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[Illustration: FORT VICTORIA, 1859.]
SOME REMINISCENCES
OF
OLD VICTORIA
BY
EDGAR FAWCETT
Toronto
William Briggs
1912
Copyright, Canada, 1912, by
EDGAR FAWCETT.
TO
Sir Richard McBride. K.C.M.G.
PREMIER, NATIVE SON AND PIONEER
THIS BOOK IS INSCRIBED BY
HIS HUMBLE SERVANT
THE AUTHOR.
PREFACE
To My Readers:--
A preface is, as I understand it, an explanation, and maybe an
apology, for what follows. If such is the case, I must explain
several things contained in these "Reminiscences of Old Victoria" and
its pioneers. Had I not been laid aside with the typhoid some eight
years ago, it is likely I should not have thought of writing down
these early memories, but many know what convalescing after a
sickness is--how one longs for something new, something to do. I was
at this time at the seaside, and all at once decided to pass my time
in writing. Seated comfortably on the beach with my writing pad, I
commenced "A British Boy's Experiences in San Francisco in the Early
Fifties," and so have continued on from time to time during the last
eight years.
I have been much encouraged, by pioneers and friends, to gather the
result of these pleasant labors together, and I feel I have succeeded
in a very imperfect manner; but, dear reader, consider how little I
should be expected to know of book-making; therefore take faults and
omissions in the product of my labors _cum bona venia_, for
there are sure to be many imperfections. There are repetitions of
which I am aware, and have decided to let them stand, as I think they
fit in in each case. Had I been a man of more leisure I should not
have had to apologize for so many of these imperfections.
I have to thank Mrs. Macdonald, of Armadale, the venerable Bishop
Cridge, and Alexander Wilson, for valuable information, and also Mr.
Albert Maynard and Reverend A. E. Alston for many photographs to
illustrate the book. We all know that a book in these days is nothing
without pictures. There are others who have helped me in other ways
who will accept my thanks.
With these explanatory remarks, and in fear and trembling, I submit
the book to your favorable consideration.
Dingley Dell,
Christmas, 1911.
A SHORT AUTOBIOGRAPHY
All the Fawcetts I ever heard of from my father and mother came from
Kidderminster. My father's father was a maltster, and the sons, with
the exception of my father, the youngest, were carpet weavers. The
family were strict Nonconformists, and produced one or two noted
divines of George the Third's day, one of whom preached before that
king. There was also a kinship with the Baxters of "Saint's Rest"
fame.
My mother was Jane Wignall, whose father was a Birmingham smallarms
manufacturer in rather a large way of business, but who through the
dishonesty of his partner was nearly ruined and brought to
comparative poverty. The daughters, who were all well educated, had
to take positions as governesses and ladies' companions. My mother,
in this capacity, lived and travelled in France and Spain, and spoke
the languages of both countries. In a voyage to her home from
Barcelona she was wrecked in the Gulf of Lyons, but through the
timely assistance of a Spanish gentleman and his Newfoundland dog,
who bore her up, she was brought to shore in little more than her
nightdress. I have to-day a letter from the British consul at
Marseilles which he gave to my mother, recommending her to the care
of other British consuls on her way to England. The Spanish gentleman
who saved her life made an offer of marriage, which my mother
declined, I think, on account of his being a Roman Catholic. He would
not take no for an answer, but later on followed her to England and
offered himself a second time without effect. Shortly after this she
and my father were married, and on the advice of Rowland Hill, his
cousin (Sir Rowland Hill), he took his young bride to Australia.
Rowland Hill, being his father's trustee under his will, paid my
father his share, with which he took a stock of goods and started
business in Sydney.
In 1849 we left Sydney, where I was born, for San Francisco--father,
mother, my brother Rowland and myself, in the ship _Victoria_.
This vessel my father afterwards purchased and sent to Alberni, or
Sooke, for a load of lumber for England, when we all were going with
her. The vessel never came back, having been wrecked somewhere near
where all the wrecks have since taken place, on the west coast of
this island. My father was ruined, for there was no insurance, so he
had to start life anew. He came north to Victoria in 1858, where he
entered into business until appointed Government Agent at Nanaimo,
where he served some years, dying at the advanced age of seventy-six.
