And on that same date: the first automobile accident in San Francisco
 |
| Sectional elevation of Barran's road locomotive, from The Practical Mechanic's Journal, September 1, 1860. This vehicle weighed eleven tons and required two operators, one steering in front, and one in back controlling the engine. (archive.org). |
At 11:30 Saturday morning, June 9th,
1860, an automobile—a steam traction engine, or “steam
wagon”—embarked on a test journey through San Francisco’s
streets. Imported from Leeds, England, and weighing eleven tons, including its necessary water and
fuel, it looked “much like a locomotive,” with four rear wheels
seven feet in diameter, each with seven-inch wide tires. With an
engineer in back controlling the engine, and a “pilot or helmsman”
steering in the front, along with a number of (literal) hangers-on,
the machine exited the Vulcan Foundry on
First street in San Francisco’s industrial district, headed over to the Howard street
plank-road, and chugged off to Mission Dolores, arriving in a mere
three-quarters of an hour. A
Daily Alta California
reporter, one of the riders, breathlessly recounted that
the
fuel consumed on the outward, as well as the homeward trip, was
inconsiderable—a single bag of coal and a few armsfull of firewood
sufficing. About two hundred and fifty gallons of water was all that
was requisite for the boiler. (Daily
Alta California
6/10/1860)
On
the return trip, a few stops had to be made, “inasmuch as bolts,
nuts and screws had to be tightened, the machinery being new, and
heretofore untried.” Back in the city, the steam wagon took a
victory lap through downtown, where “throngs of persons, of all
ages and both sexes, crowded the streets, and expressed astonishment
at the huge machine.” It then returned to south of Market, where
history was made yet again—this time, with San Francisco’s first
automobile accident.
 |
| This 1865 photo by Lawrence & Houseworth shows the incline on First street between Folsom and Harrison, where San Francisco's first automobile accident took place. (Online Archive of California) |
Despite
the general enthusiasm of the crowds, the steam wagon had encountered
some hostility on its trip through the city from several drivers of
horse-drawn vehicles, for instance from a bus driver who “kept the
middle of the street, refusing to let the engine pass.” While the
wagon was descending the steep incline of First street, from Harrison
towards Folsom, the driver of a brick cart, coming up the hill and
thus having the right-of-way, refused to turn aside for the ponderous
locomotive. The Alta
reporter described the ensuing crash:
the
steersman motioned to the driver to turn out, but he shook his head
and positively refused, keeping the middle of the street, and it was
with great difficulty that a serious collision was avoided; as it
was, there was a slight concussion which sent the bricks flying ten
feet in the air.
This
“slight concussion”—which sent bricks flying ten feet—appears
to have been the first recorded automobile accident in San Francisco
(and, possibly, in the United States). The driver of the brick cart
did have the right of way, though it seems a bit reckless to have
insisted on this technicality when facing down an eleven-ton, barely
steerable monstrosity. In any event, the promoters of the steam
wagon—much like those of autonomous vehicles today—blamed the
accident on the stubbornness of old-fashioned drivers and
old-fashioned technology, the Alta
even threatening that
if
any more gentlemen, driving brick carts, undertake to block the way,
they must take the consequences, and if iron and steam gain the day,
it will be a fair fight—the hardest stands the best chance of
winning.
 |
| After giving up on "road locomotives," the Vulcan foundry had more success with regular rail locomotives, such as the Calistoga, produced for the Napa Valley Rail Road in May 1867. (progress-is-fine.blogspot.com) |
Another
demonstration of the steam wagon was made four days later, when a
more skeptical reporter for the Bulletin
noted that the start was delayed for over an hour while the engine
“got up steam.” It finally departed the Vulcan yard after noon:
To
get into the street, from the yard where it stood, the machine had to
start directly up a sharp ascent. As soon as the steam was turned on,
up it came, without hesitation or demur—making a scream or two, and
a contemptuous puff at the difficulty. It then ran rapidly up First
street towards Rincon Hill; ascended that street as far as Folsom,
though the grade is pretty severe; turned round with ease, and came
slowly back to its point of starting and there turned round and
backed up its load, consisting of a train of freighted trucks. (Daily
Evening Bulletin,
6/13/1860)
These
trucks were loaded with pig iron, in order to test the engine’s
strength. As soon as they were attached,
there
was a scramble among the people to get standing room on the trucks.
