Forty Thousand Miles Over Land and Water
by Ethel Gwendoline Vincent · English · Gutenberg #48013 · 966,392 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: Forty Thousand Miles Over Land and Water
Author: Ethel Gwendoline Vincent
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[Illustration: The White Terrace, Hot Lakes, New Zealand.
_Frontispiece._ Page 119.]
FORTY THOUSAND MILES OVER LAND AND WATER
The Journal of a Tour Through the British Empire and America
by
MRS. HOWARD VINCENT
With Numerous Illustrations
Third and Cheaper Edition.
London:
Sampson Low, Marston, Searle & Rivington,
Crown Buildings, 188, Fleet Street.
1886.
[All rights reserved.]
London:
Printed by Gilbert and Rivington, Limited,
St. John's Square.
TO
OUR FRIENDS,
THE CHILDREN OF THE METROPOLITAN AND CITY POLICE
ORPHANAGE,
This Journal is Dedicated
BY
THEIR CONSTANT WELL-WISHERS.
PREFACE.
My husband, during his six years' tenure of the office of Director of
Criminal Investigations, took the greatest interest in the Metropolitan
and City Police Orphanage.
In taking leave of his young friends he promised to keep for their
benefit a record of our travels through the British Empire and America.
I have endeavoured to the best of my power to relieve him of this task.
It is but a simple Journal of what we saw and did.
But if the Police will accept it, as a further proof of our admiration
and respect for them as a body, then I feel sure that others who may be
kind enough to read it will be lenient towards the shortcomings of a
first publication.
ETHEL GWENDOLINE VINCENT.
1, GROSVENOR SQUARE, LONDON.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
CHAPTER I.
ACROSS THE ATLANTIC 1
CHAPTER II.
NEW YORK, HUDSON RIVER, AND NIAGARA FALLS 4
CHAPTER III.
THE DOMINION OF CANADA 17
CHAPTER IV.
THE AMERICAN LAKES, AND THE CENTRES OF LEARNING,
FASHION, AND GOVERNMENT 26
CHAPTER V.
TO THE FAR WEST 43
CHAPTER VI.
SAN FRANCISCO AND THE YOSEMITE VALLEY 66
CHAPTER VII.
ACROSS THE PACIFIC 88
CHAPTER VIII.
COACHING THROUGH THE NORTH ISLAND OF NEW
ZEALAND; ITS HOT LAKES AND GEYSERS 102
CHAPTER IX.
THE SOUTH ISLAND OF NEW ZEALAND; ITS ALPS AND
MOUNTAIN LAKES 146
CHAPTER X.
AUSTRALIA--TASMANIA, AND VICTORIA 161
CHAPTER XI.
AUSTRALIA--NEW SOUTH WALES, AND QUEENSLAND 181
CHAPTER XII.
WITHIN THE BARRIER REEF, THROUGH TORRES
STRAITS TO BATAVIA 200
CHAPTER XIII.
NETHERLANDS INDIA 212
CHAPTER XIV.
THE STRAITS SETTLEMENTS 235
CHAPTER XV.
THE METROPOLIS OF INDIA AND ITS HIMALAYAN
SANATORIUM 250
CHAPTER XVI.
THE SHRINES OF THE HINDU FAITH 274
CHAPTER XVII.
THE SCENES OF THE INDIAN MUTINY 287
CHAPTER XVIII.
THE CITIES OF THE GREAT MOGUL 304
CHAPTER XIX.
GWALIOR AND RAJPUTANA 332
CHAPTER XX.
THE HOME OF THE PARSEES 352
CHAPTER XXI.
THROUGH EGYPT--HOMEWARDS 361
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE
The White Terrace, Hot Lakes, New Zealand _Frontispiece_
Route Map _to face_ 1
"That horrible fog-horn!" 1
Elevated-Railway, New York 6
Parliament Buildings, Ottawa _to face_ 22
The Capitol, Washington 40
The Royal Gorge of the Arkansas _to face_ 58
The Sentinel, Yosemite Valley " 77
The Cathedral Spires, Yosemite Valley 79
Big Tree, California 83
Maori Chieftain 110
Tuhuatahi Geyser, New Zealand 128
Lake Wakitipu, New Zealand 157
Government House, Melbourne _to face_ 165
Sydney Harbour " 182
Govett's Leap, Blue Mountains 191
Zig-zag on Railway, Blue Mountains _to face_ 192
Banyan Trees, Buitenzorg, Java " 227
Traveller's Palm, Singapore " 236
Jinricksha 249
The Hooghley, Calcutta _to face_ 251
The Darjeeling and Himalayan Railway " 263
Benares Bathing Ghât " 276
The Residency, Lucknow 288
The Imambara, Lucknow _to face_ 291
The Taj Mahal, Agra " 312
Column, Kutub Minar, Delhi " 329
The Caves of Elephanta, Bombay " 356
Cairene Woman 372
The Sphinx _to face_ 377
[Illustration: ROUTE MAP TO "FORTY THOUSAND MILES OVER LAND AND WATER" BY
MRS. HOWARD VINCENT.
_Route marked thus_ ----]
FORTY THOUSAND MILES OVER LAND AND WATER.
CHAPTER I.
ACROSS THE ATLANTIC.
[Illustration]
Lat. 43° 15´ N., Long. 50° 12´ W. All is intensely quiet. The revolution
even of the screw has ceased. We are wrapped in a fog so dense that we
feel almost unable to breathe.
We shudder as we look at the white pall drawn closely around us. The
decks and rigging are dripping, and everything on board is saturated
with moisture. We feel strangely alone. When hark! A discordant screech,
a hideous howl belches forth into the still air, to be immediately
smothered and lost in the fog. It is the warning cry of the fog-horn.
[Illustration: "That horrible fog-horn!"]
We are on board the White Star steamer _Germanic_, in mid-Atlantic, not
far off the great ice-banks of Newfoundland.
It was on Wednesday, the 2nd of July, that we left London, and embarked
from Liverpool on the 3rd.
I need not describe the previous bustle of preparation, the farewells to
be gone through for a long absence of nine months, the little crowd of
kind friends who came to see us off at Euston, nor our embarkation and
our last view of England.
I remember how dull and gloomy that first evening on board closed in, and
how a slight feeling of depression was not absent from us.
The next morning we were anchoring in Queenstown Harbour, and whilst
waiting for the arrival of the mails in the afternoon we went by train to
Cork.
The mails were on board the _Germanic_ by four o'clock. We weighed
anchor, and our voyage to America had commenced. The often advertised
quick passages across the Atlantic are only reckoned to and from
Queenstown. The sea-sick traveller hardly sees the point of this
computation of time, for the coasts of "ould Ireland" are as stormy and
of as much account as the remainder of the passage.
And now we have settled down into the usual idle life on board ship, a
life where eating and drinking plays the most important part. There is
a superfluity of concerts and literary entertainments, the proceeds in
one instance being devoted to the aid of a poor electrical engineer who
has had his arm fearfully torn in the machinery, and whose life was only
saved by the presence of mind of a comrade in cutting the strap.
Fine weather again at last, for we are past the banks so prolific in
storms and fog. The story goes that a certain captain much harassed by
the questioning of a passenger, who asked him "if it was always rough
here?" replied, "How should I know, sir? I don't live here."
We are nearing America, and may hope to land to-morrow.
The advent of the pilot is always an exciting event. There was a lottery
for his number and much betting upon the foot with which he would first
step on deck.
A boat came in sight early in the afternoon. There was general
excitement. But the captain refused this pilot as he had previously
nearly lost one of the company's ships. At this he stood up in his dinghy
and fiercely denounced us as we swept onwards, little heeding.
Another pilot came on board soon afterwards, but the news and papers he
brought us were very stale. These pilots have a very hard life; working
in firms of two or three, they often go out 500 miles in their cutters,
and lie about for days waiting to pick up vessels coming into port. The
fee varies according to the draught of the ship, but often exceeds 30_l._
At two o'clock a white line of surf is seen on the horizon. Land we know
is behind, and great is the joy of all on board.
We watched and waited till behind the white line appears a dark one,
which grew and grew, until Long Island and Fire Island lighthouse are
plainly visible.
Three hours more and we see the beautiful Highlands of the Navesink on
the New Jersey shore; then the long sandy plain with the lighthouse which
marks the entrance--and we cross the bar of Sandy Hook. As we do so the
sunset gun goes off, and tells us that we must pass yet another night on
board, for it closes the day of the officer of health.
We pass the quarantine station, a white house on a lonely rock--then
entering the Narrows, anchor in the dusk off lovely Statten Island.
The lights of Manhattan and New Brighton beach twinkle in the darkness.
Steamers with flashing signals ply swiftly backwards and forwards. A line
of electricity marks the beautiful span of Brooklyn Bridge, and over
all a storm is gathering, making the surrounding hills resound with the
cannon of its thunder and the sky bright with sheets of lightning.
And so we pass the night, within sight of the lights of New York, with
pleasurable excitement looking forward to our first impressions on the
morrow.
_Sunday, July 13th._--By six o'clock all is life on board the _Germanic_,
for a great steamer takes some time getting under weigh. Breakfast is a
general scramble, interspersed with declarations to the revenue officials
who are sitting in the saloon.
We pass the Old Fort on Governor's Island, now the military station, in
our upward progress, see the round tower of Castle Garden, the emigrants'
depôt, and by eight o'clock are safely moored alongside the company's
pier.
On the wharf are presently to be seen passengers sitting forlorn on their
trunks, awaiting the terrible inspection of the custom-house officer. The
one detailed to us showed signs of becoming offensive, being unwilling
to believe the statement that a dress some six months' old was not
being taken round the world for sale; but on making representations to
his superior we were able to throw the things back into the boxes and
"Express" them to the hotel.
CHAPTER II.
NEW YORK, HUDSON RIVER, AND NIAGARA FALLS.
As we drove over the rough streets of New York in the early hours of
Sunday morning, it appeared as a city of the dead. There was no sign
of life as our horses toiled along Broadway and up Fifth Avenue to the
Buckingham Hotel, where we had secured rooms.
This hotel, though comfortable, had the disadvantage of being too far up
town for short sojourners, but it has the merit of being conducted on the
European system--that is, the rooms and meals are charged for separately.
The American plan is to make an inclusive charge of from four to five
dollars a day, and it is often troublesome only being able to have meals
in the dining-room between certain hours. Besides, it is pleasant to
be able to visit the restaurants of New York, which are admirable, and
equal, if not superior to those of Paris. Delmonico's, where we dined one
evening, is particularly excellent.
We were glad when eleven o'clock came and we could go to St. Thomas'
Church, close by. It is one of the most frequented of the many beautiful
churches of all denominations in New York, and of very fine interior
proportions. Upon the dark oak carving is reflected in many hues the rich
stained glass. The service was rendered according to the ritual of the
English Church, which is followed by the Episcopal Church of America.
They succeed in America in uniting a non-ceremonial service with a bright
and hearty one. We listened to a very powerful sermon on St. Paul on the
Hill of Mars, in which the eloquent preacher boldly declared that the
political honesty of the Athenians 2000 years ago was superior to that of
the United States of to-day.
On our way back we went into the Roman Catholic Cathedral, which was
just opposite to our windows at the "Buckingham," a very large marble
building, but still unfinished.
We found four reporters waiting at the hotel to "interview" my husband.
He had eluded them on the landing-stage, but they would take no denial
here, and we were much harassed by others in the course of the day.
Our luggage arrived at noon. It is almost a necessity to employ the
Express Company for the conveyance of "baggage" throughout America, as
the hackney carriages and hotel omnibuses are not prepared to take it.
The charges are very high, and it is often extremely inconvenient having
to wait two, three, or even four hours for it, after arrival in a town.
The geography of New York is exceedingly simple, and is followed in
nearly every American city. "Avenues" traverse the length of the town,
which are called first, second, or third avenues, and the "streets" which
intersect them are also numbered consecutively, so that you have--Third
Street, Fifth Avenue, and know that it is the third street from the
commencement of Fifth Avenue.
The houses are built in blocks, and for the most part in the upper
portion of New York, of dark red sandstone.
There are ample means of cheap locomotion by two "elevated" railways,
and innumerable tramways. Each of the former runs the whole length of
the city, a distance of ten miles. They were built by rival companies
who afterwards amalgamated. A double line is laid upon iron piers in the
centre of the street on a level with the third stories of the houses on
each side. One wonders how the necessary powers to build such a line were
obtained, but in "free" America, vested interests and damage to property
are not taken into account, when financiers have a scheme to carry out.
It is said that the value of the surrounding houses has been increased
rather than otherwise by the proximity of the Elevated: more curiously,
the tram lines running below it, and which were formerly insolvent, are
now paying well.
The uniform fare is ten cents, except after four o'clock on Sundays, when
it is reduced to five cents, the same as the fare of the "trams." The
train consists of an engine and four light coaches, all of one class,
and fitted with comfortable cane seats. They succeed each other every
five minutes. A conductor is on the platform of every carriage, and opens
the iron gate at the end as soon as the train stops. There is a marked
absence of all confusion and haste, partly attributable to there being
no collection of tickets, which are dropped into a box on the platform
immediately after purchase.
Cabs are few in number and very expensive. They charge four and a half
dollars, or nearly 1_l._, from the quay to the hotels, without luggage,
and one dollar a mile, or a dollar and a half per hour.
[Illustration: Elevated Railway, New York.]
Independently of these exorbitant prices, driving is very unpleasant
from the streets being paved with blocks of granite, and being kept in
shocking repair.
It is alleged that the extremes of climate prevent the use of any other
material, but there is probably more truth in the statement that the
money voted by municipal councils for their paving finds its way into
other channels. Washington and Boston were the only towns we afterwards
saw with good pavements, without ruts or holes. Above the thoroughfares
is a rose of telegraph and telephone wires, and poles and standards
abound in the streets. At nearly every house there is a telephone to put
the inmates in connection with some place of business or some relative.
In the afternoon we went to Trinity Church, which may be called the
cathedral of New York. The service was just ending, and the choir were
filing out of the chancel under a blaze of golden glory from the sun
shining through the east end window, singing the hymn, "Angels of Jesus,
Angels of Light, Singing to welcome the pilgrims of the night."
The voices grew fainter and fainter, and finally died away on the
breathless stillness of the air. Then the huge organ, blown by
electricity, pealed forth, and the spell was broken.
Mr. Vanderbilt, Mr. Astor, and the Stewart family live in gorgeous
palaces, and one is struck how even this Republic cannot prevent a
monopoly of property and an accumulation of wealth. Mr. Vanderbilt has
three adjoining houses, forming a block, in Fifth Avenue, for himself and
his married children.
The squares and gardens are well kept, and it is pleasant to see them all
open, full of people sitting in them, without the railings which make
London squares so gloomy and of so little pleasure even to those who have
the _entrée_.
We drove round Central Park--a perfect triumph of landscape gardening,
with but little help from nature. The "Mall" and alleys were thronged
with gay crowds, listening to the band, and boats were plying on the
lake. There were not many carriages, the fashionable world having fled
from the fagging heat of New York; but those we saw had servants in
livery, a comparatively recent innovation, and one much disapproved of by
the people.
The cross-bar waggons in general use, weighing little over two
hundredweight, with their skeleton wheels, whirl along at a great pace,
but the horses all have a check-rein passing over the head, which is far
more cruel than even our gag bearing-rein.
_Monday, July 14th._--We began our wanderings by going over the beautiful
Brooklyn Bridge, which unites New York with its monster suburb, the home
of half a million of people, principally of the working classes, of whom
a large proportion are Irish. It is a marvellous structure, the finest
suspension bridge ever built, and a mile and a quarter long. So graceful
and light is the curve it describes that from a distance it seems to
be a spider's web suspended in mid-air. We had a long "tram" journey
through the dull and dirty streets to Greenwood Cemetery, the great
burial-place of New York. A gateway of much beauty marks the entrance,
and over the centre arch are the words, "Weep not, for the dead shall be
raised." A granite obelisk in the centre of a grass plot attracts our
attention. Below it lie the bodies of 103 persons who perished in the
burning of the Brooklyn Theatre in 1876. Under that green mound what a
mass of human passions were laid to rest! Some of the monuments are very
finely conceived in design, and execution; others were grotesque and
ugly. Nothing, however, mars the beauty of the whole--the shining river
running through this valley of the dead, the surroundings bright with
marble, flowers, and shrubs--only, a sweet garden where the people come
and walk in the evening cool, watching the sun sinking over the harbour,
and thinking, it may be, of how they too will likewise join those who lie
at rest here.
