The Lure of San Francisco

A Romance Amid Old Landmarks

ByElizabeth Gray PotterandMabel Thayer Gray

Illustrated ByAudley B. Wells

Paul Elder & CompanyPublishers San Francisco

Copyright, 1915, ByPaul Elder & Co. San Francisco

To Our Mother

Preface

The average visitor considers California's claim to historic recognitionas dating from the discovery of gold. Her children, both by birth andadoption, have a hazy pride in her Spanish origin but are too busy withtoday's interests to take much thought of it. They know that somewhereover in the Mission is the old adobe church. They rejoice that itescaped the fire but have no time to visit it. They will proudly telltheir eastern friends of its existence and that the Presidio receivedits name from the Spaniards but further narration of the heritage islost in exclamations over the beauty of the drives and the views, whilethe historic significance of Portsmouth Square is smothered in thedelight over Chinese embroideries, bronzes and cloisonné. 

May this little book aid in the general awaking of the dormant love ofevery Californian for his possessions and be a suggestion to the casualvisitor that we are entitled to the dignity of age. 

Contents

PrefaceThe Mission and its Romance A view from Twin Peaks--The city with its historic crosses. A visit to the old church--Its past, and the romance of Lüis Argüello. The Presidio, Past and Present The Spanish Fortifications and the love story of Concepcion and Rezánov. The Plaza and its Echoes A Chinese restaurant. Yerba Buena and the reminiscences of a forty-niner. Telegraph Hill of Unique Fame The Latin quarter. The signal station of '49 and a view of the city as it was. The Golden Gate. 

List of Illustrations

The Mission "The modern structures crowd upon the low adobe building. "Prayer Book Cross "A granite cross just visible above the trees in Golden Gate Park. "At Lotta's Fountain "We watched the people purchasing flowers on the corner. "The Officer's Club House at the Presidio "Of a different generation from its neighbors. "A Street in Chinatown "We must take a look at the spot where the first house stood. "Portsmouth Square "The entire history of San Francisco was made around this Plaza. "A Fountain in the Latin Quarter "Stooping to drink from his hand on the edge of a little pool. "A Sunset Thro' the Golden Gate "The last rays gilded the cliffs on either side. "

The Mission

A view from Twin Peaks--The city with its historic crosses. A visit tothe old church--Its past, and the romance of Lüis Argüello. 

The Mission and Its Romance

"Tickets to the city, Sir?" The conductor's voice sounded above therumble of the train. As my companion's hand went to his pocket heglanced at me with a quizzical smile. 

"I should think you Oaklanders would resent that. Hasn't your town puton long skirts since the fire?" There was an unpleasant emphasis on thelast phrase, but I passed it over unnoticed. 

"Of course we have grown up, " I assured him. "We're a big flourishingcity, but we are not the city. San Francisco always has been, and alwayswill be the city to all northern California; it was so called in thedays of forty-nine and we still cling affectionately to the term. "

"I believe you Californians have but two dates on your calendar, " heexclaimed, "for everything I mention seems to have happened either'before the fire' or 'in the good old days of forty-nine!' 'Good olddays of forty-nine, '" he repeated, amused. "In Boston we date back tothe Revolution, and 'in Colonial times' is a common expression. We havebuildings a hundred years old, but if you have a structure that haslasted a decade, it is a paragon and pointed out as built 'before thefire. ' Do you remember the pilgrimage we made to the historic shrines ofBoston, just a year ago?"

"Shall I ever forget it!" I exclaimed. 

He smiled appreciatively. "Faneuil Hall and the old State House areinteresting. "

"Oh, I wasn't thinking about the buildings! I don't even recall how theylook. But I do remember the weather. I was so cold I couldn't evenspeak. "

"Impossible!" he cried, "you not able to talk!"

"But it's true! My cheeks were frozen stiff. I wore a thick dress, asweater, a heavy coat and my furs, and, still I was cold while all thetime I was thinking that the fruit trees and wild flowers were inblossom in California. If it hadn't been for the symphony concerts andthe opera, I never could have endured an Eastern winter. "

"A fine compliment to me when I spent days taking you to points ofhistoric interest. "

I sent him an appreciative glance. "It was good of you, " I acknowledged, "and do you remember that I promised to take you on a similar pilgrimagewhen you came to San Francisco?"

He laughed. "And I was foolish enough to believe you, since I had neverbeen to the Pacific Coast. "

The train came to a stop in the Ferry Building and we followed the otherpassengers onto the boat. "San Francisco is modern to the core, " hecontinued. "Boston dates back generations, but you have hardly acquiredyour three score years and ten. "

"If you don't like fine progressive cities, why did you come toCalifornia?" His fault-finding with San Francisco hurt me as if it hadbeen a personal criticism. 

"You know why I came, " he said gently, with his eyes on my face. 

I felt the blood creeping to my cheeks and turned quickly to look for anout-of-doors seat. In the crowd we were jostled by a little slant-eyedman of the Orient, resplendent in baggy blue silk trousers tied neatlyat the ankles and a loose coat lined with lavender, whose flowingsleeves half concealed his slender brown hands. 

"There's a man who has centuries at his back. " My companion's eyestraveled from the soft padded shoes to the little red button on the topof the black skull cap. "Even his costume is the same as hisforefathers'. "

"If you are interested in the Chinese, I'll show you Oriental SanFrancisco. It lies in the heart of the city and its very atmosphere issaturated with Eastern customs. It is much more sanitary but not aspicturesque as it was before the fire. " I flushed as I saw hisamusement, and quickly called his attention to the receding shores wherethe encircling green hills had thrown out long banners of yellow mustardand blue lupins. To the right was Mt. Tamalpais, a sturdy sentinellooking out to the ocean, its summit pressed against the sky's bluecanopy and its base lost in a network of purple forests. In front of theGolden Gate was Alcatraz Island, like a huge dismantled warship, guarding the entrance to the bay, and before us, San Francisco restedupon undulating hills, its tall buildings piercing the sky at irregularintervals. We made our way to the forward deck in order to have the fullsweep of the waterfront. 

"You should see it at night!" I said, "it is a marvelous tiara. The redand green lights on these wharves close to the water's edge are therubies and emeralds, while above, sweeping the hills, the lights of theresidences sparkle like rows and rows of diamonds. "

A crowd of passengers surged around us as the boat poked its nose intothe slip. "There was nothing left of this part of the city but a fringeof wharves, after the fire. " I bit the last word in two, for it wasevident the expression was getting on his nerves. I was thankful thatthe clanging chains of the descending gang plank and the tramp of manyfeet made further conversation impossible. 

"Hurry, " he urged, "there's the Exposition car. " We were in front of theFerry Building and the crowd was jostling us in every direction. 

"You surely are not going to the Exposition!" I exclaimed in mocksurprise. 

"Of course I am. Where else should we go?"

"But, my dear Antiquary, those buildings are only a few months old!"

He laughed good naturedly. "It ought to suit you Westerners, anyway, " heretaliated. Then taking my arm, "Let us hurry! Look, the car isstarting!"

"I am going to take the one behind, " I announced. "There must besomething old in San Francisco and I am going to find it. "

"You'll have a long hunt, " rejoined the skeptic, and with his eyes stillon the tail of the disappearing Exposition car, he reluctantly followedme. 

"Lots of strangers in San Francisco for the Fair, " he remarked, as fromthe car window he watched the big turban of a Hindoo bobbing among thecrowd on the sidewalk; then his eyes wandered to a Japanese arrayed in anew suit of American clothes and finally rested on a bright yellow leiwound about the hat of a swarthy Hawaiian. I smiled as I nodded to theJapanese who had worked in my kitchen for three years, and recognized inthe dusky Hawaiian one of the regular singers in a popular café. 

The train had now left commercial San Francisco behind and was climbingthe hills to where the nature loving citizens had perched their housesin order to obtain a better view of the bay. We abandoned the car andfollowing an upward path, finally stood on the lower shoulder of TwinPeaks. Tired from our exertions we sank upon the soft grass. The hillshad put on their festival attire, catching up their emerald gowns withbunches of golden poppies and veiling their shoulders in filmy scarfs ofblue lupins. The air was filled with Spring and the delicate blush of anapple-tree told of the approach of Summer. Below, the city, noisy andbustling a few moments ago, now lay hushed to quiet by the distance andbeyond, the sun-flecked waters of the bay stretched to a girdle ofverdant hills, up whose sides the houses of the towns were scrambling. To the left, resting on the top of Mt. Tamalpais, could be seen the"sleeping maiden" who for centuries had awaited the awakening kiss ofher Indian lover. 

"What a glorious play-ground for San Francisco. " His voice rang withenthusiasm. "Look at the ferryboats plowing up the bay in everydirection. A man could escape from the factory grime on the water frontand in an hour be asleep under a tree on a grassy hillside. "

"It is a splendid country to tramp through, but if a man wants to sleep, why not spend less time and money by selecting a nearer place? There areplenty of trees and grassy mounds in the Presidio and Golden Gate Park. "

His eyes followed mine to the green patch edging the entrance to the bayand then ran along the tree-lined avenue to the parked section extendingalmost from the center of the city to the Pacific Ocean. Suddenly hestood up and took his field glasses from his pocket. 

"There's a granite cross just visible above the trees in Golden GatePark. " He focused his glasses for a better view. "It's quite elaboratein design and seems to be raised on a hill. "

He offered me the glasses but I did not need them. "It's the Prayer-BookCross and commemorates the first Church of England service held on thisCoast by Sir Francis Drake in 1579. I think it is a shame that wehaven't also a monument for Cabrillo, the real discoverer, who was herenearly forty years earlier. If Sir Francis hadn't stolen a Spanishship's chart, he would never have found the Gulf of the Farallones. Cabrillo sailed along the coast more than half a century beforeMassachusetts Bay was discovered, " I added maliciously. 

"I had forgotten the old duffer, " he smiled back at me. Raising hisglasses again, he scanned the sombre roofs to the right. "There'sanother monument, " he volunteered, "rising out of the heart of thecity. "

I followed the direction indicated to where the outstretched arms of awhite wooden cross were silhouetted against the sky. 

"If I were in Europe, " he continued, "I should call it a shrine, for thesides of the hill on which it stands are seamed with paths running fromthe net-work of houses to the foot of the cross. "

"It is a shrine at which all San Francisco worships. Wrapped in mysteryit stands, for when it was placed there no one knows. It comes to us outof the past--a token left by the Spanish padres. Three times it hasfallen into decay, but always loving hands have reached forward torestore it, and as long as San Francisco shall last, a cross will risefrom the summit of Lone Mountain. "

"The Spanish padres!" The ring in his voice bespoke his interest. "Arethere any other relics left?"

I pointed to the level section below. "Do you see that low red roofalmost hidden by its towering neighbors? That is the old Mission SanFrancisco de Asis, colloquially called Dolores, from the little rivuleton whose bank it was built. "

Through his field glasses he scrutinized the expanse of substantialhouses and paved streets. "I can't find the rivulet, " he announced. 

"Of course you can't, you stupid man!" I laughed. "If you'll use yourimagination instead of your glasses you will see it easily. The streamarose, we are told, between the summits of Twin Peaks, and tumbling downthe hill-side, made its way east, emptying into the Laguna. "

"I don't see a laguna!" Again the skeptic surveyed the field of roofs. 

"Put down your glasses and close your eyes, " I commanded. "When you openthem the houses from here to the bay will have disappeared and theground will be covered with a carpet of velvety green, dappled here andthere by groves of oak trees and relieved by patches of bright poppies. "

"And fields of yellow mustard, " he supplemented. 

"No, your imagination is too vivid. The padres brought the mustard seedlater. A little south of the present mission, " I continued, "you willsee a group of willows bending to drink the crystal waters of the Arroyode los Dolores, so named because Anza and his followers discovered it onthe day of our Mother of Sorrows, and to the east is the shininglaguna. "

"It's clear as a San Francisco fog, " he laughed. "I'd like to take alook at the old building! Is there a car line?"

"Let's follow in the footsteps of the padres, " I begged. "They usedoften to climb this hill and it isn't very far. "

He looked dubiously down the rugged side and mentally measured thedistance from the base to the low tiled roof. 

"All right, " he said at last, "if you'll let me take a ten minutes napbefore we start. " He stretched himself at full length on the soft grassand pulled his hat low over his eyes. 

I was glad to be quiet for a time and let my imagination have fullsweep. I seemed to see, toiling up the peninsula, a little band offoot-sore travelers, the leathern-clad soldiers on the alert for hostileIndians, the brown-robed friars encouraging the women and children, andthe sturdy colonists bringing up the rear with their flocks and herds. At last the little company come to a sparkling rivulet and stoop todrink eagerly of the cool water. The commander examines his chart andnods to the tonsured priest who falls on his knees and raises his voicein thanksgiving. Stretching out his arms in blessing to his flock, heexclaims: "Rest now, my children. Our journey is at an end. Here on theArroyo de Nuestra Señora de los Dolores, we will establish the missionto our Father San Francisco de Asis. "

"If we want to see the old building before lunch time, we shall have tobe moving, " said a sleepy voice at my elbow. 

