We sighted the entrance to the magnificent harbour of San Francisco at daybreak on a beautiful morning at the end of April, and when we approached it the sun had just risen, bathing the whole scene in a flood of golden light, fully justifying its name, “The Golden Gate.” In a short time the city came in view, reminding me very forcibly of Sheffield, from the dense masses of smoke which hung over a large portion of it, for San Francisco is an important manufacturing place. Soon we were boarded by a motley crew, composed of Custom House officers, hotel-touts, porters, agents for the railway, and a number of keen-eyed gentry, desirous of earning a cent anyway, honest or otherwise. We had decided upon going to the famous Palace Hotel, and having found the agent, placed our luggage under his care, receiving checks for it, and, locking our cabin, proceeded on shore, where we found the most sumptuous omnibus we had ever seen waiting to convey passengers to the hotel.
CHAPTER VIII.
The Palace Hotel in San Francisco is quite a town in itself, containing as it does over a thousand rooms, and with rarely less than a thousand inhabitants, including servants, only a limited number of the latter, however, living in the house. The establishment has its own gas-works, four artesian wells, affording an abundant supply of the purest water; it also possesses a thoroughly good fire-brigade, and an efficient system of police. There are five hydraulic lifts for the conveyance of guests and luggage to each floor of the house. The rooms on the ground floor are 25ft. high, and of corresponding size, the breakfast room being 110ft. by 53ft., the dining room 150ft. by 55ft., the walls being hung with excellent copies of the best works of the great masters. The corridors are lined and paved with white marble, and the grand staircase is of the same material.
The bedrooms are very large and airy, and they all have comfortable dressing-rooms attached, with hot and cold water supply, and with a dozen beautiful towels—a very refreshing sight to the voyager who has been cooped up for the previous month in the limited space allotted to passengers on an ocean steamer. The bedrooms have baths adjoining them, each bath being arranged for two rooms; there is also a service-room on each landing, where a dusky negro is always in attendance. Upon each landing there is a tube for the conveyance of letters for the post direct into the letter-box at the general office. There is also a pneumatic despatch-tube for the conveyance of messages and parcels to and from any point on the different floors. Upon the garden floor of the hotel there is an arcade promenade 12ft. wide, with entrances to all the shops under the hotel, upon the street level, each shop having a show window upon this promenade. There are three inner courts, the centre one being 140ft. by 84ft., covered with glass of the same height as the roof of the hotel. It has a carriage and promenade entrance from the street of 44ft. in width, and a circular carriage way of 54ft. in diameter, which is surrounded by a marble-tiled promenade and a tropical garden. The garden is well supplied with exotic plants, statuary, and fountains. Around this centre court and upon every storey there is an open gallery from which all the bedrooms are entered, and from which they receive light and fresh air. The dining rooms are fitted with a large number of small tables for parties of from four to eight persons, an arrangement very much superior to the long tables in most salles à manger.
There are about four hundred waiters, one-fourth only being white men, the rest negroes. The latter seem specially adapted for waiting, being active and nimble, and seeming to anticipate every wish. They receive £1 per week wages and their board, but lodge away from the house. A fresh bill of fare is printed daily for each meal, and the variety of food is very great, there being a choice of about seventy dishes at dinner. In the kitchen are twenty-seven French cooks, besides assistants—a sufficient guarantee for the excellent manner in which the food is prepared.
There is a splendid laundry in the house, where the washing is done by fifty Chinese washermen, and certainly never was linen more exquisitely got up than here. These Celestials are specially successful in all kinds of starching requiring a smooth polished surface, such as shirt fronts. The mode in which they apply the starch is quite novel, for having taken a mouthful they blow it out on to the article in a continuous fine spray, while their hands are occupied in ironing.
The servants take their meals in table d’hote fashion, being waited on by a batch of their fellow servants, and everything is conducted with the greatest possible regularity and order. I was much pleased to find that all the gas and water fittings, also the hydraulic lifts and pumps, were supplied by English makers, and were such as to command the admiration of everybody.
An American gentleman, hearing me speak of the hotel, asked me how I liked it? I told him I was greatly delighted with it; that it was a palace, indeed, in all its arrangements, but that in one respect I had been not a little astonished at what I had seen there—the presence of the extreme of civilisation face to face with a very close approach to barbarism. “How is that,” said he. “Why,” I replied, “you are only supplied with one knife and fork at meals; each guest has to dip his fishy knife into the butter, and the same process has to be gone through in taking salt and mustard; and seeing it is the fashion amongst the American guests to put the knife into their mouths, the idea is not pleasant.”
I referred, too, to another peculiarity of the Americans arising, I believe, from their extensive use of the Virginian weed in chewing, and I said that the guests at the Palace Hotel, in passing through its marble halls, had not the same excuse for their conduct that the old Greek philosopher had when he was being shown over the palace by Crœsus, and when he excused himself for an unparalleled act of rudeness by saying “that such was the magnificence on every hand that the face of the king was the meanest thing that presented itself,” for the proprietor of the hotel had made the most ample provision for the national habit—a provision which was, however, very generally disregarded.
The city of San Francisco is exceedingly well situated, and possesses many handsome streets, extensive hotels, and public buildings, but in none of these respects, save only in hotels, is it equal to Melbourne, though the evidences of great business activity and prosperity are much greater in the former city.