In the afternoon we paid a visit to Wall Street, the scene of so many
fortunes lost and won. The din in the Stock Exchange was deafening,
and the appearance of the frantic, yelling speculators anything but
attractive.
The "stores," or shops, in Broadway are very fine inside, but the windows
are not so well set out as in Paris or London. The goods for sale are
also more general in character, and nearly double in price. This arises
from the large duties or imposts in a great measure, but also because the
unit of a dollar (4_s._ 2_d._) is so high. It seems as easy to ask one
dollar as one shilling or one franc, and the former coin scarcely goes
farther than the latter throughout the States.
The _New York Herald_, _Times_, _World_, and other papers come out with
long accounts of the interviews given yesterday. They went into the most
precise details of dress, manners, and speech.
_Tuesday, July 15th._--We had a pleasant morning in seeing the
magnificent armoury of the "Seventh Regiment of the National Guard." The
Seventh Regiment includes in its ranks some of the best men in New York,
and the National Guard corresponds exactly to the Volunteer force of
England. The Drill Hall is 300 feet long and 200 feet broad, unbroken by
a pillar, and large enough to manoeuvre a battalion, having a solid
oaken floor so constructed as to prevent reverberation in marching. Each
company has a room for itself, and the officers' room, the library, and
the veterans' room, where those who have left the regiment come to meet
their sons and relatives now serving, are beautiful apartments, richly
furnished.
In the afternoon Sir Roderick Cameron kindly took us over to his charming
place on Statten Island. It is beautifully wooded, and when the salt
marshes are drained, and the mosquitoes reduced in numbers, his farm will
no doubt be the site of a populous suburb.
_Wednesday, July 16th._--By nine o'clock we were waiting on the shores of
the Hudson River for one of the floating palaces which ply to and from
Albany. The _C. Vibard_ was seen presently coming--a magnificent vessel
of colossal size, with three decks towering one above the other, and yet
drawing but six feet of water. What we were particularly struck with on
these river and lake steamers was that, although there is no distinction
of class, no inconvenience whatever results. All is orderly and quiet;
everybody is well-dressed and well-behaved. Indeed, throughout the
States, rowdyism seems to be as absent as pauperism, and the deference
paid to ladies might well be imitated in older countries. They have a
separate entrance at hotels, and a separate "guichet" at post-offices and
railway stations. A lady may travel with perfect comfort alone, and walk
in the streets without fear of any annoyance.
A fresh wind dappled the blue sky, and raised the muddy waters of the
grand old Hudson. Across from New Jersey and Hoboken, those thriving
suburbs of New York, came the busy hum of life. The well-wooded hills
were clothed with villas, whose domes or towers peep out from amongst the
dense foliage. Here and there, standing in a little park, were châlets,
or a cottage with gilt minarets, or, even in still more incongruous
taste, a Chinese pagoda. It is here the merchants from the great city
take their rest and pleasure, within ear-shot and easy reach of their
familiar haunts around Wall Street. On the opposite shore the great
wall of basaltic trap-rock, known to the early settlers by the name of
the "Great Chip Rock," but to their more practical successors as the
"Palisades," forms an impenetrable wall, rising in a sheer precipice
from the river, a height of from 300 to 600 feet.
Meandering along by its mighty brother, unseen on the other side, there
is another river, running at a lower level.
Historical associations crowd upon us as we sail up between the broad
banks, stretching from the memory of the early band of settlers who under
Hendrich Hudson, the Dutchman, made the first voyage of discovery up
the river to which he afterwards gave his name; to the little villages
of Tappan and Tarrytown, glowing with the memories of the brave but
ill-fated Major André. Need I repeat his well-known story? In the dead of
night he landed from the _Vulture_ at Stony Point to meet Arnold, who had
turned traitor, to arrange with him for the surrender of West Point, the
key of the position. André was captured in returning by land, searched,
the papers found on him, and executed, to the sorrow of both armies;
whilst Arnold, escaping to the _Vulture_, was rewarded with 6000_l._,
and became a Brigadier-General in the British army. Many know well the
monument afterwards erected to André in Westminster Abbey.
Sunnyside, a little white cottage, the home of Washington Irving, lies on
the hill, almost hidden by the surrounding trees. The front is covered
with ivy grown from a sprig that Sir Walter Scott sent from Abbotsford.
"Sleepy Hollow," the scene of so many of Washington Irving's charming
romances, is quite near. Every side of life is here represented. All
manner of men have found their greatest happiness in the quiet beauty
of the Hudson's banks. Besides authors and actors, such as Forrest, the
great tragedian--science, in the person of Professor Morse, of telegraph
fame, and the great merchant princes, such as Stewart, Astor, and Jay
Gould, have made their homes here. Miss Warner, authoress of the "Wide,
wide World," has a cottage near Teller's Point.
At Tappan Zee the river opens out into a lake ten miles broad. The
gloomy fortress of Sing Sing, the State prison, lies on an island near
the shore. Croton Lake is close by, and supplies New York with from
40,000,000 to 60,000,000 gallons daily, through an aqueduct thirty-three
miles long. The wooden sheds found at intervals along the banks are the
great storehouses where in winter the ice is cut and kept, ready to
supply the vast consumption of New York.
The beautiful bay of Haverstraw leads to the narrow defile and the
northern gate of the Highlands. In rugged and varied beauty the mountains
close us in on every side, overshadowing us with their wooded heights;
maple and sycamore mingling with darker belts of pine, or a thick
undergrowth of stunted oaks. They are so like the Highlands that you
look--but in vain--for the bracken and the furze.
"The glory of the Hudson is at West Point," says a well-known author, and
I suppose there could not be a more beautiful situation for the Military
College of the United States, the Sandhurst of America, than at West
Point. It stands on a commanding bluff, the river winding round three
sides of the promontory in an almost impregnable position.
From the southern gate of the Highlands, green marshy fields, with
weeping-willows trailing along the banks, form the chief feature of
the landscape, and we pass several thriving towns like Peekskill and
Poughkeepsie. In the afternoon, blue and purple in the far distance, we
saw the glorious range of the mighty Catskill Mountains, forming one
unbroken series of snow-capped domes, hiding in their deep recesses many
of Nature's grandest secrets. The evening was closing in as the steamer
passed under the swinging arch of the bridge at Albany, the chief town of
New York State.
Albany is chiefly remarkable for its very fine Capitol, which has been in
process of building since 1871, and is still far from finished, though
it has already cost an enormous sum. At the present time every one is
talking about Albany, owing to the fact that Grover Cleveland, the
newly-selected Democratic candidate for the Presidency, is the Governor.
Delaware House gave us shelter for the night; and at 8 a.m. the next
morning we were in the "cars" on our way to Niagara.
This was our first experience of American railways. There is no
distinction of classes in the railway company's fares, but greater
luxury is obtained by travelling in the drawing-room or sleeping car.
The former belong to the Wagner, the latter to the Pullman Company,
who make a separate charge, which is levied by the special conductor.
This is his only duty, except to make himself a nuisance, and generally
objectionable. The beds are made up by an obliging coloured porter. The
cars are very long, and run on sixteen wheels. There is communication
through the train, but it is only used by the condescendingly grand
officials and the numerous news and fruit vendors who torment you with
repeated exhibitions of their varied wares. The windows are so large,
that if opened dust and grit from the slack coal burnt by the engines
smother everything, so that with the car full (and they hold from twenty
to thirty) the atmosphere becomes terribly oppressive. In winter,
and when the stoves are lighted it is even worse. The Americans are
very proud of their railway system, but after travelling over most of
their lines, it is impossible to see that we have much to learn from
them. The traffic is conducted in a very happy-go-lucky style. There
is an absence of civility, with a superabundance of officials, and a
porter is not to be met with. The traveller must carry his hand-luggage
himself. The system of checking the baggage is, however, admirable.
A brass check attached to the trunk ensures its going safely to any
destination, however distant, and only being given up on presentation of
the duplicate, which is in possession of the passenger.
Our journey lay through the smiling valley of the Mohawk River. The
operation of hay-making was going on in many of the fields we passed. The
hay was cut, raked, turned over, unloaded, and stacked by machinery--the
most convincing proof of the absence of hand-labour. Throughout the vast
continent of America, from the farms of the east to the cattle ranches
of the west, there is the same cry for labour. Still greater is the
demand for domestic servants. American girls think nothing of serving in
a "store" or at a railway buffet, or even in an hotel. They have their
freedom at certain hours, and when their work is done they are their
own mistresses; but domestic service they look upon as degrading. It is
almost wholly confined to Irish immigrants. A gentleman told us of a
large mountain hotel where the waiting during the summer months of the
season was done by an entire school of young ladies, who at the end of
the time returned with their "salaries" (the term of "wages" is never
used) to pay for their winter's schooling.
At Syracuse we experienced for the first time the strange custom of
running the train through a street in the heart of the city. Many lives
are annually lost, and terrible accidents occur frequently at the level
crossings. "Look out for the locomotive" is on a large sign-board, but
the public depend more upon the shrill whistle or the ringing of the
engine bell. The effect of these engine bells is very melodious when,
deep-toned and loud-voiced, coming and going in a station they chime to
each other.
_Friday, July 18th, Clifton House, Niagara Falls._--"What a moment in a
lifetime is that in which we first behold Niagara!" And it is difficult
with a very feeble pen to say anything superior to such a commonplace
platitude, even when in the presence of one of Nature's most glorious
works.
Notwithstanding all written and said, imagined or described, Niagara
cannot be put into words; cannot be conveyed to the imagination through
the usual medium of pen and paper; can only be seen to be--even then but
partially--understood.
There is a blue river, two miles wide, without ripple or ruffle on
the surface, coming down from a great lake, pursuing its even course.
There are breakers ahead--little clouds, then white foam sprayed into
mid-air. The contagion spreads, until on the whole surface of the river
are troubled waves, noisily hurrying down, down, with ever-increasing
velocity, to the great Canadian fall. The mockery of those few yards of
clear, still water! In a suction green as an uncut emerald, a volume of
water, twenty fathoms deep, is hurled over a precipice 160 feet high.
One hundred million tons of water pass over every hour, with a roar that
can be heard ten miles away, and a reverberation that shakes the very
earth itself, into the seething cauldron below, shrouded in an eternal
mist:--"There is neither speech nor language, but their voices are heard."
In a minor key the American waters repeat the mighty cannonade, and
blending their voices, mirror the sea-green colour of the wooded
precipices as they flow on their onward course. Long serpent trails of
foam alone bear witness to the late convulsion.
The gorge is narrowing; the waters are compressed into a smaller space;
they are angry, and jostle each other. They hiss, they swirl; they
separate to rush together in shooting shower of spray, and so struggle
through the Rapids.
A gloomy pool, with darkling precipices of purple rocks, forms a basin.
The waters are rushing too surely into that iron-bound pool. The current
is checked and turned back on itself, to meet the oncoming stream. A
mighty Whirlpool forms. The waters divide under the current, and one
volume returns to eddy and swirl helplessly against the great barrier,
whilst the other volume, more happy, finds a cleft, broadened now into
a wide gateway, and gurgling and laughing to itself, glides away on a
smooth course, to lose its volume in Lake Ontario. What a world-renown
that stream will always have--a short course full of awful incident.
On the 25th of July, 1883, Captain Webb was drowned while attempting
to swim the rapids. Diving from a small boat about 300 yards above the
new cantilever bridge, he plunged into the stream. The force of the
current turned him over several times; then he threw up his arms and
sank, crushed to death, it is supposed, by the pressure of the water. The
enterprising owners of the restaurant at the rapids, have arranged with
his widow to come over during the season to sell photographs opposite the
spot where her husband perished.
Goat Island forms the division between the American and Canadian Falls.
The waters are rapidly eating away the banks, and the rocky promontory,
which forms such a principal feature, may some day disappear. What a
glorious junction it would be! Four years ago a large piece of rock in
the centre of the horse-shoe came away, and its symmetry was somewhat
marred. The three pretty little Sister Islands are joined by their
graceful suspension bridges to Goat Island. These islands, lying out
as they do amidst the roughest and most tumultuous part of the rapids,
have a magnificent view of the waters as they come tumbling down.
The Hermit's Cascade is connected with the pathetic story of a young
Englishman who, coming one day to see Niagara, remained day after day
overpoweringly fascinated. Unable to tear himself away, he lived year
after year for ever within sight and hearing of the falls. He is supposed
to have perished in their waters whilst bathing one day, but whether
intentionally or not was never known. I believe those who have sat and
watched those tumultuous waters for any great length of time would
understand the working of the spell on a sensitive brain.
Biddle's Stairs lead down to the "Cave of the Winds." It is awe-inspiring
to watch the fall from below, and yet this is only a streamlet of the
great volume of the fall. What must it be inside, when the beating of the
spray-like hail, the roaring of the winds, mingling with the thunder of
the cataract, form a combination of the majesty of the elements on earth.
After a morning spent amongst these terrifying wonders, we had a quiet
drive along the right bank of the river through Cedar Island. The thunder
and roar was succeeded by quiet pools and swiftly-flowing currents,
calm and clear, rippling in the afternoon sunlight. Weeping-willows,
long grasses, and bending reeds whispered in the cool breezes. From the
heights above we again surveyed the whole scene. And returning home once
more came under the spell of the Mermaid, looming white and mysterious in
the gloaming.
Niagara becomes very dear--a child of the affections; and to those who
are unfortunate enough to have to picture Niagara from description,
I should say efface mine quickly, quickly I say, and turn to that of
Anthony Trollope:--
"Of all the sights on this earth of ours which tourists travel to see--at
least, of all those which I have seen--I am inclined to give the palm to
the Falls of Niagara. In the catalogue of such sights I intend to include
all buildings, pictures, statues, and wonders of art made by men's hands,
and also all beauties of nature prepared by the Creator for the delight
of His creatures. I know no other one thing so beautiful, so glorious,
and so powerful.
* * * * *
"We will go at once on to the glory, and the thunder, and the majesty,
and the wrath of that upper belt of waters.
"Go down to the end of that wooden bridge, seat yourself on the rail,
and there sit till all the outer world is lost to you. There is no
grander spot about Niagara than this. The waters are absolutely around
you. If you have that power of eye-control which is so necessary to the
full enjoyment of scenery, you will see nothing but the water. You will
certainly hear nothing else. And the sound, I beg you to remember, is not
an ear-cracking, agonized crash and clang of noises, but is melodious and
soft withal, though loud as thunder. It fills your ears, and, as it were,
envelopes them; but at the same time you can speak to your neighbour
without an effort. But at these places, and in these moments, the less of
speaking I should say the better. There is no grander spot than this.
Here, seated on the rail of the bridge, you will not see the whole depth
of the fall. In looking at the grandest works of nature, and of art too,
I fancy, it is never well to see all. There should be something left to
the imagination, and much should be half concealed in mystery.
"And so here, at Niagara, that converging rush of waters may fall down,
down at once into a hell of rivers for what the eye can see. It is
glorious to watch them in their first curve over the rocks. They come
green as a bank of emeralds, but with a fitful flying colour, as though
conscious that in one moment more they would be dashed into spray and
rise into air, pale as driven snow. The vapour rises high into the air,
and is gathered there, visible always as a permanent white cloud over the
cataract; but the bulk of the spray which fills the lower hollow of that
horse-shoe is like a tumult of snow.
"The head of it rises ever and anon out of that cauldron below, but the
cauldron itself will be invisible. It is ever so far down--far as your
own imagination can sink it. But your eyes will rest full upon the curve
of the waters. The shape you will be looking at is that of a horse-shoe,
but of a horse-shoe miraculously deep from toe to heel; and this depth
becomes greater as you sit there. That which at first was only great and
beautiful, becomes gigantic and sublime till the mind is at a loss to
find an epithet for its own use. To realize Niagara, you must sit there
till you see nothing else than that which you have come to see. You will
hear nothing else, and think of nothing else. At length you will be at
one with the tumbling river before you. You will find yourself among the
waters as though you belonged to them. The cool liquid green will run
through your veins, and the voice of the cataract will be the expression
of your own heart. You will fall as the bright waters fall, rushing down
into your new world with no hesitation and with no dismay; and you will
rise again as the spray rises, bright, beautiful, and pure. Then you will
flow away in your course to the uncompassed, distant, and eternal ocean.
