Book: The Forty Niners

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The business of the day over, the evening was open for relaxation. As
the hotels and lodging-houses were nothing but kennels, and very crowded
kennels, it followed that the entire population gravitated to the
saloons and gambling places. Some of these were established on a very
extensive scale. They had not yet attained the magnificence of the
Fifties, but it is extraordinary to realize that within so few months
and at such a great distance from civilization, the early and
enterprising managed to take on the trappings of luxury. Even thus
early, plate-glass mirrors, expensive furniture, the gaudy, tremendous
oil paintings peculiar to such dives, prism chandeliers, and the like,
had made their appearance. Later, as will be seen, these gambling dens
presented an aspect of barbaric magnificence, unique and peculiar to the
time and place. In 1849, however gorgeous the trappings might have
appeared to men long deprived of such things, they were of small
importance compared with the games themselves. At times the bets were
enormous. Soule tells us that as high as twenty thousand dollars were
risked on the turn of one card. The ordinary stake, however, was not so
large, from fifty cents to five dollars being about the usual amount.
Even at this the gamblers were well able to pay the high rents. Quick
action was the word. The tables were always crowded and bystanders many
deep waited to lay their stakes. Within a year or so the gambling
resorts assumed rather the nature of club-rooms, frequented by every
class, many of whom had no intention of gambling. Men met to talk, read
the newspapers, write letters, or perhaps take a turn at the tables. But
in 1849 the fever of speculation held every man in its grip.

Again it must be noted how wide an epoch can be spanned by a month or
two. The year 1849 was but three hundred and sixty-five days long, and
yet in that space the community of San Francisco passed through several
distinct phases. It grew visibly like the stalk of a century plant.

Of public improvements there were almost none. The few that were
undertaken sprang from absolute necessity. The town got through the
summer season fairly well, but, as the winter that year proved to be an
unusually rainy time, it soon became evident that something must be
done. The streets became bottomless pits of mud. It is stated, as plain
and sober fact, that in some of the main thoroughfares teams of mules
and horses sank actually out of sight and were suffocated. Foot travel
was almost impossible unless across some sort of causeway. Lumber was so
expensive that it was impossible to use it for the purpose. Fabulous
quantities of goods sent in by speculators loaded the market and would
sell so low that it was actually cheaper to use bales of them than to
use planks. Thus one muddy stretch was paved with bags of Chilean flour,
another with tierces of tobacco, while over still another the wayfarers
proceeded on the tops of cook stoves. These sank gradually in the soft
soil until the tops were almost level with the mud. Of course one of the
first acts of the merry jester was to shy the stove lids off into space.
The footing especially after dark can be imagined. Crossing a street on
these things was a perilous traverse watched with great interest by
spectators on either side. Often the hardy adventurer, after teetering
for some time, would with a descriptive oath sink to his waist in the
slimy mud. If the wayfarer was drunk enough, he then proceeded to pelt
his tormentors with missiles of the sticky slime. The good humor of the
community saved it from absolute despair. Looked at with cold appraising
eye, the conditions were decidedly uncomfortable. In addition there was
a grimmer side to the picture. Cholera and intermittent fever came,
brought in by ships as well as by overland immigrants, and the
death-rate rose by leaps and bounds.

The greater the hardships and obstacles, the higher the spirit of the
community rose to meet them. In that winter was born the spirit that has
animated San Francisco ever since, and that so nobly and cheerfully met
the final great trial of the earthquake and fire of 1906.

