USA > California > San Francisco County > San Francisco > Men and memories of San Francisco in the "spring of '50" > Part 7
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way out in the harbor; but to-day rows of ware- houses stand where the old dismasted hulks floated with their stored merchandise.
How many men now living in all the glory of soup, fish and three courses daily, from the artistic hand of a chef, can well remember the pie, doughnuts and coffee they took with a royal relish, at the stand in the old ship Apollo, on Battery street.
Two bits for a cup of coffee; two bits for a piece of pie; or if hunger and economy were to be considered, two doughnuts for a quarter of a dollar. Hardly anybody said "two bits" or quarter of a dollar in those days. It was "dos reales!" "cuatro reales !" "un peso!" Nearly all the new comers had either crossed the Isthmus or came by the "Horn," stopping at old Spanish cities en route, picking up sufficient de la lengua to ask for anything they wished to purchase. This coffee stand was made by cutting into the Apollo's hull, just under the cabin windows, and many a man who stepped ashore from his long, weary voyage, took his first meal in California at this place.
The proprietor afterwards built a commodious store for general merchandise at the corner of Battery and Sacramento streets, then the extreme end of Howison's Pier, where in honorable trade he accumulated an independence.
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The men are still plentiful who like to tell of landing on the beach between Long Wharf and Jackson street; of seeing the water at very high tide, reaching to the west line of Montgomery, near the corner of Jackson street.
[From the Alta Calfornia.]
The old Niantic Hotel is a thing of the past-it has been torn down and carted off piecemeal. Yester- day the floor were "turned up," much to the gratifi- cation of the Micawber Convention, which has been in daily session at the corner of Clay and Sansome streets since the work of demolition commenced. The principal object of interest is the hull of the old ship Niantic, which formed the foundation of the building, and a portion of which is now plainly visi- ble. The old hulk has lain there for over twenty-two years, and many old San Franciscans distincty re- member the time when she was used as a storeship until the fire of May, 1851, which left nothing but the charred hull of the old vessel. The Niantic was an English ship, and sailed from Liverpool to Valpa- raiso about a quarter of a century ago. In the latter port she was purchased by Moorhead, Whitehead & Waddington, a Chilian merchant firm. They refitted the vessel and sent her to Panama, in command of Captain Cleveland. She reached that port about April, 1849, just when the California gold fever was at its height, and people were flocking from all parts of the world. The Niantic was at once billed for San Francisco, and in a few days after she sailed with a cargo of tropical produce and 248 passengers, arriv- ing in this harbor on the fifth of July, 1849, after a voyage of sixty-eight days. Within a week after her
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arrival the crew deserted, in accordance with estab- lished usage, and the old ship was left anchored idly in the stream-a useless "elephant" on the hands of her consignees, Cook, Baker & Co. A few months later she was sold to parties here, who hauled her close in shore, near what was then the foot of Clay street, and there she has lain snugly ever since. After the May fire, in 1851, the building since known as the Niantic Hotel was erected. It was first leased by L. H. Roby (who committed suicide some two years ago), under whose management it secured the reputa- tion of being the best hotel in the city at the time. In 1851 Roby sold out to a man named Johnson, who kept the hotel a short time, and sold out to Daniel Parrish in 1852. While Parrish kept the hotel one of his boarders was arrested on a charge of stealing a very large sum of money. He was convicted and sent to the State Prison for a term of years, but the stolen money was never recovered, although it was supposed at the time that it was secreted somewhere about the hotel, and diligent search was made for it. P. T. Woods, who had been clerking for Parrish, bought his employer out soon after the event above referred to. He did a thriving business and made money-so much, in fact, that when he settled up and "vamoosed " for parts unknown, those who knew said that he carried with him more money than he took in while "running" the Niantic Hotel.
N. H. Parkell next leased the hotel, and while he was in possession the convict one day entered the hotel office, said that he had buried a lot of money beneath the doorstep, and asked to be permitted to dig for it. Four or five feet of sand had been thrown over the place where the thief said that he had buried the money. But although it was all removed, the money was not found; and although the laborers lately engaged in pulling down the house searched diligently, it could not be found. Parkell continued the lease till 1864, when he transferred it to Miss
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Mooney, sister of Assistant Engineer Con. Mooney, and she continued as landlady of the house down to the last moment of its career.
