since leaving New York, in which time we have, in a manner, coasted
both sides of the North-American Continent, from the parallel of 40°
N. to its termination, within a few degrees of the Equator, over seas
once ploughed by the keels of Columbus and Balboa, of Grijalva and
Sebastian Viscaino. All is excitement on board; the Captain has just
taken his noon observation. We are running along the shore, within six
or eight miles’ distance; the hills are bare and sandy, but loom up
finely through the deep blue haze. The coast trends somewhat more to
the westward and a notch or gap is at last visible in its lofty outline.
An hour later; we are in front of the entrance to San Francisco Bay.
As the view opens through the splendid strait, three or four miles
in width, the island rock of Alcatraz appears, gleaming white in the
distance.
At last we are through the Golden Gate--fit name for such a magnificent
portal to the commerce of the Pacific! Yerba Buena Island is in front;
southward and westward opens the renowned harbor, crowded with the
shipping of the world, mast behind mast and vessel behind vessel, the
flags of all nations fluttering in the breeze! Around the curving shore
of the Bay and upon the sides of three hills which rise steeply from
the water, the middle one receding so as to form a bold amphitheatre,
the town is planted and seems scarcely yet to have taken root, for
tents, canvas, plank, mud and adobe houses are mingled together with
the least apparent attempt at order and durability. But I am not yet
on shore. The gun of the Panama has just announced our arrival to the
people on land. We glide on with the tide, past the U. S. ship Ohio
and opposite the main landing, outside of the forest of masts. A dozen
boats are creeping out to us over the water; the signal is given--the
anchor drops--our voyage is over.
III
SAN FRANCISCO
After a prolonged search on the first day of my arrival I obtained a
room with two beds at $25 per week, meals being in addition $20 per
week. I asked the landlord whether he could send a porter for our
trunks. “There is none belonging to the house,” said he; “every man is
his own porter here.” I returned to the Parker House,[13] shouldered a
heavy trunk, took a valise in my hand and carried them to my quarters,
in the teeth of the wind. Our room was in a sort of garret over the
only story of the hotel; two cots, evidently of California manufacture,
and covered only with a pair of blankets, two chairs, a rough table and
a small looking-glass, constituted the furniture. There was not space
enough between the bed and the bare rafters overhead, to sit upright,
and I gave myself a severe blow in rising the next morning without the
proper heed. Through a small roof-window of dim glass, I could see the
opposite shore of the bay, then partly hidden by the evening fogs. The
wind whistled around the eaves and rattled the tiles with a cold, gusty
sound, that would have imparted a dreary character to the place, had I
been in a mood to listen.
Many of the passengers began speculation at the moment of landing.
The most ingenious and successful operation was made by a gentleman
of New York, who took out fifteen hundred copies of The Tribune and
other papers, which he disposed of in two hours, at one dollar apiece!
Hearing of this I bethought me of about a dozen papers which I had
used to fill up crevices in packing my valise. There was a newspaper
merchant at the corner of the City Hotel, and to him I proposed the
sale of them, asking him to name a price. “I shall want to make a good
profit on the retail price,” said he, “and can’t give more than ten
dollars for the lot.” I was satisfied with the wholesale price, which
was a gain of just four thousand per cent!
I set out for a walk before dark and climbed a hill back of the town,
passing a number of tents pitched in the hollows. The scattered houses
spread out below me and the crowded shipping in the harbor, backed by
a lofty line of mountains, made an imposing picture. The restless,
feverish tide of life in that little spot, and the thought that what
I then saw and was yet to see will hereafter fill one of the most
marvellous pages of all history, rendered it singularly impressive.
I was forced to believe many things, which in my communications to The
Tribune I was almost afraid to write, with any hope of their obtaining
credence. It may be interesting to give here a few instances of the
enormous and unnatural value put upon property at the time of my
arrival. The Parker House rented for $110,000 yearly, at least $60,000
of which was paid by gamblers, who held nearly all the second story.