"Come on, then, I'll be your pathfinder, " and we raced down thehill-side until the paved streets reminded us that city manners wereexpected. 

We followed the former course of the Arroyo de los Dolores downEighteenth to Church street, then turned north. Two, blocks further on Ilaid a detaining hand on my companion's arm. 

"Hold, skeptic, " I whispered, "thou art on holy ground. "

He looked up at the two-story dwelling house before us, let his eyeswander down the row of modest residences and linger on the pavementswhere a tattered newsboy was shying stones at a stray cat; then hisglance came back to my face with a smile. "My belief in your veracity isunlimited. I uncover. " He stood for an instant with bared head. "Justwhen did this sanctification take place, was it before the fire or--"

"It was on October 9th, 1776, " I tried to speak impressively, "the yearthe Colonies made their Declaration of Independence. The processionbegan over there at the Presidio, " I pointed to the north. "Abrown-robed friar carrying an image of St. Francis led the littlecompany of men, women and children over the shifting sand-dunes to thisvery spot where a rude church had been erected. Its sides were of mudplastered over a palisade wall of willow poles and its ceiling a leakyroof of tule rushes but it was the beginning of a great undertaking andFather Paloú elevated the cross and blessed the site and all knelt torender thanks to the Lord for His goodness. "

"But I thought you said the church still existed. " His eyes again soughtthe row of dwelling houses. 

"This was only for temporary use and later was pulled down. Six yearsafter the fathers arrived, a larger and more substantial church wasbuilt one block farther east. But before you see that you must get intothe spirit of the past by imagining a square of four blocks lyingbetween Fifteenth and Seventeenth streets and Church and Guerrero, sweptclean of these modern structures and filled with mission buildings. Atthe time when you New Englanders were pushing the Indians farther andfarther into the wilderness, killing and capturing them, we Californianswere drawing them to our missions with gifts and friendship. While youwere leaving them in ignorance we were teaching them--"

He stooped to get a full look at my eyes. "I never knew a Spaniard tohave eyes the color of violets. Look up your family tree, my dearenthusiast, and I think you will find that you are we. "

"I'm not, " I declared indignantly. "I'm a Californian. I was born hereand even if I haven't Spanish blood in my veins, I have the spirit ofthe old padres. "

"But the spirit has not left a lasting impression. Indeed civilizationwhether dealt out with friendly hands or thrust upon the natives at thepoint of the bayonet seems to have been equally poisonous on both sidesof the continent. "

"True, philosopher, but would you call the work of these padresimpressionless, when it has permeated all California? The open-heartedhospitality of the Spaniards is a canonical law throughout the West, andtheir exuberant spirit of festivity still remains, impelling us tocelebrate every possible event, present and commemorative. "

We had reached Dolores Street, a broad parked avenue where automobilesrushed by one another, shrieking a warning to the pedestrian. Suddenly Ifound myself alone. My companion had darted across the crowded street toa little oasis of grass where a mission bell hung suspended on an ironstandard. 

"It marks 'El Camino Real, '" he reported as he rejoined me. 

"The King's Highway, " I translated. "It must have been wonderful at thisseason of the year, for as the padres traveled northward, they scatteredseeds of yellow mustard and in the spring a golden chain connected themissions from San Francisco to San Diego. Over there nearer the bay, " Inodded toward the east where a heavy cloud of black smoke proclaimed themanufacturing section of the city, "lay the Potrero--the pasture-landof the padres--and the name still clings to the district. Beyond wasMission Cove, now filled in and covered with store-houses, but formerlya convenient landing place for the goods of Yankee skippers who, contrary to Spanish law, surreptitiously traded with the padres. "

We turned to the massive façade of the old church, where hung the threebells, of which Bret Harte wrote. 

 "Bells of the past, whose long forgotten music Still fills the wide expanse; Tingeing the sober twilight of the present, With the color of romance. "

As we entered the low arched doorway, we seemed to step from the hurryof the twentieth century into the peace of a by-gone era. Outside, themodern structures crowd upon the low adobe building, staring down uponit with unsympathetic eyes and begrudging it the very land it stands on, while inside, hand-hewn rafters, massive grey walls, and a red tiledfloor slightly depressed in places by years of service, point mutely tothe past, to the days when padres and neophytes knelt at the sound ofthe Angelus. Within still stand the elaborate altars brought a centuryago from Mexico, before which Junipero Serra held mass during his lastvisit to San Francisco. On the massive archway spanning the building, can be seen the dull red scroll pattern, a relic of Indian work. 

"Sing something, " my companion suggested. "It needs music to make thespell complete. "

"It does, " I assented, "but you must stay where you are, " and climbingto a balcony at the end of the building, I concealed myself in theshadow. 

He glanced up at the first notes, then sat with bowed head. I filled theold church with an Ave Maria, then another. As I sang, the candlesseemed to have been lighted on the gilded altars, and the brown friarsand dusky Indians took form in the dim enclosure. 

"More, " he urged, but I would not, for I feared that the spell might bebroken. So he came up to see why I lingered, and found me mounted on aladder peering up at the old mission bells and the hand-hewn rafterstied with ropes of plaited rawhide. 

My song must have attracted a passer-by, for a voice greeted us as wedescended. 

"Did you see the bells?" he asked eagerly. "They're a good deal likesome of us old folks, out of commission because of age and disuse, butnevertheless they have their value. One has lost its tongue, another iscracked and the third sags against the side wall, so they're useless aschurch bells, but still they seem to speak of the days of the padres andthe Indians. "

"Were there many Indians here?" questioned the Bostonian. 

"Often more than a thousand. I was born in the shadow of this building, in the year when the Mission was secularized, but my father knew it inits glory and used to tell me many stories about the good old padres. "

Seeing the interest in our faces, the dark eyes brightened and he pattedthe thick adobe wall affectionately. "This church was only a small partof the Mission in those days. The buildings formed an inner quadrangleand two sides of an outer one, all a beehive of industry. There were thework rooms of the Indians, where blankets and cloth were woven; greatvats for trying out tallow and curing hides, and also huge storehousesfor grain and other foodstuffs, all built and cared for by the Indians. "

"Quite a change from their lazy roving life, " suggested the Easterner. 

"Still the padres were not hard taskmasters, " insisted the stranger. "The work lasted only from four to six hours a day and the evenings weredevoted to games and dancing. All were required to attend religiousservices, however, and at the sound of the Angelus, they gathered withinthese walls. There was no sleeping through long prayers in those days, "he added with an amused smile, "for a swarthy disciple paced the aislesand with a long pointed stick aroused the nodding ones, or quieted thetoo hilarious spirits of the small boys. "

"A good example for some of our modern churches, " remarked my companion, as we followed our guide to the altar at the end of the chapel. Thelight streaming through the mullioned window fell full upon the carvedfigure of a tonsured monk clad in a loose robe girdled with a cord. "Itis our father, St. Francis, " explained the old man. "It was inaccordance with his direct wish that this Mission was founded. "

"Yes?" questioned the skeptic. 

"When Father Junípero Serra received orders from Galvez for theestablishment of the missions in Alta California, and found that therewas none for St. Francis, he ex-claimed: 'And is the founder of ourorder, St. Francis, to have no mission?' Thereupon the Visitadorreplied: 'If St. Francis desires a mission, let him show us his port, 'and the Saint did!" the old face with its fringe of soft white hair wastransformed with religious enthusiasm. "He blinded the eyes of Portoláand his men so that they did not recognize Monterey and led them on tohis own undiscovered bay. And in spite of the fact that the Mission hasbeen stripped of its lands, we know that it is still under the specialprotection of St. Francis, for it was not ten years ago that the secondmiracle was performed. "

"The second miracle!" we wonderingly repeated. 

"Yes, it was at the time of the fire of 1906. The heart of San Franciscowas a raging furnace. The fireproof buildings melted under thetremendous heat and collapsed as if they had been constructed of lead;the devouring flames swept over the Potrero; they fell upon the brickbuilding next door and crept close to the walls of this old adobe, whensuddenly, as if in the presence of a sacred relic, the fire crouched anddied at its very doors. "

We passed the altar and the old man crossed himself, while in our heartswe, too, gave thanks for the preservation of this monument of the past. 

"You must not go until you have seen the cemetery, " said our guide as wemoved toward the entrance, and throwing open a door to the right headmitted us to the neglected graveyard. Here and there a rude crossmarked the resting place of an early Indian convert and an almostobliterated inscription on a broken headstone revealed the name of aSpanish grandee. Shattered columns, loosened by the hand of time andoverthrown in recent years, lay upon the ground, while great willow andpepper trees spread out protecting arms, as if to shield the silentcompany from the inroads of modern enterprise. We picked our way alongvine-latticed paths, past graves over which myrtle and roses wandered inuntrimmed beauty, to where a white shaft marked the resting place of DonLuis Argüello, comandante of the San Francisco Presidio for twenty-threeyears and the first Mexican governor of California. 

"How splendidly strong he looms out of the past, " I said. "His keeninsight into the needs of this western outpost and his determinedefforts for the best interests of California will forever place him inthe front rank of its rulers. I wonder if his young wife, Rafaela, isburied here also?" I drew aside the tangled vines from the near-byheadstones. "She was always a little dearer to me than his second wife, the proud Dona Maria Ortega, perhaps because Rafaela belongedpre-eminently to San Francisco. Her father, Ensign Sal, was actingcomandante of the Presidio when Vancouver visited the Coast, and Rafaelaand Luis Argüello grew up together in the little adobe settlement. "

"Go on, " said the skeptic, leaning comfortably against a tree trunk. "This old Mexican governor seems to have had an interesting romance. "

"He wasn't old, " I protested, "only forty-six when he died. He was asplendid type of a young Spanish grandee, tall and lithe of form, withthe dark skin and hair of his race. He combined the freedom born of anout-of-door life with the courtly manners inherited from generations ofSpanish ancestry. To Rafaela Sal, watching the soldiers file out of themud-walled Presidio, it seemed that none sat his horse so straight norso bravely as did Don Luis Argüello. And at night to the young soldierdozing before the campfire in the forest, the billowy smoke seemed toshape itself into the soft folds of a lace mantilla from which lookedout the smiling face of a lovely grey-eyed girl, framed in an exquisitemist of copper-colored hair. 

"There was no opposition on the part of the parents to the union ofthese young people. The elder Argüello loved the sweet Rafaela as if shewere his own daughter, and Ensign Sal was proud to claim the splendidyoung soldier as a son-in-law. So the betrothal was solemnized, butsince Don Luis was a Spanish officer, the marriage must await theconsent of the king, and forthwith papers were dispatched to the courtof Madrid. California was an isolated province in those days and thepacket boat, touching on the shore but twice a year, frequently broughtpapers from Spain dated nine months previous, so the older peopleaffirmed that permission could not be received for two years, while Luisand Rafaela declared that if the king answered at once--and surely hewould recognize the importance of haste--word might be received ineighteen months. 

"After a year and a half had passed the young people could talk oflittle besides the expected arrival of the boat with an order from theking. Frequently Luis would climb the hills back of the Presidio wherethe wide expanse of the ocean could be seen. At last a sail wasdiscovered on the horizon and the little settlement was thrown into aturmoil of excitement. Luis was first at the beach and impatientlywatched the ship make its way between the high bluffs that guarded theentrance to the bay, and nose along the shore until it came to anchor inthe little cove in front of the Presidio. Had the king's permissioncome? he eagerly asked his father, who was running through the papershanded him by the captain. But the elder man shook his head, and Luisturned with lagging steps to tell Rafaela that they must wait anothersix months. It seemed a long time to the impatient lovers and yet therewas much to make the days pass quickly at the Presidio. The door of thecommodious sala at the home of the comandante always stood wide open, and almost nightly the feet of the young people which had danced sincetheir babyhood tripped over the floor of the old adobe building. Picnicswere planned to the woods near the Mission and frequently longerexcursions were undertaken; for El Camino Real was not only, the king'shighway to church and military outposts, but also the royal road topleasure, and when a wedding or a fiesta was at the end of a journey, nodistance was counted too great. Luis watched his betrothed blossom tofuller beauty, fearful lest someone else might steal her away beforeword from the king should arrive. 