The day after I arrived at the hotel I was surprised at receiving the following letter:—“Dear Tangye,—Should you wish to see me I am to be found at the above address, or a letter addressed to me, Box 339, Post Office, will reach me promptly. My wife is dead. A. J. C. Jarratt.” The name was quite strange to me, so I decided not to go, but to send a friend. My friend found the address, which was a wretched room at the top of a lofty pile of buildings, and after a few minutes’ conversation with the man he saw there, was very glad to get into the street again, not liking the aspect of things. The following day, whilst seated at dinner with my friends, a waiter came to us and asked which was Dr. L—. On being told, he said a messenger from the chief of police was in waiting, wishing to see him. I looked at the doctor and asked him what he had been doing. Having finished our dinner we adjourned to the office and found the officer, who said his chief had received a telegram from a man in some town a hundred miles inland requesting him to send “his friend the Doctor” up to him as soon as possible. Of course my friend, knowing nothing whatever of the man, declined to go up country. I mentioned these polite attentions to a gentleman who was dining at the same table, and who I found was the leading lawyer in the city. He told me it was a favourite dodge with the sharpers, and that they sometimes caught a “flat” in this way. On the arrival of ocean steamers it is the custom to publish the names of the passengers in the evening papers, which accounts for the familiarity of these fellows with the names of strangers. We had many amusing chats with this lawyer. He remarked one day that I must have met with a deal of “character” in travelling. “Yes,” I said, “I had, both good and bad.” “Wa-a-l, I guess its better to meet with a bad character than none at all.” Speaking of the neighbouring State of Nevada, which was still in a very unsettled condition, he said a friend of his was Governor there, and that he “was 6ft. 6in. in height, and had a number three head and a number fifteen foot, for,” said he, “I guess weight of foot is more important there than weight of brain.”
There are sharp men of business in the city who do not require offices in which to carry on their business. If you are walking in the streets with a friend, and, meeting someone else, stop for a chat, you will see a ’cute-looking fellow stop, and though he appears to be intent on something on the opposite side of the street, you will note that he is leaning his ear towards you, doubtless with the laudable intention of gaining a little information. On one occasion we met one of these individuals. He kept his ear open, and then struck in with “I guess you are going through to England. I can put you up to the best way of doing it and calculate I can save you from forty to fifty dollars on the job.” We say we are much obliged, and will perhaps “call again.” Then as you proceed along the streets attenuated fellows, with scanty, pointed beards and Mother Shipton hats, accost you with “Going east, gentlemen? Guess you’ll want to change some money. Come with me, gentlemen, and I’ll take you to the right place.” “Thank you,” we say, “not to-day.” “Wa-a-l, guess exchange will go against you to-morrow, gentlemen.” Observing on the door of a very handsome house a brass name-plate with the name “Mrs. Doctor Sanders,” our guide informed us that there were many lady doctors in the city, and that they had very extensive practice.
The Chinese are very numerous in San Francisco, there being more than 40,000 of them there. At the time of my visit, the feeling of the rowdies ran very high against the Celestials, and threats of wholesale massacre were freely used against them. John Chinaman is a most industrious, frugal man, spending very little upon his living, and nothing upon his pleasures, always excepting his infatuation for opium. His needs being few, he can afford to work for very small pay, and thus comes into competition with the white workman. This is the head and front of his offending, but it is aggravated by the fact of his being equally skilful as an artificer. While the artisans have their special grievances about the Chinese, the wealthy classes have theirs also. It is true “John” does his master’s work well and cheaply, but, as I have said before, he is not a spending man; his sole object is to get what the Yankees call “his little pile” as quickly as possible, and then return to his native land. Nor is this surprising when we consider that every Chinaman leaves his little “Min-ne” behind him when he quits the Flowery Land, it being a very rare thing for a woman to leave China.
The Chinese quarter is full of interest; the people swarm like bees, and live in a frightfully overcrowded state. The butchers’ and barbers’ shops are the most numerous and most interesting, the former being filled with a quantity of dreadful-looking little portions of meat, but it would puzzle the most learned to say from what animal they were cut. The barbers’ shops are situated in the basements of the houses, with an open front towards the street, and they are very numerous, for the Chinese are close shavers. On looking down you may see a number of men seated in a variety of positions, each one smoking a pipe of opium, while the barber is occupied in shaving every portion of his head and face, excepting, of course, his beloved pig-tail. The swell Chinee is very particular that every hair shall be removed, and so clever do the operators become that, by means of tiny razors, they can shave the inside of the nose. Some of the pig-tails are of enormous length, and sometimes the white rowdies attack the Chinese and cut their pig-tails off.
When a man has an especially fine one, he either rolls it up at the back of his head and fastens it with hairpins, or else tucks it inside his blouse. I noticed one of the latter in particular, a glimpse of which would have delighted Darwin himself. The owner had evidently let down his back hair before putting on his blouse, and consequently the pig-tail, which disappeared at the back of the neck, emerged from under the blouse and extended to his heels.
Some of our party, wishing to explore the Chinese quarter by night, engaged a detective to accompany them, it being unsafe to go unless so escorted. The guide first took them over a lodging house, in which some hundred Chinamen were stowed away, literally almost as thick as herrings in a barrel. Not only was the floor thickly covered, but suspended above it was a layer in hammocks, some smoking opium and others sleeping, none, however, taking the slightest notice of the intruding party.
On visiting the Chinese theatre during the evening they found preparations being made to celebrate a Celestial wedding. This decided them to stay and see the ceremony, which was attended by a vast number of Chinese, the theatre being crowded in every part. After the ceremony most of the spectators formed in the procession, which escorted the happy pair to their home. My friends also visited the Joss Houses and inspected the queer-looking gods contained in them.
While making some purchases in a Chinese shop it was necessary to give my address. I wrote it out on a card thus—TANG-YE, upon which the Celestial at once claimed me as a countryman of his. I disabused his mind of that idea by putting my fingers to the outer corners of my eyes and pretending to extend them in an upward direction, the absence of which peculiarity showed conclusively that I was not of the true Mongol type. Curiously, however, on afterwards consulting a gazetteer, I found that there is in China a city named TANG-Y, containing over 30,000 inhabitants.
The Chinese are accused of having brought with them a number of objectionable practices, but to anyone possessing a knowledge of the lower classes in American cities, it will not appear possible that the Chinese can be very much worse than they.
Most of the traffic in San Francisco is carried on by the tramways, and it may not be out of place to put intending visitors on their guard with respect to a little peculiarity in their management. It is advisable to tender the exact fare if possible, for if you give a larger sum the balance is returned to you, not in cash, but in tickets available for future rides, which you may have no opportunity of taking. The hackney carriages are very fine, being almost equal to English private carriages. Most of those I saw were splendidly horsed with a pair of magnificent animals, generally black. The lowest fare taken is ten shillings, but I am bound to say you can have full value for your money in the time and the accommodation given you.