"Oh! my friend, let there be no one there to speak to thee then; no, not
even a brother. As you stand there speak only to the waters!"
CHAPTER III.
THE DOMINION OF CANADA.
Since our arrival at Niagara we had been on Canadian soil, and in view of
the falls, which form Canada's greatest glory; but our first experience
of the Dominion only really commenced when we left Niagara Station by the
Grand Trunk Railway for Toronto.
It may have been prejudice, but we thought that the country bore signs of
greater prosperity than over the American border.
The farms are more English in character and the cattle in greater
abundance. The soil looks richer, and the pretty wooden zigzag fences,
which take the place of hedges or railings, look most picturesque. In
many places the blackened stumps of trees showed the recent clearing by
fire.
From Hamilton, a prosperous town, we ran for nearly forty miles along the
shores of Lake Ontario to Toronto.
Toronto is the capital of the province of Ontario, the chief city of
Upper Canada, and the Queen City of the West. There is jealous rivalry
between Montreal and Toronto. The former has the shipping interest, and
for a long time held the lead; but Toronto is quickly gaining ground, and
is the centre for a rapidly increasing commercial interest. Five lines of
railway converge to her termini.
Hamilton and London, both rising places, centralize their commerce here.
Lake Ontario supplies water transit to Montreal and the ocean; and the
numerous banks do a thriving trade. In 1871 the census of the population
was 50,600; ten years later it was 80,445. Wide streets of great
length, avenues of trees, and churches are the chief characteristics of
Toronto. The churches are built from the voluntary subscriptions of the
congregations, the pastors being chosen and maintained by them. There is
no State Church, and the Dissenters have as fine places of worship as the
Episcopal body. The Metropolitan Methodist Church, with almost cathedral
proportions, was built by Mr. Puncheon, the American Spurgeon, and it
compares as advantageously to the Tabernacle as do the Churches to the
Chapels of England.
Toronto abounds in pretty suburbs, chief among them being Rosedale.
The comfortable wooden houses of the upper and middle orders convey an
idea of prosperity, with their neat gardens, a swinging hammock in the
creeper-covered verandah, and the family sitting out in the cool of the
evening.
The Provincial Parliament is a dingy building; but Osgood Hall--or the
Law Courts--opened in 1860 by the Prince of Wales, and called after
the Chief Justice of that day, is a very fine stone edifice, complete
in all its arrangements. There are full-length portraits of the Chief
Justices in succession, which being continued, will form a very complete
legal gallery of local talent. There are fourteen judges, receiving 5000
dollars a year, nominated by the Governor-General from local men. The
bar and solicitors are united as in America, and work together in firms,
and are both eligible for judicial preferment, and have a like right of
audience.
The Toronto University is second only to Harvard on the American
Continent. The lecture-rooms, hall, museum, and library are all worthy of
the fine Gothic building. There are 600 students, many of whose families
coming to reside in Toronto, add much to the pleasantness of society.
We stayed three days at Toronto. Mr. Hodgins, Q.C., Master in Chancery,
was most kind in introducing my husband to some of the chief political
men--to Mr. Mackenzie, the late Liberal Premier; Mr. Blake, the present
leader of the Opposition; Mr. Ross, the Minister of Public Education,
and others. The latter Minister showed us over the Normal School for the
Instruction of Teachers. It has a well-arranged library and museum, and
copies of many works of the old masters, and busts of the principal men
in British history. Toronto is considered the most English of all the
Canadian towns, and the Torontans pride themselves on this, and take a
keen interest in home affairs. The previous night's debate in Parliament
is on the breakfast-table: cabled over, and aided by the five hours'
difference between the time of Greenwich and that of the Dominion, it
appears in the first edition.
We dined with Mr. Goldwin Smith, the distinguished Oxford Professor of
History, who, after a long sojourn in the United States and Canada,
has settled with his wife at Toronto. Their house is delightfully
old-fashioned. Though in the centre of the town, the garden and some of
the original forest trees are still preserved to it; and it contains the
tail-end of family collections, valuable bits of China, busts by Canova
and Thorwaldsen, ivory carvings, morsels of jade, and some relics of the
first settlers. Amongst the latter are some wine-glasses belonging to
General Simcoe, the first Governor-General in 1794, which are without
feet,--"To be returned when empty."
_Wednesday, July 23rd._--We left Toronto in the afternoon by the steamer
_Algeria_, coasting along the low-lying country of the left bank of Lake
Ontario. Touching at the various thriving towns, we judged by the crowd
who came down to the pier that it was the usual thing for the population
to stroll down in the evening and watch for the arrival of the steamer.
All night we were crossing Lake Ontario, and at four o'clock the next
morning, in the grey dawn, touched at Kingston. We waited here an hour
for daylight, in which to approach the Thousand Islands. As we passed out
we saw the gilt dome of the famous Military College.
In the freshness of the early morning, with the sun just flushing the
waters and warming into life the bare and purple rocks, we wound in and
out of the narrow channel of the Thousand Islands. It is the largest
collective number of islands in the world. Some are formed of a few bare
rocks just appearing on the surface of the water, others are large enough
for a villa, a garden, and a boat-house, and others again for farming
purposes. Their uniform flatness causes some disappointment and mars
their collective beauty, though here and there one may be singled out for
the prettiness of its woods.
At Alexandra Bay, a familiar summer resort, with two monster hotels, the
St. Lawrence opens away from the lake, and we are descending between its
monotonous banks for some hours.
The increasing swiftness of the current and the prevailing thrill of
excitement of all on board, warns us of the approach of the Long Sault
Rapids. We see a stormy sea, heaving and surging in huge billows.
All steam is shut off, four men are required at the wheel to keep the
vessel steady, as we "shoot the rapid." One minute we are engulfed; the
next rising on the crest of the wave. Intense and breathless excitement
is combined with the exhilaration of being carried in a few minutes down
the nine miles of descent. Every now and again a peculiar motion is felt,
as if the ship was settling down, as she glides from one ledge of rock to
another.
We pass some smaller rapids; but it is late in the afternoon before
Baptiste, the Indian pilot, comes on board for the shooting of the great
Lachine Rapid. Whirlpools and a storm-lashed sea mingle in this reach,
for the shoal-water is hurled about among the rocks. The greatest care
and precision of skill are necessary, for with lightning speed we rush
between two rocks, jagged and cruel, lying in wait for the broaching of
the vessel. A steamer wrecked last year lies stranded away on the rocks
as a warning. These natural barriers to the water communication between
Montreal and the West, are overcome by canals running parallel with the
rapids.
The Ottawa forms a junction with the St. Lawrence at the pretty village
of St. Anne's, which has become famed by Moore's well-known Canadian
boat-song,--
"Row, brothers, row, the stream runs fast,
The rapids are near and the daylight's past,
Soon as the woods on shore grow dim,
We'll sing at St. Anne's our evening hymn."
The Victoria Bridge, a triumph of engineering skill, spans the river
above Montreal. It is built of solid blocks of granite, a mile and three
quarters in length; and it is in passing under its noble arches that we
get our first view of Montreal, the metropolis of the Dominion.
A filmy mist lay over the "city of spires," spreading up even to the
sides of Mount Royal--the wooded mountain that rises abruptly and stands
solitary guard behind the city. The golden dome of the old market of
Bonsecours, and the twin spires of the cathedral of Notre Dame loomed
faintly out from its midst. Before us there is a sea frontage of three
miles--vessels of 5000 tons being able to anchor beside the quay.
One hundred and fifty years ago the French evacuated Montreal, but you
might think it was but yesterday, so tenaciously do the lower orders
cling to the tradition of their founder, Jacques Cartier. The quaint
gabled houses and crooked streets of the lower town, the clattering and
gesticulating of the white-capped women marketing in Bonsecours, remind
one of a typical Normandy town. Notices are posted in French and English,
and municipal and local affairs are conducted in both languages.
The post-office, the bank, and the assurance company make a fine block of
buildings as the nucleus of the principal street of Notre Dame, but all
the others are crooked, narrow, and ill-paved.
The Catholic Cathedral in the quiet square is very remarkable for its
double tier of galleries, and for being painted and decorated gaudily
from floor to roof. The Young Men's Christian Association has erected
another of its fine buildings at Montreal. The society seems to thrive
and to be doing an enormous work of good throughout the length and
breadth of the American Continent. We found it well-housed in every
considerable town we visited, and what was our surprise when later we
found it had penetrated even to the Sandwich Islands, and that the
Y.M.C.A. was one of Honolulu's finest buildings!
_Sunday, July 26th._--We went to morning service at the English Cathedral
of Christ Church. The interior is bare and unfinished at present, but
it is the best specimen of English Gothic architecture on the Western
continent. There was a good mixed choir of men and women.
We had a charming drive in the afternoon, up Mount Royal from which
the city takes its name. Fine houses and villas standing in their own
gardens, lie around the base, and the ascent, through luxuriant groves
of sycamore trees, is so well engineered as to be almost imperceptible.
You do not realize how high you are till the glorious panorama opens out
before you, and you stand on a platform--Montreal at your feet, the broad
river flowing to right and left, and the blue mountains on the horizon
line.
We returned by the cemetery, a square mile, laid out in avenues and
shady walks. Flowers blossoming on the graves and smooth-shaven turf,
made it a garden, and favourite drive and walk. At the entrance was a
notice--a sarcasm on human nature--desiring persons "wishing to return
from funerals by the mountain drive to remove their mourning badges!"
That evening we dined with Mr. and Mrs. George Stephen in their beautiful
house in Drummond Street. He is the President of the Canadian Pacific
Railway. In two years time this railway will run from ocean to ocean,
and will join the Atlantic and Pacific; opening up the unlimited lands
of the great North-West, so rich in mineral wealth, and containing the
best wheat-growing country in the world. This discovery of the North West
has altered the whole aspect of affairs in Canada, and by bringing into
habitation a country as large as the United States, laid the foundation
of an immense future for our great possession. Thirty-six thousand men
are now working on the railway, and it will be completed in half the time
of the contract, viz. five years instead of ten.
_Monday, July 27th._--Three hours by rail, through a thinly-populated
district and backwoods roughly cleared by burning, brought us to a
gloriously golden sunset against which rose the spires of the Dominion
Houses of Parliament at Ottawa.
Ottawa was only a small town with about 4000 inhabitants in 1867. All
ask, "Why was it chosen as the seat of government?" which previously
had been at Quebec, Montreal, and Toronto alternately. A minister's
wife travelling with us in the train, laughingly gave us the answer.
Quebec refused to vote for Montreal, Montreal for Quebec, and between
them there was always warring jealousy. Toronto "WOULD" have voted for
Montreal if Quebec had been willing to do the same. The authorities at
home--it is said the Queen herself--taking the map, pointed to Ottawa as
being equidistant from all, and on the borders of both Upper and Lower
Canada. A magnificent pile of buildings accordingly rose, containing
two legislative halls for the Senate and the House of Commons (both the
same size as their English originals), and other public offices. The
Parliament buildings are built of buff freestone with many towers and
miniature spires, and have a very fine frontage of 1200 feet, surmounted
by the iron crown of the Victoria Tower. The Octagonal Tower contains
a library of 40,000 books, open not only to members, but to all the
inhabitants of the town. In the centre stands a full-length marble statue
of the Queen, by Marshall Wood. The members speak in French or English at
will, and all notices of motions are in both languages.
[Illustration: Parliament Buildings, Ottawa.
Page 22.]
Timber-lugging is the great trade of Ottawa. As seen from the upper
town, the lower presents the appearance of one vast timber-yard; masses
of piles line the banks, and cover the surface of the stream. These
piles are cut in the winter from the back forests, and floated down some
100 miles. At Ottawa they pass into the yards through what is called a
timber-slide, to avoid the dangerous channel of the Chaudière Falls.
Here they are lashed together to form rafts, houses being built for
the men who drift down on them to Quebec. From thence they are shipped
to all parts of the world, principally to England. We went over one of
these large timber-mills and Eddy's match manufactory, both immensely
interesting, with the perfection of machinery, entirely superseding any
manual dexterity, and driven by the neighbouring water-power.
The La Chaudière Falls, so called from the cauldron into which they
seethe and boil, though not of a great height, have been sounded to
300 feet without touching the bottom. They contain a very angry,
copper-coloured element.
We drove out to Rideau Hall, the residence of the Governor-General, who
was away at the time. We found a very deserted, miserable building, about
which the only sign of life was a sleepy policeman. A tobogging-slide
seemed to usurp the greater part of the garden. The Ottawa public was
much offended by a recent prohibition forbidding entrance to the park,
which has hitherto been free to all. There is a little occurrence which
will always remain connected in our minds with Ottawa, an example
which we certainly found followed nowhere else. Our driver, even after
considerable pressure, refused to take more than his ordinary fare!
Ottawa, other than the Parliament buildings, which are alone worth coming
to see, is the dullest and most primitive of towns. C. was, however,
glad to have been there, as it gave him the opportunity of meeting the
Ministers of Inland Revenue, and Agriculture, and other authorities, and
hearing their views on the rapid development of Canada.
Returning to Montreal, we took the night boat to Quebec. A golden,
glorious sunset, sinking behind purple clouds, was reflected in the
water, and this was succeeded by a trail of silver light from the
newly-risen crescent moon.
_Tuesday, July 29th._--At 7 a.m. on a cloudy morning, from the deck of
the steamer we were looking up at Quebec, perched, Gibraltar like, on an
inaccessible promontory of precipitous rock, formed by the junction of
the River St. Charles with the St. Lawrence.
The narrow streets of the lower town, with their picturesque red-tiled
roofs and overhanging gables, seem at first sight as if they were
entirely cut off from the upper town by a shelving mass of rocks.
However, we were soon wending our way upwards by a street so steep that
it could only be likened to climbing a mountain. The houses on either
side seemed also to be climbing the roof of the houses above, the upper
storey being on a level with the second floor of its neighbour. Any sand
there ever has been was long ago washed down by the rain, leaving a stony
surface as a precarious foothold for the poor struggling horses. This was
the more circuitous route for carriages. A nearer one for pedestrians lay
in the perpendicular flight of steps cut out in the face of the rocks
leading immediately to Dufferin Terrace. This terrace was called after
Lord Dufferin, the most popular of Governors-General, and is built on
the old buttresses and platform formerly occupied by the Château of St.
Louis. It is a favourite resort of the townspeople, perhaps as being the
only level ground, so far as we could see in the town, but probably more
so on account of the beautiful view it commands over the river. Vessels
of all classes and sizes, coming from all parts of the world, but more
especially from England, were anchoring in the broad basin formed by the
confluence of the two rivers. Immediately beneath us were the wharves of
the old town, where we could see two or three colliers discharging coal,
and even hear in the still morning air the rattling of the chains as
the crane was swung to and fro. On the opposite side rose the fortified
bluff of Point Levy, and on the other the St. Charles winding away up
its peaceful valley. The white houses of Beaufort form a straggling line
almost as far as the Montmorenci Falls, which latter seem only a speck
in the distance. There was a light morning mist floating away over the
opposite heights, and the murmur of the busy hum of life reached us from
below.
The Governor's garden, facing the road on the opposite side, is only
an enclosure overgrown with rank weeds and grass, but it contains the
obelisk erected to the joint memory of Wolfe and Montcalm. It is a novel
idea to combine the names of the victorious and conquered, but it shows
a true appreciation of the two generals who each gave up their life for
their country in the hour of battle. In the Ursuline Convent, near by,
we see Montcalm's grave, said to have been made by the bursting of one
of the enemy's shells during the bombardment, with the inscription in
French--
HONOUR TO MONTCALM.
FATE,
IN DEPRIVING HIM OF VICTORY,
REWARDED HIM BY
A GLORIOUS DEATH.
There are some very quaint old buildings and curious bits of architecture
in out-of-the-way corners, and the town altogether has an old-world look,
as if life were passing it by. The outside of the Catholic Cathedral is
homely and irregular, and very damp and musty inside; but attached to one
of the pillars is a fine "Crucifixion" by Van Dyke; and the adjoining
seminary has quite a large collection of pictures highly prized by the
inhabitants, though by artists unknown to fame. The Laval University,
chartered by the Queen in 1852, is the most modern building in Quebec.
The population is almost entirely French, and the maintenance of their
language and institutions was guaranteed to them at the conquest.
Descendants of the old noblesse still linger here, preserving among
themselves the traditions of their forefathers in a circle of society
renowned for its polish and refinement; preserving, too, in its entirety
the purity of the mother language. They do not mix at all with the
English.
