Some Reminiscences of old Victoria Part 1

Some Reminiscences of old Victoria.

by Edgar Fawcett.

PREFACE

To My Readers:--

A preface is, as I understand it, an explanation, and maybe an apology, for what follows. If such is the case, I must explain several things contained in these "Reminiscences of Old Victoria" and its pioneers. Had I not been laid aside with the typhoid some eight years ago, it is likely I should not have thought of writing down these early memories, but many know what convalescing after a sickness is--how one longs for something new, something to do. I was at this time at the seaside, and all at once decided to pa.s.s my time in writing. Seated comfortably on the beach with my writing pad, I commenced "A British Boy's Experiences in San Francisco in the Early Fifties," and so have continued on from time to time during the last eight years.

I have been much encouraged, by pioneers and friends, to gather the result of these pleasant labors together, and I feel I have succeeded in a very imperfect manner; but, dear reader, consider how little I should be expected to know of book-making; therefore take faults and omissions in the product of my labors _c.u.m bona venia_, for there are sure to be many imperfections. There are repet.i.tions of which I am aware, and have decided to let them stand, as I think they fit in in each case. Had I been a man of more leisure I should not have had to apologize for so many of these imperfections.

I have to thank Mrs. Macdonald, of Armadale, the venerable Bishop Cridge, and Alexander Wilson, for valuable information, and also Mr.

Albert Maynard and Reverend A. E. Alston for many photographs to ill.u.s.trate the book. We all know that a book in these days is nothing without pictures. There are others who have helped me in other ways who will accept my thanks.

With these explanatory remarks, and in fear and trembling, I submit the book to your favorable consideration.

Dingley Dell, Christmas, 1911.

A SHORT AUTOBIOGRAPHY

All the Fawcetts I ever heard of from my father and mother came from Kidderminster. My father's father was a maltster, and the sons, with the exception of my father, the youngest, were carpet weavers. The family were strict Nonconformists, and produced one or two noted divines of George the Third's day, one of whom preached before that king. There was also a kinship with the Baxters of "Saint's Rest"

fame.

My mother was Jane Wignall, whose father was a Birmingham smallarms manufacturer in rather a large way of business, but who through the dishonesty of his partner was nearly ruined and brought to comparative poverty. The daughters, who were all well educated, had to take positions as governesses and ladies' companions. My mother, in this capacity, lived and travelled in France and Spain, and spoke the languages of both countries. In a voyage to her home from Barcelona she was wrecked in the Gulf of Lyons, but through the timely a.s.sistance of a Spanish gentleman and his Newfoundland dog, who bore her up, she was brought to sh.o.r.e in little more than her nightdress. I have to-day a letter from the British consul at Ma.r.s.eilles which he gave to my mother, recommending her to the care of other British consuls on her way to England. The Spanish gentleman who saved her life made an offer of marriage, which my mother declined, I think, on account of his being a Roman Catholic. He would not take no for an answer, but later on followed her to England and offered himself a second time without effect. Shortly after this she and my father were married, and on the advice of Rowland Hill, his cousin (Sir Rowland Hill), he took his young bride to Australia.

Rowland Hill, being his father's trustee under his will, paid my father his share, with which he took a stock of goods and started business in Sydney.

In 1849 we left Sydney, where I was born, for San Francisco--father, mother, my brother Rowland and myself, in the ship _Victoria_.

This vessel my father afterwards purchased and sent to Alberni, or Sooke, for a load of lumber for England, when we all were going with her. The vessel never came back, having been wrecked somewhere near where all the wrecks have since taken place, on the west coast of this island. My father was ruined, for there was no insurance, so he had to start life anew. He came north to Victoria in 1858, where he entered into business until appointed Government Agent at Nanaimo, where he served some years, dying at the advanced age of seventy-six.

My mother died in 1863, and at the present writing, in addition to myself, there is one brother in Victoria--Rowland--and another brother, Arthur, in London, England.

The author has completed his fifty-three years in this fair city.

Dingley Dell, December 20th, 1911.

SOME REMINISCENCES OF OLD VICTORIA

CHAPTER I.

THE EXPERIENCES OF A BRITISH BOY IN SAN FRANCISCO IN THE EARLY FIFTIES.

I shall commence by saying that I, with my father, mother, brother and sister, arrived in San Francisco in 1850, in the ship _Victoria_, from Australia, where I was born. From stress of weather we put into Honolulu to refit, and spent, I think, three weeks there, and as my mother was not in good health the change and rest on sh.o.r.e did her a deal of good. During our stay we became acquainted with a wealthy American sugar planter, who was married to a pretty native lady. They had no family, and she fell in love with your humble servant, who was of the mature age of two and a half years. My mother, of course, told me of this years later, how that after consulting with her husband, the planter, she seriously proposed to my mother that she give me to her for adoption as her son; that I should be well provided for in the case of her husband's death, and in fact she made the most liberal offers if she might have me for her own. It might have been a very important epoch in my life, for if my mother had accepted, who knows but what I might have been "King of the Hawaiian Islands," as the planter's wife was "well connected." But, to proceed, my mother did not accept this flattering offer, as naturally she would not, and so we continued on our way to San Francisco with many remembrances of my admirer's kindness. But this is not telling of my experiences in San Francisco eight years after.

