BY THE GOLDEN GATE
or
San Francisco, the Queen City of the Pacific Coast; with Scenes
and Incidents Characteristic of its Life
By
JOSEPH CAREY, D.D.
A Member of the American Historical Association
1902
To My Beloved Wife
this volume
is affectionately inscribed.
PREFACE
This work now offered to the public owes its origin largely to the
following circumstance: On the return of the author from California
and the city of Mexico, in November, 1901, his friend, the Rev. John
N. Marvin, President of the _Diocesan Press_, asked him to contribute
some articles to the _Diocese of Albany_. From these "sketches" of San
Francisco this book has taken form. There are chapters in the volume
which have not appeared in print hitherto, and such portions as have
been already published have been thoroughly revised. Much of the
work has been written from copious notes made in San Francisco, and
impressions received there naturally give a local colouring to it in
its composition.
It is not a history, nor yet is it a guide book; but it is thought
that it will be helpful to tourists who visit one of the most
picturesque and interesting cities in the United States. It furnishes
in a convenient form just such information as the intelligent
traveller needs in order to enjoy his walks and rides through the
city. The writer in his quest among books could not find any thing
exactly of the character here produced; and therefore he is led to
give the results of his observations and studies with the hope that
the perusal of this volume, sent forth modestly on its errand, will
not prove an unprofitable task.
THE AUTHOR.
November 1st, 1902.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
WESTWARD
CHAPTER II
VIEWS FROM THE BOAT ON THE BAY
CHAPTER III
SAN FRANCISCO AND THE DISCOVERY OF GOLD
CHAPTER IV
THE STORY OF GOLDEN GATE PARK AND THE CEMETERIES
CHAPTER V
THEN AND NOW, OR EIGHTEEN HUNDRED FORTY-NINE AND NINETEEN HUNDRED AND
ONE
CHAPTER VI
FROM STREET NOMENCLATURE TO A CANNON
CHAPTER VII
CHINAMEN OF SAN FRANCISCO--THEIR CALLINGS AND CHARACTERISTICS
CHAPTER VIII
A CHINESE NEWSPAPER, LITTLE FEET, AND AN OPIUM-JOINT
CHAPTER IX
MUSIC, GAMBLING, EATING, THEATRE-GOING
CHAPTER X
THE JOSS-HOUSE, CHINESE IMMIGRATION AND CHINESE THEOLOGY
CHAPTER XI
THE GENERAL CONVENTION OF 1901
CHAPTER XII
THROUGH THE CITY TO THE GOLDEN GATE
CHAPTER I
WESTWARD
Choice of Route--The Ticket--Journey Begun--Pan-American Exposition
and President McKinley--The Cattle-Dealer and His Story--Horses--Old
Friends--The Father of Waters--Two Noted Cities--Rocky Mountains--A
City Almost a Mile High--The Dean and His Anti-tariff Window--Love
and Revenge--Garden of the Gods--Haunted House--Grand Cañon and Royal
Gorge--Arkansas River--In Salt Lake City--A Mormon and His Wives--The
Lake--Streets--Tabernacle and Temple--In St. Mark's--Salt Lake
Theatre--Impressions--Ogden--Time Sections--Last Spike--Piute
Indians--El Dorado--On the Sierras--A Promised Land.
The meeting of the General Convention of the Church in San Francisco,
in 1901, gave the writer the long-desired opportunity to visit the
Pacific coast and see California, which since the early discoveries,
has been associated with adventure and romance. Who is there indeed
who would not travel towards the setting sun to feast his eyes on a
land so famous for its mineral wealth, its fruits and flowers, and its
enchanting scenery from the snowy heights of the Sierras to the waters
of the ocean first seen by Balboa in 1513, and navigated successively
by Magalhaes and Drake, Dampier and Anson?
