A Flight in Spring Part 5

SANTA BARBARA

How can we speak the glad surprise Which met us on that morning ride-- The glory of the boundless skies, The mountains in their stately pride!

And greater yet the misty deep, Which, huge and vast, swept out afar In dreaming beauty, silent sleep, Which storm, it seemed, could never mar.

But better than the boughs which hung With golden fruit and blossoms sweet, And better than the flowers which clung, Were words which there our hearts did greet.

They said, "Come see my roses red;"

They came from frank, sweet face, and eyes Which gleamed with happy mirth, and said, "Come here for further yet surprise."

We climbed the mount, we grasped the hand, We looked upon the gracious face; We saw the wealth of "Samarcand,"

The Place, and Lady of the Place.

Fit setting for so warm a heart Seemed orange grove and mountain side; Of nature's best she seemed a part, Yea, more; of all, its greatest pride.

Too soon the time to part drew near, The farewell words at last were said; But memory ever will hold dear Her Home, Herself, her Roses red.

XII

Leaving Santa Barbara.--Delay at Saugus.--Viewing the Wreck.-- Brentwood.--The Mission Ma.s.s.--The Social Afternoon.--The Garden and the Homing Pigeons.--The Grape-Shot.--The Chinaman's Pipe.

We had yet one more sweet glimpse of Santa Barbara as we left in the early morning hour. It was soon hidden from our view, but not from our memory, where it will ever abide, a place of sunshine and flowers, where the old and the new stand face to face--the old ocean and the everlasting hills, and the fresh young life of California, with its exuberant surroundings and genial hospitality.

Our next point was Brentwood, which we hoped to reach ere the close of day, but a wreck on the line ahead kept us for hours waiting at a place called Saugus until the track could be cleared.

Saugus was as forlorn as a muddy beach at low tide, but some of us made the most of our unpromising surroundings. The uncertainty of the moment of our departure kept us ever within sound of the warning whistle of the engine, so that our little rambles in the woods adjoining were rather nervous and fitful, but yet better than nothing.

After all, it is a comfortable thing to be safe away from a wreck, and a detention for our security from accident ought to bring grat.i.tude rather than fretfulness at all times.

In due time "All aboard!" was sounded, and then off we were, climbing up into the mountains. It was a continual feast to look at their ever-changing forms, and watch the curves and twists of the railroad as it scaled their heights.

We reached the wreck, the cause of our delay, and even in our rapid glimpse of it we could see the havoc which had been done in that one "smash up." Sacks of flour were hurled hither and thither, their contents scattered on the rocks; cans of fruit were shot about like war-like projectiles; and the eccentric heaping of engine, tender, and freight cars gave us an idea of the impetus of the force which caused the whole disaster. Fortunately no lives were lost.

It was Sunday morning when we reached Brentwood. It was a scattering village of detached houses in the midst of a vast plain through which the railroad ran, straight as an arrow, from horizon to horizon. The somnolence of Sunday and of nature hung over all, giving little promise for the twenty-four hours we were to stay there; yet unpromising as it all seemed, we pa.s.sed there a very enjoyable time.

We were left to our own devices all day, for Dr. and Mrs. Humphreys and the members of his family, went off in the early morning, to visit some relatives ranching in the foot-hills of the encircling mountains, which enclose the vast plain, on which Brentwood stands. How beautiful and ever-varying those mountains were! They told us new stories from morning until night--now a romance of purple and gold; again, a story of less heroic character, as they stood out plain and clear in the sunshine; and again, a tale of deeper mystery, as the night shadows gathered upon their sides, and the moonbeams gave a strange brilliancy to their higher peaks.

Brentwood and all its belongings was before us for the Sunday. After an exploring tour, we found two churches, a Campbellite and a Methodist.

They did not look particularly inviting, although the hymn singing in one by the Sunday-school children touched us. We still strolled on and came upon a group of people busily engaged taking flowers into a long, blackened shed which we were told was the town hall, and that there a Dominican monk was to hold services that morning. A fine-looking young German of the tall, black type was busy arranging the rude temporary altar, and a number of ladies and others were a.s.sisting him. My German friend offered us an introduction to Father Burke, the monk in question, but we declined, not wishing to intrude upon him before his Ma.s.s.

The hour for service came, and we were on hand, with a varied crowd from the town and country adjacent, quite a goodly number. There was a large, white curtain hung back of the altar as a sort of reredos. It did not reach the floor, however, and as the platform was rather high, we had a preliminary view from almost the knees down of all the necessary preparation and vesting, more interesting than edifying. But the service itself,--in the character of the congregation, the mothers with their babies, the young, restless lads, the old people of other days and other climes, and the young people of California growth,--all made up a most interesting study. The music was quite good, being provided by some visitors from San Francisco; two ladies, whom we afterward met, having voices of excellent tone and real culture. An _Ave Maria_ and the _Sanctus_ were especially well sung. Father Burke gave an offhand sermon, well arranged and thoughtful, suitable for Christians of any orthodoxy whatever. It was good to hear him.