Charles L. Low is owner of the lot, and he pro- poses to erect forthwith a handsome and substantial four story brick building. The lower floors will be occupied by fruit and produce markets, the second story by printing-offices, and the third and fourth stories for various purposes. Having carefully stored his mind with the foregoing facts, any person will be fully qualified to mingle with the Micawbers and play himself off for an old forty-niner.
The Niantic storeship, at the corner of Clay and Sansome streets, was burned on the fourth of May, 1851. Upon its site the Niantic Hotel was erected, which stood until 1872, when it was torn down to make way for stores built by the owner of the land, Mr. C. L. Low. The Niantic Hotel was erected upon the ruins of the old storeship, without digging any cellar. When the excavation was made for the cellars of the new building, many relics of the fire of '51 were unearthed. The old hull at the time of the fire was imbedded in the mud some eight feet or more below the water line. At this line, after the conflagration, the debris was cleared away and the floor timbers of the hotel laid, covering and keeping safe from public knowl- edge, stowed away in the remnant of the old hull, thirty-five baskets of champagne and many
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other articles on storage. Twenty-one years on storage! We have not learned whether any bill for this has been sent to Mr. Van Brunt; but the wine was placed on storage by that gentleman and his partner at that time-Mr. Verplanck. Their store was on Sansome street, adjoining the Niantic. The wine was the Jacquesson Fils brand-a superior wine, very popular in California, where dry wines are always preferred. This long buried wine was found-or rather the bottles were found-in most remarkable preservation; the wires, and even the twine, being in better condition than many shipments just off the voyage from France. Champagne deteriorates after the third year; but this wine had been so completely covered as to be almost excluded from the air, and some of the wine effervesced slightly on uncorking, and was of very fair flavor.
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CHAPTER XIV.
In 1849, previous to taking the house on California street, above Kearny, Mrs. Petits oc- cupied the house standing on the spot where the Merchants' Exchange now stands, on Cali- fornia street, below Montgomery. The guests at this house were the leading men among the mercantile and professional class, and it was esteemed a privilege to obtain quarters there. The house stood at some distance from the street. After it was destroyed by fire, the Baron Terloo, a Russian nobleman, built two houses on this lot.
The house afterwards built on the southwest corner of Leidesdorff and California was called "The Cottage." Ellen Moon was the landlady. The adjoining house was kept by Mrs. Manning. Mrs. Moon was from Australia, and the wife or widow of an English shipmaster. The first time we saw her, she reminded us of the landlady of the "Green Dragon," in Martin Chuzzlewit; nor do we ever think of the landlady of the "Green
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Dragon" now without seeing the person of Mrs. Moon. She was the personification of neatness. "There "were roses in her cheeks-aye, and worth gathering, too!" This quotation-Dick- ens' remark upon Mrs. Lupin's appearance- came to mind the moment we saw her. The place had a cosy, comfortable air-real English -and the wines, liquors and ale in her bin needed no bush. The end and aim of her exist- ence seemed to be somebody else's happiness and comfort, and self-abnegation. After leaving this place she opened the "Ivy Green" on Mer- chant street, which she kept until her death. Many who wore phylacteries upon their fore- heads, and from their lofty, social pinnacle looked a long way down upon Ellen Moon, will lift their vision high as Dives' to look upon her in the world where deeds outweigh the words of Pharisees.
We have all heard of the party of miners who found an old bonnet on the road in '49, and simultaneously, without a word, dropped picks, shovels and rockers, clasped hands, as if by pre- concerted signal, and capered in an amorous, laughing ring, around the cast-off head dress. We remember the day, when a woman walking along the streets of San Francisco was more of
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a sight than an elephant or giraffe would be to- day. Men lingered to see them pass, crowded to the wharves when they arrived, and followed them along the streets to their dwellings, and stared out of countenance the house's front. We were in Riddle's auction rooms one day, at a crowded sale, when, in a momentary pause of the auctioneer's voice, some one shouted, "Two ladies going along the sidewalk!" Instantly the crowd of purchasers rushed out, pell-mell, swarming the street so suddenly, and in such numbers, that the unconscious objects of the commotion were startled with the impression that fire or earthquake had come again.
