The United States Navy’s role as America’s first line of defense is well known, but often unknown are the countless instances of the Navy’s engaging in activities other than its basic mission of national defense. Innumerable rescue operations, the rendering of assistance to flood victims, the transportation of critical medical cases to proper care, or furnishing a large city with emergency electrical power are just a few samples of the Navy’s “extracurricular activities.”
In April, 1906, the San Francisco earthquake and fire brought to the people of that city the greatest physical catastrophe in the history of the United States. Millions of dollars worth of property was destroyed; thousands of people were injured; hundreds lost their lives. But despite this colossal loss and injury there was at least one compensating thought after the last fire had been extinguished—it might have been much worse. That it was not worse was due in part to the superhuman efforts of those men who fought that roaring inferno for days and finally saved most of the vital docks and waterfront areas of San Francisco— facilities by which effective communication with the “outside world” was maintained.
And, as has frequently been the case in other periods of emergency, the Navy and the Marines were willing and able to render effective assistance. This is the story of a part of that assistance.
In mid-April, 1906, the U.S.S. Perry, Lieutenant F. N. Freeman, commanding, put into Mare Island Navy Yard for repairs. Ensign Wallace Bertholf was executive officer and navigator, and I, a passed midshipman about one year out of the Naval Academy, was on temporary duty with the Perry and acting as engineer. We had recently left the Pacific Squadron and had preceded it north after target practice in Magdalena Bay, so ours was the only vessel of the Squadron present. In addition to our ship, whose engines were immediately dismantled for repairs, there were at Mare Island several small vessels “in ordinary” with skeleton crews. Among them was our sister ship, the destroyer Preble, and also the torpedo boat Farragut, a couple of submarines, and the regular yard craft.
On the morning of April 18, 1906, Captain Freeman and I were the only officers aboard the Perry. A little after 5 A.M. we were suddenly awakened by an intense vibration of the whole vessel. We both cried out, “Do you feel that earthquake?” as we tumbled out, put on slippers, and reached the deck before the Perry stopped trembling. A large pile of coal near the ship slid down to its angle of rest, sending up a big cloud of coal dust. Nearby some broken air conduits produced an eerie sound which made things seem much worse than they really were. Between the ship and the quay wall the surface of the water was considerably disturbed, presenting the appearance of tide rips. The ship appeared to vibrate up and down, and had our engines not been disabled, we might have assumed for a moment that we were backing full speed. Over in Vallejo we could look directly up the street opposite us and see the people running out of the houses.
Comparatively little damage was reported at the Navy Yard. Some chimneys and plaster had fallen in the officers’ quarters. Tall chimneys in the industrial section had been cracked and thrown slightly out of plumb. Brick walls in some of the workshops were cracked, and a few bricks were thrown out of place, but no walls fell. Some steam, air, and water mains were broken, and the telephone service was disrupted.
The market boat, returning from its early trip to Vallejo, brought in rumors of damage to nearby communities. Then liberty men began to straggle back with more rumors and interesting tales of their experiences on shore. Next came semi-official news of the quake’s effect on nearby Santa Rosa where fire was said to have broken out.
Between seven and eight o’clock someone brought word that San Francisco was demolished and in flames, with terrific loss of life. And shortly after eight o’clock the following unsigned wireless message was received: “Earthquake at 5:24 A.M., San Francisco. Nearly demolished city. Call Building is down and Palace Hotel, both telegraph offices, Wells Fargo Building. All water pipes burst. City fire department helpless. City is in flames.”
