I took my own case in hand after that, and very soon got rid of the fever, although the emetic treatment had so used me up that for a fortnight I was hardly able to stand. We afterwards discovered that this man was only now making his début as a physician. He had graduated, however, as a shoemaker, a farmer, and I don’t know what else besides; latterly he had practised as a horse-dealer, and I have no doubt it was some horse-medicine which he administered to me so freely.

We had only two deaths on board, and in justice to the doctor, I must say he was not considered to have been the cause of either of them. One case was that of a young man, who, while the doctor was treating him for fever, was at the same time privately treating himself to large doses, taken frequently, of bad brandy, of which he had an ample stock stowed away under his bed. About a day and a half settled him. The other was a much more melancholy case. He was a young Swede—such a delicate, effeminate fellow that he seemed quite out of place among the rough and noisy characters who formed the rest of the party. A few days before we left Panama, a steamer had arrived from San Francisco with a great many cases of cholera on board. Numerous deaths had occurred in Panama, and considerable alarm prevailed there in consequence. The Swede was attacked with fever like the rest of us, but he had no force in him, either mental or bodily, to bear up against sickness under such circumstances; and the fear of cholera had taken such possession of him, that he insisted upon it that he had cholera, and that he would die of it that night. His lamentations were most piteous, but all attempts to reassure him were in vain. He very soon became delirious, and died raving before morning. None of us were doctors enough to know exactly what he died of, but the general belief was that he frightened himself to death. The church-service was read over him by the supercargo, many of the passengers merely leaving their cards to be present at the ceremony, and as soon as he was launched over the side, resuming their game where they had been interrupted; and this, moreover, was on a Sunday morning. In future the captain prohibited all card-playing on Sundays, but throughout the voyage nearly one-half of the passengers spent the whole day, and half the night, in playing the favorite game of poker, which is something like brag, and at which they cheated each other in the most barefaced manner, so causing perpetual quarrels, which, however, never ended in a fight—for the reason, as it seemed to me, that as every one wore his bowie-knife, the prospect of getting his opponent’s knife between his ribs deterred each man from drawing his own, or offering any violence whatever.

The poor Swede had no friends on board; nobody knew who he was, where he came from, or anything at all about him; and so his effects were, a few days after his death, sold at auction by order of the captain, one of the passengers, who had been an auctioneer in the States, officiating on the occasion.

Great rascalities were frequently practised at this time by those engaged in conveying passengers, in sailing vessels, from Panama to San Francisco. There were such numbers of men waiting anxiously in Panama to take the first opportunity that offered of reaching California, that there was no difficulty in filling any old tub of a ship with passengers; and, when once men arrived in San Francisco, they were generally too much occupied in making dollars, to give any trouble on account of the treatment they had received on the voyage.

Many vessels were consequently despatched with a load of passengers, most shamefully ill supplied with provisions, even what they had being of the most inferior quality; and it often happened that they had to touch in distress at the intermediate ports for the ordinary necessaries of life.

We very soon found that our ship was no exception. For the first few days we fared pretty well, but, by degrees, one article after another became used up; and by the time we had been out a fortnight, we had absolutely nothing to eat and drink, but salt pork, musty flour, and bad coffee—no mustard, vinegar, sugar, pepper, or anything of the sort, to render such food at all palatable. It may be imagined how delightful it was, in recovering from fever, when one naturally has a craving for something good to eat, to have no greater delicacy in the way of nourishment than gruel made of musty flour, au naturel.

There was great indignation among the passengers. A lot of California emigrants are not a crowd to be trifled with, and the idea of pitching the supercargo overboard was quite seriously entertained; but, fortunately for himself, he was a very plausible man, and succeeded in talking them into the belief that he was not to blame.

We would have gone into some port for supplies but, of such grub as we had, there was no scarcity on board, and we preferred making the most of it to incurring delay by going in on the coast, where calms and light winds are so prevalent.

We killed a porpoise occasionally, and ate him. The liver is the best part, and the only part generally eaten, being something like pig’s liver, and by no means bad. I had frequently tasted the meat at sea before; it is exceedingly hard, tough, and stringy, like the very worst beefsteak that can possibly be imagined; and I used to think it barely eatable, when thoroughly disguised in sauce and spices, but now, after being so long under a severe salt-pork treatment, I thought porpoise steak a very delicious dish, even without any condiment to heighten its intrinsic excellence.

We had been out about six weeks, when we sighted a ship, many miles off, going the same way as ourselves, and the captain determined to board her, and endeavor to get some of the articles of which we were so much in need. There was great excitement among the passengers; all wanted to accompany the captain in his boat, but, to avoid making invidious distinctions, he refused to take any one unless he would pull an oar. I was one of four who volunteered to do so, and we left the ship amid clamorous injunctions not to forget sugar, beef, molasses, vinegar, and so on—whatever each man most longed for. We had four or five Frenchmen on board, who earnestly entreated me to get them even one bottle of oil.

We had a long pull, as the stranger was in no hurry to heave-to for us; and on coming up to her, we found her to be a Scotch barque, bound also for San Francisco, without passengers, but very nearly as badly off as ourselves. She could not spare us anything at all, but the captain gave us an invitation to dinner, which we accepted with the greatest pleasure. It was Sunday, and so the dinner was of course the best they could get up. It only consisted of fresh pork (the remains of their last pig), and duff; but with mustard to the pork, and sugar to the duff, it seemed to us a most sumptuous banquet; and, not having the immediate prospect of such another for some time to come, we made the most of the present opportunity. In fact, we cleared the table. I don’t know what the Scotch skipper thought of us, but if he really could have spared us anything, the ravenous way in which we demolished his dinner would surely have softened his heart.

On arriving again alongside our own ship, with the boat empty as when we left her, we were greeted by a row of very long faces looking down on us over the side; not a word was said, because they had watched us with the glass leaving the other vessel, and had seen that nothing was handed into the boat; and when we described the splendid dinner we had just eaten, the faces lengthened so much, and assumed such a very wistful expression, that it seemed a wanton piece of cruelty to have mentioned the circumstance at all.

But, after all, our hard fare did not cause us much distress: we got used to it, and besides, a passage to California was not like a passage to any other place. Every one was so confident of acquiring an immense fortune there in an incredibly short time, that he was already making his plans for the future enjoyment of it, and present difficulties and hardships were not sufficiently appreciated.

The time passed pleasantly enough; all were disposed to be cheerful, and amongst so many men there are always some who afford amusement for the rest. Many found constant occupation in trading off their coats, hats, boots, trunks, or anything they possessed. I think scarcely any one went ashore in San Francisco with a single article of clothing which he possessed in Panama; and there was hardly an article of any man’s wardrobe, which, by the time our voyage was over, had not at one time been the property of every other man on board the ship.

