Chapter 50

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.

It is not necessary to describe San Francisco. Travellers have done that over and over again. Indeed, there is not so much about it that is of any great interest except to business men. One part of the city is very like another. I was told that some of the finest buildings were of the Italian order; but I should say that by far the greater number were of the Ramshackle order. Although the first house in the place was only built in 1835, the streets nearest to the wharves look already old and worn out. They are for the most part of wood, and their paint is covered with dirt. But though prematurely old, they are by no means picturesque. Of course, in so large a place, with a population of 150,000, and already so rich and prosperous, though so young, there are many fine buildings and some fine streets. The hotels carry away the palm as yet,--the Grand Hotel at the corner of Market and New Montgomery Streets being the finest. There are also churches, theatres, hospitals, markets, and all the other appurtenances of a great city.

I had not for a long time seen such a bustle of traffic as presented itself in the streets of San Francisco. The whole place seemed to be alive. Foot passengers jostled each other; drays and waggons were rolling about; business men were clustered together in some streets, apparently "on change;" with all the accompaniments of noise, and bustle, and turmoil of a city full of life and traffic. The money brokers' shops are very numerous in the two finest streets--Montgomery and California Streets. Nearly every other shop there belongs to a money broker or money changer. Strange to see the piles of glistening gold in the windows--ten to twenty dollar pieces, and heaps of greenbacks.

John Chinaman is here, I see, in great force. There are said to be as many as 30,000 in the city and neighbourhood. I wonder these people do not breed a plague. I went through their quarter one evening, and was surprised and disgusted with what I saw. Chinese men and women of the lowest class were swarming in their narrow alleys. Looking down into small cellars, I saw from ten to fifteen men and women living in places which two white men would not sleep in. The adjoining streets smelt most abominably. The street I went through must be one of the worst; and I was afterwards told that it was "dangerous" to pass through it. I observed a large wooden screen at each end of it, as if for the purpose of shutting it off from the white people's quarter.

One of the nuisances we had to encounter in the streets was that of railway touters. No sooner did we emerge from the hotel door, than men lying in wait pounced upon us, offering tickets by this route, that route, and the other route to New York. I must have had a very "new chum" sort of look, for I was accosted no less than three times one evening by different touting gentlemen. One wished to know if I had come from Sydney, expressing his admiration of Australia generally. Another asked if I was "going East," offering to sell me a through ticket at a reduced price. The third also introduced the Sydney topic, telling me, by way of inducement to buy a ticket of him, that he had "worked there." I shook them all off, knowing them to be dangerous customers. I heard some strange stories of young fellows making friends with such strangers, and having drinks with them. The drink is drugged, and the Sydney swell, on his way to New York, finds himself next morning in the streets, minus purse, watch, and everything of value about him.

There is only one railway route as yet across the Rocky Mountains, by the Western, Central, and Union Pacific, as far as Omaha; but from that point there are various lines to New York, and it was to secure passengers by these respective routes that the touters were so busily at work. All the hotels, bars, and stores, are full of their advertisements:--"The Shortest Route to the East"--"Pullman's Palace Cars Run on this Line"--"The Route of all Nations"--"The Grand Route, _via_ Niagara," such are a few specimens of these urgent announcements. I decided to select the route _via_ Chicago, Detroit, Niagara, and down the Hudson river to New York; and made my arrangements accordingly.

I left San Francisco on the morning of the 8th of February. The weather was cold compared with that of the Sandwich Islands; yet there were few signs of winter. There was no snow on the ground; and at midday it was agreeable and comparatively mild. I knew, however, that as soon as we left the shores of the Pacific, and ascended the western slopes of the Rocky Mountains, if not before, we should encounter thorough winter weather, and I prepared myself with coats and wrappers as a defence from the cold.

My fellow-voyager from New Zealand, the German-American of whom I have spoken above, and who seemed to take quite a liking for me, accompanied me down to the wharf, where we parted with mutual regret. It was necessary for me to cross the bay by a ferry-boat to Oakland, where the train is made up and starts for Sacramento. There was a considerable crowd round the baggage-office, where I gave up my trunks, and obtained, in exchange, two small brass checks which will enable me to reclaim them on the arrival of the train at Omaha. I proceeded down the pier and on to the ferry-boat. Indeed, I was on it before I was aware. It looked so like a part of the wharf, and was so surrounded by piles and wooden erections, that I did not know I was on its deck, and was inquiring about its arrival to take us off, when I found the huge boat gradually moving away from the pier!

It was a regular American ferry-boat, of the same build fore and aft, capable of going alike backwards or forwards, and with a long bridge at each end, ready to be let down at the piers on either side of the bay, so as to enable carts or carriages to be driven directly on to the main deck, which was just like a large covered yard, standing level with the wharf. Over this was an upper deck with a nice saloon, where I observed notices stuck up of "No spitting allowed;" showing that there was greater consideration for the ladies here than there was on board the 'Moses Taylor,' where spittle and quids were constantly shooting about the decks, with very little regard for passers-by, whether ladies or gentlemen.