Adjoining it on the right was a canvas-tent fifteen by twenty-five
feet, called “Eldorado,” and occupied likewise by gamblers, which
brought $40,000. On the opposite corner of the plaza, a building
called the “Miner’s Bank,” used by Wright & Co., brokers, about half
the size of a fire-engine house in New York, was held at a rent of
$75,000. A mercantile house paid $40,000 rent for a one-story building
of twenty feet front; the United States Hotel, $36,000; the Post
Office, $7,000, and so on to the end of the chapter. A friend of mine,
who wished to find a place for a law-office, was shown a cellar in the
earth, about twelve feet square and six deep, which he could have at
$250 a month. One of the common soldiers at the battle of San Pasquale
was reputed to be among the millionaires of the place, with an income
of $50,000 _monthly_. A citizen of San Francisco died insolvent to the
amount of $41,000 the previous Autumn. His administrators were delayed
in settling his affairs, and his real estate advanced so rapidly in
value meantime, that after his debts were paid his heirs had a yearly
income of $40,000. These facts were indubitably attested; everyone
believed them, yet hearing them talked of daily, as matters of course,
one at first could not help feeling as if he had been eating of “the
insane root.”
The prices paid for labor were in proportion to everything else. The
carman of Mellus, Howard & Co. had a salary of $6,000 a year, and
many others made from $15 to $20 daily. Servants were paid from $100
to $200 a month, but the wages of the rougher kinds of labor had
fallen to about $80. Yet, notwithstanding the number of gold-seekers
who were returning enfeebled and disheartened from the mines, it was
difficult to obtain as many workmen as the forced growth of the city
demanded. A gentleman who arrived in April told me he then found but
thirty or forty houses; the population was then so scant that not
more than twenty-five persons would be seen in the streets at any one
time. Now, there were probably five hundred houses, tents and sheds,
with a population, fixed and floating, of six thousand. People who
had been absent six weeks came back and could scarcely recognize the
place. Streets were regularly laid out, and already there were three
piers, at which small vessels could discharge. It was calculated that
the town increased daily by from fifteen to thirty houses; its skirts
were rapidly approaching the summits of the three hills on which it is
located.
A curious result of the extraordinary abundance of gold and the
facility with which fortunes were acquired, struck me at the first
glance. All business was transacted on so extensive a scale that the
ordinary habits of solicitation and compliance on the one hand and
stubborn cheapening on the other, seemed to be entirely forgotten.
You enter a shop to buy something; the owner eyes you with perfect
indifference, waiting for you to state your want; if you object to the
price, you are at liberty to leave, for you need not expect to get it
cheaper; he evidently cares little whether you buy it or not. One who
has been some time in the country will lay down the money, without
wasting words. This disregard for all the petty arts of money-making
was really a refreshing feature of society. Another equally agreeable
trait was the punctuality with which debts were paid and the general
confidence which men were obliged to place, perforce, in each
other’s honesty. Perhaps this latter fact was owing, in part, to the
impossibility of protecting wealth, and consequent dependence on an
honorable regard for the rights of others.
About the hour of twilight the wind fell; the sound of a gong called
us to tea, which was served in the largest room of the hotel. The fare
was abundant and of much better quality than we expected--better, in
fact, than I was able to find there two months later. The fresh milk,
butter and excellent beef of the country were real luxuries after our
sea-fare. Thus braced against the fog and raw temperature, we sallied
out for a night-view of San Francisco, then even more peculiar than its
daylight look. Business was over about the usual hour, and then the
harvest-time of the gamblers commenced. Every “hell” in the place, and
I did not pretend to number them, was crowded, and immense sums were
staked at the monte and faro tables. A boy of fifteen, in one place,
won about $500, which he coolly pocketed and carried off. One of the
gang we brought in the Panama won $1,500 in the course of the evening,
and another lost $2,400. A fortunate miner made himself conspicuous
by betting large piles of ounces on a single throw. His last stake of
100 oz. was lost, and I saw him the following morning dashing through
the streets, trying to break his own neck or that of the magnificent
_garañon_ he bestrode.
Walking through the town the next day, I was quite amazed to find a
dozen persons busily employed in the street before the United States
Hotel, digging up the earth with knives and crumbling it in their
hands. They were actual gold-hunters, who obtained in this way about
$5 a day. After blowing the fine dirt carefully in their hands, a few
specks of gold were left, which they placed in a piece of white paper.