On Sunday morning the city presents a very lively aspect. The fire-brigades and volunteers parade the streets, preceded by their bands, and thousands of people go by tramway and other vehicles to see the famous sea-lions at the entrance to the bay. From the grounds in front of Cliff House they are seen on the rocks below in large numbers, tumbling about and making a noise like the barking of dogs, but so loud as to be heard from a distance of nearly a mile.
The climate is a delightful one, the temperature being singularly equable, ranging, as it does, in summer from 60° to 70°, and in winter from 50° to 60° Fahr. Indeed the weather is so beautiful that one cannot help referring to it frequently, but the invariable reply to any such observation is, “Well, I guess we shall have three months just the same right slick away.”
After nearly a fortnight’s stay at the Palace Hotel, enjoying its good fare, we began to think it time to move eastward, as we were getting too luxurious in our habits. My friend the lawyer, however, remarked that we need have no fear on that account, as the fare on the Pacific Railway would cure the severest attack of gout. Before leaving San Francisco we met our old friend “Mister” twice. From a report in the newspapers we learnt that he had been brought before the magistrates and fined for carrying fire-arms in the streets. “Mister” told us the police had taken all his money on the pretence of taking care of it for him. When we last saw him he was leaning against a lamp-post, helplessly drunk.
The great excursion from San Francisco is of course to the Yosemite Valley, but we were compelled to forego the pleasure of making it on account of our visit being too early in the season. Some of our fellow-voyagers from the Colonies ventured to go, but, unfortunately, they met with a serious carriage accident, owing to the roughness of the road, caused by the breaking up of the frost.
In order to secure a good seat in the train going East, it is necessary to make arrangements a few days before starting. Tickets can be obtained at a score of places in the city, and should be got as soon as possible; and in order to save all unnecessary trouble with the luggage during the journey, sufficient for use in travelling should be separately packed, and the remainder handed over to the Baggage Master, who has an office in the hotel, and who will give checks in exchange, and undertake to deliver it at any hotel or railway station in New York, or any other place in the States that may be named. By attending to this overnight, immense trouble is saved, for, if left until the morning of departure, each traveller has to look after his own baggage amid a scene of the wildest confusion, and quite unprotected from the terrible heat and dust. It was with a sense of great relief that we began to move out of the station, and to feel that at last we were fairly started on our ride across the Rocky Mountains. The railway ride for the first two hundred and fifty miles is a splendid one, through the magnificent Sacramento Valley, which I should think is fifteen or twenty miles wide, and is most fertile. Here corn is grown year after year without any manuring being required. In many “cuttings” through which we passed the soil was twenty feet deep. We passed fields hundreds of acres in extent, with nice houses, orchards, and gardens, surrounded by fine oaks and elms, making the country look like a park for a hundred miles. The corn, which in many places was over ten feet high, was fast ripening, and its glorious golden colour was often charmingly varied by immense patches of Marigold, Eschscholtzia, Lupins, and another beautiful flower which we did not recognise, all in full bloom. We also saw our old Tasmanian friend the Eucalyptus (commonly called the Gum Tree), and many of the quaint Doré-like dead Blue Gums, looking white and ghostly.
This is a magnificent State. A gentleman remarked to me that when the richness of the soil is exhausted there remains untold mineral wealth below. The people, too, are very energetic, and there is abundance of capital; so much so that a moneylender travelling in our carriage complained that it is difficult to get fifteen per cent. per annum now when some twelve years ago he could easily obtain five per cent. per month.
Soon after leaving Sacramento the track ascends the mountains and passes through the old gold-diggings so much spoken of thirty years ago. They are visible all around for miles, and some are still being worked. All the abandoned ones have been re-worked by the Chinese, who have got a great deal out of them. By and by we stopped at a station where there were several dreadful-looking Indians, some with their faces covered with red ochre and with feathers in their hair; others dressed in scarlet blankets, tall white hats, one-legged trousers and moccasins. They all looked very grave and stolid. I did my best to make one old fellow laugh as he stood on the platform with his arms folded, but his face was stony, and he remained steadfast and unmoveable. Their hair is like whalebone, matted and shaggy; their noses and mouths are broad, and the women look uglier than the men. Several of the women were carrying their papooses (babies) suspended over their shoulders, with the legs swathed like Neapolitan children. The only occupation of these degraded creatures is begging and stealing.
While we were passing through swampy tract the large bull-frogs were giving a croaking concert in full chorus, and a rare noise they made.
Soon we began to sight the snow mountains, and by nine o’clock we were right amongst the pine forests and the snow, and very beautiful the scene looked with the moon shining on it all.
Life on board a “Pullman” train is almost more peculiar than life on board ship. My party were fortunate enough to secure a cabin partitioned off from the rest of the carriage; but the remainder of the sleeping berths have no partitions, being separated merely by curtains. Inexperienced travellers are apt to forget this, and sometimes cause much amusement in consequence. One morning I heard a young lady complaining to her mamma that she could not find her stockings, a remark eliciting numerous offers of assistance from all parts of the carriage. A neighbouring compartment was occupied by a lady and gentleman, the former of whom was deaf, and with the peculiarity often observable in deaf people, she imagined everyone else was deaf as well; the consequence being that there were no secrets in that cabin. Every carriage has a negro attendant, whose duty it is to make the beds and attend to the lavatories, the ladies’ and gentlemen’s lavatories being at opposite ends of the carriage. At half-past nine o’clock Sambo begins to prepare the beds, and soon after ten almost everyone has retired, and, as fortunately there are no decks to be paced, sleep soon comes to the weary. Arrangements are made for three meals a day, the train stopping at stations convenient for the purpose, and notice being given half-an-hour before. Half-an-hour is allowed for each meal, the invariable charge being one dollar. As the train stops a general stampede is made toward the dining-room, the position of which is unmistakable, for at the door stands a negro, with a face devoid of expression, vigorously sounding a gong. As each person passes in he pays his dollar, and makes a rush to the end of the room, where the cook is usually stationed. And now happy is he who possesses the Yankee’s qualification for a good diner-out, for unless he has a long arm, a quick eye, and a silent tongue, he is likely to come off with much less than a dollar’s worth. The experienced traveller, before sitting down, gathers all the dishes before him, within arm’s length, and then proceeds to attack them seriatim, or sometimes all at once. Indeed, I think a man of naturally generous disposition, would be made utterly selfish by twelve months’ travelling on American railroads. As soon as the half-hour has gone, the guard calls out with a shrill, nasal, Yankee twang, “All aboard,” and we once more continue our journey.
