WITH THE VETERANS.
A bicycle is of little use in the city of San Francisco, that is, in
the city proper. The horizontal streets are too roughly paved and the
perpendicular streets are of course unrideable. It may be exaggerating
the case a little to speak of the streets as being perpendicular,
but many of them are nearer that than they are level. The city is full
of hills, such as Telegraph Hill, where there is a beer garden in the
shape of an old castle, and Nob Hill where Flood, Stanford, and other
California millionaires have built some of their fine residences. A
cable line of street cars runs over these hills, and it is quite a
treat at first to take a ride upon these cars. They go noiselessly
up a grade that often rises one foot in three, as steep as the Mount
Washington Railroad, and yet the speed of the car does not slacken in
the least, either going up or down, the rate being somewhat faster
than horse cars. Unlike the dummy or grip-car in Chicago, which has
a train of three or four cars, these have only one car attached,
which is often crowded to its utmost, but should the grip lose its
hold on the cable the car can be instantly lifted off its wheels on
to runners that would prevent the car sliding down the steep grade
at a very dangerous speed.
The cable, the power which moves the cars, runs along under the center
of the track entirely unseen, and the grip, a flat, iron beam, in the
center of the dummy, slides along in a slot in the center of the track,
and by an ingenious contrivance grasps or lets go of the running cable
at the will of the gripman. The power is communicated to the cable
by running it over grooved wheels at a central station in the cable
car line, which is often three or four miles long. In the rapidity
of transit, this system on a level is a great improvement upon horse
cars, and in surmounting these long, steep hills, where horse-power
would be utterly useless, it works equally well.
But to return to the bicycle. In going out to the Presidio, a
government reservation, west of the city, a mile or so, and to the
fort which stands just at the Golden Gate, I found excellent roads,
and so on, all the way to the Cliff House, which is four miles out
on the shore of the Pacific; but the drifting sand caused a few
dismounts. Strange as it may seem, this sand is the cause of great
expense to the people here. It drifts like snow, covering up fences,
houses, and in time blocking up thoroughfares if left undisturbed.
On the way out I passed square miles of sand hills that were being
blown by the westerly winds into heaps and drifts thirty or forty
feet high. And one of the petty annoyances from the sand is the dust
that is constantly filling every nook and corner of stores, shops,
and dwelling-houses. The trouble from flies is as nothing compared
to the evil which housekeepers have to endure from their greatest
enemy, dust. There is something about this California dust that is
more penetrating than Eastern dust, for the pedals on the machine
would in other places remain in good running order for several weeks
after cleaning, but here they get gummed up in a very few days.
A most novel attraction at the Cliff House is the sea lions that
swarm all over a mass of rocks out in the ocean, perhaps a hundred and
fifty feet from the cliff. Here hundreds of these growling, snarling
animals crawl up out of the cold waves, floundering over each other in
search of a warm place to sleep in, and disturbing other slumberers,
thus creating a constant uproar. The grounds and flower gardens about
the residence of Adolph Sutro, of Sutro Tunnel fame, are certainly
very pretty--the most beautiful I have seen--and the situation,
just back of the Cliff House, and higher up, is a very fine one.
After a short trip across the bay, by water and rail, to Alameda, the
Saratoga of California, all interest was lost for awhile in everything
else in the growing excitement attending the Grand Army Encampment. To
one who had been so long in coming across the continent, the sight
of those who had so recently left Connecticut was a real pleasure,
and I keenly enjoyed looking at fellow Yankees, especially into the
faces of those from Hartford. But it was a great disappointment to
see Connecticut unheralded in the grand procession except by a small
banner belonging to the New Haven Post. The colors that should have
made the forty members from Connecticut who joined in the procession
distinguishable in the thousands of other marching veterans, arrived
an hour after the parade was dismissed.
The Avenue, which one here soon learns to know means Van Ness Avenue,
is a fine broad street, just suited (as it is not a business street)
for the easy formation of a parade, and the sight of the marching and
counter-marching regulars, the State militia, and the ten thousand
veterans, many of these carrying large silk flags, taken in connection
with the scores of playing bands and drum corps, altogether, was very
inspiring. Certainly the streets and buildings of San Francisco were
never so gayly and handsomely decorated, and there never were so many
people here.
It was interesting to see the faces of Generals Sherman and Logan as
they stood up in their carriages reviewing the procession, nearly
opposite the Palace Hotel. Sherman's keen eye noted everything. He
frequently pointed out some veteran or banner in the procession
in his quick eager manner, and seemed as anxious as a boy not to
let anything escape him. He acknowledged the cheers and shouts of
the passing veterans by little short, quick nods, keeping his head
going and eyes winking almost continually, only occasionally waving
his hat a little, which he held down at arm's length most of the
time. Sometimes a veteran would leave the ranks to grasp his hand,
but not very often, and if a number came at once he would wave them
off with an impatient gesture as if the thing that pleased him most
was to see them keep marching, marching. Every action of his was
quick, active, and almost nervous, and the only time I have seen
him do anything slowly was at the pavilion one evening, when he
followed Commander-in-Chief Burdette around the floor with a lady
on his arm during the grand march preceding the dancing. Then he was
obliged to go slow. His photographs flatter him only in one respect,
and that is his nose. The end of his nose is larger, fuller, redder,
than it appears in his photograph, and curves at the end like a beak.
General Logan stood in his carriage almost the antipode of
Sherman. Logan was slow, graceful, smiling, saw the procession pass
in a calm sort of a way, and took no particular notice of anything
in it but once. He replied to the hurrahs and yells of the veterans
by slowly raising his black flat brimmed hat, bowing gracefully and
smiling, and replacing his hat on his head.
