USA > California > San Francisco County > San Francisco > Men and memories of San Francisco in the "spring of '50" > Part 2
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On the south side of California street, where Stevenson's building now stands, were some little wooden structures, where Capt. Folsom, Q. M. U. S. A., had his offices. Capt. Folsom had purchased the Leidesdorff estate, and it was here the Leidesdorff House stood in 1849. It did not stand on the street line, but diag- onally, like the Casa Grande, built by Mr. Rich- ardson, on Dupont street, between Clay and Washington, and Wm. H. Davis' house, near
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MEN AND MEMORIES
the corner of Stockton and Jackson. The road to the Presidio was along this line, upon which the houses stood.
On California street, above Montgomery, in 1849, the tents were pitched in the middle of the street, anywhere the dwellers chose, and in- terspersed with boxes, and bales of goods, and piles of lumber. There was an open space, about where Mars' assay office now stands, on California street, through which one could pass behind the Custom House and adjoining stores, and come out upon Montgomery street, where Bullock & Jones now have their place of busi- ness. Edward Vischer, Esq., the author and artist of "The Old Missions of California," lived in a cottage on this spot, accessible from either street. Mr. Meacham also lived in his house near Mr. Vischer's. Subsequently, Rowe, the pioneer of ring amusements, had on this spot the Olympic Circus.
Mr. Rowe went from California to Australia, where he was very successful. On his return, he brought $95,000 in sovereigns. He also brought a beautiful design, in gold -- a group emblematical of equine sports -- as a gift for Wm. D. M. Howard, who, with his proverbial generosity, had aided Mr. Rowe in times gone by. The costly token was exhibited in a jeweler's window on Mont-
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gomery street at the time. We are glad to record this evidence of gratitude, wishing ourselves possessed of an amount equal to that never re- turned by those indebted to the most generous of California's pioneers.
The old road, or path, to the Mission Dolores in '49 or '50 was the same as had been used for eighty years prior to the gold discovery-a winding way among the sand-hills and chapar- ral, keeping to the level, solid ground, and avoiding the deep, toilsome sand. Col. Hays' house was the half-way stopping-place between the city and the Mission. At the Mission, Bob Ridley and C. V. Stuart kept the Mansion House, part of the old Mission building, adjoin- ing the church, just as it stands to-day. The long rail of the veranda was the hitching-post for the saddle-horses; a vehicle was rather a curiosity until the plank-road was constructed. In the afternoon, the horses stood thick and close, like a cavalry halt, at Bob Ridley's door. Within, milk-punch was always plentiful, like the lager of later, degenerate years. Nearly all the residents of San Francisco in those days rode horseback, used the Mexican saddle and all the jingling accoutrements; wore the vicuna hat, or broad-brimmed glazed sombrero, and
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MEN AND MEMORIES
the comfortable, convenient, protecting serapa. The new comers were pleased with costume de la Pais-its novelty and its easy negligence. Everybody was cordial, prosperous and happy.
We were out at the Mission one warm, pleasant Sunday morning, not long ago, sitting upon a bench in front of the old Mansion House. We closed our eyes to shut out the street-car; the blocks of modern buildings; cottages orneé; the fashionable, scant, nipped-looking coats and skin- tight pants of the scores of men continually passing; the ridiculous head-gear and swollen, puffed-out paniers of the gentler sex. As we sat with closed eyes, the atmosphere was just the same upon our cheek, just as refreshing to our lungs, had precisely the same somnolent effect stealing over our senses. Sleep used to be called the California fever, before the gold discovery, and we fell into a reverie of the past. We heard the jingling spurs, we saw the gay, sil- ver-mounted bridles, the fancy saddles, the rush- ing horse and rider, dashing up at full speed di- rectly at us, sitting upon the veranda, seemingly intent upon riding us down madly; but, just as we were springing in consternation from our seat, the horse was upon his haunches-there was a crunching of hoofs upon the gravel, a confused rattling of spurs, snorting, champing
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of the cruel Mexican bit-a cloud of dust over all-and, when we had collected our startled ideas sufficiently to feel assured we were not beneath the horse's hoofs, we saw the dis- mounted caballero taking from the pommel the long-coiled riata to "hitch" his steed, prepar- atory to imbibing one of Bob Ridley's nourish- ing milk-punches. It was trying to the new- comer's nerves to learn the California style of riding up to dismount-to sit quietly and see horse and rider dashing at full speed directly for you, as if both were bent upon dashing through the wall of the house, nor abating in the least their speed until within five feet of you, then stopped with a shock-sudden as if struck by lightning. We sat upon the old bench, enjoying the warm sun and the same delight- ful atmosphere we breathed twenty-odd years ago, shutting our eyes to the sights of to-day, and looking back upon the memories-the men we saw when first we knew the Mission Dolores: El Señores Valencia, Noe, Guerrero, De Haro, Bernal and, Charley Brown, who came there in 1829; Messrs. Denniston and Nuttman, of Ste- venson's Regiment, and Jack Powers, always well mounted, and dashing along to show the merits of his nag. Jack Powers! with black beard and flowing hair-his glittering, restless,
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omnivagant eye-the worst we ever looked upon in any living creature-a fascinating ter- ror-sure index of the devil, time eventually proved him to be.