Judge S- told us that when he arrived in 1849, and walked up from the ship, with his wife and several little children, men crowded about the children, asking permission to kiss them, to shake hands with them, to give them gold specimens out of their chamois skin sacks, or a little gold dust to make them rings, or something for an ornament, following them a long way, as if fascinated by the sight of their child faces and voices. Mr. and Mrs. George W-, who kept a very select boarding-house on Clay street in the early days, told us of a similar experience with their children. The boys and girls of San Francisco in that time,
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who were not spoiled, were remarkable children. The sight of their faces touched tender places in the hearts of men, divided by a continent's breadth from their own little ones; and to give other children toys, money, or something for their happiness, was a natural impulse, however questionable as to ultimate results.
When the Custom House, on the corner of California and Montgomery, was destroyed by the fire of May 4th, 1851, the treasure saved in the brick vault was removed to the bank of Palmer, Cook & Co., corner of Washington and Kearny. A guard, a la militaire, composed of the Custom House officials, armed and equipped, under the command of T. Butler King, Collector, escorted the revenue money from the ruins of the Custom House to the bank, "in due and ancient form." This action of the Collecto.I excited much ridicule and many newspaper squibs, and brought forth a comic ode, satirical of T. Butler King. To those well informed upon the numbers, character and proceedings of the professional burglars, murderers and thieves infesting San Francisco, the action of the Collector in guarding so thoroughly the Government money entrusted to him, was laud- able and praiseworthy in the highest degree.
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We remember that while the Custom House boys were standing in the street awaiting the opening of the vault, Captain Macondray, who happened in the neighborhood, said: "Well, boys, suppose we go over to the 'Blue Wing,' and join in a universal drink, before the army takes up its line of march?"
Tom Harvey replied: "The motion is in order," and George Bromley said: "So mote it be!" and the Captain's hospitable offer was car- ried into effect. This "universal drink" was a favorite expression of the Captain's, when offering hospitality to any numerous gathering. All the residents of that time knew Captain Macondray, his kind face and welcome smile, his sparkling eye and short, curling hair, his compact figure, and the firm, honest grasp of his hand.
One of the familiar objects of San Francisco was Captain Macondray on his black, pacing horse, a sleek, easy-moving nag, with four white feet. Erect in his saddle, his gray, felt hat, with the rim caught up close against the crown each side, a la chapeau militaire-moving about in all the business streets, the Captain's face and form were ever pleasant to the eyes of his fellow-citizens then, as now is the memory of his sterling virtues.
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The old signal station on Telegraph Hill was a very important feature in the days when those long, black arms stretched out to tell thousands of anxious husbands, fathers and lovers that the steamer, bearing news of hope and happiness, or of the death of loved ones, was then in sight. How that signal for a "side-wheel" (the mails were brought only on the side-wheel steamers)- how it did wake up the street! All along the line of stores were men out upon the walk, their faces all turned in one direction, looking at the signal. They couldn't do any business after a sight at those well-known, outstretched, up- lifted arms, almost human in their welcome significance. "Come in, bye and bye!" the merchant would say to his customer; "the steamer is telegraphed!'' " What!" (with de- lighted surprise ) ; "didn't know that !" and the would-be buyer left in a hurry. The idea of news from wife, children or sweetheart to a man, thirty days' distance away, made him ig- nore business at once.
The old telegraph-station was a place of much resort. It was attractive from its associations, and it was good exercise to walk up there, and the view repaid the trouble. There were good, - generous, refreshing milk-punches to be had in the room beneath the look-out on the roof,
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where privileged visitors could ascend and use the telescope. Without a telescope, to-day, it will be very interesting to any man who knew San Francisco twenty years ago-yes, ten years ago-to walk up to the hill-top and "view the landscape o'er. There are thousands of men in San Francisco who have not been to the summit of Telegraph Hill in eighteen years, nor will our eloquence coax them to attempt it; but it is really worth the trouble.
.
Mr. Bradley (now of Bradley & Rulofson), the daguerrean -there were no photographers in those days-practised his art on the west side of Montgomery, between Washington and Jack- son. His prices were from eight dollars up- wards, according to the size and style of the portrait and frame. The courteous artist was hardly allowed time to breathe, much less to eat, or take a moment's rest for a day or two before the departure of a steamer. Californians were so anxious that their friends in civilized coun- tries should see just how they looked in their mining dress, with their terrible revolver, the handle protruding menacingly from the holster, somehow, twisted in front, when sitting for a daguerreotype to send "to the States." They were proud of their curling moustaches and
.
