 | Phœnixiana; or, Sketches and burlesques |  |
PHŒNIX TAKES AN AFFECTIONATE
LEAVE OF SAN FRANCISCO.
It was about 7½ A. M., on the first day of this present month
of August, that I awaked from a very pleasant dream in the
great city of San Francisco, to the very unpleasant conviction
that it was a damp and disagreeable morning, and that my
presence was particularly required in the small city of San
Diego. So, having shaken hands with Frink, taken an affectionate
leave of the chaimbermaid, and, lastly, devoured a
beefsteak at the Branch of Alden, which viand, in perfect
keeping with the weather, was both cold and raw, I shouldered
my cane with a carpet bag suspended at each end, “a la
Chinois,” and left the Tehama House without “one lingering
hope or fond regret.” When a man is going down, every
body lends him a kick, an aphorism which I came very near
realizing in my own proper person, for as I went on my way
down Long Wharf, I accidentally grazed a mule, who being in
as passionately attached to that conveyance. This interesting
animal, fancying from my appearance that I was
“going down,” “lent me a kick,” which, had his legs been
two inches longer, would have put a stop to my correspondence
for ever. As it was I escaped, and hurried on down the
wharf, thinking with a shudder on the mysterious prophecy of
my friend little Miss B., who had told me I was “sure to be
kicked” before I left San Francisco, and wondering if she
was really “among the prophets.” The Northerner, like the
steamboat runners, was lying at the end of the wharf, blowing
off steam, and as usual when a steamer is about to leave
for Panama, a great crowd surrounded her. What made
them all get up so early? Out of the three or four hundred
people on the end of that wharf I don't believe fifty had
friends that were about to sail. No! they love to look upon
a steamer leaving. It brings to their minds recollections of
the dear ones at home to whom she is speeding with fond
tidings, and they love to gaze and wish to Heaven they were
going in her. The usual mob of noisy fruit venders encompassed
the gangway plank; green pears they sold to greener
purchasers; apples, also, whereof, every thing but the
shape of an apple had long since departed, and oranges, the
recollection of one of which, doth to this day abide by me
and set my teeth on edge; but high above their din, the roar
of the steamer and the murmuring of the crowd, rang the
shrill cry of the newsboy in his unknown tongue, Here's the
Alteruldniguntimes Heup! I stepped across the plank and
and sleek they looked; uneasy though, as if they smelled mischief
in the wind.
A tall gaunt specimen of Pike County humanity stood regarding
them approvingly, his head thrown slightly back, to
get their points to better advantage. It was the tomb gazing
on its victim. As I paused for a moment to look on the
picture, Pike yawned fearfully, his head opening like the top
of an old-fashioned fall-back chaise. The nearest bullock,
turning, caught his eye. I thought the unhappy animal shuddered
and nudged his companion, as who should say, “Ye living,
come and view the grave where you shall shortly lie.”
It was quite a touching little scene. On deck all was bustle
and excitement. The sailors, apparently in the last extremity
of physical suffering, judging by their agonized cries, were
heaving away at mysterious ropes. The mate, Mr. Dall, was
engaged in busy, not tender dalliance with the breast lines,
while Burns the Purser exhibited an activity and good nature
only to be accounted for by the supposition that he had
eaten two boxes of Russia salve (which is good for Burns—
see your advertising columns) for his breakfast.
As the last line fell from the dock, and our noble steamer
with a mighty throb and deep sigh, at bidding adieu to San
Francisco, swung slowly round, the passengers crowded to the
side to exchange a farewell salutation with their friends and
acquaintances. “Good bye, Jones,” “Good bye, Brown,”
“God bless you old fellow, take care of yourself!” they
shouted. Not seeing any one that I knew, and fearing the
Muggins,” and had the satisfaction of having a shabby man
much inebriated, reply as he swung his rimless hat, “Good
bye, my brother.” Not particularly elated at this recognition,
I tried it again, with, “Good bye, Colonel,” whereat
thirty-four respectable gentlemen took off their hats, and I
got down from the position that I had occupied on a camp
stool, with much dignity, inwardly wondering whether my
friends were all aids to Bigler, in which case their elevated
rank and affection for me would both be satisfactorily accounted
for.
