But a truce to moralizing; for we are approaching the Golden Gate. I must now pack up my things, and finish my log. I have stuck to it at all hours and in all weathers; jotted down little bits from time to time in the intervals of sea-sickness, toothache, and tic douloureux; written under a burning tropical sun, and amidst the drizzle and down-pour of the North Pacific; but I have found pleasure in keeping it up, because I know that it will be read with pleasure by those for whom it is written, and it will serve to show that amidst all my wanderings, I have never forgotten the Old Folks at Home.
At half-past four on the morning of the tenth day from our leaving Honolulu, we sighted the lighthouse at the Golden Gate, which forms the entrance to the spacious bay or harbour of San Francisco. Suddenly, there is a great scampering about of the passengers, a general packing up of baggage; a brushing of boots, hats, and clothes; and a dressing up in shore-going "togs." The steward comes round to look after his perquisites, and every one is in a bustle about something or other.
I took a last rest in my bunk—for it was still early morning—until I was told that we were close along-shore; and then I jumped up, went on deck, and saw America for the first time.
CHAPTER XXIII.
SAN FRANCISCO TO SACRAMENTO.
Landing at San Francisco—The Golden City—The Streets—The Business Quarter—The Chinese Quarter—The Touters—Leave San Francisco—The Ferry-Boat to Oakland—The Bay of San Francisco—Landing on the Eastern Shore—American Railway Carriages—The Pullman's Cars—Sleeping Berths—Unsavoury Chinamen—The Country—City of Sacramento.
We have passed in from the Pacific through the Golden Gate, swung round towards the south, and then, along the eastern margin of the peninsula which runs up to form the bay, the City of San Francisco lies before me! A great mass of houses and warehouses, fronted by a long line of wharves, extends along the water's edge. Masses of houses, tipped with occasional towers and spires, rise up on the high ground behind, crowning the summits of Telegraph, Russian, and Clay Street Hills.
But we have little time to take note of the external features of the city, for we are already alongside the pier. Long before the gangways can be run out and laid between the ship and the wharf, there is a rush of hotel runners on board, calling out the names of their respective hotels and distributing their cards. There is a tremendous hurry-scurry. The touters make dashes at the baggage and carry it off, sometimes in different directions, each hoping to secure a customer for his hotel. Thus, in a very few minutes, the ship was cleared; all the passengers were bowling along towards their several destinations; and in a few minutes I found myself safely deposited in "The Brooklyn," a fine large hotel in Bush Street, situated in the business part of the town, with dwellings interspersed amongst the business houses.