The question, debated for weeks before setting out on the journey,
was, which route of travel will I take? It is hard to choose where all
are excellent. I asked myself again and again, which line will afford
the greatest entertainment and be most advantageous in the study of
the country from a historic standpoint? The Canadian Pacific route,
and also the Northern Pacific, with their grand mountainous scenery
and other attractions, had much to commend them; so also other lines
of importance like the Santa Fé with its connecting roads; and the
only regret was that one could not travel over them all. But one way
had to be selected, and the choice at last fell on the Delaware and
Hudson, the Erie, Rock Island, the Denver and Rio Grande, and the
Southern Pacific roads. This route was deemed most feasible, and one
that would give a special opportunity to pass through cities and
places famous in the history of the Nation, which otherwise could not
be visited without great expense and consumption of time. It enabled
one also to travel through such great States as Pennsylvania, Ohio,
Indiana, Illinois, Iowa, Nebraska, Colorado, Utah, and Nevada, as well
as central California. As the return journey had also to be determined
before leaving home, the writer, desirous of visiting the coast towns
of California south of San Francisco, and as far down as San Diego,
the first settlement in California by white men, arranged to take
the Southern Pacific Railway and the direct lines with which it
communicates. In travelling over the "Sunset Route," as the Southern
Pacific is styled, he would pass across the southern section of
California from Los Angeles, through Arizona, New Mexico, Texas and
Louisiana, the line over which President McKinley travelled when he
made his tour in the spring of 1901. From New Orleans, by taking the
Louisville and Nashville Railroad, he would journey through southern
Mississippi, Tennessee, Kentucky, and so back through Ohio from
Cincinnati, and across Pennsylvania into the Empire State, over the
Erie and the "D. & H." Railways. By the "Sunset Route," too, the
writer could avail himself of the privilege of going into the country
of Mexico at Eagle Pass, and so down to the City of Mexico, famous
with the memories of the Montezumas and of Cortez and furnishing also
a memorable chapter in our own history, when, in September 1847, the
heights of Chapultepec were stormed by General Pillow and his brave
followers.
The journey from beginning to end was one of delightful experiences,
full of pleasure and profit, and without a single accident or mishap.
This is largely owing to the excellent service afforded and the
courtesy of the railway officials, who were ready at all times to
answer questions and to promote the comfort of the passengers. The
obliging agent of the "D. & H." Railway in Saratoga Springs made all
the necessary arrangements for the ticket, with its coupons, which
was to take me to and fro; and baggage checked in Saratoga was found
promptly, and in good condition, on my arrival in San Francisco. How
different our system, in this respect, from that of the English and
Continental and Oriental railways! Luggage in those far off countries
is a source of constant care, and in Continental Europe and Asiatic
lands a heavy item of expense. The old world might learn in several
particulars from our efficient American railway system, which has
for its prime object facility of travel. The ticket was an object of
interest from its length, with its privileges of stopping over at
important towns; and strangely, as I travelled down the Pacific coast,
with new coupons added, it seemed to grow instead of diminishing. One
could not but smile at times at its appearance, and the wonder of more
than one conductor on the trains was excited as it was unfolded, and
it streamed out like the tail of a kite. It was most generous in
its proportions as the railway companies were liberal in their
concessions.
It was on September the 23rd, 1901, a bright Monday morning, when
I stepped on the "D. & H." for Albany, thence proceeding from the
Capital City to Binghamton, where I made connection with the Erie
Railway. Travelling on the train with me as far as Albany were Mr. W.
Edgar Woolley, proprietor of the Grand Union Hotel, Saratoga, and Mrs.
James Amory Moore, of Saratoga and New York city, whose hearty wish
that I might have a prosperous journey was prophetic. The country
traversed from Saratoga to Binghamton by the "D. & H." Railway affords
many beautiful views of hill and valley, and, besides Albany with
its long and memorable history and magnificent public buildings and
churches, including St. Peter's and All Saints' Cathedral, there are
places of note to be seen, such as Howe's Cave and Sharon Springs. By
this branch of the "D. & H" system, Cooperstown, rendered famous by
James Fenimore Cooper in his works, is reached. On alighting from
the train at Binghamton I was greeted by my old friends, Col. Arthur
MacArthur, the genial and accomplished editor of the _Troy Budget_,
and that witty soul, Rev. Cornelius L. Twing, Rector of Calvary
Church, Brooklyn, N.Y., who had come here for the purpose of attending
the Annual Conclave of the Grand Commandery of the State of New York.
At Buffalo I had sufficient time, before taking the through sleeping
car "Sweden," on the Erie Railway, to Chicago, to visit the
Pan-American Exposition grounds. The scene, at night, as I approached,
was very impressive. The buildings, illuminated with electricity
furnished by the power-house at Niagara's thundering cataract, looked
like palaces of gold. The flood of light was a brilliant yellow. The
main avenue was broad and attractive. The tower, with the fountains
and cascade, appealed wonderfully to the imagination. Machinery,
Agricultural, and the Electrical buildings, had an air of grandeur.