My German friend, after service, again invited me to call. It turned out he was the tavern-keeper in the place; so after our pleasant midday dinner on the "Lucania," we all adjourned to the hotel, where in the parlor were the choir of the morning service, several other ladies and gentlemen, and, taking his ease and enjoyment, also Father Burke. We spent more than two hours in the happiest way. Stories were told and songs were sung, and libations of the best California vintage were offered us, all ending with "The Star Spangled Banner," sung by all standing. I say all standing, for two ladies, said to be Spanish sympathizers, remained seated glumly on a sofa, but were good-naturedly drawn to their feet by a laughing companion, and made to a.s.sume the virtue of patriotism if they had it not.

By this time the train was due, and Father Burke, the lady singers from San Francisco, and their friends had to leave us, obedient to the imperial mandate, "All aboard!"

My German friend again came to our a.s.sistance in the way of amus.e.m.e.nts, and invited us into his hotel garden. It was a humble little enclosure, but in the centre, coming up through some rock-work, there was an iron jet which he let on, and made a fountain of for our pleasure, quite refreshing to look at. The distant mountains, too, which appeared so far away as one looked from the open plain, seemed here strangely near and picturesque, when seen through the arched openings of the enclosing trees. Our friend also had a surprise for us in some homing pigeons of rare excellence, of which he was specially proud. He showed us his pet prize winner with its eyes and carriage like a genius. He went in among them, and seemed so tender with them, and interested in them, that it was all a thing of poetry of the highest kind; the great tall man and the fairy-like shapes and motions of his beloved birds. He took out of the cote the very best of the lot, and gave it to one of our young ladies to let fly outside, so that we could see it circle round and round, and then make for its home again.

By this time it was toward evening, and we could descry in the dim distance the return of Dr. Humphreys and his family, as their carriages wound along the plain back again to Brentwood.

Night brought us a silver moon, which added new beauty to all our great surroundings of plain and mountain, and we could look back over a day filled to overflowing with interest and pleasantness, the half of which is not told; but we must at least mention the grape-shot which was picked up on the railroad track, and which set us thinking of how it got there. Was it fired from a Spanish cannon in early days, or by settlers in some Indian difficulty, or marauding trouble, or when?

We must also tell of the happy Chinese laundryman whom we interviewed under the light of the moon, the very picture of placid, contented comfort, as he smoked a huge pipe with stem two feet long. Poor soul, all in his loneliness, coming out from his little hole for a breath of fresh air and a touch of that great nature which is ever so good to us all if we will but let it. Our Chinaman told us that his pipestem was especially valuable, that it had the excellent quality of making the smoke cool, and that such stems, being made of the tea shrub, were very rare. One of our number next morning wished to purchase the said pipestem from "John," but he refused all offers, saying he would not give it for fifty dollars.

XIII

San Francisco.--Bustling Traffic.--Railroad Employees.--The Flagman.--The Palace Hotel.--The Seal Rocks.--Sutro Residence and Baths.--The Presidio.--Sentinels.--Golden Gate Park.--The Memorial Cross.--San Francisco and Edinburgh Compared.--The Cable Cars.-- Chinatown.--The Opium Den.--The Goldsmiths' Shops.--Across the Bay to Tiburon.--The Bohemian Club.

In San Francisco we had a couple of full days and fragments of two others, all too short to fully take in the wonders of that romantic city, so bizarre, so strange, and in its way so attractive.

After coming across the Bay from Oakland, we found ourselves in the midst of the noise and bustle of the railroad yards, fronting on a street crowded with teams and wagons from morning until night; and in the night, the ever-resounding snorts of the iron horse were not found as soothing as the nightingales of San Remo; but one cannot have everything. If you travel thousands of miles in the same car, and are proud to reach home in the same palatial manner, the nuisances of the depot are of minor importance, after all.

The huge wagons hung low near the ground, groaning under merchandise in transit, and the splendid horses which drew them were worth looking at.

The ever-wakeful life of railroad men and their unceasing labors must increase one's respect for that cla.s.s of people, so strong, so active, so intelligent, and so self-reliant, which garrison the fortresses and outposts of trade all over the American continent. Such a life is a training-ground for possible armies of another kind, which a touch on the American flag, or on our national honor, could transform in a flash into a formidable and reliable force in any emergency.

In my musings while in this busy place, my attention was called to a flagman just opposite where our car was anch.o.r.ed. I explored his shanty and had a good chat with him. His little place was bright without and within. Outside were flowers and shrubs; within not a speck of dust was to be seen. It was as shipshape as the best kind of a New England home, having a place for everything, and everything in its place.