We had one cantankerous old Englishman on board, who used to roll out, most volubly, good round English oaths, greatly to the amusement of some of the American passengers, for the English style of cursing and swearing is very different from that which prevails in the States. This old fellow was made a butt for all manner of practical jokes. He had a way of going to sleep during the day in all sorts of places; and when the dinner-bell rang, he would find himself tied hand and foot. They sewed up the sleeves of his coat, and then bet him long odds he could not put it on, and take it off again, within a minute. They made up cigars for him with some powder in the inside; and in fact the jokes played off upon him were endless, the great fun being, apparently, to hear him swear, which he did most heartily. He always fancied himself ill, and said that quinine was the only thing that would save him; but the quinine, like everything else on board, was all used up. However, one man put up some papers of flour and salt, and gave them to him as quinine, saying he had just found them in looking over his trunk. Constant inquiries were then made after the old man’s health, when he declared the quinine was doing him a world of good, and that his appetite was much improved.

He was so much teased at last that he used to go about with a naked bowie-knife in his hand, with which he threatened to do awful things to whoever interfered with him. But even this did not secure him much peace, and he was such a dreadfully crabbed old rascal that I thought the stirring-up he got was quite necessary to keep him sweet.

After a wretchedly long passage, during which we experienced nothing but calms, light winds, and heavy contrary gales, we entered the Golden Gate of San Francisco harbor with the first and only fair wind we were favored with, and came to anchor before the city about eight o’clock in the evening.

CHAPTER III

A CITY IN THE MAKING

The city of San Francisco lies on the south shore, nearly opposite the mouth of the Sacramento, and four or five miles from the ocean. It is built on a semicircular inlet, about two miles across, at the foot of a succession of bleak sandy hills, covered here and there with scrubby brushwood. Before the discovery of gold in the country, it consisted merely of a few small houses occupied by native Californians, and one or two foreign merchants engaged in the export of hides and horns. The harbor was also a favorite watering-place for whalers and men-of-war cruising in that part of the world.

At the time of our arrival in 1851, hardly a vestige remained of the original village. Everything bore evidence of newness, and the greater part of the city presented a makeshift and temporary appearance, being composed of the most motley collection of edifices, in the way of houses, which can well be conceived. Some were mere tents, with perhaps a wooden front sufficiently strong to support the sign of the occupant; some were composed of sheets of zinc on a wooden framework; there were numerous corrugated iron houses, the most unsightly things possible, and generally painted brown; there were many imported American houses, all, of course, painted white, with green shutters; also dingy-looking Chinese houses, and occasionally some substantial brick buildings; but the great majority were nondescript, shapeless, patchwork concerns, in the fabrication of which sheet-iron, wood, zinc, and canvas seemed to have been employed indiscriminately; while here and there, in the middle of a row of such houses, appeared the hulk of a ship, which had been hauled up, and now served as a warehouse, the cabins being fitted up as offices, or sometimes converted into a boarding-house.

The hills rose so abruptly from the shore that there was not room for the rapid extension of the city, and as sites were more valuable as they were nearer the shipping, the first growth of the city was out into the bay. Already houses had been built out on piles for nearly half-a-mile beyond the original high-water mark; and it was thus that ships, having been hauled up and built in, came to occupy a position so completely out of their element. The hills are of a very loose sandy soil, and were consequently easily graded sufficiently to admit of being built upon; and what was removed from the hills was used to fill up the space gained from the bay. This has been done to such an extent, that at the present day the whole of the business part of the city of San Francisco stands on solid ground, where a few years ago large ships lay at anchor; and what was then high-water mark is now more than a mile inland.

The principal street of the town was about three-quarters of a mile long, and on it were most of the bankers’ offices, the principal stores, some of the best restaurants, and numerous drinking and gambling saloons.

In the Plaza, a large open square, was the only remaining house of the San Francisco of other days—a small cottage built of sun-dried bricks. Two sides of the Plaza were composed of the most imposing-looking houses in the city, some of which were of brick several stories high; others, though of wood, were large buildings with handsome fronts in imitation of stone, and nearly every one of them was a gambling-house.

Scattered over the hills overhanging the town, apparently at random, but all on specified lots, on streets which as yet were only defined by rude fences, were habitations of various descriptions, handsome wooden houses of three or four stories, neat little cottages, iron houses, and tents innumerable.

Rents were exorbitantly high, and servants were hardly to be had for money; housekeeping was consequently only undertaken by those who did not fear the expense, and who were so fortunate as to have their families with them. The population, however, consisted chiefly of single men, and the usual style of living was to have some sort of room to sleep in, and to board at a restaurant. But even a room to oneself was an expensive luxury, and it was more usual for men to sleep in their stores or offices. As for a bed, no one was particular about that; a shake-down on a table, or on the floor, was as common as anything else, and sheets were a luxury but little thought of. Every man was his own servant, and his own porter besides. It was nothing unusual to see a respectable old gentleman, perhaps some old paterfamilias, who at home would have been horrified at the idea of doing such a thing, open his store in the morning himself, take a broom and sweep it out, and then proceed to blacken his boots.

The boot-blacking trade, however, was one which sprang up and flourished rapidly. It was monopolized by Frenchmen, and was principally conducted in the Plaza, on the long row of steps in front of the gambling saloons. At first the accommodation afforded was not very great. One had to stand upon one foot and place the other on a little box, while a Frenchman, standing a few steps below, operated upon it. Presently arm-chairs were introduced, and, the bootblacks working in partnership, time was economized by both boots being polished simultaneously. It was a curious sight to see thirty or forty men sitting in a row in the most public part of the city having their boots blacked, while as many more stood waiting for their turn. The next improvement was being accommodated with the morning papers while undergoing the operation; and finally, the boot-blacking fraternity, keeping pace with the progressive spirit of the age, opened saloons furnished with rows of easychairs on a raised platform, in which the patients sat and read the news, or admired themselves in the mirror on the opposite wall. The regular charge for having one’s boots polished was twenty-five cents, an English shilling—the smallest sum worth mentioning in California.

In 1851, however, things had not attained such a pitch of refinement as to render the appearance of a man’s boots a matter of the slightest consequence.

As far as mere eating and drinking went, living was good enough. The market was well supplied with every description of game—venison, elk, antelope, grizzly bear, and an infinite variety of wild-fowl. The harbor abounded with fish, and the Sacramento river was full of splendid salmon, equal in flavor to those of the Scottish rivers, though in appearance not quite such a highly-finished fish, being rather clumsy about the tail.

Vegetables were not so plentiful. Potatoes and onions, as fine as any in the world, were the great stand-by. Other vegetables, though scarce, were produced in equal perfection, and upon a gigantic scale. A beetroot weighing a hundred pounds, and that looked like the trunk of a tree, was not thought a very remarkable specimen.

The wild geese and ducks were extremely numerous all round the shores of the bay, and many men, chiefly English and French, who would have scorned the idea of selling their game at home, here turned their sporting abilities to good account, and made their guns a source of handsome profit. A Frenchman with whom I was acquainted killed fifteen hundred dollars’ worth of game in two weeks.