Shortly after eight o’clock, while the skipper and I were seated at the breakfast table, we felt another shock, and a few minutes later an orderly appeared with a message from the Commandant, Rear Admiral Bowman H. McCalla, directing Lieutenant Freeman to report immediately. In a few minutes he returned and announced that he had received orders to take temporary command of the Preble and proceed to San Francisco under full power, conveying all available surgeons and nurses from the Yard to the assistance of the sufferers in the city. The crew was assembled at quarters and the necessary details selected to fill out the skeleton crew of the Preble. The captain also called for volunteers to make up a fire and rescue party to go in the fire tug Leslie to the aid of the San Francisco fire department. Of course everyone wanted to go. Those left behind were grumbling at their hard luck when presently a request came for all available men to coal the tug Active. The men went on the jump without waiting for further orders, and as I followed them down the dock a messenger brought word that Admiral McCalla wished to see me. I found the Admiral near the Active and received orders to take command, wait for a detachment of Marines, and then proceed to San Francisco with all possible speed, taking the fire tug Leslie in tow if we should overtake her, and upon arrival to report to Captain Freeman for orders.
While waiting for the Marines I sent out a scouting party to gather all available fire fighting gear, and then hurried back to the Perry to get my pistol, ammunition, and a chart of the waterfront, and to leave instructions with a quartermaster for the care of the ship during our absence. Gathering together the remaining available men of the Perry's crew, I returned with them to the Active and, finding everything in readiness, shoved off. The Marines had brought along a large hose reel, which later proved useful in moving our hose lines.
The trip down the bay was an exciting race. The Leslie, commanded by Chief Boatswain Daniel Moriarty, had a long head start, but we overtook her in San Pablo Bay and passed her a tow line without even slowing down. The Preble overtook, passed us, and soon disappeared ahead in a great cloud of black smoke.
As we approached the waterfront we were appalled by the immensity of the holocaust and began to realize our insignificance compared to the task lying before us. The city was burning in several places, but the biggest fire seemed to be south of Market Street and was progressing towards the waterfront in that section, so we proceeded down the line of piers until we spied the Preble, with hospital flag at the masthead, lying at anchor off the foot of Howard Street. The superstructures of several of the piers we passed had collapsed, and everything seemed askew—this impression being heightened by the appearance of the ferry building’s time-ball pole, which was bent away over to southward.
While awaiting our arrival, Lieutenant Freeman had been in communication with the fire department and had already sized up the situation. The Active and Leslie were immediately placed alongside Pier 8, and before eleven o’clock we had several lines of hose laid out on Howard Street, where the fire was the nearest, and we were fighting shoulder to shoulder with the city’s firemen.
From that Wednesday morning until the fire was under control the following Saturday, April 21, we worked almost steadily with little rest. The city firemen worked with us all of the first day and night. After that very few of them were to be seen in the waterfront district. Many of them left to look after their own families, while our men, most of whom had no kin in the city, stuck to their posts until they almost collapsed.
For four days and nights following the ’quake I did not see a single uniformed policeman anywhere in the entire waterfront district of San Francisco. From the time of our arrival Wednesday morning until early Saturday, our small force, which consisted mostly of the crews of the Perry, Active, and Leslie, and a handful of Marines, had not only to fight fire but to police and patrol the districts in which we worked. With the exception of the officers, who carried revolvers, our force was unarmed, although later during the week we obtained a few arms and organized a waterfront patrol.
During the operations on Howard Street we had stopped the bayward progress of the fire within a block of the Embarcadero (then known as East Street), when a shift and slight increase in the breeze started the flames sweeping toward Rincon Hill at a terrific pace. Seeing the danger, the Captain sent Boatswain Moriarty and me to warn the poverty-stricken residents of that section to get out. The fire was sweeping up the hill at such a rate that it seemed impossible that anyone on the hill could escape its path. The scene there was heartrending. Those who heeded our warning escaped to the waterfront, but many who delayed to gather personal belongings became panic- stricken when they found escape in one direction cut off by flames and smoke, and ran screaming in all directions like a hive of ants whose hill had been disturbed. The old and crippled, taken out of their houses on mattresses, were carried a little way and dropped, then picked up by someone else, carried a little further and dropped again. The whole section was swept clean in less than an hour, and many must have perished. If there was any great loss of life in any one place during the fire, it must have been in that inferno. We were told afterwards that the heat had been so intense in this area as to cause the cobbles of the streets to pop like pop-corn.