About this time an undesirable lot of immigrants began to arrive,
especially from the penal colonies of New South Wales. The criminals of
the latter class soon became known to the populace as "Sydney Ducks."
They formed a nucleus for an adventurous, idle, pleasure-loving,
dissipated set of young sports, who organized themselves into a loose
band very much on the order of the East Side gangs in New York or the
"hoodlums" in later San Francisco, with the exception, however, that
these young men affected the most meticulous nicety in dress. They
perfected in the spring of 1849 an organization called the Regulators,
announcing that, as there was no regular police force, they would take
it upon themselves to protect the weak against the strong and the
newcomer against the bunco man. Every Sunday they paraded the streets
with bands and banners. Having no business in the world to occupy them,
and holding a position unique in the community, the Regulators soon
developed into practically a band of cut-throats and robbers, with the
object of relieving those too weak to bear alone the weight of wealth.
The Regulators, or Hounds, as they soon came to be called, had the great
wisdom to avoid the belligerent and resourceful pioneer. They issued
from their headquarters, a large tent near the Plaza, every night. Armed
with clubs and pistols, they descended upon the settlements of harmless
foreigners living near the outskirts, relieved them of what gold dust
they possessed, beat them up by way of warning, and returned to
headquarters with the consciousness of a duty well done. The victims
found it of little use to appeal to the _alcalde_, for with the best
disposition in the world the latter could do nothing without an adequate
police force. The ordinary citizen, much too interested in his own
affairs, merely took precautions to preserve his own skin, avoided dark
and unfrequented alleyways, barricaded his doors and windows, and took
the rest out in contemptuous cursing.

Encouraged by this indifference, the Hounds naturally grew bolder and
bolder. They considered they had terrorized the rest of the community,
and they began to put on airs and swagger in the usual manner of bullies
everywhere. On Sunday afternoon of July 15, they made a raid on some
California ranchos across the bay, ostensibly as a picnic expedition,
returning triumphant and very drunk. For the rest of the afternoon with
streaming banners they paraded the streets, discharging firearms and
generally shooting up the town. At dark they descended upon the Chilean
quarters, tore down the tents, robbed the Chileans, beat many of the men
to insensibility, ousted the women, killed a number who had not already
fled, and returned to town only the following morning.

This proved to be the last straw. The busy citizens dropped their own
affairs for a day and got together in a mass meeting at the Plaza. All
work was suspended and all business houses were closed. Probably all the
inhabitants in the city with the exception of the Hounds had gathered
together. Our old friend, Sam Brannan, possessing the gift of a fiery
spirit and an arousing tongue, addressed the meeting. A sum of money was
raised for the despoiled foreigners. An organization was effected, and
armed _posses_ were sent out to arrest the ringleaders. They had little
difficulty. Many left town for foreign parts or for the mines, where
they met an end easily predicted. Others were condemned to various
punishments. The Hounds were thoroughly broken up in an astonishingly
brief time. The real significance of their great career is that they
called to the attention of the better class of citizens the necessity
for at least a sketchy form of government and a framework of law. Such
matters as city revenue were brought up for practically the first time.
Gambling-houses were made to pay a license. Real estate, auction sales,
and other licenses were also taxed. One of the ships in the harbor was
drawn up on shore and was converted into a jail. A district-attorney was
elected, with an associate. The whole municipal structure was still
about as rudimentary as the streets into which had been thrown armfuls
of brush in a rather hopeless attempt to furnish an artificial bottom.
It was a beginning, however, and men had at last turned their eyes even
momentarily from their private affairs to consider the welfare of this
unique society which was in the making.





CHAPTER X

ORDEAL BY FIRE


San Francisco in the early years must be considered, aside from the
interest of its picturesqueness and aside from its astonishing growth,
as a crucible of character. Men had thrown off all moral responsibility.
Gambling, for example, was a respectable amusement. People in every
class of life frequented the gambling saloons openly and without thought
of apology. Men were leading a hard and vigorous life; the reactions
were quick; and diversions were eagerly seized. Decent women were
absolutely lacking, and the women of the streets had as usual followed
the army of invasion. It was not considered at all out of the ordinary
to frequent their company in public, and men walked with them by day to
the scandal of nobody. There was neither law nor restraint. Most men
were drunk with sudden wealth. The battle was, as ever, to the strong.

There was every inducement to indulge the personal side of life. As a
consequence, many formed habits they could not break, spent all of their
money on women and drink and gambling, ruined themselves in pocket-book
and in health, returned home broken, remained sodden and hopeless
tramps, or joined the criminal class. Thousands died of cholera or
pneumonia; hundreds committed suicide; but those who came through formed
the basis of a race remarkable today for its strength, resourcefulness,
and optimism. Characters solid at bottom soon come to the inevitable
reaction. They were the forefathers of a race of people which is
certainly different from the inhabitants of any other portion of the
country.