My mother died in 1863, and at the present writing, in addition to
myself, there is one brother in Victoria--Rowland--and another
brother, Arthur, in London, England.
The author has completed his fifty-three years in this fair city.
Dingley Dell,
December 20th, 1911.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER. PAGE
I. The Experiences of a British Boy in San Francisco
in the Early Fifties 11
II. Theatrical Memories 20
III. My Boyhood Days in Victoria 26
IV. Victoria's First Directory 38
V. Some Recollections of Victoria by One who Was There in the Sixties 57
VI. A Little More Street History 68
VII. The Victoria _Gazette_, 1858 73
VIII. Victoria in 1859-1860 84
IX. Fires and Firemen 92
X. A Siberian Mammoth 100
XI. Mrs. Edwin Donald, Hon. Wymond Hamley, Hon. G. A. Walkem 109
XII. The Consecration of the Iron Church 115
XIII. The Iron Church Again 121
XIV. Its Departed Glories, or Esquimalt, Then and Now 124
XV. Old Quadra Street Cemetery 129
XVI. Pioneer Society's Banquet 144
XVII. Victoria District Church 149
XVIII. Christmas In Pioneer Days 153
XIX. The Queen's Birthday Forty Years Ago 159
XX. Evolution of the Victoria Post Office 166
XXI. Fifty Years Ago 170
XXII. Forty Years Ago 174
XXIII. The Late Governor Johnson 178
XXIV. A Trip to a Coral Island 181
XXV. A Victorian's Visit to Southern California 183
XXVI. An Historic Steamer 199
XXVII. Colonel Wolfenden--In Memoriam 203
XXVIII. The Closing of View Street in 1858 206
XXIX. Mr. Fawcett Retires from the Customs 212
XXX. Some Colored Pioneers 215
XXXI. John Chapman Davie, M.D. 220
XXXII. The Beginning of the Royal Hospital and Protestant Orphan's Home 226
XXXIII. Victoria's First Y. M. C. A. 229
XXXIV. The Late Mr. T. Geiger 234
XXXV. Roster of the Fifty-Eighters 237
XXXVI. More Light on Closing of View Street 240
XXXVII. Bishop Cridge's Christmas Story 244
XXXVIII. Christmas Reminiscences 258
XXXIX. My First Christmas Dinner in Victoria, 1860 263
XL. Evolution of the Songhees 283
XLI. Victoria the New and the Old 288
ILLUSTRATIONS
Fort Victoria, 1859, Showing Fort St. Gate
Government Street, Looking North
Government Street in 1860
S. E. corner Government and Yates Streets, 1858
Lady Douglas
Sir James Douglas
Edgar Fawcett
Hon. Wymond Hamley
George Richardson
George Hills, D.D.
Henry Wootton
Capt. John Irving, Sr.
Quadra Street Cemetery
A Group of Early Legislators
Fort Street, Looking East
Yates Street, Looking East
Fort Street, Extending Through the Fort
Old View of Government Street
Government Street Before the Removal of the "Old Bastion"
Wharf Street, From Corner Fort Street Northward
Craigflower, Showing School, 1858
First Bridge Over James Bay, 1859
Government Buildings, 1859-60
May Day Parade, Hook and Ladder Company, May 1st, 1862
Hon. Sir Richard McBride, K.C.M.G.
Old View of Douglas Street, Iron Church in the Distance
Showing Inside of Fort from Wharf Street, 1859
Hon. Amor De Cosmos
William P. Sayward
Thomas Harris
Bishop Garrett
First Methodist Church
First Bridge Over the Gorge, Victoria Arm
Forty Years Ago, Queen's Birthday, Beacon Hill
Colonial Hotel
H. B. Co.'s Steamer _Beaver_
Part of View Street, 1859
Victoria District Church, 1859
Hon. Senator Macdonald
Lt.-Col. Wolfenden, I.S.O., V.D.