My first recollections are complimentary to the citizens of San Francisco--that is, for their universal courtesy to women and children; but this is a characteristic of the people, and I will ill.u.s.trate it in a small way. It was the custom in those days for ladies to go shopping prepared to carry all they bought home with them, and I used to accompany my mother on her shopping expeditions.

The streets and crossings were in a dreadfully muddy condition, and women and children were carried over the crossings, and never was there wanting a gallant gentleman ready to fulfil this duty, for a duty it was considered then by all men to be attentive to women.

What induced me to write these maybe uninteresting incidents, was the last very interesting sketch of early life in San Francis...o...b.. my friend, Mr. D. W. Higgins, giving an account of the doings of the "Vigilance Committee," and the shooting of "James King of William,"

as I remembered him named, and the subsequent execution of Casey for that cold-blooded deed. Cold-blooded it was, for I was an eye-witness, strange to say, of the affair, as I will now relate.

I might premise by saying that my father was an enthusiastic Britisher. But he was a firm believer in the American axiom, though--"My country, may she ever be right; my country right or wrong," and I, his son, echo the same sentiments. It is this sentiment that makes me have no love for a pro-Boer. It was this pride of country that caused him to go to the expense of subscribing for the _Ill.u.s.trated London News_ at fifty or seventy-five cents a number, weekly, and I was on my way to Payot's bookstore to get the last number, with the latest account of the Crimean War, then waging between England and France against Russia. I was within a stone's throw of Washington and Montgomery Streets, I think, when I was startled by the sharp report of a pistol, and looking around I saw at once where it proceeded from, for there were about half a dozen people surrounding a man who had been shot. I, of course, made for that point, being ever ready for adventure. The victim of the shooting was James King of William, editor of the _Evening Bulletin_ newspaper, and the a.s.sa.s.sin was a notorious politician named James Casey, proprietor of the _Sunday Times_, but a very illiterate man for all that.

The cause of the shooting was that James King of William had in his paper stated that Casey had served a term in Sing Sing prison in New York for burglary. This was true, and was afterwards admitted by Casey, but that it should have been made known by an opponent's newspaper was too much for him, and he swore that King's days were numbered. He kept his word, as the event showed.

The victim of the shooting was able to stagger forward towards the Pacific Express building on the corner of Washington and Montgomery Streets, and entered the office, only to drop to the floor. Several doctors were soon in attendance, and his wound bandaged, and he was eventually moved to Montgomery Block, where he remained until he died, six days later. It was contended by Doctor Toland that King's death was caused by the leaving in the wound of the sponge that was inserted immediately after the shooting to stop hemorrhage. There were about twenty doctors in all who attended King, so is it any wonder he died?

The a.s.sa.s.sin was taken in charge by his friends, some of whom were at the time close at hand, and he was taken to the station, which was a block away, and locked up. This was the safest thing for Casey, as his friends were in office, and he expected to get off, even if tried for the offence, as many a like rogue had done.

It was not long after the shooting ere the bell of the Monumental Engine House rang out an alarm. Ten thousand people a.s.sembled, as louder pealed the bell. The crowd now surged in the direction of the jail, calling out, "Lynch him! lynch him!" All this time I was swept along in the living stream of people, and well it was for me that I was able to keep upright, for had I fallen it is doubtful if I should have been able to rise again. The jail was doubly guarded to prevent the citizens from getting possession of Casey, who would have been summarily dealt with. I was now able to get out of the crowd and go home to tell of my wonderful adventure.

I was always in trouble through my continual search for adventure. A gentleman friend of ours, bookkeeper, in the San Francisco sugar refinery, was one of the Vigilance Committee, which was composed of all grades of society, from merchants to workingmen. There were five thousand of them enrolled to work a reformation in city government, which was then in the hands of gamblers, thieves and escaped convicts. At home I heard the trial and execution of Casey discussed, and decided at all hazards to go to the important event, but I knew it would have to be done on the sly, as my mother would never have consented. "I let the cat out of the bag" somehow, as my mother gave me a solemn warning that if I went I should get the worst whipping I ever had in my life.

I brooded on this for some days, and finally decided to go and take my chances of being found out. So on the day I of course played hookey, and got to the place early. I climbed up an awning post nearly opposite the gallows, and sat on the top with some other adventurous spirits, who, like myself, were hungry for adventure. I shall not describe what I saw, for my friend, Mr. Higgins, has already done that. When I got home I paid dearly for my disobedience.

My elder brother happened to have been opposite me, on the other side of the street. I got my promised whipping, well laid on, and was sent supperless to bed, feeling very sore. But I was not fated to go without supper, for, as I lay unrepentant, Amy, my little sister, crept into the room and brought me part of hers, and, what I more appreciated then, her sympathy and tears. G.o.d bless her! She was taken from us soon after to a better life.