The first public test came with the earliest of the big fires that,
within the short space of eighteen months, six times burned San
Francisco to the ground. This fire occurred on December 4, 1849. It was
customary in the saloons to give negroes a free drink and tell them not
to come again. One did come again to Dennison's; he was flogged, and
knocked over a lamp. Thus there started a conflagration that consumed
over a million dollars' worth of property. The valuable part of the
property, it must be confessed, was in the form of goods, is the light
canvas and wooden shacks were of little worth. Possibly the fire
consumed enough germs and germ-breeding dirt to pay partially for
itself. Before the ashes had cooled, the enterprising real estate owners
were back reerecting the destroyed structures.

This first fire was soon followed by others, each intrinsically severe.
The people were splendid in enterprise and spirit of recovery; but they
soon realized that not only must the buildings be made of more
substantial material, but also that fire-fighting apparatus must be
bought. In June, 1850, four hundred houses were destroyed; in May, 1851,
a thousand were burned at a loss of two million and a half; in June,
1851, the town was razed to the water's edge. In many places the wharves
were even disconnected from the shore. Everywhere deep holes were burned
in them, and some people fell through at night and were drowned. In this
fire a certain firm, Dewitt and Harrison, saved their warehouse by
knocking in barrels of vinegar and covering their building with blankets
soaked in that liquid. Water was unobtainable. It was reported that they
thus used eighty thousand gallons of vinegar, but saved their warehouse.


The loss now had amounted to something like twelve million dollars for
the large fires. It became more evident that something must be done.
From the exigencies of the situation were developed the volunteer
companies, which later became powerful political, as well as
fire-fighting, organizations. There were many of these. In the old
Volunteer Department there were fourteen engines, three hook-and-ladder
companies, and a number of hose companies. Each possessed its own house,
which was in the nature of a club-house, well supplied with reading and
drinking matter. The members of each company were strongly partisan.
They were ordinarily drawn from men of similar tastes and position in
life. Gradually they came to stand also for similar political interests,
and thus grew to be, like New York's Tammany Hall, instruments of the
politically ambitious.

On an alarm of fire the members at any time of the day and night ceased
their occupation or leaped from their beds to run to the engine-house.
Thence the hand-engines were dragged through the streets at a terrific
rate of speed by hundreds of yelling men at the end of the ropes. The
first engine at a fire obtained the place of honor; therefore every
alarm was the signal for a breakneck race. Arrived at the scene of fire,
the water-box of one engine was connected by hose with the reservoir of
the next, and so water was relayed from engine to engine until it was
thrown on the flames. The motive power of the pump was supplied by the
crew of each engine. The men on either side manipulated the pump by
jerking the hand-rails up and down. Putting out the fire soon became a
secondary matter. The main object of each company was to "wash" its
rival; that is, to pump water into the water box of the engine ahead
faster than the latter could pump it out, thus overflowing and eternally
disgracing its crew. The foremen walked back and forth between the
rails, as if on quarter-decks, exhorting their men. Relays in uniform
stood ready on either side to take the place of those who were
exhausted. As the race became closer, the foremen would get more
excited, begging their crews to increase the speed of the stroke,
beating their speaking trumpets into shapeless and battered relics.

In the meantime the hook-and-ladder companies were plying their glorious
and destructive trade. A couple of firemen would mount a ladder to the
eaves of the house to be attacked, taking with them a heavy hook at the
end of a long pole or rope. With their axes they cut a small hole in the
eaves, hooked on this apparatus, and descended. At once as many firemen
and volunteers as could get hold of the pole and the rope began to pull.
The timbers would crack, break; the whole side of the house would come
out with a grand satisfying smash. In this way the fire within was laid
open to the attack of the hose-men. This sort of work naturally did
little toward saving the building immediately affected, but it was
intended to confine or check the fire within the area already burning.
The occasion was a grand jubilation for every boy in the town--which
means every male of any age. The roar of the flames, the hissing of the
steam, the crash of the timber, the shrieks of the foremen, the yells of
applause or of sarcastic comment from the crowd, and the thud of the
numerous pumps made a glorious row. Everybody, except the owners of the
buildings, was hugely delighted, and when the fire was all over it was
customary for the unfortunate owner further to increase the amount of
his loss by dealing out liquid refreshments to everybody concerned. On
parade days each company turned out with its machine brought to a high
state of polish by varnish, and with the members resplendent in uniform,
carrying pole-axes and banners. If the rivalries at the fire could only
be ended in a general free fight, everybody was the better satisfied.