The regulars marched by in splendid form, without so much as
turning their eyes to the right, but the militia could not resist
the temptation to look at Sherman and Logan, and their lines were
very wavy in consequence. The veterans simply straggled by, cheering
and yelling in squads or singly, just as the spirit moved them. Some
Grand Army of the Republic officer, arrayed in glistening uniform
and riding a fine horse, would come sailing up with his face and
body as immovable as a statue, when suddenly becoming aware of the
presence of these generals the officer would unbend, turn his head
on a pivot, bow and smile his sweetest, but in nine cases out of
ten these supreme efforts of the officers were all lost on Logan,
for he was gazing with earnest look at the line of veterans.
A stout, full bearded man left the ranks and walked firmly up to Logan,
grasped the hand that was always ready, and said, in a low, trembling
voice, "God bless you." And I know from his looks he felt a good
deal more than he said. Another rather timid man came from the ranks
and shaking Logan's hand, said: "I can't help it," and walked off,
hanging his head, as if he had done something foolish. Then another
came rushing up with a wild glaring look in his eyes, and shaking,
and yelling "Twenty-second Ohio," was off again with the moving
mass. Up ran another, and, shouting the one word "Chattanooga,"
as Logan gave him a hearty shake, was gone.
And so it was throughout the whole review; no matter whether they came
singly or whether whole companies left the ranks in a body, and made
a rush for the carriages, Logan's hand was always extended, and a
"Glad to see you," or "Yes, that's so, boys," made the old veterans
feel happy; for only when Logan was shaking, as fast as he could,
a score of uplifted hands, did his black eyes flash, and look as if
he really was, as he said he was, glad to see the crowd of comrades
pushing eagerly toward him. Once a great burly six footer, crowded up,
and extending his broad hand eagerly shouted, "Touch her, God Almighty,
touch her." A veteran who had been irrigating a little too freely,
stood for quite a while in front of the carriage, and as the old
soldiers tramped by he would call their attention, in a maudlin way,
to the personage he had in charge by saying, "don't forget John." But
it was plain to be seen there was no danger of that. Then another one
came up with a demijohn, and, pouring out a glass of water and spilling
twice as much all over himself, said, "Drink with me, Gen'al, if you
never drink again," and the general did. Then when he joined in singing
"Marching Through Georgia," all the ladies in the windows on both sides
of the street waved their handkerchiefs; but when a little raggamuffin,
during a lull in the yells and shouts of the veterans, rushed out in
front of the carriage, and called for "Three cheers for Black Jack,"
he failed to get them. It certainly required considerable patience
on Logan's part to be shaken and almost yanked out of the carriage,
as he was several times, but he bore it with good grace, and replied
to the hundreds of questions and salutations as pleasantly as possible.
Again at the concert at the pavilion he was heartily applauded as he
came in and took his seat, and while the ten thousand persons present
were clapping their hands, cheering and yelling "Logan, Logan," he sat
perfectly still, looking straight in front of himself with that same
far away look in his eyes. As nothing less would satisfy the audience
he finally climbed upon the stage, when with one accord the thousand
singers present showered him with flowers and bouquets. This time
he seemed to be somewhat disconcerted and blushed as the bouquets
hit him in the breast and face and knocked his long straight black
hair all over his eyes. Still he bowed and bowed, and jumped down
and took his seat as soon as possible. His manner certainly wins the
admiration and respect of the average American.
A day's trip to Monterey on the cars is sufficient to see the beautiful
grove of live oaks there and to view the old town and bay. The Hotel
Del Monte is a magnificent structure, and the floral display about
the hotel, in the court in the rear, where there is a garden of an
acre of the most brilliant flowers imaginable, and many more out in
the grove, this makes the whole place the most delightful resort I
have seen. The beach is strewn with the bones of whales, and in places
they are thrown up tons of them in heaps. I saw one curiosity hunter
lugging off a vertebra that must have weighed fifty pounds. The waves
would occasionally float a jelly-fish closely up on the beach, and
we finally succeeded, two of us, in holding one of these quivering,
slippery masses of living matter from sliding back with the waves,
but wet feet was the price of the prize. Some of these masses of jelly
that are about the shape of a scalloped summer squash, are nearly as
large as a tub, certainly larger than a half bushel.
The water on the coast here is too cold for comfortable bathing,
and hot salt water bathing is advertised everywhere, but to any one
who has enjoyed the surf anywhere on the Atlantic coast the idea of
swimming in a tank of heated salt water is not very attractive. For
all they have no winter here the cost of fuel is greater, if anything,
than where the climate is more severe. Coal costs more per ton, and
is delivered to families in fifty pound sacks. Fires are comfortable
every day in the year, and sealskin cloaks are seen in the streets
all summer long. Why they don't have more big fires in San Francisco
is a wonder. Acres of frame dwellings and business blocks are here, a
strong wind is always with them, and after four or five months without
a drop of rain it naturally seems as if the buildings must be as dry
as tinder. But they tell me the red wood, which is the chief building
material, does not burn very readily, as there is very little if any
resin. The thing they dread most is a thunder storm. A good lively
earthquake is barely noticed, and the people walk along with the
ground trembling and shaking under them, and the occurrence is hardly
mentioned, but let an ordinary thunder storm pass over them and it is
the subject of conversation for weeks. The week before I reached here
a thunder storm occurred that in New England would hardly be noticed,
but here it startled the whole city, and was the occasion of many
an animated discussion among the natives who still gather in little
groups upon the streets to express their various opinions regarding
the phenomenon.