Upon returning to Howard Street I was directed to shift the Active's hose lines to the neighborhood of the Sailor’s Home and try to save that building, which was particularly important because a wireless station there afforded the only means of telegraphic communication with the outside world. We brought up the Leslie's lines and one from the Army tug Slocum, and with these we made a stand on Rincon Hill, from which we were gradually forced back toward Main Street. We could not stop the fire until it had consumed everything west of a line on Main, Harrison, and Beale Streets, but we prevented it from jumping across to the Sailor’s Home and got it under partial control, thus saving much of the waterfront in that area.
Throughout the whole day constant trouble had been experienced owing to the large number of drunks along the waterfront. The uncontrolled crowds rushed from saloon to saloon, looting the stocks and becoming intoxicated early in the day. Unnecessary injuries and loss of life were suffered by many who became so stupefied by liquor as to be unable to get out of the way of the fire or of falling walls.
Able-bodied men stood about and got in our way. When we called to them for help in handling the hose, they replied with jeers and remarks to the effect that it wasn’t their property. Some flatly refused unless we would agree to pay them, and they demanded not less than forty cents an hour!* Our men, being so few and unarmed, were powerless to compel the idle fellows to work; furthermore, we were too busy fighting fire to waste time pleading with them. They were not real San Franciscans but instead were waterfront hoodlums, “wobblies,” floaters, and beachcombers. As a matter of fact, however, we received very little help from the real citizens, most of whom were engaged elsewhere looking after their own particular interests, such as their homes or loved ones. If we could have had two hundred respectable citizens, able and willing to assist in leading out hose and rescuing the invalids and aged, a great many lives and much property would have been saved.
Assured that the waterfront was no longer in immediate danger, and observing that the fire was progressing rapidly over Rincon Hill towards Townshend Street and was threatening the lumber yards in the vicinity of the Pacific Mail docks, Lieutenant Freeman decided to shift our position, for the newly endangered area was beyond the reach of our present hose lines.
The Active was moved to the Santa Fe Railroad dock and the Leslie to a berth in the basin beyond the Pacific Mail dock. The Slocum and the Revenue Cutter Golden Gate took berths outside the Pacific Mail dock. These four government vessels supplied the only streams the fire fighters had in this neighborhood, and this effort contributed mightily to the saving of the Pacific Mail dock as well as the other waterfront structures in that general vicinity.
Our men displayed great bravery during the saving of the lumber yards. The nozzle- men stood fearlessly at their stations on top of lumber piles at the base of the cliff, where their lives were in constant danger from flaming timbers and other debris falling from the burning houses along the edge of the cliff above them. In some cases their zeal amounted to foolhardiness and they exposed themselves to dangers that more experienced firemen would have avoided. That none were killed or very seriously injured was a miracle. By 10:30 P.M. the fire had been checked and brought under control in that particular area.
About 10:00 P.M. while fighting fire near the Haslett Company warehouses, Lieutenant Freeman was informed that the fresh water supply for the fire engines stationed in the neighborhood of Mission Creek had become exhausted. Temporarily abandoning about 1500 feet of hose the Leslie had been supplying, Freeman took her and the Sotoyomo into Mission Creek and secured alongside a barge at Fourth Street. The fire department here gave us a hose which led up to Townshend Street, and by its use the Southern Pacific freight sheds were all saved. The Sotoyomo had about 5000 gallons of fresh water which she delivered to a lighter on the other side of the disabled Third Street bridge, for the use of the fire engines. About 200 gallons of fresh water were also placed in a large cask on the bridge for the use of the refugees, many of whom had been begging piteously for drinking water. The section of the city was at that time being policed by members of the Regular Army. After discharging her valuable cargo the Sotoyomo was sent back to the Bay island, Yerba Buena, to replenish her fresh water supply.
About 2:30 A.M. Thursday the 19th, the fire in the Mission Creek area was brought under control for the time being, and as most of the waterfront area was no longer immediately threatened, we took advantage of the opportunity to reassemble our forces and salvage our equipment.
