"No, but a Spaniard by naturalization and marriage. He was an Englishman who had come to the coast in the whaler 'Orion,' and being fascinated by the country and the carefree Spanish life, had married a lovely little senorita, the daughter of Lieutenant Martinez, later Comandante of the Presidio. Richardson settled on a ranch at Sausalito and in 1835, when Governor Figueroa decided to establish a commercial city on the sh.o.r.e of Yerba Buena Cove, he appointed as harbor master, this Englishman, who was already carrying on a small business with the Yankee skippers, and the future town was made a port of entry for all vessels trading up and down the coast. Richardson built the first house in the little settlement of Yerba Buena, afterwards San Francisco."

"Since this is an historic pilgrimage, we must take a look at the spot where the first house stood. Is it far?"

"Only a few blocks," I a.s.sured him. "But we shall have to venture into the heart of Chinatown."

We made our way up Sacramento Street, where the straight-lined grey business blocks gave way to fantastic paG.o.da-like buildings gaily decorated in green, red, and yellow. Bits of carved ivory, rich lacquer ware and choice pieces of satsuma and cloisonne appeared in the windows.

In quiet, padded shoes, the sallow-faced, almond-eyed throng shuffled by, us; here a man with a delicate lavender lining showing below his blue coat, there a slant-eyed woman with her sleek black hair rolled over a brilliant jade ornament, leading by the hand a little boy who looked as if he had stepped out of a picture book with his yellow trousers and pink coat.

We turned to the right at Grant Avenue, pa.s.sing a building conspicuous on account of its elaborately carved balconies hung with yellow lanterns and ornamented with plants growing in large blue and white china pots.

The Bostonian looked curiously at the Orientals lounging about the door, then his face brightened as he read the words, "Chop Suey."

"It's a Chinese restaurant," he exclaimed delightedly. "Let's go in for a cup of tea, as soon as we have taken a look at your historic landmarks."

On the northwest corner of Grant Avenue and Clay Street, we paused before a dingy four-story brick building on whose sides were pasted long strips of red paper ornamented with quaint Chinese characters. I secretly wished that the building had been designed as a gay paG.o.da with bright colored, turned-up eaves like many of those in Chinatown and that its windows had displayed the choice embroideries and carved ivories of some of its neighbors, but as we peered through the gla.s.s, we saw only utilitarian articles for the coolie Chinaman.

"Rather a sordid setting for my story," I bemoaned. "The first house in commercial San Francisco stood here. It was only a sail stretched around four pine posts, but two years later was replaced by a picturesque, red-tiled adobe, so commodious that the Spaniards called it the Casa Grande. I am afraid the building now occupying the spot where the second house stood will be equally disappointing," I said ruefully, as we recrossed the street to where a Chinese butcher and vegetable vender was displaying his wares. We gazed curiously at the dangling pieces of dried fish, strings of sausage-like meat, unfamiliar vegetables, lichee nuts and sticks of green sugar cane.

"Somewhat different from the silks, satins and laces displayed on this spot by Jacob Leese in Spanish days," I reflected. "He was a Bostonian, who like Richardson had become an adopted son of California and settled at Yerba Buena for the purpose of trading with the American vessels."

"This must have been a lively business center." The man raised his voice above the rumble of the wagons and cars. "Two little houses in the midst of a sea of sand-dunes and no settlement nearer than the Mission."

"Oh, it didn't take the American long to make things hum," I a.s.sured him. "He arrived here on July second. Two days later he had built a house and was entertaining all the Spaniards from miles around, at a grand Fourth of July celebration."

"Quick work even for a Yankee," laughed my companion. "But rather hard on his English neighbor, I should think. Did Richardson attend?"

"Of course he did! Delivered the invitations, too! Leese was busy building his house, so the Englishman, in his little launch, called at all the ranchos and settlements about the bay and invited the Spaniards to come to Yerba Buena for a Fourth of July fandango."

We retraced our steps and a few doors beyond entered the gay, balconied restaurant, in quest of a cup of tea served in Oriental style. Climbing the steep stairs, we pa.s.sed the first floor where laborers were being served with steaming bowls of rice; then mounted to the more aristocratic level where we were seated at elaborately carved teakwood tables, inlaid with mother-of-pearl. While waiting for our tea, we stepped onto the balcony which we had regarded with so much interest from the street. Above us hung the gorgeous lanterns, swaying like bright bubbles in the breeze, and below moved the silent blue-coated throng.

"So there was a Fourth of July celebration here even in Spanish times?"

said the man. "Somewhat prophetic of the American days to come, wasn't it?"

We caught a glint of color in the street and leaned far over the balcony to watch a violet-coated Chinese girl thread her way among the sombre crowd.

"It must have been just below us that the early festivities were held,"

I suggested. "Leese's house was not large enough to accommodate his guests, so a big marquee surmounted by Mexican and American flags, and gaily decorated with bunting, was spread about where the street now runs. Can't you picture it all? The dainty little senoritas in their silk and satin gowns, with filmy mantillas thrown over their heads and shoulders, and the men not less gorgeous in lace-trimmed velvet suits and elaborate serapes. I can almost hear the applause and the booming of the cannon that followed General Vallejo's glowing tribute to Washington, and see the graceful Spanish dancers as they a.s.sembled for the evening ball. It was doubtless at this time that Leese met General Vallejo's fascinating sister, whom he married after a short and business-like courtship."

"Short, and she a Californian?" He sent me an amused glance.

