture to say, could under
such circumstances entirely have resisted); the worst passions were
exercised without control, and _selfishness_, as is natural, reigned
paramount; what idea of the intellectual or moral cultivation of the
young would be expected to intrude itself on the thoughts of a community
occupied solely in the pursuit of selfish gratifications?
Yet in _this_ year a public school was opened in San Francisco supported
by the people, and this school was shortly placed in the charge of an
intelligent clergyman. What better illustration can we find in proof
that the Americans stand out in strong colours on this point? what
better proof that they are good colonists, when under such adverse
circumstances, in the midst of riot, dissipation, and ungodliness, the
first and only approach to a sense of responsibility was shown in a
fostering care of the young and helpless children _not their own_.
There were no bishops here, no staff, nor was the school organised by
reverend men; it owed its foundation and support to the one sense of
duty that no circumstances could erase from the American mind; and in
this earnest desire to open to all the path to future prosperity, the
grand principle of equality is better carried out than by any other
feature of the people of America. If this feeling exists, as I believe
throughout the United States, what stronger foundation-stone, speaking
in a worldly point of view, can a people naturally intelligent lay down
as a basis for increased prosperity? for, putting aside religion, with
this education is inculcated self-reliance; self-reliance in a nation
leads to mutual support and unity, and this in colonists overcomes
difficulties apparently insurmountable, as ants united move the dead
body of a lizard from the doorway of their home, or sailors par-buckle a
gun up some apparently impracticable mountain.
The proportion of children in California was naturally small as compared
with the population, yet I find that in 1853 the City of San Francisco
expended the monthly sum of seven hundred and fifty pounds on its
schools, in which were educated fourteen hundred children; and excellent
institutions now exist there, also, for the relief of orphans and the
sick and destitute. It will be remembered that the city is already
deeply in debt, and that the population are averse to taxes, which
render the maintenance of these establishments a burden.
* * * * *
The book stores of San Francisco drive a thriving trade after the
arrival of each mail, but the importations consist for the most part of
novels, which are greedily bought up, and find a ready sale in the
mining regions.
Apparently, every Californian can read, and judging from the fact that
the mails take an average of fifty thousand letters to the United States
every fortnight, we may presume that there are few among them that
cannot write.