Don Emilio was to go to Mission Dolores with his son and present himself to Padre Juan Carlos with a letter from Padre Lipolito that asked for the man and his son to be given special consideration. Santiago begged to stay in town a little longer so that they might watch the festivities. Don Emilio agreed. He saw no reason why they could not call on the priest that evening.
Captain Alvarez suggested their belongings be left on board until ready to go to the mission. He could not free himself immediately. The ship would need to be inspected by customs agents and the ship’s manifest, verified. These details would detain him but he told them he would meet them later and gave them directions to a small tavern and eatery frequented by a Spanish clientele. There, he promised them dinner and a tour of the town as part of the celebration.
With Santiago’s urging, Don Emilio agreed to explore the city on their own. They walked the waterfront, a collection of sheds, warehouses, taverns, and several ramshackle hotels. The streets were dirty and unpaved; deeply rutted by wagon wheels. Each time it rained these lanes became quagmires in which carts and boots were stuck or lost. Buildings were mostly of wood, thrown together quickly to accommodate the daily onslaught of new arrivals. Many of the structures were made of clapboard or canvas, and out of them merchants sold a multitude of things necessary for those who had traveled with little more than the clothing on their backs.
They found a street that looked better than the rest, where wooden sidewalks had been laid and the buildings were more permanent. Shop windows were filled with extravagances. In this part of town the shopkeepers had banded together to create a more inviting atmosphere. Straw was laid in the streets when it rained so that the ladies would not soil the hems of their skirts while alighting from elegant carriages. Front Street was the showplace of the small but booming town. Turning right on Kearney Street they walked toward the source of loud music and could see that the upper part of the street was much busier than the rest.
“Something is happening, Father. Let us go and see?” Santiago’s eyes were darting everywhere. Man and boy were overwhelmed by the scents and sounds, so foreign and exciting. Santiago noticed with alarm how they were glared at by those they passed and there was no mistaking the expression of hate. Little did they know how unwelcome they were by the Yankees. Mexicans and anyone of Spanish origin were not treated kindly by the Anglos. San Francisco had become a city of races, and hatreds were never far from exploding into brawls often resulting in killings. Chinese, Australians, Chileans, Peruvians, Irishmen, and a variety of other races had come quickly when the news of the discovery of gold had spread around the world.
These groups banded together because the land was unknown and harsh. There were areas of the town that developed into ethnic enclaves and these factions fell into competition. The waterfront and areas surrounding it had become notoriously lawless. It was not safe to walk there alone even in daylight. Men who drank too much and stumbled home late, often awoke on the following morning to find themselves aboard a ship already out of the harbor, and not to return for months. It was not uncommon for a wife who found her husband missing to remarry in a short time. Many were shiftless – aimless ruffians deserted by parents, or boys who had run away from home to find their fortune. Others were children who had stowed aboard ships to escape poverty or abuse, only to find they had not escaped at all. Without means of support, many turned to prostitution. Some were pressed into the work and held there by threat of death. Still others became hopelessly addicted to opium supplied by ruthless brothel owners. Hidden within a few blocks of where Santiago and his father walked were two houses of prostitution that offered boys as young as seven. Some of these boys had been brought from other countries, as boys from the United States were shanghaied and sold in Europe, Asia, and the Middle East. These houses prospered.
Until recent times little had been done to bring law and order to the town. Out of necessity vigilante committees were organized by the town fathers who felt that extremes were being reached by a group of Australians terrorizing the waterfront. Known as the Sydney Ducks, most were of the lower class and poor, uneducated, and prone to fighting. They had succeeded in overpowering and replacing another band of thugs called The Hounds. This group’s purpose was to hunt down and bring back sailors and seamen who had deserted ship, and they often brought back unwilling replacements to collect a bounty paid by the captain for each replacement. The Hounds especially targeted men suspected of being of Spanish descent. They were bigoted men who still felt hate over the recently-ended war that had been fought over the very question of bigotry and slavery. Hostility was prevalent.
When Don Emilio and his son tried to get service at a café, they were ignored as they stood by the door. Though they did not understand the words, it was clear that they were being asked to leave.
“What is it Father? Why is everyone so angry with us?”
“I don’t know, son. Perhaps Padre Juan Carlos or the Captain can explain it. Come, let us walk ahead and see why the people are making all the noise.”
Sounds of music and laughter came from dance halls and gambling houses whose doors swung continuously by drunken crowds, yelling and shouting, as they staggered from place to place. They watched as the throngs of wild-looking men and women came and went, oblivious to all but their own pleasures. The women looked like none that Santiago had ever seen.
One of the buildings, tall in comparison to those around it, stood three stories high. The upper two levels were rooms in whose windows sat ladies with painted faces who called out to the miners and gamblers below, luring them with promises of exquisite intimacies.
“Come Santiago, this is not the place for us. These women would take our money and leave us penniless, and with illness in our groin.”
“What are they doing, Father? Why do they look like that?”
