Across America; Or, The Great West and the Pacific Coast

by James Fowler Rusling

[CHAPTER XVII.]

SAN FRANCISCO.

Geography demonstrates the matchless position of San Francisco, as metropolis of the Pacific coast, and assures her supremacy perhaps forever. The Golden Gate, a strait six miles long by one wide, with an average depth of twenty-four fathoms—seven fathoms at the shallowest point—is her pathway to the Pacific. At her feet stretches her sheltered and peerless bay, fifty miles long by five wide, with Oakland as her Brooklyn just across it. Beyond, the Sacramento and the San Joaquin empty their floods, the drainage of the Sierra Nevadas, and afford channels for trade with much of the interior. Her system of bays—San Pablo, Suisun, and San Francisco proper—contain a superficial area of four hundred square miles, of which it is estimated, eight feet in depth pour in and out of the Golden Gate every twenty-four hours. On all that coast, for thousands of miles, she seems to be the only really great harbor; and then, besides, all enterprise and commerce have so centred here, that hereafter it will be difficult, if not impossible, to wrest supremacy from her. Until we reached Salt-Lake, New York everywhere ruled the country, and all business ideas turned that way; but from there on, the influence of Gotham ceased, and everything tended to "'Frisco," as many lovingly called her. This was her general name, indeed, for short, all over the Pacific coast; though the Nevadans spoke of her, as "the Bay" still. The city itself stands on a peninsula of shifting dunes or sand-hills, at the mouth of the harbor, much the same as if New York were built at Sandy Hook. It was a great mistake, that its founders did not locate it at Benicia, or Vallejo, or somewhere up that way, where it would have been out of the draft of the Golden Gate, had better wharfage, and been more easily defended. But, it seems, when the gold fever first broke out, in 1849, the early vessels all came consigned to Yerba Buena, as the little hamlet was then called; and as their charter-parties would not allow them to ascend the Bay farther, their cargoes were deposited on the nearest shore, and hence came San Francisco. It took a year or more then to hear from New York or London, and before further advices were received, so great was the rush of immigrants, the town was born and the city named. Benicia tried to change things afterwards; but 'Frisco had got the start, and kept it, in spite of her false location. Her military defences are Fort Point at the mouth of the Golden Gate, Fort San Josè farther up the harbor, and Alcatraz on an island square in the entrance, which with other works yet to be constructed would cross-fire and command all the approaches by water, thus rendering the city fairly impregnable.

From the first, she seems to have had a fight with the sand-hills, and she was still pluckily maintaining it. She had cut many of them down, and hurled them into the sea, to give her a better frontage. Her "made" land already extended out several blocks, and the work was still going on. With a great penchant for right-angles, as if Philadelphia was her model city, she was pushing her streets straight out, in all directions, no matter what obstacles intervened. One would have thought, that with an eye to economy, as well as the picturesque, she would have flanked some of her sand-hills by leading her streets around them; but no! she marched straight at and over them, with marvellous audacity and courage, like the Old Guard at Waterloo, or the Boys in Blue at Chattanooga. Some were inaccessible to carriages; still she pushed straight on, and left the inhabitants to clamber up to their eyrie-like residences, as best they could. Many of these hills were still shifting sand, and in places lofty fences had been erected as a protection against sand-drifts; just as our railroads East sometimes build fences, as a protection against snow-drifts. The sand seemed of the lightest and loosest character, and when the breeze rose filled the atmosphere at all exposed points. And yet, when properly irrigated, it really seemed to produce about everything abundantly. While inspecting one of the harbor forts, I saw a naked drift on one side of a sand-fence, and on the other a flower-garden of the most exquisite character, while just beyond was a vegetable and fruit-garden, that would have astonished people East. A little water had worked the miracle, and this a faithful wind-mill continued to pump up, from time to time as needed. Towards the south, the sand-hills seemed less of an obstruction, and thither the city was now drifting very rapidly. Real-estate there was constantly on the rise, and houses were springing up as if by magic in a night. The city-front, heretofore much confined, was now extending southward accordingly. It was about decided to build a sea-wall of solid granite, all along the front, two miles or more in length, at a cost of from two to three millions of dollars. This expenditure seemed large; but, it was maintained, was not too great for the vast and growing commerce of the city.