While Ensign Bertholf and I were gathering up the hose lines, Lieutenant Freeman used the Leslie for an inspection of the waterfront. Finding that the fire was working through Chinatown up towards Nob Hill, and that the waterfront was apparently safe for the time being, he returned to the Active's station at the Santa Fe dock and directed me to remain where we were, keep the men together, and give them some much-needed rest while he and Ensign Bertholf, with one enlisted man, made an inspection of the residential section around Nob Hill in order to size up the situation from that vantage point.
After the gear was all stowed and the men had been refreshed with coffee from the galley, I made a tour through the burnt district south of Market Street and the wholesale produce district north of Market Street. Returning along the waterfront I met some newspaper men near the ferry building, who gave me what purported to be the latest news from the outside world. They painted a gloomy picture; Seattle, they alleged, had slid into Puget Sound; the town of Tracy, California, to the south of San Francisco, had been swallowed up in a great fissure; Los Angeles was in ruins, etc. I took this “news” with a grain of salt, but it did not tend to brighten the outlook. To the poor refugees from Rincon Hill, who were huddled with their piles of dilapidated household goods and meager personal effects in the unburned spaces east of Main Street, the rumors merely added confirmation to their belief that the Judgment Day had come.
Having rested until 6:00 A.M., and the waterfront being intact and not immediately threatened by fire from any quarter, we got underway in the Active and Leslie and proceeded to Yerba Buena for water and breakfast. Our men were given a hearty breakfast on the Receiving Ship Pensacola, but the fresh water supply at Yerba Buena was almost exhausted, and we were given only enough for drinking purposes. We also obtained twenty rifles with belts and ammunition, with which to arm stragglers and the few men available from the fire boats for patrol duty. Upon our return to Pier 8, the Captain instructed the Marine Lieutenant to augment his small guard with whatever stragglers in uniform he could pick up and to organize a regular patrol for the waterfront. This was done with excellent results, stopping all looting along the waterfront, closing all saloons, and assisting relief work in the neighborhood of the Harbor Emergency Hospital.
Supplies, including fresh milk, soon commenced to arrive from Vallejo and neighboring cities, and were distributed to the hungry and thirsty refugees at our relief station south of the ferry building. But the crying need was for fresh water. There was no drinking water on the waterfront, and the suffering from thirst was intense. Furthermore, the boiler of the Active was beginning to prime badly from the continued use of salt water in the make-up feed, and it was imperative that it be freshened up before we were again required to use her fire pumps.
The master of the British ship Henley gave us some water, and thereafter rendered valuable assistance by keeping his evaporators going and distilling fresh water for the thirsty.
Later an Oakland street sprinkler was brought over on the ferry and placed on the waterfront near the Harbor Emergency Hospital.
Lieutenant Freeman had had no instructions with regard to his position as far as preserving order was concerned, but he was not a man who would wait for instructions before taking action in an emergency. He was a born leader of men, a skipper whose men would go to Hell and back for him. I can hear him now, “Come on, men, sock it to ’em!” And they did.
In the absence of uniformed police, Lieutenant Freeman assumed complete control of the entire waterfront district. His orders were instantly obeyed and his authority was recognized without question by all, officials and civilians alike. Even his superiors refrained from interfering, and gave him a free hand, recognizing him as the man for the job. He issued orders to arrest all stragglers in uniform, regardless of the service to which they belonged. In this way he obtained numerous good men, who, when properly armed, instructed, and indoctrinated, started policing that part of the city.
Freeman noticed that each ferry boat coming in from Oakland brought thousands of people who were merely sightseers. As soon as these people landed, they scattered through the city, where there were no patrols or police, and increased a thousandfold the difficulties with which we had to contend. He took the responsibility of ordering the Southern Pacific Company to stop bringing people from Oakland until word should be received to resume. So strictly was this order obeyed that for a time passes issued by higher authority were not honored until countersigned by Lieutenant Freeman—and Freeman was a mighty hard man to find. I was approached on several occasions by high ranking officers and prominent civilians inquiring for the whereabouts of Lieutenant Freeman, these explaining that they wished to go across the bay but did not dare to do so without a pass authorizing them to return to the city. The difficulty was easily met by my signing Freeman’s name and subscribing my own.