There were two or three French restaurants nearly equal to some of the best in Paris, where the cheapest dinner one could get cost three dollars; but there were also numbers of excellent French and American houses, at which one could live much more reasonably. Good hotels were not wanting, but they were ridiculously extravagant places; and though flimsy concerns, built of wood, and not presenting very ostentatious exteriors, they were fitted up with all the lavish display which characterizes the fashionable hotels of New York. In fact, all places of public resort were furnished and decorated in a style of most barbaric splendor, being filled with the costliest French furniture, and a profusion of immense mirrors, gorgeous gilding, magnificent chandeliers, and gold and china ornaments, conveying an idea of luxurious refinement which contrasted strangely with the appearance and occupations of the people by whom they were frequented.

San Francisco exhibited an immense amount of vitality compressed into a small compass, and a degree of earnestness was observable in every action of a man’s daily life. People lived more there in a week than they would in a year in most other places.

In the course of a month, or a year, in San Francisco, there was more hard work done, more speculative schemes were conceived and executed, more money was made and lost, there was more buying and selling, more sudden changes of fortune, more eating and drinking, more smoking, swearing, gambling, and tobacco-chewing, more crime and profligacy, and, at the same time, more solid advancement made by the people, as a body, in wealth, prosperity, and the refinements of civilization, than could be shown in an equal space of time by any community of the same size on the face of the earth.

The every-day jog-trot of ordinary human existence was not a fast enough pace for Californians in their impetuous pursuit of wealth. The longest period of time ever thought of was a month. Money was loaned, and houses were rented, by the month; interest and rent being invariably payable monthly and in advance. All engagements were made by the month, during which period the changes and contingencies were so great that no one was willing to commit himself for a longer term. In the space of a month the whole city might be swept off by fire, and a totally new one might be flourishing in its place. So great was the constant fluctuation in the prices of goods, and so rash and speculative was the usual style of business, that no great idea of stability could be attached to anything, and the ever-varying aspect of the streets, as the houses were being constantly pulled down, and rebuilt, was emblematic of the equally varying fortunes of the inhabitants.

The streets presented a scene of intense bustle and excitement. The side-walks were blocked up with piles of goods, in front of the already crowded stores; men hurried along with the air of having the weight of all the business of California on their shoulders; others stood in groups at the corners of the streets; here and there was a drunken man lying groveling in the mud, enjoying himself as uninterruptedly as if he were merely a hog; old miners, probably on their way home, were loafing about, staring at everything, in all the glory of mining costume, jealous of every inch of their long hair and flowing beards, and of every bit of California mud which adhered to their ragged old shirts and patchwork pantaloons, as evidences that they, at least, had “seen the elephant.”

Troops of newly arrived Frenchmen marched along, en route for the mines, staggering under their equipment of knapsacks, shovels, picks, tin wash-bowls, pistols, knives, swords, and double-barrel guns—their blankets slung over their shoulders, and their persons hung around with tin cups, frying-pans, coffee-pots, and other culinary utensils, with perhaps a hatchet and a spare pair of boots. Crowds of Chinamen were also to be seen, bound for the diggings, under gigantic basket-hats, each man with a bamboo laid across his shoulder, from each end of which was suspended a higgledy-piggledy collection of mining tools, Chinese baskets and boxes, immense boots and a variety of Chinese “fixins,” which no one but a Chinaman could tell the use of,—all speaking at once, gabbling and chattering their horrid jargon, and producing a noise like that of a flock of geese. There were continuous streams of drays drawn by splendid horses, and loaded with merchandise from all parts of the world, and horsemen galloped about, equally regardless of their own and of other men’s lives.

Two or three auctioneers might be heard at once, “crying” their goods with characteristic California vehemence, while some of their neighbors in the same line of business were ringing bells to collect an audience—and at the same time one’s ears were dinned with the discord of half-a-dozen brass bands, braying out different popular airs from as many different gambling saloons. In the midst of it all, the runners, or tooters, for the opposition river-steamboats, would be cracking up the superiority of their respective boats at the top of their lungs, somewhat in this style: “One dollar to-night for Sacramento, by the splendid steamer Senator, the fastest boat that ever turned a wheel from Long wharf—with feather pillows and curled-hair mattresses, mahogany doors and silver hinges. She has got eight young-lady passengers to-night, that speak all the dead languages, and not a colored man from stem to stern of her.” Here an opposition runner would let out upon him, and the two would slang each other in the choicest California Billingsgate for the amusement of the admiring crowd.

Standing at the door of a gambling saloon, with one foot raised on the steps, would be a well-dressed young man, playing thimblerig on his leg with a golden pea, for the edification of a crowd of gaping greenhorns, some one of whom would be sure to bite. Not far off would be found a precocious little blackguard of fourteen or fifteen, standing behind a cask, and playing on the head of it a sort of thimblerig game with three cards, called “French monte.” He first shows their faces, and names one—say the ace of spades—as the winning card, and after thimblerigging them on the head of the cask, he lays them in a row with their faces down, and goes on proclaiming to the public in a loud voice that the ace of spades is the winning card, and that he’ll “bet any man one or two hundred dollars he can’t pick up the ace of spades.” Occasionally some man, after watching the trick for a little, thinks it is the easiest thing possible to tell which is the ace of spades, and loses his hundred dollars accordingly, when the youngster pockets the money and his cards, and moves off to another location, not being so soft as to repeat the joke too often, or to take a smaller bet than a hundred dollars.

There were also newsboys with their shrill voices, crying their various papers with the latest intelligence from all parts of the world, and boys with boxes of cigars, offering “the best Havana cigars for a bit a-piece, as good as you can get in the stores for a quarter.” A “bit” is twelve and a half cents, or an English sixpence, and for all one could buy with it, was but little less useless than an English farthing.

Presently one would hear “Hullo! there’s a muss!” (Anglicé, a row), and men would be seen rushing to the spot from all quarters. Auction-rooms, gambling-rooms, stores, and drinking-shops would be emptied, and a mob collected in the street in a moment. The “muss” would probably be only a difficulty between two gentlemen, who had referred it to the arbitration of knives or pistols; but if no one was killed, the mob would disperse, to resume their various occupations, just as quickly as they had collected.

Some of the principal streets were planked, as was also, of course, that part of the city which was built on piles; but where there was no planking, the mud was ankle-deep, and in many places there were mudholes, rendering the street almost impassable. The streets were the general receptacle for every description of rubbish. They were chiefly covered with bits of broken boxes and casks, fragments of hampers, iron hoops, old tin cases, and empty bottles. In the vicinity of the numerous Jew slop-shops, they were thickly strewed with old boots, hats, coats, and pantaloons; for the majority of the population carried their wardrobe on their backs, and when they bought a new article of dress, the old one which it was to replace was pitched into the street.