The Citadel is gloriously situated on the high ground above the town,
surrounded by walls and ramparts, but our approach to it was under
the following untoward circumstances. We hired an ungainly cabriolet,
a vehicle on two wheels, with a narrow board in front, on which the
driver--a raw-boned Irish boy in our case--driving a sorry steed, was
seated. After going up a very steep hill, the entrance to the fortress
is over a wooden drawbridge guarded by massive chain gates. The hollow
sound of the wood frightened the horse beyond control, and we discovered
then that he could go, when he turned and bolted down the hill. We only
prevented ourselves from being pitched out head-foremost by clinging on
to the sides of the old-fashioned hood. The driver was powerless, and C.
eventually stooped over and jerked the reins happily with success. We
must have caused much amusement to the soldiers looking out from the
guard-house window.
The Governor-General's residence is part of the low stone building in
the courtyard, the remainder of the Citadel being used for barracks; the
windows on the river side command a superb view.
In the absence of Lord Lansdowne, Lord and Lady Melgund entertained us
most hospitably, and very kindly took us on the river in the police
launch after luncheon, near enough to obtain a good view of the beautiful
Montmorenci Falls. The volume of water is powerful in the first instance,
but dwindles into fringes, and evaporates altogether in mist at the base.
A storm was gathering on the heights as we returned, and a dense bank
of fog rolled down the river. The thunder muttered overhead, and a rift
in the clouds let a curious light stream over the roofs of the town;
and then, closing up, the black cloud swept towards us, creeping up
Diamond Cape, till the Citadel above loomed out white and ghostly from
the surrounding clearness. In a downpour of tropical rain we reached the
wharf.
We should liked to have managed an expedition from Quebec to the
beautiful Saguenay River, combining a visit to Sir John Macdonald, the
present Premier; but that great Nemesis, time, was already beginning
to pursue us. We left Quebec the next morning, passing again through
Montreal at five in the afternoon, and sleeping at Plattsburg, on the
shores of Lake Champlain.
It was a great disappointment to us not to be able to see more of
Canada, but we shall hope to pay it a more extended visit on some future
occasion. It offers as great attractions to the lover of nature as to the
sportsman, and affords a glorious and unlimited field for the emigration
of men and women since the opening up of the Far West by the Canadian
Pacific Railway.
CHAPTER IV.
THE AMERICAN LAKES, AND THE CENTRES OF LEARNING, FASHION, AND GOVERNMENT.
_Thursday, July 31st._--Up at 6 a.m. this morning to catch the steamer.
However early we rise for these matutinal starts there is always a rush
in the end to catch the train or boat. It is a depressing thought when we
think of what frequent occurrence they will be for the next few months.
We were soon plying our way over the placid bosom of Lake Champlain,
holding a central course. The shores on either side are flat and ugly,
for the beauty of the lake lies in the broad expanse of unruffled waters
reflecting the various changes of the sky, generally of a heavenly blue,
but on this morning taking the leaden hue of the low-lying clouds.
Numberless islands lay dotted on the calm surface, kept fresh and green
from the continued lapping of the waters around their indented shores.
The range of the green mountains of Vermont lay hidden by a transparent
haze, the sun shining brightly behind, and presently piercing through,
rising to gladden the gloomy morning.
After crossing the broad bay and touching at a further point in the
eastern shore--at Burlington, a thriving town--the waters narrowed
and flowed on the one side through flat green meadows, pretty though
uninteresting; but, on the other, rose in the full beauty of their
verdant summer foliage, the mountains of the Adirondacks. The steamer
threaded its way through the narrow channels, and we lay right under
their mighty shadows, looking into the calm depths of the quiet pools
formed by the boulders of rock, that in the course of ages have loosened
their hold and slipped down the precipitous sides.
We looked up into dark ravines, piercing through the heart of the
mountains, dividing one rounded peak from another. We followed the
undulating outline of the mountains, now bare and stony, or more often
fringed to the summit with pine forests. The dark green of these pines,
and the bright foliage of the stunted oaks, formed a brilliant contrast
to the orange lichen covering the grey protruding boulders.
Here and there we came upon a wall of rocks, descending in a sheer
precipice to the lake, reflecting purple shadows on the still water.
And so we passed on, one scene of beauty succeeding another, till we
reached Fort Ticonderoga. It was here during the Revolutionary War,
that the brave Eathan Allen with his celebrated band of Green Mountain
Boys surprised the British commander in the dead of night, and appearing
at his bedside demanded the immediate surrender of the fort. "In whose
name?" demanded De le Place. "In the name of the Great Jehovah and the
Continental Congress," replied Allen,--and the fort was surrendered.
An hour by rail brought us to the head of Lake George. The Indians gave
it the poetical name of "Horicon," or "Silvery Waters," from the great
purity of the water. Its peaceful shores have been the scene of many a
bloody battle in the great conflict between the Indian and the white man,
and the mountains have oft resounded to the war-whoop and battle-cry of
the savages and the despairing shriek of the captives whom they scalped
alive. Now a death-like stillness broods over the scene. The scenery
of Lake George is far grander than that of Champlain. The other only
leads up to and forms a preparation for this one. The mountains which
surround Lake George and close it in on all sides have a bolder, more
sweeping outline. Here and there one projects lone and solitary, forming
a promontory round which the steamer creeps, seeming to cling to its
densely-wooded sides. The dark whispering pine forests grow down to the
very edge of the waters, mingling their sighings with the rustling of the
waters over a shallow bottom. There are numberless islands, some mere
strips of sandy beach and rocks, dividing the silvery rapids on either
side, and others are wooded with a stunted undergrowth. We noticed one
curious conical-shaped mountain, formed of a sharp escarpment of rock
from the summit to the base, which is called "Roger's Slide." The story
goes that an Englishman, Major Rogers, being hotly pursued by the Indians
to the edge of the cliffs, suddenly bethought himself of reversing his
snow-shoes and retracing his steps by this means leaving no foot-prints.
The Indians tracked him to the brink of the precipice, and then concluded
he had slid down into the lake, under the protection of the "Great
Spirit."
As the steamer turned into the "Narrows" we saw a beautiful little
waterfall, falling down the ravine in a feathery shower of spray, spanned
in the afternoon light by a vivid rainbow. At Sabbath Day Point the
scenery is more striking and majestic. Think of the "Trosachs" in the
Highlands, and that will give the best idea of the grandeur of the scene
before us.
Adding to the beauty of all we saw that afternoon was the ceaseless play
of light and shadow on the mountains. I tried to carry away with me in
the mind's eye the picture of those mountains, dark and powerful as a
background, the quiet beauty and picturesqueness along the banks as a
foreground, and the deep calm blue waters of the lake all around.
Alas! a sudden storm came up and obscured the view before us, and we
ended our journey at Fort William in a blinding hurricane of rain and
wind. We were glad to find shelter from it in the train, which brought us
to Saratoga Springs by the evening.
_Friday, August 1st._--Saratoga is the Ems or Baden-Baden of America, the
most fashionable resort as a watering-place, only equalled by the more
select charms of Newport.
Seen on a sunny morning such as we had, nothing can surpass the
brightness and gaiety of the scene in Broadway. Along its broad shady
avenues stroll the collected beauty and fashion gathered at Saratoga,
and light cross-bar waggons and buggies bowl swiftly by. There are no
villas, but life is confined entirely to _pensions_, and the three
colossal hotels in Broadway. The "United States" is perhaps the finest
of them. It covers seven acres of ground, accommodates 1200 guests, and
gives employment to 150 black waiters. Built round three sides of a
quadrangle, there are broad covered piazzas running the entire length of
the building, opening on to a large and beautifully kept garden, gay with
flowers. Morning and evening the band plays here, when the piazza becomes
a fashionable promenade, visitors from all the other hotels congregating
in it.
American women are the best dressers in the world; for taste and skilful
combination, particularly in pale colours, they are unsurpassed. A change
of costume thrice daily is absolutely _de rigueur_ at Saratoga, and it
becomes at last quite exciting to see how many more varied dresses are
going to appear.
Illustrating a great feature in American life is the wing devoted to the
cottages where families come and live during the season, in separate
suites, everything being provided by the hotel. A good example of
the attendance which it is expected you will require can be gathered
from the notice in each room: "Ring once for the bell-man, twice for
stationery, and three times for iced water." The chamber-maid plays a
very unimportant part in any hotel, and a "bell-man" is attached to each
floor. The consumption of iced water is prodigious; not only is it placed
at your elbow at every meal, but large jugs of it are brought at stated
hours of the day to every room. At the "United States" it was quite
formidable walking the immense length of the dining-room, or venturing
across the vast spaces of the yellow satin-lined drawing-room. The lift
has been known to go up and down 300 times in the course of the afternoon.
Amid the shady groves and green lawns of Congress Park we found the
mineral springs bubbling up into artificial wells, with a few drinkers
idling about, and languidly sipping their waters, but we came to the
conclusion that visitors were not here so much for the purposes of health
as of amusement. The springs are of all kinds, Vichy, sulphur, iron,
magnesia, soda, &c., and it has often been necessary to bore down several
hundred feet before finding the water. Two or three of the most powerful
medicinal springs are some miles away, and these are bottled and brought
in fresh daily for the drinkers in town.
The fashionable afternoon drive is to the lake, some two miles away, and
is reached by a straight dusty road, bordered for the most part by rushes
and long grass, where the frogs maintain a cheerful chorus of chirping.
When you arrive there you find a primitive café, with groups sitting
about the tables under the trees, and the lake, pretty enough, lying in
the hollow, with small excursion steamers constantly plying from the
landing.
In the evening there is generally a "hop," or dance, advertised in one
or other of the hotels, but I confess that that evening we preferred the
good-humoured crowd and the fireworks in Congress Park to the hop at
Congress Hall Hotel. Alternating with the fireworks were the strains of
the band wafted from the pagoda in the centre of the lake, and all sat
about heedless of the heavy dew lying on the grass.
We were very sorry to leave Saratoga the next morning, and undergo a very
hot and dusty journey to Boston. We passed Pittsburg, as famed for its
great ladies' college, as its southern namesake is for its iron-works,
and late in the afternoon reached Boston, Massachusetts. A red and yellow
coach, suspended by straps to C springs, such as were in use in the last
century, conveyed us to the Hotel Vendôme.
I think Boston the most charming of all the American towns. The broad
sweeping avenues are bordered by houses of red sandstone, a soft mellow
colour, that contrasts well with the green avenues of trees and grass
borders. Commonwealth Avenue is the finest of these continuous "parks,"
and is a mile and a half long. The Common, with its avenues of fine
elm-trees, forms a large open space in the middle of the town, and
separated only by a road are the public gardens. A bronze statue of
Washington rises in the middle, surrounded by a brilliant flower-bed, the
colours blending in carpet-gardening to form a Moorish inscription, which
translated means "God is all-powerful," a very fitting motto for the
great hero. The gilded dome of the Massachusetts State House dominates
them from the eminence of Beacon Hill; but far more interesting than
this new erection is the venerable time-worn building of the "Old State
House," where some of the most stirring scenes of the Revolution were
enacted. From this balcony the Declaration of Independence was read to
the people. Our troops occupied the buildings during the Stamp Riots, but
at the close of the war Washington stood on its steps the chosen hero of
the exultant populace. So many of the buildings are closely associated
with humiliating remembrances of that fatal epoch in British history when
these fair provinces, owing to the lack of foresight and imbecility of
her leaders, were for ever lost to England.
There is the old Scotch church, so famous as the political meeting-place
of the Boston Tea Party; Tancred Hall, the "Cradle of Liberty," nurtured
by the patriotic orations of Adams, Everett, and above all of Daniel
Webster; the harbour, with its numerous shipping, where was lighted
the first straw of that great conflagration of the "Rebellion," by the
throwing overboard of those few chests of tea.
The city is rich in churches, there being no less than 150 belonging
to all denominations, who raise their spires heavenwards within its
precincts. But Trinity Church surpasses all in beauty and design. It
is built of granite and freestone in the form of a Latin cross, in
Romanesque style. The stained glass is rich in harmonious colouring,
depicting no subject, but blending into a mystery of blue, orange, and
purple. Some lancet windows, filled with iridescent glass of pale blue,
gave the appearance of shining steel.
We started early on that quiet Sunday morning for a drive to Cambridge in
one of the "Herdic Hansoms." These curious vehicles with their jolting
motion can only be described as covered two wheeled carts. We passed the
green hill on which stands Bunker's Hill Monument. It is inexpressibly
grand in its massive simplicity, being only huge blocks of granite
narrowing in such imperceptible proportion to the summit, that the
pyramidal ending seems in perfect accord with the broad base. No railing
surrounds it. There is no decoration or inscription: it stands alone in
its majesty, sufficiently raised to be a landmark to the whole town. Our
road led through Charlestown, where the seafaring population chiefly live
close to the harbour. A long, straight, dusty road, under a blazing sun
for three miles, brought us to Cambridge, the immediate approach to which
is through stately avenues of elm-trees.
The colleges of Harvard University are clustered together, forming an
irregular quadrangle. There was a delightfully quiet and studious look
about the dull red-brick buildings, low latticed windows, and ivy-covered
walls,--a look of antiquity unusual to America. In this comparatively
newly-risen continent so much is thought of age, that Harvard College,
the oldest of the fifteen of which the University consists, is prized
most highly for its foundation dating from 1636.
Chief amongst the colleges for beauty is the Gothic tower of Memorial
Hall, erected by the alumni in memory of the students who perished in the
War of Secession. It contains the great dining-hall with carved screens
and galleries, busts and portraits of the founders of the college, and
has stained-glass windows bearing the college and State arms. A theatre,
library, museum, scientific school, and chapel are in different parts
of the irregularly laid-out square, which is sacred to the University
buildings.
It was vacation time, and the place was utterly deserted, save by a few
straggling church-goers, their footsteps resounding on the narrow paved
walk, and lingering amongst the tenantless walls. It must be a different
scene in term, when 1300 students and forty-seven professors gather
under the classic shades of a university already numbering among its
former students such men as John Adams the second President of the United
States, Edward Everett, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Oliver Wendell Holmes, John
Lathrop Motley, J. Russell Lowell, and Wendell Phillips. The University
course extends over four years. It may be interesting to know, in face of
the recent agitation at our own universities on the subject, that women
are not as yet admitted to the University lectures, though allowed to
matriculate and pass the different examinations.
Quite near the University is a battered elm-tree, whose shattered
branches are sustained by iron stanchions, and which marks the place
where General Washington took command of the rebellious colonists.
Further on we passed a plain, square, wooden house, with pointed roof,
and a small garden, surrounded by a high laurel hedge, a gravel path, and
little white gate leading to the verandah and entrance. There was nothing
particular to mark a house, homely enough in its exterior. But yet it was
here that in 1775 Washington established his headquarters, when it was
the scene of many warlike preparations and much enthusiasm. Later it has
been hallowed by the quiet presence of the great poet Longfellow.
"The old house by the Lindens
Stood silent in the shade,
And on the gravell'd pathway
The light and shadow play'd."
And it was in this quiet retreat that he passed away in 1882.
We followed the winding road, almost an avenue of willow-trees, to Mount
Auburn Cemetery, and with great difficulty found his last resting-place.
We were terribly disillusioned. Not a garden of flowers, tended by loving
hands; not a simple marble monument with short inscription, prompted by
a knowledge of the gentle, retiring, nature; but we found a great, ugly
block of sandstone, a huge sarcophagus, with a name and date on one side,
and an ingenious pattern on the other, taking X as a centre letter, and
forming a senseless device, and utterly inappropriate to the memory of
the great poet.
[Illustration]
No more beautiful garden than this cemetery could be conceived: grassy
slopes, planted with waving palms and the choicest plants; bright
flower-beds interspersed among the white marble crosses and memorials of
the dead; an air of quiet beauty and repose, mingling with the many signs
of respectful care on the different graves, such as bunches of newly-cut
flowers. Those who have served their country had a miniature flag of the
stars and stripes waving over their heads. The mortuary chapel stands on
the high ground, and opposite to it there is a magnificent marble sphinx
with this soul-stirring inscription,--
"American Union Preserved,
African Slavery Destroyed,
By the Uprising of a Great People,
By the Blood of Fallen Heroes."