"A year passed, then another. Packet boats came and went every sixmonths, bringing orders to the comandante in regard to theadministration of the military forces, concerning the treatment offoreign vessels, and of numerous other matters, but still the kingremained silent on the one subject which, to the minds of the two youngpeople, overshadowed all else. Luis rashly threatened to run away withhis betrothed, while Rafaela, frightened, reminded him that there wasnot a priest in California or Mexico who would marry them without theking's order. And so each time the packet boat entered the harbor theirhearts beat with renewed hope and then, disappointed, they watched itdisappear through the Gulf of the Farallones, knowing that months wouldpass before another would arrive. 

"Thus six years had gone by since permission had been asked of the king;six interminable years, they seemed to the lovers. Again the packet boatwas sighted on the distant horizon. Luis saw the full white sails sweeppast the fort guarding the entrance; he heard the salute of the guns andwatched the anchor lowered into the water before he made his way slowlydown to the shore. It would be the same answer he had received so manytimes, he was, sure, and he dreaded to put the question again. Tenminutes later he was racing over the sand-dunes to the Presidio, hisface radiant and his hand tightly clasping an official document. It hadcome at last--the order from the king! Where was Rafaela? He hurried toher house and, folding her close in his arms, be whispered that theirlong waiting was at an end; that she was his as long as life shouldlast. 

"But, oh, such a little span of happiness was theirs! Only two briefyears, and then the cold hand of death was laid upon the sweet Rafaela. "

For a moment my companion did not move. A bird sang in the tree above usand the wind sent a shower of pink petals over the green mound. Then, stooping, he picked a white Castilian rose from a tangle of shrubberyand laid it at the base of the granite shaft. "In memory of the lovelyRafaela, " he said softly; I unpinned a bunch of fragrant violets from myjacket and placed, them beside his offering, then we silently followedthe shaded path to the white picket gate and were once more on the noisythoroughfare. 

"A fitting resting place for the first Mexican governor of California, "he said, glancing back at the heavy façade of the church, "so simple anddignified. Yet if Luis Argüello had lived in New England, we should haveconsidered his house of equal importance with his grave and have placeda bronze tablet on the front, but you Westerners have, so little regardfor old--"

"If you would like to see the home of Luis Argüello, I will show it toyou. It is at the Presidio. "

"A hopeless mass of neglected ruins, I suppose. But still I should liketo see the old walls, if you can find them. "

"Shall we take the Camino Real on foot, just as the old padres used to?"

"Not if I have my way. I'll acknowledge that the Spanish friars haveleft you Californians one legacy that no Easterner can vie with, that isyour love of tramping over these hills. I've seen streets in SanFrancisco so steep that teams seldom attempt them, as is evident fromthe grass between the cobblestones, and yet they are lined withdwellings. "

"Houses that are never vacant, " I assured him. "We like to get off thelevel, and value our residence real estate by the view it affords. "

Noticing that the sun was now high, my companion drew out his watch. "Luncheon time, " he announced. "Shall it be the Palace or St. Francishotel?"

"Let's keep in the spirit of the times and go to a Spanish restaurant, "I suggested, and soon we were on a car headed for the Latin quarter. 

"May I replace the violets you left at the Mission?" he asked, asstepping from the car at Lotta's fountain, we lingered before the gayflower stands edging the sidewalk. 

Before I had a chance to reply a fragrant bunch was thrust into hishands by an urchin who announced: "Two for two-bits. "

"Two-bits is twenty-five cents, " I interpreted, seeing the Easterner'smystified look. 

"I'll take three bunches. " His eyes rested admiringly on the big purpleheads as he held out a dollar bill. 

"Ain't you got any real money?" asked the boy, not offering to touch thecurrency. 

Again the man's hand went to his pocket and drew out some small change, from which he selected a quarter, a dime and three one-cent pieces. Theurchin turned the coppers over in his palm, then, diving below the heapof violets, he pulled out several California poppies. "We always givethese to Easterners, " he announced as he tucked them in among theviolets. 

"I wonder how that boy knew I was an Easterner?" the Bostonian reflectedas we turned away. Then gently touching the golden petals, he asked:"Where did you get the odd name 'eschscholtzia' for this lovely flower?"

"It was given by the French-born poet-naturalist, Chamisso, in honor ofthe German botanist, Dr. Eschscholz, who came together to San Franciscoon a Russian ship in 1816. However, I like better the Spanish names, dormidera--the sleepy flower--or copa de oro--cup of gold, " I addedas I pinned the flowers to my coat. The man's glance wandered aroundNewspaper Corners, when suddenly his look of surprise told me that hehad discovered on this crowded section of commercial San Francisco aduplicate of the old bell hung in front of the Mission San Francisco deAsís. 

"We are following El Camino Real from the Mission to the Presidio, " Ireminded him. 

We turned toward the shopping district, but the lure of the place madeour feet lag. We watched the people purchasing flowers at the corner, and the little newsboys drinking from Lotta's fountain. 

"A tablet, " he exclaimed delightedly, examining the bronze platefastened to the fountain. "I didn't know you Westerners ever indulged insuch things. 'Presented to San Francisco by Lotta, 1875, '" he read. 

"Little Lotta Crabtree, " I explained, "the sweet singer who bewitchedthe city at a time when gold was still more plentiful than flowers, andher song was greeted by a shower of the glittering metal flung to herfeet by enthusiastic miners. But read the second tablet, " I suggested. "It was placed there with the permission of Lotta. "

"Tetrazzini!" his voice rang with surprise. 

"Can you picture this place surging with people as it was on Christmasnight five years ago, when Tetrazzini sang to San Francisco?" I asked. "The crowd began to gather long before the appointed time--the wealthybanker from his spacious home on Pacific Heights, the grimy laborer fromthe Potrero and the little newsboy with the badge of his professionslung over his shoulder. Flushed with excitement, the courted debutantedrew back to give her place to a tired factory girl and close to theplatform an old Italian, who had tramped all the way from TelegraphHill, patiently waited to hear the sweet voice of his country woman. 'Tetrazzini is here, ' they said to one another; Tetrazzini, who had beendiscovered and adored by the people of San Francisco when, as an unknownsinger, she appeared in the old Tivoli opera house. At last she came, wrapped in a rose-colored opera coat, and was greeted with shouts of joyfrom a quarter of a million throats. She was radiant; smiling anddimpling she waved her handkerchief with the abandonment of a child. Thestorm of applause increased, rolling up the street to the very summit ofTwin Peaks. Suddenly the soft liquid notes of a clear soprano fell uponthe air, and instantly the great multitude was wrapped in silence. Outover the heads of the people the exquisite tones floated, mountingupward to the stars. It was the 'Last Rose of Summer, ' and as she sangher opera coat slipped from her, leaving her bare shoulders and whitefilmy gown silhouetted against the sombre background. She sang again andagain, while the vast throng seemed scarcely to breathe. Then she beganthe familiar strains of 'Old Lang Syne, ' and at a sign, two hundred andfifty thousand people joined in the refrain. "

"There is not a city in all the world except San Francisco which couldhave done such a thing, " enthusiastically rejoined my companion, but thenext instant the eccentricities of the place struck him afresh. 

"Furs and apple blossoms!" he exclaimed, observing a woman opposite. "What a ridiculous combination!" Then, turning, he scrutinized me fromthe top of my flower-trimmed hat to the bottom of my full skirt until mycheeks burned with embarrassment. "Why, you have on a thin summer silk, while that woman is dressed for mid-winter!"

"Of course, " I assented. "She's on the shady side of the street. "

But still his face did not lighten. "We've been in the sun all morning, "I continued to explain. "People talk about San Francisco being anexpensive place to live in, but really it is the cheapest in the world. If a woman has a handsome set of furs, she wears them and keeps in theshadow, or if her new spring suit has just come home, she puts that onand walks on the sunny side of the street, being comfortably andappropriately, dressed in either. "

"Great heavens!" he cried, "what a city!"

We passed through the shopping district and lingered for a moment at theedge of Portsmouth Square. My eyes rested affectionately on theclean-cut lawns and blossoming shrubs. Then I turned to the skeptic, butbefore I could speak, he had dismissed it with a nod. 

"Too modern, " he commented. "Looks as if it had been planted yesterday. Now the Boston Common--"

A rasping discordant sound burst from a near-by store and the Easternersent me a questioning glance. 

"A Chinese orchestra, " I replied. "We are in Oriental San Francisco. "

"That park was doubtless made as a breathing place for this congestedChinese quarter, " he glanced back at the green square. "A good civicimprovement. "

"That park is a relic of old Spanish days and one of the most historicspots in San Francisco, " I said severely. 

He stopped short. "You don't mean--I didn't suppose there was anythingold in commercial San Francisco. "

"Portsmouth Square was once the Plaza of the little Spanish town ofYerba Buena, and the public meeting place of the community when therewere not half a dozen houses in San Francisco. "

"Let's go back. " He wheeled about abruptly and started in the directionof the square, but I protested. 

"I am hungry and I want some luncheon!" "Then we'll return thisafternoon. " There was determination in his voice. 

"We will hardly have time if we visit Luis Argüello's home at thePresidio, " I objected. 

"All right, we'll take it in tomorrow, then. "

Hastening on, we were soon in the midst of the huddled houses of theLatin quarter. Tucked away between two larger buildings, we found aquaint Spanish restaurant. As we opened our tamales, my companion againreferred to Portsmouth Square. 

"Tell me about it, " he demanded. "Does it date with the Mission andPresidio?"

"No, it is of later birth, but still of equal interest in the history ofSan Francisco. The city grew up from three points--the Mission"--Ipulled a poppy from my bouquet and placed it on the table to mark theold adobe--"the Presidio"--I moved a salt cellar to the right of theflower--"and the town of Yerba Buena, " this I indicated by a pepper boxbelow the other two. "Roads connected these points like the sides of atriangle and gradually the intervening spaces were filled with houses. "

"Go on. " He leaned back in his chair, but I had already risen. "It willbe more interesting to hear the story on the spot tomorrow, " I assuredhim as I drew on my gloves. 

The Presidio

The Spanish Fortifications and the Love Story of Concepcion and Rezánov

The Presidio Past and Present

We hailed a car marked "Exposition" and were soon climbing the hills tothe west. Between the houses, we had fleeting glances of the bay withits freight of vessels. Here waved the tri-color of France, while nextto it the black, white and red flag of Germany was flung to the breeze, and within a stone's throw, Johnny Bull had cast out his insignia. At alittle distance the ships of Austria and Russia rested side by side, andbetween the vessels the bustling little ferry-boats were churning up theblue water. 

"It is difficult to picture this bay as it was in early Spanish days, " Isaid, "destitute of boats and so full of otter that when the Russiansand Alaskan Aleuts began plundering these waters, they had only to leanfrom the canoes and kill hundreds with their oars. "

"But what right had the Russian here? Why didn't the Spaniards stopthem? Otter must have brought a good price in those days. " There was aring of indignation in his voice, that told his interest had beenaroused. 

"San Francisco was helpless. There was not a boat on the bay, except therude tule canoes of the Indians--'boats of straw'--Vancouver calledthem, and these were no match for the swift darting bidarkas of theAlaskan natives. "

"And Luis Argüello in command!"

"I saw my idol falling, and hastened to assure him that the Comandantehad built a boat a short time before, but the result was so disastrousthat he never tried it again. The Presidio was in great need of repairand the government at Mexico had paid no heed to the constant requestsfor assistance, so Comandante Argüello had determined to take mattersinto his own hands. The peninsula was destitute of large timber, but tenmiles across the bay were abundant forests, if he could but reach them. He, therefore, secured the services of an English carpenter to constructa boat, while his men traveled two hundred miles by land, down thepeninsula to San Jose, along the contra costa, across the straits ofCarquinez and touching at the present location of Petaluma and SanRafael, finally arrived at the spot selected. In the meantime thesoldiers were taught to sail the craft, and the first ferryboat, atlength started across the bay. But a squall was encountered, theland-loving men lost their heads, and it was only through Argüello'spresence of mind that the boat finally reached its destination. For thereturn trip, the services of an Indian chief were secured, a native whohad been seen so often on the bay in his raft of rushes, that theSpaniards called him 'El Marino, ' the Sailor, and this name, corruptedinto Marin, still clings to the land where he lived. Many trips weremade in this ferry, but the comandante's subordinates were lesssuccessful than he, for one, being swept out to sea, drifted about for aday or two until a more favorable wind and tide brought him back to SanFrancisco. The Spaniards called the land where the trees were felled'Corte Madera, ' the place of hewn-wood, and a little town on the sitestill bears the name. "

"But what became of the boat? You said--"

"Governor Sola was furious that any one should dare to build a boatwithout his orders. He called it 'insubordination. ' How did he know whatwas the real purpose of the craft? Might it not have been built to aidthe Russians in securing otter or to help the 'Boston Nation' in theirnefarious smuggling?"

My companion straightened with interest, "The Boston Nation?"