One afternoon later (I won't be sure of dates), as father and I were going home, we were arrested by the sweet strains of music, which proceeded from a band a block away. Father hesitated for an instant, then started off at a run, calling to me to come on. We were soon there, and to explain father's strange action in running after a band of music, I have only to say that the tune was one dear to the hearts of all Britons, "G.o.d Save the Queen," so, could you wonder at his excitement, as we stood in front of the British Consulate? The reason of it all was the news received that day of the fall of Sebastopol.

After a few words from the consul we all moved off to the French Consulate, and here all was repeated, but to the strains of the Ma.r.s.eillaise hymn. Of course this good news was fully discussed at home, and some days after it was decided to have the event celebrated by the British and French residents by a procession and banquet in a pavilion, with an ox and several sheep roasted whole.

The day arrived, and I, of course, had to go with father in the procession, carrying a British flag. In the midst of the festivities a lot of roughs broke into the pavilion, tore down the British and French flags, and then worked havoc with the pavilion itself. It was a most disgraceful affair, and would not have occurred, I am confident, in any British possession; but then ours may not be such a free country. Father was most indignant, and wrote to Marryat's newspaper calling on the British Consul to take official notice of the affair, but I don't remember the result. Marryat was, I believe, an Englishman.

The next little incident I shall name the "Battle of the Standard,"

because it was all about a little flag. It was the celebration of the laying of the Atlantic cable, and all the public school children took part in a monster parade. Each child carried a small flag, such as we have for the Queen's birthday celebration in Canada.

As may be supposed American flags swamped the British in numbers, still there was a good sprinkling of the latter. I happened to be one British boy among many American boys, and they bantered me considerably about my flag being "alone," and at last exasperated me, and on my flag being s.n.a.t.c.hed away by a boy I s.n.a.t.c.hed it back again, and in the scuffle it was torn from the stick and I cried with vexation. One of the teachers, however, supplied me with another, which you may suppose I took good care of. Will the Americans never get over their silly jealousy with respect to the flying of foreign flags in their country? We Canadians are always pleased to see the Star Spangled Banner waving alongside the Union Jack, and hope it may long wave.

The Mexican coin valued at two reals, or two bits, as we called it then, represented the value of two small apples in those days, and everything was dear in proportion. These coins were more in circulation than American, I think, the place being full of Mexicans.

They were very picturesque, riding about dressed in buckskin trousers with fringe down the leg, wearing wide-brimmed felt hats and on their heels immense spurs, which made a great noise as they walked. They were a great attraction to me as they galloped like mad after cattle, throwing with great skill a rawhide lariat or la.s.so, which rarely missed its victim. My thirst for adventures led me with several other kindred spirits to play hookey from school, and go into the country to see these Mexicans drive wild cattle about, and then to the slaughterhouse to see them killed. When I was found out I was well whipped, of course, but I often escaped.

San Francisco in those days was mostly built of wood, and when a fire started, with a fair wind, the damage done was something enormous. My spirit of adventure took me to many of these fires, in fact it was hard to keep me in when a large one was burning. From our house I have seen the greater part of the city swept away twice, and a grander sight cannot be imagined, seen from an eminence, and maybe at night, too. I was off like a shot, and, running all the way, was soon on the scene. Anyone and everyone volunteered to help carry goods to a place of safety, and hot work it was, I can tell you, for being mostly of wood, and maybe redwood, they (the houses) burnt like tinder. From running to so many fires and falling down in my haste I got my shins bruised and bleeding, and my trousers, of course, torn. I was showing my children these scars only lately, they being still much in evidence after fifty-four years.

As I have before stated, the stores were built of redwood, and with cellars. The floors of many had trapdoors, and when the fire got near them the storekeeper opened the trapdoor, and all the goods were swept off the shelves into the cellar, and covered up. After this the owner of the building took a bee-line for the lumber yard to get in his order for lumber for a new building ahead of his neighbor. They were the exciting days and no mistake! A week after one of these devastating fires all was built up and looked the same as usual. I might state that the firebells rang on all occasions to bring the citizens together in those times of tumult, and all prominent men were firemen.

I can well remember the election of President Buchanan, and if I remember right, the voting was in the open air in each ward of the city, the ballots being placed in large gla.s.s globes. At one of these polling-places I saw a fight, the result of a dispute between a Democrat and a Republican over an accusation by one that the other had put in a double ticket (I think this was the cause).

To close this history, I might say that my father and his partner put all they had, some ten thousand dollars, into a venture which eventually brought us to Vancouver Island to live. They bought a vessel, and sent her in ballast to Alberni or Sooke for a load of lumber, and it was arranged that on her return to San Francisco she was to take the lumber to England, and we all were to go home again in her. But "L'homme propose et Dieu dispose" was here exemplified, for the ship never came back. After weeks of anxiety when the ship was overdue, one day either the captain, or the mate came to my father with the news that the ship was wrecked in Barclay Sound, and as there was not a dollar of insurance we were ruined, and had to commence all over again.

The result of all this was that later we embarked with about six hundred others on the steamer _Northerner_ for Victoria, to try and retrieve something of what we lost. I will not vouch for the accuracy of the dates or the rotation in which the incidents are related, but I have done my best after cudgeling my brain for weeks for the general result as here presented.

[Portrait: Edgar Fawcett.]