NEW YORK--NICARAGUA--THE GOLDEN GATE
1853
On September 20th, during some excitement due to the fear lest
passengers from New Orleans afflicted with yellow-fever were being
smuggled into the city despite the vigilance of the health
authorities, I left New York for Nicaragua, then popularly spoken of
as the Isthmus, sailing on the steamer _Illinois_ as one of some
eleven or twelve hundred travelers recently arrived from Europe who
were hurrying to California on that ship and the _Star of the West_.
The occasion afforded my numerous acquaintances a magnificent
opportunity to give me all kinds of advice, in the sifting of which
the bad was discarded, while some attention was paid to the good. One
of the important matters mentioned was the danger from drinking such
water as was generally found in the tropics unless it were first mixed
with brandy; and this led me, before departing, to buy a gallon
demijohn--a bulging bottle destined to figure in a ludicrous episode
on my trip from sea to sea. I can recall little of the voyage to the
eastern coast of Nicaragua. We kept well out at sea until we reached
the Bahama Islands, when we passed near Mariguana, felt our way
through the Windward Passage, and steered east of the Island of
Jamaica; but I recollect that it became warmer and warmer as we
proceeded farther south to about opposite Mosquito Gulf, where we
shifted our position in relation to the sun, and that we consumed nine
days in covering the two thousand miles or more between New York and
San Juan del Norte, or Grey Town.
From San Juan del Norte--in normal times, a hamlet of four or five
hundred people clustered near one narrow, dirty street--we proceeded
up the San Juan River, nine hundred passengers huddled together on
three flat-bottomed boats, until, after three or four days, our
progress was interfered with, at Castillo Rapids, by a fall in the
stream. There we had to disembark and climb the rough grade, while our
baggage was carried up on a tramway; after which we continued our
journey on larger boats, though still miserably packed together, until
we had almost reached the mouth of Lake Nicaragua, when the water
became so shallow that we had to trust ourselves to the uncertain
_bongos_, or easily-overturned native canoes, or get out again and
walk. It would be impossible to describe the hardships experienced on
these crowded little steamboats, which were by no means one quarter as
large as the _Hermosa_, at present plying between Los Angeles harbor
and Catalina. The only drinking water that we could get came from the
river, and it was then that my brandy served its purpose: with the
addition of the liquor, I made the drink both palatable and safe. Men,
women and children, we were parched and packed like so many herring,
and at night there was not only practically no space between
passengers sleeping on deck, but the extremities of one were sure to
interfere with the body of another. The heat was indeed intense; the
mosquitoes seemed omnivorous; to add to which, the native officers in
charge of our expedition pestered us with their mercenary proceedings.
For a small cup of black coffee, a charge of fifty cents was made,
which leaves the impression that food was scarce, else no one would
have consented to pay so much for so little. This part of the trip was
replete with misery to many, but fortunately for me, although the
transportation company provided absolutely no conveniences, the
hardships could not interfere with my enjoyment of the delightful and
even sublime scenery surrounding us on all sides in this tropical
country. As the river had no great width, we were at close range to
the changing panorama on both banks; while the neighboring land was
covered with gorgeous jungles and vegetation. Here I first saw
orange, lemon and cocoanut trees. Monkeys of many kinds and sizes
were to be seen; and birds of variegated colors were plentiful, almost
innumerable varieties of parrots being visible. All these things were
novel to me; and notwithstanding the great discomforts under which we
traveled, I repeat that I enjoyed myself.
A walk of a mile or two along the river bank, affording beneficial
exercise, brought us to Port San Carlos, from which point a larger
boat crossed the lake to Virgin Bay, where we took mules to convey us
to San Juan del Sur. This journey was as full of hardship as it was of
congeniality, and proved as interesting as it was amusing. Imagine, if
you please, nine hundred men, women and children from northern climes,
long accustomed to the ways of civilization, suddenly precipitated,
under an intensely hot tropical sun, into a small, Central American
landing, consisting of a few huts and some cheap, improvised tents
(used for saloons and restaurants), every one in search of a mule or a
horse, the only modes of transportation. The confusion necessarily
following the preparation for this part of the trip can hardly be
imagined: the steamship company furnished the army of animals, and the
nervous tourists furnished the jumble! Each one of the nine hundred
travelers feared that there would not be enough animals for all, and
the anxiety to secure a beast caused a stampede.
