The Gray Dawn | Page 5

Near the foot of the veranda steps waited Sam at the heads of a pair of
beautiful, slim, satiny horses. Their bay coats had been groomed until
they rippled and sparkled with every movement of the muscles beneath.
Wide red- lined nostrils softly expanded and contracted with a
restrained eagerness; and soft eyes rolled in the direction of the
Sherwoods--keen, lithe, nervous, high-strung creatures, gently
stamping little hoofs, impatiently tossing dainty heads, but nevertheless
making no movement that would stir the vehicle that stood "cramped"
at the steps. Their harness carried no blinders; their tails, undocked,
swept the ground; but their heads were pulled into the air by the old
stupid overhead check reins until their noses pointed almost straight
ahead. It gave them rather a haughty air.
Sherwood stepped in first, took the reins in one hand, and offered his

other hand to his wife. Sam instantly left the horses' heads to hold a
wicker contrivance against the arc of the wheels. This was to protect
skirts from dusty tires. Mrs. Sherwood settled as gracefully to her place
as a butterfly on its flower. Sam snatched away the wicker guards.
Sherwood spoke to the horses. With a purring little snort they moved
smoothly away. The gossamerlike wheels threw the light from their
swift spokes. Sam, half choked by the swirl of dust, gazed after them.
Sherwood, leaning slightly forward against the first eagerness of the
animals, showed a strong, competent, arresting figure, with his beaver
hat, his keen grim face, his snow-white linen, and the blue of his
brass-buttoned-coat. The beautiful horses were stepping as one, a
delight to the eye, making nothing whatever of the frail vehicle at their
heels. But Sam's eye lingered longest on the small stately figure of his
mistress. She sat very straight, her head high, the little parasol poised
against the sun, the other hand clasping the hat ribbon.
"Dem's quality foh sure!" said Sam with conviction.
Sherwood drove rapidly around the edge of the Plaza and, so into
Kearney Street. From here to the water front were by now many
fireproof brick and stone structures, with double doors and iron shatters,
like fortresses. So much had San Francisco learned from her five
disastrous fires. The stone had come from China, the brick also from
overseas. Down side streets one caught glimpses of huge
warehouses--already in this year of 1852 men talked of the open-air
auctions of three years before as of something in history inconceivably
remote. The streets, where formerly mule teams had literally been
drowned in mud, now were covered with planking. This made a fine
resounding pavement. Horses' hoofs went merrily _klop, klop, klop_,
and the wheels rumbled a dull undertone. San Francisco had been very
proud of this pavement when it was new. She was very grateful for it
even now, for in the upper part of town the mud and dust were still
something awful. Unfortunately the planks were beginning to wear out
in places; and a city government, trying to give the least possible for its
taxes, had made no repairs.
There were many holes, large or small: jagged, splintered, ugly holes

going down to indeterminate blackness either of depth or mud. Private
philanthropists had fenced or covered these. Private facetiousness had
labelled most of them with signboards. These were rough pictures of
disaster painted from the marking pot, and various screeds--"Head of
Navigation," "No Bottom," "Horse and Dray Lost Here," "Take
Soundings," "Storage, Inquire Below," "Good Fishing for Teal," and
the like.
Among these obstructions Sherwood guided his team skilfully, dodging
not only them, but other vehicles darting or crawling in the same
direction. There were no rules of the road. Omnibuses careered along,
every window rattling loudly; drays creaked and strained, their horses'
hoofs slipping against wet planks; horsemen threaded their way;
nondescript delivery wagons tried to outrattle the omnibuses. The din
was something extraordinary--hoofs drumming, wheels rumbling, oaths
and shouts, and from the sidewalks the blare and bray of brass bands in
front of the various auction shops. Newsboys and bootblacks darted in
all directions, shouting raucously as they do to-day. Cigar boys, an
institution of the time, added to the hubbub. Everybody was going in
the same direction, some sauntering with an air of leisure, some
hurrying as though their fortunes were at stake.
A wild shriek arose, and everybody made room for the steam sand
shovel on its way to dump the sand hills into the bay. It was called the
"steam paddy" to distinguish it from the "hand paddy"--out of Cork or
Dublin. It rumbled by on its track, very much like juggernaut in its
calm indifference as to how many it ran over. Sherwood's horses
looked at it nervously askance; but he spoke to them, and though they
trembled they stood.
Now