We reach Manzanillo, another coast place, twenty-four hours after leaving Acapulco.Manzanillo is a little Mexican village, and looked very wretched indeed, sweltering away there on the hot sands.But it is a port of some importance, nevertheless, because a great deal of merchandise finds its way to the interior from there.The white and green flag of Mexico floats from a red steam-tug (the navy of Mexico, by the way, consists of two tugs, a disabled raft, and a basswood life-preserver), and the Captain of the Port comes off to us in his small boat, climbs up the side of the St.Louis, and folds the healthy form of Captain Hudson to his breast.There is no wharf here, and we have to anchor off the town.
There was a wharf, but the enterprising Mexican peasantry, who subsist by poling merchandise ashore in dug-outs, indignantly tore it up.We take on here some young Mexicans, from Colima, who are going to California.They are of the better class, and one young man (who was educated in Madrid) speaks English rather better than I write it.Be careful not to admire any article of an educated Mexican's dress, because if you do he will take it right off and give it to you, and sometimes this might be awkward.
I said: "What a beautiful cravat you wear!""It is yours!" he exclaimed, quickly unbuckling it; and I could not induce him to take it back again.
I am glad I did not tell his sister, who was with him and with whom I was lucky enough to get acquainted, what a beautiful white hand she had.She might have given it to me on the spot; and that, as she had soft eyes, a queenly form, and a half million or so in her own right, would have made me feel bad.
Reports reach us here of high-handed robberies by the banditti all along the road to the City of Mexico.They steal clothes as well as coin.A few days since the mail coach entered the city with all the passengers stark-naked! They must have felt mortified.
4.4.CALIFORNIA.
We reach San Francisco one Sunday afternoon.I am driven to the Occidental Hotel by a kind-hearted hackman, who states that inasmuch as I have come out there to amuse people, he will only charge me five dollars.I pay it in gold, of course, because greenbacks are not current on the Pacific coast.
Many of the citizens of San Francisco remember the Sabbath day to keep it jolly; and the theatres, the circus, the minstrels, and the music halls are all in full blast to-night.
I "compromise," and go to the Chinese theatre, thinking perhaps there can be no great harm in listening to worldly sentiments when expressed in a language I don't understand.
The Chinaman at the door takes my ticket with the remark, "Ki hi-hi ki! Shoolah!"And I tell him that on the whole I think he is right.
The Chinese play is "continued," like a Ledger story, from night to night.It commences with the birth of the hero or heroine, which interesting event occurs publicly on the stage; and then follows him or her down to the grave, where it cheerfully ends.
Sometimes a Chinese play lasts six months.The play I am speaking of had been going on for about two months.The heroine had grown up into womanhood, and was on the point, as I inferred, of being married to a young Chinaman in spangled pantaloons and a long black tail.The bride's father comes in with his arms full of tea-chests, and bestows them, with his blessing, upon the happy couple.As this play is to run four months longer, however, and as my time is limited, I go away at the close of the second act, while the orchestra is performing an overture on gongs and one-stringed fiddles.
The door-keeper again says, "Ki hi-hi ki! Shoolah!" adding, this time however, "Chow-wow." I agree with him in regard to the ki hi and hi ki, but tell him I don't feel altogether certain about the chow-wow.
To Stockton from San Francisco.
Stockton is a beautiful town, that has ceased to think of becoming a very large place, and has quietly settled down into a state of serene prosperity.I have my boots repaired here by an artist who informs me that he studied in the penitentiary; and I visit the lunatic asylum, where I encounter a vivacious maniac who invites me to ride in a chariot drawn by eight lions and a rhinoceros.
John Phoenix was once stationed at Stockton, and put his mother aboard the San Francisco boat one morning with the sparkling remark, "Dear mother, be virtuous and you will be happy!"....
Forward to Sacramento--which is the capital of the State, and a very nice old town.
They had a flood here some years ago, during which several blocks of buildings sailed out of town and had never been heard from since.A Chinaman concluded to leave in a wash tub, and actually set sail in one of those fragile barks.A drowning man hailed him piteously, thus: "Throw me a rope, oh throw me a rope!" To which the Chinaman excitedly cried, "No have got--how can do?" and went on, on with the howling current.He was never seen more; but a few weeks after his tail was found by some Sabbath-school children in the north part of the State.
....
I go to the mountain towns.The sensational mining days are over, but I find the people jolly and hospitable nevertheless.
At Nevada I am called upon, shortly after my arrival, by an athletic scarlet-faced man, who politely says his name is Blaze.
"I have a little bill against you, sir," he observes.
"A bill--what for?"
"For drinks."
"Drinks?"
"Yes, sir--at my bar, I keep the well known and highly respected coffee-house down the street.""But, my dear sir, there is a mistake--I never drank at your bar in my life.""I know it, sir.That isn't the point.The point is this: I pay out money for good liquors, and it is people's own fault if they don't drink them.There are the liquors--do as you please about drinking them, BUT YOU MUST PAY FOR THEM! Isn't that fair?"His enormous body (which Puck wouldn't put a girdle around for forty dollars) shook gleefully while I read this eminently original bill.
Years ago Mr.Blaze was an agent of the California Stage Company.
