Among other things, three joint resolutions were passed, one demanding of the Federal Government not only a change in the manner of transporting the mails, but also in the manner of their distribution at San Francisco, a second urging upon Congress the importance of authorizing, as soon as practicable, the construction of a national railroad from the Pacific Ocean to the Mississippi River — not from the Mississippi River to the Pacific Ocean, but from the Pacific Ocean to the Mississippi River — and a third urging appropriate grants of land by the General Government to each commissioned officer of the Army of the United States who had faithfully and honorably served out a complete term of service in the war with Mexico.  Each of the last two resolutions, with grim determination, and without a suspicion of humor, contained this further resolution:  “That His Excellency, the Governor, be requested to forward to each of our Senators and Representatives in Congress, a certified copy of this joint resolution.”

These resolutions were passed five months before the State was admitted into the Union.  If the Senators and Representatives were not yet actually” in Congress” — well, they were at least in Washington — and busy.  The desire to be admitted into the Union had developed into a yearning to be considered a part of the Union, had ripened into the conviction that the State was, potentially at least, actually a part of the Union, a yearning and a conviction that became almost pathetic in their intensity.  The Legislature adjourned, and for nearly five months the population of San Francisco assembled on the Plaza on the arrival of every Panama steamer, waiting — waiting — waiting for the answer, which, when it did come in the following October, was celebrated with an abandon of joy that has never been equaled on any succeeding Ninth of September.

It is indefensible that in the face of incidents of our history such as these Californians should be ignorant of the lives and experiences of those who preceded them on this coast.  The history of their experiences is a part of the history of the nation, and the record of the achievement of the empire-builders of this coast is one that inspires civic pride and a reverence for their memories.  Why should the story remain practically unknown?  Why should every little unimportant detail of the petty incidents of Queen Anne’s War, and King Philip’s War, and Braddock’s campaign be crammed into the heads of children who until lately never heard the name of Portola?  The beautiful story of Paul Revere’s ride is known to everyone, but how many know the story of the invincible determination in the building of Ugarte’s ship[8]?  William Penn’s honest treatment of the Indians is a household word to people who never knew of the existence of Galvez or Junipero Serra.  The story of the hardships of the New England pilgrims in the first winter on the “stern and rock-bound coast” of Massachusetts, is not more pitiful