I often wondered that none of the enterprising “old clo” fraternity ever opened a business in California. They might have got shiploads of old clothes for the trouble of picking them up. Some of them doubtless were not worth the trouble, but there were always tons of cast-off garments kicking about the streets, which I think an “old clo” of any ingenuity could have rendered available. California was often said to be famous for three things—rats, fleas, and empty bottles; but old clothes might well have been added to the list.

The whole place swarmed with rats of an enormous size; one could hardly walk at night without treading on them. They destroyed an immense deal of property, and a good ratting terrier was worth his weight in gold dust. I knew instances, however, of first-rate terriers in Sacramento City (which for rats beat San Francisco hollow) becoming at last so utterly disgusted with killing rats, that they ceased to consider it any sport at all, and allowed the rats to run under their noses without deigning to look at them.

As for the other industrious little animals, they were a terrible nuisance. I suppose they were indigenous to the sandy soil. It was quite a common thing to see a gentleman suddenly pull up the sleeve of his coat, or the leg of his trousers, and smile in triumph when he caught his little tormentor. After a few weeks’ residence in San Francisco, one became naturally very expert at this sort of thing.

Of the last article—the empty bottles—the enormous heaps of them, piled up in all sorts of out-of-the-way places, suggested a consumption of liquor which was truly awful. Empty bottles were as plentiful as bricks—and a large city might have been built with them.

The appearance of the people, being, as they were, a sort of world’s show of humanity, was extremely curious and diversified. There were Chinamen in all the splendor of sky-blue or purple figured silk jackets, and tight yellow satin continuations, black satin shoes with thick white soles, and white gaiters; a fan in the hand, and a beautifully plaited glossy pigtail hanging down to the heels from under a scarlet skull-cap, with a gold knob on the top of it. These were the swell Chinamen; the lower orders of Celestials were generally dressed in immensely wide blue calico jackets and bags, for they really could not be called trousers, and on their heads they wore enormous wicker-work extinguishers, which would have made very good family clothes-baskets.

The Mexicans were very numerous, and wore their national costume—the bright-colored sérape thrown gracefully over the left shoulder, with rows of silver buttons down the outside of their trousers, which were generally left open, so as to show the loose white drawers underneath, and the silver-handled bowie-knife in the stamped leather leggins.

Englishmen seemed to adhere to the shooting-coat style of dress, and the down-east Yankees to their eternal black dress-coat, black pantaloons, and black satin waistcoat; while New Yorkers, Southerners, and Frenchmen, came out in the latest Paris fashions.

Those who did not stick to their former style of dress, indulged in all the extravagant license of California costume, which was of every variety that caprice could suggest. No man could make his appearance sufficiently bizarre to attract any attention. The prevailing fashion among the rag-tag and bobtail was a red or blue flannel shirt, wide-awake hats of every conceivable shape and color, and trousers stuffed into a big pair of boots.

Pistols and knives were usually worn in the belt at the back, and to be without either was the exception to the rule.

The few ladies who were already in San Francisco, very naturally avoided appearing in public; but numbers of female toilettes, of the most extravagantly rich and gorgeous materials, swept the muddy streets, and added not a little to the incongruous variety of the scene.

To a cursory visitor, auction-sales and gambling would have appeared two of the principal features of the city.

The gambling-saloons were very numerous, occupying the most prominent positions in the leading thoroughfares, and all of them presenting a more conspicuous appearance than the generality of houses around them. They were thronged day and night, and in each was a very good band of music, the performers being usually German or French.

On entering a first-class gambling-room, one found a large well-proportioned saloon sixty or seventy feet long, brilliantly lighted up by several very fine chandeliers, the walls decorated with ornamental painting and gilding, and hung with large mirrors and showy pictures, while in an elevated projecting orchestra half-a-dozen Germans were playing operatic music. There were a dozen or more tables in the room, each with a compact crowd of eager betters around it, and the whole room was so filled with men that elbowing one’s way between the tables was a matter of difficulty. The atmosphere was quite hazy with the quantity of tobacco smoke, and was strongly impregnated with the fumes of brandy. If one happened to enter while the musicians were taking a rest, the quiet and stillness were remarkable. Nothing was heard but a slight hum of voices, and the constant clinking of money; for it was the fashion, while standing betting at a table, to have a lot of dollars in one’s hands, and to keep shuffling them backwards and forwards like so many cards.

The people composing the crowd were men of every class, from the highest to the lowest, and, though the same as might be seen elsewhere, their extraordinary variety of character and of dress appeared still more curious from their being brought into such close juxtaposition, and apparently placed upon an equality. Seated round the same table might be seen well-dressed, respectable-looking men, and, alongside of them, rough miners fresh from the diggings, with well-filled buckskin purses, dirty old flannel shirts, and shapeless hats; jolly tars half-seas over, not understanding anything about the game, nor apparently taking any interest in it, but having their spree out at the gaming-table because it was the fashion, and goodhumoredly losing their pile of five or six hundred or a thousand dollars; Mexicans wrapped up in their blankets smoking cigaritas, and watching the game intently from under their broad-brimmed hats; Frenchmen in their blouses smoking black pipes; and little urchins, or little old scamps rather, ten or twelve years of age, smoking cigars as big as themselves, with the air of men who were quite up to all the hooks and crooks of this wicked world (as indeed they were), and losing their hundred dollars at a pop with all the nonchalance of an old gambler; while crowds of men, some dressed like gentlemen, and mixed with all sorts of nondescript ragamuffins, crowded round, and stretched over those seated at the tables, in order to make their bets.

There were dirty, squalid, villainous-looking scoundrels, who never looked straight out of their eyes, but still were always looking at something, as if they were “making a note of it,” and who could have made their faces their fortunes in some parts of the world, by “sitting” for murderers, or ruffians generally.

Occasionally one saw, jostled about unresistingly by the crowd, and as if the crowd ignored its existence, the live carcass of some wretched, dazed, woebegone man, clad in the worn-out greasy habiliments of quondam gentility; the glassy unintelligent eye looking as if no focus could be found for it, but as if it saw a dim misty vision of everything all at once; the only meaning in the face being about the lips, where still lingered the smack of grateful enjoyment of the last mouthful of whisky, blended with a longing humble sigh for the speedy recurrence of any opportunity of again experiencing such an awakening bliss, and forcibly expressing an unquenchable thirst for strong drinks, together with the total absence of all power to do anything towards relieving it, while the whole appearance of the man spoke of bitter disappointment and reverses, without the force to bear up under them. He was the picture of sottish despair, and the name of his duplicates was legion.

There was in the crowd a large proportion of sleek well-shaven men, in stove-pipe hats and broadcloth; but, however nearly a man might approach in appearance to the conventional idea of a gentleman, it is not to be supposed, on that account, that he either was, or got the credit of being, a bit better than his neighbors. The man standing next him, in the guise of a laboring man, was perhaps his superior in wealth, character, and education. Appearances, at least as far as dress was concerned, went for nothing at all. A man was judged by the amount of money in his purse, and frequently the man to be most courted for his dollars was the most to be despised for his looks.