"Perhaps Leese thought delay dangerous," I suggested, "for Senorita Maria Rosalia was one of the belles of the new military outpost at Sonoma and more than one gaily clad caballero was suing for her hand."

"No wonder the American pushed the matter," laughed my companion. "Did many Boston men marry Spanish Senoritas?"

"Nearly all who came to the Coast," I answered. "The California women were among the most fascinating in the world and held a peculiar charm for these st.u.r.dy New Englanders."

"I can understand that," he said, bending for a better look at my face.

"But what could the dainty senoritas see in these crude; raw-boned Yankees?"

"Just what any woman would see," I declared. "Men of sterling character, working against terrible odds, with that courage which does not know the word failure. They saw men of perseverance, energy and brains who were bringing into the country the indomitable spirit of New England."

"I am glad you have a good word for the early Yankees," he said, "and I wish your enthusiasm extended to a later generation."

He turned toward me and I felt the telltale color sweep my cheeks as I became conscious that I was thinking less of Leese and his compatriots than of the Bostonian at my side.

"It wasn't the New England spirit," he declared, "that gave these early settlers the strength and determination to succeed. It was the women who had faith in them. A man can accomplish anything if the woman he loves-- " My companion had moved close to my side, and his voice was low as he bent over me. "Little girl," he began, "last year in Boston when you came into my life--"

The harsh jangle of a Chinese orchestra broke the dull murmur of the street and in an instant the little balcony was crowded with gazers eager to catch a glimpse of the musicians through the windows opposite.

My companion and I moved aside for the new corners and turned again toward the interior. Through the open door we could see the waiter placing steaming cups of tea upon the table we had deserted, and re-entering the room, we seated ourselves in the big carved arm-chairs.

Sipping the delicious beverage, we glanced toward the other tables, where groups of Chinamen were talking in a curious jargon and dexterously handling the thin ebony chop-sticks. On the wide matting-covered couches extending along the sidewalls, lounged sallow-faced Orientals, while in and out among the diners noiselessly moved the waiters, balancing on their heads, large brown straw trays.

Snowy rice cakes, shreds of candied cocoanut, preserved ginger and brown paper-sh.e.l.l nuts with the usual Chinese eating utensils were placed before us. We tried the slender chop-sticks with laughable failure and then, declaring that fingers were made first, we had no further trouble.

We took a farewell look at the gilt carved screens and long banners, which in quaint Chinese characters wished us health and happiness. Then following our smiling attendant to the door, we were bowed down the stairway. A Chinaman leaned over the railing and called the amount of our bill to the attendant on the second floor, who like an echo took it up and sent it on to the main entrance, where we settled our account.

Again on the sidewalk, we mingled with the Oriental throng whose expressionless yellow faces gave no hint of joy or sorrow. At the corner we turned east and made our way toward Portsmouth Square. I paused and let my eyes run over my companion, from his emaculate linen collar to his well-polished shoes.

"You'll look sadly out of place here," I warned. "No artist would ever take such a well-groomed person for a model, nor would you be suspected of belonging to the great army of the unemployed."

"Are they the only cla.s.ses allowed? Then I speak now for the purchasing right of your portrait."

"Oh, I'll pose very well as the 'Amelican' teacher of those little Chinese b.u.t.terflies fluttering after that kite. Aren't they attractive in their lavender, pink, and blue sahms?" I said, as we seated ourselves on the bench.

"To be honest, to be kind, to earn a little, to spend a little less,'"

he read from the face of the fountain standing against a clump of trees whose soft foliage drooped caressingly over it. "Why, that's from Stevenson's Christmas sermon. Look at that unappreciative brute! He drank without reading a word!" exclaimed the man indignantly.

"Yes, but he feels the better for coming here. He received the refreshment most needed and that is what Stevenson would have wished.

Some other may need and will receive the spiritual help."

"Why is it here?" he asked.

"Because Stevenson loved this place and came often to sit on the benches and study the wrecked and drifting lives of the men who lounged in the square."

"And the gilded ship on top with its full blown sails--that must suggest his Treasure Island, doesn't it?"

"Yes, and also the Manila Galleon, that splendid treasure-ship ladened with silk, wax and spices from the Philippines and China, which once each year made its landfall near Cape Mendocino and followed the line of the coast down to Mexico."

He leaned with arm outstretched along the back of the bench and surveyed the park.

"This, you said, was the old Spanish Plaza. What was here then?"

"At first just a sweep of tawny sand-dunes, surrounded by scrub oak and chaparral." I dropped my eyes to the gravel walk, that I might shut out the emerald green lawns, and flowering shrubs. "Over the shifting hillocks wandered a little minty vine bearing a delicate white and lavender flower not unlike your trailing arbutus. It was from the medicinal qualities of this plant that the little settlement was named Yerba Buena, the good herb. Over there on the northwest corner where that dingy Chinese restaurant now floats the flag of Chop Suey stood the old adobe Custom House, the first building erected on the Plaza, and it was in front of this that the Stars and Stripes were run up when General Montgomery, who had arrived in the sloop-of-war Portsmouth, took possession in the name of the United States."

"So that is where the square got its name--from the ship 'Portsmouth?'"

His voice rang with the joy of discovery.

"Yes, but the new name never completely replaced the old. We love the terms which come to us from Spanish days, and so, to many of us, this is still the Plaza."

"I presume there was a great outcry when Montgomery pulled down the Mexican flag and ran up the American. But I understand the country was helpless."