There were about 150 freight cars on the spur tracks of the Belt Line Railroad between Pacific and Lombard Streets. These were filled with produce, and among them were four or five cars of live chickens. Lieutenant Freeman received word from one of the railroad officials to liberate these chickens and turn them over to the crowd. Being too busy with other matters at the moment, he did not take immediate action on this information; but someone, perhaps overhearing the conversation, took it upon himself to open one of these cars. The ensuing scramble for chickens created quite a bit of excitement and afforded enough amusement for the onlookers to put everybody in a good humor. The precedent set by this unauthorized and undirected distribution of food supplies was not good, however, for soon some men were observed to be tampering with the locks of other produce cars. That some of them were not shot as looters by our armed patrols speaks well for the latter’s restraint and good common sense. Exaggerated and unfounded reports reached Lieutenant Freeman that the crews of certain German and British ships were looting these cars and filling the holds of their vessels with provisions. He appealed to the officers of these ships for help, asking them to guard these cars if possible as they contained a very valuable food supply for the people of the stricken city. One of these Merchant Marine officers, Captain Sanderson, of the ship Hartfield, came gallantly to the rescue and did splendid service in saving property and lives from that time on. He used his ship as a refuge for women, children, and aged, and also helped by lending his men to fight the fire.
About 2:00 P.M. Thursday it became apparent that the fire, which was then progressing towards Fishermen’s Wharf, would eventually reach the waterfront in that vicinity; so Lieutenant Freeman made a careful inspection of the docks near the foot of Powell Street, in order to be prepared to make the best use of our few streams of water when the flames came within reach of the fire boats.
After going over the ground thoroughly and making observations of the progress of the fire from the vantage point of Telegraph Hill, it was decided to berth the Leslie at the Union Street wharves and to lay a line of hose across the spur tracks and up over the side of Telegraph Hill to Broadway, up Broadway to Montgomery Street, and to make a stand there. The Leslie was designed as a fire-boat for Mare Island Navy Yard, and her pumps were the most powerful available. There was some doubt, however, as to whether the hose would carry the tremendous pressure required to overcome the friction of such a length and the head due to the elevation of nearly 100 feet. The total distance, a little over eleven blocks, required all the hose we could collect; and in laying it we had to be careful to select and arrange the lengths according to the elevations and distance from the pumps. Unfortunately, the Federal and Municipal governments, in those days, used different standards for fire hose sizes and couplings, so we had considerable difficulty in finding enough reducers to complete this line. The fire department came to our assistance with an additional 500 feet of hose, which enabled us to extend the line down Montgomery to Columbus Avenues (then known as New Montgomery Avenue). Soon word was relayed back down the line to the Leslie to start pumping.
Our men at the fire had not been idle while waiting for the water. They showed the greatest daring and perseverance, doing everything possible to delay the fire and prevent the flames from jumping across Columbus Avenue. They went through large buildings and tore down all inflammable material, such as awnings, curtains, etc., and climbed to the tops of buildings to beat out the fires started in the cornices and window frames by the terrific heat from the blazing mass across the street. The wooden building at the corner of Columbus and Montgomery was a hotel or rooming house of several stories. Our men went into it of their own volition and rushed from room to room, gathering up every drop of liquid they could find in the receptacles in the bed rooms and dashing it on the burning cornices. Their appearance at the windows with these receptacles created quite a bit of hilarity.
The first water coming through about 7:00 P.M. was the signal for a spontaneous cheer. The hose was led up over the roof of one building and kept playing on the front of that and adjoining buildings until the fire in the immediate vicinity had burnt itself out. Our efforts here, ably directed by San Francisco Fire Chief Murphy, resulted in the saving of two blocks of buildings east of Montgomery Street and south of Jackson Street. The- famous “Banker’s Exchange,” well known in pre-Volstead days as the home of the celebrated pisco punch, was in this group of buildings. Before the water arrived we watched the burning of the Hall of Justice and saw the skeleton of its cupola crumple and collapse.
