Another of our passengers was an American, named Steinberg, who had a grievance against the British Government on account of an alleged outrage on the part of an English man-of-war’s crew, in some dispute in the Samoan Islands. He was nursing his wrath until he arrived at Washington, when he certainly thought England’s fate would be settled, and that she would be “chawed up catawampously.” This man was accompanied by a Yankee journalist of a most anti-British type. He was a sallow-faced man with a large square lower jaw, without any hair on his face, and with straight lanky locks, and, moreover, was something under five feet high. He was so thorough-going in his hatred of everything British that when “God save the Queen” was sung at the close of a concert in the saloon, he got up with much fuss and stalked out, followed by some half-dozen of his countrymen. We called the fiery editor “Jefferson Brick,” after Martin Chuzzlewit’s acquaintance. On one occasion I heard a friend of this gentleman ask him if he had a chair on deck. He said he had not, as the Britishers always brought a good supply. I took the hint, and determined that, at any rate, he should not use mine. Soon afterwards it happened that a sea, breaking over the deck, soaked the carpet seat of my chair, which obliged me to place it in a sunny position that it might dry. Presently I saw “Mr. Brick” deliberately fetch the chair, which was a very comfortable one, and, taking it into the shade, settle down on it. I went to him and remarked that the chair was quite wet. “I guess it’s dry now,” said he, with the peculiar twang of a down-east Yankee. Seeing that he failed to take the hint, I told him that the chair was mine and that I would thank him to give it up. This he did, with a remark that he “did not see what people who were always walking about wanted with chairs at all.”
We were not altogether without curious examples of our own countrymen as fellow-passengers. One in particular, an Irish tradesman, from one of the New Zealand ports, seemed determined to amuse and be amused. We called our friend “Mister,” because he addressed everybody by that name. It appears that “Mister” was too fond of liquor, and that he had to take an occasional holiday, in order to give his friends an opportunity of putting his affairs straight at home. I was told that he had a flourishing business, which was managed by two able assistants, who insisted upon his leaving them for twelve months in the interest of the concern, under the penalty, if he returned, of their opening an opposition shop. “Mister” told me he had been educated in four Colleges in Ireland, which, doubtless, accounted for the remarkable absence of knowledge he displayed. He frequently alarmed us by the disappearance of the knife down his throat at the dinner table. One evening he volunteered to read at one of the entertainments in the saloon, and caused great amusement by the richness of his humour and of his brogue—winding up his reading by the impromptu observation, “and shure it is oi that am moighty dray.” We shall hear of “Mister” again when we get to San Francisco.
One of our passengers, who died during the voyage, had been suffering greatly from severe pains in the head. He had been told by a lady that sometimes great relief was obtained in such cases by rubbing brandy upon the head. Soon after giving this advice the lady was walking down the saloon where there were a number of passengers and stewards, when she was astonished by hearing the poor invalid calling after her in the most excited manner, and to the no small wonderment of the passengers, “Miss, Miss, did you say brandy or whiskey?” On one occasion the doctor was examining this patient, when the poor fellow appealed to him to do what he could for him, saying, “Doctor, I should like to have one more chance, do you see, and if you can put this old crazy machine together again and make it run once more I shall take it—as a personal favour!” Before he became dangerously ill the invalid was in the same cabin with one of my friends, who one night was considerably disturbed by his dreadful coughing, varied at intervals by strong language respecting the cough, which, he declared, did not belong to him. “It’s not mine, I never had a cough, it’s my head that’s wrong—this cough belongs to some other fellow; what’s it bothering me for?” and when some ladies gently remonstrated with him he said, “Look here, now, I guess it’s just as natural for me to swear as it is for you to pray!” His end came suddenly at last, and in a few hours after, in the early morning, his remains were
“In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.”
We sighted the entrance to the magnificent harbour of San Francisco at daybreak on a beautiful morning at the end of April, and when we approached it the sun had just risen, bathing the whole scene in a flood of golden light, fully justifying its name, “The Golden Gate.” In a short time the city came in view, reminding me very forcibly of Sheffield, from the dense masses of smoke which hung over a large portion of it, for San Francisco is an important manufacturing place. Soon we were boarded by a motley crew, composed of Custom House officers, hotel-touts, porters, agents for the railway, and a number of keen-eyed gentry, desirous of earning a cent anyway, honest or otherwise. We had decided upon going to the famous Palace Hotel, and having found the agent, placed our luggage under his care, receiving checks for it, and, locking our cabin, proceeded on shore, where we found the most sumptuous omnibus we had ever seen waiting to convey passengers to the hotel.
CHAPTER VIII.
The Palace Hotel in San Francisco is quite a town in itself, containing as it does over a thousand rooms, and with rarely less than a thousand inhabitants, including servants, only a limited number of the latter, however, living in the house. The establishment has its own gas-works, four artesian wells, affording an abundant supply of the purest water; it also possesses a thoroughly good fire-brigade, and an efficient system of police. There are five hydraulic lifts for the conveyance of guests and luggage to each floor of the house. The rooms on the ground floor are 25ft. high, and of corresponding size, the breakfast room being 110ft. by 53ft., the dining room 150ft. by 55ft., the walls being hung with excellent copies of the best works of the great masters. The corridors are lined and paved with white marble, and the grand staircase is of the same material.
The bedrooms are very large and airy, and they all have comfortable dressing-rooms attached, with hot and cold water supply, and with a dozen beautiful towels—a very refreshing sight to the voyager who has been cooped up for the previous month in the limited space allotted to passengers on an ocean steamer. The bedrooms have baths adjoining them, each bath being arranged for two rooms; there is also a service-room on each landing, where a dusky negro is always in attendance. Upon each landing there is a tube for the conveyance of letters for the post direct into the letter-box at the general office. There is also a pneumatic despatch-tube for the conveyance of messages and parcels to and from any point on the different floors. Upon the garden floor of the hotel there is an arcade promenade 12ft. wide, with entrances to all the shops under the hotel, upon the street level, each shop having a show window upon this promenade. There are three inner courts, the centre one being 140ft. by 84ft., covered with glass of the same height as the roof of the hotel. It has a carriage and promenade entrance from the street of 44ft. in width, and a circular carriage way of 54ft. in diameter, which is surrounded by a marble-tiled promenade and a tropical garden. The garden is well supplied with exotic plants, statuary, and fountains. Around this centre court and upon every storey there is an open gallery from which all the bedrooms are entered, and from which they receive light and fresh air. The dining rooms are fitted with a large number of small tables for parties of from four to eight persons, an arrangement very much superior to the long tables in most salles à manger.
There are about four hundred waiters, one-fourth only being white men, the rest negroes. The latter seem specially adapted for waiting, being active and nimble, and seeming to anticipate every wish. They receive £1 per week wages and their board, but lodge away from the house. A fresh bill of fare is printed daily for each meal, and the variety of food is very great, there being a choice of about seventy dishes at dinner. In the kitchen are twenty-seven French cooks, besides assistants—a sufficient guarantee for the excellent manner in which the food is prepared.
There is a splendid laundry in the house, where the washing is done by fifty Chinese washermen, and certainly never was linen more exquisitely got up than here. These Celestials are specially successful in all kinds of starching requiring a smooth polished surface, such as shirt fronts. The mode in which they apply the starch is quite novel, for having taken a mouthful they blow it out on to the article in a continuous fine spray, while their hands are occupied in ironing.