Thus by the end of the first period of its growth three necessities had
compelled the careless new city to take thought of itself and of public
convenience. The mud had forced the cleaning and afterwards the planking
of the principal roads; the Hounds had compelled the adoption of at
least a semblance of government; and the repeated fires had made
necessary the semiofficial organization of the fire department.

By the end of 1850 we find that a considerable amount of actual progress
has been made. This came not in the least from any sense of civic pride
but from the pressure of stern necessity. The new city now had eleven
wharves, for example, up to seventeen hundred feet in length. It had
done no little grading of its sand-hills. The quagmire of its streets
had been filled and in some places planked. Sewers had been installed.
Flimsy buildings were being replaced by substantial structures, for
which the stones in some instances were imported from China.

Yet it must be repeated that at this time little or no progress sprang
from civic pride. Each man was for himself. But, unlike the native
Californian, he possessed wants and desires which had to be satisfied,
and to that end he was forced, at least in essentials, to accept
responsibility and to combine with his neighbors.

The machinery of this early civic life was very crude. Even the fire
department, which was by far the most efficient, was, as has been
indicated, more occupied with politics, rivalry, and fun, than with its
proper function. The plank roads were good as long as they remained
unworn, but they soon showed many holes, large and small, jagged,
splintered, ugly holes going down into the depths of the mud. Many of
these had been mended by private philanthropists; many more had been
labeled with facetious signboards. There were rough sketches of
accidents taken from life, and various legends such as "Head of
Navigation," "No bottom," "Horse and dray lost here," "Take sounding,"
"Storage room, inquire below," "Good fishing for teal," and the like. As
for the government, the less said about that the better. Responsibility
was still in embryo; but politics and the law, as an irritant, were
highly esteemed. The elections of the times were a farce and a holiday;
nobody knew whom he was voting for nor what he was shouting for, but he
voted as often and shouted as loud as he could. Every American citizen
was entitled to a vote, and every one, no matter from what part of the
world he came, claimed to be an American citizen and defied any one to
prove the contrary. Proof consisted of club, sling-shot, bowie, and
pistol. A grand free fight was a refreshment to the soul. After "a
pleasant time by all was had," the populace settled down and forgot all
about the officers whom it had elected. The latter went their own sweet
way, unless admonished by spasmodic mass-meetings that some particularly
unscrupulous raid on the treasury was noted and resented. Most of the
revenue was made by the sale of city lots. Scrip was issued in payment
of debt. This bore interest sometimes at the rate of six or eight per
cent a month.

In the meantime, the rest of the crowd went about its own affairs. Then,
as now, the American citizen is willing to pay a very high price in
dishonesty to be left free for his own pressing affairs. That does not
mean that he is himself either dishonest or indifferent. When the price
suddenly becomes too high, either because of the increase in dishonesty
or the decrease in value of his own time, he suddenly refuses to pay.
This happened not infrequently in the early days of California.





CHAPTER XI

THE VIGILANTES OF '51


In 1851 the price for one commodity became too high. That commodity was
lawlessness.

