American Notes | Page 4

his writings. Their very caustic style is of interest to a student
and lover of Kipling, and for this reason the publishers believe them
worthy of a good binding.
G. P. T.

Contents
AT THE GOLDEN GATE
AMERICAN POLITICS
AMERICAN SALMON
THE YELLOWSTONE
CHICAGO
THE AMERICAN ARMY
AMERICA'S DEFENCELESS COASTS

I
At the Golden Gate
"Serene, indifferent to fate, Thou sittest at the Western Gate; Thou
seest the white seas fold their tents, Oh, warder of two continents; Thou
drawest all things, small and great, To thee, beside the Western Gate."
THIS is what Bret Harte has written of the great city of San Francisco,

and for the past fortnight I have been wondering what made him do it.
There is neither serenity nor indifference to be found in these parts; and
evil would it be for the continents whose wardship were intrusted to so
reckless a guardian.
Behold me pitched neck-and-crop from twenty days of the high seas
into the whirl of California, deprived of any guidance, and left to draw
my own conclusions. Protect me from the wrath of an outraged
community if these letters be ever read by American eyes! San
Francisco is a mad city--inhabited for the most part by perfectly insane
people, whose women are of a remarkable beauty.
When the "City of Pekin" steamed through the Golden Gate, I saw with
great joy that the block-house which guarded the mouth of the "finest
harbor in the world, sir," could be silenced by two gunboats from Hong
Kong with safety, comfort, and despatch. Also, there was not a single
American vessel of war in the harbor.
This may sound bloodthirsty; but remember, I had come with a
grievance upon me--the grievance of the pirated English books.
Then a reporter leaped aboard, and ere I could gasp held me in his toils.
He pumped me exhaustively while I was getting ashore, demanding of
all things in the world news about Indian journalism. It is an awful
thing to enter a new land with a new lie on your lips. I spoke the truth
to the evil-minded Custom House man who turned my most sacred
raiment on a floor com-posed of stable refuse and pine splinters; but the
reporter overwhelmed me not so much by his poignant audacity as his
beautiful ignorance. I am sorry now that I did not tell him more lies as I
passed into a city of three hundred thousand white men. Think of it!
Three hundred thou-sand white men and women gathered in one spot,
walking upon real pavements in front of plate-glass-windowed shops,
and talking something that at first hearing was not very different from
English. It was only when I had tangled myself up in a hopeless maze
of small wooden houses, dust, street refuse, and children who played
with empty kerosene tins, that I discovered the difference of speech.
"You want to go to the Palace Hotel?" said an affable youth on a dray.
"What in hell are you doing here, then? This is about the lowest ward in
the city. Go six blocks north to corner of Geary and Markey, then walk
around till you strike corner of Gutter and Sixteenth, and that brings
you there."

I do not vouch for the literal accuracy of these directions, quoting but
from a disordered memory.
"Amen," I said. "But who am I that I should strike the corners of such
as you name? Peradventure they be gentlemen of repute, and might hit
back. Bring it down to dots, my son."
I thought he would have smitten me, but he didn't. He explained that no
one ever used the word "street," and that every one was supposed to
know how the streets ran, for sometimes the names were upon the
lamps and sometimes they weren't. Fortified with these directions, I
proceeded till I found a mighty street, full of sumptuous buildings four
and five stories high, but paved with rude cobblestones, after the
fashion of the year 1.
Here a tram-car, without any visible means of support, slid stealthily
behind me and nearly struck me in the back. This was the famous cable
car of San Francisco, which runs by gripping an endless wire rope sunk
in the ground, and of which I will tell you more anon. A hundred yards
further there was a slight commotion in the street, a gathering together
of three or four, something that glittered as it moved very swiftly. A
ponderous Irish gentleman, with priest's cords in his hat and a small
nickel-plated badge on his fat bosom, emerged from the knot
supporting a Chinaman who had been stabbed in the eye and was
bleeding like a pig. The by-standers went their ways, and the Chinaman,
assisted by the policeman, his own. Of course this