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HAVING completed
our visit to the family of our son, we next proceeded by sea to San
Francisco. We did not fancy the Mojave desert again, especially as
on the 1st August it would be much warmer than we found it on the
31st May, when it was quite warm enough. We embarked on board the
Santa Rosa steamer at San Pedro, the port of Los Angeles. The
steamer was most comfortable, but not the ocean. In the evening we
stopped for a few hours at Santa Barbara, a delightful and thriving
seaside town, and had a most pleasant little visit at the house of
Mr. Alexander, whom we had known in former days at Toronto. Feeble
health had brought him to the Pacific coast, and he was both
benefited and charmed by Santa Barbara. We embarking at night, our
next stoppage, on the following day, was at Port Harford, the
seaport for San Luis Obispo, about a dozen miles inland. Here, too,
we had friends, to whom also we paid a pleasant visit. San Luis is a
thriving city, in the midst of a fine agricultural district. When we
got back into the wide Pacific, we got far from a pacific reception.
A nasty side swell was perpetually hitting our vessel and causing a
most disagreeable motion. It gave us a miserable night, although we
had no sickness; and we were in no ordinary degree relieved and
gladdened when getting up in the morning we found ourselves entering
the Golden Gate, and in a little set foot on terra Firma on the
wharf at San Francisco.
We drove to the Palace Hotel. It is one of the phenomena of San
Francisco, and a comfortable house. It is one of the hotels where
you may pay for your bedroom only, and take your meals at a
restaurant connected with it, or wherever else you may please. The
higher you go the cheaper your bedroom; and as you are always
carried up in the elevator, height is a matter of little
consequence. No doubt there is one article in high rooms which
startles you a little—a coil of thick rope close to the window, to
give you the chance of escape if the house should take fire! It is a
gruesome thing to look at. I was assured, however, that the risk of
fire was infinitesimally small, as the hotel is watched by night,
and fire could not break out without being discovered in a very
brief time.
A word on American elevators. The elevator is one of the
characteristic features of American civilization. It is said that
there are quite different types of elevator, as of character, in New
York, Philadelphia, and Chicago. It is in the newest cities that the
elevator prevails most, because all the hotels, banks, warehouses,
and other buildings using it were erected after the elevator had
come into general use. Chicago is said to have the fastest, its
elevators running usually at the rate of four hundred feet a minute,
and the quickest at five hundred! This is too fast even for some
Americans themselves. In New York the number of elevators amounts to
three thousand five hundred, in Chicago to four thousand. The
highest of all elevators is that of the Washington Monument (which
is five hundred feet high); but it goes very slowly, at the sober
rate of one hundred feet a minute. In private houses the elevator is
becoming common. It is not only an American article, as being used
chiefly in that country, but the contriving and improving of all its
parts and methods of work have been almost exclusively the work of
Americans. The department of the patent office in Washington devoted
to it is said to be quite a study. As a comparatively new city, San
Francisco is great in elevators, and in many a big building the
stair might almost be dispensed with.
The common sights of San Francisco have been so often described that
I do not intend to repeat the operation. The bay is very fine; the
Golden Gate a stately entrance; the rock covered with seals basking
in the sun a rare curiosity; the public park a wonderful
transformation of what a few years ago were sandy hills. Oakland,
too, across the ferry, is an interesting place, an offshoot from San
Francisco, but it seems to have hardly interfered with the rapidity
of its growth. The city is conspicuous for its commercial
architecture, many warehouses and hotels being themselves a study;
otherwise its edifices are not very striking. San Francisco must
always be interesting to us as the first great American city on the
Pacific coast, the first great settlement of the Anglo-Saxon race in
what is virtually a new country— Western America; the first spot, in
what is destined to be a great empire, where the virtues and the
vices of our civilization began to spread abroad.
We had the pleasure to make the acquaintance of Dr. Mackenzie,
minister of the First Presbyterian Church, an active and most
estimable pastor, enjoying the esteem of the whole community; and no
one could have done more to make our stay agreeable and profitable.
During our four days’ stay in San Francisco, I preached in his
church, and in that of Dr. Cornelius, formerly of Pasadena; I
delivered a lecture on the Pan-Presbyterian Alliance in Calvary
Church, and also in the church of my friend, Rev. Dr. Horton of
Oakland; I addressed a ladies’ missionary meeting; and I performed
the ceremony of marriage, the bride being an old servant of our own,
and the bridegroom an excellent specimen of a Scotsman. But at the
same time I contrived to see a good deal.
We naturally felt a great interest in the Chinese in San Francisco.
The Chinese have already contrived to dispossess the barbarians.