A number of children were engaged in the same business, picking out the
fine grains by applying to them the head of a pin, moistened in their
mouths. I was told of a small boy having taken home $14 as the result
of one day’s labor. On climbing the hill to the Post Office I observed
in places, where the wind had swept away the sand, several glittering
dots of the real metal, but, like the Irishman who kicked the dollar
out of his way, concluded to wait till I should reach the heap. The
presence of gold in the streets was probably occasioned by the leakings
from the miners’ bags and the sweepings of stores; though it may also
be, to a slight extent, native in the earth, particles having been
found in the clay thrown up from a deep well.
The arrival of a steamer with a mail ran the usual excitement and
activity of the town up to its highest possible notch. The little Post
Office, half-way up the hill, was almost hidden from sight by the
crowds that clustered around it. Mr. Moore, the new Postmaster, who was
my fellow-traveler from New York, barred every door and window from
the moment of his entrance, and with his sons and a few clerks, worked
steadily for two days and two nights, till the distribution of twenty
thousand letters was completed.
* * * * *
As early as half-past six the bells begin to sound to breakfast, and
for an hour thenceforth, their incessant clang and the braying of
immense gongs drown all the hammers that are busy on a hundred roofs.
The hotels, restaurants and refectories of all kinds are already as
numerous as gaming-tables, and equally various in kind. The tables
d’hôte of the first class (which charge $2 and upwards the meal) are
abundantly supplied. There are others, with more simple and solid fare,
frequented by the large class who have their fortunes yet to make. At
the United States and California restaurants, on the plaza, you may get
an excellent beef-steak, scantily garnished with potatoes, and a cup of
good coffee or chocolate for $1. Fresh beef, bread, potatoes, and all
provisions which will bear importation, are plenty; but milk, fruit and
vegetables are classed as luxuries, and fresh butter is rarely heard of.
By nine o’clock the town is in the full flow of business. The streets
running down to the water, and Montgomery street which fronts the
Bay, are crowded with people, all in hurried motion. The variety of
characters and costumes is remarkable. Our own countrymen seem to lose
their local peculiarities in such a crowd, and it is by chance epithets
rather than by manner, that the New Yorker is distinguished from the
Kentuckian, the Carolinian from the Down-Easter, the Virginian from the
Texan. The German and Frenchman are more easily recognized. Peruvians
and Chilians go by in their brown ponchos, and the sober Chinese, cool
and impassive in the midst of excitement, look out of the oblique
corners of their long eyes at the bustle, but are never tempted to
venture from their own line of business. The eastern side of the plaza,
in front of the Parker House and a canvas hell called the Eldorado,
are the general rendezvous of business and amusement--combining
’change, park, club-room and promenade all in one. There, everybody not
constantly employed in one spot, may be seen at some time of the day.
The character of the groups scattered along the plaza is oftentimes
very interesting. In one place are three or four speculators bargaining
for lots, buying and selling “fifty varas square” in towns, some of
which are canvas and some only paper; in another, a company of miners,
brown as leather, and rugged in features as in dress; in a third,
perhaps, three or four naval officers speculating on the next cruise,
or a knot of genteel gamblers, talking over the last night’s operations.
The day advances. The mist which after sunrise hung low and heavy for
an hour or two, has risen above the hills, and there will be two hours
of pleasant sunshine before the wind sets in from the sea. The crowd
in the streets is now wholly alive. Men dart hither and thither, as if
possessed with a never-resting spirit. You speak to an acquaintance--a
merchant, perhaps. He utters a few hurried words of greeting, while his
eyes send keen glances on all sides of you; suddenly he catches sight
of somebody in the crowd; he is off, and in the next five minutes has
bought up half a cargo, sold a town lot at treble the sum he gave, and
taken a share in some new and imposing speculation. The very air is
pregnant with the magnetism of bold, spirited, unwearied action, and he
who but ventures into the outer circle of the whirlpool, is spinning,
ere he has time for thought, in its dizzy vortex.