In two years the population of the city had vastly increased, until it
now numbered over thirty thousand inhabitants. At an equal or greater
pace the criminal and lawless elements had also increased. The
confessedly criminal immigrants were paroled convicts from Sydney and
other criminal colonies. These practiced men were augmented by the weak
and desperate from other countries. Mexico, especially, was strongly
represented. At first few in numbers and poverty-stricken in resources,
these men acted merely as footpads, highwaymen, and cheap crooks. As
time went on, however, they gradually became more wealthy and powerful,
until they had established a sort of caste. They had not the social
importance of many of the "higher-ups" of 1856, but they were crude,
powerful, and in many cases wealthy. They were ably seconded by a class
of lawyers which then, and for some years later, infested the courts of
California. These men had made little success at law, or perhaps had
been driven forth from their native haunts because of evil practices.
They played the game of law exactly as the cheap criminal lawyer does
today, but with the added advantage that their activities were
controlled neither by a proper public sentiment nor by the usual
discipline of better colleagues. Unhappily we are not yet far enough
removed from just this perversion to need further explanation of the
method. Indictments were fought for the reason that the murderer's name
was spelled wrong in one letter; because, while the accusation stated
that the murderer killed his victim with a pistol, it did not say that
it was by the discharge of said pistol; and so on. But patience could
not endure forever. The decent element of the community was forced at
last to beat the rascals. Its apparent indifference had been only
preoccupation.

The immediate cause was the cynical and open criminal activity of an
Englishman named James Stuart. This man was a degenerate criminal of
the worst type, who came into a temporary glory through what he
considered the happy circumstances of the time. Arrested for one of his
crimes, he seemed to anticipate the usual very good prospects of
escaping all penalties. There had been dozens of exactly similar
incidents, but this one proved to be the spark to ignite a long
gathering pile of kindling. One hundred and eighty-four of the
wealthiest and most prominent men of the city formed themselves into a
secret Committee of Vigilance. As is usual when anything of importance
is to be done, the busiest men of the community were summoned and put to
work. Strangely enough, the first trial under this Committee of
Vigilance resulted also in a divided jury. The mob of eight thousand or
more people who had gathered to see justice done by others than the
appointed court finally though grumblingly acquiesced. The prisoners
were turned over to the regular authorities, and were eventually
convicted and sentenced.

So far from being warned by this popular demonstration, the criminal
offenders grew bolder than ever. The second great fire, in May, 1851,
was commonly believed to be the work of incendiaries. Patience ceased
to be a virtue. The time for resolute repression of crime had arrived.
In June the Vigilance Committee was formally organized. Our old and
picturesque friend Sam Brannan was deeply concerned. In matters of
initiative for the public good, especially where a limelight was
concealed in the wing, Brannan was an able and efficient citizen.
Headquarters were chosen and a formal organization was perfected. The
Monumental Fire Engine Company bell was to be tolled as a summons for
the Committee to meet.

Even before the first meeting had adjourned, this signal was given. A
certain John Jenkins had robbed a safe and was caught after a long and
spectacular pursuit. Jenkins was an Australian convict and was known to
numerous people as an old offender in many ways. He was therefore
typical of the exact thing the Vigilance Committee had been formed to
prevent. By eleven o'clock the trial, which was conducted with due
decorum and formality, was over. Jenkins was adjudged guilty. There was
no disorder either before or after Jenkins's trial. Throughout the trial
and subsequent proceedings Jenkins's manner was unafraid and arrogant.
He fully expected not only that the nerve of the Committee would give
out, but that at any moment he would be rescued. It must be remembered
that the sixty or seventy men in charge were known as peaceful unwarlike
merchants, and that against them were arrayed all the belligerent
swashbucklers of the town. While the trial was going on, the Committee
was informed by its officers outside that already the roughest
characters throughout the city had been told of the organization, and
were gathering for rescue. The prisoner insulted his captors, still
unconvinced that they meant business; then he demanded a clergyman, who
prayed for three-quarters of an hour straight, until Mr. Ryckman,
hearing of the gathering for rescue, no longer contained himself. Said
he: "Mr. Minister, you have now prayed three-quarters of an hour. I want
you to bring this prayer business to a halt. I am going to hang this man
in fifteen minutes."

The Committee itself was by no means sure at all times. Bancroft tells
us that "one time during the proceedings there appeared some faltering
on the part of the judges, or rather a hesitancy to take the lead in
assuming responsibility and braving what might be subsequent odium. It
was one thing for a half-drunken rabble to take the life of a fellow
man, but quite another thing for staid church-going men of business to
do it. Then it was that William A. Howard, after watching the
proceedings for a few moments, rose, and laying his revolver on the
table looked over the assembly. Then with a slow enunciation he said,
'Gentlemen, as I understand it, we are going to hang somebody.' There
was no more halting."

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