The last of April, 1851, after an eventful and tedious voyage, we
approached the entrance to the harbor of San Francisco, appropriately
denominated the “Golden Gate.” The entrance is about a mile and a half
in breadth. The waters of the bay appear to have opened for themselves a
passage through the elevated ridge of hills next to the shore of the
Pacific, which rise abruptly on either side of the opening. There is
always depth of water sufficient to admit ships of the largest size; and
so completely land-locked and protected from the winds is the harbor,
that vessels can ride at anchor in perfect safety, in all kinds of
weather. The harbor is sufficient to accommodate all the navies in the
world. As the emigrant approaches California from the ocean, Monte
Diabolo is the first land by which the eye is greeted. It is situated in
Contra Costa county, sixty or seventy miles distant from Sacramento, in
a south-westerly direction. According to the best information obtained,
the altitude of this mountain is about five thousand feet above the
level of the sea. It stands at the north-western termination of the
inner coast range, disjointed and isolated, and, like most of its bleak
and sterile companions, is rent by deep fissures and yawning chasms,
which give it the appearance rather of a cluster of small mountains than
one ponderous pile. But little is yet known of the geological history of
Monte Diabolo, or the “Mountain of the Devil.” San Francisco is situated
on the south side of the entrance, fronting on the bay, about six miles
from the ocean. The bay, from the city of San Francisco due east, is
about twelve miles in breadth. A range of high hills bounds the view on
the opposite side. Between them and the shore is a broad and fertile
plain, called the Contra Costa. Quite a little village had sprung up
there, on the shore of the bay, when I last saw the place, called
Oakland.
Yerba Buena (sweet herb) is an island in the bay, and almost directly
fronting the city of San Francisco, a mile or so distant. There are
several small islands in the bay. Opposite San Francisco, on the north
side of the bay, is a place called Sausolito where, at an early period
in the history of San Francisco, vessels repaired, preparatory to
sailing, to take in their water. Now, water-boats are plying between
Sausolito and the city, affording ample remuneration for the toil. On
the righthand side of the bay, as you are approaching the city, is
situated the Presidio of San Francisco. It consists of several blocks of
adobe buildings, covered with tiles. The walls of most of the buildings
are crumbling for the want of care in protecting them from annual rains.
At a distance of a mile and a half from the entrance to the bay, are the
remains of an old fort. It is fast going to decay, daily threatening a
complete ruin. The guns are dismounted, and some of them are half
decomposed from exposure to the weather. When I passed through the
Golden Gate for the last time, there was in process of erection a
fortification on one of the bluffs commanding the entrance. Outside, lay
the wreck of the clippership Golden Fleece; the ceaseless motion of the
waves chanting a requiem over her remains.
At San Francisco, during the summer and autumnal months, the wind blows
directly from the ocean, rendering the temperature cool enough in the
afternoon for woollen clothing, in midsummer. The mornings are usually
calm and pleasantly warm. About sunset, the wind dies away, and the
nights are comparatively calm. In winter months, the wind blows in soft,
balmy breezes from the southeast; the thermometer rarely sinking below
50 deg. When the winds blow from the ocean, it never rains. When they
blow from the land it is lowery, and resembles that of the month of May,
in the same latitude on the Atlantic coast. The coolness of the climate,
and briskness of the air, are confined to particular localities on the
coast; and this description is not applicable to the interior of the
country, or even to other places on the coast.
Such a hurry, such a bustle, so much excitement! We are nearing the
wharf at San Francisco. What crowds of men assembled upon the pier,
ready to rush on board as soon as the steamer is made fast! I almost
envied those who were going to meet loved friends. We knew none, to give
us a cheerful greeting, in that city of strangers.
Mrs. B----, a lady who was accompanied by her husband, and myself seated
ourselves upon deck, to witness the meetings. So many joyful tears were
shed, such heartful embraces! Fathers caressing little ones they had
never before seen; they in turn frightened half out of their wits at
finding themselves in the arms of such frightful objects. Sometimes we
could scarcely repress the tears at witnessing some affecting scene; at
others, constrained to laugh outright at some really ludicrous sight.