About twelve o’clock, a wind begins to blow from the northwest,
sweeping with most violence through a gap between the hills, opening
towards the Golden Gate. The bells and gongs begin to sound for dinner,
and these two causes tend to lessen the crowd in the streets for
an hour or two. Two o’clock is the usual dinner-time for business
men, but some of the old and successful merchants have adopted the
fashionable hour of five. Where shall we dine to-day? the restaurants
display their signs invitingly on all sides; we have choice of the
United States, Tortoni’s, the Alhambra, and many other equally classic
resorts, but Delmonico’s, like its distinguished original in New York,
has the highest prices and the greatest variety of dishes. We go down
Kearney street to a two-story wooden house on the corner of Jackson.
The lower story is a market. We enter a little door at the end of the
building, ascend a dark, narrow flight of steps and find ourselves in
a long, low room, with ceiling and walls of white muslin and a floor
covered with oil-cloth.
There are about twenty tables disposed in two rows, all of them so well
filled that we have some difficulty in finding places. Taking up the
written bill of fare, we find such items as the following:
SOUPS.
Mock Turtle $0.75
St. Julien 1.00
FISH.
Boiled Salmon Trout, Anchovy sauce 1.75
BOILED.
Leg Mutton, caper sauce 1.00
Corned Beef, Cabbage 1.00
Ham and Tongues 0.75
ENTREES.
Filet of Beef, mushroom sauce 1.75
Veal Cutlets, breaded 1.00
Mutton Chop 1.00
Lobster Salad 2.00
Sirloin of Venison 1.50
Baked Macaroni 0.75
Beef Tongue, sauce piquante 1.00
So that, with but a moderate appetite, the dinner will cost us $5, if
we are at all epicurean in our tastes. There are cries of “steward!”
from all parts of the room--the word “waiter” is not considered
sufficiently respectful, seeing that the waiter may have been a lawyer
or merchant’s clerk a few months before. The dishes look very small as
they are placed on the table, but they are skilfully cooked and very
palatable to men that have ridden in from the diggings. The appetite
one acquires in California is something remarkable. For two months
after my arrival, my sensations were like those of a famished wolf.
The afternoon is less noisy and active than the forenoon. Merchants
keep within-doors, and the gambling-rooms are crowded with persons who
step in to escape the wind and dust. The sky takes a cold gray cast,
and the hills over the bay are barely visible in the dense, dusty air.
Towards sunset, the plaza is nearly deserted; the wind is merciless in
its force, and a heavy overcoat is not found unpleasantly warm. As it
grows dark, there is a lull, though occasional gusts blow down the hill
and carry the dust of the city out among the shipping.
The appearance of San Francisco at night, from the water, is unlike
anything I ever beheld. The houses are mostly of canvas, which is made
transparent by the lamps within, and transforms them, in the darkness,
to dwellings of solid light. Seated on the slopes of its three hills,
the tents pitched among the chaparral to the very summits, it gleams
like an amphitheatre of fire. Here and there shine out brilliant
points, from the decoy-lamps of the gaming-houses; and through the
indistinct murmur of the streets comes by fits the sound of music from
their hot and crowded precincts.
The only objects left for us to visit are the gaming-tables, whose
day has just fairly dawned. We need not wander far in search of one.
Denison’s Exchange, the Parker House and Eldorado stand side by side;
across the way are the Verandah and Aguila de Oro; higher up the
plaza the St. Charles and Bella Union; while dozens of second-rate
establishments are scattered through the less frequented streets. The
greatest crowd is about the Eldorado; we find it difficult to effect an
entrance. There are about eight tables in the room, all of which are
thronged; copper-hued Kanakas, Mexicans rolled in their sarapes and
Peruvians thrust through their ponchos, stand shoulder to shoulder with
the brown and bearded American miners. The stakes are generally small,
though when the bettor gets into “a streak of luck,” as it is called,
they are allowed to double until all is lost or the bank breaks. Along
the end of the room is a spacious bar, supplied with all kinds of bad
liquors, and in a sort of gallery, suspended under the ceiling, a
female violinist tasks her talent and strength of muscle to minister to
the excitement of play.