Happening one day to say to a fellow-passenger that I was from Birmingham, an American gentleman hearing me came across the carriage, and, raising his hat, said: “I must shake hands with a person coming from the city which returns John Bright to Parliament.”
The Pacific Railroad is a single track, and, although a wonderful engineering work, is not by any means a substantial or confidence-inspiring line, if judged by English standards. The rails are old and worn, the bridges and viaducts very lightly constructed, and almost always of wood. I observed in several cases that the carriages were actually wider than the viaducts, many of which are open between the rails. It is hardly to be wondered at that awful accidents sometimes occur. The train in which we were travelling narrowly escaped falling into a ravine 120 feet deep. One dark night, after we had all retired to rest, we were awakened by continued whistling and ringing of bells. It was in vain that we inquired of the guards and attendants as to what was going on, for they, like their brethren all the world over, would give no information. One thing, however, they could not hide from us, for we found we were being taken across a viaduct one carriage at a time, and as we crossed we could see lights moving about at a great depth below. On arriving at Omaha, two days later, we found a full report of the occurrence in the papers. It appears that the viaduct had been discovered to be in an unsafe condition, some of its timbers having been partially burnt, and it was a matter of discussion whether we should be allowed to cross at all; it being ultimately determined, as I have said, to take one car over at a time. Ours was the last train that went over, for before daylight the whole structure had fallen with a tremendous crash. The Indians were on the war-path at the time, and it was supposed that the work of destruction was theirs. The railway here runs through some of the most magnificent scenery in the world. Sometimes its course lies through narrow valleys, or cañons, where there is just room for the railway and the river, sometimes through immense pine forests, and then again on a mere shelf cut in the face of the granite mountain, until the point called “Cape Horn” is reached. This is the turning-point between east and west, and soon afterwards the greatest elevation is attained, 8,200 feet. About sixty miles of the more exposed portion of the road is covered with sheds, to protect it from the snow. This result, however, is not attained without considerable discomfort to the passengers, as the carriages become filled with smoke and dust while passing through.
One of the passengers on our train was an old man who had not crossed the country since he went out to the far west some twenty-six years before—long before the railway had been thought of. The party with which he then travelled was so large that it had to be split into detachments for the convenience of pasturage. One night his section was attacked by Indians, who killed several of the party and drove off most of the horses and cattle. The old man had for many years been a trapper in the Indian country and had invested his hard-won earnings in horses which he was taking out west for the purpose of trade, and he was not disposed to lose them all at one fell swoop without making a bold dash for their recovery. His plan of operations was soon settled, and in the evening he set off in pursuit with half-a-dozen picked men, each with his rifle and a good store of ammunition. After some hours they came upon the scent of the Indians, and moving cautiously forward amongst the scrub, presently saw them around their fires busily engaged in dividing the spoils of the morning. The trapper being a first-rate marksman, it was agreed he should do all the firing, while the others loaded and handed up the rifles as fast as required. Every shot told, and the redskins, judging from the rapid firing that the whole party of white men were upon them, made a regular stampede, leaving horses, and cattle, and other spoil behind them. So, painfully marching on, they came at last to the Mormon settlement and on to the Salt Lake City, where they were subjected to the most cruel treatment at the hands of the “Saints.” These people told the travellers it was impossible to get to California by the route they were taking, as the country was swarming with hostile Indians, and they undertook to show them a better way by which they would get there in fifteen days. Many suspected treachery, and a consultation was held, which came to no definite conclusion, except in the case of one man, who, in the heat of debate, was shot dead. It was ultimately decided to adopt the Mormon advice, and as the route did not admit of wagons, they tried to sell them to the “Saints,” who, of course, would not buy, knowing they would have them for nothing before long. Many of the travellers burnt their wagons and harness rather than that the Mormons should have them, but the majority abandoned theirs, and set out without them. Instead of fifteen days the journey took thirty-nine, and only a few survived it, most of the party dying by the way, either by the hand of the Indians or from fatigue.
For about a thousand miles the railway is open to the prairie, the consequence being that frequent accidents occur through cattle straying upon the track. I counted more than twenty carcases of these unfortunates in one day, and on one occasion, while sitting on the steps of the Pullman car, I felt a sudden check, and immediately after the body of a cow flew past. The herds are looked after by men with lassoes, riding very fleet horses. American railroads being much less protected from stray animals than those in England, the locomotives are provided with an apparatus called a “cow-catcher,” which consists of an iron framework projecting in front and inclined downwards as near to the rails as possible. The contrivance is successful in moving most living obstacles from the track. For instance, when a cow gets between the rails and sees the train approaching, it becomes dazed, and the iron frame striking the lower portion of the legs takes it up readily. But with a bull it is quite different: when his lordship sees his enemy approaching he puts his chin down upon his fore-feet and waits the onset with a confidence not by any means always misplaced, for in this position his head and feet form a wedge which, becoming inserted beneath the iron frame, frequently throws the engine back upon the train, causing serious accidents. When at Ogden I saw the remains of a goods train which had been wrecked in this way a week before, the engine drivers being killed, also two stow-aways, or “dead-heads,” as the Yankees call them, who had secreted themselves under one of the carriages.
Waking one morning we found ourselves in a most awfully desolate country, with scarcely a sign of vegetation—a veritable dry and thirsty land, through which we travelled all day. Towards evening we came to the alkali country, and the plains looked as though they were covered with snow. This is a fearful place, where, before the construction of the railway, many poor emigrants have lain down to die. Soon after, we skirted the margin of the Great Salt Lake and entered Brigham Young’s dominions, passing his first town, “Corinné.” This town was founded by the Gentiles after Brigham turned them out of the Salt Lake City, but he soon drove them farther off.