Our reverie, so long and deep, is broken. A procession of Holy Fathers, in sacerdotal robes and church insignia! What saint's day is this? How the sight of their bowed heads, slow, sol- emn step and chant, with burning candles, brings back the olden days. We had thought this custom unobserved of late in our busy city neighborhood. In the true spirit of old-time respect, we rise to lift our hat and stand with head bowed and uncovered while they pass. It seems-eh? how confusing-they never used to shake such a harsh bell as that! My head is- well, sure enough, I was asleep !- blinking in the sunlight. I now discern a man gesticulating violently to me. 'Tis he, ringing the harsh, dis- cordant bell that swept away the Holy Fathers -rudely, with lightning speed ! dragging me back, over more than twenty years of life's uneven road-away from the vesper-bells, the soft evening air, the low, sweet music of her voice, breathing la lengua de los angeles, to -
- " All aboard, now, for the city!" Harsh and discordant clash these selfish days against the memory of those halcyon hours. Alas! why could we not still dream?
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There was another road, or path, for horse- men and pedestrians, by which one might reach the old Mission track. It was along Kearny, turning by Caryll's stable, up Bush street to the hill, where a sharp turn brought you before the house built by Judge Burritt-the same since occupied by Lucien Hermann, and until quite recently by Dr. A. J. Bowie. As this pretty cottage now stands, on the corner of Sutter and Stockton, flanked by regular side- walks, the lofty synagogue towering above it, and blocks of houses, as far as the eye can see in every direction, it does not give the passer- by that pleasurable start of emotion experienced by him who, winding his way among the desert of sandhills and chaparral twenty-two years ago, came suddenly upon the bright, new, stylish residence-its nicely curtained, spotless win- dows, perfect roof, and finished chimneys, neat porch, veranda, paths and door-way, lying in the warm sunlight, nestling among the cheerless sand- hills, like a sweet bit of our old home spirited across the continent by fairies' wand, and softly dropped among the unsightly huts and fragile tenements in which we lived-a gentle admoni- tion that we might give a little less of heart and soul to money, and a little more to comfort, beauty and utility. He who had been turned
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on a reflective vein by this unexpected vision of a home in the wilderness, then traveled down the line of Stockton across Sutter, Post, Geary . and O' Farrell, his horse's hoofs noiseless, plung- ing at every step knee-deep in unresisting sand; saddle and bridle trappings jingling, a clink of spurs, and the deep breathing of the horse; sad- dle-leather creaking with every step, but not a sound of hoof in the soft, sinking sand, more than a phantom horse-on, past O'Farrell to Ellis, around Mr. John Sullivan's cottage into St. Ann's Valley, skirting the gardens and hot- houses-the remnant of which still remains on Eddy, between Powell and Mason-where the path wound in and out among sand mounds and ridges, piled up like dirty snow-drifts, with here and there a charcoal-burner's hut, and clumps of scrub-oaks, until he came to Col. Thomas Hayes' house, where it was customary to stop awhile, for there were always many there, chat- ting, while their horses rested. This long, white house stood diagonally with the Mission road, in a little, open space, where ground was firmer than the deep sand outside the circle of small trees and shrubs surrounding it-a spot where one would naturally halt to rest, were there no hospitable roof upon it. A little fur- ther on, a turn to the right, brought the trav-
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eler on the old Mission road, where soon he crossed a little, shallow, slow, but limpid brook, edged by willows, running across the Harmen tract, and down MacClaren's lane toward Mis- sion Creek. The same brook's course, diverted, now runs through Woodward's Gardens, refresh- ing the pelicans and pink-billed swans. Past this stream, the rider turned diagonally across the block now bounded by Mission and Center streets, and halted at the Mansion House.