In the scramble, I managed to get hold of a fine mule, and presently
we were all mounted and ready to start. This conglomeration of
humanity presented, indeed, a ludicrous sight; and I really believe
that I must have been the most grotesque figure of them all. I have
mentioned the demijohn of brandy, which a friend advised me to buy;
but I have not mentioned another friend who told me that I should be
in danger of sunstroke in this climate, and who induced me to carry an
umbrella to protect myself from the fierce rays of the enervating sun.
Picture me, then, none too short and very lank, astride a mule, a big
demijohn in one hand, and a spreading, green umbrella in the other,
riding through this southern village, and practically incapable of
contributing anything to the course of the mule. Had the animal been
left to his own resources, he might have followed the caravan; but in
my ignorance, I attempted to indicate to him which direction he should
take. My method was evidently not in accordance with the tradition of
guiding in just that part of the world; and to make a long story
short, the mule, with his three-fold burden, deftly walked into a
restaurant, in the most innocent manner and to the very great
amusement of the diners, but to the terrible embarrassment and
consternation of the rider. After some difficulty (for the restaurant
was hardly intended for such maneuvers as were required), we were led
out of the tent. This experience showed me the necessity of abandoning
either the umbrella or the brandy; and learning that lemonade could be
had at points along the route, I bade good-bye to the demijohn and its
exhilarating contents. From this time on, although I still displayed
inexpertness in control, his muleship and I gradually learned to
understand each other, and matters progressed very well,
notwithstanding the intense heat, and the fatigue natural to riding so
long in such an unaccustomed manner. The lemonade, though warm and,
therefore, dear at ten cents a glass, helped to quench my thirst; and
as the scenery was wonderful, I derived all the benefit and pleasure
possible from the short journey.
All in all, we traversed about twelve miles on mule or horseback, and
finally arrived, about four o'clock in the afternoon of the day we had
started, at San Juan del Sur, thus putting behind us the most
disagreeable part of this uncomfortable trip. Here it may be
interesting to add that on our way across the Isthmus, we met a crowd
of disappointed travelers returning from the Golden Gate, on their way
toward New York. They were a discouraged lot and loudly declared that
California was nothing short of a _fiasco_; but, fortunately, there
prevailed that weakness of human nature which impels every man to earn
his own experience, else, following the advice of these discomfited
people, some of us might have retraced our steps and thus completely
altered our destinies. Not until the publication, years later, of the
_Personal Memoirs of General W. T. Sherman_, did I learn, with
peculiar interest, that the then rising soldier, returning to
California with his young wife, infant child and nurse, had actually
embarked from New York on the same day that I had, arriving in San
Francisco the same day that I arrived, and that therefore the
Shermans, whose experience with the mules was none the less trying and
ridiculous than my own, must have been members of the same party with
me in crossing the mosquito-infested Isthmus.
There was no appreciable variation in temperature while I was in
Nicaragua, and at San Juan del Sur (whose older portion, much like San
Juan del Norte, was a village of the Spanish-American type with one
main street, up and down which, killing time, I wandered) the heat was
just as oppressive as it had been before. People often bunked in the
open, a hotel-keeper named Green renting hammocks, at one dollar each,
when all his beds had been taken. One of these hammocks I engaged; but
being unaccustomed to such an aërial lodging, I was most
unceremoniously spilled out, during a deep sleep in the night, falling
only a few feet, but seeming, to my stirred-up imagination, to be
sliding down through limitless space. Here I may mention that this
Nicaragua Route was the boom creation of a competitive service
generally understood to have been initiated by those who intended, at
the first opportunity, to sell out; and that since everybody expected
to pack and move on at short notice, San Juan del Sur, suddenly
enlarged by the coming and going of adventurers, was for the moment in
part a community of tents, presenting a most unstable appearance. A
picturesque little creek flowed by the town and into the Pacific; and
there a fellow-traveler, L. Harris, and I decided to refresh
ourselves. This was no sooner agreed upon than done; but a passer-by
having excitedly informed us that the creek was infested with
alligators, we were not many seconds in following his advice to
scramble out, thereby escaping perhaps a fate similar to that which
overtook, only a few years later, a near relative of Mrs. Henry
Hancock.
At sundown, on the day after we arrived at San Juan del Sur, the
Pacific terminal, we were carried by natives through the surf to
small boats, and so transferred to the steamer _Cortez_; and then we
started, amidst great rejoicing, on the last lap of our journey. We
steamed away in a northerly direction, upon a calm sea and under the
most favorable circumstances, albeit the intense heat was most
unpleasant. In the course of about a week the temperature fell, for we
were steadily approaching a less tropical zone. Finally, on the 16th
of October, 1853, we entered the Golden Gate.