One element of mixed crowds of people, in the States and in this country, was very poorly represented. There were scarcely any of the lower order of Irish; the cost of emigration to California was at that time too great for the majority of that class, although now the Irish population of San Francisco is nearly equal in proportion to that in the large cities of the Union.

The Spanish game of monte, which was introduced into California by the crowds of Mexicans who came there, was at this time the most popular game, and was dealt almost exclusively by Mexicans. It is played on a table about six feet by four, on each side of which sits a dealer, and between them is the bank of gold and silver coin, to the amount of five or ten thousand dollars, piled up in rows covering a space of a couple of square feet. The game is played with Spanish cards, which are differently figured from the usual playing-cards, and have only forty-eight in the pack, the ten being wanting. At either end of the table two compartments are marked on the cloth, on each of which the dealer lays out a card. Bets are then made by placing one’s stake on the card betted on; and are decided according to which of those laid out first makes its appearance, as the dealer draws card after card from the top of the pack. It is a game at which the dealer has such advantages, and which, at the same time, gives him such facilities for cheating, that any one who continues to bet at it is sure to be fleeced.

Faro, which was the more favorite game for heavy betting, and was dealt chiefly by Americans, is played on a table the same size as a monte table. Laid out upon it are all the thirteen cards of a suit, on any of which one makes his bets, to be decided according as the same card appears first or second as the dealer draws them two by two off the top of the pack.

Faro was generally played by systematic gamblers, who knew, or thought they knew, what they were about; while monte, from its being apparently more simple, was patronized by novices. There were also roulette and rouge-et-noir tables, and an infinite variety of small games played with dice, and classed under the general appellation of “chuck-a-luck.”

I should mention that in California the word gambler is not used in exactly the same abstract sense as with us. An individual might spend all his time, and gain his living, in betting at public gaming-tables, but that would not entitle him to the distinctive appellation of a gambler; it would only be said of him that he gambled.

The gamblers were only the professionals, the men who laid out their banks in public rooms, and invited all and sundry to bet against them. They were a distinct and numerous class of the community, who followed their profession for the accommodation of the public; and any one who did business with them was no more a “gambler” than a man who bought a pound of tea was a grocer.

At this time the gamblers were, as a general thing, the best-dressed men in San Francisco. Many of them were very gentlemanly in appearance, but there was a peculiar air about them which denoted their profession—so much so, that one might frequently hear the remark, that such a person “looked like a gambler.” They had a haggard, careworn look (though that was nothing uncommon in California), and as they sat dealing at their tables, no fluctuation of fortune caused the slightest change in the expression of their face, which was that of being intently occupied with their game, but at the same time totally indifferent as to the result. Even among the betters the same thing was remarkable, though in a less degree, for the struggle to appear unconcerned when a man lost his all, was often too plainly evident with them.

The Mexicans showed the most admirable impassibility. I have seen one betting so high at a monte table that a crowd collected round to watch the result. After winning a large sum of money, he finally staked it all on one card, and lost, when he exhibited less concern than many of the bystanders, for he merely condescended to give a slight shrug of his shoulders as he lighted his cigarita and strolled slowly off.

In the forenoon, when gambling was slack, the gamblers would get up from their tables, and, leaving exposed upon them, at the mercy of the heterogeneous crowd circulating through the room, piles of gold and silver, they would walk away, seemingly as little anxious for the safety of their money as if it were under lock and key in an iron chest. It was strange to see so much apparent confidence in the honesty of human nature, and—in a city where robberies and violence were so rife, that, when out at night in unfrequented quarters, one walked pistol in hand in the middle of the street—to see money exposed in such a way as would be thought madness in any other part of the world. But here the summary justice likely to be dispensed by the crowd, was sufficient to insure a due observance of the law of meum and tuum.

These saloons were not by any means frequented exclusively by persons who went there for the purpose of gambling. Few men had much inducement to pass their evenings in their miserable homes, and the gambling-rooms were a favorite public resort, the music alone offering sufficient attraction to many who never thought of staking a dollar at any of the tables.

Another very attractive feature is the bar, a long polished mahogany or marble counter, at which two or three smart young men officiated, having behind them long rows of ornamental bottles, containing all the numerous ingredients necessary for concocting the hundred and one different “drinks” which were called for. This was also the most elaborately-decorated part of the room, the wall being completely covered with mirrors and gilding, and further ornamented with china vases, bouquets of flowers, and gold clocks.

Hither small parties of men are continually repairing to “take a drink.” Perhaps they each choose a different kind of punch, or sling, or cocktail, requiring various combinations, in different proportions, of whisky, brandy, or gin, with sugar, bitters, peppermint, absinthe, curaçao, lemon-peel, mint, and what not; but the bar-keeper mixes them all as if by magic, when each man, taking his glass, and tipping those of all the rest as he mutters some sentiment, swallows the compound and wipes his moustache. The party then move off to make way for others, the whole operation from beginning to end not occupying more than a couple of minutes.

CHAPTER IV

LIFE AT HIGH SPEED

The numbers of the different classes forming the community were not in the proportion requisite to preserve its equilibrium. Transplanting oneself to California from any part of the world involved an outlay beyond the means of the bulk of the laboring classes; and to those who did come to the country, the mines were of course the great point of attraction; so that in San Francisco the numbers of the laboring and of the working classes generally, were not nearly equal to the demand. The consequence was that laborers’ and mechanics’ wages were ridiculously high; and, as a general thing, the lower the description of labor, or of service, required, the more extravagant in proportion were the wages paid. Sailors’ wages were two and three hundred dollars per month, and there were hundreds of ships lying idle in the bay for want of crews to man them even at these rates. Every ship, on her arrival, was immediately deserted by all hands; for, of all people, sailors were the most unrestrainable in their determination to go to the diggings; and it was there a common saying, of the truth of which I saw myself many examples, that sailors, niggers, and Dutchmen, were the luckiest men in the mines: a very drunken old salt was always particularly lucky.

There was a great overplus of young men of education, who had never dreamed of manual labor, and who found that their services in their wonted capacities were not required in such a rough-and-ready, every-man-for-himself sort of place. Hard work, however, was generally better paid than head work, and men employed themselves in any way, quite regardless of preconceived ideas of their own dignity. It was one intense scramble for dollars—the man who got most was the best man—how he got them had nothing to do with it. No occupation was considered at all derogatory, and, in fact, every one was too much occupied with his own affairs to trouble himself in the smallest degree about his neighbor.

A man’s actions and conduct were totally unrestrained by the ordinary conventionalities of civilized life, and, so long as he did not interfere with the rights of others, he could follow his own course, for good or for evil, with utmost freedom.