Music Hall, where the members of Weber's Orchestra from Cincinnati
were giving a concert before an audience of three hundred persons, had
a melancholy interest for me. It was here, only a short time before,
that President McKinley, at a public reception, was stricken down by
the hand of an assassin; and the exact spot was pointed out to me by a
policeman. In that late hour of the evening, as I stood there rapt in
contemplation over the tragic scene which deprived a nation of one of
the wisest and best of rulers, I seemed to hear his voice uplifted
as in the moment when he was smitten, pleading earnestly with the
horrified citizens and officers around him, to have mercy on his
murderer,--"Let no one do him harm!" It was Christian, like the
Protomartyr; it was the spirit of the Divine Master, Who teaches us to
pray for our persecutors and enemies! Happy the nation with such an
example before it!
In travelling westward one meets now and then with original and
striking characters. They are interesting, too, and you can learn
lessons of practical wisdom from them if you will. They will be
friendly and communicative if you encourage them. Answering this
description was a Mr. H.W. Coffman, a dealer in Short Horn cattle, who
was travelling from Buffalo on the Erie road to Chicago. He lives at
Willow Grove Stock Farm, a hundred miles west of Chicago on the Great
Western Railway, one mile South of German Valley. Naturally we
talked about cows, and we discussed the different breeds of cattle,
especially the Buffalo cows of the present-day Egypt, and the Apis of
four thousand years ago, which according to the representations, on
the monuments, was more like the Devon breed than the Buffalo. The
names which he gave to his cows were somewhat poetic. One, for
example, was named "Gold Bud;" and another, called "Sweet Violet,"
owing to her fine build, was sold for $3,705. As the conversation
drifted, sometimes into things serious, and then into a lighter vein,
Mr. Coffman told a story about a man who had three fine calves. One of
them died, and, when his foreman told him, he said he was sorry, but
no doubt it was "all for the best." "Skin him," said he, "and sell his
hide." Another one died, and he said the same thing. When the last and
the best died, his wife said to him, "Now the Lord is punishing you
for your meanness!" His reply was, "If the Lord will take it out in
calves it is not so bad." I could not but moralise that the Divine
judgments on us, for our sins, are not as severe as they might be,
and that few of us get what we deserve in the way of punishment or
chastening. I also met a horse dealer, who said that he shipped some
sixty horses every week to a commission merchant in Buffalo. The
latter made three dollars per head for selling them. They brought
about $60 a piece. When shipped at New York, by English buyers, for
France, South Africa, and elsewhere, they cost about $190 a head. The
farmers of Ohio, Indiana, Iowa, and Wisconsin, are getting rich from
horse culture and the raising of cattle. He said that fifteen years
ago, the farmers, in many instances, had heavy notes discounted in the
banks. Now they have no such indebtedness. When formerly he entered a
town he would go to a bank and find out from the cashier who had notes
there; and then he would go and buy the horses of such men at reduced
rates. All is different now. The European demand has helped the
American farmer.
At Akron, Ohio, the energetic and successful Rector of St. Paul's
Church, the Rev. James H.W. Blake, accompanied by his wife and Miss
Graham, his parishioner, boarded the train; and I found them most
agreeable travelling companions to San Francisco. In Chicago, in the
Rock Island Station, I was met by tourist agent Donaldson, in the
employ of the Rock Island Railway Company, and during all the journey
he was most courteous and helpful. Here also I found my old classmate
in the General Theological Seminary, Rev. Dr. Alfred Brittin Baker,
Rector of Trinity Church, Princeton, N.J., Rev. Dr. Henry L. Jones,
of Wilkesbarre, Pa., Rev. Dr. A.S. Woodle, of Altoona, Pa., the Rev.
Henry S. Foster, of Green Bay, Wis., and the Rev. Wm. B. Thorne, of
Marinette, Wis., all journeying to San Francisco. It was a pleasure to
see these friends, and to have their delightful companionship.
