“The appearance of San Francisco at night, from the water… like the cities of the magic lantern, which a motion of the hand can build or annihilate.”

-Bayard Taylor, 1850

Your job at Rassette House is steady work, but it’s not as exciting as you’d hoped. The five-story, wooden framed hotel houses 416 guests, about half of whom are boarders. You live in room 113, just above the kitchen.

1851 HOTEL GUEST REGISTER

You keep track of keys and room assignments, run the front desk, accept guest payments, and manage the payroll for the rest of the staff. It’s steady, tedious work that pays a fair wage.

Some nights, just to get out of the building, you stroll aimlessly around the city.

You walk to the Embarcadero to watch ships come and go. You wander to the Barbary Coast, past the brothels and gambling halls, the night air thick with the sweet scent of lilies peddled by Chinese porters.

One night in early May, 1851, you return from one of these walks to a horrifying sight — the Rassette House engulfed in flames, its dry timber frame crackling as it collapses upon itself.

“How did this happen?” you ask the manager, staring dumbfounded at the flames.

“In the kitchen,” he says.

“We were afraid you were still inside.”

Click here to continue