"Yes, even in those days the Yankee skippers, who occasionally did alittle secret trading with the padres, told such marvelous stories ofBoston that the Spaniards thought it must be a nation instead of alittle town. In fact, the United States does not seem to have beenconsidered of much importance by Spain, for when the American ship'Columbia' was expected to touch on this coast it was referred to as'General Washington's vessel. '"

"Go on with your boat story, " a smile played about the corners of hismouth. "What became of the craft?"

"The Governor ordered it sent to Monterey and commanded Argüello toappear before him. The Comandante was surprised to have his work thussuddenly interrupted but hastened to obey orders. On the way his horsestumbled and fell, injuring his rider's leg so seriously that whenArgüello reached Monterey, he was hardly able to stand. Without stoppingto have his injury dressed, he limped into the Governor's presence, supporting himself on his sword. 

"'How dared you build a launch and repair your Presidio without mypermission?' exclaimed the exasperated Governor. 

"'Because I and my soldiers were living in hovels, and we were capableof bettering our condition, ' was the reply. 

"Governor Sola, not noted for his genial temper, raised his cane withthe evident intention of using it, when he noticed that the youngComandante had drawn himself erect and was handling the hilt of hisnaked sword. 

"'Why did you do that?' the Governor demanded. 

"'Because I was tired of my former position, and also because I do notintend to be beaten without resistance, ' Argüello answered. 

"For a moment the Governor was taken back, then he held out his hand. 'This is the bearing of a soldier and worthy of a man of honor, ' hesaid. 'Blows are only for cowards who deserve them. '

"Argüello took the outstretched hand and from this time he and theGovernor were close friends. But the boat proved so useful at Monterey, that it was never returned. "

The Jeweled Tower of the Exposition came into view. "So it is to be thethree months' old World's Fair, after all, instead of the home of thefirst Mexican Governor of California?"

But I did not rise. "The Presidio is just beyond, " I explained. Thenseeing him glancing admiringly at the green domes: "Perhaps you wouldrather--"

"No, " he answered me, "I'm an antiquary and I want to see the old adobehouse. "

Leaving the car at the Presidio entrance, we passed down the shadeddriveway and along the winding path that led to the old parade ground. "This military reservation covers about the same ground as the oldSpanish Presidio, " I explained. "At that time, however, it was a sweepof tawny sand-dunes, for the Spaniards had neither the ability nor themoney to beautify the place. After it came into possession of theAmericans, lupins were scattered broadcast as a first means ofcultivation and for a time the undulating hills were veiled in blue. Later, groves of pine and eucalyptus trees together with grass andflowers were planted, until now it may be regarded as one of the parksof San Francisco. This was the original plaza of the old SpanishPresidio, " I continued, as we emerged onto the quadrangle, "and it wasthen lined with houses as it is today, only at that time they were crudeadobe structures. Surrounding these was a wall fourteen feet high, madeof huge upright and horizontal saplings plastered with mud, and as afurther means of protection, a wide ditch was dug on the outside. HereLuis Argüello was Comandante for twenty-three years. "

Our eyes wandered over the substantial structures with theirwell-trimmed gardens and rested on a low rambling building opposite, protected from the gaze of the curious by an old palm and guarded by aquaint Spanish cannon. The building's simple outlines, even at adistance, bespoke it as of a different generation from its moreaggressive neighbors, even though its red-tiled roof had been replacedby sombre brown shingles, and its crumbling walls replastered. Wecrossed over the parade ground, and peering within, found that thebuilding had been converted into an officers' club house. 

"Did you see the bronze tablet on the front?" I demanded. 

"Yes, " he admitted rather sheepishly, turning to examine the deep windowembrasure that showed the width of the walls. 

"There's an atmosphere of romance about the old place--"

"And well there may be, " I broke in, "for it was here that Rafaela Salcame as a bride, and that Rezánov met Luis Argüello's beautiful sister, Concepcion, and a love story began which may well take place with thatof Miles Standish and Priscilla. "

"Rezánov, " he repeated, searching his memory. "I recall that there was aromance connected with his visit to San Francisco but the details haveescaped me. Please sit down on this bench and tell me the story just asif I had never heard it before. "

"More than a century ago there dwelt in this old adobe house a beautifulmaiden, " I began. "Her father was Comandante of the Presidio, 'elSanto, ' the people termed him, because of his goodness. Concepcion, orConcha, as she was affectionately called by her parents, was onlyfifteen years old when our story begins--a tall, slender girl withmasses of fine black hair and the fair Castilian skin, inherited fromher mother. So lovely was she that many a caballero had already sung ather grating, but she would listen to none of them. Her lover would comefrom over the sea, she declared, someone who could tell her about thewide outside world. 

"'Then you will die unmarried, ' said her mother, kissing the soft cheek, 'for travelers seldom come as far as San Francisco. '

"'A ship! a ship!' sounded a cry from the plaza. A vessel had beensighted off Cantil Blanco, the first foreign ship seen since Vancouver'svisit fourteen years before. 

"'It is the Russian expedition which Spain has ordered us to treatcourteously, ' exclaimed Don Luis, bursting into the house, his faceaglow with excitement. 'Since father is in Monterey and I am actingComandante, I must receive these strangers, ' he continued as he threwhis serape over his shoulders, his eyes flashing with his first taste ofcommand. 

"'Be careful, ' cautioned his mother, 'we have had no word from Europefor nine months and the last packet boat from Mexico brought a rumor ofwar with Russia. '

"But the foreign vessel had come only with friendly intentions. TheRussian Chamberlain Rezánov, in charge of the Czar's northwesternpossessions, had found a starving colony at Sitka and had brought acargo of goods to the more productive southland with the hope ofexchanging it for foodstuffs. To be sure, he knew the Spanish lawstrictly forbidding trade with foreign vessels, but it seemed the onlymeans of saving his famishing people and he trusted much to his skill indiplomacy. 

"A few hours later, Concha, on the qui vive with excitement, saw herbrother approaching with a little company of men, among whom was a tallwell-built Russian officer, whose keen eyes seemed to take in everydetail of the little settlement. 

"Don Luis conducted his guests to the old adobe building, draped in pinkCastilian roses, and into the cool sala, which, although provided withslippery horse-hair chairs and plain whitewashed walls ornamented withpictures of the Virgin and saints, was a pleasing contrast to the ship'scabin. Here he presented his guests to his mother, a woman whose facestill reflected much of the beauty of her youth in spite of her careswhich had come in the rearing of her thirteen children. Beside her stoodConcepcion. Her long drooping lashes swept her cheeks, but when sheraised her eyes in greeting Rezánov saw that they were dark and joyous. He was a widower of many years, a man of forty-two, who had given littlethought to women during his wandering life, but now he found himselfkeenly alive to the charms of this radiant girl. Simple and artless inher manners, yet possessing the early maturity of her race, she set herguests at ease and entertained them with stories of life on the greatranchos, while her mother was busy with household duties. 

"It was ten days before Don José Argüello returned from Monterey and inthe meantime no business could be transacted. During these days Rezánovsaw much of Concepcion, for there was dancing every afternoon at thehome of the Comandante and frequent picnics into the neighboring woods. It was not long before the Russian learned that Concepcion was not onlyLa Favorita of the Presidio, but also of all California, for althoughborn at San Francisco, she had spent much time in her childhood at SantaBarbara, where her father had been Comandante. With a chain of missionsand ranchos extending from San Diego to San Francisco, there was muchinterchange of hospitality, and Concha was a favorite guest at allfiestas. So the dark eyed Spanish girl had danced her way into the heartof many a youth as she was now doing into that of this powerful Russian. 

"Often he would stand in the shadow of the deep window casement andwatch her lithe young figure bend in the graceful borego, occasionallycatching a glance from beneath the sweeping lashes that would send hisblood surging through his veins and make him almost forget the purposeof his voyage. Sometimes he would draw her aside to talk of his hopethat the Spaniards would furnish him bread-stuffs for his starvingcolony and he marveled at her keen insight into the affairs of state, while his heart beat the quicker for her warm sympathy. Often their talkwould wander to other things and as she occasionally flashed a smile inhis direction, showing a row of pearly teeth, his blood tingled and hethought that the flush on her cheek was not unlike the pink Castilianrose that was nightly tucked in the soft coils of her shadowy hair. Attimes he imagined her clad in rich satin, with a rope of pearls abouther delicate throat, and as he drew the picture he saw her as a staramong the ladies of the Russian court. 

"When Don José Argüello returned, Rezánov asked him for the hand of hisdaughter in marriage, but the Comandante indignantly refused. Althoughliking the distinguished Russian for himself, he would not listen tosuch--a proposal. Give his daughter to a foreigner and a heretic!Never! It was not to be thought of for an instant. Concha must be sentaway. She must not see this Russian again! He would have her taken tothe home of his brother, who lived near the Mission, until the foreignship was out of the bay. While the father talked, the mother hurried tothe padres to beg the good priests to forbid such a union. 

"But Concha was no longer the docile girl of a month ago. She was awoman and her heart was in the keeping of this sturdy Russian. She wouldhave him or none, and nothing the padres or her parents could say wouldchange her. Don José had never crossed his daughter before, and now asshe flung her arms about his neck and begged for her happiness heweakened. After all, this Russian was a splendid fellow, and perhaps itmight be an advantage to Spain, rather than a detriment to have an allyat Petrograd. In the end the pleading of Concha and the arguments ofRezánov won. Comandante Argüello yielded and the betrothal wassolemnized, but there were many obstacles before the marriage could beconsummated. The permission of the Czar of Russia and the King of Spainmust be obtained, and this would take time, as well as involve a longand dangerous trip. But nothing could daunt the spirits of the lovers. Concepcion's brother, Luis, had already waited six years for permissionto marry Rafaela Sal and if Rezánov traveled with haste he could returnin two. He must go first to Petrograd to ask the consent of the Czar andthen to the Court of Madrid to promote more friendly relations betweenthe two countries, finally returning to claim his bride, by way ofMexico. But before he could start on his journey, his starving Alaskancolony must be provided for, and after considerable discussion, arrangements were made for an interchange of commodities, and the holdof the Russian ship, 'Juno' was packed with foodstuffs for the Sitkans, while the ladies at the Presidio were resplendent in soft Russianfabrics and the padres were rejoicing in new cooking utensils for theirlarge Indian family. 

"At length the 'Juno' weighed anchor and the white sails filled with theafternoon breeze. As the Russians came opposite Cantil Blanco, the fortwhich had scowled so menacingly upon them on their entrance forty-fourdays before, now smiled with friendly faces. There was much waving ofhats and many shouts of farewell from the little group on the shore, butRezánov saw only the figure of a tall graceful girl with the soft foldsof a mantilla billowing about her head and shoulders and heard only themurmur of love from the rosy lips. 'Two years, ' he whispered back toher, as the ship passed out through the Gulf of the Farallones andbecame but a speck on the sunset sky. 

"The two years passed and still there was no sign of the returningvessel. Luis Argüello had been married to the lovely Rafaela and alittle son had come to bless their household, and yet Concepcion lookedout over the ocean watching for the white sail of a foreign ship. Thesweet grey eyes of Luis' young wife were closed in death and Concha'sheart and hands went out in sympathetic love and deeds to the strickenfamily, all the while trying to still in her own breast the fear that alike fate had overtaken her loved one. The verdant hills were againstreaked with golden poppies and once more turned to tawny brown andstill no ship nor word came from over the sea. 

"It was eight or ten years before even a rumor of the fate of her loverreached Concepcion, and not until she met the Englishman, Sir GeorgeSimpson, twenty-five years after Rezánov sailed out of San Franciscobay, did she learn the details of his death. It was almost winter when, leaving Alaska, he crossed the ocean and began his perilous trip throughSiberia. Frequently drenched to the skin and undergoing terribleprivations, he traveled for thousands of miles on horseback, now lyingat some wayside inn burning with fever and again pushing on until hedropped prostrate at the next village. A fall from his horse added tohis already serious condition, which resulted in his death in the littlevillage of Krasnoiark, and he lies now buried beneath the snows ofSiberia. 

"Although many sought her hand in marriage, Concepcion remained faithfulto her Russian lover. There being no convent for women in the country atthat time, she donned the grey habit of the 'Third Order of St. Francisin the world, ' devoting her life to the care of the sick and theteaching of the poor. Later when a Dominican convent was established, " Iadded, rising, "she became not only its first nun, but also its MotherSuperior. "

"A romance that may well take a place with such world-famed love storiesas those of Abèlard and Hèloïse; and Alexandre and Thäis. I should liketo make a pilgrimage to her grave, " he added as we left the old adobehouse. 

"You can, " I replied. "It's tucked away in a corner of the BeniciaCemetery, marked by a marble slab carved with her name and a simplecross. "

We entered a grove of eucalyptus trees, which now and again divided, giving marvelous views of the bay and the Marin shore. 