We left the train at Odgen in order to pay a short visit to the Salt Lake City, which is situated thirty-six miles off, and is approached by a railway belonging to the Saints. For beauty of situation Salt Lake City is almost unrivalled. It lies in a basin more than twenty miles in diameter, and is surrounded by mountains, some of which are 12,000 feet high, and most of them covered with perpetual snow. At the time of our visit the fruit-trees were in full bloom, and, as each house is surrounded by its garden, the city occupies a large extent of ground, presenting a beautiful appearance from the United States camp, which stands on an elevation commanding the whole city, about two miles off. A portion of the old mud wall, about ten feet high, built by the Mormons to resist the attack of the Indians, still remains standing. Several of the houses are exceedingly well built, and the gardens kept in excellent order; one in particular I was much struck with, and remarked to our guide that it was the brightest and best kept place I had seen since leaving England. He told me it belonged to an Englishman who had left for his native country on the previous day. Curiously enough, when I returned home, I found this man was a brother of my butcher, and was then on a visit home. We observed two ladies sitting in the front of the house engaged in needlework, and were told that they were the two wives of the English Mormon. It was very noticeable that these ladies sat at a considerable distance apart, cordiality (unless it be of hatred) not being a characteristic of these Mormon wives in their relations with each other. At the time of our visit the “Prophet” was down south, looking out for a new location for the Saints, in view of the threatened difficulties with the Central Government. We visited the Tabernacle, and saw the preparations for the new temple, to which the deluded of all nations continue to contribute, although it is exceedingly doubtful that the building will be carried to completion. The man who showed us over the Tabernacle used to work in a London factory; but he told us with a curious twinkle in his eye that the “new job” paid him much the best. At a short distance from the city there is a sulphur spring, of considerable volume, proceeding from the side of the mountains; the temperature of the water is such that eggs can be boiled in it. We slept at Ogden that night in order to be in good time for securing places in the train going east in the morning. When the hotel bill was presented I tendered English gold in payment, having disposed of my U.S. currency. The landlord refused to take it, saying, “He would not have the — British gold.” I explained to him that I had no other money, but to no purpose, so, as the train was almost due, I told him I would pay him when I came that way again, but was not sure when that would be. He quietly said, “I guess I’ll take your gold,” much to the amusement of the bystanders. At the station here is a printed notice cautioning travellers to “Beware of Bogus Ticket Sellers.”
For three days after leaving Ogden we travelled through the snow, passing through a series of cañons or gorges, which narrow at the base until there is just room for the brawling stream which runs along the bottom. The railway in such cases is either excavated on one side of the gorge or carried on trestles over the stream. The rocks on the mountain sides, mostly of red sandstone, are very bold and of strange shapes. Amongst them is a very weird-looking group called “The Witches.” Another group, known as “The Buttes,” bears a most striking resemblance to a line of strong fortifications commanding the valley.
We saw these at sunset, and the effect of the evening light upon the red sandstone was very fine. In the same neighbourhood is the celebrated Devil’s Slide; it is formed by the earth being gradually washed away from between two lines of vertical strata about 20ft. apart. It is some hundreds of feet in length, and descends into the river. This valley was the route taken by the Western Pioneers, and is marked here and there by solitary graves with crosses at their heads.
The whole 8,000 feet descent from the summit to the eastern plains is made in about four hours. The steam is turned off, the brakes turned on, and down we go. As we were preparing to descend I remarked to the negro attendant that I supposed we must trust the engineer now? “No, sah,” said Sambo, “I guess we must trust de ole man up above,” pointing to the skies.
CHAPTER IX.
On reaching Chicago we left “the overland train,” with the object of paying a short visit to Niagara. The last stage of our long ride was from Omaha, during which we crossed the Missouri and Mississippi. There being three competing lines to Chicago the pace became greatly accelerated, so much so that during a considerable portion of the long ride it was almost impossible to stand on one’s feet, and the country being very dry, the train was enveloped in a cloud of dust almost the whole of the way. We had, however, one compensation, for attached to the train was a well-appointed dining-car, with first-rate cuisine. The viands were of the choicest quality, and in great variety. Moreover, the speed of the train was slackened during meals, an arrangement affording a degree of comfort unknown on the Pacific Line. The bill of fare is a curiosity in its way, being garnished with appetising mottoes and sentiments, such as, “As you journey through life live by the way,” “Eat and be satisfied,” and concluding with an expression of belief that passengers would appreciate this new feature of “Life on the Road.”
In going through Chicago we were much surprised by the fine and substantial-looking buildings in every part of the city. There are fifty to one hundred streets, any one of which is equal to the best in London; indeed, it struck me as being more of a city than any place I had ever been in. We observed a whole block of buildings, including a bank on the ground floor, and offices above, being removed bodily without any disturbance of the business operations going on in it. The water for the city supply is taken from Lake Michigan through a pipe which extends two miles into the lake. The capacity of the pumping engines is seventy-five millions of gallons per day, the greatest demand being forty-five millions. During the last few years there have been many disastrous fires in Chicago, directly traceable to the general employment of timber not only in buildings, but for the side walks and roadways. The broad streets referred to above are, however, constructed of a fine warm-coloured sandstone, and all the new streets are being made of the same material. Nevertheless, a considerable number of timber houses remain, constituting a standing danger to the city. While in Chicago I found my passport useful. On going to the bank to get some money on my Letter of Credit the manager told me they had not received a copy of my signature from the bank in England, and that in its absence they could not honour my draft. It was in vain that I showed him my watch and other articles having my name engraved upon them. He looked at them as though he thought there were various ways of getting possession of such articles. I told him I regretted I had not been born with my name on my person, but I was not accountable for the omission. I then thought of my passport, and although he appeared to think that it was possible to obtain possession of that improperly, he accepted it with the remark that “even that is not conclusive,” for it should have had a description of my person. We stayed at the Grand Pacific Hotel, which formed a great contrast to the Palace Hotel at San Francisco, being uncomfortable and badly administered.