Many interesting chapters might be written about this journey; and to
give all the incidents by the way and descriptions of places visited
and pen pictures of persons met would detain you, dear reader, too
long, as you are hastening on to the City by the Golden Gate. Some
things, however, we may not omit as we travel over great prairies and
cross rivers and plains and mountains and valleys. At Rock Island our
train crossed the Mississippi, reaching Davenport by one of the finest
railway bridges in the country; and as the "Father of Waters" sped on
in its course to the Gulf of Mexico, it made one think of the Nile and
the long stretches of country through which that ancient river wends
its way; but the teeming populations on the banks of the Mississippi
have a more noble destiny than the subjects of the Pharaohs who sleep
in the necropolis of Sakkarah and among the hills of Thebes and in
innumerable tombs elsewhere. They have the splendid civilisation of
the Gospel, and they are a mighty force in the growth and stability of
this nation, whose mission is worldwide. At Transfer we passed over
the Missouri by a long bridge, and entered Omaha, a city picturesquely
situated, the home of that doughty churchman, Rev. John Williams, and
of Chancellor James M. Woolworth, a noble representative of the laity
of the Church. Well may this place be called the "Gate City" of the
Antelope State. Towards evening we reached Lincoln, the home of
William Jennings Bryan, the Democratic candidate for the presidency in
1896, and also four years later. The house where he lives was pointed
out to us. It is a modest structure on the outskirts of the city,
comporting with the simplicity of the man himself. In the morning we
found ourselves riding over the plains of Colorado. Here are miles and
miles of prairie, with great herds of cattle here and there. Here also
the eye of the traveller rests on hundreds of miles of snow fences. At
last we have our first view of the Rocky Mountains, that great rampart
rising up from the plains like huge banks of clouds. It was indeed an
imposing view; and it reminded me of the day when, sailing across the
sea from Cyprus, I first saw the mountains of Lebanon. You almost feel
as if you are going over a sea on this plain, with the Rocky Mountains
as an immovable wall to curb it in its tempests. One thought greatly
impressed me in the journey thus far, and this is the wonderful
agricultural resources of our country. We were travelling over but one
belt of the landscape. Its revelations of fertility, of cultivation,
of products, of prosperity, of thrifty homes, of contented peoples,
made one feel indeed that this is a land of plenty, and that we are a
nation blessed in no ordinary way.
The City of Denver is beautiful for situation, with the Rocky
Mountains fifteen miles to the west. As it is on the western border of
the great plain, you can hardly at first realise what its elevation
is. Yet it is 5,270 feet above the sea, lacking only ten feet of being
a mile above tide water. The atmosphere is clear and crisp, and the
mountain air exhilarates one in no ordinary degree. Although founded
only as far back as 1858, it has to-day a population of 134,000,
and it is steadily growing. It has well equipped hotels such as the
Palace, the Windsor, the Albany and the St. James. It has also fine
public buildings, flourishing churches and schools, and many beautiful
homes. There is an air of prosperity everywhere. Here among other
places which I visited is Wolfe Hall, a boarding and day school
for girls, well equipped for its work, with Miss Margaret Kerr, a
grand-daughter of the late Rev. Dr. John Brown, of Newburgh, N.Y., for
its principal. I also met the Rev. Dr. H. Martyn Hart, a man of strong
personality. I found him in St. John's Cathedral, of which he is the
Dean, and of which he is justly proud. It is a churchly edifice,
and it suggests some of the architectural form of Sancta Sophia in
Constantinople. Dean Hart showed my companions and me what he calls
his anti-tariff window. The window was purchased abroad, and the
original tariff was to be ten per cent of the cost price. This would
be about $75. The window cost $750. Meanwhile the McKinley tariff bill
was passed by Congress, and as the duty was greatly increased he would
not pay it. Finally the window was sold at auction by the customs'
officials, and Dean Hart bought it for $25. As we rode about the city
the courteous driver, a Mr. Haney, pointed out a beautiful house
embowered in trees, which had a romantic history. A young man of
Denver was engaged to be married to a young woman. She jilted him and
married another, and while she was on her wedding tour her husband
died. The house in which she lived was offered for sale at this
juncture, and the original suitor bought it and turned her out into
the street. He had his revenge, which shows that human nature is the
same the world over. Had he offered her the house to live in, however,
it would have been a nobler revenge, "overcoming evil with good."
It is but a short ride from Denver to Colorado Springs, which is a
delightful spot with 21,000 inhabitants, and here is a magnificent
hotel a block or two from the railway station called the New Antlers.