Away we sped down the bay, the captain standing on the
wheel-house directing our course. “Port, Port a little, Port,”
he shouted. “What's he a calling for?” inquired a youth of
good-natured but unmistakable verdancy of appearance, of me.
“Port wine,” said I, “and the storekeeper don't hear him,
you'd better take him up some.” “I will,” said Innocence;
“Iv'e got a bottle of first rate in my state room.” And he did,
but soon returned with a particularly crest-fallen and sheepish
appearance. “Well, what did he say to you,” inquired I.
“Pointed at the notice on that tin,” said the poor fellow.
“Passengers not allowed on the wheel-house.” “He is,
though, ain't he?” added my friend with a faint attempt at
a smile, as the captain in an awful voice shouted, “Starboard!”
“Is what?” said I, “Loud on the wheel house!” Good
God! I went below.
At 9 o'clock in the evening we arrived at Monterey,
where our modest salute was answered by the thundering
work, which mounts some twenty heavy guns and contains
quarters for a regiment, was built in 1848, by Halleck,
Peachy & Billings. It is now used as a hermitage by a lonely
officer of the U. S. Army. The people of Monterey have
a wild legend concerning this desolate recluse. I was told
that he passes the whole of his time in sleep, never by any
chance getting out of bed until he hears the gun of a steamer,
when he rushes forth in his shirt, fires off a 24-pounder,
sponges and reloads it, takes a drink and turns in again.
They never have seen him; it's only by his semi-monthly
reports they know of his existence. “Well,” said I to my
informant, a bustling little fellow named Bootjacks, who
came off on board of us, “suppose, some day a steamer should
arrive and he should not return her gun?” “Well sir,” replied
Bootjacks, with a quaint smile, “we should conclude
that he was either dead, or out of powder.” Logical deduction
this, and a rather curious story, altogether; how I
should like to see him! Bootjacks kindly presented me
with the following state of the markets, &c. in Monterey,
which will give you a better idea of the large business and
commercial prosperity of that flourishing city, than any thing
that I can write on those subjects.
MONTEREY MARKETS.
The arrival of a stranger by the Maj. Tompkins from San
Francisco, during the past week, with specie to the amount of
$4 87½, most of which has been put in circulation, has produced
is in a great measure restored, and our merchants have had no
reason to complain of want of occupation. The following is the
state of our market, for the principal articles of domestic consumption:
Flour—Twenty-five pounds, imported by Boston, & Co. per
Major Tompkins, still in first hands; flour in small quantities is
jobbing readily at 15 @ 18 cents per lb. We notice sales of 10 lb
by Boston, & Co., to Judge Merritt, on private terms.
Pork—The half bbl. imported by Col. Russell, in March last,
is nearly all in the hands of jobbers; sales of 4 lb at $1, half cash;
remainder in note at 4 months. A half bbl. expected by Bootjack
& Co., early in September, will overstock the market.
Candy—Sales of 6 sticks by Boston & Co. to purser of Maj.
Tompkins, on private terms; the market has a downward tendency;
candy is jobbing in sticks at 6 @ 8 cents.
Potatoes—We notice arrival of 10 lb from the Santa Cruz;
no sales.
Dry Goods—Sales of two cotton pocket hdkfs. by Mc Kinley
& Co. at 62½ @ 75 cents; indorsed note at 6 months.
Lively place this. Thank Heaven my lot is not cast
there—it was once, but the people sold it for taxes. Having
taken on board the U. S. mail, containing one letter (which
I believe must have been the resignation of the Collector),
our noble steamer bore away to the Southward.
Four bells tinkled from the little bell aft; four bells
chimed from its deep-toned brother forward, and being of a
retiring disposition, I retired.
| Phœnixiana; or, Sketches and burlesques | |