On the old Mission road, many years ago- twenty or more-was a little roadside public- house, called "The Grizzly.'' We do not re- member its precise location, but it was very near the turn of the road, just before you came (going Mission-ward) to the cottages of R. C. Page, C. R. Peters and E. H. Parker. "The Grizzly" stood a little way from the road, on the north side, and surrounded by scrub-oaks. A little brown bear-what is known as the cinna- mon bear-was chained to the trunk of one of these oak trees, and whenever we passed there, which was almost every day, for years, the bear was leaning forward to the full stretch of his chain, treading from side to side, with that pe- culiar rocking step and swaying movement of caged wild beasts. He must have been quiet at some time, of course, but we never saw him 3
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when not treading his incessant step. We often halted there, lingering awhile, to see if he would not be quiet; but his monotonous and never ceasing movement so disquieted, and in a certain indescribable way, confused our nerve and vision, that we always gave it up.
We never knew whether this cinnamon bruin was the successor to some genuine grizzly cub, the possession of which induced its owner to build and name the inn, under the impression that symposiac profits would accrue from visitors curious to see the ursine captive; or whether, after building this traveler's retreat, his patro- nymic project failed by sheer inability to find a grizzly, forcing him to compromise with the cinnamon. But, most certainly the name upon the signboard was a misnomer, if the chained specimen of the genus ursus cinnamominus were offered as an adjunct corroboration.
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1722305
CHAPTER III.
PIOCHE & BAYERQUE had their store on the north side of Clay street, just below Kearny. Da- vidson's bank was just below them. Then came Bennett & Kirby's store; William Hobourg was a partner in their house. Bagley & Sinton were adjoining. Cross, Hobson & Co. were opposite. The Adelphi Theater was about half way between Kearny and Montgomery streets, on the south side of Clay, and was used for theatrical per- formances, concerts, balls, etc. W. H. Lyon kept the bar of the theater. Riddle & Co's auction store was not built on the corner of Clay and Montgomery until July or August, 1850. Etting Mickle's store was on the north side of Clay, between Montgomery and Leides- dorff. Selim and Fred. Woodworth's store was just at the water's edge, on the north side of Clay. Below, on the wharf, were the stores of J. J. Chariteau, Simmons, Hutchinson & Co., F. Vassault, and the office of the Sacramento steamers. Fay, Pierce & Willis were commis-
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sion merchants on the corner of Clay and Mont- gomery.
Jno. B. Corrigan was a commission merchant on Clay street wharf. Mr. Corrigan went to Washoe in the earliest days of silver mining, and died there. He was a noble-hearted, genial man, and his memory is kindly cherished in the hearts of all who knew him.
Moorhead, Whitehead & Waddington were at the foot of Clay street. This was a Valparaiso firm, doing business in San Francisco, dealing in flour by the cargo. Hochkofler & Tenequel were near by. Mr. Hochkofler came from Val- pariso with a member of the firm of Morehead, Whitehead & Waddington, via Panama, and ar- rived here on the sixth of June, 1850, on board the steam-propeller Columbus, Capt. Peck.
Capt. Frank Eldredge, Chas. Peck (of Ste- venson's Regiment), Mr. Beck (Beck & Elam), Jno. F. Osgood, James George, Capt. Treadwell, Capt. Chadwick, Messrs. Barry & Patten, Theo. Nash, Mr. Dewey, John Corson, James Howard, John Ling, Dr. Smiley, Sawyer & Chapin, and many others whose names we cannot now re- call, were passengers on the same steamer.
We remember as vividly as if it were but yes- terday the arrival of the Columbus. In those days there were few wharves for the vessels to
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swing alongside of, so they dropped anchor out in the stream, where they were surrounded by boats to convey passengers and baggage ashore. One new comer by the Columbus had a fine bunch of pine-apples, purchased at San Blas for un peso, and carefully preserved for the San Francisco market. He had hardly set foot on Montgomery street, when a man hailed him with, "D'ye want to sell them?" "Well, yes!" "How much?" The amateur importer of tropical fruits looked at his questioner, and, with the air of a man who was venturing on an absurdity which would never be entertained for one moment, said- "Well, you may have them for ten dollars!" "Here's your money!" said the man, clutching the pine-apples, and thrusting a ten dollar piece into the hand of the astonished individual, who, for a moment, could not realize that it was his first negotiation on the shores of his adopted home, and not a joke. He was not long in doubt, however. Two or three men had stop- ped on the street to look at the tempting fruit while the bargain was being made. One of them said to the purchaser, "How many are there?" "Six!" "Want to sell 'em?" "No!" "Will yer sell three of 'em?" "Yes!" "Quanto?" "Fifteen dollars!" "Here's your dinero," said the man, handing over three five-dollar pieces,
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and walking off like one greatly pleased with his purchase. The Columbus passenger was ob- served to walk away with that peculiar expres- sion of countenance noticeable in new students of Euclid.
