Chapter IX

THE OLD CRAB-CATCHER--MR. WARREN--AMERICAN FRIENDSHIP--THE AMERICAN
PRESS--EDUCATION IN AMERICA--AMERICANS GOOD COLONISTS--CALIFORNIAN
CORRESPONDENCE.

_April, 1851._

At daylight the next morning we found ourselves among the shipping that lay moored in crowds in front of San Francisco. Whilst threading our way to the wharf, we narrowly escaped being swamped by one of the Stockton river steamboats, which, in fact, did graze our stern. The Yankee freshwater skippers of those days expected everything to get out of their way, regardless of any difficulties that might prevent a small boat doing so; but one of these go-ahead commanders received, to my knowledge, a check. A fisherman of the bay had his smack damaged, and his trawling apparatus unnecessarily carried away by one of the river boats. His application to the captain for compensation was met with the remark, that the next time he got in the way he would swamp him. But might did not so easily triumph over right, and for this reason. The small river-boats are very low in the hull, and as the steering apparatus leads forward, the helmsman stands prominently (under a booby hatch) near the bow of the boat. The old smack, as usual, was bobbing about with her trawls and lines out, when down comes the steamboat one day, the fishing-boat evidently directly in her course, and showing no disposition to move. “D--n that old crab-catcher!” said the Captain. “I’ll give him a close shave this time.” But the “old crab-catcher,” standing up in his boat, levelled a long wicked-looking Kentucky rifle, and “drew a bead” on the Captain, who, having taken the helm, formed a splendid target. Upon this, that brave sailor thought better of it, and not only dispensed with the close shave, but “concluded” to allow the small smack to bob about in peace from that time forth.

On landing at San Francisco, I found so many changes on every side, that my knowledge of locality was at fault; wharves extended on all sides into the sea, and the spot where I last had landed was scarcely recognisable, it was now so far inland; the steam-paddy had worked incessantly, and the front of the town still advanced into the bay.

The winter had been (compared with that of 1849) a dry one, and some of the streets having been graded and planked, the town was under the worst circumstances navigable for jack-boots.

What first struck me, among the many changes of a few months, was that the inhabitants generally were less eccentric in dress. When first I arrived, the people were most capricious in this respect; they wore, in fact, whatever pleased them, long hair and beards included; sobered down by circumstances, however, they had now quietly relapsed into the habits of ordinary mortals.

Places of rational amusement had sprung up, and replaced in a great measure the gambling saloons, whose fortunes were rather on the wane from over competition. There were clubs, reading-rooms, and a small theatre, called the Dramatic Museum. This last was sadly in want of actors, and as my time hung very heavily on my hands (I was awaiting the arrival of a vessel from England) I gave way to a vicious propensity that had long been my bane, and joined the company as a volunteer. For about a month, under an assumed name, I nightly “Used Up” and “Jeremy Diddlered” my Californian audiences, who never having fortunately seen Charles Matthews, did not, therefore, stone me to death for my presumptuous attempts to personate that unrivalled actor’s characters.

I became, at last, so used to seeing my “last appearance but one” displayed on the advertising posters, that I began to associate myself with the profession altogether, and to believe my name _was_ Warren; and what with the excitement of acting in leading parts, and the pleasant parties, and picnics, with our troupe, I forgot all about Russian River Farm, and became a very slave to the buskin.

The dreadful experience of the place had made people so nervous respecting fire, that the sound of the fire-bell would cause every man to rush to his house, and get ready for the defence of his property; and as small fires on the outskirts of the town were of continual occurrence, there was scarcely a night but the deep-toned bell would keep the citizens on the alert. On these occasions the theatre would be deserted rapidly, whilst every other man would vociferate fire, but almost immediately the leading columns would return, with cries of “all over!” and “all out!” and the theatre would refill, and the performances proceed, until the “fire-bell” took them off again, which occasionally it would in ten minutes.

The market at this time was so overstocked with merchandise, that goods sold at auction at less than cost-price. Ready-made clothing, in particular, was cheaper in San Francisco than it was in New York or London. So that the storehouses being everywhere crammed with goods, great depression in trade existed. The city of San Francisco at this time was in debt, about a million of dollars, and the Treasury being empty, scrip was issued bearing the ruinous interest of thirty-six per cent. per annum. But this state of affairs was remedied by funding the debt, and issuing bonds payable in twenty years, bearing interest at ten per cent. The citizens cooperated in this movement, and submitted to a heavy tax, and thus, in spite of repeated conflagrations following on a state of apparently hopeless bankruptcy, the energy of the San Franciscans not only enabled the municipality to redeem annually a portion of their bonds, but placed the credit of the city on a firm and secure basis.