Notwithstanding the lapse of many years, this first visit to San
Francisco has never been forgotten. The beauty of the harbor, the
surrounding elevations, the magnificence of the day, and the joy of
being at my journey's end, left an impression of delight which is
still fresh and agreeable in my memory. All San Francisco, so to
speak, was drawn to the wharf, and enthusiasm ran wild. Jacob Rich,
partner of my brother, was there to meet me and, without ceremony,
escorted me to his home; and under his hospitable roof I remained
until the morning when I was to depart for the still sunnier South.
San Francisco, in 1853, was much like a frontier town, devoid of
either style or other evidences of permanent progress; yet it was
wide-awake and lively in the extreme. What little had been built, bad
and good, after the first rush of gold-seekers, had been destroyed in
the five or six fires that swept the city just before I came, so that
the best buildings I saw were of hasty and, for the most part, of
frame construction. Tents also, of all sizes, shapes and colors,
abounded. I was amazed, I remember, at the lack of civilization as I
understood it, at the comparative absence of women, and at the
spectacle of people riding around the streets on horseback like mad.
All sorts of excitement seemed to fill the air; everywhere there was a
noticeable lack of repose; and nothing perhaps better fits the scene I
would describe than some lines from a popular song of that time
entitled, _San Francisco in 1853_:
City full of people,
In a business flurry;
Everybody's motto,
Hurry! hurry! hurry!
Every nook and corner
Full to overflowing:
Like a locomotive,
Everybody going!
One thing in particular struck me, and that was the unsettled state of
the surface on which the new town was being built. I recall for
example, the great quantity of sand that was continually being blown
into the streets from sand-dunes uninterruptedly forming in the
endless vacant lots, and how people, after a hard wind at night, would
find small sand-heaps in front of their stores and residences; so
that, in the absence of any municipal effort to keep the thoroughfares
in order, the owners were repeatedly engaged in sweeping away the
accumulation of sand, lest they might be overwhelmed. The streets were
ungraded, although some were covered with planks for pavement, and
presented altogether such an aspect of uncertainty that one might well
believe General Sherman's testimony that, in winter time, he had seen
mules fall, unable to rise, and had even witnessed one drown in a pool
of mud! Sidewalks, properly speaking, there were none. Planks and
boxes--some filled with produce not yet unpacked--were strung along in
irregular lines, requiring the poise of an acrobat to walk upon,
especially at night. As I waded through the sand-heaps or fell over
the obstructions designed as pavements, my thoughts reverted, very
naturally, to my brother who had preceded me to San Francisco two
years before; but it was not until some years later that I learned
that my distinguished fellow-countryman, Heinrich Schliemann, destined
to wander farther to Greece and Asia Minor, and there to search for
ancient Troy, had not only knocked about the sand-lots in the same
manner in which I was doing, but, stirred by the discovery of gold and
the admission of California to the Union, had even taken on American
citizenship. Schliemann visited California in 1850 and became
naturalized; nor did he ever, I believe, repudiate the act which makes
the greatest explorer of ancient Greece a burgher of the United
States!
During my short stay in San Francisco, before leaving for Los
Angeles, I made the usual rounds under the guidance of Jacob Rich.
Having just arrived from the tropics, I was not provided with an
overcoat; and since the air was chilly at night, my host, who wore a
talma or large cape, lent me a shawl, shawls then being more used than
they are now. Rich took me to a concert that was held in a one-story
wooden shack, whereat I was much amazed; and afterward we visited a
number of places of louder revelry. Just as I found it to be a few
days later in Los Angeles, so San Francisco was filled with saloons
and gambling-houses; and these institutions were in such contrast to
the features of European life to which I had been accustomed, that
they made a strong impression upon me. There were no restrictions of
any sort, not even including a legal limit to their number, and people
engaged in these enterprises because, in all probability, they were
the most profitable. Such resorts attracted criminals, or developed in
certain persons latent propensities to wrong-doing, and perhaps it is
no wonder that Walker, but the summer previous, should have selected
San Francisco as headquarters for his filibustering expedition to
Lower California. By far the most talked-of man of that day was Harry
Meiggs--popularly known as "Honest Harry"--who was engaged in various
enterprises, and was a good patron of civic and church endeavor. He
was evidently the advance guard of the boomer organization, and built
the Long Wharf at North Beach, on a spot now at Commercial and
Montgomery streets, where later the Australian convict, trying to
steal a safe, was captured by the First Vigilance Committee; and so
much was Meiggs the envy of the less pyrotechnical though more
substantial people, that I repeatedly had my attention called, during
my brief stay in San Francisco, to what was looked upon as his
prodigious prosperity. But Meiggs, useful as he was to the society of
his day, finally ended his career by forging a lot of city scrip (a
great deal of which he sold to W. T. Sherman and his banking
associates), and by absconding to Peru, where he became prominent as a
banker and a developer of mines.