But my companion's mind still dwelt on the story he had heard. "SoConcepcion suffered in the uncertainty of hope and despair for tenyears, " he said, "but ten months of it brought me to the limit ofendurance. Do you think if Rezánov had returned and Concepcion hadmarried him and gone to Petrograd she would have been happy?"

"Of course she would. "

"Still Petrograd is a cold, dreary place compared to California. "

"But what difference would that make? A woman would give up everythingand count it no sacrifice for the man she loved. "

"And you said only yesterday--"

"Oh, but that was different, " I assured him, my cheeks burning under hisgaze. "Rezánov loved California. He thought it so wonderful that hewanted it for a Russian province, and he would have brought Concepcionback to visit--"

"Boston is nearer than Petrograd and not so cold. Don't you think youcould teach me to love California, too?"

"Perhaps, " I acknowledged. Then anxious to turn the conversation, Iasked: "Would you like to see the location of the old Spanish fort?" Henodded and we took the road leading to the present Fort Point. "I can'tshow you the exact location, " I confessed, "because the United Statescut down the bold promontory, Cantil Blanco, in order to place thepresent fortification close to the water's edge, but if you will useyour imagination and picture a white cliff towering a hundred feet abovethe water at the point where Fort Winfield Scott now stands, you willsee the entrance to the bay as it was in Spanish days. Here was locatedthe old fort, called Castilla San Joaquin, which guarded the harbor formany years. Made of adobe in the shape of a horseshoe, so perishablethat the walls crumbled every time a shot was fired, still it answeredits purpose, as it was never needed for anything but friendly salutes, and even these were at times, perforce, omitted. The Russian, Kotzebue, states that when he entered the harbor he was impressed by the old fortand the soldiers drawn up in military array, but wondered that no returnwas made to his salute. A little later, however, the omission of thecourtesy was explained when a Spanish officer boarded the vessel andasked to borrow sufficient powder for this purpose. Moreover, Robinsontells us that frequently during the afternoon's siesta a foreign shipwould pass the fort, drop anchor in Yerba Buena Cove, and spend severaldays in the bay before the Presidio officers would know of its presence. But this was after the time of Luis Argüello. "

One by one the palaces of light in the Exposition grounds below us burstinto radiance. The Horticultural dome turned to a wonderful iridescentbubble and the Tower of Jewels caught and reflected the light thatplayed upon it. Wide bands of color streaked the sombre sky, transforming the clouds to shades of violet, yellow and rose. "Therainbow colors of promise, " he said gently as he drew closer. "I shalltake them as a message of hope that I shall win the love of the womanwho is dearer to me than all else in life!"

The Plaza

A Chinese Restaurant. Yerba Buena and the Reminiscences of a Forty-Niner

The Plaza and its Echoes

"Be careful, " I warned, "you'll get your feet wet. "

We stood on the corner of Montgomery and Commercial Streets, havingcarried out our resolution of the day previous to continue our searchfor old landmarks. The Bostonian moved uncomfortably under the warmth ofthe noonday sun, and glanced down at the dry, glaring pavement; then hestooped to turn up his trousers. 

"All right, " he announced, "is it an arroyo or has the hose used inputting out 'the fire' suddenly burst?"

"Neither. The arroyo was a block further south. It ran down what is nowSacramento Street, and you ought to know enough about the fire torealize that we couldn't use our fire hose, because the earthquake brokethe water mains. "

"Then there was an earthquake!" He shot an amused glance at me. "You'rethe first Californian I've heard acknowledge it. "

"Oh yes, there was an earthquake--but it didn't do much damage, " Ihastened to add. "Just 'knocked down a few chimneys and ricketybuildings that the city was going to pull down anyway. It was the firethat destroyed the city. "

"So Mother Nature was just favoring 'Frisco by lending a helping hand tothe city officials, " he laughed. "Well, you see I'm prepared for thedeluge. " He indicated his upturned trousers. "But if it isn't an arroyo--"

"It's the bay, " I explained. "It used to touch the shore about where weare standing, forming a little inlet called Yerba Buena Cove. "

"But, " objected the man, mentally measuring the distance down thestraight paved street to where the slender shaft-like tower of the FerryBuilding broke the sky line, "it must be seven blocks from here to thepresent waterfront, two thousand feet at least. "

"Yes, fully that, " I agreed. "A large part of the business section ofSan Francisco stands on made-land. The water along the shore, here atMontgomery street, was very shallow, and at the time of the gold rush, when seven or eight hundred vessels were waiting in the bay to dischargetheir freight and passengers, a corporation of energetic Americans builta long wharf from here to the deep water, where the ships were anchored. Look down Commercial Street to the Ferry Building and, instead of thehouses on either side, imagine it open to the water. Then you will seeCentral Wharf as it was in 'forty-nine. '"

"Central Wharf!" The name had caught his interest. 

"Yes, it was called that from the one you have in Bost. "

"Bost?" he repeated, mystified. "Bost?"

"Yes, Bost!" I answered. "You called our, city 'Frisco, not five minutesago, so why shouldn't I--"

"I beg your pardon, " he said humbly. "I will never offend in that wayagain. "

"But the building of the wharves and the filling in of the waterfrontbelong to a later time and we are back in Spanish days. When Vancouverlanded he tells us that he cast anchor within a small inlet surroundedby green hills, on which herds and cattle were grazing. Historians saythat his ship lay about where the Ferry Building now stands and that thecrew put off for the shore in small boats. This place was a waste ofsand-dunes and chaparral but the Englishmen were refreshed by the coolwaters of the arroyo and spent a pleasant morning shooting quail andgrouse. "

"Quail, grouse and chaparral, " he repeated, as his eyes traveled up anddown the solidly built blocks and rested on the pedestrians hurrying inand out of the buildings. "Let's take a look at the bed of the arroyo. "

We paused at the corner and for a moment watched the car laboriouslyclimb the Sacramento Street hill and disappear over the crest; then weturned for another look at the mass of buildings now resting on thesolid ground which had taken the place of the shining waters of YerbaBuena Cove. 

"It was about here, " I announced, "that the arroyo opened out into theLaguna Dulce, a little fresh water pool where Richardson's Indiansdelighted to take a cold plunge on leaving their steaming temescal. "

"Richardson? Hardly a Spanish name!"

"No, but a Spaniard by naturalization and marriage. He was an Englishmanwho had come to the coast in the whaler 'Orion, ' and being fascinated bythe country and the carefree Spanish life, had married a lovely littleseñorita, the daughter of Lieutenant Martinez, later Comandante of thePresidio. Richardson settled on a ranch at Sausalito and in 1835, whenGovernor Figueroa decided to establish a commercial city on the shore ofYerba Buena Cove, he appointed as harbor master, this Englishman, whowas already carrying on a small business with the Yankee skippers, andthe future town was made a port of entry for all vessels trading up anddown the coast. Richardson built the first house in the littlesettlement of Yerba Buena, afterwards San Francisco. "

"Since this is an historic pilgrimage, we must take a look at the spotwhere the first house stood. Is it far?"

"Only a few blocks, " I assured him. "But we shall have to venture intothe heart of Chinatown. "

We made our way up Sacramento Street, where the straight-lined greybusiness blocks gave way to fantastic pagoda-like buildings gailydecorated in green, red, and yellow. Bits of carved ivory, rich lacquerware and choice pieces of satsuma and cloisonné appeared in the windows. In quiet, padded shoes, the sallow-faced, almond-eyed throng shuffledby, us; here a man with a delicate lavender lining showing below hisblue coat, there a slant-eyed woman with her sleek black hair rolledover a brilliant jade ornament, leading by the hand a little boy wholooked as if he had stepped out of a picture book with his yellowtrousers and pink coat. 

We turned to the right at Grant Avenue, passing a building conspicuouson account of its elaborately carved balconies hung with yellow lanternsand ornamented with plants growing in large blue and white china pots. The Bostonian looked curiously at the Orientals lounging about the door, then his face brightened as he read the words, "Chop Suey. "

"It's a Chinese restaurant, " he exclaimed delightedly. "Let's go in fora cup of tea, as soon as we have taken a look at your historiclandmarks. "

On the northwest corner of Grant Avenue and Clay Street, we pausedbefore a dingy four-story brick building on whose sides were pasted longstrips of red paper ornamented with quaint Chinese characters. Isecretly wished that the building had been designed as a gay pagoda withbright colored, turned-up eaves like many of those in Chinatown and thatits windows had displayed the choice embroideries and carved ivories ofsome of its neighbors, but as we peered through the glass, we saw onlyutilitarian articles for the coolie Chinaman. 

"Rather a sordid setting for my story, " I bemoaned. "The first house incommercial San Francisco stood here. It was only a sail stretched aroundfour pine posts, but two years later was replaced by a picturesque, red-tiled adobe, so commodious that the Spaniards called it the CasaGrande. I am afraid the building now occupying the spot where the secondhouse stood will be equally disappointing, " I said ruefully, as werecrossed the street to where a Chinese butcher and vegetable vender wasdisplaying his wares. We gazed curiously at the dangling pieces of driedfish, strings of sausage-like meat, unfamiliar vegetables, lichee nutsand sticks of green sugar cane. 

"Somewhat different from the silks, satins and laces displayed on thisspot by Jacob Leese in Spanish days, " I reflected. "He was a Bostonian, who like Richardson had become an adopted son of California and settledat Yerba Buena for the purpose of trading with the American vessels. "

"This must have been a lively business center. " The man raised his voiceabove the rumble of the wagons and cars. "Two little houses in the midstof a sea of sand-dunes and no settlement nearer than the Mission. "

"Oh, it didn't take the American long to make things hum, " I assuredhim. "He arrived here on July second. Two days later he had built ahouse and was entertaining all the Spaniards from miles around, at agrand Fourth of July celebration. "

"Quick work even for a Yankee, " laughed my companion. "But rather hardon his English neighbor, I should think. Did Richardson attend?"

"Of course he did! Delivered the invitations, too! Leese was busybuilding his house, so the Englishman, in his little launch, called atall the ranchos and settlements about the bay and invited the Spaniardsto come to Yerba Buena for a Fourth of July fandango. "

We retraced our steps and a few doors beyond entered the gay, balconiedrestaurant, in quest of a cup of tea served in Oriental style. Climbingthe steep stairs, we passed the first floor where laborers were beingserved with steaming bowls of rice; then mounted to the morearistocratic level where we were seated at elaborately carved teakwoodtables, inlaid with mother-of-pearl. While waiting for our tea, westepped onto the balcony which we had regarded with so much interestfrom the street. Above us hung the gorgeous lanterns, swaying likebright bubbles in the breeze, and below moved the silent blue-coatedthrong. 

"So there was a Fourth of July celebration here even in Spanish times?"said the man. "Somewhat prophetic of the American days to come, wasn'tit?"

We caught a glint of color in the street and leaned far over the balconyto watch a violet-coated Chinese girl thread her way among the sombrecrowd. 

"It must have been just below us that the early festivities were held, "I suggested. "Leese's house was not large enough to accommodate hisguests, so a big marquee surmounted by Mexican and American flags, andgaily decorated with bunting, was spread about where the street nowruns. Can't you picture it all? The dainty little señoritas in theirsilk and satin gowns, with filmy mantillas thrown over their heads andshoulders, and the men not less gorgeous in lace-trimmed velvet suitsand elaborate serapes. I can almost hear the applause and the booming ofthe cannon that followed General Vallejo's glowing tribute toWashington, and see the graceful Spanish dancers as they assembled forthe evening ball. It was doubtless at this time that Leese met GeneralVallejo's fascinating sister, whom he married after a short andbusiness-like courtship. "

"Short, and she a Californian?" He sent me an amused glance. 

"Perhaps Leese thought delay dangerous, " I suggested, "for SeñoritaMaría Rosalia was one of the belles of the new military outpost atSonomá and more than one gaily clad caballero was suing for her hand. "

"No wonder the American pushed the matter, " laughed my companion. "Didmany Boston men marry Spanish Señoritas?"

"Nearly all who came to the Coast, " I answered. "The California womenwere among the most fascinating in the world and held a peculiar charmfor these sturdy New Englanders. "

"I can understand that, " he said, bending for a better look at my face. "But what could the dainty señoritas see in these crude; raw-bonedYankees?"

"Just what any woman would see, " I declared. "Men of sterling character, working against terrible odds, with that courage which does not know theword failure. They saw men of perseverance, energy and brains who werebringing into the country the indomitable spirit of New England. "

"I am glad you have a good word for the early Yankees, " he said, "and Iwish your enthusiasm extended to a later generation. "

He turned toward me and I felt the telltale color sweep my cheeks as Ibecame conscious that I was thinking less of Leese and his compatriotsthan of the Bostonian at my side. 