Throughout the length and breadth of America this intense respect to
the dead may be seen in regard to their last resting-place. In strange
contrast is the irreverence shown in the removal of bodies. Several
times we saw coffins, travelling _at first-class fares_, placed in the
luggage-vans, piled under Saratoga trunks, and with the party of mourners
in the same train.
In returning from the cemetery we passed Mr. Russell Lowell's
country-house, standing in grounds fairly hidden by surrounding trees.
Boston is the great literary and scientific centre of America. The saying
goes that at Boston they ask you "_what you know_," in New York "_what
you have_," and at Philadelphia "_who you are_."
Fostered by its close neighbourhood to Harvard, Boston boasts more
literary institutions than any other town in America; whether in its
remarkably fine Public Library, its Atheneum (which corresponds to our
Royal Institution), its two museums, or the English High and Latin
School, the first public school in the States.
One of the celebrated steamers of the Fall River Line took us that
evening to Newport.
What fascination the word exercises over "the aristocracy" of America!
Filled throughout the summer months with society--select and fashionable,
hospitable to foreigners, but difficult of access to new-comers, and
closed to those who do not belong to the upper circle of finance. The
gay butterfly life is carried on in "cottages," or villas, as we should
call them--small houses, unattractive outside, standing in gardens
adjoining the road, too public and suburban for English taste. So also
is the life, entirely without privacy; morning calls are customary; and
beginning society thus early, does not prevent its being carried on at
high pressure for the remainder of the day.
There is a well-known and accommodating Frenchman, who undertakes not
only to supply a "cottage," but all the elaborate necessaries, servants,
linen, plate, &c., for a stay at Newport. The Ocean Drive and Bellevue
Avenue are daily crowded with joyous equipages and neat phætons, driven
by their fair owners, and equestrians.
The toilettes are very elaborate, and of unceasing variety. The cost must
be enormous, seeing that prices are double, if not treble those of London
and Paris. The profusion of lace and jewels is unending; but a feeling
is gaining ground that elaborate costumes and diamonds are a little out
of place in the morning. A coloured maid observed to her mistress, in
response to a rebuke, that she had been accustomed to live with "people
of quality." Pressed as to what she understood by people of quality, she
promptly replied, "they were those who dressed simply and wore no jewels
by day."
We had wretched weather; a sea fog which penetrated everything, and
succeeded in damping even the bright life of Newport. Polo and yachting
are very favourite amusements here. A dance was given at the Casino in
the evening, in honour of the yachts which managed to come round in the
course of the day from New Brighton, despite the thick fog, and to which
we went. These Casino dances take place two nights in the week; the entry
is only by payment, no vouchers are required. And yet I believe they are,
as the Newportians say, _quite select_. This fact may be cited as a proof
that no one not in "the set" attempts life at Newport. The latter place
and its inhabitants look down with ineffable scorn and covert sneer at
the rival watering-place of Saratoga.
A tempest of wind and rain, added to the discomforts of the Ocean House
(let no one be deceived by advertisements and a printed list of guests
in daily papers into thinking it a palatial abode), caused us to abandon
all idea of staying, and leaving numerous letters of introduction
unpresented, we packed up and made the best of our way back to New York
by a morning train.
_August 8th._--After a day spent in New York we left for Philadelphia,
crossing in the ferry to New Jersey City, where we saw the blackened
ruins of the Pennsylvania Station, burnt a few days previously. Three
hours' quick run brought us to Philadelphia, and the Hotel Lafayette.
Independence Hall is the centre of interest in Philadelphia; a low
stucco building, supported by pillars, it is fraught with precious
recollections of the great struggle for freedom. It was here that the
Declaration of Independence was signed, on the 4th of July, 1776, and
publicly announced from the centre steps. In the same chamber George
Washington was appointed commander of the army, and delivered a farewell
address, and here Congress afterwards held its sittings till 1797. In a
room facing the hall are some relics. Amongst a medley of autographs and
medals we singled out a cast of Washington's face taken after death, his
horn spectacles, and compass. We saw an earthenware pitcher, brought over
by one of the pilgrims of the _Mayflower_, and the old "Liberty Bell,"
that sounded to the people the first note of freedom, in the adoption of
the Declaration of Independence. "Proclaim Liberty throughout the land
unto all the inhabitants thereof," is the appropriate motto graven on its
mouldy green side.
The City Hall, yet unfinished, is of magnificent proportions. Square
built, its four sides face, and form the very centre of the town--the
point to which all the principal avenues converge. The blocks of marble
used in the construction are enormous, and the four gateways are
supported by colossal marble figures. Close by is the Masonic Temple,
with a tower of quaint turrets, and a beautiful Norman archway; and
opposite a church built of a curious green stone, called serpentine.
Many years ago a Frenchman, called Stephen Girard, came and settled in
Philadelphia. He conceived the idea of bequeathing his property to the
state. At his death it was valued at several millions; and a bequest
was especially left of 2,000,000 dollars to erect a college for orphan
children. His wish was carried out in the building of this magnificent
Corinthian marble edifice, called Girard College. It contains large
lecture and class rooms; the dormitories and professors' houses being in
two adjoining wings. There is no question of election. Any orphan boy
from Pennsylvania or New York State is eligible; and the number, now
1100, is yearly increasing, owing to the rise in value of the Girard
property. One curious restriction alone there is. In accordance with a
provision in the will, no religious teaching of any sort is allowed;
only the elements of morality are taught, and no clergyman of any sect
is given entrance to the college. A marble statue of the founder,
representing him as a little benevolent, wrinkled Frenchman, faces the
entrance, beneath which monument he lies buried.
The Pennsylvania Hospital, though otherwise uninteresting, has such a
very quaint inscription on the corner-stone, that I think it is quite
worth giving:--
"In the year of Christ MDCCLV., George the Second happily reigning (for
he sought the happiness of his people), Philadelphia flourishing (for its
inhabitants were public-spirited), this building, by the bounty of the
government and many private persons, was piously founded for relief of
the sick and miserable. May the God of mercies bless the undertaking!"
We had a pretty drive through Fairmount Park, and ascended by the
elevator (how great the Americans always are at any of these mechanical
contrivances for saving labour!) to a platform 250 feet high, where we
had a beautiful view of the 3000 wooded undulating acres that form one of
the largest parks in the world. To give an idea of its comparative size,
Windsor has only 1800 acres, the Bois de Boulogne 2158, the Prater 2500,
and Richmond 2468. It is five miles long and six broad.
We had not time to go and see the Memorial Hall Museum, in the park,
built in commemoration of the Centennial Exhibition of 1876, and which
contains the nucleus of an art industrial collection after the model of
South Kensington.
A drive through Chestnut Street with a hurried glance at the fine
"stores," and we reached the station in time for the afternoon train to
Washington.
The towns of America, with their even square blocks so regularly and
precisely intersected at right angles leading to the Capitol, City Hall,
or State House, whichever is the presiding genius, are apt to become
wearisome in the extreme. How delightedly then we compared Washington
to these,--the beautiful "city of distances." It were worth coming some
way, if only to see the magnificent breadth of Pennsylvania Avenue at
Washington, paved with asphalte, and lighted by electricity, sweeping in
a perfectly straight line of one mile from the dome of the Capitol to
the Corinthian pillars of the Treasury. The other avenues and streets
are numerically as well as alphabetically named, commencing from the
Capitol. Fifteen of the principal avenues take the names of the fifteen
states which comprised the Union in 1799, when government first ordered
buildings to be erected for the President, Congress, and public offices,
and removed the seat of government to Washington.
The next morning was Sunday, and we went to service at St. John's, the
fashionable church in the precincts of Lafayette Square, where the
President attends, but a remarkably small dark edifice. We strolled back
to "Riggs' House" through the Square. Here stands the equestrian statue
to General Jackson, which is cast from the brass guns and mortars he
captured. The poise of the figure is very fine as he sits the horse,
which is represented as rearing. The balance of this position is only
maintained by the flanks and tail of the horse being filled with solid
metal.
The small red-brick houses in the square overshadowed by the neighbouring
trees, where most of the senators and members live, remind one of many a
story of "wire-pulling" and "place-hunting" exercised by the clever wives
of influential senators. It is a centre of intrigue during the session,
for the influence of women plays no unimportant part in American politics.
The White House is quite near. It is a low stucco building, standing in
a garden, a small strip only of which is kept private, the remainder
lying open to the public. From the entrance gate, where there are neither
military nor police on duty, a broad gravel drive sweeps under the
portico.
Inside there is a long corridor hung with portraits of former Presidents.
A screen of coloured glass divides this corridor from another, which
leads off to the principal sitting-rooms. It would be difficult to
imagine any official residence so simply appointed as the White House.
The state dining-room, which they say will hold thirty-five on occasion
(but it must be a tight fit), is most suitable for every-day use. A room
with terra-cotta walls is an ordinary drawing-room; the Blue Room is
circular, and here the President stands and receives at the _levées_,
which are open to all comers. The Green Room is a large drawing-room; and
a ball-room in white and gold, with enormous pendant chandeliers, forms
the entire suite. A back staircase at either end leads to the upper floor.
The State Department and the War and Navy have very fine buildings beyond
the White House. An obliging official, a groom of the chambers, who
descends in his office to successive Presidents, showed us through; but
as for seeing anything of the other public buildings in Washington on
Sunday we found it was utterly impossible. The further south you come the
more abundant are the black woolly heads of the negroes, with the flaming
colours they love to wear, the orange plume with the purple, green, or
alternating with stripes of red and yellow. The further south you come
also the stricter is the observance of the Sabbath.
We took the car and explored the dreary suburb of Georgetown. As we
approached a cross-street, the boom of muffled drums and the strains of a
funeral march were heard, and we stopped to allow of a long procession,
headed by various deputations, to pass. The open hearse, drawn by white
horses, was followed by some mourning-coaches. It was the funeral of one
of the unfortunate victims of Greely's Arctic Expedition. The press just
now are celebrating the honours of his return, and side by side is raised
a controversy on the awful doubt as to whether cannibalism was resorted
to or not. Certain it is that when the bodies were disinterred by the
rescue party to be brought home, the flesh was found stripped off the
bodies in many cases. Some said it was used as a bait for fishing, but
the more dreadful suspicion is that the survivors, pushed to the last
extremity, devoured it. In the case of Private Henry, shot for stealing
the stores, Greely is even accused by the relations of resorting to
that punishment in order to provide sustenance. It is hard, very hard
that after the intolerable dangers and hardships the brave little band
endured, such suspicions should be raised to meet them on arrival at
home.
Strolling about the avenue rather aimlessly, we came to an equestrian
statue. On inquiring about the original, a passer-by advised us if we
"wanted to see statues to go further on to the Circle." From here we
occupied a central position, looking down no less than eight broad
avenues, and seeing in them some six or all the principal statues of the
city in a _coup d'oeil_.
An ugly circular temple with an obelisk of granite, 550 feet high, is
being erected as a grand national monument to Washington. It stands
facing the semicircular portico of the back of the White House, between
that and the River Potomac.
[Illustration: The Capitol, Washington.]
_Monday, 11th of August, Washington._--We had to be up very early to
see the Capitol before leaving by a ten o'clock train. What a beautiful
building it is, standing as it does on the Capitol Hill, with its broad
stone terraces and grass slopes leading into a park. The west front, with
a flight of innumerable steps the length of the centre building, commands
the Plaza; and the newly-elected President, standing here, delivers his
inaugural address to the people below.
The first building, laid by Washington, was burnt in 1793, and the
present one was commenced twenty-eight years after. Daniel Webster laid
the corner-stone and inscribed on it an inscription grandly worthy of the
building that rose above it:--
"If, therefore, it shall be hereafter the will of God that this
structure shall fall from its base, that its foundation be upturned,
and this deposit brought to the eyes of men, be it then known that on
this day the Union of the United States of America stands firm, that
their Constitution still exists unimpaired, and with all its original
usefulness and glory, growing every day stronger and stronger in the
affection of the great body of the American people, and attracting more
and more the admiration of the world. And all here assembled, whether
belonging to public life or to private life, with hearts devoutly
thankful to Almighty God for the preservation of the liberty and
happiness of the country, unite in sincere and fervent prayers that this
deposit, and the walls and arches, the domes and towers, the columns and
entablatures, now to be erected over it, may endure for ever.
"GOD SAVE THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA."
The colossal bronze statue of Liberty crowns the iron dome, and under the
Corinthian portico are the bronze doors, almost as fine in workmanship as
those of the Baptistery at Florence. They represent Columbus's interview
with Ferdinand and Isabella, his landing in America, his battle with
the Indians, triumphant return, imprisonment and death. The Rotunda is
decorated with frescoes painted in such a way as to appear in bas-relief.
Under the dome is shown the stone where Garfield's body lay in state for
three days, visited by thousands of people. It was estimated that each
incoming train brought its hundreds into Washington during those few
days. The Americans were most deeply touched, and allude, even now, to
the wreath sent by the Queen. The two wings are given up, the one to the
Senate, and the other to the House of Representatives. The old senate
chamber is now used as the Supreme Court of Justice, the highest judicial
tribunal in America. The various lobbies and reception-rooms are very
gorgeous in different coloured marbles, and ceilings frescoed and gilded,
but the interior is hardly worthy of the plain but massive grandeur of
the exterior. The gallery in the House of Representatives will seat
1200, and it is not reserved only for reporters or friends of members,
but open to the public, and to any who care to hear the debates. There is
a ventilator underneath each member's seat which enables him to regulate
the hot air at will.
We were much amused at the ragged condition of the Speaker's table,
the blue cloth being hammered to pieces in the interests of "order." A
National Statue Gallery has been formed by the excellent idea of inviting
each state to send statues of two of its most representative men. I
admired particularly among the frescoes one by Leutze, called "Westward
Ho," very touching in its speaking significance of the hardships the
first emigrants endured. It represents the cart piled up with household
goods, the mother pale and dejected, with the baby sitting on the top,
the elder children plodding along unheeding, whilst the father points
hopefully towards the West; in the background other emigrants are
crowding along the track.
The Sergeant-at-Arms' room is small; too small they say for "pay" day,
when the members come to receive their salaries. Fancy paying your member
1000_l._ a year to represent your interests. He must be dearly bought in
many cases. The total comes to double our civil list. The President's
salary is only 10,000_l._--too meagre for the representative of such a
great nation--and the ministers and judges only receive the insufficient
salary of 1500_l._ per annum. Frequent scandals are the result of this
parsimony. Such a beautiful view is obtained of the broad avenues and
public buildings of the city from the windows of the west front, and the
silver band of the Potomac winding round the outskirts at the foot of the
green heights of Mount Vernon.
We should like to have found time to go to Mount Vernon, and have seen
the plain wooden house, in a lovely situation, overhanging the river,
which Washington made his home; also the key of the Bastille, given to
him by Lafayette, and the room where he died. The plain marble sarcophagi
near the landing-stage marks "the tombs of Washington, and Martha, his
wife." The house after his death was bought and presented to the nation
by "the women of America."
We had to give up all idea of seeing the Smithsonian Institute, a
Gothic building of red sandstone, standing in its own park, presented
to the city by Mr. Smithson, an Englishman. And the Patent Office we
found was not open at this early hour of the morning. Inventive genius
is here protected and encouraged. In tin boxes, labelled and kept in
pigeon-holes, is a model of every patent that has ever been taken out.
The fees are much smaller than in England, and contrivances for the most
homely details have thus been protected.
CHAPTER V.
TO THE FAR WEST.
It was ten o'clock on Monday, the 11th of August, when we arrived at
the station of the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad, which was to take us to
Chicago. We had great difficulty in threading our way amongst several
hundreds of negresses bent on a religious excursion. At first the train
followed the winding course of the Potomac, through a fertile country;
but presently we were going through a mountain gorge, wooded and
precipitous, through which the river rushed and foamed. We crossed an
iron bridge over the broad river to Harper's Ferry, the culminating point
of a very beautiful mountain scene. As the train drew up at the wooden
station, the absolute stillness, broken only by the sound of rushing
waters, enhanced the spell of the mountains, which seemed to close us in
on all sides.
At Cumberland the country then changed to long, undulating hills; and
soon after a halt was called, and dinner served at the station. When
further on a second engine was attached, a pleasurable excitement
prevailed throughout the cars, and there was an underhand scuffle for the
right-hand side of the carriage. We were approaching the glorious range
of the Alleghenies, and preparing to cross the mountains. It was a wild
scene of the greatest beauty, the glorious solitude of the vast range,
broken only by the hideous shriek of the engine, as we climbed the side
suspended over a fathomless precipice. As we rose the view extended over
many mountain-tops, a panoramic scene of great extent and beauty. We
were going up a gradient of sixteen feet to the mile for eighteen miles,
with curves so sharp that the middle of the train was doubled inwards or
outwards, until we, in the last car, were almost parallel to the engine.