Ogden & Haynes were commission merchants on Clay street wharf. They had ships from China. We remember the arrival of the Fanny Major from China, with a cargo of teas, shawls, silks, fancy furniture, etc. Billy Buckler, of Baltimore, had goods on the vessel, and on her arrival, he came ashore with a couple of grotesque stoneware images under his arm, and brought them up to Barry & Patten, just for a joke with his old friends. They received them, drank the health of the donor, and placed them behind their counter, where they stand to-day, old and time-honored citizens, though ineligible for the Association of Pioneers. Og- den & Haynes were liberal, public-spirited men, without fuss or ostentation. Mr. Haynes has gone to the reward of all good men. Mr. Ogden is still with us; and if there be any change in his personal appearance as we knew him twenty- three years ago, our eyes fail to detect it.
It is a pleasure to observe any man through nearly a quarter of a century's vicissitudes and temptations, in a city where cosmopolitan allure-
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ments have gathered in force, and to note, through all, no loss of that refinement of taste and feeling; no blunting of that æsthetie appre- ciation, the possession of which preserves the mind, even as pure air and temperance does the body. Mr. Ogden is a facile writer, and often contributes to the newspapers of San Francisco. Mr. John Haynes, a brother of the late Thomas Haynes, Mr. Ogden's former partner, is a res- ident of San Francisco, having arrived here on the steamer Columbus, June 6th, 1850.
The Hon. John W. Dwinelle and his brother, the Hon. Samuel H. Dwinelle, were counsellors- at-law in Cross, Hobson & Co's building on Clay street, nearly opposite Bagley & Sinton's store. S. H. Dwinelle is now the Judge of the Fifteenth District Court, and esteemed by the members of the bar of California as one of the best lawyers and most upright Judges in the State. J. W. Dwinelle is one of the ablest mem- bers of the bar, a Regent of the University of California, and as a conversationalist the peer of Dr. A. J. Bowie, Judge Hoffman, or the late Hon. Mr. De la Torre, U. S. District Attorney for California.
Cross, Hobson & Co. afterwards removed to the large corrugated-iron warehouse on San- some street, between Jackson and Pacific, where
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William Hooper also had an office. We never pass this old iron store without recalling (as we look at the broad loft door, just above the main entrance on Sansome street) a tragic occurrence which happened there in 1851. Pedro, the porter of the store, was standing at the open doorway of the loft, speaking to some one on the walk below, when leaning forward to hear more distinctly, he fell out, struck upon his head, and died instantaneously. Pedro was a native of Manila; a pleasant, faithful servant, who had the regard of all who knew him.
Woodworth & Morris were shipping and com- mission-merchants on Clay street wharf. Selim E. Woodworth (subsequently Commodore Wood- worth, U. S. N.) was the senior member of this firm. Fred. A. Woodworth, a younger brother, was in the same house. Selim arrived in San Francisco in the winter of 1846-7, and built the first house ever erected upon a "water-lot" in San Francisco. Some time after his arrival, news reached the city of a party of emigrants dying of starvation on the mountain trail to California, and he immediately started with a party to their rescue, and succeeded in saving many of them, although several had died, and the living, when found by Mr. Woodworth's party, were eating the dead bodies of their unfortunate compan-
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ions. All through his life in California, Selim Woodworth was foremost in acts of charity, and in the protection of life and property, or the swift punishment of outlaws and criminals. He was small in stature, but had the bravery and spirit of a giant, never to be intimidated either by threats or force of arms. To his courage and determination San Francisco owes more than to any other man its release from the criminals that infested it in the early days. Both Selim and Fred. Woodworth made their abode-at their store in the primitive times, and in their family resi- dence in after years-extremely pleasant to their umerous friends, who remember with a sad pleasure the happy hours passed in the hos- pitable home from which the two brothers have gone forth forever.
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,
CHAPTER IV.