The Rev. Dr. H.H. Messenger, of Summit, Mississippi, an apostolic
looking clergyman, with his wife, accompanied us from Denver to
Colorado Springs, and also to Manitou, at the foot of Pike's Peak and
the mouth of the Ute Pass. From Manitou we drove to the Garden of
the Gods, comprising about five hundred acres, and went through this
mysterious region with its fantastic and wonderful formations,
which seem to caricature men and beasts and to mimic architectural
creations. Here we saw the Scotchman, Punch and Judy, the Siamese
Twins, the Lion, the elephant, the seal, the bear, the toad, and
numerous other creatures. We also viewed the balanced rock, at the
entrance, and the Gateway Cliffs, at the northeast end of the Garden,
and the Cathedral spires. Everything was indeed startling, and as
puzzling as the Sphinx in old Egypt. Nature was certainly in a playful
mood when, with her chisel and mallet, she carved these grotesque
forms out of stones and rocks.
On the outskirts of Manitou the "Haunted House" was pointed out by
the guide, who said that a man and his wife and their son had been
murdered here. No one would live in the house now. He asked me if I
believed in "Ghosts." I said I was not afraid of dead men, and that I
did not think they came back to disturb us. He seemed to agree with
me, but hastened to say that he "met a clergyman yesterday who said
he believed in them." The house in Manitou which, of all others,
interested me most, was the pretty vine-covered cottage of Helen Hunt
Jackson, who wrote "Ramona." It was she, who, with a fine appreciation
of nature, gave this wild and secluded spot, with its riddles in
stone, the suggestive name of "The Garden of the Gods."
At noon on Friday, October 7th, I boarded the Pullman train at
Colorado Springs, on the Denver and Rio Grande Railway, for Salt Lake
City. On this train was my old friend the Rev. James W. Ashton, Rector
of St. Stephen's Church, Olean, N.Y., whom I had not seen for years,
and from this hour he was my constant travelling companion for weeks
in the California tour, ready for every enterprise and adventure. At
Pueblo were some quaint Spanish-looking buildings, and farther on we
were among the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. Our train gradually
ascended the heights skirting the bank of the Arkansas River, which
was tawny and turbid for many a mile. But the Grand Cañon of the
Arkansas, with its eight miles of granite walls and its Royal Gorge
towering nearly three thousand feet above us! It is rightly named.
I cannot undertake to describe it accurately. Here are grand cliffs
which seemingly reach the heavens, and in some places the rocky walls
come so near that they almost touch each other. As you look up, even
in midday, the stars twinkle for you in the azure vault. As the train
sped on, toiling up the pass through the riven hills and crossing a
bridge fastened in the walls of the gorge and spanning the foaming
waters, you felt as if you were shut up in the mysterious chambers of
these eternal mountains. It is a stupendous work of the Creator, and
man dwarfs into littleness in the presence of the majesty of God here
manifested as when Elijah stood on Horeb's heights.
It was a pleasant task to study the scenery, wild beyond description
at times; and then you would pass upland plains with cattle here and
there, and mining camps. That is Leadville, a mile or so yonder to
the north; and the children who have come down to the station have
valuable specimens of ore in their little baskets, to sell to you for
a trifle. Off to the left hand, a little farther on, was a "placer
mine," with water pouring out of a conduit, muddy and yellow with
"washings." This emptied itself into the Arkansas River, which, from
this point down to the foot of the mountains, was as if its bed had
been stirred up with all its clay and other deposit. Above this
junction the waters of the river were clear and sparkling. It is a
picture of life, whose stream is pure and sweet until sin enters it
and vitiates its current. Miles beyond are snow sheds, and the famous
Tennessee Pass, 10,440 feet above the sea level. This is the great
watershed of the Rocky Mountains, and two drops of water from a cloud
falling here,--the one on the one side and the other on the other side
of the Pass,--are separated forever. One runs to the Atlantic Ocean
through rivers to the Gulf of Mexico, and the other to the Pacific
Ocean. So there is the parting of the ways in human experience. There
are the two ways, and the little turns of life determine your eternal
destiny!
Even after a night of travel through the mountains and across the
Colorado Desert, we still, in the morning, find our train speeding on
amid imposing hills, but now we are in Utah. This we entered at Utah
Line. At length we cross the Pass of the Wahsatch Mountains at Soldier
Summit, 7,465 feet above the sea, and some thirty miles farther west
we enter the picturesque Utah Valley. At length we see the stream of
the River Jordan, which is the connecting link between Utah Lake and
the Great Salt Lake, and at last we find ourselves in the city founded
by Brigham Young and his pioneer followers in 1847. There is a
monument of the Mormon prophet in Salt Lake City, commemorating this
founding. Standing on the hill above the present city and looking out
on the great valley, with his left hand uplifted, he said: "Here we
will found an empire!" And here to-day in this city, which bears his
marks everywhere, is a population of 54,000 souls, two-thirds of whom
profess the Mormon faith.