We were hanging half way out of the windows, and in full enjoyment of the
glorious view, when a sharp angle cruelly shut it all out, and the summit
was reached. I was glad that the scene changed so completely at once. So
often the full effect of some specially beautiful masterpiece is spoilt
by a gradual preparation, Nature working herself up as she goes along;
but here the transition is sudden, and the open, park-like spaces present
a gentle contrast--golden as they were then in the setting sun.
It seemed as if the beautiful part of our journey was over, when we
found ourselves on a yet steeper ascent; and if the other was lovely,
far more so was this one. Grand and gloomy the mountains stood above
us. A line of silver and a gentle rushing sound alone told us of the
presence of the Cheat River, coursing many hundred feet below, through a
chasm in the rocks. The pine forests around us whispered softly. Some of
their blackened trunks, hideous and deformed, waving their ghostlike and
withered arms close to the line, tell of the fury of the storms confined
in these narrow mountain gorges.
In the growing dusk we rushed with maddening and increasing speed down
into the valley, the glowing furnaces of a manufacturing village sending
out a ruddy glow into the dark night.
We passed the night in the Pullman sleeping-car, and I slept soundly.
Indeed, there is no reason why you should not do so in these "sleepers."
The upper berth lets down from the roof; a sliding partition and an
ample curtain forms a "section;" and there are mattresses, pillows, and
blankets to form a very comfortable bed, whilst the black porter produces
clean sheets and pillow-cases. Dressing and undressing in a sitting
posture requires dexterity, which comes with practice. And nothing
is more amusing than looking down the length of the car--to see the
mysterious heaving and bulging of the curtains, and the protruding arms
and legs. I think the general scramble for the "Ladies' toilette" in the
chill of the early morning is perhaps the worst part of a night in the
cars. How I got to hate the large fringes and crimped bandeaux of the
American ladies, which required such an undue amount of care and time in
curling!
At Chicago Junction we were hurried out of the "Pullman" into one of the
ordinary cars. This meant a carriage, dirty as a London Metropolitan
third-class, crowded with thirty people of all degrees. We had been
dreading our long journey to the far West, of which this was the first
stage; and our fears were being realized. Terribly hot and wearisome was
the long day, stopping at every small station. Very dusty, tired, and hot
were we, as we skirted the blue shores of Lake Michigan at 7 p.m., and
neared the end of our journey, passing for the last four miles through
Hyde Park, a suburb of Chicago. We thought ourselves in the greatest
luxury when we arrived at length at the Grand Pacific Hotel.
_Chicago, August 13th._--"Schicago," as the Americans softly pronounce
it, is the great commercial capital of the West, receiving, as it
does, the chief bulk of the enormous grain-producing country lying
to the westward. Therefore do its streets present no fine buildings,
except those of mercantile banks, business offices, and warehouses; and
therefore are its streets blocked with drays and waggons, and present
generally a bustling activity.
The streets are laid with blocks of stone, and perhaps it is the best
kind of pavement after all, regarding health more than comfort. We found
the wood pavement, not being properly kept, was far from pleasant in
hot weather. The same might be said of the broad asphalte avenues of
Washington, which under a blazing sun perfumed the air with a pungent
smell of tar.
After the great fire of October, 1871, Chicago rose like a phoenix
from its ashes. A curious calculation resulted in the discovery that in
the period of six months one building, from four to six storeys high,
was completed each hour in a day of eight working hours. It certainly
presents an unprecedentedly rapid growth, and the population entirely
keeps pace with it.
Chicago is just settling down after the intense excitement of the
Convention, held here only the other day, when Blaine was chosen as
the Republican candidate, and Cleveland by the Democrats. Every four
years the whole country is convulsed with these Presidential elections,
a tenure of office far too short to allow of any settled policy to
attain to maturity. The country is blazoned with portraits of the rival
candidates; debased often to the use of advertisements, as when Mr.
Blaine (who is dyspeptic) is seen standing by a bottle as big as himself
of "Tippecande." The newspapers resound throughout the country with their
mutual vituperations. "Blaine is corrupt!" cry the Democrats; "Cleveland
is immoral!" retort the Republicans.
Party warfare descends even to the shape of the hat. In New York we had
several times noticed the predominating number of tall white hats. It
was explained they were Blaine's followers; whereas Cleveland's wore a
wider brim in a brown felt. In America, where _every_ adult male, be he
householder or not, has a vote, politics have a wider range, and are
discussed eagerly amongst all classes. We got at last to have quite a
"national" interest, and should like to have been in America during the
final struggle coming in November.
We went to see the Central Grain Elevator at a large warehouse, which
raises, weighs, and stores several thousand bushels of grain daily. The
working of the machinery is somewhat complicated, but one of the vats,
into which four wooden troughs converge and pour their contents, holds
seventy feet of grain, which is afterwards shot down by machinery into
railway waggons waiting in a siding below.
It was five miles to the Stockyards, which really constitute the great
sight of Chicago. The cable cars, running so swiftly and silently as if
by magic, by means of invisible underground machinery, down State Street,
conveyed us thither and back for the modest sum of 5_d._ The yards with
their well-filled pens on either side, presented a wild appearance.
Droves of cattle were being driven by men on horseback, galloping and
cracking their long whips, with the curious wooden stirrups and peaked
saddle of old Spanish Mexican make. We threaded our way through them to
Armour and Co.'s, one of the largest establishments, where daily many
thousands of pigs, sheep, and oxen are purchased, killed, cut up, cooked,
salted, and packed in the shortest possible space of time. We were
allowed to wander about the reeking, blood-stained floors, and thoroughly
sickened, and fearful that every turn would reveal more bloody horrors, I
stopped opposite a gory pile of horns being carted away, whilst C. went
to see the oxen killed. He described how they are driven in single file
through a narrow passage into separate pens, over the top of which runs
a broad plank, on which the "gentleman who does the shooting" stands
with a small rifle. The poor beast looks up a second after his admission
to the pen, and the rifle bullet fells him instantly stone dead. The
further door is opened, and the carcase dragged away by cords to the
cutting-up room. There could be no more merciful mode of killing without
any unnecessary brutality.
We were told that they stopped killing hogs at noon every day. These have
their throats cut (some say they are guillotined by machinery); and it is
possible that half an hour after the pig has been squealing in the pen,
it will be neatly packed in one of those enormous stacks of tins which we
passed on our way out.
We went for a stroll in the evening, and found the shop windows swarmed
over by a species of brown moth, with long bodies and gauzy wings, called
Canadian Soldiers. They come from the shores of the lake, and are quite
harmless, buzzing around the electric lights to their own destruction.
A clock, showing the various times of the different capitals in Europe,
carried us back in thoughts to London, which at that moment would be
sleeping like a city of the dead, dawn only beginning to break. There is
about six hours' difference in time, and yesterday we lost an hour in
going from the 30th meridian to the 46th.
_August 14th._--A very sultry morning; and to refresh us before starting
on our journey of two days and two nights in the cars, we had a charming
drive in Lincoln Park, along the shores of the lake. Broad gravelled
paths, bordered with trees, numberless flower-beds dotted about, and a
sheet of water, formed one of the prettiest parks imaginable. South Park,
leading from Michigan Avenue, is still finer; and altogether Chicago
possesses six of these beautiful parks, dedicated to the use of the
people. Returning home through the suburbs we passed the Waterworks. The
door was standing open, free to all comers, perhaps ready to inspire some
child's mind with a taste for machinery (how different to our ideas!),
and through it we saw the magnificent cylinders, revolving to the roof of
the building, and the tiny wheels and cogs all performing their appointed
motions. The water is supplied from "the crib" through a tunnel running
two miles under the bottom of the lake.
It was wonderful what a different impression we carried away of Chicago
after this drive. We should have liked now to have stayed another day
to have seen some "trotting races," and made an expedition to Pullman
City, the Utopian village erected by Mr. Pullman for his large colony
of workers, employed solely in the construction of his Palace Cars. The
clean, well-paved streets; the model houses, with improved ventilation
and sanitary methods; the fine gardens, and the complete absence of
poverty, renders the little village quite celebrated. We had a letter of
introduction to Mr. Pullman, through whose express permission alone the
works are viewed.
We left Chicago at noon, by the Chicago, Burlington, and Quincy route,
familiarly known as the "C. B. and Q." A dining car attached to the
train provided luncheon, and we travelled in a Pullman, with inlaid and
polished panels, plush curtains, velvet cushions, and looking-glasses.
The heat was terrible, and we gasped and panted through the long hours
of the afternoon, taking refuge at last on the platform outside the car,
sitting on camp-stools, heedless of dust and grit, and the deafening
roar, as the on-rushing cars thundered over the rails, willing to endure
any discomfort for the chance of a breath of air. In the evening, at
dusk, we crossed the mile-long bridge over the Missisippi, and looked
into the rolling volume of turbid waters. "Blackie" gave us a little
supper, neatly and cleanly served on a movable table, of blackberries,
bread and butter, cold tongue and eggs, iced tea and lemonade--so much
nicer than the hurried meal at the railway buffet. The car was turned
upside down, and beds made up at 9 p.m.
We found ourselves the next morning on the muddy banks of the Missouri,
the second of America's great rivers and unnavigable, owing to the large
sandbanks which form between the swift currents. Soon we passed Council
Bluffs, with Omaha, a large town on the broad plateau just opposite.
Yesterday we were journeying through the State of Illinois, during the
night through that of Iowa, and now, through Nebraska, Lincoln, the
capital of which we had just passed.
I believe every one, from the days of early childhood, from books of
voyages and travel, forms some vague idea of the prairies. We were
nearing them now, and I was longing for my first sight of that vast
deserted plain, "the blankness of desolation." The scene was growing
wilder and wilder; dreary, uninhabited expanses were succeeded by wooden
shanties, clustering round a small store with a few cultivated fields and
low-lying marshes; horses and cows were hobbled in the vicinity of the
village to prevent their straying away to the plains. The sunflower, a
smaller kind than ours, flourished luxuriously in large patches; but that
was the only evidence of nature, usually so prolific, here so grim and
stingy. The day was cold and gloomy, with frequent scuds of rain.
At length we seemed to leave all human habitations behind; and in the
majesty of loneliness we were crossing the desert, on a single track, in
the midst of the lone prairie lands.
Those beautiful rolling plains--millions of acres, covered with the
short, yellow buffalo grass--extend to the horizon in undulating lines,
a wide, uninhabited, lifeless, uplifted solitude. The blue of the sky
overhead and the dried-up grass are the only blending of colours.
Monotonous as they are, there is the greatest fascination about the
prairies. Involuntarily you cannot help looking for some sign of life,
some tree or green plant. Sometimes too, far-distant specks resolve
themselves into the cattle, roaming at will over the boundless plain.
Buffaloes there are to be seen now and again, but they are dying out
fast. The indigenous prairie dog alone remains. These curious little
animals are of a grayish-brown colour, always fat, with the long body
and bushy tail of a dog, and the head of a ferret. They scamper away
at the first sign of the train to their "villages," uttering a short,
yelping bark. Their mounds are burrowed as much as two or three yards
underground; and the rattlesnake and the burrowing owl are supposed
always to share the home.
In the evening we had a grand sight, when a storm swept with terrific
force over the prairie. A dense blackness enveloped the previously lurid
sky, against which the forked lightning played in jagged edges, and the
thunder pealed overhead, mingling with the rattling of the hailstones.
The engine ploughed along,--we were swallowed up in darkness and gloom,
till the sky lightened and gradually broke, and from a confused mass of
purple clouds the rays of the setting sun converged into a pale gold mist
on the distant hills.
When the storm cleared we found ourselves in the fertile little valley
of the Platte River, the narrow stream winding and circling among green
meadow-land, the banks fringed with waving grass and rushes; a scene of
quiet beauty.
That night we longed to see a prairie fire, but I suppose such good
fortune rarely happens to any traveller. It must be an awful but
marvellously grand scene. The heavens and the horizon are first seen like
a furnace, and then the long line of flame, banked up with dark smoke
clouds, comes sweeping on its resistless course. The wonderful thing is
how they are ever checked, but most of these prairie fires are said to
burn themselves out. And when they approach within two or three miles'
range of the settler's ranch a counter fire is started, which eats up all
before it, and, joining with the greater fire, leaves it nothing to feed
upon. The flames will often travel twenty miles an hour, and leap angrily
into the air to a height of fifteen feet. Sometimes they are started by
the careless dropping of a match, or some ashes shaken from a pipe, but
more often from the spark of a locomotive. It touches the grass, dry as
tinder, and the breeze fans into life the little flame destined so soon
to burn millions of acres. There is a very curious feature in connection
with these prairie fires. So long as they rage, nothing but tufted or
prairie-grass will grow; but so soon as they cease, trees, shrubs, and
bushes of all sorts spring up spontaneously--in fact it ceases to be
prairie. "It is an ill-wind which blows nobody good," for the next year
the grass comes darker and richer than ever, and strange as it seems,
this burnt-up grass is the finest feeding pasture in the world for cattle
and horses. With this unfulfilled wish we lay down to sleep peacefully.
At three in the morning, we were awoke with a dreadful shock, under which
the car shivered and upheaved. We heard the crash of falling china, and
seemed to feel the furious application of the air brakes, which brought
us to a dead stop.
In the awful stillness that succeeded, the conductor rushed through the
cars and begged us to "keep still." Every head was protruded from between
the curtains, and there were frightened exclamations to be heard from all
sides. The suspense that ensued was terrible.
Too soon the truth came. There was our engine smashed to pieces off
the line, the tender high in the air, telescoping the luggage van.
Ten feet off was another engine of another passenger train. It was
eastward-bound, and therefore on the main track, waiting for us,
the westward train, to pass on to the siding. The signal, a covered
head-light, had gone out; the fireman moving to replace it, accidentally
waved a lighted lantern, which the driver of our train took as a signal
that the east-bound train had gone into the siding instead, and, at
the rate of twenty-five miles an hour, we continued running into the
stationary passenger-train! The drivers and firemen of both engines
saved themselves by jumping off, and we all had a providential escape
from what might have proved a terrible accident. We were forty miles
from a village, and eighty from a town and any surgical aid. A messenger
was sent to walk to the nearest telegraph station, six miles away, and
nothing remained to us but to wait. We looked out on the silent prairie,
the stars solemnly keeping watch in the deep blue vault of heaven,
thinking of the strange situation, till dawn broke and the sun rose. Then
we could penetrate to the scene of the disaster. There was much _débris_
scattered about the track, and the broken engines lay on the ground
facing each other. The corpses of some murdered fowls were inside the
luggage van, and, suspended in mid-air, I saw at once my new saratoga,
a last American acquisition. The remainder of the baggage was more or
less injured, and two trunks were completely wrecked, and their contents
strewn on the ground. We were resigned, and prepared to spend the day
on the prairie, when, sooner than we thought possible by the earliest
calculation, two relief engines arrived, and drew off each train. The
eastward-bound was first sent on its way rejoicing, and we followed.
The black porter had been very much to the fore about seven o'clock,
providing breakfast for all, as those bringing provisions had calculated
on arriving at Denver in the early morning. "Guess I'se best man on the
car this morning," he said, with a grin, showing his white teeth. For
the remainder of the journey we suffered dreadfully from the heat, and
the sand penetrated into every crevice and corner. How we strained our
aching eyes over that burnt, parched plain, in search of the vestige
of a shadow, or _any_ green thing to give relief! At last we did see
something, a mirage it almost seemed for the first moment, of dark blue
mountains, with dazzling crowns of snow. They were the glorious range of
"the Rockies" bounding the horizon, and Denver lay at their feet.
As we got out on the platform it seemed almost as if the atmosphere
inside the car were preferable to that outside, so sultry and oppressive
as it was; the heated pavement burnt the soles of our feet, and the trees
near the station were drooping and white with dust. However, we took
a more cheerful view after we had changed our dusty garments and been
refreshed with a bath--thought it, in fact, almost worth while having
felt so hot and weary, to be now so bright and fresh, and ready for a
drive in the cool of the evening. As we passed through those quiet,
orderly streets, it was very difficult to realize that Denver sprang
into existence with the discovery of the gold diggings, and twenty years
ago was peopled entirely by the lawless roughs brought thither by the
gold fever. They are being gradually superseded by a quiet, industrious
population, centring here from the country districts. Though often
even now you look into the face of many a man following some menial
occupation, who shows traces of not being "to the manner born," but who,
in the search for sudden wealth at the diggings, has left the little he
had below ground, and thankfully turned to any kind of work to earn a
bare livelihood.