One delighted husband said, “Why don’t you kiss me, Bessy?” She stood
gazing at this hirsute representation of her better half in utter
astonishment; then timidly ejaculated, “I can’t find any place.” “Oh!”
said Mrs. B----, sportively, “they will all get a kiss but you and me.”
Almost instantly a gentleman sprang to her side, cordially greeting her,
and even bestowing a kiss. I was almost stupefied at such audacity, for
at first she seemed not to recognize him. Soon the air of astonishment,
and even of alarm, resigned its place upon her countenance to the glad
smile of recognition. He was an old friend, whom she had not seen for
years. He thought he recollected her countenance; then the sound of her
voice confirmed his preconceptions. I felt greatly relieved when I found
it was not the custom in California for the gentlemen to kiss all the
ladies they fancied, whether acquainted or not.
My husband and myself, by invitation of the captain, concluded to remain
on board that night. He insisted upon our occupying his room in his
absence, as business called him ashore. “Everything,” said he, “is at
your disposal, except my tooth-brush.”
Next morning, upon going ashore, my husband met a cousin of ours, who
was residing in Happy Valley. He came immediately on board, and
insisted upon our going at once to his house. This cordial invitation we
at once accepted. Mr. B----had emigrated to California in 1849, and
there married.
How unique to me seemed everything in San Francisco, when first I paced
its sandy streets leading to Happy Valley! They were building up the
water-lots rapidly. The old ship Niantic, of Boston, seemed quite up
town. Upon the deck of this condemned ship was reared quite an imposing
edifice, bearing the signature of the Niantic Hotel. Streets were
extended far beyond it, bayward. The interstices between some of these
streets were not yet filled. I grow dizzy even now, thinking about it.
In our haste to reach Happy Valley, and avoid, as far as lay in our
power, those interminable sand-hills, it was proposed to cross one of
those interstices on a hewn timber, which, at least, must have been
nearly one hundred feet, and at a height of twelve feet, I should think,
from the green slimy mud of the dock. I succeeded pretty well, until
about halfway over, when, finding myself suddenly becoming very dizzy, I
was obliged to stop, get down on my knees, and hold on to the timber. I
was afraid to proceed, lest I should fall into the mud and water below,
and, for the same reason, unable to retrace my steps. After much crying
on my part, and coaxing and scolding on the part of the gentleman, I
succeeded in reaching the terminus of the timber. That was my
introduction into the town of San Francisco in 1851.
Upon leaving, three years afterwards, I traversed that same locality. It
had become the richest business part of the city. There were nicely
paved walks, bounded on either side by massive granite and brick
structures, an ornament to the city--the pride and the glory of the
energetic pioneers, representatives from every state in the Union.
Very soon after our arrival occurred the largest conflagration ever
recorded in the annals of San Francisco. The memorable fire of the 3d of
May, 1851, will ever be remembered by all residents of the place at that
time with feelings of pain and commiseration. Oh! it was a night of
intense suffering to hundreds of human beings. We were startled from our
slumbers between the hours of eleven and twelve, by the to me familiar
cry of “Fire!” My first thought, upon awakening, was, “I am on terra
firma, I can run.” Fires, at that time of paper-and-cloth-architectural
memory, raged with astonishing rapidity. Whole streets were swept away
in less time than it would occupy to relate the events arising from the
sad catastrophe. We were in Happy Valley, situated at that time at the
extreme end of the town, towards Rincon Point. The fire originated as
far in an opposite direction. Therefore people were all rushing towards
Happy Valley, as a place offering protection.