"It wasn't the New England spirit, " he declared, "that gave these earlysettlers the strength and determination to succeed. It was the women whohad faith in them. A man can accomplish anything if the woman he loves--" My companion had moved close to my side, and his voice was low as hebent over me. "Little girl, " he began, "last year in Boston when youcame into my life--"

The harsh jangle of a Chinese orchestra broke the dull murmur of thestreet and in an instant the little balcony was crowded with gazerseager to catch a glimpse of the musicians through the windows opposite. 

My companion and I moved aside for the new corners and turned againtoward the interior. Through the open door we could see the waiterplacing steaming cups of tea upon the table we had deserted, andre-entering the room, we seated ourselves in the big carved arm-chairs. Sipping the delicious beverage, we glanced toward the other tables, where groups of Chinamen were talking in a curious jargon anddexterously handling the thin ebony chop-sticks. On the widematting-covered couches extending along the sidewalls, loungedsallow-faced Orientals, while in and out among the diners noiselesslymoved the waiters, balancing on their heads, large brown straw trays. Snowy rice cakes, shreds of candied cocoanut, preserved ginger and brownpaper-shell nuts with the usual Chinese eating utensils were placedbefore us. We tried the slender chop-sticks with laughable failure andthen, declaring that fingers were made first, we had no further trouble. We took a farewell look at the gilt carved screens and long banners, which in quaint Chinese characters wished us health and happiness. Thenfollowing our smiling attendant to the door, we were bowed down thestairway. A Chinaman leaned over the railing and called the amount ofour bill to the attendant on the second floor, who like an echo took itup and sent it on to the main entrance, where we settled our account. 

Again on the sidewalk, we mingled with the Oriental throng whoseexpressionless yellow faces gave no hint of joy or sorrow. At the cornerwe turned east and made our way toward Portsmouth Square. I paused andlet my eyes run over my companion, from his emaculate linen collar tohis well-polished shoes. 

"You'll look sadly out of place here, " I warned. "No artist would evertake such a well-groomed person for a model, nor would you be suspectedof belonging to the great army of the unemployed. "

"Are they the only classes allowed? Then I speak now for the purchasingright of your portrait. "

"Oh, I'll pose very well as the 'Amelican' teacher of those littleChinese butterflies fluttering after that kite. Aren't they attractivein their lavender, pink, and blue sahms?" I said, as we seated ourselveson the bench. 

"To be honest, to be kind, to earn a little, to spend a little less, '"he read from the face of the fountain standing against a clump of treeswhose soft foliage drooped caressingly over it. "Why, that's fromStevenson's Christmas sermon. Look at that unappreciative brute! Hedrank without reading a word!" exclaimed the man indignantly. 

"Yes, but he feels the better for coming here. He received therefreshment most needed and that is what Stevenson would have wished. Some other may need and will receive the spiritual help. "

"Why is it here?" he asked. 

"Because Stevenson loved this place and came often to sit on the benchesand study the wrecked and drifting lives of the men who lounged in thesquare. "

"And the gilded ship on top with its full blown sails--that mustsuggest his Treasure Island, doesn't it?"

"Yes, and also the Manila Galleon, that splendid treasure-ship ladenedwith silk, wax and spices from the Philippines and China, which onceeach year made its landfall near Cape Mendocino and followed the line ofthe coast down to Mexico. "

He leaned with arm outstretched along the back of the bench and surveyedthe park. 

"This, you said, was the old Spanish Plaza. What was here then?"

"At first just a sweep of tawny sand-dunes, surrounded by scrub oak andchaparral. " I dropped my eyes to the gravel walk, that I might shut outthe emerald green lawns, and flowering shrubs. "Over the shiftinghillocks wandered a little minty vine bearing a delicate white andlavender flower not unlike your trailing arbutus. It was from themedicinal qualities of this plant that the little settlement was namedYerba Buena, the good herb. Over there on the northwest corner wherethat dingy Chinese restaurant now floats the flag of Chop Suey stood theold adobe Custom House, the first building erected on the Plaza, and itwas in front of this that the Stars and Stripes were run up when GeneralMontgomery, who had arrived in the sloop-of-war Portsmouth, tookpossession in the name of the United States. "

"So that is where the square got its name--from the ship 'Portsmouth?'"His voice rang with the joy of discovery. 

"Yes, but the new name never completely replaced the old. We love theterms which come to us from Spanish days, and so, to many of us, this isstill the Plaza. "

"I presume there was a great outcry when Montgomery pulled down theMexican flag and ran up the American. But I understand the country washelpless. "

"Yes, it was poorly fortified, and the Californians had known for sometime that Mexico was losing its hold, so the event was not unexpected. But there was no flag to pull down for the receiver of customs, realizing that resistance was useless, had packed the Mexican flag in atrunk with his official papers for safe keeping, so without oppositionGeneral Montgomery marched with seventy men accompanied by fife and drumfrom the waterfront to the Plaza, and raised the Stars and Stripes onthe vacant flag pole. Thus the country came into the possession of theAmericans and our historic pilgrimage is at an end, " I concluded, rising. 

But my companion seemed loath to leave the place. We sauntered bydark-eyed Italian girls lolling on the benches, shaggy bearded oldsailors, whose scarred faces told of fierce battles with the elements, and stopped to examine the plaster casts presented for our inspection bya weary-eyed street vender. At a distance, a laughing gypsy girl in awhite waist and much beruffled red plaid skirt was enticing the crowd tocross her hand with silver that she might tell their fortunes. 

"What need have we for gypsies?" he demanded pulling me down on a bench. "I'll, read your palm. "

"Can you tell fortunes?" I questioned as I drew off my glove. 

"I can tell yours, " he declared straightening out my fingers in his bigstrong hand, and examining the lines. 

"He's a tall dark man, wearing glasses--"

Instinctively I looked up into the uncovered brown eyes, then droppedmine in confusion as I met his laughing gaze. 

"Only when he reads, " added the Bostonian, holding on to my fingers, asI tried to withdraw my hand. 

An angry voice broke the silence and we sprang to our feet to see an oldman shaking his fist in the face of a young Irish policeman. 

"You let me alone!" he shouted. "You let me alone!"

For a moment the officer hesitated. Then he seized the old man by thecollar. "Come along quietly! There ain't no use making a howl. There's avagrancy law in this city and I'll show you it ain't to be sniffed at. I've been watching you ever since I've been on this beat and you ain'tdone nothing but sit around this Plaza. "

"And ain't I a right to sit 'round this Plaza?" The man pulled himselffree and again defied the officer of the law with a clenched fist. "Didn't I help make it? When you were playing with a rattle in your cribover in Dublin, I was a-stringing up a man to the eaves of the oldCustom House over there on the corner. And now you try to arrest me--mea Vigilante of '51--" His fury choked him, and with a quick turn of thehand, the officer again had him by the collar. But the old man wrenchedhimself loose. 

"You keep your hands off me. " He raised his angry voice in warning. Thendrawing a bundle of papers from his pocket he thrust them into theofficer's face. "Look at that--and that--and that--biggest businessblocks in San Francisco. If I choose to wear a loose shirt and sit'round the Plaza it isn't any business of yours. In the good old days offorty-nine--"

I touched the Bostonian on the arm. "Let's go to the Exposition, " Isuggested. "We've seen everything here. "

"There's no need to hurry! We've all the afternoon before us. " He edgeda little closer to the old man, about whom a crowd was gathering. 

"In the good old days of forty-nine, " rang out again and I glancednervously at my companion. "We didn't have any dipper-dapper policemenmaking mistakes. " He snapped his fingers in the officer's face. "We hadgood red-shirted miners who knew their business. "

The policeman moved uneasily and handed back the papers. "I guessthey're all right, " he acknowledged. "The law doesn't seem to touchyou. "

"Touch me! Well, I guess not!" The officer moved off and the old manreturned to his bench. Before I realized my companion's intention, wewere seated beside the miner. He was still muttering maledictions on thehead of the Irish policeman. 

"The scoundrel!" He dug his stick into the gravel path. "Had the nerveto arrest me! Me, who strung up Jenkins in the first VigilanteCommittee, and Casey and Cora in the second. "

"You must have come here in early days, " remarked the Bostonian. 

"Early days, " echoed the miner, "well, I guess I did. I'm aforty-niner. " He straightened himself proudly and looked to see theeffect of his words. 

"I think we had better go. " Again I touched the Antiquary's arm but hegave no heed to my signal. 

"There must have been some stirring times here in the days of the goldrush. "

"You bet there were, " agreed the forty-niner, "and the entire history ofSan Francisco was made around this Plaza. Here were built the firsthotel, the first school-house, the first bank; within a stone's throwthe first Protestant sermon was preached, the first newspaper wasprinted and the first post office was opened. It was through the Plazathat Sam Brannan ran with a bottle of yellow dust in one hand, wavinghis hat with the other and shouting, 'Gold! gold! from the AmericanRiver!' It was here that the big gambling houses sprang up, wherefortunes were made and lost in a night, and here the first VigilanceCommittee met and executed justice. " The old man paused for breath. 

I was on the edge of the bench ready for flight. All my good work of thelast two days was rapidly being undermined. I heard again the skeptic'scontemptuous tone of yesterday. "It's either before the fire" or "in thegood old days of forty-nine. "

"We--we must go, " I stammered, "it's getting very late. " The Bostonianlooked at his watch. "Not three o'clock yet. " He leaned backcomfortably. "You ought to be interested in this. Your grandfather was aforty-niner. "

I looked at him searchingly. I ought to be interested! I, who cherishedevery memory of pioneer days! I, who had bitten my lips a dozen timesthat afternoon, and was glorying in the tact and strength of mind whichhad avoided this period of our history!

The miner, apparently aware of my presence for the first time, sent me apiercing glance from beneath his shaggy eyebrows. "So your grandfather--"

"He wasn't exactly a forty-niner, " I acknowledged. "He arrived outsidethe Heads the night of December thirty-first but there was a heavy fogand the vessel didn't get inside until the next morning. "

"Hard luck, " sympathized the old man, "coming near to being aforty-niner and missing it. "

"But it's practically the same thing, " persisted the Bostonian. "Only afew hours. "

"The same thing!" scornfully repeated the miner. "There's as muchdifference as between Christmas and Fourth of July. A forty-niner's aforty-niner, and a man that came in fifty--well, he might as well havecome in sixty or seventy, or even in the twentieth century. It's theforty-niner that counts in this community. " He drew himself up proudly. Then plunging his hand deep into his pocket, drew out a nugget. 

"Picked that up off my first claim, " he explained, "but the dirt didn'tpan out so well. I've carried it in my pocket all these years, just forthe sentiment of the thing, I suppose. Many a time I was tempted tothrow it on a table in the El Dorado, but I hung on to it. "

"The El Dorado?" questioned the Easterner. 

"Yes, one of the big gambling places here on the Plaza. Everybody took achance in those days, even some of the preachers. You met all yourfriends there, and heard the best music and the latest news. "

"Did they gamble with nuggets?" my companion led the old man on. 

"Well, I guess they did! and gold dust in piles. The few children intown used to pan out the dirt of the Plaza in front of the Temples ofChance every morning after the places were swept out. The Californiansput up parts of their ranchos, too, sometimes. "

"How high did the stakes run?" Evidently this descendant of the Pilgrimshad not lost all the sporting blood of his earlier English ancestors. 

"Often as high as five hundred or a thousand dollars. The largest stakeI ever saw change hands was forty-five thousand. Many a miner went backto the placers in the spring without a dollar in his pockets. Buteverybody was doing it and you could almost count the nationalities inthe crowd around the table by the kinds of coins in the stacks. Therewere French francs, English crowns, East Indian rupees, Spanish pesosand United States dollars. The dress was as different as the money. Weminers wore red and blue shirts, slouch hats and wide belts to carry ourdust. The Californians were gorgeous in coats trimmed in gold lace, short pantaloons and high deer-skin boots, and the Chinese ran a closesecond in their colored brocaded silks. You knew the professionalgamblers by their long black coats and white linen--real gentlemen, manyof 'em and the most honest in the country. 

"Ever see a picture of the Plaza in forty-nine, " he asked abruptly. 

"Never. "

The miner drew a square on the gravel path with his stick. "The ElDorado was here, the Veranda here and the Bella Union here, " he said, punching holes on the three corners of Kearny and Washington. "They werethe finest and they had the best locations in town. The El Dorado paidforty thousand dollars a year for a tent and twenty-five thousand amonth for a building on the same site later. " The end of his stickdeepened the hole on the southeast corner. 

My eyes wandered from the plan to the real location. "Why, there is thename 'Veranda' over there now, " I exclaimed as the black letters on awhite awning caught my eye. 