Situated at the Plaza--where, but three years before, on the
admission of California as a State, the meeting of gold-seeking
pioneers and lassoing natives had been symbolized with streaming
banners, and the thirty-one stars were nailed to a rude pole--was the
El Dorado, the most luxurious gambling-place and saloon in the West,
despite the existence near by of the Bella Union, the Parker House and
the Empire. Music, particularly native Spanish or Mexican airs, played
its part there, as well as other attractions; and much of the life of
the throbbing town centered in that locality. It is my impression that
the water front was then Sansome Street; and if this be correct, it
will afford some idea of the large territory in San Francisco that is
made ground.
As there was then no stage line between San Francisco and the South, I
was compelled to continue my journey by sea; and on the morning of
October 18th, I boarded the steamer _Goliah_--whose Captain was
Salisbury Haley, formerly a surveyor from Santa Bárbara--bound for Los
Angeles, and advertised to stop at Monterey, San Luis Obispo, Santa
Bárbara and one or two other landings formerly of importance but now
more or less forgotten. There were no wharves at any of those places;
passengers and freight were taken ashore in small boats; and when they
approached shallow water, everything was carried to dry land by the
sailors. This performance gave rise, at times, to most annoying
situations; boats would capsize and empty their passengers into the
water, creating a merriment enjoyed more by those who were secure than
by the victims themselves. On October 21st we arrived a mile or so off
San Pedro, and were disembarked in the manner above described, having
luckily suffered no such mishap as that which befell passengers on the
steamship _Winfield Scott_ who, journeying from Panamá but a month or
so later, at midnight struck one of the Anacapa Islands, now belonging
to Ventura County, running dead on to the rocks. The vessel in time
was smashed to pieces, and the passengers, several hundred in number,
were forced to camp on the island for a week or more.
Almost from the time of the first visit of a steamer to San Pedro, the
_Gold Hunter_ (a side-wheeler which made the voyage from San
Francisco to Mazatlán in 1849), and certainly from the day in January
of that same year when Temple & Alexander put on their four-wheeled
vehicle, costing one thousand dollars and the second in the county,
there was competition in transporting passengers to Los Angeles.
Phineas Banning, Augustus W. Timms, J. J. Tomlinson, John Goller,
David W. Alexander, José Rúbio and B. A. Townsend were among the most
enterprising commission men; and their keen rivalry brought about two
landings--one controlled by Banning, who had come to Los Angeles in
1851, and the other by Timms, after whom one of the terminals was
named. Before I left San Francisco, Rich provided me with a letter of
introduction to Banning--who was then known, if I remember aright, as
Captain, though later he was called successively Major and General--at
the same time stating that this gentleman was a forwarding merchant.
Now, in European cities where I had heretofore lived, commission and
forwarding merchants were a dignified and, to my way of thinking, an
aristocratic class, which centuries of business experience had brought
to a genteel perfection; and they would have found themselves entirely
out of their element had their operations demanded their sudden
translation, in the fifties, to the west coast of America. At any
rate, upon arriving at San Pedro I had expected to find a man dressed
either in a uniform or a Prince Albert, with a high hat and other
appropriate appurtenances, and it is impossible to describe my
astonishment when Banning was pointed out to me; for I knew absolutely
nothing of the rough methods in vogue on the Pacific Coast. There
stood before me a very large, powerful man, coatless and vestless,
without necktie or collar, and wearing pantaloons at least six inches
too short, a pair of brogans and socks with large holes; while
bright-colored suspenders added to the picturesque effect of his
costume. It is not my desire to ridicule a gentleman who, during his
lifetime, was to be a good, constant friend of mine, but rather to
give my readers some idea of life in the West, as well as to present
my first impressions of Southern California. The fact of the matter is
that Banning, in his own way, was even then such a man of affairs
that he had bought, but a few months before, some fifteen wagons and
nearly five times as many mules, and had paid almost thirty thousand
dollars for them. I at once delivered the letter in which Rich had
stated that I had but a smattering of English and that it would be a
favor to him if Banning would help me safely on my way to Los Angeles;
and Banning, having digested the contents of the communication, looked
me over from head to foot, shook hands and, in a stentorian voice--loud
enough, I thought, to be heard beyond the hills--good-naturedly called
out, "_Wie geht's?_" After which, leading the way, and shaking hands
again, he provided me with a good place on the stage.
