THE WINTER OF 1849.
a parting shot at a little crab that has not taken his eyes off me since we arrived, and wonders, I suppose, why I don’t pelt one of my own size, and gliding off our mud bank, we make sail for San Francisco.
CHAPTER IX.
THE OLD CRAB-CATCHER—MR. WARREN—AMERICAN FRIENDSHIP—THE AMERICAN PRESS—EDUCATION IN AMERICA—AMERICANS GOOD COLONISTS—CALIFORNIAN CORRESPONDENCE.
April, 1851.
At daylight the next morning we found ourselves among the shipping that lay moored in crowds in front of San Francisco. Whilst threading our way to the wharf, we narrowly escaped being swamped by one of the Stockton river steamboats, which, in fact, did graze our stern. The Yankee freshwater skippers of those days expected everything to get out of their way, regardless of any difficulties that might prevent a small boat doing so; but one of these go-ahead commanders received, to my knowledge, a check. A fisherman of the bay had his smack damaged, and his trawling apparatus unnecessarily carried away by one of the river boats. His application to the captain for compensation was met with the remark, that the next time he got in the way he would swamp him. But might did not so easily triumph over right, and for this reason. The small river-boats are very low in the hull, and as the steering apparatus leads forward, the helmsman stands prominently (under a booby hatch) near the bow of the boat. The old smack, as usual, was bobbing about with her trawls and lines out, when down comes the steamboat one day, the fishing-boat evidently directly in her course, and showing no disposition to move. “D—n that old crab-catcher!â€� said the Captain. “I’ll give him a close shave this time.â€� But the “old crab-catcher,â€� standing up in his boat, levelled a long wicked-looking Kentucky rifle, and “drew a beadâ€� on the Captain, who, having taken the helm, formed a splendid target. Upon this, that brave sailor thought better of it, and not only dispensed with the close shave, but “concludedâ€� to allow the small smack to bob about in peace from that time forth.
On landing at San Francisco, I found so many changes on every side, that my knowledge of locality was at fault; wharves extended on all sides into the sea, and the spot where I last had landed was scarcely recognisable, it was now so far inland; the steam-paddy had worked incessantly, and the front of the town still advanced into the bay.
The winter had been (compared with that of 1849) a dry one, and some of the streets having been graded and planked, the town was under the worst circumstances navigable for jack-boots.