An entirely different spirit seemed to pervade in this section of the city from that noticed the previous night, in that every aid was here offered the fire-fighters by the citizens. We were exhausted by this hard fight, and extremely thirsty, so we gratefully accepted several cases of canned tomatoes offered us by an official of the Hotaling Company.
About this time, between nine and ten o’clock Thursday evening, April 19th, a Marine appeared with a message asking for instructions regarding the disposition of a cargo of dynamite that had just been received on the waterfront. The captain directed me to go back with the Marine, commandeer a wagon, and bring up a load of this dynamite. We hailed the first wagon we saw on the waterfront, a one-horse affair driven by an excited Italian. When we finally made him understand what we wanted he was scared stiff, and it took considerable persuasion to convince him that my orders were to be obeyed. After we got safely through with the first load, however, his fear left him and he entered into the spirit of the adventure in fine style, seeming not only willing but anxious to get started with the second load. Perhaps if he had known what was in store for us he would not have been so willing; but his baptism of fire on the second trip made a regular fire-eater out of him, and he abandoned his wagon and voluntarily rejoined our forces to stay with us fighting fire to the end.
When we returned with the first load our hose line had already been removed from Montgomery Street and had been taken straight out Broadway as far as St. Francis Church, where our men were making a valiant though seemingly hopeless stand. This hose line, worked entirely by the Leslie, up over Telegraph Hill, was about a mile in length. It was the only stream of water that ever reached this section of the city and was the longest line used to carry salt water from the bay. Owing to the dilapidated condition of the hose and the tremendous pressure carried, numerous lengths soon became porous, and the stream got smaller and smaller until it would barely reach second story windows. When playing it directly on the fire the intense heat prevented the nozzlemen staying at their stations more than a few seconds at a time, so we had to organize relay teams, composed of the nozzlemen and a few men carrying a shield of wet canvas. Someone discovered a stock of telescope hampers in a store on Broadway, and with these we made individuals by covering them with awning canvas soaked in the water that ran back down the gutters. Of course it had been apparent to us for some time that we could not stop the fire here; but we kept on fighting it every inch of the way just the same, in the hope that some shift of the wind or other favorable circumstance might come to our aid. Our sole object was to delay the fire’s progress as much as possible, making our stands on cross streets and giving way one block at a time when we could no longer prevent the fire jumping across the street.
After consultation it was decided to change our tactics, the new plan being to stop putting water directly on the fire, and, instead, to wet down as much area as possible in advance of the flames, and then try dynamiting the burning buildings to delay the progress of the fire.
When we returned with the second load of dynamite it looked as if we could not get through to the front, as the fire was now sweeping over Telegraph Hill and the street was filled with smoke and falling cinders. The Marine and I lay on top of the precious load, brushing off the cinders as fast as they fell, while our Italian drove for dear life. At the scene of the fire I found Ensign Bertholf all in, waiting for me to get back to relieve him so that he could lie down for a little rest. Being on our feet so long was beginning to tell. Many of us could hardly stand up. My shoes had been scorched the first night, and I had discarded them for a heavy pair of work shoes from a shop on Broadway, and these in turn for a better fitting pair of rubber boots. Bertholf had equipped himself with a pair of heavy hip boots, several sizes too big for him. He lay down in a vestibule in the second block from the fire, and told me to awaken him when the flames reached the corner. I had quite forgotten him, and the fire was almost up to him when I happened to look back and to see those two big boots sticking out of the doorway.
We dynamited four buildings in this neighborhood, but without doing any good, as the fire was now devastating everything in its reach, advancing from the westward over Telegraph Hill and sweeping the wooden buildings on that eminence at the rate of a block every half hour. Everything possible was done to delay the advance of the flames, but to no avail. When all hope was gone we decided to retreat to save our hose, and, by making a stand on Sansome Street, try to prevent the flames from sweeping further east to the waterfront.