Here we were met by Bishop Abiel Leonard, D.D., of Salt Lake, who was
a most gracious host and who welcomed us with all the warmth of his
heart. He had engaged accommodations for us at the Cullen House; and
when I went to my room, I looked out on a courtyard bounded on one
side by the rear end of a long block of stores. There I saw a wagon
which had just been driven into the grounds. Two men were on the seat,
the driver and another person, and seated on the floor of the wagon,
with their backs toward me, were four women. They wore no hats, as the
day was balmy, and I noticed that one had flaxen, another brown,
and the two others dark hair. Seeing everything here with a Mormon
colouring, I said, "This is a Mormon family. The Mormon farmer has
come to town to give his four wives a holiday." It reminded me of
similar groups which I had seen in old Cairo, on Fridays, when the
Mohammedan went with his wives in the donkey cart to the Mosque. And
is there not a strong resemblance between Mormon and Mohammedan? The
Mormon husband alighted and gently and affectionately took up one of
his wives and carried her into the adjoining store, then a second, and
a third. My interest deepened as I watched the proceeding. I said to
myself--"How devoted these Mormon husbands, if this is a true example,
and how trusting the women!" When he took up the fourth wife to carry
her in where her companions were, he turned her face toward me,
so that I had a good view of her, and then, to my surprise, nay,
amazement, I discovered that she had no feet! But quickly it dawned
on my mind, that, instead of real, living Mormon wives, I had been
looking on waxen figures, models for show windows! Well, are there not
manikins in human life, unreal creatures, who never accomplish more
than the models in the windows, who may be looked at, but who perform
no noble and lasting deeds?
Our sojourn in Salt Lake City gave ample time to visit the Great Salt
Lake, eighty miles long and thirty miles wide, with two principal
islands, Antelope and Stansbury; to make a complete study of the city,
whose streets run at right angles to each other, with one street
straight as an arrow and twenty miles long, and many of them bordered
with poplar trees which, as has been facetiously said, were "popular"
with Brigham Young; to attend the Saturday afternoon recital on the
great organ, in the Tabernacle, which is oval in shape, and has a
roof like a turtle's back, and where some three thousand people were
assembled; to walk around Temple Square and examine the architecture
of the Mormon Temple, which is like a great Cathedral, and into which
no one is admitted but the specially initiated and privileged among
the Latter-day Saints; to visit many buildings famous in Mormon
history, and especially "Zion's Co-operative Mutual Institute," which,
in its initials has been said wittily to mean, "Zion's Children
Multiply Incessantly;" and on Sunday morning to attend the beautiful
service in St. Mark's Church, where Bishop Tuttle, of Missouri,
preached a striking sermon from the text "A horse is counted but a
vain thing to save a man;" and in the evening to participate in the
grand missionary service in Salt Lake Theatre, where the congregation
was led by a choir of sixty voices, and stirring addresses were made
by Bishop Leonard of Salt Lake, Bishop Gailor of Tennessee, Bishop
Jacob, of Newcastle, England, Bishop Dudley, of Kentucky, and Bishop
Tuttle, who was formerly Bishop here, before an audience of four
thousand people, made up, as the Bishop said, of "Methodists,
Presbyterians, Congregationalists, Hebrews, Latter-Day Saints and
Churchmen."
What I saw and heard here in Salt Lake City and in other parts of Utah
would make a book of itself, but I may say that the only place in
which to study Mormonism in all its workings is here in its seat.
While polygamy must drop out of the system owing to the laws of the
United States, the religious elements will not so soon perish. It
has enough of Christianity in it to give it a certain stability like
Mohammedanism; but we believe that the Church of the Living God
will sooner or later triumph over all forms and teachings which are
antagonistic to the Christian Creeds and Apostolic Order. I visited a
Mormon bookstore, among other places, and I was amazed at the number
of volumes which I found here on the religion of the Latter-Day
Saints. In a history of Mormonism, which I opened, was this pregnant
sentence--"The pernicious tendency of Luther's doctrine." Surely here
is something for reflection!