The streets were full of drays, rushing along with breakneck speed, to
deposit goods and all kinds of merchandise in any possible place of
safety. What rich bales of silk, and fine clothing, were tumbled
topsy-turvy into hastily made excavations in the innumerable sand-hills
around the valley. Some were depositing valuables in the few (what were
then supposed to be) fire-proof buildings, which had been erected at
considerable expense. Often buildings were on fire before the inmates,
in their consternation, could find an article of clothing; and they
would rush into the crowded street in their night-clothes, nearly
distracted with the deafening shouts of the excited multitude. The wind
seemed to blow fiercely. The insatiable flames came roaring and rushing
onward, darting its thousand-forked tongues of fire far up into the
midnight sky. The fire companies, what few there were, were prompt and
energetic in action; but even _they_ were driven from their posts of
duty, and their life-sacrificing efforts rendered abortive.
In one instance, a company, with their engine, were driven to the verge
of a wharf by the fiery pursuer. Mrs. B---- and myself were standing
upon the door-step, witnessing with trembling hearts its nearer approach
and nearer. It was heart-rending to witness the distress of delicate
women, driven from their homes at midnight, with no protection from the
chilly winds but their night-clothes, lamenting, not their own fate, but
the uncertain fate of those near and dear to them, who were combatting
with the fiery elements for the preservation of life and property. Oh,
it was a sad spectacle! Yet, even amid it all, might be seen some
heartless person divesting himself of his own soiled apparel, to be
replaced with new, purloined from some pile of ready-made clothing. How
much of value, that night, the dishonest ones appropriated to their own
use!
Still nearer came the flames, until only one block of buildings
separated them from the Oriental Hotel. That once on fire, and no human
power could save Happy Valley. All the engines were brought to play upon
this block, which was owned by Macondry, and by him occupied as a
warehouse. The bravely-fought struggle was viewed with varying emotions
of hope and fear. At length the never-ceasing powers of man conquered.
They succeeded in arresting the progress of the fire king, and the
little hamlet of Happy Valley was preserved. At early dawn, we visited
the scene of the fire. It would require a more graphic description than
could ever emanate from pen of mine to do justice to the scene of
destruction there presented. Lifeless bodies, literally burned to a
cinder, wholly unrecognizable by nearest relatives, lay near to the
walls of the half-demolished brick structure. They had fled to this
building as a place of safety, thinking it to be, what all considered
it, fire-proof. The flames raged around it with unresisting fury: the
heat became very intense. The occupants vainly endeavored to effect an
egress. One poor fellow rushed to remove the heated bolts, and actually
burned all the flesh from his hands before effecting his object. Then he
was seen to rush frantically forth into the flames, stagger, turn, and
run a little way in an opposite direction--then fall. He was dragged
from the flames by some daring, humane hand, and his life preserved;
although he was maimed and crippled, and rendered blind, for life. I
saw the poor being afterwards, and heard him relate the painful story.
The scenes I witnessed that day might wring tears from a heart of stone.
Men who, a few short hours before, were worth thousands and hundreds of
thousands, now sat weeping over the ashes of their once splendid
fortunes. Some who were not possessed of sufficient self-command and
fortitude to meet and brave life’s severest trials, had sought
consolation for every woe in the intoxicating cup; others sat, the
images of mute despair, their grief too profound to permit a tear or
sigh to escape as a mitigation of their deep-seated sorrow; some had
already commenced fencing in their lots, although the smouldering ashes
emitted an almost suffocating heat. These hasty proceedings were at that
time expedient, to prevent their lots from being jumped; for these were
the days of squatter memory, when possession was nine-tenths of the law.
We were in pursuit of Mr. and Mrs. B----. With her I had formed a close
intimacy on board the steamer. Her husband, previous to the fire, was
established in a lucrative business, but who had now shared the fate of
all. Where was Mrs. B---- and her little daughter Nelly? They were
obliged to run in their night-clothes. Mr. B---- deposited two or three
trunks of their most valuable clothing in one of those fire-proof
buildings, and, of course, they were burnt, leaving them nothing which
they could call their own out of their once abundant supply. Mrs.