We passed a fine house, with the proprietor sitting in the garden, our
driver pointed to him, "That 'ere man this time last year was a beggar,
to-day he is one of the richest men in Denver." In five weeks he had
made one million and a half of dollars at the diggings. The man spoke
bitterly, and we more than suspected he too had had his turn of ill luck
at them; and the like story might be told of most of its inhabitants.
There are a few streets, and the remainder of the town consists of pretty
little villas and cottages, each standing in a garden, kept fresh and
green by the unlimited use of water. They have an ingenious contrivance
for watering, consisting of a pipe attached to the hose, with a top
perforated with holes, that turning with the action of the water scatters
forth a shower of spray, and is left always playing upon the grass. Life
is carried on to a great extent out of doors, people working, meeting and
receiving guests in the verandahs. The houses are kept dark and cool by
shutters, and the fine wire doors are an absolutely necessary precaution
against the plague of flies.
Denver has not yet reached that stage in its development when it can have
any public buildings of interest, but they are moving in that direction,
as is shown by the fine City Hall they are just finishing erecting on the
hill.
We had the disagreeable business to be gone through of going down to the
station late in the evening, to receive the wreck of our luggage brought
on from the scene of the morning's accident by the next passenger train.
My Saratoga was levered down with some difficulty, and, with great care
exercised in the removal, happily lasted till it reached the hotel. C.'s
hat-box and its contents were reduced to an unrecognizable mass, and the
remainder of the baggage was more or less torn, and with locks broken.
I must say we thought the company behaved exceedingly well, as without
demur they gave us damages to the amount of 35 dollars; but we afterwards
learnt the reason, which was that if further injuries were discovered no
further compensation could be claimed.
_Sunday, August 17th, Denver, Colorado._--We went to the morning service
at the cathedral. It is a plain, brick building, at present cold and
bare inside, but it is intended to decorate it richly when the necessary
funds are forthcoming. The stained glass windows in the chancel are
really beautiful, copied from Vandyke's "Crucifixion" at Antwerp; the
organ is fine, and the singing of the well-trained choir of men and women
(the latter sitting behind a screen), quite worthy of it. We had a very
eloquent and sarcastic sermon from Dean Hart, an Englishman; he chose as
his text, "Balaam, the son of Beor."
Under the very shadow of "the Rockies," in the far West, how strange it
was to be listening to a full cathedral service; and the prayers of the
Church of England binding together both American and English!
The air was very sultry, with frequent storms in the afternoon. We went
by the circular railway to Jewell Park and enjoyed the beautiful sight of
the Rocky Mountains, swept with dark storms or momentarily emerging under
a brightly shining sun.
_Monday, August 18th._--We left Denver at 8 a.m., and our way lay for
many miles along the foot of the Rockies. Though twenty miles away, the
rarefied atmosphere of 5000 feet above the level of the sea brought
them apparently to within two or three miles of us. And now we could
understand their name of "Rockies," for boulders of rock and loose
stones, with the long scars where they have given way under the influence
of the snow, form their prominent characteristics. There were some little
patches of snow yet unmelted and nestling in the deep crevasses.
Buffalo grass was still to be seen on all sides, and the fat, brown
prairie dogs kept popping in and out of their holes, and, for the first
time, too, we noticed the cacti that grow in such wild profusion on
the prairie. We were imperceptibly mounting the Great Divide, and as
we reached the small lake at the summit, the country grew fresher and
greener, and the broad grass expanse, with groups of trees, gave to it
the appearance of a vast park. The remainder of the way lay through
cultivated fields, the great barrier of mountains on one side always
leaving to the imagination the pleasure of the great unknown beyond. We
were soon at Colorado Springs.
Here there was no sign of a village; we could only see the large hotel,
"The Antlers," through the over-arching trees of a long avenue. In the
afternoon we took a buggy and drove over to Manitou. The clear, dry
climate of this high altitude, draws many invalids to Manitou, and
there are several large hotels clustering in the neighbourhood of the
springs of soda, iron, and sulphur; also numerous boarding-houses, where
we observed many little white tents pitched in their neighbourhood, to
allow for an over-flow of boarders. One was very aptly called, "The Rocky
Rest," and was "to Rent."
Manitou lies under the shadow of the great Range. The rocks seem ready to
fall and crush the little village, and the pine forests cast their gloom
into the valley. From the many surrounding peaks, Pike's Peak raises its
giant head towering above the others, and the little black speck just
distinguishable on the summit if the clouds are not down, is the signal
station, whence three times daily weather reports are telegraphed to all
parts of the States, and the storms forwarded across the Atlantic to us.
The picturesque ascent of ten miles on mules is soon to be no more, for a
syndicate of four speculators are making a railway, taking a circuitous
route of thirty miles to the top, and already the dark line of earth and
the rows of telegraph poles tell of its progress.
We drove on, up the Ute Pass to the Rainbow Falls, but there were,
unfortunately, no iridescent beams from the sun that afternoon. If we
could have gone on climbing that beautiful cañon (pronounced canyon)
for 120 miles, we should have come suddenly upon one of those vast
open spaces or "parks" that form Colorado's greatest beauty. They
are comparatively unknown at present, owing to the want of railway
communication.
We had tea with Dr. and Mrs. Bell, who have built themselves a charming
house in Manitou; they live there all the year round, and say the winters
are comparatively mild.
We stayed so long that it was late before we drove on to the "Garden of
the Gods," but I was glad, for nothing could have been more beautiful
than the evening shadows creeping up the mountains, the blue gloom of
the pines, and before us a park with stunted oaks and masses of light
red sandstone. They are curled, twisted, writhing masses, strewn in
wild confusion on the ground, forming the most incongruous series of
objects. There was the old Scotchman in his Highland bonnet, two sheep
kissing each other, their idiotic noses distinctly seen in the act of
touching, the Newfoundland dog, the old man's cellar, the semicircle
of mushrooms, very perfect in form, and the magnificent outline of the
lion cut out on the face of the rock. You irresistibly give play to the
imagination--people this little kingdom with fairy fancies entering at
the Gate Beautiful.
A storm has swept down from the mountains, bringing a dark mist peopled
by the demons, dwelling in its hidden caverns. Whilst the storm rages
and the thunder crashes through the echoing mountains, and the lightning
flashes on the rugged peaks, the works of darkness are done, the
destruction wrought--the Garden of the Gods is so no longer. The name is
ironical. Some such dim idea floated through our minds, I suppose, as the
three glorious piles of the brightest red sandstone, rose before us 300
feet in height, forming the entrance called the Gate Beautiful; and the
cathedral is near by with delicate spires pointed heavenwards. Monuments,
they stand to last throughout eternity; and as we passed through the
portals and left the land of enchantment, what a dull, cold feeling
gathered round us! The warmth of the red glow inside was superseded by
gloom added to by that formation of cold white rock outside. Though it
was growing dark, we ventured up the weird gorge to Glen Eyrie, with
General Palmer's residence guarded by the three pillars, the one called
major domo being in the centre. We spied an eagle's nest built into a
split in the rock.
Then home we galloped across the plains, the horses hardly touching the
ground, darkness creeping over the prairie, clouds on Pike's Peak, and
Manitou in gloom.
After dinner we went out to see the stars, which are so beautiful in this
clear atmosphere, with the Milky Way, a trailing cloud across the sky.
_Tuesday, August 16th. In the train going to Salt Lake City._--We have
been spending the day in the Rocky Mountains, amongst some of the most
beautiful scenery in the world, awed and struck by the grandeur of the
scenes we have passed through.
We began in the early freshness of the morning with a drive up the
Cheyenne Pass, a wild gorge, penetrating for some miles into the heart
of the mountains. We passed first through prairie fields, where pink
anemones, wild larkspur, bluebells, sunflowers, large white poppies,
cornflowers, and a delicate pink flower, called here a primrose, grew in
wild luxuriance, over a very roughly-laid road, where only a carriage of
such light build as ours was could have been driven. The bridges over the
many freshets were made of the stems of pine-trees loosely laid together,
and as often as the horses stepped on one end the other rose up.
It was a scene of the wildest beauty as we penetrated ever deeper into
the contracting gorge. One of the great charms of this range is the rich
colour of their red sandstone masses, blackened and weather-stained in
parts by the action of centuries. We were surrounded, hemmed in, overhung
by those stupendous fragments, and masses of rocks leaning towards
each other, and leaving only a narrow streak of sky as a relief to the
surrounding gloom, which was heightened by the dark pines that clung and
found a footing on every narrow ledge. When we reached the end of the
cañon which by this time was so deep and dark as to form only a chasm
amongst the rocks, we were fairly spell-bound, breathless almost from the
astounding magnificence of the scene before us. Seven waterfalls falling
down the face of the black cliff, seven clouds of spray falling one under
each other, each into its dark pool below. We climbed up a frail, wooden
staircase, hung out from ledges in the rocks, looking into every little
hollow, following the fall of the water over each, till we traced it to
its source, where it first comes gliding over from the quiet, green pool
lying hid in a rocky basin above. This pool takes the reflection of the
dark pines on its calm depths.
We lingered, and tried to go--turned back, and at last left it, with a
gnawing pang of regret. We shall not soon forget that quiet spot away
from the haunts of man. We passed into the darkness of the chasm below,
retraced our steps, and were soon out in the open, under the bright
sunshine once more; and, before an hour was over, were speeding many
miles away in the train.
We found the train leaving Colorado Springs very crowded, adding to the
discomfort of the narrow gauge, with a proportionally narrowed car.
We kept the backbone of "the Rockies" in sight for a long way, now and
then drawing near to one of the outlying spurs. We dined at Pueblo, a
town standing on a bluff of bare rock destitute of vegetation; and its
Spanish origin is still evidenced by the fine breed of mules, brought
from their colonies in Mexico. We saw here the arrival of the "Pony
Express," with the leather mail-bags slung across the peak of the saddle,
to be carried on by the train; but its arrival now is very different to
that described by Mark Twain in his reminiscences in "Roughing It:"--
"In a little while all interest was taken up in stretching our necks
and watching for the 'pony rider'--the fleet messenger who sped across
the continent from St. Joe to Sacramento, carrying letters 1900 miles
in eight days. He got but little frivolous correspondence to carry--his
bag had business letters in it, mostly. The little flat mail-pockets,
strapped under the rider's thighs, would each hold about the bulk of a
child's primer. They held many and many an important business chapter
and newspaper letter, but these were written on paper as airy and thin
as gold-leaf. There were about eighty pony-riders in the saddle all the
time, night and day, stretching in a long, scattered precession from
Missouri to California, forty flying eastward, and forty towards the
west, and among them making 400 gallant horses earn a stirring livelihood.
"'Here he comes!'
"Every neck is stretched further, and every eye strained wider. Away
across the endless dead level of the prairie a black speck appears
against the sky, and it is plain that it moves. In a second or
two it becomes a horse and rider, rising and falling, rising and
falling--sweeping towards us nearer and nearer--growing more and more
distinct, more and more sharply defined, nearer and still nearer, and
the flutter of the hoofs comes faintly to the ear. Another instant a
whoop and a hurrah from our upper deck, a wave of the rider's hand, but
no reply, and man and horse burst past our excited faces, and go winging
away like a belated fragment of a storm!
"So sudden is it all, and so like a flash of unreal fancy, that but for
a flake of white foam left quivering and perishing on a mail-sack after
the vision had passed by and disappeared, we might have doubted whether
we had seen any actual horse and man at all."
At 3 p.m. we were entering the great cañon of the Arkansas. The Royal
Gorge must have been formed by some great convulsion in nature, rending
the mountains from the top to the bottom, and leaving this deep chasm.
The muddy mountain torrent has burrowed a channel through for itself,
where it lashes and foams into fury against the obstructing rocks. It was
an ingenious idea, making the line on ground literally blasted out of the
rock or bridged over the torrent, while the precipices overhanging it
meet above. No green thing grows on their polished sides; but there was
a beautiful blending of colours in the red and blue and green veins of
the rocks. We were in the deepest shadow, from the depth of the gorge.
The train crept along only too quickly, and we were trying to enjoy to
our utmost the stupendous grandeur of the scene by hanging out of the
windows of the car, when we gradually became aware that it was fading.
And though for some time longer we were going through a succession of
mountain passes, which opened out before us, were passed, and looked back
upon, they paled by comparison with the Royal Gorge.
Late in the afternoon we were crossing an open plain, and, separated by
countless nearer summits, we saw the irregular snow-capped peaks of the
Sangre de Christo, I am not sure that I did not think this irregular,
indefinite view of green, far-stretching plains and blue haze on distant
mountains more beautiful than the solemn grandeur of the Royal Gorge.
[Illustration: The Royal Gorge of the Arkansas.
Page 58.]
At the small station of Salida three engines were waiting for us, and the
train was broken into two, the baggage cars and one engine preceding us.
We watched with the greatest interest for the beginning of the ascent of
fourteen miles up the Marshall Pass, for the crossing of the Rockies, the
"Great Divide," as they are called, separating as they do the Atlantic
and Pacific continents. There was a grade of 217 feet to the mile, and
the engines puffed and panted, emitting alternately their black columns
of smoke, taking it in turns to pull us up the steep inclines---so
steep they were that everything in the cars slipped downwards, and
the conductor passing through appeared to be walking up-hill. Looking
upwards, the dark line of earth winding round the mountains showed us our
onward track, and we looked, almost incredulous of ever reaching there,
till sweeping round another curve, the length of the train often doubling
itself, we were brought on a level with it. But the most dangerous thing
appeared to us the crossing of the wide gullies in passing from one
mountain to another, the train describing one of its deep curves on a
frail wooden trestle-bridge, before continuing in the upward track.
We were climbing higher and higher, already above a lower range of
mountains, and soon touching the snow-line. One minute we were in the
dark tunnel of the numerous snow sheds, and the next in full view of what
is perhaps the most glorious, the most awe-inspiring scene, in its gaunt
loneliness and majesty, that we shall ever see in all our lives. A sea of
peaks around, and before, and behind, as far as the eye can reach; the
cold grey of the wan gloom, tinged with a rosy light, lingering yet long
after the sun had gone down; a scene of the greatest desolation, for fire
had swept the pine forests not long ago, destroying all vegetation, and
the blackened and charred stumps marked but too surely its devastating
path. We shivered involuntarily as we stopped for a short time at the
very summit, partly from the chilly dampness of the atmosphere, but as
much from a feeling of sheer loneliness and dread. We should have liked
to have been alone in the car,--left to ourselves for a few minutes, to
"realize" that majestic scene, and imprint it indelibly on the memory.
The engine shrieked, and we were carried away into gloom, losing all the
beauty of the descent in the gathering darkness,--to supper at a wayside
shanty by the uncertain light of guttering oil-lamps.
It seemed wonderful, as we lay down in our berths in the car that night,
to think that we had gone up the Rockies and come down on the other side
in an ordinary passenger train. Very different it must have been in the
old coaching days, when they toiled along the road, which we had traced
in a dim, white line in the far distance.
It was most annoying going through the Black Cañon of the Gunnison at
night; but I was fortunate enough to wake up at midnight, just as we were
passing through it, and, looking out, I could see the ghostly shadows
cast by the head-light of the engine in the deep chasm, and could trace
the outline of its chief beauty, the straight and slender needle point of
the Currecanti.
_Wednesday, August 20th. At Grand Junction Station._--We awoke at seven
in the morning, to find the car at a standstill, and also to hear that
it had been so since 3 a.m. There had been a "wash out" at Green River,
some 150 miles up the line. We soon found out what this expressive term
signifies; it means an indefinite waiting for an indefinite number of
hours--indefinite, I say, because it entirely depends on the subsidence
of the freshet and the reparation of a bridge. We learnt afterwards that
the Denver and Rio Grande line is particularly subject to these little
mishaps, and we noticed that the officials thought nothing at all of
the occurrence. The same thing had happened to some ladies now in the
train when going over the line two months previously. Adding insult to
injury, we were turned out of our Pullman, where we might have spent the
day comfortably enough, and the train returned eastwards, leaving the
passengers and their luggage a forlorn group on the platform of the Grand
Junction.