Just as the woody particles of a tree are supplanted by the stony
material which fossilizes it, so the first town of San Francisco has
been gradually transformed, and is now fully occupied by the
Chinese. Ten blocks, forming the first San Francisco, where stood
the first counting-houses, the first banks, the first town house,
the first churches, have been transformed into Chinatown; they are
occupied by some say forty thousand, others thirty thousand Chinese;
no one else will dwell in them, and if the Chinese should finally be
expelled, they would have to be rebuilt before any other race would
settle in them. The Chinese question is one of the American
difficulties. At first they were welcomed to America as much as any
other foreign people; but the case is very different now. I remember
some years ago hearing Dr. Tahnage preach on the Chinese question in
his Brooklyn tabernacle. He was indignant at the feeling that was
getting up against them, and ridiculed the change that had come over
the American people from the time when they invited them so
cordially to come and help them to settle the west- “You dear Chinee,
do come over and see us, and bring your work with you. We shall be
so delighted to have you with us!” But now the Californian
Government has passed a law forbidding them to come into their
state, and the Supreme Court of the United States has declared the
law competent. What is urged in favour of this course is that the
Chinese will not amalgamate with the American nation as all other
foreigners have done, and notably the Japanese. They come over
without their wives, not to settle but to make money; they go back
as soon as they have made their pile; they wear their own dress,
even the pigtail, live and eat in their own fashion, speak their own
tongue, worship their own idols, import all they use, food and
dress, from China, and take no interest whatever in anything
American. I think there is much force in all this; although it is
true that had they been treated at first with more kindness and
consideration, the case might have been different now.
Dr. Mackenzie kindly took me to see Chinatown. Accompanied by a
guide, about eleven o’clock at night we visited some of the haunts
of the Chinese: sauntered through characteristic streets, had a cup
of tea (served with an egg) in a restaurant, peeped into some of
their opium-smoking dens, saw them worshipping in their joss-house,
and ended by a visit to their theatre. Late though the hour was,
everything was in full play. The Chinese constitution seems to
require little sleep; hence their ability for extraordinarily long
hours of labour,—they are said to be able to work eleven days in the
week. Chinatown, on the whole, is a miserable place, for the Chinese
in America will spend hardly a cent they can help. They are a
remarkably hardy, industrious, and sober people, and make excellent
servants, both in the house and in the field. But the absence of
married women and of family life makes Chinatown very squalid and
repulsive. What women there are are mostly slave-girls, owned by
wretches who turn them to the vilest purposes, inhabiting certain
alleys which at night are openly given over to vice. There is a good
deal of mission work done among the Chinese, and with a fair amount
of success; and the missionaries, male and female, speak of the
Chinese as an interesting people. Those of them who are Christian
are hated by their brethren, and are allowed as little intercourse
as possible with them. We visited a Chinese school, but not a large
one, and had specimens of their proficiency both in English and
Chinese. The recent law, if it be strictly enforced, will soon
reduce and finally extinguish the Chinese element; but it is
probable that it will not be rigidly enforced, because no other
labourers will be found to do the work of the Chinese. The wages of
servants, as we have said before, all over California are very high;
families that in our country would have two or three servants are
compelled to content themselves with but one, and that one very
often a Chinaman.
It is interesting to observe, in a new community, the provision for
the interests of the higher education. In America universities
originate in three ways—from Churches, from the State, and from
wealthy individuals. A new university has just been projected by a
wealthy Californian, likely, for extent of resources, to eclipse
everything of the kind, not only in America, but throughout the
world. The Honourable Leland Stanford, Governor and Senator for
California, who through mines and railways has accumulated vast
wealth, had an only son of the same name, who died lately at the age
of eighteen or nineteen. “The Leland Stanford, Junior, University”
is to be the monument of his parents to this youth. For its
endowment lands have been set apart valued at fifteen million
dollars. In addition, Mr. Stanford is now erecting buildings at Palo
Alta, thirty miles from San Francisco, which are to cover sixty
acres. I visited the place in company with Dr. Mackenzie, a friend
of Governor Stanford, who himself usually resides at Washington. On
the grounds of his country house, and in sight of the university to
be, is a costly mausoleum, lined inwardly with Italian marble, the
outer walls of the finest Maine granite, the resting-place of the
ashes of the youth whose death occasioned the undertaking. Mr.
Stanford’s idea is to found an institution which will begin with a
kindergarten, and end with the most advanced instruction that human
teachers can supply. From first to last, the instruction is to be
absolutely free. Boarding-houses will be erected for all the
students, male and female, and a room will be given to each at the
cost of a trifling sum to the caretaker. Board, too, will be
supplied at prime cost. From careful inquiries made at one of the
most fashionable hotels of New York, Mr. Stanford learned that the
prime cost of the provisions there supplied was only two dollars and
thirty cents per week for each guest; and it is expected that at the
university the price of board will not exceed two dollars a week.
Houses for the professors, library, laboratories, and every other
appliance needed for the efficiency of a university will be most
liberally supplied. The style of the university buildings is
Moorish. Already several class-rooms have been built, one story in
height; and it is expected that in about a year sufficient progress
will have been made for beginning the work of teaching.
Mr. Stanford has not lost sight of the religious question in his
undertaking. He does not believe in a system of education that
overlooks the highest aspects and objects of life. He provides that
in all its operations the university is to recognize two great
principles of theism—that there is a God, and a future life. All
that falls short of this must remain outside the Stanford
University. I fear such a creed is too colourless to be of much
avail. It is an odd thing to recognize God without recognizing his
chief revelation of himself, and to bring in the life to come and
shut out Him by whom life and immortality have been brought clearly
to light.