At Detroit we cross the frontier into Canada, travelling over the Great Western Railway to Niagara. This line was constructed by English contractors, and the superiority of the work is manifested in the smooth, steady motion of the carriages. Compared with the lines we had previously traversed this was most comfortable. We pass through London, Paris, and other places with equally celebrated names, greatly enjoying the forest scenery, numerous clearings and bright little homesteads dotted over the country; and for the first time since leaving England seeing lovely green fields such as we have at home. At Niagara we stopped at the famous Clifton House, where we were joined by friends from England.
Our impressions of Niagara were those common to most visitors—first, a feeling of disappointment, soon succeeded, however, by an ever-increasing sense of the immensity and magnificence of the Falls, which grows upon one the more one sees them.
A sentiment of disgust, however, is inspired by the ruthless desecration of the most beautiful spots by Yankee manufacturers, who have chosen such picturesque positions for their smoky factories.
Another annoyance constantly experienced is from the peripatetic photographer, who endeavours to persuade you that you are greater than the “Falls.” The Falls, indeed, are made to seem a mere background to your photograph, in which he is careful to show you nearest the camera, and hence proportionately by far the most imposing object.
To get into Canada we have to cross the suspension bridge. Going over one day we purchased about £1 worth of photographs of Canadian scenery. On returning with them we were accosted by the American customs officer, who mulcted us in nearly twenty shillings duty. On entering his office to obtain a receipt we observed a “six-shooter” at his right hand, presumably for the purpose of persuasion. On leaving the place I met an American policeman and told him what a shabby transaction it was for the representatives of so great a country. He replied that he guessed the officer must raise his salary. I refrain from any attempt to describe the mighty Falls of Niagara.
On our way to New York we travelled by railway to Albany, the capital of the State of New York, passing through Syracuse, Rome, and Utica, along the shores of Lake Ontario, although from the lowering of the ground and the abundance of trees we were unable to see the lake; thence alongside the Falls River, through very charmingly diversified country with numerous valleys going up from the waterside, well-timbered, and here and there a clearing with open green fields. The houses are in most cases mean-looking plank erections, presenting a very weather-beaten appearance, some painted a very dark red colour. In the evening we reached Albany, an old Dutch town of over two hundred years, and very Dutch-looking it is with its queer red-brick houses, wooden pavements, and trees along the streets, and frequent peeps of the river here and there. Amongst the finest public buildings are those devoted to the national schools, a true gauge of the importance the citizens attach to the education of the people. On our way to New York we had an opportunity of taking a day’s sail on the River Hudson in one of the celebrated American river-boats. Going on board we found ourselves on a veritable floating palace. The steamer was a three-decker, two of the decks being covered with splendid carpets, and fitted with arm-chairs of a most comfortable pattern, and with velvet-covered ottomans and couches in all directions. Taking up one of the books from the well-stocked bookstall I saw it purported to be one of a series of standard works by American authors, and on looking down the list I observed the names of Tennyson, Barry Cornwall, and others. Our American cousins were always great at annexation, and the only wonder is they do not call their mother tongue the “American language.”
The Americans seem anxious that everyone shall admit that the Hudson is finer than any other river in the world. I have been down the Elbe, through the Saxon Switzerland, also down the Danube and the Rhine. The Hudson is far more beautiful than the Rhine. The banks are thickly wooded, and the villages and country houses prettily situated. It is true that the Hudson lacks the romantic associations of the Rhine, but even in this respect it is not altogether wanting, for does it not possess the Catskill Mountains, with their legend of Rip Van Winkle? But I like the Danube best; its banks are loftier and more rugged, and are covered with pines, and from its comparative narrowness one can see both sides at once. Then again, the ancient towns and monasteries jutting out on the spits of land are infinitely more interesting than the wooden houses along the Hudson. Again, the Elbe, especially in the Saxon Switzerland, is decidedly more beautiful than the Hudson; but for all this the latter is a river of which a nation may well be proud, and we greatly enjoyed our sail upon it.
On a subsequent visit to the Hudson we landed at West Point, the seat of the celebrated military academy founded by Washington, where there are some hundreds of students. Our hotel was situated about two miles from the academy, and overlooked the river from an eminence of about two hundred feet. The river can be seen for some miles winding between steep banks on both sides. The morning after our arrival was a Sunday, and the church bells were ringing for service. There are two opposition churches here, but I have reason to believe they are very charitable to one another; at all events their respective bell-ringers do not believe in the jarring of the sects, for I notice that first one rings out one—two—three—four; then a decent pause, and his neighbour likewise rings out one—two—three—four, and so the celestial harmonies are not disturbed.
On the opposite bank of the river is a place historic in the annals of the Revolution, for here it was that the American General Arnold was stationed while he was carrying on his treasonable correspondence with the ill-fated Major André. Arnold was sitting at breakfast with his officers and some guests when word was brought him that André was captured as a spy by the Americans. Knowing he would surely be incriminated, Arnold pretended he was wanted below on urgent business, and, going down to Beverley landing, he ordered his men to row him to the British man-of-war lying in the river. Poor André, it will be remembered, was hanged by order of Washington. His bust was placed in Westminster Abbey; three times since then has it been mutilated by miscreants. Walking through the village we observed a mean-looking tumble-down tenement, with an equally mean-looking signboard stuck upon it, bearing this inscription:—“John Scales, Justice of the Peace, Notary Public.” His “Honour” was sitting inside, in his shirt-sleeves, with a white apron on, while behind him on a shelf were a few old dry-as-dust books, of the law I suppose. The whole place looked totally at variance with our ideas of the majesty of the law; indeed it suggested that “justice” could be had for the buying, and that no one was expected to pay much regard to the decision of such a court. On returning to the hotel I spoke of this functionary to the negro waiter, suggesting that he dealt in justice, “Yes, sah; I guess a dollar will go a long way with him,” replied he.