Among so many temptations to err, thrust prominently in one’s way, without any social restraint to counteract them, it was not surprising that many men were too weak for such a trial and, to use an expressive, though not very elegant phrase, went to the devil. The community was composed of isolated individuals, each quite regardless of the good opinion of his neighbors; and, the outside pressure of society being removed, men assumed their natural shape, and showed what they really were, following their unchecked impulses and inclinations. The human nature of ordinary life appeared in a bald and naked state, and the natural bad passions of men, with all the vices and depravities of civilization, were indulged with the same freedom which characterizes the life of a wild savage.

There were, however, bright examples of the contrary. If there was a lavish expenditure in ministering to vice, there was also munificence in the bestowing of charity. Though there were gorgeous temples for the worship of mammon, there was a sufficiency of schools and churches for every denomination; while, under the influence of the constantly increasing numbers of virtuous women, the standard of morals was steadily improving, and society, as it assumed a shape and a form, began to assert its claims to respect.

Although employment, of one sort or another, and good pay, were to be had by all who were able and willing to work, there was nevertheless a vast amount of misery and destitution. Many men had come to the country with their expectations raised to an unwarrantable pitch, imagining that the mere fact of emigration to California would insure them a rapid fortune; but when they came to experience the severe competition in every branch of trade, their hopes were gradually destroyed by the difficulties of the reality.

Every kind of business, custom, and employment, was solicited with an importunity little known in old countries, where the course of all such things is in so well-worn a channel, that it is not easily diverted. But here the field was open, and every one was striving for what seemed to be within the reach of all—a foremost rank in his own sphere. To keep one’s place in the crowd required an unremitted exercise of the same vigor and energy which were necessary to obtain it; and many a man, though possessed of qualities which would have enabled him to distinguish himself in the quiet routine life of old countries, was crowded out of his place by the multitude of competitors, whose deficiency of merit in other respects was more than counterbalanced by an excess of unscrupulous boldness and physical energy. A polished education was of little service, unless accompanied by an unwonted amount of democratic feeling; for the extreme sensitiveness which it is otherwise apt to produce, unfitted a man for taking part in such a hand-to-hand struggle with his fellow-men.

Drinking was the great consolation for those who had not moral strength to bear up under their disappointments. Some men gradually obscured their intellects by increased habits of drinking, and, equally gradually, reached the lowest stage of misery and want; while others went at it with more force, and drank themselves into delirium tremens before they knew where they were. This is a very common disease in California: there is something in the climate which superinduces it with less provocation than in other countries.

But, though drunkenness was common enough, the number of drunken men one saw was small, considering the enormous consumption of liquor.

The American style of drinking is so different from that in fashion in the Old World, and forms such an important part of social intercourse, that it certainly deserves to be considered one of the peculiar institutions of the country.

In England a man reserves his drinking capacities to enhance the enjoyment of the great event of the day, and to increase the comfortable feeling of repletion which he experiences while ruminating over it. Dinner divides his day into two separate existences, and drinking in the forenoon suggests the idea of a man slinking off into out-of-the-way, mysterious places, and boozily muddling himself in private with quart pots of ale or numerous glasses of brandy-and-water.

With Americans, however, the case is very different. Dinner with them forms no such comfortable epoch in their daily life: it brings not even the hour of rest which is allowed to the laboring man—but it is one of the necessities of human existence, and, as it precludes all other occupations for the time being, it is despatched as quickly as possible. They do not drink during dinner, nor immediately afterwards. The most common excuse for declining the invitation of a friend to “take a drink,” is “Thank you, I’ve just dined.” They make the voyage through life under a full head of steam all the time; they live more in a given time than other people, and naturally have recourse to constant stimulants to make up for the want of intervals of abandon and repose. The necessary amount of food they eat at stated hours, but their allowance of stimulants is divided into a number of small doses, to be taken at short intervals throughout the day.

So it is that a style of drinking, which would ruin a man’s character in this or any other country where eating and drinking go together, is in the States carried on publicly and openly. The bars are the most favorite resort, being situated in the most frequented and conspicuous places; and here, at all hours of the day, men are gulping down fiery mouthfuls of brandy or gin, rendered still more pungent by the addition of other ingredients, and softened down with a little sugar and water.

No one ever thinks of drinking at a bar alone: he looks round for some friend whom he can ask to join him; it is not etiquette to refuse, and it is expected that the civility will be returned: so that the system gives the idea of being a mere interchange of compliments; and many men, in submitting to it, are actuated chiefly by a desire to show a due amount of courtesy to their friends.

In San Francisco, where the ordinary rate of existence was even faster than in the Atlantic States, men required an extra amount of stimulant to keep it up, and this fashion of drinking was carried to excess. The saloons were crowded from early morning till late at night; and in each, two or three bar-keepers were kept unceasingly at work, mixing drinks for expectant groups of customers. They had no time even to sell cigars, which were most frequently dispensed at a miniature tobacconist’s shop in another part of the saloon.

Among the proprietors of saloons, or bars, the competition was so great, that, from having, as is usual, merely a plate of crackers and cheese on the counter, they go to the length of laying out, for several hours in the forenoon, and again in the evening, a table covered with a most sumptuous lunch of soups, cold meats, fish, and so on,—with two or three waiters to attend to it. This was all free—there was nothing to pay for it: it was only expected that no one would partake of the good things without taking a “drink” afterwards.

This sort of thing is common enough in New Orleans; but in a place like San Francisco, where the plainest dinner any man could eat cost a dollar, it did seem strange that such goodly fare should be provided gratuitously for all and sundry. It showed, however, what immense profits were made at the bars to allow of such an outlay, and gave an idea of the rivalry which existed even in that line of business.

Another part of the economy of the American bar is an instance of the confidence placed in the discretion of the public—namely, the mode of dispensing liquors. When you ask for brandy, the bar-keeper hands you a tumbler and a decanter of brandy, and you help yourself to as much as you please: the price is all the same; it does not matter what or how big a dose one takes: and in the case of cocktails, and such drinks as the bar-keeper mixes, you tell him to make it as light, or stiff, as you wish. This is the custom even at the very lowest class of grogshops. They have a story in the States connected with this, so awfully old that I am almost ashamed to repeat it. I have heard it told a thousand times, and always located in the bar of the Astor House in New York; so we may suppose it to have happened there.

A man came up to the bar, and asking for brandy, was handed a decanter of brandy accordingly. Filling a tumbler nearly full, he drank it off, and, laying his shilling on the counter, was walking away, when the bar-keeper called after him, “Saay, stranger! you’ve forgot your change—there’s sixpence.” “No,” he said, “I only gave you a shilling; is not it a shilling a drink?” “Yes,” said the bar-keeper; “selling it retail we charge a shilling, but a fellow like you taking it wholesale we only charge sixpence.”