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flowing beards; their bandit-looking sombreros; and our old friend Bradley accumulated much oro en polvo, and many yellow coins from the private mints of Wass, Molitor & Co., Moffatt & Co., Dubosque, and Baldwin & Co. Mr. Bradley appears just the same to-day (at Bradley & Rulofson's) as he did twenty-three years ago; wears the same conventional silk hat, so seldom seen in those days-so universally worn now; the same quiet black suit; and his hair and beard were almost as silvery then as now. Neither has he altered in the urbanity and unvarying courtesy which made him so popular and filled his purse twenty-three years ago. Many of the old daguer- reotypes and ambrotypes are preserved by those to whom they were sent; and many a middle- aged husband and father has had them care- lessly handed to him by his wife or the big boys and girls, in the secret, who were much amused at his questions, and failure in recog- nizing Mr. Bradley's production, of which he was so proud so many years ago.
John S. Eagan's paint, oil and varnish store was on Montgomery street, two or three doors north of the Custom House. Mr. Eagan was a very prominent member of Howard Engine Co., and was enthusiastic in every thing for pub-
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lic good or private charity, and never hesitated about putting his hand in his pocket and giving liberally on the slightest provocation. Bob. Bernard used to paint signs and fancy work for Eagan, and it was quite a pleasure to watch his steady hand and rapid progress with the brush and pencil. He used to stand off from his work, holding his brush at arm's length, drawing the color along the lines, plumb up to the angles of the letters, as easily, and calmly, and exactly, without pause, tremor or hesitation, as if uncer- tainty or nervousness were something entirely unknown to him. It was a treat to see him sweep his pencil on the curves of great, street-sign letters as gracefully and easily as if he were wav- ing a signal, or giving from the leader's stand, to an orchestra, the tempo for an adagio movement. Mr. Bernard worked so easily and so rapidly, that his salary for the week's effort was little, if any less, than that of the President of the United States for an equal period. Fires were so fre- quent then, and the gambling-saloons so spa- cious, so elaborately decorated and gilded every time they were rebuilt-so many new business firms were forming and changing, requiring new signs and numbers, that Messrs. Eagan and Ber- nard accumulated money in a most interesting manner. They were not "Eagan & Bernard" as a 10
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firm, although they were in the same store, and worked for each other's interest much better than partners in business generally do.
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CHAPTER XV.
LIEUT. DERBY ("John Phoenix"), U. S. A., was standing in Barry & Patten's doorway, then No. 116 Montgomery street, one pleasant morning, when, raising his grave, thoughtful eyes, he saw a horse and wagon passing by, navigated by a phlegmatic Teuton. "Eagle Bakery" was in- scribed in heavy capitals upon the vehicle. "Hi! hallo you!" exclaimed Derby. The countryman of "Our Fritz" slowly turned his stolid gaze upon the lieutenant, who was beck- oning so earnestly, that the driver hauled up, slowly turned his horse around to the curbstone, and inquired : "Vat you vants?" "I'll take a baked eagle!" said Phoenix. "Eh? vat ish dat?" said the sleepy-headed fellow. "A baked eagle! don't you understand?" said Phoenix, with feigned impatience. "I pakes pread!" said the indignant deutscher, preparing to drive on. "Stop!" said Derby, in an authoritative voice. "You're an imposter! How dare you deceive the public in this way? Here have I
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been for six weeks trying to get a baked eagle, which my medical adviser prescribes for my health, and you have raised hopes only to de- ceive me. Now, listen! if you don't have those words-that falsehood, painted out immediately, I'll have you put under arrest and court-mar- tialed ! Away!" He 'waved the astonished, adopted citizen from his august presence; and he was not slow to go, as he had evidently, from the appearance of his widened mouth and eyes, taken the affair as a serious matter.
Many people have the impression that Lieut. Derby was a devotee of Bacchus, and we have heard it said that he was a very dissipated man. We know that in our acquaintance with him, from '51 to the time of his being ordered East, we never saw him put to his lips a glass of wine, ale or spirits, or anything that could intoxicate. We have been much in his company, and under all kinds of circumstances, where the weakness would have "cropped out" had it been latent, but a strong lemonade was the extent of his libations, in all the time we knew him.