Wm. Leigh
John Chapman Davie, M.D.
Edgar Fawcett
Captain "Willie" Mitchell
Hon. Dr. Helmcken
Gov. John H. Johnson, of Minnesota
Samuel Booth
Rev. Edward Cridge, 1859
Venerable Bishop Cridge
Bishop and Mrs. Cridge at their Golden Jubilee
A Park in San Bernardino
Songhees Indian Reserve
Bastion--S. W. Corner of Fort
SOME REMINISCENCES OF OLD VICTORIA
CHAPTER I.
THE EXPERIENCES OF A BRITISH BOY IN SAN FRANCISCO IN THE EARLY FIFTIES.
I shall commence by saying that I, with my father, mother, brother
and sister, arrived in San Francisco in 1850, in the ship
_Victoria_, from Australia, where I was born. From stress of
weather we put into Honolulu to refit, and spent, I think, three
weeks there, and as my mother was not in good health the change and
rest on shore did her a deal of good. During our stay we became
acquainted with a wealthy American sugar planter, who was married to
a pretty native lady. They had no family, and she fell in love with
your humble servant, who was of the mature age of two and a half
years. My mother, of course, told me of this years later, how that
after consulting with her husband, the planter, she seriously
proposed to my mother that she give me to her for adoption as her
son; that I should be well provided for in the case of her husband's
death, and in fact she made the most liberal offers if she might have
me for her own. It might have been a very important epoch in my life,
for if my mother had accepted, who knows but what I might have been
"King of the Hawaiian Islands," as the planter's wife was "well
connected." But, to proceed, my mother did not accept this
flattering offer, as naturally she would not, and so we continued
on our way to San Francisco with many remembrances of my admirer's
kindness. But this is not telling of my experiences in San Francisco
eight years after.
My first recollections are complimentary to the citizens of San
Francisco--that is, for their universal courtesy to women and
children; but this is a characteristic of the people, and I will
illustrate it in a small way. It was the custom in those days for
ladies to go shopping prepared to carry all they bought home with
them, and I used to accompany my mother on her shopping expeditions.
The streets and crossings were in a dreadfully muddy condition, and
women and children were carried over the crossings, and never was
there wanting a gallant gentleman ready to fulfil this duty, for a
duty it was considered then by all men to be attentive to women.
What induced me to write these maybe uninteresting incidents, was the
last very interesting sketch of early life in San Francisco by my
friend, Mr. D. W. Higgins, giving an account of the doings of the
"Vigilance Committee," and the shooting of "James King of William,"
as I remembered him named, and the subsequent execution of Casey for
that cold-blooded deed. Cold-blooded it was, for I was an
eye-witness, strange to say, of the affair, as I will now relate.
I might premise by saying that my father was an enthusiastic
Britisher. But he was a firm believer in the American axiom,
though--"My country, may she ever be right; my country right or
wrong," and I, his son, echo the same sentiments. It is this
sentiment that makes me have no love for a pro-Boer. It was this
pride of country that caused him to go to the expense of
subscribing for the _Illustrated London News_ at fifty or
seventy-five cents a number, weekly, and I was on my way to Payot's
bookstore to get the last number, with the latest account of the
Crimean War, then waging between England and France against Russia. I
was within a stone's throw of Washington and Montgomery Streets, I
think, when I was startled by the sharp report of a pistol, and
looking around I saw at once where it proceeded from, for there were
about half a dozen people surrounding a man who had been shot. I, of
course, made for that point, being ever ready for adventure. The
victim of the shooting was James King of William, editor of the
_Evening Bulletin_ newspaper, and the assassin was a notorious
politician named James Casey, proprietor of the _Sunday Times_,
but a very illiterate man for all that.
The cause of the shooting was that James King of William had in his
paper stated that Casey had served a term in Sing Sing prison in New
York for burglary. This was true, and was afterwards admitted by
Casey, but that it should have been made known by an opponent's
newspaper was too much for him, and he swore that King's days were
numbered. He kept his word, as the event showed.