We had a great deal of difficulty in keeping back the crowds of men who, seeing us making preparations to retreat, tried to rush in to salvage what they could of food and clothing from the abandoned stores on Broadway. Many men, wearing special police badges issued by authority of San Francisco’s Mayor, had already been passed inside our fire lines; but finding some of them bent more on looting stores than on helping us fight fire or preserve order, we had to cease recognizing their authority and to keep them out with the rest. Observing that our sentries were losing ground in the face of the advancing mob, Lieutenant Freeman had us arm ourselves with shotguns and belts of shotgun shells from a sporting goods store back on Broadway. The effect on the mob was remarkable. They had heretofore paid no attention to the Krags in the hands of our sentries, but they now fell back at once wherever the shotguns were pointed. Luckily our sentries kept their heads, for there is no telling what might have happened if one of them had started a riot by firing a shot. Before retreating, as many wagons as were procurable were loaded with provisions from grocery stores and butcher shops in the neighborhood, and were sent to the wharves of the Pacific Coast Steamship Company, where the food was later issued to the hungry multitude by Ensign Bertholf and Paymaster Mel, ably assisted by the captain and officers of the steamer City of Topeka.
The new fighting line was established with three lines of hose from the Leslie to the lee of Telegraph Hill between Vallejo and Filbert Streets. As soon as the flames reached the wooden shacks on top of Telegraph Hill there would be danger of falling embers setting fire to the large warehouses at the foot of the hill. The fire would also have been communicated to a number of coal sheds and cooper shops. A detachment of Marines now made its appearance, on the way back to Fort Mason, and they stopped and gave us assistance in rounding up and impressing men to assist the fire fighters. About three hundred men, all told, were impressed into this service, and they soon reduced the buildings under the lee of the burning houses on Telegraph Hill to ruins, pulling down fences, removing coal, etc.; and when the fire did get through, it was easily extinguished with one stream of water. In the meantime the two other streams, up Vallejo Street, had been successful in keeping the fire from encroaching any further from the south.
The Leslie’s fresh water tanks were now nearly empty, and I was sent with the Active to get a fresh supply. After failing in an attempt to obtain the fresh water from a merchantman anchored in the Bay, I proceeded to the Oakland side of the bay and obtained about 3000 gallons.
After delivering the water to the Leslie I went back to the scene of the fire at the , base of Telegraph Hill to make my report to the captain. The situation there seemed to be well in hand, and it was thought for a time that this whole section of the waterfront north of Market Street would be saved. Lieutenant Freeman then ordered me to take the Active to Jackson Street wharf and run a line of hose to the Appraiser’s building. When we got the hose all laid out and were about to congratulate ourselves on the speed with which we had accomplished the job, we found to our dismay that we lacked a reducer with which to make the final connection. While we searched frantically for a reducer, urgent messages came down to us to start the pumps. A strong wind was commencing to blow from the northwest and the fire was getting away from us again. Finally Lieutenant Freeman appeared on the scene to investigate the delay. 'The look he gave me when I tried to explain the situation showed plainly enough that he was not satisfied with my lack of foresight in not having a reducer available for this emergency. By three o’clock in the afternoon the wind was blowing a gale from the northwest, and was sweeping the flames with great velocity around both sides of Telegraph Hill towards the waterfront. Directing me to gather up the hose and take it back on board the Active, the captain returned to the scene of the fire at Vallejo Street, where everything had been progressing favorably an hour before, and found the hose lines burning; he had to cut the hose to save any part of it. This cost us about 1500 or 2000 feet of hose.
A few minutes later the captain appeared and directed me to get the Active underway and to follow the Leslie. He looked all in, with the sweat streaking down through the grime on his weather-beaten face onto the dirty white handkerchief he had tied around his neck, and he seemed discouraged at the unfavorable turn of events. So far as I know, he had not been off his feet since we landed, Wednesday morning.
The flames were now advancing in both directions towards the Filbert Street dock, one fire coming from the neighborhood of the Appraiser’s building and Vallejo Street up the waterfront, the wind driving it around the south base of Telegraph Hill; the other fire advanced from the north in the direction of Meiggs’ Wharf, devastating the sheds in its way. In order to save any portion of the waterfront, the captain deemed it advisable to go to Pier 27, Lombard Street, and the grain sheds on Meiggs’ Wharf, and try to stop the fire in that vicinity from coming down the waterfront, using the Leslie’s monitor and streams from the Active.