Mr. Stanford is taking an active interest in all the details of his
institution, and will leave no stone unturned to make it a success.
His path is not free from difficulties, and no doubt he is finding
that the question of the renowned Mr. Baird, “Will siller dae it?”
has sometimes to be answered in the negative. It is said that he has
great difficulty in finding a president.
The site is a very choice one—elevated, spacious, airy, with a
sufficient amount of grown timber to take off the look of bareness
that used to strike an Edinburgh eye in Donaldson's Hospital or
Fettes College. A railway station will make the communication easy
with San Francisco and other parts; and though no ground will be
permanently alienated, facilities will be given for building
dwelling-houses to accommodate parents or friends of the pupils. It
is not easy to say what will be the result of this undertaking;
probably some of us may think that the plan of combining every stage
of education in the same institution, and confining young persons to
the same spot from first to last, is somewhat artificial and of
doubtful expediency.
While I was in California, and especially in San Francisco, I found
considerable excitement prevailing in connection with excursion
trips that had been organized to Alaska, the latest territory that
has been acquired by the United States, purchased by them about
twenty years ago from the Russian Government at a cost of seven
million dollars. Every one who had gone this trip was enthusiastic
over it, and whenever a stranger like myself fell into their hands,
the most urgent representations were made that, at all cost, it
should be undertaken. Alaska is the north-west corner of North
America, and lies to the north-west of our Canadian dominions. It
was acquired by the United States on the advice of Mr. W. H. Seward.
Mr. Seward was ridiculed for his action in regard to what was said
to be a mere collection of glaciers and icebergs; but its mines, its
seals, its fishings, and its furs have already made it a most
valuable acquisition. One is almost provoked at its passing into
American hands. It ought beyond doubt to have belonged to Canada.
Many a representation, I have been told, was made to this effect to
our Government by our friends in British Columbia, who knew the
value of Alaska, but in vain. The Government had no fancy for
icebergs and glaciers. But now Alaska, apart from its strategic
value, is becoming a centre of an important traffic; and as a most
picturesque and interesting country is becoming to tourists in
America much as Norway is to tourists in Europe.
One thing that I was told about Alaska I found hard to believe. I
thought an experiment was being tried upon my credulity when I was
assured that the territory of the United States extended farther
west from San Francisco than the distance between it and New York on
the east. But when I examined the map, and observed the longitude of
the most westerly of a long string of islands included in Alaska, I
found that what had been told me was literally true. After some
hesitation, I decided, on considerations of time, not to go to
Alaska. But I have heard much about it. At Long Beach, I met with a
Presbyterian minister who had been for ten years a missionary to the
natives—a race supposed to be of Japanese origin. The superstitions
of the natives were very gross and very cruel, especially in
connection with their belief in witches. But in that respect there
is a manifest improvement. The United States Government neglected
the place utterly for some years after acquiring it, and have only
recently begun to attend to it. Its great attraction to tourists,
besides the beauty of its shores and islands, is its glaciers and
icebergs. The late Principal Forbes of St. Andrews would have
enjoyed a rare treat had he known of them and seen them, for they
seem to throw no little additional light on the formation and
history of glaciers. The trip to and fro is usually performed in
about three weeks. Steam-boats go on purpose, and the tourist is
carried without trouble from place to place; but no doubt some would
like more freedom. Visitors to the Pacific coast would do well to
include this excursion in their plans. A more direct starting-point
than San Francisco is Victoria, in British Columbia, and this is
easily reached by the Canadian Pacific Railway.
I do not think I can bid farewell to San Francisco without saying a
word about its cable-cars. For the most part, in other cities
cable-cars have been limited to short and easy distances; but now in
San Francisco they take the longest and the wildest flights. Yet, a
prior one would have said that San Francisco, with its steep and
far-extended hills, was utterly unsuited for that form of movement.
In the city itself another view has prevailed. The streets are now
all alive with them, some running in one direction and some in
another, often following each other at intervals of a minute or two
minutes, and seldom more than five. Usually two cars are joined
together, one open and the other closed—the open one like an Irish
car, with low seats running lengthways, making it remarkably easy to
get off or on. Till one gets used to the sight, it is like magic to
see them bowling along in meek silence, with no visible motive
force, this way and that way, backwards and forwards, stopping at
the beck of any passenger, white, black, or yellow, and performing
every motion with the ease and regularity of the solar system. The
marvel is how one rope can stretch so far; how it can turn abrupt
corners, climb high hills, scud along crowded streets—all apparently
without hitch or accident. Yet so it is. And the result is going to
be a great extension of San Francisco in the direction of its high
hills. The enterprise of these Californians is a contrast to the
slow caution of our people at home; as is also the emotion with
which we have to witness the struggles of panting horses to the
nonchalance and sense of ease that dominate the cable-car system. |