Ascending the mountain we came across an old man at work on the roads. He was a German, having come to America in 1841. He served in the Mexican war, and one of his sons was killed in the war against the Southern rebels. The old man said it was hard work mending roads, and that the winters were very severe, “but,” said he, “it is a free country, and that makes up for all. In Germany a man dares not open his mouth, but here one can say what one likes.”
Passing by a farmyard our curiosity was aroused by seeing the stock of poultry secured by the leg to the fence. As we had often heard in our travels in the States that this was “a great country,” we presume this was an expedient adopted to prevent the fowls straying and being lost. Of course, England being so small, such precautions are not necessary.
We returned to New York in another of the celebrated river-boats.
During my stay in the States there were two great subjects which monopolised public attention. These were the Centennial Exhibition which had just been opened: and the wave of corruption among officials and others which was sweeping over the land. More space was occupied in the Press by charges of malversation and fraud on the part of the officials, from the President down to the lowest civil service clerks, and from them through all grades of society, than with the Exhibition itself or with any other subject, while the talk in the streets seemed to be about nothing else. In alluding to the unlawful gains made in this way by many prominent citizens, a New York paper made use of a sentiment of Mark Twain to the effect that whereas in times past folks used to say “poor but honest,” now-a-days when you see a rich man who has accumulated money in a proper way it is said that he is “rich but honest.”
I have travelled in many countries, but in almost everything have found America twice as dear as any other country. The charges are simply monstrous. Having to go from an hotel to the steam wharf, we were not permitted to take our very modest amount of luggage in the omnibus with us, although we had the vehicle all to ourselves; but the hotel people insisted upon sending it in a special wagon, charging two dollars for what a cabman in Birmingham would willingly have done for a shilling. On board the steamer we were charged six shillings each for a plain dinner, without wine, which in England would not have cost more than 1s. 6d. Bound books are equally dear. Pocket volumes, containing not more than one-sixth of the matter in a shilling volume of Chambers’ “Miscellany of Entertaining Tracts,” were charged two shillings each. Most of the newspapers, also, are very inferior to, yet much dearer than, the English papers. Another form of extortion is to be found in the impossibility, in many hotels, of obtaining information as to the sailing of river-boats, departure of trains, etc., the only apparent explanation being a desire to give “touts” and “loungers,” of whom there are many, opportunities of extorting money. These fellows seem to know nothing unless they can hear the dollars chink, or see the dirty greenbacks (and some of them are very dirty). A fellow once gave me in change a dollar note which was so filthy that scarcely a word was legible upon it. It looked as though it might contain smallpox or typhoid, so I asked him to wash it. He said he guessed he would—for a dollar.
Against all this, I am bound to say that the charges made by the steamboat companies and most of the railways are exceedingly moderate, and their arrangements in connection with baggage most convenient. On arriving at any of the large cities by river-boat, the agent of the Luggage Express Company comes on board and takes possession of your baggage, giving vouchers for it. He also undertakes to collect any baggage you may have sent to the City Railway Station from distant parts of the country, and very soon after you arrive at your hotel it is brought to you. At the landing stages in such cities as New York there are numbers of cabs, mostly driven by Irishmen, and when they find you have disposed of your luggage and do not require their services, they give vent to their disgust in no measured terms, and if the traveller is a Britisher, he is soon reminded of the fact.
The mode of dealing with baggage on the railway is almost equally convenient. The following will give some idea of it. You are travelling, say, from Aberdeen to Penzance, intending ultimately to proceed by way of London to Dover, and do not require the bulk of your luggage till you arrive at the latter place. On leaving Aberdeen, the Baggage Master takes your superfluous luggage, putting brass labels upon it, thus—
ABERDEEN—DOVER.
846.
giving you corresponding labels, after which you have no further occasion to trouble yourself in the matter until you get to Dover.
We visited the Centennial Exhibition at Philadelphia for the purpose of inspecting the various productions corresponding to our own, hoping, indeed expecting, to find something which would repay us for coming. We were, indeed, repaid, but in a sense totally opposed to what we expected, for we found that so far from Americans being in advance of the English, they were, in many cases, taking credit for so-called “improvements” (claiming them as novelties), which we had been familiar with, and had used in our own works many years before. They appear to be strangely unaware of what has been done in European countries, and a single instance will illustrate this. The machinery in the Exhibition was driven by a single large steam-engine. The newspapers made a great deal of this engine, declaring that it was the largest in the world, and that it had been made in the smallest State—Rhode Island. An American engineer with evident pride took us to see the big engine, which, after all, had a cylinder of only 70in. diameter. We told him that five-and-twenty years before a small engineering firm in Cornwall, England, had made several engines with cylinders 144in. in diameter, and which are yet at work.
We were permitted to inspect some of the most important engineering establishments, and found the tools of such an inferior character that our only wonder was that they could produce either good or cheap work. In most cases the floors of the workshops were inches deep in ferruginous dust. Under such conditions every time a heavy casting is dropped on the floor a cloud of dust must rise, and entering the bearings of the tools, cut them up badly. We found many of the tools actually wedged up because of this.
An American manufacturer speaking to me of a visit he had paid to the Exhibition in company with his foreman, told me how astonished the latter was at the excellence of the European exhibits. He said he had no idea they could make the things half so well, “for,” he said, “they are almost as good as ours,” and, I added, “only one half the cost.”
The agricultural machinery was exhibited in a separate building erected specially for its reception, and here the Americans were unmistakably far ahead of all competitors.
At the time of our visit several consignments of calicoes had been made to England and to various British markets, and sold at prices considerably below what they could be produced at by English manufacturers. This incursion occasioned great disquietude in England until the cause was manifested—viz., overproduction. On this point I read an article in a New York Protectionist paper intended as an answer to the Free Trade argument, that Protection increased the price of goods. The article stated that this was not so: and to prove its position said that the tendency of Protection was to induce people to go into manufacturing who know little or nothing of the processes they were undertaking, but who fancy that with the tariff of from 40 per cent. to 80 per cent. upon foreign goods, there must necessarily be a sufficient margin to compensate for mistakes caused by their inexperience. “And so it happens,” continues the writer, “that there is great over-production, ruinous competition among American manufacturers, frequent failures, and consequently large stocks of goods are forced on the markets at a great loss, the public getting cheap supplies in consequence.” Adam Smith would scarcely have quoted this as one of the methods of adding to the wealth of nations. But if the people at large obtain their cotton goods cheaper through this system of over-production, it is clear that the millowners are not the only sufferers, for it appears from a speech delivered by Mr. Shearman of New York, at the Cobden Club dinner in the present year (1883), that the wages of the factory operatives are twenty per cent. less than in Lancashire, while their hours of labour are from eighteen to twenty per cent. longer.