Not one inch was left unoccupied—and some men and boys were even
hanging on to the axles and sides of the conveyance. The Engineer
moved his lever, and the wagon started off boldly, and though it
evidently felt the immense load—which must have been near 50
tons—it moved along briskly enough for a short way. Then the wheels
of the iron laden truck sunk down through the cobble pavement, and
soon a heap of sand and stones were piled up in front of those
wheels.
The
trucks had to be taken off, and the train reassembled some blocks
away on the plank road, which was able to support the weight. After
pulling the trucks successfully, the locomotive was hitched to a
fully-loaded omnibus, which it dragged along at eight miles an hour.
The Alta
reporter pronounced it a success, while the Bulletin dissented, “for the present, we do not believe that the steam will
run horses and mules off of our common roads.”
No
collisions were reported during this second trip; however, some
houses caught fire on Third street soon after the wagon passed, and
some witnesses “averred with great positiveness that it was kindled
by a spark from the chimney of the Steam Wagon, but by others this is
denied.”
The
story of this vehicle, marking San Francisco’s entry into the
automotive era, has some resonance with our own time, as autonomous
vehicles promise to bring us into a new, third age of the carriage.
Although the design of horseless carriages had still to improve
dramatically before they would be able to operate effectively in the
city, we can already glimpse, with the Vulcan steam wagon, how the
city would, in turn, be transformed to accommodate the automobile.
Cobble-stone pavement—and even the sturdier planking—would be
replaced with asphalt; and rules of street behavior and movement
would be rewritten, to prioritize the needs of the heavier, faster vehicles of the auto age.
 |
| Ogden & Wilson hoped to sell many more road locomotives, but this was not to be. (Sacramento Daily Union, 1/30/1860). |
The
fate of the Vulcan steam wagon
Ogden
& Wilson, the owners of the Vulcan Iron Works, had caught the
auto bug a year earlier, when Wilson, travelling in Europe, had seen
an exhbition of Joseph Barran’s new traction engine prototype. He
excitedly ordered an engine of this design manufactured, by the Leeds
firm of Joseph Witham and Son, and shipped to San Francisco, where it
was assembled in the Vulcan foundry. Ogden & Wilson clearly
imagined a great future for their import, advertising themselves as
“sole agents for the sale of Barran’s Patent Traction Road
Locomotive.”
These
“road locomotives” were not, in fact, intended for urban use, but
for hauling resources extracted from the hinterland, over
terrain that animals found difficult. The engine imported from Leeds
had been promised to a silver mine in Patagonia, Arizona; another
engine, to be built by Vulcan on the same model, was to be sent to
the Russian River to haul timber for Alexander Duncan (after whom Duncans Mills is named). This second engine, however, never seems to
have been built, and at some point the Patagonia silver mine backed
out of the deal for the Leeds engine, which was instead sold to
Phineas Banning, impresario of the growing port at San Pedro.
 |
| If Banning's name sounds familiar, it is probably because of these dinosaurs near Banning, CA. (Wikimedia) |
Banning
was a showman, and seems to have bought the steam-wagon as much as a
publicity stunt, as for the practical purposes of hauling freight
from the port to Los Angeles. Harris Newmark, writing fifty years
later, recalled the excitement with which Angeleños greeted the news
that “The steam-wagon has arrived at San Pedro!” and how they
waited, “anxiously, hourly, expecting to see Major Banning heave in
sight at the foot of Main Street” in his road locomotive. The
enthusiasm was finally punctured with a sad report from San Pedro:
The
steam-wagon, we regret to learn, has at last proved a total failure.
It was freighted at San Pedro, and on Wednesday morning of this week,
set in motion for Los Angeles. The failure took place on the first
piece of sandy road encountered. (Los
Angeles News,
8/3/1860)
 |
| Bannings' base of operations at Wilmington harbor, San Pedro, in 1860. The steam wagon became stuck in the sand only a short distance along the eighteen-mile road to Los Angeles. (California State Library) |
In
the media, the steam wagon became an object of state-wide ridicule,
stranded in the sand near San Pedro. One more attempt appears to have
been made to put the engine to use, in the service of agriculture in
San Joaquin county; this, however, turned out also to be a failure.
In October, 1861, the engine was shipped back to San Francisco and to
the Vulcan foundry for a last time, its most likely fate to be
scrapped, and its parts used for other machinery.
 |
| The Oregon Pony, the oldest West-Coast-built locomotive engine, was manufactured by the Vulcan Iron Works in 1862 for service in Oregon. It can still be seen at the Cascade Locks Historical Museum. |