When Derby graduated from West Point, he was one morning in the office, at the headquar- ters of the army, in Washington. Gen. H- one of the oldest officers in the army, a venera- ble, white-haired soldier, was seated at his desk,
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engaged in conversation upon some official business. Upon its conclusion, he turned to the young cadet, a big lad, and greeted him with a very pleasant "Good morning, Mr. Derby, happy to see you, sir! take a seat." Derby sat down, bowing his acknowledgments, with the demure look he often assumed. "Anything
new?" asked the General. "Well, no, sir !- nothing particular, excepting that remarkable gun, invented by Captain of the artil-
, lery," said the young graduate modestly, looking into his cap, which he was diffidently twirling in his hands. "What gun? I have heard nothing about it!" said the General, with awak- ening interest. "Please describe it!" Several officers of various grades and rank, present at the time, were listening attentively. Derby arose, placed his cap upon the chair, looked towards the table where drawing materials were lying, modestly requesting permission to illus- trate the principle of the new gun. The General eagerly acquiesced. Derby, who was quite facile with the pencil, rapidly sketched a dia- gram of the gun, surrounded all the time by interested auditors. "Now, sir,'' said the un- assuming but talented young engineer, holding up before the old General his neat and lucid drawing: "This is Captain --- 's invention
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for throwing projectiles in a curved line, to sweep them around and behind intervening ob- jects.'' " The General, who had been scrutinizing the illustration with the utmost attention, now turned the most searching look upon the speaker's earnest, modest and serious face. Derby clearly and succinctly explained the principle of the weapon, the shape of the pro- jectile, its motion and effect, thus and so. Let- ter A, the muzzle of the gun; letter B, the line describing the flight of the destructive missile, its course, and so on. His language was so fluent, the words so clear and distinct, his use of artillery terms betraying such great intelli- gence upon the subject, that his listeners, not quite grasping the idea, charged their obtuse- ness to ignorance upon the subject.
"Has the principle been tested ?" inquired the General, when the young subaltern had ceased. "Yes, sir; Sergeant McCue fired the gun off yesterday morning. " What was the result?'' "The shot passed entirely around the barracks, striking the gunner in the os coccyges." The veteran officer turned square upon the speaker, that he might see him more directly through his spectacles-like one who doubted his sense of hearing. There was a breathless silence, while the oldest General in the army was read-
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ing the blank, puzzling face of the youngest graduate of West Point.
A General was a General twenty years ago, and consternation was on every soldier's face; but, to the great relief of all, the General burst out with a hearty laugh, which was joined in by every one. "Mr. Derby!" said the lenient old soldier, placing his hand gently upon the youg scapegrace's shoulder, "remember that it is only once in a man's lifetime, and under pecu- liar circumstances, that such a thing would be overlooked." And it is reasonable to believe that no other individual in all the army could, under the circumstances, have had immunity.
A real " London-cry" candy man held forth in the early days on the west side of Mont- gomery, near Clay street. His little shop-on- wheels displayed its store of sweets, over which he waxed eloquent. His sonorous voice rang out, with a distinct and banging emphasis, that would not be ignored. He was something of a humorist, and made good local hits, going on with the most serious voice and grave face; his head lifted, but with downcast eyes, like one exhorting against time, for a good salary. His tall, black, narrow-rimmed hat could never have been built off English territory; his pre-
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cise cravat and unrelenting shirt-collar were ยท cockney; his telling tone and clear pronuncia- tion, vaunting his goods, betrayed a long ex- perience: "Hore-hound-Pep-per-mint-and -Win-ter-green! Large lumps! and strong-ly fla-vored !" A short, dead pause, and "'Ere
they go!" This was three times given in a tone to excite the envy of a drill-sergeant or a stump-speaker; occasionally diversified with the assertion that Judge - bought them; that Col. -- bought them; always naming some prominent individual. One evening he amused the public by exclaiming, in a voice of unusual power: "Buy 'em up! Every body buys 'em! Tom B-tt-e's sweetheart buys 'em! 'Ere they go!" Busy - bodies lost no time in informing Tom of the distinction forced upon him. He strolled along, listening. Out it rang upon the air. Watching an opportunity to speak, unheard by others, he walked up quickly, saying, "Look here! you quit that, or I'll horsewhip you!" " All right!" said the itiner- ant in a soft voice-so unlike those vocifer- ous lungs, bowing low and courteously; then, straightening up, he roared out in the well- known voice, "Tom B-tt-e's sweetheart does not buy ' em ! ! " Tom looked uneasily around. The horsewhip threat wouldn't work ; there
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