THE Fuller House-not a hotel, but the home of the. Fuller family -- was about a hundred feet east of the eastern line of Webb street, consid- erably nearer to California street than Sacra- mento street. The Fuller estate was the Kearny street half of the block bounded by Kearny, California, Montgomery and Sacramento streets. P. B. Hewlett, a captain in Stevenson's regiment, bought some property in Webb street, west side, and built a house there. It was a kind of semi-hotel and semi-boarding-house, conducted by a very pretty widow lady. This house was quiet and comfortable; the table and sleeping arrangements far in advance of the average in 1850. Col. Whiting, F. H. Price, M. Jazynsky, Barry & Patten, and Col. Thompson boarded there. Capt. Argyras, the Greek gentleman who was the owner of the celebrated yacht Northern Light, also boarded there. This yacht was in 1847-8-9 the fancy boat of Boston. Argyras sailed on an expedition, more for pleas- ure than business; but his plans were frustrated
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by the loss of his yacht in the Straits of Magel- lan. Argyras was an educated, refined and hon- orable gentleman. He died in San Francisco about ten years since. James Ward built a cot- tage on this block, nearer to Montgomery street. Mrs. Meacham afterwards kept it as a boarding- house. We remember her house, for the reason that an acquaintance obtained quarters there for himself, wife and two children for three hundred dollars per week.
Capt. Hewlett lived on Montgomery, beyond Broadway, high up, toward the telegraph station. He had a very comfortable little · snuggery; two stories and weather proof, as far as rain was concerned ; an enclosure for his wood-pile and well-house, and it may here be mentioned that a well of water was a nice thing to have in those days, when water was a " bit"' per bucket.
Don Pedro, as we used to call Capt. Hewlett, although his name was Palmer B. Hewlett, al- ways had several friends living with him. He made a pretense of charging them for board, but it was only to have the pleasure of their company, and relieve them of any sense of ob- ligation-a very transparent sham-not begin- ning to reimburse him for the outlay of their accommodation. But, hospitable Don Pedro
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vowed he was a manager, and knew how to keep house. On the morning of the fourteenth of June, 1850, as the company were lingering over breakfast, some one ran down the steep hill- side past the house, crying "Fire!" All sprang up from the table, and ran to the edge of the little ravine in which the house stood. A high rising cloud of smoke and a little fire were seen somewhere near Kearny street, beyond the Plaza. Some new comers in the party observed the fire indifferently, and were turning back to the house, but Don Pedro, who had been here at all the conflagrations, said, with a meaning smile, "You'd better be looking after your baggage, if it's in the city." The person ad- dressed answered, "Oh, it cannot reach the place where our trunks are-in Riddle's store on Sacramento street, below Montgomery." "If you don't hurry, the fire will be there before you are," said Don Pedro, with such evident earnestness that his friend started. Two or three of the party went with him. As they de- scended the hill, they kept watch of the fire's progress, and, before they had passed Pacific street, the flames were rushing on like a train of powder. The party commenced running, nor abated their pace until they reached the store of Riddle & Eaton, on Sacramento street,
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two doors west of Leidesdorff. The block was on fire at the corner of Montgomery when they passed it. They rushed up stairs to secure their trunks, which were in the upper story; and, before they descended to the street, the roof of the building was in full blaze. They saved their trunks, but they dared not wait to collect some other articles belonging to them. This experi- ence, however, was sufficient to convince them of Don Pedro's wisdom in regard to San Fran- cisco conflagrations. The structures in those days were of the slightest and most inflammable materials; the rooms lined with cloth and paper, -buildings which, after standing a few weeks in this atmosphere, became tinder-food for the first spark. If a fire broke out, this dry material burned so suddenly and furiously, that, though the air were dead calm, the wind soon rushed in, sweeping all in its path.
The Bella Union (temple of chance) was on the Plaza, Washington street side, just above Kearny, and was, in the days of '49 and '50, thronged with men playing against the various games from about eleven o'clock in the morn- ing until daylight the next morning. The same motley crowd as frequented the Parker House, Empire, El Dorado, etc., were to be seen here. There used to be a quintette of Mexican mu-
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sicians, who came here at night to perform. There were two harps, one large and the other very small, two guitars, and one flute.
The musicians were dressed in the Mexican costume (which, however, was nothing very no- ticeable at that time, as many of their auditors were in the same style of dress), and were quiet, modest looking men, with contented, amiable faces. They used to walk in among the throng of people, along to the upper'end of the room, take their seats, and with scarcely any preamble or discussion, commence their instrumentation. They had played so much together, and were so similar, seemingly, in disposition-calm, con- fident and happy-that their ten hands moved as if guided by one mind; rising and falling in perfect unison-the harmony so sweet, and just strange enough in its tones, from the novelty in the selection of instruments, to give it a peculiar fascination for ears always accustomed to the orthodox and time-honored vehicles of music used in quintette instrumentation.
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