The victim of the shooting was able to stagger forward towards the
Pacific Express building on the corner of Washington and Montgomery
Streets, and entered the office, only to drop to the floor. Several
doctors were soon in attendance, and his wound bandaged, and he was
eventually moved to Montgomery Block, where he remained until he
died, six days later. It was contended by Doctor Toland that King's
death was caused by the leaving in the wound of the sponge that was
inserted immediately after the shooting to stop hemorrhage. There
were about twenty doctors in all who attended King, so is it any
wonder he died?
The assassin was taken in charge by his friends, some of whom were at
the time close at hand, and he was taken to the station, which was a
block away, and locked up. This was the safest thing for Casey, as
his friends were in office, and he expected to get off, even if tried
for the offence, as many a like rogue had done.
It was not long after the shooting ere the bell of the Monumental
Engine House rang out an alarm. Ten thousand people assembled, as
louder pealed the bell. The crowd now surged in the direction of the
jail, calling out, "Lynch him! lynch him!" All this time I was swept
along in the living stream of people, and well it was for me that I
was able to keep upright, for had I fallen it is doubtful if I should
have been able to rise again. The jail was doubly guarded to prevent
the citizens from getting possession of Casey, who would have been
summarily dealt with. I was now able to get out of the crowd and go
home to tell of my wonderful adventure.
I was always in trouble through my continual search for adventure. A
gentleman friend of ours, bookkeeper, in the San Francisco sugar
refinery, was one of the Vigilance Committee, which was composed of
all grades of society, from merchants to workingmen. There were five
thousand of them enrolled to work a reformation in city government,
which was then in the hands of gamblers, thieves and escaped
convicts. At home I heard the trial and execution of Casey discussed,
and decided at all hazards to go to the important event, but I knew
it would have to be done on the sly, as my mother would never have
consented. "I let the cat out of the bag" somehow, as my mother
gave me a solemn warning that if I went I should get the worst
whipping I ever had in my life.
I brooded on this for some days, and finally decided to go and take
my chances of being found out. So on the day I of course played
hookey, and got to the place early. I climbed up an awning post
nearly opposite the gallows, and sat on the top with some other
adventurous spirits, who, like myself, were hungry for adventure. I
shall not describe what I saw, for my friend, Mr. Higgins, has
already done that. When I got home I paid dearly for my disobedience.
My elder brother happened to have been opposite me, on the other side
of the street. I got my promised whipping, well laid on, and was sent
supperless to bed, feeling very sore. But I was not fated to go
without supper, for, as I lay unrepentant, Amy, my little sister,
crept into the room and brought me part of hers, and, what I more
appreciated then, her sympathy and tears. God bless her! She was
taken from us soon after to a better life.
One afternoon later (I won't be sure of dates), as father and I were
going home, we were arrested by the sweet strains of music, which
proceeded from a band a block away. Father hesitated for an instant,
then started off at a run, calling to me to come on. We were soon
there, and to explain father's strange action in running after a band
of music, I have only to say that the tune was one dear to the hearts
of all Britons, "God Save the Queen," so, could you wonder at his
excitement, as we stood in front of the British Consulate? The reason
of it all was the news received that day of the fall of Sebastopol.
After a few words from the consul we all moved off to the French
Consulate, and here all was repeated, but to the strains of the
Marseillaise hymn. Of course this good news was fully discussed
at home, and some days after it was decided to have the event
celebrated by the British and French residents by a procession and
banquet in a pavilion, with an ox and several sheep roasted whole.
The day arrived, and I, of course, had to go with father in the
procession, carrying a British flag. In the midst of the festivities
a lot of roughs broke into the pavilion, tore down the British and
French flags, and then worked havoc with the pavilion itself. It
was a most disgraceful affair, and would not have occurred, I am
confident, in any British possession; but then ours may not be such
a free country. Father was most indignant, and wrote to Marryat's
newspaper calling on the British Consul to take official notice of
the affair, but I don't remember the result. Marryat was, I believe,
an Englishman.