“They are of no consequence, Santiago. These women sell themselves and accept money for giving a poor representation of affection. You must never make the mistake of thinking that you can buy love!”
As they continued to walk, Santiago noticed the many boys idling about in doorways and at almost every street corner. They looked at the men who passed and smiled, some making gestures and following the men who looked back at them. Most of the boys were dirty and in need of clothing and food. In their eyes, Santiago saw the same look he had seen in the boys from Lima who had had nothing and begged for a living. It was a look of anger and desperation.
Don Emilio seemed unaware of the activity. Santiago recalled Captain Alvarez’s comment about his gold mine and of those in San Francisco who would pay dearly to have him. Were these boys using their gold mines? It did not seem that they were putting much in their pockets for their efforts! He eyed them carefully as they passed and they returned the gaze, recognizing Santiago’s curiosity and fascination. One young boy who stood at the entrance of a hotel caught Santiago’s eye and followed him with a riveting look. As Santiago and his father passed the boy, he reached down and touched himself, making an obscene gesture with his mouth. Santiago looked away and saw that his father had noticed the gesture and was looking at him, but remained silent.
They arrived to meet Captain Alvarez at the appointed hour. Don Emilio was becoming more concerned about the attitudes of the Anglos. Again he wondered if his decision to come the San Francisco had been the right one. The Captain was already waiting and they saw that all the patrons of the establishment were Spanish. He introduced them to the tavern-owner, a Colombian who made them feel welcome.
“This is a good man, Joachim. He has traveled from Peru with his son, and they are here to find their fortune.”
“You would do better to start a business here than take your chances in those hills, amigo.”
The owner passed the wine around and raised his glass in salute to his friend, the Captain, and to the new arrivals.
“This is to wish you a safe sailing, Ramon. May your good luck hold on your return journey.”
The Captain nodded.
“I can tell you that it will not be as good as the one we shared, eh my friends?” He looked directly at Santiago and winked.
The owner leaned toward the boy. “And you, Santiago, will you become a fortune hunter like your father?”
“I go where he goes. We are a team.”
Don Emilio looked at his son and felt proud. He liked the way Santiago appeared less inhibited by the adults around him. He liked the way the boy stood up to scrutiny and the way he fit in with the men. They finished the wine when they heard noises from a crowd outside.
“It is time to close shop, my friends. The big ship is about to arrive and everyone will be at the waterfront for the festivities.”
On February 28 of the year 1849, the California sailed through the Golden Gate announced by cannon fire and a flurry of banners. The ship had stopped at several ports along her route and in all places, had been received as royalty. Hundreds, who had left the security of home and family, disembarked and were greeted by a wildly cheering crowd. Five American warships escorted her through the Golden Gate and into port. The ships let loose with a broadside salute that rattled windows for miles around. Great balls of smoke rose above the water. Gulls alighted by the thousands to the sound of thunder and filled the sky as though part of the celebration.
Festivities lasted well into early evening. They listened to speeches they did not understand and tasted food they had never seen. Captain Alvarez did his best to warn them about the ill-will of the Americans because they felt all newcomers to be a threat – that any gold found should rightly be the property of Americans and, therefore, available for the taking. Santiago and his father returned to the ship with Captain Alvarez and loaded their belongings into a rented cart. They bid the Captain farewell and drove in the direction of Mission Dolores.
Mission Dolores was built at the foot of a hill that was covered by an array of tents and makeshift shelters. Although the hillside and surrounding area was littered and dirty, Mission Dolores was well kept and the grounds were filled with flowers that could be smelled long before one arrived. Don Emilio stood when the priest entered. He bowed and without saying a word, handed the priest his letter of introduction. Padre Juan Carlos read it silently, then looked at them and smiled, extending his hand.
“You are welcome here. I trust Padre Lipolito is well?”
“Yes Padre. My son and I wanted to pay our respects and give you his good wishes!”
The priest nodded, scrutinizing the man and boy. “You have come to California to look for gold?”
“Yes Padre. We will begin as soon as we can. But first we must buy the necessary supplies and equipment. This is my son, Santiago.”
“Buenos Dias, Santiago. I trust you travel has been quite an experience!”
“Yes, Father. In many ways! We saw the most wonderful things! I saw a ship that moves with no help from the wind. It bellows smoke from a fire in its belly that forces a wheel to turn and paddle it through the water. I saw fish, some bigger than me, that followed our ship..., yes, followed right alongside and they would jump from the water and play with one another!”
“They are the fisherman’s fiend, the dolphin, Santiago. They are a good fish. The Lord made them as the seaman’s companion.”
Santiago was exuberant, speaking swiftly as he was filled with the remembered excitement of his travels and the marvels he had witnessed.
“...And there were lights in the water at night. Yes..., sometimes I would watch the water as it glowed beside the bow. Remember father when we saw the school of whales?”
Don Emilio nodded affirmation and smiled at the priest’s kindly interest in his son’s excitement.
“...Si, Padre, the fish were much bigger than this room, much bigger! They shot jets of water into the air like fountains. It was wonderful!”