The American bar-keeper is quite an institution of himself. He is a superior class of man to those engaged in a similar capacity in this country, and has no counterpart here. In fact, bar-keeping is a profession, in which individuals rise to eminence, and become celebrated for their cocktails, and for their address in serving customers. The rapidity and dexterity with which they mix half-a-dozen different kinds of drinks all at once is perfectly wonderful; one sees nothing but a confusion of bottles and tumblers and cascades of fluids as he pours them from glass to glass at arm’s length for the better amalgamation of the ingredients; and in the time it would take an ordinary man to pour out a glass of wine, the mixtures are ready, each prepared as accurately as an apothecary makes up a prescription.

The bar-keepers in San Francisco exercised their ingenuity in devising new drinks to suit the popular taste. The most simple and the best that I know of is a champagne cocktail, which is very easily made by putting a few drops of bitters in a tumbler and filling it up with champagne.

The immigration of Frenchmen had been so large that some parts of the city were completely French in appearance; the shops, restaurants, and estaminets, being painted according to French taste, and exhibiting French signs, the very letters of which had a French look about them. The names of some of the restaurants were rather ambitious—as the Trois Frères, the Café de Paris, and suchlike; but these were second and third-rate places; those which courted the patronage of the upper classes of all nations, assumed names more calculated to tickle the American ear,—such as the Jackson House and the Lafayette. They were presided over by elegantly dressed dames du comptoir, and all the arrangements were in Parisian style.

The principal American houses were equally good; and there was also an abundance of places where those who delighted in corn-bread, buckwheat cakes, pickles, grease, molasses, apple-sauce, and pumpkin pie, could gratify their taste to the fullest extent.

There was nothing particularly English about any of the eating-houses; but there were numbers of second-rate English drinking-shops, where John Bull could smoke his pipe and swig his ale coolly and calmly, without having to gulp it down and move off to make way for others, as at the bars of the American saloons.

The Germans too had their lager-beer cellars, but the noise and smoke which came up from them was enough to deter any one but a German from venturing in.

There was also a Mexican quarter of the town, where there were greasy-looking Mexican fondas, and crowds of lazy Mexicans lying about, wrapped up in their blankets, smoking cigaritas.

In another quarter the Chinese most did congregate. Here the majority of the houses were of Chinese importation, and were stores, stocked with hams, tea, dried fish, dried ducks, and other very nasty-looking Chinese eatables, besides copper pots and kettles, fans, shawls, chessmen, and all sorts of curiosities. Suspended over the doors were brilliantly colored boards, about the size and shape of a headboard over a grave, covered with Chinese characters, and with several yards of red ribbon streaming from them; while the streets were thronged with long-tailed Celestials, chattering vociferously as they rushed about from store to store, or standing in groups studying the Chinese bills posted up in the shop windows, which may have been play-bills,—for there was a Chinese theatre,—or perhaps advertisements informing the public where the best rat-pies were to be had. A peculiarly nasty smell pervaded this locality, and it was generally believed that rats were not so numerous here as elsewhere.

Owing to the great scarcity of washerwomen, Chinese energy had ample room to display itself in the washing and ironing business. Throughout the town might be seen occasionally over some small house a large American sign, intimating that Ching Sing, Wong Choo, or Ki-chong did washing and ironing at five dollars a-dozen. Inside these places one found two or three Chinamen ironing shirts with large flat-bottomed copper pots full of burning charcoal, and, buried in heaps of dirty clothes, half-a-dozen more, smoking, and drinking tea.

The Chinese tried to keep pace with the rest of the world. They had their theatre and their gambling rooms, the latter being small dirty places, badly lighted with Chinese paper lamps. They played a peculiar game. The dealer placed on the table several handfuls of small copper coins, with square holes in them. Bets were made by placing the stake on one of four divisions, marked in the middle of the table, and the dealer, drawing the coins away from the heap, four at a time, the bets were decided according to whether one, two, three, or four remained at the last. They are great gamblers, and, when their last dollar is gone, will stake anything they possess: numbers of watches, rings, and such articles, were always lying in pawn on the table.

The Chinese theatre was a curious pagoda-looking edifice, built by them expressly for theatrical purposes, and painted, outside and in, in an extraordinary manner. The performances went on day and night, without intermission, and consisted principally of juggling and feats of dexterity. The most exciting part of the exhibition was when one man, and decidedly a man of some little nerve, made a spread eagle of himself and stood up against a door, while half-a-dozen others, at a distance of fifteen or twenty feet, pelted the door with sharp-pointed bowie-knives, putting a knife into every square inch of the door, but never touching the man. It was very pleasant to see, from the unflinching way in which the fellow stood it out, the confidence he placed in the infallibility of his brethren. They had also short dramatic performances, which were quite unintelligible to outside barbarians. The only point of interest about them was the extraordinary gorgeous dresses of the actors; but the incessant noise they made with gongs and kettle-drums was so discordant and deafening that a few minutes at a time was as long as any one could stay in the place.

There were several very good American theatres, a French theatre, and an Italian opera, besides concerts, masquerades, a circus, and other public amusements. The most curious were certainly the masquerades. They were generally given in one of the large gambling saloons, and in the placards announcing that they were to come off, appeared conspicuously also the intimation of “No weapons admitted”; “A strong police will be in attendance.” The company was just such as might be seen in any gambling room; and, beyond the presence of half-a-dozen masks in female attire, there was nothing to carry out the idea of a ball or a masquerade at all; but it was worth while to go, if only to watch the company arrive, and to see the practical enforcement of the weapon clause in the announcements. Several doorkeepers were in attendance, to whom each man as he entered delivered up his knife or his pistol, receiving a check for it, just as one does for his cane or umbrella at the door of a picture-gallery. Most men drew a pistol from behind their back, and very often a knife along with it; some carried their bowie-knife down the back of their neck, or in their breast; demure, pious-looking men, in white neckcloths, lifted up the bottom of their waistcoat, and revealed the butt of a revolver; others, after having already disgorged a pistol, pulled up the leg of their trousers, and abstracted a huge bowie-knife from their boot; and there were men, terrible fellows, no doubt, but who were more likely to frighten themselves than any one else, who produced a revolver from each trouser-pocket, and a bowie-knife from their belt. If any man declared that he had no weapon, the statement was so incredible that he had to submit to be searched; an operation which was performed by the doorkeepers, who, I observed, were occasionally rewarded for their diligence by the discovery of a pistol secreted in some unusual part of the dress.

Some of the shops were very magnificently got up, and would not have been amiss in Regent Street. The watchmakers’ and jewelers’ shops especially were very numerous, and made a great display of immense gold watches, enormous gold rings and chains, with gold-headed canes, and diamond pins and brooches of a most formidable size. With numbers of men who found themselves possessed of an amount of money which they had never before dreamed of, and which they had no idea what to do with, the purchase of gold watches and diamond pins was a very favorite mode of getting rid of their spare cash. Laboring men fastened their coarse dirty shirts with a cluster of diamonds the size of a shilling, wore colossal gold rings on their fingers, and displayed a massive gold chain and seals from their watch-pocket; while hardly a man of any consequence returned to the Atlantic States without receiving from some one of his friends a huge gold-headed cane, with all his virtues and good qualities engraved upon it.