But a few years before, it was a common thing for ships to go East empty or in ballast, for want of a return cargo; but in 1867 San Francisco shipped grain alone to the amount of thirteen millions of dollars, and of manufactures about as much more. Here are some other statistics that are worth one's considering. In 1849, then called Yerba Buena, she numbered perhaps 1,000 souls, all told; in 1869, nearly 200,000. In 1868, 59,000 passengers arrived by sea, and only 25,000 departed, leaving a net gain of 34,000. The vessels which entered the bay that year, numbered 3,300, and measured over 1,000,000 tons. She exported 4,000,000 sacks of wheat that year, and half a million barrels of flour. Her total exports of all kinds were estimated at not less than $70,000,000, and her imports about the same. Her sales of real-estate aggregated $27,000,000, and of mining and other stocks $115,000,000, on which she paid over $5,000,000 of dividends. The cash value of her real and personal property was estimated at $200,000,000. She sent away six tons of gold, and forty tons of silver every month, and in all since 1849 had poured into the coffers of the world not less than $1,030,000,000.[15] Her net-work of far-reaching and gigantic enterprises already embraced the whole Pacific Coast, northward to Alaska and southward to Panama, while beyond she stretched out her invisible arms to Japan and China, and shook hands with the Orient.

One cloudless morning, after days of dismal drizzle, an enthusiastic Forty-Niner took me up Telegraph Hill, and bade me "view the landscape o'er!" I remembered when a school-boy reading Dana's "Two Years before the Mast," in which he speaks so contemptuously of Yerba Buena, and its Mexican Rip Van Winkles. What a change here since then! Off to the west rolled the blue Pacific, sea and sky meeting everywhere. Then came Fort Point, with its formidable batteries, commanding the Golden Gate; and then the old Presidio, with the stars and stripes waving over it. Farther inland were the stunted live-oaks and gleaming marbles of Lone Mountain Cemetery, with the Broderick Monument rising over all. Then came the live, busy, bustling, pushing city, with its quarter of a million of inhabitants nearly, soon to be a million, its wharves thronged with the ships of all nations, but with harbor-room to spare sufficient to float the navies of the world. Beyond, lay Oakland, loveliest of suburbs, smiling in verdure and beauty, with Mount Diabolo towering in the distance—his snow-crowned summit flashing in the sunlight. The Sacramento and Stockton boats, from the heart of California were already in. Past the Golden Gate, and up the noble bay, with boom of welcoming cannon, came the Hong Kong steamer fresh from Japan. The Panama steamer, with her fires banked and flag flying, was just ready to cast off. While off to the south, a long train of cars, from down the bay and San Josè, came thundering in. A hundred church spires pierced the sky; the smoke from numberless mills and factories, machine-shops and foundries, drifted over the harbor; the horse-car bells tinkled on every side—the last proofs of American progress—and all around us were the din and boom of Yankee energy, and thrift, and go-ahead-ative-ness, in place of the old Rip Van Winkleism. I don't wonder, that all good Pacific Coasters believe in San Francisco, and expect to go there when they die! Her hotels, her school-houses, her churches, her Bank of California, her Wells-Fargo Express, her Mission Woollen Mills, her lines of ocean steam-ships, and a hundred other things, all suggest great wealth and brains; and yet they are only the first fruits of nobler fortune yet to come. She is what Carlyle might call an undeniable fact, a substantial verity; and, in spite of her "heavy job of work," moves onward to empire with giant strides. She contained already fully a third of the population of the whole state of California, and was "lifting herself up like a young lion" in all enterprises—at all times and everywhere—on the Pacific slope.

Her faulty location, however, gives her a climate, that can scarcely be called inviting, notwithstanding all that Californians claim for their climate generally. It is true, the range of the thermometer there indicates but a moderate variation of temperature, with neither snow nor frost, usually. But her continual rains in winter, and cold winds and fogs in summer, must be very trying to average nerves and lungs. We found it raining on our arrival there in December, with the hills surrounding the bay already turning green; and it continued to rain and drizzle right along, pretty much all the time, until we departed for Arizona in February. Sometimes it would break away for an hour or two, and the sun would come out resplendently, as if meaning to shine forever; and then, suddenly, it would cloud over, and begin to drizzle and rain again, as if the whole heavens were only a gigantic sieve. Really, it did rain there sometimes the easiest of any place I ever saw—not excepting Fort Vancouver. Going out to drive, or on business, we got caught thus several times, and learned the wisdom of carrying stout umbrellas, or else wearing bang-up hats and water-proof coats, like true Californians. Once, for a fortnight nearly, it rained in torrents, with but little intermission, and then the whole interior became flooded—bridges were washed away, roads submerged, etc. In the midst of this, one night, we had a sharp passage of thunder and lightning—a phenomenon of rare occurrence on that coast—followed by a slight earthquake, and then it rained harder than ever. But at last, the winter rains came to an end, as all things must, and then we had indeed some superb weather, worthy of Italy or Paradise. Californians vowed their winter had been an unusual one; that their January was usually good, and their February very fine; but, of course, things must be reported as we found them. As a rule, nobody seemed to mind the perpetual drizzle, so to speak; but with slouched hats and light overcoats, or infrequent umbrellas, everybody tramped the streets, as business or pleasure called, and the general health of the city continued good. The few fair days we had in January and early February were as soft and balmy, as our May or June, and all 'Frisco made the most of them. The ladies literally swarmed along Montgomery street, resplendent in silks and jewelry, and all the drives about the city—especially the favorite one to the Cliff-House and sea-lions—were thronged with coaches and buggies. Meanwhile, the islands in the harbor and the surrounding hills and country, so dead and barren but a few weeks before, had now become superbly green, and the whole bay and city lay embosomed in emerald.