Not a minute was lost between the arrival of passengers and the
departure of coaches for Los Angeles in the early fifties. The
competition referred to developed a racing tendency that was the talk
of the pueblo. The company that made the trip in the shortest time
usually obtained, through lively betting, the best of advertising and
the largest patronage; so that, from the moment of leaving San Pedro
until the final arrival in Los Angeles two and a half hours later, we
tore along at breakneck speed, over roads slowly traveled, but a few
years before, by Stockton's cannon. These roads never having been
cared for, and still less inspected, were abominably bad; and I have
often wondered that during such contests there were not more
accidents. The stages were of the common Western variety, and four to
six broncos were always a feature of the equipment. No particular
attention had been given to the harness, and everything was more or
less primitive. The stage was provided with four rows of seats and
each row, as a rule, was occupied by four passengers, the front row
including the oft-bibulous driver; and the fare was five dollars.
Soon after leaving San Pedro, we passed thousands of ground squirrels,
and never having seen anything of the kind before, I took them for
ordinary rats. This was not an attractive discovery; and when later we
drove by a number of ranch houses and I saw beef cut into strings and
hung up over fences to dry, it looked as though I had landed on
another planet. I soon learned that dried beef or, as the natives
here called it, _carne seca_ (more generally known, perhaps, at least
among frontiersmen, as "jerked" beef or _jerky_) was an important
article of food in Southern California; but from the reminiscences of
various pioneers I have known, it evidently astonished others as much
as it did me.
Having reached the Half-Way House, we changed horses; then we
continued and approached Los Angeles by San Pedro Street, which was a
narrow lane, possibly not more than ten feet wide, with growing
vineyards bordered by willow trees on each side of the road. It was on
a Sunday and in the midst of the grape season that I first beheld the
City of the Angels; and to these facts in particular I owe another odd
and unfavorable first impression of the neighborhood. Much of the work
connected with the grape industry was done by Indians and native
Mexicans, or Californians, as they were called, and every Saturday
evening they received their pay. During Saturday night and all day
Sunday, they drank themselves into hilarity and intoxication, and this
dissipation lasted until Sunday night. Then they slept off their
sprees and were ready to work Monday morning. During each period of
excitement, from one to three or four of these revelers were murdered.
Never having seen Indians before, I supposed them to represent the
citizenship of Los Angeles--an amusing error for which I might be
pardoned when one reflects that nine out of forty-four of the founders
of Los Angeles were Indians, and that, according to an official census
made the year before, Los Angeles County in 1852 had about
thirty-seven hundred domesticated Indians among a population of a
little over four thousand whites; and this mistake as to the typical
burgher, together with my previous experiences, added to my amazement.
At last, with shouts and yells from the competing drivers, almost as
deafening as the horn-blowing of a somewhat later date, and hailed
apparently by every inhabitant and dog along the route, we arrived at
the only real hotel in town, the Bella Union, where stages stopped and
every city function took place. This hotel was a one-story, adobe
house enlarged in 1858 to two stories, and located on Main Street
above Commercial; and Dr. Obed Macy, who had bought it the previous
spring from Winston & Hodges, was the proprietor.
[Illustration: Bella Union as it Appeared in 1858
From a lithograph]
[Illustration: John Goller's Blacksmith Shop
From a lithograph of 1858]
My friend, Sam Meyer (now deceased, but for fifty years or more
treasurer of Forty-two, the oldest Masonic lodge in Los Angeles), who
had come here a few months in advance of me, awaited the arrival of
the stage and at once recognized me by my costume, which was anything
but in harmony with Southern California fashions of that time. My
brother, J. P. Newmark, not having seen me for several years, thought
that our meeting ought to be private, and so requested Sam to show me
to his store. I was immediately taken to my brother's place of
business where he received me with great affection; and there and then
we renewed that sympathetic association which continued many years,
until his death in 1895.