From Salt Lake City to Ogden, the great centre of railway travel,
where several lines converge, is but a ride of thirty-six miles. Here
the train, which was very heavy, was divided into two sections, and,
after some delay, we went on our journey with hopeful hearts. The Salt
Lake Valley and the Great Salt Lake, which we had traced for a long
distance, finally disappeared from view. The journey was begun from
Ogden on what is known as Pacific time. There are four time
sections employed in the United States, adopted for convenience in
1883,--Eastern, Central, Mountain, and Pacific. It is Eastern time
until you reach 82-1/2 degrees west longitude from Greenwich, Central
time up to 97-1/2, Mountain time till you arrive at 11-1/2, Pacific
time to 127-1/2, which will take you out into the Pacific Ocean;
and there is just one hour's difference between each time section,
covering fifteen degrees. So that when it is twelve o'clock, midday,
in New York city, it is eleven in Chicago, ten o'clock in Denver,
and nine o'clock in San Francisco. You adapt yourself, however, very
readily to these changes of time, in your hours of sleep and in other
matters.
One of the places of special interest through which we passed before
leaving Utah is Promontory. Here the last tie was laid and here the
last spike was driven, on the 10th of May, 1869, when the Central
Pacific and the Union Pacific Railways were united and the great
cities of the Atlantic seaboard and San Francisco at the setting sun
were brought into communication with each other by an iron way which
has promoted our civilisation in a marked degree. A night ride over
the Alkali Plains of Nevada, famous for their sage brush, was a
novelty, and in the clear atmosphere they looked like fields of snow.
At Wadsworth, where our train began to ascend the lower slopes of the
Sierra Nevada Mountains, were several Piute Indians. They sell beads,
blankets, baskets, and other mementoes. A papoose, all done up in
swathing bands, aroused no little curiosity, and when some venturesome
passenger with a kodak tried to take a picture of the infant, the
mother quickly turned away. They think that the kodak is "the evil
eye." There was an old squaw here with whom I conversed, who had a
remarkable face on account of its wrinkled condition. She said her
name was Marie Martile, and at first she said she was one hundred
years old, and later that she was one hundred and fifty. At Reno I saw
more Indians with papooses. The thought, however, that this old race
is passing away like the fading leaf before the "pale face," is
saddening. Soon we arrive in the El Dorado State, we are at last on
California soil, and the train with panting engines climbs the dizzy
heights of the Sierras, through beautiful forests, along the slopes
of hills, through tunnels, beneath long snow sheds. These sheds are a
striking feature, and are, with broken intervals, forty miles long.
The scenery is remarkable, entirely different from that of the Rocky
Mountains; and Donner Lake, into whose clear depths we look from lofty
heights, recalls the terrible story of hardship, isolation, suffering
and death, here in the winter of 1846 and 1847, when snow-fall on
snow-fall cut the elder Donners and several members of this party off
from the outside world, and they perished from cold and starvation.
Oh, what a tragic, harrowing history it is!
At Summit Station, the loftiest point of the pass over the Sierras,
in the path of our railway, engines are changed, and while the train
halts passengers amuse themselves by making snowballs. Then we begin
the descent along the slopes of the mountains into the great valleys
of California. Already we have passed from the region of perpetual
snows to a milder clime. We begin to feel the tempered breezes from
the Pacific fanning our cheeks. Yes, we are now in the land of a
semi-tropical vegetation, a land of beauty and fertility, which in
many respects resembles Palestine; and surely it is a Promised Land,
rich in God's good gifts. Blue Cañon and Cape Horn and beautiful
landscapes with vineyards and orange groves are passed, and as night
with its sable pall descends upon us, we rest in peace with a feeling
of satisfaction and thankfulness to Him Who has led us safely by the
way thus far. When the train halted at Sacramento, I had a midnight
view of it, and then we sped on to our destination. Some three weeks
later, in company with Rev. Dr. Ashton, I visited the valley west of
Sacramento, Suisun and Benicia, that I might not lose the view which
night had obscured. The Carquinez Straits, with the railway ferryboat
"Solano," the largest of its kind in the world, and the upper view of
the great Bay of San Francisco, make a deep impression on the mind.
I was well repaid for all my pains. But on that first night, as we
hastened to our goal, amid landscapes of beauty and fruitfulness
traversed in the olden days by the feet of pioneers and gold-seekers,
it all seemed as if we were in fairyland. Will the dream be
substantial when we enter the City by the Golden Gate?