We left there the middle of February for Arizona, and did not get back until late in May. Then, when we returned we found the rains long gone, the vegetation fast turning to yellow—grain ripening in the fields—strawberries and peas on the table—and the summer winds and fogs in full vogue. At sunrise, it would be hot, even sultry, and you would see persons dressed in white linen. By nine or ten a. m., the wind would rise—a raw damp wind, sometimes with fog, sweeping in from the Pacific—and in the evening, you would see ladies going to the Opera with full winter furs on. How long this lasted, I cannot say; but this was the weather we experienced, as a rule, late in May and early in June. Heavy great-coats, doubtless, are never necessary there. And so, on the other hand, thin clothing is seldom wanted. Many indeed said, they wore the same clothing all seasons of the year, and seldom found it uncomfortable either way. The truth seemed to be, that for hardy persons the climate was excellent—the air bracing and stimulating—but invalids were better off in the interior. Consumptives could not stand the winds and fogs at all; and it was a mooted question, as to whether the large percentage of suicides just then, was not due in part to climatic influences. The really healthy, however, appeared plump and rosy, and the growing children promised well for the future. Had 'Frisco been built at Benicia, or about there, she would have escaped much of her climatic misery. Even across the bay, at Oakland, they have a much smoother climate. But she would "squat" on a sandspit, at the mouth of the Golden Gate, where there is a perpetual suck of wind and fog—from the ocean, into the bay, and up the valley of the Sacramento—and now must make the most of her situation.

Montgomery Street is the Broadway or Chestnut Street of San Francisco, and California her Wall Street. Her hotels, shops, and banking-houses are chiefly here, and many of them are very handsome edifices. The Occidental, Cosmopolitan, and Lick-House hotels, the new Mercantile Library, and Bank of California, are stately structures, that would do credit to any city. Their height, four and five stories, seemed a little reckless, considering the liability of the Coast to earthquakes; but the people made light of this, notwithstanding some of their best buildings showed ominous cracks "from turret to foundation stone." So long as they stood, everything was believed secure; and commerce surged and roared along the streets, as in New York and London. Brick, well strengthened by iron, seemed to be the chief building material in the business parts of the city, though stone was coming into use, obtained from an excellent quarry on Angel Island. The Bank of California had been constructed of this, and was much admired by everybody. The private residences, however, seemed chiefly frame, and were seldom more than two and a half stories high. Doubtless more heed is given to earthquakes here, though your true Californian would be slow to acknowledge this. Nevertheless, deep down in his heart—at "bed-rock," as he would say—his household gods are esteemed of more importance, than his commercial commodities. In the suburbs, Mansard roofs were fast coming into vogue, and everywhere there was a general breaking out of Bay-Window. Brown seemed to be the favorite color, doubtless to offset the summer sand-storms, and the general prevalence of bay-windows may also be due partly to these. Convenience and comfort—often elegance and luxury—appeared everywhere, and to an extent that was surprising, for a city so young and raw. Shade-trees were still rare, because only the native scrubby live-oaks, with deep penetrating roots, can survive the long and dry summers there. But shrubbery and flowers, prompted by plentiful irrigation, appeared on every side, and the air was always redolent of perfume. The most unpretending homes had their gems of flower-gardens, with evergreens, fuchsias, geraniums, pansies, and the variety and richness of their roses were a perpetual delight. A rill of water, with trickling side streams, made the barren sand-hills laugh with verdure and beauty, and gaunt wind-mills in every back-yard kept up the supply. The wind-mill California rises to the dignity of an institution, and is a godsend to the whole coast. In winter, of course, they are not needed. But throughout the long and rainless summer, when vegetation withers up and blows away, the steady sea-breeze keeps the wind-mills going, and these pump up water for a thousand irrigating purposes. The vegetable gardens about the city, and California farmers generally, all patronize them, more or less, and thus grow fruits and vegetables of exquisite character, and almost every variety, the year round. The markets and fruit-stands of San Francisco, groaning with apples, pears, peaches, plums, pomegranates, oranges, grapes, strawberries, etc., have already become world-renowned, and the Pacific Railroad now places them at our very doors.