B----that night sought and found protection at an hospital kept by a
friend of hers, a doctor from New York. The building was situated upon
the summit of one of the many hills which surround the city, and about a
mile from where she had lived. This distance she ran, without even shoes
or stockings, almost dragging her little girl along, who was so
terrified as to be almost incapable of supporting herself. After
learning her whereabouts, I hastened to see her, and found her, where
she was obliged to remain for the time being, in bed. I supplied her
with a few articles of clothing from my limited wardrobe; but she being
a much taller person than myself, we were really at a loss how to make
her appear respectable, unless she would consent to make her debut in
Bloomer costume. “Necessity is indeed the mother of invention;” and,
after some crying, and a good deal more laughing, we had her equipped
for a promenade. Then Nelly was released from “durance vile;” but it
would have puzzled wiser heads than ours to have designated her costume.
Poor child! how she lamented the fate of all the nice things which she
had brought from home! This was her first great grief. The proposition
was made to us from Mr. and Mrs. B----, to go to housekeeping in company
with them, and take boarders. No time was to be lost: after a fire in
California was the time for immediate action. That day we found an
unoccupied house, a little over the ridge of the hills.
The owner of this domicile had gone to the States; the agent for which
was also absent in the mines. Therefore, our husbands had the audacity
to take quiet possession; and, before night, we were duly installed in
our new house. Perhaps some of my readers may have the curiosity to know
how we so readily furnished our intended boarding-house, while nearly
the entire city was in ruins. Well, in the house we found two bedsteads,
with a miserable straw bed upon each; quite a good cooking-stove, with a
few appurtenances attached; a pine table, constructed of unplaned
boards; and old boxes, in lieu of chairs. Dishes, knives and forks, and
spoons, we had picked up from the heterogeneous mass of half-consumed
rubbish upon the former site of Mr. B----’s store. But, at such a time
as that, if one could get anything to eat, he never stopped to see if
his fork was blessed with one prong or three; and, if the knife was
minus a handle, it was just as well, provided the blade was good. And
then, too, a person was not particular about enjoying the luxury of both
cup and saucer, if at any time there were more people than dishes. The
next day, our husbands secured us as many boarders as we could
accommodate with meals: a lodging they sought elsewhere.
We were to receive twelve dollars per week for board. Don’t laugh: that
was cheap board, when you take into consideration the exorbitant price
of provisions. For butter we paid one dollar and a half per pound; beef
steak, twenty-five cents per pound; and all else in proportion.
Vegetables were sold by the pound, and dearly sold, too. I never
prepared a meal, but what I thought of the old woman who had but one
kettle in which to cook everything. We made coffee in the tea-kettle
mornings; and, at night, made tea in the same.
There was a well of water at some distance from the house, near the foot
of the hill; and, oh, what a deep one it was! The bucket, which would
contain two pailfuls, had to be drawn to the top by a windlass. The
united exertions of Mrs. B---- and myself were scarcely sufficient to
bring it to the top. Oh, how we have laughed, and tugged, and laughed,
until we could tug no longer, over that old well! Our husbands were
busily engaged at the store-lot clearing and fencing it, and erecting a
temporary building, to be in readiness to receive a fresh supply of
goods which was daily expected to arrive, and which, fortunately for Mr.
B----, had had a longer passage than usual. Our boarding-house in San
Francisco will never be forgotten; and, when reverted to, will
invariably call up a smile, even if we are entertaining those provoking
imps, the blues. Many times since, I have met some of those boarders at
the tables of fashionable hotels; in which case, I was sure to receive
some compliment in reference to the good dinners they had eaten from the
old pine table, minus the tablecloth. The proceeds derived from keeping
this boarding-house was decidedly insufficient remuneration for the
amount of physical labor expended. We concluded, therefore, to seek our
fortunes in some inland town, and nearer the mines, and perhaps at the
mines.