During the late Fair Trade agitation its advocates were never tired of telling the English working-classes that under Protection their brethren in America were prospering in a remarkable degree, but in the speech to which I have referred Mr. Shearman shows that the average wages in protected trades are actually less than in 1860, the last year of comparative Free Trade, and that while in the ten years previous, wages were constantly increasing, during the succeeding twenty years (1860–1880) there was no appreciable advance, while during the past three years they have been steadily declining; so that here we have one of the staple trades of the country requiring longer hours of labour from the operatives, at considerably lower wages than for the same class in England, while the cost of living is much higher than in this country, and the climate much more trying from the extremes of heat and cold.
Nor is this all, for the American operatives have very much less relaxation than the same class in England, their holidays being very much fewer. Last year my workpeople, in addition to fifty-two Saturday afternoons, had nineteen whole days, although there was abundance of work for them, and the necessities of the business only required six days closing of the works. The English artisan loves to have a deal of liberty, and his earnings enable him to indulge his desire in that respect.
As may be supposed, the ranks of the operatives in the cotton mills of America receive no accession from England, but only from Germany and Scandinavia, where wages are low, and the oppressive military systems drive people from their native countries.
During the last seven years of depression in trade in England it is well known that, taken as a whole, the working classes have suffered comparatively little, the loss falling mainly upon manufacturers, whose profits have been greatly lessened. But how would the working-classes have fared if, in addition to the loss of home trade involved in the failure of the crops for so many years, the same causes were in operation which make it impossible for America to have a great foreign trade?
It is manifest that so long as Protection exists in the United States exports must necessarily be confined almost entirely to such commodities as other countries cannot produce. Until recently the home demand has kept the manufacturers in the States well employed; but competition has now become exceedingly fierce, and they are beginning to tread upon each other’s heels. It is this state of things which is destined to exert the most potent influence upon the fate of Protection. The very class which has hitherto been loudest in demanding prohibitory duties upon imports, will soon, from sheer necessity, be found demanding their removal.
It is worthy of note, too, that while under Protection the earnings of the producing class have been steadily declining, colossal fortunes, amounting in one case to twenty or thirty millions sterling, have been built up by individual monopolists. On the other hand, during the same period and under Free Trade, there has been a wider distribution of material comfort in England, and, as shown by the official returns, a decided decrease in the number of millionaires.
In passing through America on my return from Australia in 1876, I expressed the opinion that Free Trade there would be by no means an unmixed blessing for English manufacturers, for whereas at the present time a vessel going to Australia from the United States with a cargo of goods has to come back in ballast, doubling the cost of freight, under Free Trade it would take back a cargo of wool, and the Americans would consequently become our competitors both in buying and selling.
With the single exception of having higher wages—and this advantage is more than balanced by the extra cost of living—I have failed to find that American artisans are in any way better off than the English, while, as I have already shown, their hours of labour are longer and the effect of the climate much more exhausting.
A very striking feature to be met with in most American cities and towns is the large number of tolerably respectable-looking men loafing about and doing nothing. In England such men, only in shabbier dress, would be called “cadgers.” I am told there are large numbers who prefer any shifty mode of obtaining a living so long as they can wear a black coat and avoid honest labour. In the villages along the banks of the Hudson I saw more children without shoes and stockings than are to be met with in any part of England in a similar area. They go to school shoeless, and a woman told me that when shoes were put on their feet on Sundays they complained loudly. A land of freedom for tongue and foot!
During the Southern rebellion fears were expressed that the result of emancipation would be to flood the markets of the North with negro labour, but this does not appear to have been the case. As long as slavery existed the North was attractive to the negro as the land of freedom, but when freedom was proclaimed throughout the States the negro naturally elected to remain where he had always been—the climate and surroundings being well suited to him. The head waiter at our hotel at West Point was a slave in Richmond until the middle of the war, when he escaped to Washington. I asked him how he got there. “Oh, by the underground railway,” said he. It took him a week to travel the hundred miles, and he had many narrow escapes, but was fortunate enough to come out all right and to get a situation to wait upon one of Abraham Lincoln’s sons. He told me his owner, a lady, taught him to read and write in face of the certainty of being sent to jail in case of being discovered. His father was sold away down south sixteen years before, but since that day they had again met at Richmond. “Well,” I said, “neither Jeff. Davis nor any of his crew will ever play you such pranks again.” “No Sir,” said he.
The regulation of the liquor traffic in the American cities appears to present as many difficulties as it does in England, especially as regards the Sunday traffic. The Sunday before we left New York the police made a raid upon the liquor dealers in the city, and arrested a number of them for selling during prohibited hours. Their organs threatened all sorts of reprisals at the coming election, and a meeting of the trade was called to condemn the action of the authorities. Most of the requisitionists—judging by their names—were either German or Irish. At the time appointed some hundreds of liquor dealers assembled, and presently a gentleman came on the platform and began to address them. Soon, however, it began to dawn upon the trade that they had been somewhat considerably sold, for the speaker gave them a regular teetotal lecture, enlarging upon the evils the dealers were responsible for, and warning them to forsake their wicked ways. The audience could not stand this, and threatened the orator that if he didn’t “make tracks right away” they would give him “something hot,” upon which he quietly retired, having given them the first temperance lecture they had ever heard.
Our visit to America was brought to a fitting termination by another glorious excursion on the Hudson: after which it was with great pleasure and satisfaction that we went on board one of the splendid White Star Liners, soon to land again on the shores of dear old England.