The Verandah, opposite, is smaller, but boasts an equal attraction in
a musician who has a set of Pandean pipes fastened at his chin, a drum
on his back, which he beats with sticks at his elbows, and cymbals in
his hands. The piles of coin on the monte tables clink merrily to his
playing, and the throng of spectators, jammed together in a sweltering
mass, walk up to the bar between the tunes and drink out of sympathy
with his dry and breathless throat. At the Aguila de Oro there is a
full band of Ethiopian serenaders, and at the other hells, violins,
guitars or wheezy accordeons, as the case may be. The atmosphere of
these places is rank with tobacco-smoke, and filled with a feverish,
stifling heat, which communicates an unhealthy glow to the faces of the
players.
There are rare chances here for seeing human nature in one of its
most dark and existing phases. They are playing monte, the favorite
game in California, since the chances are considered more equal and
the opportunity of false play very slight. The dealer throws out his
cards with a cool, nonchalant air; indeed, the gradual increase of the
hollow square of dollars at his left hand is not calculated to disturb
his equanimity. The two Mexicans in front, muffled in their dirty
sarapes, put down their half-dollars and dollars and see them lost,
without changing a muscle. Gambling is a born habit with them, and
they would lose thousands with the same indifference. Very different
is the demeanor of the Americans who are playing; their good or ill
luck is betrayed at once by involuntary exclamations and changes of
countenance, unless the stake should be very large and absorbing, when
their anxiety, though silent, may be read with no less certainty. They
have no power to resist the fascination of the game. Now counting their
winnings by thousands, now dependent on the kindness of a friend for a
few dollars to commence anew, they pass hour after hour in those hot,
unwholesome dens. There is no appearance of arms, but let one of the
players, impatient with his losses and maddened by the poisonous fluids
he has drunk, threaten one of the profession, and there will be no
scarcity of knives and revolvers.
There are other places, where gaming is carried on privately and to
a more ruinous extent--rooms in the rear of the Parker House, in the
City Hotel and other places, frequented only by the initiated. Here
the stakes are almost unlimited, the players being men of wealth and
apparent respectability. Frequently, in the absorbing interest of some
desperate game the night goes by unheeded and morning breaks upon
haggard faces and reckless hearts. Here are lost, in a few turns of a
card or rolls of a ball, the product of fortunate ventures by sea or
months of racking labor on land.
IV
AT THE DIGGINGS
MOKELUMNE
In the evening of the day of our arrival we sat down to a supper
prepared by Baptiste and his partner, Mr. Fisher, which completed my
astonishment at the resources of that wonderful land. There, in the
rough depth of the hills, where three weeks before there was scarcely
a tent, and where we expected to live on jerked beef and bread, we saw
on the table green corn, green peas and beans, fresh oysters, roast
turkey, fine Goshen butter and excellent coffee. I will not pretend to
say what they cost, but I began to think that the fable of Aladdin was
nothing very remarkable, after all.
I slept soundly that night on the dining-table, and went down early to
the river, where I found the party of ten bailing out the water which
had leaked into the river-bed during the night. They were standing in
the sun, and had two hours’ hard work before they could begin to wash
for gold. The prospect looked uninviting, but when I went there again
towards noon, one of them was scraping up the sand from the bed with
his knife, and throwing it into a basin, the bottom of which glittered
with gold. Every knifeful brought out a quantity of grains and scales,
some of which were as large as the finger-nail. At last a two-ounce
lump fell plump into the pan, and the diggers, now in the best possible
humor, went on with their work with great alacrity. Their forenoon’s
digging amounted to nearly six pounds. It is only by such operations
as these, through associated labor, that great profits are to be made
in those districts which have been visited by the first eager horde of
gold-hunters. The deposits most easily reached are soon exhausted by
the crowd, and the labor required to carry on further work successfully
deters single individuals from attempting it. Those who, retaining
their health, return home disappointed, say they have been humbugged
about the gold, when in fact, they have humbugged themselves about
the _work_. If any one expects to dig treasures out of the earth,
in California, without severe labor, he is wofully mistaken. Of all
classes of men, those who pave streets and quarry limestone are best
adapted for gold diggers.