In the intervals of his labor, he had time for a quiet rest on an improvised seat outside his cabin door. That seat attracted me. It was like stone, but its peculiar shape told me it was a joint from the vertebrae of a whale. It was just a piece of gigantic bric-a-brac, well seasoned, which one might covet. I asked him what he would take for it.

"Oh," said he, "I could not sell that; it was here before I came, and will remain after me." One could not but respect the sentiment which would regard a tradition rather than pocket a possible dollar. I had too much admiration for such fine feelings to offer to tempt the man again with a new proposal.

A little later on in our stay, we all adjourned to the Palace Hotel, an enormous hostelry which was once the wonder of the continent, and yet has, with its huge interior gla.s.s court, a certain air about it quite magnificent.

From there we made excursions to some of the stock sights of the place.

We went out to the Seal Rocks and saw the Pacific breakers dash up on the huge crags, where the seals, or sea-lions rather, for they are not true seals, mowed and roared and tumbled over each other in their awkward progress on the cliffs. We saw them also in their element, darting gracefully through the waves. We saw Sutro's Baths near by, a huge structure with splendid accommodation for bathers. We saw also the grounds and residence of Sutro, the rich man who built those baths at his own expense, and for the benefit of the people. The grounds of the residence were filled with statues and ornamental sculptures, too lavish for good taste; but, let us admit, at least, that the intention to thus decorate was certainly good. We also saw the Presidio, or army station, and were severely, but most politely, warned off from certain points by armed and mounted sentries. It was a little touch of the war spirit and order, not displeasing. The sentry with whom we parleyed was a type of the American soldier, self-reliant, unconventional, intelligent, and polite. When one looks at such men, they see the new ideas which have discarded forever the millinery of military life.

There are no more restraining straps and buckles; no more pipeclay; no more propping up, like trussed fowls, of chest and shoulders; but all is free, natural, and unrestrained.

We drove out over the bare sand hills, which myriads of lupins of various shades of purple and yellow, were doing their best to clothe and glorify. We came to Golden Gate Park in our drive, and thoroughly enjoyed its extent, the glory of its trees and strange shrubs, and, among other sculptures, the splendid monument to Francis Key, the author of the "Star Spangled Banner." From the park, we could see the surrounding mountains, and on their slopes the distant buildings of various educational inst.i.tutions, of splendid proportions.

The great stone cross, commemorative of the first religious services held on the Pacific Coast in the time of Sir Francis Drake, loomed up grandly at some distance from us, but we could not get our Jehu to drive us to it; there was always some excuse at hand. The late George William Childs, of Philadelphia, caused its erection, to commemorate these first services of the Church of England; but a cunning myth is circulated in San Francisco that it is an advertis.e.m.e.nt for a stone quarry!

San Francisco, situated as it is, on a series of precipitous hills, presents some magnificent and picturesque views. It is a sort of gigantic and altogether exaggerated Edinburgh. When one thinks of Edinburgh, however, with its castled crag and Holyrood, and the gardens right through the city, one is almost ashamed to compare a bijou like it, with a huge creature like San Francisco, which suggests, somehow, a kind of prehistoric being, of dragon-like shape and unimagined power.

This prehistoric suggestion which San Francisco gives, is further carried out by the untempered breath of its climate. The trade winds blow in fiercely in the afternoons, and the chill sea fog creeps over everything with a ferocious persistency quite appalling. The promontory on which the city stands is open to all gales, and one's clothing, throughout the year, must be of such a kind, as always to be capable of resisting borean blasts.

This strange, unfamiliar look of San Francisco, is further carried out by the huge, reddish-yellow bars which mark its form. These are the streets, which ride up and down in uncompromising straight lines and parallels, right over every obstacle which they meet.

The barbaric forcefulness which laid out straight streets sheer over little mountains, has developed in San Francisco the cable-car system, which here reigns supreme, tugging everything along with it.

It is no easy matter for a tenderfoot from the East, to ride in such cars on a first attempt, with either comfort or dignity. On one stretch you are ascending at a fearful angle, then for a brief s.p.a.ce you are on the level, only to be whirled up or down, as the case may be, in a few minutes more. When one is sitting sideways, as is usual in street cars, it requires a certain diffused consciousness to preserve one's equilibrium, which, those accustomed to the use of seats always on the level, cannot readily attain. This self-adjustment once reached, however, and the pivot of permanence properly adjusted, one can proudly keep one's position like a native, and not flop over one's neighbors at every change of angle, as one must do, to one's utter confusion, on a first ride in a San Francisco cable-car on a steep incline.

There were many attractions for me in San Francisco, among friends whom I had known in days long gone by, in Chicago, Milwaukee, and Racine; but in our short stay little more could be had than a handshake, a good-by, and an _au revoir_, which one hoped, that even the three or four thousand miles soon to intervene, would not render utterly impossible.