I will not trouble the reader with the details of this voyage, but, simply stating that we arrived in the grand harbor of San Francisco early in May, and landed early one pleasant Sunday morning, I will proceed to tell what kind of place it is, and relate what befell the redoubtable John Smith there.
First, I will briefly mention the peculiarities of San Francisco, commencing with—
THE CLIMATE.—In San Francisco, as well as along the whole coast of California and Oregon, the temperature of the air does not vary much during the year. There are no extremes of heat or cold. The trade winds prevail during the summer, and there is no rain except in the winter months—the period of the “rainy season.” It seldom snows or freezes—and never to any considerable extent. In the summer the thermometer seldom indicates a higher degree of temperature than eighty. This would be rather warm, but for the steady breeze that sweeps in from the broad Pacific.
THE HARBOR of San Francisco has not, probably, an equal in the world. The entrance is narrow, and tall, abrupt hills stand guard on either side. This entrance is termed the “Golden Gate.” The harbor is large enough to float all the vessels in the world; it is adorned with several picturesque islands; and its shores, where not occupied with buildings, are beautiful and green, except on the south side near the entrance, where immense heaps (almost mountains) of sand are the prevailing feature.
THE POPULATION was fifty-six thousand in 1860, according to the National Census, but it is now _three times_ as great. It is, of course, composed of people from all parts of the world, but chiefly from the United States. A large proportion of the population are the Chinese. These people are small in stature, yellow in color, pagan in religion, ingenious, industrious, inoffensive, cowardly, low-lived, filthy, and ugly as toads—creatures to which they bear a striking family resemblance. They work at any and every thing, many of them doing housework, washing and ironing, and the like. I remember seeing the following names of “Orientals” on their business signs: Wo Hop, Hung Gee, Cum Lum Sam, Sam Lee, Wo Lee, Wo Wing, Ah Sing, Wing Wo, Yek Wa. These distinguished gentlemen from the Orient, (or rather, to one in California, from the Occident) were all extensively engaged in the laundry business. There are but few negroes in San Francisco. I do not think I saw a dozen while there.