As we steamed north along the waterfront we watched a long thin twister arising from the center of the burning city like a gigantic waterspout. It whipped about over the city for a long time, changing color alternately from black through grey to yellow as the setting sun shone on different parts of its writhing column. The wind was blowing off shore in strong gusts, carrying showers of large cinders, sometimes burning shingles or large pieces of roofing material.
It now seemed as if the whole waterfront were doomed. Shipping was being towed away from the wharves into the stream. Knowing that the old U.S.S. Marion, State Naval Militia vessel, lying at the Folsom Street dock, had about 2000 refugees on board, and believing her in great danger, Freeman sent me to her assistance; but finding everything quiet south of the ferry building and no imminent danger, I returned to the scene of fire and joined Ensign Bertholf, who had been working desperately to keep the fire from going any further up the waterfront. Meantime the Leslie did not succeed in saving the grain sheds, but went alongside the dock near the Belvidere ferry slip, where she secured to the dock and with her monitor and two streams succeeded in keeping the fire from going down the waterfront, thereby saving a number of sheds. The State fire boat Governor was also at this point, and these two boats, by stopping the fire abreast Lombard Street wharf, prevented its sweeping the waterfront and stopping all traffic, which at that time would have been a terrible calamity.
The district north of Jackson Street was now becoming a veritable purgatory. Some sulphur was burning and the fumes from it made breathing very difficult. The wind was blowing a gale, and large burning cinders were falling in all directions. I think the continued heat, rising for several days from this great fire, accompanied by some change in the local atmospheric conditions, had at last created a miniature cyclone, and that the cinders now falling in such great quantities had been carried up by the twister previously described.
All available fire tugs were now engaged in throwing large quantities of water into the air, and this was carried as spray down the waterfront to the roofs over the piers, acting as a blanket against the burning cinders.
Our men were now on the verge of collapse and were approaching hysteria. They were suffering terribly from blistered feet and were too weak to handle the hose. For nearly seventy hours most of them had been without sleep and practically without food, except what had been commandeered from stores on Broadway and the breakfast given them on the Pensacola. Fresh men were imperatively needed. I was working with a hose manned by a motley crew of impressed civilians (including a Chinese gentleman and my Italian dynamite driver), at the base of Telegraph Hill near Gaines and Union Streets, when the captain told me to take the Active to try to obtain relief crews from the U.S.S. Chicago, flagship of the Pacific Squadron, which, with the U.S.S. Marblehead, had arrived in San Francisco Bay early Thursday evening. This was about two o’clock Saturday morning. My mind is hazy from this point on until I arrived alongside the Chicago. I think I slept on the way out. Noticing my condition, Ensign Caspar Goodrich, flag aide, refused to allow me to go back with the Active, and sent me below for refreshments and to bed.
By 3.00 A.M. Saturday, April 21, the fire was practically under control, although much hard work remained to be done. The regular crews of the Perry, Leslie, and Active returned to duty on the waterfront about 2.00 P.M., Saturday, and remained on guard until their services were no longer needed.
Admiral Caspar Goodrich of the Pacific Squadron assumed the responsibility of guarding the waterfront during the remaining period of the emergency, and Saturday evening he directed that the Chicago, Marblehead, and other Pacific Squadron units (the Boston and the Paul Jones) be moved to pier location.
By Sunday morning the entire waterfront from Fort Mason to the Pacific Mail dock at the foot of First Street, a distance of three miles, was patrolled by bluejackets, with a guard at every wharf.
Our fire fighting men were all relieved and sent back to their respective ships and stations by Monday, April 23.
When we returned to the Perry at Mare Island we learned that “all hands and the ship’s cook” had been at the fire, and that for a time Sing Hoy, cabin steward, had been in sole command of the ship—probably the only case in history where a Chinese had the honor of commanding a United States war vessel in full commission.
*This was several times the regular hourly wage for ordinary labor at that time.