The next little incident I shall name the "Battle of the Standard,"
because it was all about a little flag. It was the celebration of the
laying of the Atlantic cable, and all the public school children took
part in a monster parade. Each child carried a small flag, such as we
have for the Queen's birthday celebration in Canada.
As may be supposed American flags swamped the British in numbers,
still there was a good sprinkling of the latter. I happened to be one
British boy among many American boys, and they bantered me
considerably about my flag being "alone," and at last exasperated me,
and on my flag being snatched away by a boy I snatched it back again,
and in the scuffle it was torn from the stick and I cried with
vexation. One of the teachers, however, supplied me with another,
which you may suppose I took good care of. Will the Americans never
get over their silly jealousy with respect to the flying of foreign
flags in their country? We Canadians are always pleased to see
the Star Spangled Banner waving alongside the Union Jack, and hope it
may long wave.
The Mexican coin valued at two reals, or two bits, as we called it
then, represented the value of two small apples in those days, and
everything was dear in proportion. These coins were more in
circulation than American, I think, the place being full of Mexicans.
They were very picturesque, riding about dressed in buckskin trousers
with fringe down the leg, wearing wide-brimmed felt hats and on their
heels immense spurs, which made a great noise as they walked. They
were a great attraction to me as they galloped like mad after cattle,
throwing with great skill a rawhide lariat or lasso, which rarely
missed its victim. My thirst for adventures led me with several other
kindred spirits to play hookey from school, and go into the country
to see these Mexicans drive wild cattle about, and then to the
slaughterhouse to see them killed. When I was found out I was well
whipped, of course, but I often escaped.
San Francisco in those days was mostly built of wood, and when a fire
started, with a fair wind, the damage done was something enormous. My
spirit of adventure took me to many of these fires, in fact it was
hard to keep me in when a large one was burning. From our house I
have seen the greater part of the city swept away twice, and a
grander sight cannot be imagined, seen from an eminence, and maybe at
night, too. I was off like a shot, and, running all the way, was soon
on the scene. Anyone and everyone volunteered to help carry goods to
a place of safety, and hot work it was, I can tell you, for being
mostly of wood, and maybe redwood, they (the houses) burnt like
tinder. From running to so many fires and falling down in my haste
I got my shins bruised and bleeding, and my trousers, of course,
torn. I was showing my children these scars only lately, they being
still much in evidence after fifty-four years.
As I have before stated, the stores were built of redwood, and with
cellars. The floors of many had trapdoors, and when the fire got near
them the storekeeper opened the trapdoor, and all the goods were
swept off the shelves into the cellar, and covered up. After this the
owner of the building took a bee-line for the lumber yard to get in
his order for lumber for a new building ahead of his neighbor. They
were the exciting days and no mistake! A week after one of these
devastating fires all was built up and looked the same as usual. I
might state that the firebells rang on all occasions to bring the
citizens together in those times of tumult, and all prominent men
were firemen.
I can well remember the election of President Buchanan, and if I
remember right, the voting was in the open air in each ward of the
city, the ballots being placed in large glass globes. At one of these
polling-places I saw a fight, the result of a dispute between a
Democrat and a Republican over an accusation by one that the other
had put in a double ticket (I think this was the cause).
To close this history, I might say that my father and his partner put
all they had, some ten thousand dollars, into a venture which
eventually brought us to Vancouver Island to live. They bought a
vessel, and sent her in ballast to Alberni or Sooke for a load of
lumber, and it was arranged that on her return to San Francisco she
was to take the lumber to England, and we all were to go home again
in her. But "L'homme propose et Dieu dispose" was here exemplified,
for the ship never came back. After weeks of anxiety when the ship
was overdue, one day either the captain, or the mate came to my
father with the news that the ship was wrecked in Barclay Sound, and
as there was not a dollar of insurance we were ruined, and had to
commence all over again.
The result of all this was that later we embarked with about six
hundred others on the steamer _Northerner_ for Victoria, to try
and retrieve something of what we lost. I will not vouch for the
accuracy of the dates or the rotation in which the incidents are
related, but I have done my best after cudgeling my brain for weeks
for the general result as here presented.
[Portrait: Edgar Fawcett.]