"Yes, it is pretty near the old site, but it's a poor substitute for itspredecessor, " he added scornfully. "There was great style in those days--fine bars, lots of glass and mirrors and pictures worth thousands ofdollars. The doors were always open from eleven in the morning 'tildaylight the next morning, and a steady stream of people were pouring inand out all the time. Everybody was there. There weren't no specialinducement to stay home nights, when your residence was a bunk on thewall of a shanty and the fellers over you and under you and across theroom weren't even acquaintances. I got a pretty good room after awhilein the Parker House"--he drew a small oblong south of the El Dorado--"for a hundred dollars a week, but I didn't stay long. "

"I should think not--at that price. "

"Oh, it wasn't the price. One of my friends paid two hundred and fifty. But you see it got pretty warm at the Parker House, that Christmas eve, and so we all moved. They cleared away the hot ashes of the hotel andbuilt the Jenny Lind Theatre on the spot. That was the first big fire. We had them right along after that, every few weeks. Six big ones ineighteen months, with lots' of little ones in between. "

"Then the last fire wasn't a new experience for you, " the Bostoniansuggested. 

"Lord, no! Rebuilding was a habit with us early San Franciscans. Wedidn't begin to feel sorry for a man 'til he'd lost everything he ownedthree times. The Jenny Lind Theatre went down six times and the seventhbuilding was sold for the City Hall. It stood right there"--he pointedto the handsome new Hall of Justice--"until it went up in the lastfire. "

"You are sure it wasn't the earthquake that finished it?" inquired theskeptic. 

"Certainly not, " I flared. "The Relief Committee met there that morningto lay their plans while the fires were raging south of Market Street. "

He acknowledged defeat by changing the subject. "Was the old SpanishCustom House here?" he asked, pointing to the western side of thediagram. 

"Yes, " assented the miner, and he traced an oblong on the northern end, "and just behind it, on Washington Street, was Sam Brannan's house. Hewas the Mormon leader, you know, and brought a shipload of his followersto establish a settlement in forty-six. He published our firstnewspaper, the 'California Star, ' in his house. "

"Was it where that little green Chinese building with the bracketedcolumns and turned-up eaves is?" I interposed. 

"The telephone exchange, you mean? Exact spot. They used to ring a handbell in the Plaza on Sunday mornings to call the Mormons to hear Brannanpreach in the Casa Grande. "

"Richardson's house!" My companion sent me an appreciative glance. 

"Sure, but that was before most of 'em, including Sam, went back ontheir faith. Next to the Custom House on the south, " he continued, "wasthe Public Institute. It wasn't much to look at--just pine boards--butit was considerable useful. They held the Public School there and hadpreaching on Sundays 'til the teacher, the preacher and all the audiencewent off to the mines. They tried the Hounds there, too. "

"The Hounds?" my friend looked dazed. 

"Yes, the Sidney Coves that lived in Sidneyville, along there on Kearnynear Pacific. " Light had failed to dawn. 

"Here on the corner of Kearny, " continued the Forty-niner, "was an oldadobe building with a red-tiled roof and a veranda around it. "

"The City Hotel!" I exclaimed delightedly. 

"How did you know?" He eyed me curiously. 

"My grandfather was a near-forty-niner, " I reminded him. 

"Oh yes. Too bad! Too bad!" he added sympathetically. "It was the houseand store of a fellow named Leidesdorff, " he continued, "who did a lotof trading with the Yankee skippers in Mexican days, and it was turnedinto a hotel in the gold rush. It was always the swell place forblowouts. They had a big banquet and ball there for Governor Stockton, I'm told, after the procession and speeches in the Plaza, and anotherthe next year for Governor Kearny; the first Relief Committee met here, called by Brannan, Howard and Vallejo, to send rescuers to the Sierrasfor the survivors of the Donner Party. There wasn't much of anyimportance in the way of gathering that didn't happen there. "

We instinctively looked across at the square, three-story, pressed-brickhome of the Chinese Consulate and bank. 

"Every big fire took at least one side of the Plaza, and the sixth, inJune of fifty-one, wiped out the whole square. That adobe was the lastlink between the Spanish village of Yerba Buena and its Americansuccessor, San Francisco, " he regretted, "but it was a good thing forthe city, for they began to build with stone and brick after that. Didyou see the Parrott Building, as you came along, on California andMontgomery?" he asked. 

The Easterner turned to me. "You didn't show me that, " he said, reprovingly. 

"No, why should I? It wasn't built until fifty-two. "

He ignored my insinuation and turned back to his informer. "What aboutthe Parrott Building? It sounds like an aviary. "

"Not exactly, " he smiled. "It was made of granite blocks, cut anddressed and marked in China and then shipped over and set up by the'China Boys, ' as the Orientals here called themselves. "

"It's a curious coincidence, " I ventured, "that the Hong Kong Bank nowoccupies the lower floor. What a freak of the winds it was that sweptthe big fire around that and the Montgomery block, and left them bothfor posterity!"

"Your fire seemed to have had a special veneration for historicstructures, " the Easterner commented. "It respected the Mission in likemanner. "

"Yes, somewhat, " returned the miner, "but it might have had a littlemore respect and spared the Tehama House and the What Cheer House. Ihated to see them go. "

"And the Niantic Hotel and Fort Gunnybags, " I added. 

"Here! Here! I rise for a point of information, " cried the alien. "Didthe cheer inebriate and what is the technical difference betweengunny-sacks and carpet bags?"

"Oh, that was our Vigilance Headquarters of fifty-six, where we hungCasey and Cora, " elucidated the Forty-niner. 

"Help, " gasped the Bostonian, sinking upon the bench. 

"Tell him, " I nodded to the miner. 

"The Tehama House, on the waterfront at California and Sansome, was theswell hotel for army and navy people and all the Spanish rancheros whenthey came to town. You couldn't keep even your thoughts to yourself inthat house, for it had thin board sidings and cloth and paperpartitions, but it had lots of style, and Rafael set a great table. Theymoved it over to Montgomery and Broadway to make room for the Bank ofCalifornia, and the fire caught it there. The What Cheer House, " the oldman's eyes brightened, "was on Sacramento and Leidesdorff, and that'swhere we miners went, if we could get in. Woodward was a queer chap. Took you in whether you could pay or not. But it was only a man's hotel. There wasn't a woman allowed about the place. He had the only library intown and everybody was welcome to use it. I've often seen Mark Twain andBret Harte reading at the table. "

"And the sacks?" queried the Bostonian. 

But the old man had leaned back on the bench and his eyes wandered overthe green grass and trees of the square. "It's much prettier than itused to be, " he admitted, "but nothing happens here now. The Chinesechildren fly kites and the unemployed loaf on the benches and the grass, and I'm one of them. I wish you could have seen it in the early days. "His eyes kindled with excitement. "It was only a barren hillside, butthere was always something doing then. All the town meetings were heldhere in the open air and all the parades ended here for the speeches. The biggest celebration was in 1850, when the October steamer, flyingall her flags, brought the news that California was admitted to theUnion. We went wild, for we had waited for that word for more than ayear. Every ship in the harbor displayed all her bunting and at nightevery house was as brilliant as candles and coal oil could make it. Bonfires blazed on all the hills and the islands and we had music anddancing all over the town 'til morning. "

He paused in reminiscence. "But it wasn't so gay that moonlight night, the next February, when we hung Jenkins. He was a Sidney Cove and hadjust stole a safe, but that was the least of his crimes and of the wholegang. When we Vigilantes heard the taps on the firebell here in thePlaza, we gathered in front of the committee rooms. Nobody was excited;we just had to drive out the Sidney Coves and put an end to crime. Wemarched Jenkins here and hung him over there to the beam on the southend of the Custom House. Forty of us pulled on the rope, while athousand more stood 'round as solemn as a prayer meeting to give usmoral support and shoulder the responsibility. It wasn't no joke hanginga man, but it had to be done, if decent men was to live here. "

He shook off his depression. "Everybody was in the Plaza sometime in theday, and once a month when Telegraph Hill signaled a steamer, everybodywas here. "

"Telegraph Hill? I never heard of it, " he cast an accusing glance in mydirection. 

"It belongs to forty-nine, " I retorted. 

"All the shops closed immediately, " continued the miner, "and PostmasterGeary was the most important man in town. The post-office was a block upthe hill at Clay and Pike Streets, but the lines from the windowsstretched down into the Plaza, and over among the tents and chaparral onCalifornia Street Hill. Men stood for hours, sometimes all night, in thepouring rain, and many a time I sold my place for ten dollars, and eventwenty, to some fellow who had less patience or less time than I. 

"But you should have been here on election day in fifty-one. " The minerthrew back his head and laughed aloud. "Colonel Jack Hays was runningfor sheriff, " he resumed, "and his opponent hired a band to play infront of his store here on the Plaza as an advertisement. It workedfine! He was polling all the votes and the Colonel was about out of therunning, 'til he got on his horse that he'd used on the Texas ranges andcame cavorting into the square. He showed 'em some fancy turns theyweren't used to and kept it up 'til the polls closed. "

"Did he win?" I asked excitedly. 

"Well, I guess he did! Hands down. But a sheriff ain't no use when thelaws won't stick. That's why we had to have the Vigilance Committees. "

I arose. That was a long story and the afternoon was fast going. Mycompanion took the hint. He extended his hand and grasped the oldminer's heartily. 

"I thank you, " he said, "you have opened up a new epoch to me and Ishall not soon forget you. I shall come again and the place will havelost much of its interest if you are not here. "

"Oh, I'll be here, " laughed the old fellow. "It's home to me. "

Telegraph Hill

The Latin Quarter. The signal station of '49 and a view of the city asit was. The Golden Gate. 

Telegraph Hill of Unique Fame

"Would you like to go up 'crazy owld, daisy owld Telegraft Hill', " Iasked in a softened mood as we moved away. "There is just about time. "

"Indeed I should, " he answered. "Can we take in some of the other thingsyou archaeologists were mentioning on the way? I don't want to missanything. "

"We must leave the Parrott and Niantic buildings until some other day, but you can see the Montgomery Block if you wish, " and we turned downWashington Street. "It was built on piles, by General Halleck's lawfirm. William Tecumseh Sherman's bank was nearby, but I suppose most ofBoston's business men were generals-in-chief of the United States Army. "

My irony was ignored and as we reached the corner of Montgomery, Icontinued: "It was on this spot that James King of William, editor ofthe 'Bulletin, ' was shot down by James P. Casey, the ballot-box stuffer. The newspaper office was at the other end of the block on MerchantAlley, and that evening's editorial accused Casey of electing himselfsupervisor and stated that he was an ex-convict from Sing Sing. Withinan hour after the paper appeared, Mr. King was carried dying to his roomin the same building. It was this murder that brought the secondVigilance Committee into existence. While the immense funeral cortège, the largest San Francisco has ever known, escorted the body of Mr. Kingup this street toward Lone Mountain Cemetery, Casey and Cora, anothercriminal, were hung in front of the Vigilance, Headquarters onSacramento near Front. "

"You called it Fort Gunnybags ?" he queried. 

"Yes, it was so named from the precautionary bulwark of sand-filledsacks piled up in a hollow square in front to protect the entrance. Abronze plate marked the old building before the fire. "

We turned into Columbus Avenue. "Your beloved Stevenson used to live atNo. 8, there on the gore where the Italian Bank is, " I said. "We arecoming to the Latin Quarter, a section that has always been given overto foreigners, for in early days 'Sidneyville, ' peopled byticket-of-leave men from the penal colony of Australia, and 'LittleChile' of the Peruvians and Chileans, clustered close around the base ofTelegraph Hill. "

"The very place Stevenson would choose, where life was flavored withhistory and the mystery of the foreign. But where are you going?" heexclaimed, stopping short as I began to ascend the steps by which KearnyStreet climbs the hill. 

"I thought you wished to see the site of the Marine Signal Station. " Ilooked down at him from the fourth stair with feigned surprise. 

"I do, indeed, but--can't we go up by a funicular and come down thisway?" he compromised. "My Boston calves protest. "

"Oh well, we can go by the level a little farther, but I thought youliked the 'flavor of the foreign. ' Anyway, we ought to see EarlCummings' old man, " I remembered. 

"What is his fatherland and his business?" he asked as his eye traveledover the shop signs "Sanguinetti, Farmacia Italiana, " "Molinari &Cariani, Grocers;" "Oliva & Brizzolara, Real Estate. "

"His birthplace is the World Universal, and his profession-leading usback to nature, " I answered. Then, as we passed the spick and spanconcrete façade of the Patronal Church of St. Francis, with its rear ofburned brick: "This is the direct descendent of the old Mission, " I toldhim, "the first Parish Church of San Francisco. It was gutted by thefire and is being very gradually restored. A notice within administersan implied rebuke: 'The First Erected--the Last Restored. '"

We paused at the iron fence of the small green triangle cut off fromWashington Square by the slant of Columbus Avenue, and peered at thefine bronze figure of a sinewy old man stooping to drink from his handon the edge of the little pool. 