A large business was also done in Chinese shawls, and various Chinese curiosities. It was greatly the fashion for men, returning home, to take with them a quantity of such articles, as presents for their friends. In fact, a gorgeous Chinese shawl seemed to be as necessary for the returning Californian as a revolver and bowie-knife for the California emigrant. There was one large bazaar in particular where was exhibited such a stock of the costliest shawls, cabinets, workboxes, vases, and other articles of Chinese manufacture, with clocks, bronzes, and all sorts of drawing-room ornaments, that one would have thought it an establishment which could only be supported in a city like London or Paris.

Some of the streets in the upper part of the city presented a very singular appearance. The houses had been built before the grade of the different streets had been fixed by the corporation, and there were places where the streets, having been cut down through the hills to their proper level, were nothing more than wide trenches, with a perpendicular bank on either side, perhaps forty or fifty feet high, and on the brink of these stood the houses, to which access was gained by ladders and temporary wooden stairs, the unfortunate proprietor being obliged to go to the expense of grading his own lot, and so bringing himself down to a level with the rest of the world. In other places, where the street crossed a deep hollow, it formed a high embankment, with a row of houses at the foot of it, some nearly buried, and others already raised to the level of the street, resting on a sort of scaffolding, while the foundation was being filled in under them.

The soil was so sandy that the hills were easily cut down, and for this purpose a contrivance was used called a Steam Paddy, which did immense execution. It was worked by steam, and was somewhat on the principle of a dredging-machine, but with only one large bucket, which cut down about two tons of earth at a time and emptied itself into a truck placed alongside. From the spot where the Paddy was thus walking into the hills a railway was laid, extending to the shore, and trains of cars were continually rattling down across the streets, taking the earth to fill up those parts of the city which were as yet under water.

Two or three years later, in ’54, when an alteration was made in the grade of some of the streets, large brick and stone houses were raised several feet, by means of a most ingenious application of hydraulic pressure. Excavations were made, and under the foundation-walls of the houses were inserted a number of cylinders about two feet in height, so that the building rested entirely on the heads of the pistons. The cylinders were all connected by pipes with a force-pump, worked by a couple of men, who in this way could pump up a five-story brick building three or four inches in the course of the day. As the house grew up, props were inserted in case of accidents; and when it had been raised as far as the length of the pistons would allow, the whole apparatus was readjusted, and the operation was repeated till the required height was obtained. I went to witness the process when it was being applied to a large corner brick building, five stories high, with about sixty feet frontage each way. The flagged sidewalk was being raised along with it; but there was no interruption of the business going on in the premises, or anything whatever to indicate to the passer-by that the ground was growing under his feet. On going down under the house, one saw that the building was detached from the surrounding ground, and rested on a number of cylinders; but the only appearance of work being done was by two men quietly working a pump amid a ramification of small iron pipes. The apparatus had of course to be of an immense strength to withstand the pressure to which it was subjected, and the utmost nicety was required in its adjustment, to avoid straining and cracking the walls; but numbers of large buildings were raised most successfully in this way without receiving the slightest injury.

The hackney carriages of San Francisco were infinitely superior to those of any other city in the world. One might have supposed that any old cab which would hold together would have been good enough for such a place; but, on the contrary, the cabs—if cabs they could be called—were large handsome carriages, lined with silk, and brightly painted and polished, drawn by pairs of magnificent horses, in harness, which, like the carriages, was loaded with silver. They would have passed anywhere for showy private equipages, had the drivers only been in livery, instead of being fashionably dressed individuals in kid gloves. A London cabby would have stared in astonishment at an apparition of a stand of such cabs, and also at the fares which were charged. One could not cross the street in them under five dollars. The scale of cab-fares, however, was not out of proportion to the extravagance of other ordinary expenses. The drivers probably received two or three hundred dollars a month (about £700 a year), and the horses alone were worth from a thousand to fifteen hundred dollars each.

None of the private carriages came at all near the hacks in splendor. They were mostly of the American “buggy” character, and were drawn by fast-trotting horses. The Americans have a style and taste in driving peculiarly their own; they study neither grace nor comfort in their attitudes; speed is the only source of pleasure; and a “three-minute horse”—that is to say, one which trots his mile in three minutes—is the only horse worth driving; while anything slower than a “two-forty (2m. 40s.) horse” is not considered really fast.

A great many very fine horses had been imported from Sydney, but these were chiefly used in drays and under the saddle. The buggy horses were all American, and had made the journey across the plains. The native Californian horses are small, with great powers of endurance, but are generally not very tractable in harness.

On the arrival of the fortnightly steamer from Panama with the mails from the Atlantic States and from Europe, the distribution of letters at the post-office occasioned a very singular scene. In the United States the system of delivering letters by postmen is not carried to the same extent as in this country. In San Francisco no such thing existed as a postman; every one had to call at the post-office for his letters. The mail usually consisted of several wagon-loads of letter-bags; and on its being received, notice was given at the post-office at what hour the delivery would commence, a whole day being frequently required to sort the letters, which were then delivered from a row of half-a-dozen windows, lettered A to E, F to K, and so on through the alphabet. Independently of the immense mercantile correspondence, of course every man in the city was anxiously expecting letters from home; and for hours before the appointed time for opening the windows, a dense crowd of people collected, almost blocking up the two streets which gave access to the post-office, and having the appearance at a distance of being a mob; but on coming up to it, one would find that, though closely packed together, the people were all in six strings, twisted up and down in all directions, the commencement of them being the lucky individuals who had been first on the ground, and taken up their position at their respective windows, while each new-comer had to fall in behind those already waiting. Notwithstanding the value of time, and the impatience felt by every individual, the most perfect order prevailed: there was no such thing as a man attempting to push himself in ahead of those already waiting, nor was there the slightest respect of persons; every new-comer quietly took his position, and had to make the best of it, with the prospect of waiting for hours before he could hope to reach the window. Smoking and chewing tobacco were great aids in passing the time, and many came provided with books and newspapers, which they could read in perfect tranquillity, as there was no unnecessary crowding or jostling. The principle of “first come first served” was strictly adhered to, and any attempt to infringe the established rule would have been promptly put down by the omnipotent majority.

A man’s place in the line was his individual property, more or less valuable according to his distance from the window, and, like any other piece of property, it was bought and sold, and converted into cash. Those who had plenty of dollars to spare, but could not afford much time, could buy out some one who had already spent several hours in keeping his place. Ten or fifteen dollars were frequently paid for a good position, and some men went there early, and waited patiently, without any expectation of getting letters, but for the chance of turning their acquired advantage into cash.