Steaming away from the pier, we obtained a splendid view of the city behind us. The wharves along its front were crowded with shipping of all sorts; amongst which we could observe the huge American three-decker river steamers, Clyde-built clippers, brigs, schooners, and a multitude of smaller craft. Down the bay we see the green hills rising in the distance, fading away in the grey of the morning. Close on our left is a pretty island, about half-way across the bay, in the centre of which is a green hill,--what seemed to Australian eyes good pasture ground; and I could discern what I took to be a station or farmhouse.

In about an hour we found ourselves nearing the land on the eastern shore of the bay, where we observe the railway comes out to meet us. The water on this side is so shoal for a distance from the shore that no ships of any considerable burden can float in it, so that the railway is carried out on piles into the deep water for a distance of nearly a mile. Here we land, and get into the train waiting alongside; then the engine begins to snort, and we are away. As we move off from the waters of San Francisco Bay, I feel I have made another long stride on the road towards England.

We continue for some time rolling along the rather shaky timber pier on which the rails are laid. At last we reach the dry land, and speed through Oakland--a pretty town--rattling through the streets just like an omnibus or tramway car, ringing a bell to warn people of the approach of the cars. We stop at nearly every station, and the local traffic seems large. Farm land and nice rolling country stretches away on either side of the track.

From looking out of the carriage windows, I begin to take note of the carriage itself--a real American railway carriage. It is a long car with a passage down the middle. On each side of this passage are seats for two persons, facing the engine; but the backs being reversible, a party of four can sit as in an English carriage, face to face. At each end of the carriage is a stove, and a filter of iced water. The door at each end leads out on to a platform, enabling the conductor to walk through the train from one end to the other.

This arrangement for the conductor, by the way, is rather a nuisance. He comes round six or seven times during the twenty-four hours, often during the night, perhaps at a time when you are trying to snatch a few minutes' nap, and you find your shoulder tapped, and a bull's-eye turned full upon you, with a demand for "tickets." This, however, is to be avoided by affixing a little card in your hat, which the conductor gives you, so that by inspection he knows at once whether his passenger is legitimate or not.

I did not travel by one of "Pullman's Silver Palace Drawing-room Cars," though I examined them, and admired their many comforts. By day they afford roomy accommodation, with ample space for walking about, or for playing at cards or chess on the tables provided for the purpose. At night a double row of comfortable-looking berths are made up, a curtain being drawn along the front to render them as private as may be, and leaving only a narrow passage along the centre of the car. At the end of the car are conveniences for washing, iced water, and the never-failing stove.

The use of the sleeping-cars costs about three or four dollars extra per night. I avoided this expense, and contrived a very good substitute in my second-class car. Fortunately we were not very full of passengers; and by making use of four seats, or two benches, turning one of the seat-backs round, and placing the seat-bottoms lengthwise, I arranged a tolerably good sleeping-place for the night. But had the carriage been full, and the occupants been under the necessity of sitting up during the six days the journey lasted, I should imagine that it must have become almost intolerable by the time we reached Omaha.

There were some rather unpleasant fellow-travellers in my compartment--several unsavoury Chinamen, smoking very bad tobacco; and other smoking gentlemen, who make the second-class compartments their rendezvous. But for the thorough draught we obtained from time to time on the passage of the conductor, the atmosphere would be, as indeed it often was, of a very disagreeable character.

About forty-two miles from San Francisco, I find we are already in amongst the hills of a range, and winding in and out through pretty valleys, where all available land is used for farming purposes. We round some curves that look almost impossible, and I begin to feel the oscillation of the carriages, by no means unlike the rolling of a ship at sea. I often wished that it had been summer instead of winter, that I might better have enjoyed the beauty of the scenery as we sped along. As it was, I could see that the country must be very fine under a summer sky. We have met with no snow at present, being still on the sunny slopes of the Pacific; nor have we as yet mounted up to any very high elevation.

We were not long in passing through the range of hills of which I have spoken, and then we emerged upon the plains, which continued until we reached Sacramento, the capital of the State. The only town of any importance that we have yet passed was Stockton, a place about midway between San Francisco and Sacramento, where we now are. Down by the riverside I see some large lumber-yards, indicative of a considerable timber trade. The wharves were dirty, as wharves generally are; but they were busy with traffic. The town seemed well laid out, in broad streets; the houses being built widely apart, each with its garden about it; while long lines of trees run along most of the streets. Prominent amongst the buildings is the large new Senate House or Capitol, a really grand feature of the city. The place having been originally built of wood, it has been liable to conflagrations, which have more than once nearly destroyed it. Floods have also swept over the valley, and carried away large portions of the town; but having been rebuilt on piles ten feet above the original level, it is now believed to be secure against injury from this cause.

Sacramento is the terminus of the Western Pacific Railway, from which the Central Pacific extends east towards the Rocky Mountains. The railway workshops of the Company are located here, and occupy a large extent of ground. They are said to be very complete and commodious.

Many of the passengers by the train, whom we had brought on from San Francisco, or picked up along the road, descended here; and I was very glad to observe that amongst them were the Chinamen, who relieved us from their further most disagreeable odour. After a short stoppage, and rearrangement of the train, we were off again, toiling up the slopes of the Sierra Nevada--the Switzerland of California.