"Mr. Cummings' message to his universal brothers, " he commented. "Nonecould fail to be refreshed by it. My strength is renewed. Let usascend, " and he turned up Filbert Street. 

Dark-eyed women lounged in the doorways of the houses that cling to theperpendicular sides of the hill. "The Italian pervades, " I volunteered, "but there are Greek, Sicilians, Spaniards and French. " The whole wasreminiscent of the South of Europe, but the Neapolitan scene of cleatedwalks and steep steps lacked the enlivening color notes of the homeland. 

"Not even a red shirt on a clothes line, " I regretted, but a flood ofsoft voweled Italian from a woman in a third story window, musicallyanswered by a man in the street below, brought consolation. 

"The opera's own tongue, " the Bostonian commented. 

"Well, you leave it to me, " finished the man in the street. 

"Sure, Mike, I will, " responded the woman. 

My companion halted in consternation. 

"We make American citizens of them all, " I asserted. 

"Les petits enfants aussi, " I added as a child ran past, shouting aresponse in irreproachable English to the Parisian command of hermother. 

We turned through the rude stone wall into Pioneer Park and along theunkept paths shaded by eucalyptus, cypress and acacia trees and cameupon the open height where the mountain-hemmed bay lay in broad expansebefore us, dotted with islands and with ferries streaking their wayacross its blue-gray surface. 

"Wonderful, " he exclaimed under his breath. 

 '"O, Telegraft Hill, she sits proud as a Queen, And th' docks lie below in th' glare, '"

I quoted from Wallace Irwin. 

He lowered his gaze to the numerous wharves running out into the water, with teams appearing and disappearing at the entrances of the covereddocks, like lines of busy ants. 

 "'And th' bay runs beyant her, all purple and green Wid th' gingerbread island out there, '"

I continued the quotation. 

"What are those terraced buildings?" he queried. 

"It has been the military prison for years. It is Alcatraz Island. "

He looked his inquiry. 

"Spanish for Pelican, " I answered, seating myself on a rock. "Ayala, thecaptain of the 'San Carlos, ' the first ship to enter the bay, named itfrom the large number of the birds he found on it, and the big island tothe right that looks like a portion of the main land is Angel Island, abbreviated from Ayala's Isla de Nuestra Señora de los Angeles. "

"And Goat Island?" he questioned as he threw himself down on the grass. 

"Yerba Buena, " I corrected. "The other name was colloquially appliedwhen Nathan Spear, being given some goats and kids by a Yankee skipper, put them over there. There were several thousand on the island inforty-nine, but the Americans killed them all off by night in spite ofSpear's protests. "

"Not all of them, " he denied as he shied a stick at a white headreaching from below for a grassy clump. 

 "'And th' goats and chicks and brickbats and sticks Is joombled all over the face of it, Av Telegraft Hill, Telegraft Hill, Crazy owld, daisy owld Telegraft Hill, '"

I laughed. 

"I suppose the Spaniards must have had a name for this sightly hill, "said the Bostonian, his eye tracing the rugged skyline across the bay, along the Tamalpais Range on the north, and the San Antonio Hills on theeast. 

"Yes, Anza christened it in 1776 when he climbed up here for a viewafter selecting the sites for the Presidio and the Mission. He called itLa Loma Alta, and the High Hill it remained until the Americans put itto commercial use in forty-nine. The little town on the edge of the covein the hollow of the hills was unconscious of a ship entering the harboruntil she rounded Clark's Point, the southeast corner of this hill, anddropped anchor in full view--"

"Any relation to Champ?" he interrupted. 

"No, Clark was a Mormon, although he afterward denied it, who had builta wharf in the deep water along the precipitous bluff, where ships couldalways disembark even when the ebb-tide uncovered mud-flats elsewherealong the shore of the cove. 

"The American miners and merchants, eager for the earliest news of theapproaching mails and merchandise, erected a signal station on the topof Loma Alta, about where that flag-pole is. When a vessel was seenentering the Golden Gate, the black arms of the semaphore on top of thebuilding were raised in varying positions indicating to the watchingtown below, where every one knew the signals, whether it was a bark, abrig, a steamer or other kind of craft. This was the first wirelessstation on the coast. 

"There comes a side-wheeler, " I exclaimed, raising my arms upward in aslanting position, as a big liner from Yokohama entered the channel. "Now fancy every office and bank closed, every law-court adjourned, every gaming table deserted; the shore black with people and long linesforming from the post-office windows to await the anchoring of thevessel, the landing of friends and freight, and the sorting of the mailby Postmaster Geary. "

My companion made a telescope of his two hands and examined the NipponMaru. "You are discharged for inefficiency, " he said. "You are reportinga side-wheeler for a screw-propeller. "

"There is no signal in the code for such modern inventions, " I retorted. "I suppose the fog of your practical realism is too obscuring for you tosee that clipper just coming in, " I continued, as a full-rigged shipspread its filled sails against the glowing sky of the late afternoon. 

"The lady is a bit sarcastic, Billy, " he addressed the goat, "but we'llexamine it. " Then peering through his telescoped hands again, "It's theclipper ship Eclipse, " he announced, "built especially for speed, in theexigencies of the San Francisco trade, with long, narrow hull, andcarrying an extra amount of canvas. She has made the trip from New Yorkin three-quarters of the time required by any other kind of craft, anddemands, therefore, nearly double the price for freight. " He looked atme for approval. 

"What a whetstone for the imagination the business sense is!" Icommented. "Perhaps if your grandfather owned shares in the Eclipse, youwill be able to see the second signal station erected the next year onPoint Lobos, just beyond the Fort. From there a vessel could be decriedmany miles outside the Heads and the signal repeated by the station hereon Telegraph Hill, relieved the inhabitants of several more hours ofanxiety. "

"Anxiety is a mild term if one couldn't hear for a whole month from thegirl who had his heart, " he commented. "It's bad enough when she won'twrite, even with a telegraph and railroad between. " He was tracing somecharacters in the ground at my feet, with a stick. "Thirty-four days, " Imade out. 

"If you've sufficiently recovered from the climb, shall we see how thecity looks from up here?" I asked. 

For answer he sprang up and assisted me to my feet. We walked to theopposite side of the park, where the city lay extended before us. 

"Imagine a forest of masts here in the bay, about seven or eighthundred; the water laying Montgomery Street beyond the Merchants'Exchange--that yellow brick building with the little arched cupola; andwharves running out from every street to reach the ships lying in deepwater, every one swarming with teams and men hurrying to and fro. Connect them with piled walks over the water on the lines of Sansome andBattery Streets and you have a picture of Yerba Buena Cove inforty-nine. Heap up freight and baggage on the shore, erect thousands oftents on the sand dunes around the edges of a town of shanties andadobes climbing over the hills and you have our miner's metropolis, " Isketched for him. 

"I see it, " he said, shutting his eyes. "Now a wave of the magic wandand the scene is changed. " He opened them again. 

"The magic wand is a steam-paddy, working day and night leveling off thesand-hills and shoveling them into the bay. The wharves are convertedinto streets and many good ships, whose crews having deserted for themines, being pulled up and used as storage ships, are caught by therising tide of sand and converted into foundations for buildings. Suchwas the 'Niantic' at Clay and Sansome. "

"Oh yes, the 'Niantic!"

"The third building on the site still retains the name. "

"What was the case of assault that gave the belligerent name to BatteryStreet?"

"It was a precaution against assault, " I corrected. "Captain Montgomeryerected a fortification of five confiscated Spanish guns on the side ofthis hill overlooking the harbor after he had taken possession of theMexican town. It was known as Fort Montgomery, or the Battery. It was onthe bluff just where Battery Street joins the Embarcadero down there, for the hill came out to that point. "

"Did the earthquake shake it down?" His question was tinged withtriumph. 

I crushed him with a look. "The ships that came loaded with freight andpassengers took it away with them as ballast, " I explained, "and ofrecent years some contractors blasted it off and paved streets with ituntil it was rescued from further demolition by some appreciativelandmark lovers of a women's club. "

"What a fortunate interference! But the despoilers got a good slice ofit, didn't they? There wouldn't have been much of it left in a fewyears. "

"No more than there is of Rincon Hill, over there at the southern cornerof Yerba Buena Cove. " I was considerably mollified by his appreciation. "It was the best residence quarter of the fifties, but the 'unkindestcut' of Second Street, which brought no good to anyone, not even itscommercial promoters, left it a place of the 'butt ends of streets, ' asStevenson says, and inaccessible, square-edged, perpendicular lots whoseonly value lies buried underneath them. I fear its scars can never beremedied. "

"You have several hills left, " he consoled me as his eye traveled alongthe broken western skyline. "What is their role in this historic drama?"

"The ridge running down the peninsula is the San Miguel Range, crownedby Twin Peaks, with the Mission at its foot. Nob Hill, next, acquiredits name in the sixties, when the bonanza and railroad kings erectedtheir residences there. Before the fire"--I felt my color rising, butthere was no shade of change in my companion's expression--"themansions of the 'Big Four' of the Central Pacific--Huntington, Hopkins, Stanford and Crocker--and the Comstock millionaires--Flood, Fair andothers--filled with magnificent works of craftsmen and artists, hadmore than local fame. "

"From this distance, with three of the largest buildings in the city, the hill hardly seems to have fallen from its high estate, " he observed. 

"You are quite right. It still lives up to its name, for the FairmontHotel and the Stanford Apartments, christened for two of its formermagnates, and the brown-stone Flood mansion, remodeled for thePacific-Union Club, are no whit less nobby than their predecessors. "

"The next hill?" He turned his gaze to the houses perched on the top andclinging part way down its steep sides. 

"A little graveyard where the Russian gold-seekers were laid to restgave its name. It is now the home of the artists and the artistic. "

"A city built on the water and the hills, and rebuilt on the ashes ofseven fires, " he commented. "It is almost incomprehensible. " After amoment's pause: "How much of the city was burned by the last fire?"

I glanced sharply at him. There was no shade of irony in his tone andhis face showed only sincerity. 

"All that you can see, from the fringe of wharves at the waterfront tothe top of the hills and down into the valley beyond, except thesehouses here at our feet, saved by the Italians with wine-soakedblankets, and a few on the heights of Russian Hill. "

"It was colossal!" he exclaimed. "Think of it! a whole city wiped out. "I lowered my eyes to the goat nibbling beside us. "The courage andenergy that rebuilt it is herculean. " His enthusiasm was cumulative. "And rebuilt it in practically three years! No wonder you date allthings from the fire. "

Billy flickered his tail and solemnly winked at me. 

"It is getting late, " I said, "but the sun is just setting. Shall wewatch it before we go?"

Without speaking, he followed me back to our first point of view. Thecrimson ball was sinking into the sea, with its Midas touch turning thewater and sky to molten gold. The last rays gilded the cliffs on eitherside of the entrance to the bay, and burnished the heads of the noddingpoppies at our feet. From the Presidio came the muffled boom of thesunset gun. 

"Could Frémont have chosen a better name?" exclaimed the man at my side. "The Golden Gate it is, indeed!"

"It certainly is well named, " I agreed, "for everyone can interpret itsmeaning according to his mood and character. Some see only what Frémontsaw, an open door to commerce; to others it is the entrance to hoards ofgold, stowed away in hills and streams; to the poet it speaks of thegolden poppies that streak the hillsides, but I like to think of it asdid the Indians, who called it 'Yulupa, ' the Sunset Strait. "

Silently we watched the lights of the city come out, one by one, untilit seemed as if the heavens lay beneath us. 

"I hoped when I left Boston that you would return with me, " he saidgently, "but I can't ask you to leave this. I didn't understand then, but now--"

The lights became blurred and the night seemed suddenly to have growncold. 

"Of course, you couldn't be happy--"

The voice did not sound like his. I had been in a dream for two days. Ihad thought he cared just as I did, but he couldn't, or he would realizethat nothing counted but--I bit my lips to keep from crying out. 

"Boston is too cold for a girl with the warmth of California in herheart. "

Cold! Didn't he know that life with him would make an iceberg paradise?Didn't he realize--? But, of course, he didn't care as I did! This wasonly a subterfuge. I straightened proudly. 

"I can't ask you to go back with me, " he was saying, "but I can stayhere with you. " His hand crept over mine. "Our business needs a manageron this coast. Will you help me make a home in San Francisco, dear?"

Below, the lights of the city danced with happiness and a glad new songrang in my heart. 

Here ends 'The Lure of San Francisco. A Romance Amid Old Landmarks. "Written by Elizabeth Gray Potter and Mabel Thayer Gray and Illustratedfrom Sketches in Charcoal by Audley B. Wells. Done into a book by PaulElder and Company at their Tomoye Press in San Francisco under thesupervision and care of H. A. Funke, in July, Nineteen Hundred andFifteen.