Some Cities and San Francisco, and Resurgam — Inside the Classic

A Voice of Pragmatic Boosterism

Bancroft's prose is direct and occasionally sardonic. He refers to 'chronic croakers' who doubt the city's future and counters them with a litany of economic indicators: customs receipts, land values, labor scarcity. His tone is that of a civic insider, confident and slightly impatient. The opening paragraph sets this stance: 'Let the earth shake, and fires burn, we will have here our city, better and more beautiful than ever.' The repetition of 'we' creates a collective, almost defiant identity.

Yet the voice is not uniformly optimistic. When discussing lumber tariffs, Bancroft shifts to a sharper, almost accusatory register: 'taking money from the San Francisco builders and thrusting it into the plethoric pockets of the Puget Sound people.' The word 'plethoric' is a telling choice—it carries a hint of moral disapproval, suggesting that the essay's boosterism is tempered by a critical eye on political and economic obstacles.

Structural Pacing: From History to Ledger

The essay's structure mirrors its argument. It begins with a broad historical sweep—comparing San Francisco to Edinburgh, to 'ancient towns' and 'mediaevalism'—then narrows abruptly to a detailed, almost statistical account of post-fire conditions. This shift in pace is striking: the first half is reflective and comparative, the second half a rapid-fire list of market conditions. 'Around the bay continues the hum of industry. The country teems with prosperity.' The sentences grow shorter, more declarative, as if Bancroft is impatient to prove his point with facts.

This change in tempo serves a rhetorical purpose. The early, leisurely comparisons establish a framework of urban history; the later, clipped sentences convey urgency and concrete reality. The reader is moved from abstract reflection to immediate, pressing detail—a technique that reinforces the essay's central claim that San Francisco's recovery is not a distant hope but an ongoing, measurable process.

Recurring Details: The Language of Commerce and Resilience

Bancroft's lexicon is saturated with economic terms: 'duties,' 'capitalists,' 'clearing house,' 'forced sales,' 'wages,' 'rents.' Even descriptions of social life are framed in commercial language—'Oriental rugs and diamonds are conspicuously in evidence'—suggesting that prosperity is visible in luxury goods. This recurring focus on money and trade gives the essay a materialist texture; the city's spirit is measured not in sentiment but in ledgers.

Another recurring motif is the contrast between old and new. Bancroft repeatedly juxtaposes 'mediaevalism' with 'modern progress,' 'feudalism' with 'bold pioneering.' This binary structures his argument: San Francisco, unlike European cities, is not burdened by a 'patch of mediaevalism.' The city's youth is its advantage. Yet he also notes that early American towns lacked 'aestheticism,' a concession that tempers his praise. The essay thus balances boosterism with a sober recognition of past failures.

Bancroft's essay rewards attention to its tonal shifts and economic vocabulary. Readers may note how the author's confidence in 'imperial steel' coexists with a pragmatic awareness of tariffs and labor shortages. The text is best approached as a period piece of civic rhetoric, where the voice of a 19th-century historian meets the urgency of a 20th-century rebuilding effort.

There’s a stubborn, hopeful pulse in Bancroft’s old pages about San Francisco’s rebuilding, that brisk faith in starting over. It always puts me in mind of another quiet stubbornness, the kind that kept a man charting unknown coasts when all seemed lost. That same patient fire lives in The Life of Captain Matthew Flinders — Background and Themes, a different sort of cartography, but the same humble refusal to let the map go blank.