“Yes Santiago, there are many wonders in the world. God never ceases to reveal his wonders. You are just beginning to see them and you will see much more. Thank God for his beauty!”
“Gratia Dei,” They said in unison.
Padre Juan Carlos extended his hand and led them to a large sofa near the fire.
“You are both adventurous. There is much that you will enjoy, but I am afraid that there is more that you will not.”
Once again Don Emilio was seized with apprehension. The look in the priest’s eyes seemed one of fear. He knew that life in the hills would be difficult, perhaps too difficult for his son to bear. Was there time to recant and change plans? Could he do this without walking away from the offered experience without ever feeling that he would have passed on an opportunity offered by God to make him rich? They had come too far to turn back. He had to press forward!
“If you have just arrived today surely you have not obtained rooms yet? They are not easy to find,” Padre explained. “Those that are available are very expensive. You saw the settlement of tents as you arrived. This is a bad place. You will find no water and no sanitation facilities there. There is no place to bathe. You must also be cautious of where you go in the town. Unfortunately there are bands of men who attack our people.”
Santiago listened as his father twisted the brim of his hat until the hat lost its shape. The boy sat quietly, hands folded in his lap and Padre Juan Carlos could not take his eyes from him. The boy’s eyes were dark and deep and he felt his soul searched by them. Yet there seemed to be an innocence in them that made Santiago seem spiritually beautiful. The boy possessed an aura that drew attention. There was an element that the priest could not identify that caused him fascination and at the same time, frightened him. He sensed power in the boy and that power disquieted him.
“I suggest you stay here until you make safe arrangements. We have a small room that you are welcome to use.”
Don Emilio was unsure of accepting. The priest noticed his discomfort.
“Please do not feel you are imposing. Padre Lipolito was very generous to me when we were in seminary together and I look upon this as an opportunity to repay him.”
Don Emilio was thankful. “Perhaps while we are here my son and I could earn our keep and be of service? We are craftsmen. Santiago has almost surpassed me in the art of woodworking. We are at your disposal.”
“Done, then!” The priest shook Don Emilio’s hand then stood and laid his hand on Santiago’s shoulder. “We are building pews for the new chapel. Your skills would be appreciated. Now come with me and I will take you to your room.”
They rose early the next morning to the sound of bells calling worshippers to mass. Each day they followed the regimen of waking at six and attending mass, then eating breakfast on the verandah with the priest. The remaining part of the morning was spent in the chapel working on the pews. The five hours of work passed quickly as each did the thing that brought satisfaction. Don Emilio did the rough carving and allowed Santiago to do the fine work, for the boy loved the concentration it required.
After siesta they drove the wagon to town. At first Padre Juan Carlos had come with them under the guise of showing them where they could obtain the equipment they needed. In actuality his presence insured less likelihood of them falling prey to ruffians and he was able to use his influence to prevent the inflation of prices. It would have cost them three times the amount to purchase the same items.
Each day was an adventure for Santiago. The streets were filled with people, sights, and sounds that commanded his attention. Shops contained marvelous gadgets, clothing, furniture, and a never-ending source of amazement. Fruits and vegetables were so easily grown that he wondered why anyone would buy them in shops. He saw the fog cover a part of the city each day, and was reminded of Lima at certain times of the year when the sun would not shine because of the cloud cover. He watched the hills behind the mission as the fog bank rolled over them and spilled down to the settlements and town beyond.
Santiago became sensitive to how people looked and reacted to him. He knew that there were those who desired him, and he could identify them right away by the quality of their inter
est. He also wondered about Padre Juan Carlos, as there was something of that same quality and he always seemed to be lurking about. But the Padre never indicated he wanted anything other than to be friendly and of assistance. By the end of the first week Santiago was convinced he had been mistaken.
One day Don Emilio decided to venture up the hill near the mission to speak to the people and get a sense of what was happening. He might learn how to prepare for the long journey he hoped would soon begin. The hill was one of several places where new arrivals congregated. Because of the mission nearby, these people knew there was always food or help. Those who were religious could attend mass and vespers after which soup and bread was given to any who were in need.
It was Santiago who led his father up the hill, following the path he had taken several times in the past few days. They strolled casually in order to catch the conversations exchanged by many of the men who congregated in groups at the shanties that served as cantinas, erected by enterprising merchants. Many men stood outside as they drank and were free with their advice when Don Emilio asked how one went about preparing for the journey into the mountains. All seemed to know how to get rich in the gold fields, yet none looked like they had experienced the wealth. There were campfires everywhere and the smoke drifted down the hillside. Shelters were constructed of every material conceivable; some from inverted ponchos, others made of conventional canvass, still others consisting of sailcloth stolen or bought from ships left abandoned in the harbor. There were makeshift wind-breaks of oilcloth sided with scraps of wood. No material was discarded or considered worthless. The community of hill-people consisted mostly men with few women and children. Some of these men were those who had been to the placers before, but had run out of supplies, forced to return to San Francisco to work or gamble to secure another grubstake.
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