There were seven or eight churches already in San Francisco, all of different denominations--these were well attended on Sundays, but the price of pews was very exorbitant, reaching as high, sometimes, as ten pounds a month. Some of these churches were built entirely in a spirit of speculation, and on asking an acquaintance once what security he had for some money he had lent, he told me, so many shares in ---- Church; and the same building was afterwards sold, I think, by auction, to satisfy its creditors. Now that ladies begin to flock into California so rapidly, the churches are crammed to overflowing on a Sunday. The Americans are rather strict observers of congregational worship, which has this drawback, however, that it here imposes the necessity of so many becoming hypocrites on the Sabbath, for as regards the amount of religious feeling that exists at this time, one can neither judge of it by the attendance or the absence of the people from public worship. But I will say this for them, that as a nation they are most charitable, and that they are true friends to one another in adversity; _once_ your friend, the American will share all he has with you, and risk his life in defence of your honour and name--more, he will not even permit merited censure to be passed upon you in his presence, and however suspicious of others worldly contact may have made him, he will repose his confidence in you like a child. And so common are these friendships, that the true generosity which cements them forms a prominent feature of the American character; but whether it springs from deep religious feeling or not is a question I do not care to argue. A great portion of the working-classes of America are Methodists, or of somewhat similar persuasions; they have their camp-meetings, read their Bible very generally, are given to psalm-singing, and have the appearance of being a religious people.

I attended one of these camp-meetings. My old friend of the English Barque, who wished to “rip up the cook,” was officiating with “tears in his eyes.” There was a great deal of excited praying, but the greater proportion of the people seemed to have come out for any purpose but that of worship--in fact, the scene was very lively, and if it had not been for the weeping priest, it would have been a merry pic-nic.

* * * * *

There are now seven daily papers at San Francisco, and each mining town of importance in the country publishes its weekly sheet. If the Americans were not thirsty people for news, warm party politicians, and all able to read, so great a number of periodicals could never be supported.

There is an independence about American journalism in strict accordance with the character of the institutions of the country, but which, in my opinion, detracts greatly from the value of the press. As, for instance, many journals of wide circulation, conducted by men of ability, enforce injudicious opinions that not only closely affect the vital interests of the state, but, to a great extent, the passions of the people. For this reason the American press has not so much weight with the highest class of Americans, and there is no leading journal of sufficient influence to direct and _admonish_ them; or which, from its impartiality and justness, can give a healthy tone to the thousands of minnows that follow in its track--none, in fact, that occupies the position of the “Times” with us.

The Americans are prone to throw in our teeth that we are led by the “Times,” and form no opinion for ourselves; but they forget that our faith in the practical essays of that journal is not the result of a blind adherence to custom, but of the confidence that, among the rational, will ever cling to opinions that are seldom proved, under the strongest test, to be fallacious. _Socially_, the “Times” is our expounder and monitor, and if, in this respect, it leads us, it leads us by conviction, as we should be led, and when you hear a man say that “he doesn’t care what the ‘Times’ says on this or that subject,” he is generally one not open to conviction, or not sufficiently noble to surrender to it his own false impressions. In political matters the “Times” may be strategical, as great statesmen have been.

The press of England has not hitherto been widely disseminated among the working classes (fault we will say of their narrow means and education) nor were it so, would they, as in America, be so influenced politically by its tone; but that _which is_ disseminated either takes its tone from the “Times,” so far as to echo weekly the strictures which that journal passes on our _home abuses_, or otherwise is conducted in the same spirit. Therefore there is an unanimity of opinion in the English press, and as its expositions are by no means flattering, as a general rule, to the public, and meet no contradiction, we may presume, from that fact alone, that the principles it inculcates on these matters are sound. Putting aside the slave question, the great proportion of the American press by no means devotes itself to the exposure of abuses: in the first place, the Americans are not fond of having their faults pointed out, and an editor is naturally anxious to place before his readers only what is palatable. Therefore the press declines to admonish, and following no just and truthful leader, each provincial journal disseminates its own doctrine, whatever that may be; and thus, in a country where all read, the press exercises its power to excite the passions, but seldom to control them. For instance, at the time I write the press of California upholds strongly the doctrine of forcible annexation; some of these journals inform the public (many of whom, by the way, are ripe for novel enterprise) that the Sandwich Islands _must_ become subject to the United States; whilst the more ambitious point to Mexico on one side, and British Oregon on the other--undecided only, which first should bow to American rule. The higher classes, it will be said, disregard these “fillibustering” doctrines; but of the 200,000 souls in California how large a proportion does not foster them until a spirit is diffused that can never be countenanced even by the warmest admirers of the “Munro Doctrine.”

For although one may admit it to be probable that in time the American people will add to their dominions the Sandwich Islands and the sickly independencies of South America, they will do so, it is to be hoped, only as becomes a great nation, and not through piracy or intimidation. In fact, to sum up, I think a great part of the press of the United States studies the foibles of the people instead of correcting them, when they most need correction, which leads to this result, that the Americans hear of their faults through the press of other countries, and attribute those strictures to a feeling of injustice and envy.

An American gentleman of great intelligence assured me that the good feeling which now exists (and I trust ever will) between the two countries, would have been induced long previous had the “Times” (I use his own expression) been _less silent_ on the subject of America.

“What,” he asked, “did your leading journal ever say _in our favour_ fifteen years ago, when this country was making the most unexampled strides towards prosperity? Were we ever written of but with an open allusion to the Pennsylvanian debt? Was anything connected with us thought worthy of record but our steam-boat explosions and Lynch law?”

There is great truth in this--the press of Europe _has_ treated America until latterly with silence if not contempt, and it is no wonder that the Americans, who are the first to feel a slight, should retain some bitterness on this score.

But this has passed away, the superficial travels of prejudiced Englishmen (and women) no longer regulate our judgment of this country, which indeed, even if their views were correct, has long outgrown, in its rapid prosperity, the features they depicted.

The American newspapers are conducted with talent, and warmly encourage and keep alive the spirit of energy and progress, from which the country’s greatness springs; their moral tone generally is good, and the amount of useful information they disseminate renders them of great value to the greater proportion of readers; but it is to be deplored that so many are connected with the press, whose feelings prompt them to keep alive a jealousy and hatred of the mother country. The best of us need at times to have the scales removed from our eyes, and the fallacies we hug so stubbornly must be made to fall before conviction. Therefore, with so large a mass of readers of the lower class dependent almost on the press for information; among a people of warm blood and quick impulses, but a people, whom it is as easy to mould to think calmly and dispassionately as to inflame and excite until the judgment falls before the power of doctrines flattering to national vanity; is it not to be lamented that that portion of the press to which the bone and sinew of the country looks naturally for guidance and advice, should in few instances be directed by a wise and sound policy, principally from the absence of leading journals sufficiently courageous to _chastise_?

* * * * *

There is nothing more pleasant than to revert to the good traits of a country, particularly after having recorded what in one’s judgment appears an infirmity. I allude therefore with pleasure to the educational system of the Americans, honourable as it is to the good feeling of the country, although it must be remembered I am speaking of the Americans as _colonists_. The base of the American system of education is simply to educate everybody, and to develope the natural faculties; thus the way is opened to all to raise themselves by assiduity and talent to independence and mayhap renown. How is it that great and wise countries in the matter of education discuss so much and so idly the manner of the doing; leaving the patient unrelieved whilst the wise doctors disagree? Or how is it that it requires a Bishop and his staff to plant a school in certain colonies, and why is so much fuss made about the matter when the Bishop comes home and informs the public, as bishops always do at some meeting or other, of the glorious success that has attended his labours, and how he has called together twenty-five small Carribean children in a wooden building forty feet by twelve, as if a sacrifice had been offered up to Heaven, the incense of which should diffuse itself gratefully over the whole land?

Now if one turns to the accounts of San Francisco in 1848, they will be found to convey a tolerably truthful account of the society of that then city of tents. It was scarcely a fortuitous commencement for a colony, that its earlier inhabitants were for the most part maddened to excess by the easy acquisition of wealth; and that under the influence of an all-absorbing pursuit (such as few of us, I venture to say, could under such circumstances entirely have resisted); the worst passions were exercised without control, and _selfishness_, as is natural, reigned paramount; what idea of the intellectual or moral cultivation of the young would be expected to intrude itself on the thoughts of a community occupied solely in the pursuit of selfish gratifications?

Yet in _this_ year a public school was opened in San Francisco supported by the people, and this school was shortly placed in the charge of an intelligent clergyman. What better illustration can we find in proof that the Americans stand out in strong colours on this point? what better proof that they are good colonists, when under such adverse circumstances, in the midst of riot, dissipation, and ungodliness, the first and only approach to a sense of responsibility was shown in a fostering care of the young and helpless children _not their own_.

There were no bishops here, no staff, nor was the school organised by reverend men; it owed its foundation and support to the one sense of duty that no circumstances could erase from the American mind; and in this earnest desire to open to all the path to future prosperity, the grand principle of equality is better carried out than by any other feature of the people of America. If this feeling exists, as I believe throughout the United States, what stronger foundation-stone, speaking in a worldly point of view, can a people naturally intelligent lay down as a basis for increased prosperity? for, putting aside religion, with this education is inculcated self-reliance; self-reliance in a nation leads to mutual support and unity, and this in colonists overcomes difficulties apparently insurmountable, as ants united move the dead body of a lizard from the doorway of their home, or sailors par-buckle a gun up some apparently impracticable mountain.

The proportion of children in California was naturally small as compared with the population, yet I find that in 1853 the City of San Francisco expended the monthly sum of seven hundred and fifty pounds on its schools, in which were educated fourteen hundred children; and excellent institutions now exist there, also, for the relief of orphans and the sick and destitute. It will be remembered that the city is already deeply in debt, and that the population are averse to taxes, which render the maintenance of these establishments a burden.

* * * * *

The book stores of San Francisco drive a thriving trade after the arrival of each mail, but the importations consist for the most part of novels, which are greedily bought up, and find a ready sale in the mining regions.

Apparently, every Californian can read, and judging from the fact that the mails take an average of fifty thousand letters to the United States every fortnight, we may presume that there are few among them that cannot write.