We found breakfast at a wooden shanty near the station, and fared better
than those who tried the hotel. The scene that lay before us was this. On
one side there was a collection of wooden huts forming the village, with
the grandiloquent name of Grand Junction, bought two years ago from the
Indians by the Government. It stands in a sandy desert, with a plentiful
sprinkling of alkali, bounded by a low chain of granite rocks; on the
other was a marshy ground leading to the river. C. bought some tackle in
the village, with a wild idea of fishing, but we found the hot sun on the
swampy banks was so unhealthy that we beat a hasty retreat. In writing
up my journal and reading, the morning passed, and we again repaired to
the shanty for luncheon. In the course of the afternoon we strolled into
the town, and laid in a store of biscuits against further accidents, and
ran back to the shelter of the station before a coming storm. The heavens
opened, and a water-spout came down in the distance, like a pillar of
cloud, seeming to draw the earth up to it, and gusts of wind blew up the
dust into clouds, sweeping over the little village like a real simoon of
the desert.
There was no one in authority to give us any information, and the most
intelligent individual about the station seemed to be the telegraph
clerk, who had only arrived the previous day from Chicago. He had just
made out from a telegram, as he thought, that we were to wait till seven
o'clock for a train, when we saw one coming into sight. I don't think any
one inquired where it was going, or whether it was the right one, but
we all jumped in, and sped joyfully across the dreary plain. We saw a
beautiful _double_ rainbow, the most vivid and perfect arcs I have ever
seen, just meeting each other where they touched the earth.
We had not been expected at Green River, and there was not much supper
forthcoming; but we did not care, as we had, in fear and trembling,
previously passed in safety over _the_ bridge.
The conductor, putting his head between the curtains at seven the next
morning with the announcement of "breakfast in ten minutes," awoke us,
and we looked out upon the beautiful valley of Utah, girdled with the
mountains, and abounding in rich farms and orchards, watered by several
pure streams of water. Nature seems to have smiled upon this sunny
spot; and here the "Mormons," wanderers on the face of the earth for
so long, chose a resting-place, and built their City by the Salt Lake.
The great range of the Wahsatch Mountains opens out here, and forms a
convenient site for a city at their feet; and as we approached we saw
that distinctive feature, the dome of the Tabernacle.
The streets of Salt Lake City are wide, too wide for the traffic, for
on either side they are overgrown thickly with weeds, forming in some
streets into grass borders. The houses are low and pretty, covered with
creepers, and the gardens luxuriate with bright flowers, that thrive
naturally in these sheltered spots. Swiftly-running water in the gutters
answers the double purpose of irrigation and drainage.
We naturally first wended our way to the Tabernacle. It is the dreariest
of whitewashed buildings inside. The rounded dome of the roof is
unsupported by any pillars, and faded evergreen wreaths and tawdry flags
are suspended from the centre, erected for Commemoration Day, some
fifteen years ago, and never since taken down. The organ ranks as the
third largest in the States. In the little wooden boxes, ranged in tiers
on the platform in a gradually descending scale, sit the President, the
Elders, and the Bishops. From here they call upon Brother So-and-So
to address the congregation. There is a most wonderful echo in the
Tabernacle; we distinctly heard a pin dropped at the further end to where
we were standing. The marble Temple, which is being built to replace the
old place of worship, has already cost 750,000_l._, but judging from
the few workmen in the sheds, we thought the funds had perhaps come to
an end. We went next to Zion's Co-operative Store; it is a fine stone
building, with the text "Holiness to the Lord" blazoned on a sign over
the door, and inside you might fancy yourself in the Army and Navy
Co-operative Stores--the same division of departments, including the lift
to each floor. An "elder" showed us through; and all those employed in
the buildings are Mormons. True believers are exhorted to deal solely at
the store.
There is a theatre, and the Walker Opera House; for they maintain,
and quite rightly, that, "As all people have a fondness for dramatic
representations, it is well to so regulate and govern such exhibitions,
that they may be instructive and purifying in their tendencies. If the
best people absent themselves, the worst will dictate the character of
the exercises."
Behind a high stone wall are the two houses that belonged to Brigham
Young, called the Bee and the Lion Houses, from the carved designs over
the doors; in the latter Brigham Young died. Exactly opposite is the
large stone house--the finest in the territory (Utah is not a state but
a territory)--which he built for his last and seventeenth wife and which
is now occupied by his successor, President Taylor. Asking to be shown
Brigham Young's grave, we were taken to a plot of grass, roughly walled
in, and in the centre was the grave, of loosely piled stones, marked
with a wooden cross. He was buried here, and not in the cemetery, as a
distinguishing mark of respect; but if so, his resting-place might, we
thought, have been better cared for. Many of the Mormon residences may be
recognized by their green gates and several entrances, for the separate
use of the different wives and families. At present the population of
Salt Lake City is 14,000, of which about 10,000 are Mormons, but the
mines in the Wahsatch range are bringing a great influx of Gentiles. The
Government have made many ineffectual attempts to convict the Mormons of
polygamy, but the prosecutions always languish for want of evidence, as
they are faithful to the tenets of their religion. Not even the unhappy
wives superseded, and often tormented by the last favourite, can be
brought to give evidence.
Many are followers of the religion of the "Latter Day Saints" without
necessarily becoming polygamists. We invested in some Mormon literature;
a pamphlet "On the Bible and Polygamy; a Discussion between Elder Orson
Pratt, one of the Twelve Apostles of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter
Day Saints, and the Rev. Dr. Newman, Chaplain of the United States'
Senate," in which it must be confessed, the former seemed to have rather
the best of the argument; also a Mormon Bible, which is divided into the
four books of Nephi, and ten others. The Bible seems to have been taken
as the foundation for many chapters, and worked into the tenets of the
Mormon faith, forms a curious medley. In the Catechism, which we also
got, we found that the question and answer was generally authenticated by
a text, quoted from the Scriptures and the Mormon Bible, and placed side
by side. This catechism consists of eighteen chapters, and seems more
to be a full exposition of faith than for the instruction of children.
I give a few extracts from the last chapter, which I think may be
interesting:--
"1. _Q._ Has God given any particular revelation in these last days for
the preservation of their lives and health to His people?
"_A._ Yes. He gave a revelation to Joseph Smith on this subject.
"2. _Q._ What is this revelation called?
"_A._ A Word of Wisdom.
"7. _Q._ What does the first paragraph or verse of this Word of Wisdom
teach us?
"_A._ That it is not good to drink wine or strong drinks, excepting in
the sacrament of the Lord's Supper, and then it should be home-made grape
wine; that it is not good to drink hot drinks, or chew or smoke tobacco;
that strong drinks are for the washing of the body, and that tobacco is
an herb for bruises and sick cattle.
"8. _Q._ What does the second paragraph teach us?
"_A._ That herbs and fruits are for the food of man; that grain is for
the food of man, and beasts, and fowls; and that flesh is not to be eaten
by man, excepting in times of winter, cold, and famine.
"11. _Q._ Why is it not good to drink wine or strong drinks?
"_A._ Because they excite men unnaturally, inflame their stomachs,
vitiate their appetites, and disorder their whole systems.
"13. _Q._ Why is it not good to smoke or chew tobacco?
"_A._ Because those habits are very filthy, and tobacco is of a poisonous
nature, and the use of it debases men.
"14. _Q._ Why should flesh be eaten by man in winter, and in times of
famine, and not at other times?
"_A._ Flesh is heating to the human system, therefore it is not good to
eat flesh in summer; but God allows His people to eat it in winter, and
in times of famine, because all animals suffer death naturally, if they
do not by the hand of man."
We left Salt Lake City in the afternoon, and skirted along the shores in
the train of the Great Salt Lake--the Dead Sea of America. Two feet of
pure salt lie encrusted round its shores; the water contains 20 per cent.
of it, and the evaporation of four barrels of water leaves one of salt.
The atmosphere is always bluish and hazy from the effects of this active
evaporation. No fish or fowl can live in the lake, and it is impossible
to drown, so great is the buoyancy of the water, though death can easily
be caused by strangulation.
We arrived at Ogden at three o'clock, the junction where a connection
with the Central Pacific Railway is made. And here there ensued a very
weary waiting of four hours for another Denver and Rio Grande train. When
it did arrive we made up a train of twelve cars, with the arrears of
passengers and baggage from the late "wash out."
In the year 1844 when Fremont made his first exploration across the vast
prairies, there was not a single line of railway west of the Alleghanies.
The discovery of gold in California drew attention to the enormous wealth
lying to the Far West, and Congress made a grant for an exploration,
which resulted in the commencement of the Central Pacific line, this
great junction between the Atlantic and Pacific oceans. On the 10th of
May, 1869, the lines from the east and west met in the middle of the
prairie, and the last tie, a silver one, was laid in commemoration of the
event.
All through that night we were passing through the great American Desert
of 600 square miles, once the bed of a vast saline lake. The next morning
there was still nothing to be seen but mud-dried plains with here and
there a little sage brush, the ground being cracked and parched under the
burning sun. In some parts there were fields of white alkali, making the
lips salt and the eyes smart painfully.
I verily believe nothing could surpass the terrific, fiery heat of that
day in the cars; we could not read or talk, but sat with parched lips,
panting, the sand floating into the car in a white cloud that soon made
us and all around invisible. One poor old woman in the next car nearly
died; they fanned her all day, whilst she wailed piteously for one breath
of air.
At some of the stations we passed there were groups of the Piute Indians,
clothed in striped blankets with bead necklaces, and one mother brought
her "papoose" (baby), slung on to her back in a long basket, that had
the characteristic features of the race--the pear-shaped eyes and the
drawn-down corners of the mouth--ridiculously strongly marked in its wee,
brown face. The mother begged for "two bits for the wee papoose."
We had luncheon in the middle of the day at Humboldt, a few green trees
about the station forming a very oasis in the desert; the exertion of
getting out made us, if possible, a little hotter. We thought then of
the awful sufferings endured by the early emigrants, as they toiled day
after day over these alkali plains. Along earlier stages of the line the
"Old Emigrant Trail" can frequently be seen, with here and there a rude
wooden cross marking the lonely grave of some emigrant or freighter, who,
overcome by sickness and weariness, lay down and died.
We lived through the long hours of that day as best we could, and about
seven o'clock we thought it was perhaps _just_ a little cooler, and the
glare of the sun not _quite_ so angry. We tried to ventilate the cars by
opening all the windows, and standing outside on the platforms before
turning in for the night. It was wonderful how mutual sufferings had
brought the passengers together, and how friendly we had all become. One
charming American lady, the wife of a clergyman, brought us each a most
refreshing cup of "real English tea."
After such a trying day it was particularly aggravating to be entering
the magnificent scenery of the Sierra Nevadas, and to be crossing them,
during the night.
We were in the beautiful valley of the Sacramento the next morning, among
its corn-fields, vineyards, and orchards, catching already glimpses of
the blue waters of the Bay of San Francisco, running far inland. We
crossed the Carthagena Straits on one of those wonderful steam ferries
that are capable of carrying four loaded trains. The train was slowed,
run on, and before we knew anything had happened, we were halfway
across, and able to get down from the car, and going to the side of the
ferry, look down into the muddy waters. The platforms at either end are
hydraulically raised or lowered, according to the state of the tide,
to the level of the ferry. For many miles we continued skirting the
bay, partly crossing it on trestle bridges till we reached Oakland, so
called from its beautiful groves of oaks; and which, though separated
from San Francisco by the bay, is one of its suburbs. We crossed over
from Oakland Ferry, and were at San Francisco, our journey to the Far
West--across the continent of America, 4000 miles from ocean to ocean,
traversing the ten states of Pennsylvania, Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Iowa,
Nebraska, Colorado, the territory of Utah Nevada, into California--safely
accomplished.
CHAPTER VI.
SAN FRANCISCO AND THE YOSEMITE VALLEY.
I think we never felt more dirty or forlorn in our lives than on that
bright morning when, crossing the bay in one of the palatial Oakland
ferry steamers, sitting in the deck saloon, we were surrounded by a
crowd of smartly-dressed "Frisco" ladies, particularly humiliated by the
appearance of two of our fellow-travellers in the cars, in fresh morning
toilettes. A bitter east wind was blowing in our teeth, and raising the
muddy waters of the bay into "white horses," and the town with its
straight lines running perpendicularly up the hill, showing the division
of the streets into regular blocks, looked bleak and grey under the
wintry sky.
We could not help being struck by the wonderful precision with which they
run these enormous ferry-boats into a dock, fitted with exact nicety to
their dimensions, rarely "bumping" against the floating piles, which,
however give slightly to a pressure on either side as required.
As your foot is set on the wharf, an army of hotel "touts" besiege
you, ready to devour you and your small hand-baggage, and it is with
difficulty, and only after some display of firmness and decision, that
you are allowed to select the natural choice of a first visit to San
Francisco--the Palace Hotel. Rejecting the omnibus or large yellow coach,
we took a carriage, to be as quickly as possible installed in a charming
suite of rooms; all our possessions, from which we have been so long
separated, once more gathered around us--luxury again after the four days
of heat and discomfort in "the cars."
We have all heard so much, and for so long of "The Palace," that it is
hard to be disenchanted. When the hotel was first built, it _was_ a
marvel of magnificence, but since then others as beautiful, as gigantic,
as costly, have sprung up, by the side of which its celebrity is paling.
The arches and white pillars repeat themselves seven times one above the
other, round the four sides of the covered courtyard, and when lighted in
the evening by the single pendant electric light, form a very brilliant
and pretty sight. The attendance, as might be expected, is only moderate,
increasing the feeling ever present of being only a unit among the host
of visitors. You have the option of the American or European system, and
there is an excellent restaurant, but the courtyard, the piazza, the long
corridors leading to the ladies' entrance and waiting-rooms, are filled
with groups of men lounging and hanging about; it is, in fact, a general
meeting-place for the citizens, which renders it unpleasant for ladies.
The rooms are not numbered according to floors, but the hotel is divided
into blocks, called according to the street towards which it faces, and
each block, with its separate lift and numbering, forms a house of itself.
It may be mentioned in passing that the proprietor, Mr. Sharon, is at
present defendant in a tremendous divorce case, which has been occupying
the court and local press for the last eighty days; the leading counsel
on either side is a "colonel" for the petitioner, and a "general" for the
respondent. We spent the afternoon in wandering about among the splendid
stores, and in re-hatting C., who was much reduced by the loss of one hat
in the early days of our travels, and by the collapse of the remainder
in the railway accident. At first surprised by the beautiful furs and
sealskin paletots of the ladies we met in the streets, we soon understood
the wisdom of their winter wraps when at four o'clock we were driven home
by the cold wind, and raw sea fog, hanging about the city.
_Sunday, August 24th. Palace Hotel, San Francisco._--We arrived in church
in time for the second lesson, having met with a shake of the head, and
in one case an honest confession "that he never went to church," in
answer to our inquiries for Trinity Church.
We made an unsuccessful attempt to reach Cliff House by the Cable Cars
in the afternoon. An expedition there is the favourite Sunday amusement.
You go out, over the bleak downs, along the edge of the cliffs, to the
small hotel, where a few seals are to be seen disporting themselves on
the rocks beneath, sounding their monotonous "bark" or call. The wind
was blowing in our faces, and the mist driving before us, and at last,
as we seemed about to penetrate into a cloud which had descended on the
further hill, we called a halt, as we were passing a return car. We had
seen part of one of the pretty suburbs that are San Francisco's greatest
attractions, where the villas of her Bonanza or railway kings centre--men
whose fortunes were made in the gold beds of the tributaries to the San
Joaquin and Sacramento rivers, barely forty years ago. Then San Francisco
was but a village of shanties which they called "Yerba Buena" or good
hut, and the "hoodlum" element predominated, traces of which are still to
be found but too frequently in many of the low quarters of the city. Not
so very long ago it was necessary to carry a revolver about. It was worn
daily as a matter of course, and an unintentional raising of the hand to
the place where it was secreted might prove fatal, causing an opponent to
draw his under suspicion, and in supposed self-defence.
There are many evident traces of the quick rise to wealth that has
been the ordinary lot of the inhabitants of the city. You notice it
particularly in the extraordinary number of jewellers' stores, and the
display of diamonds, in the expensive upholsterers, with their superb if
gaudy furniture, in the marvellous curios of Chinese and Japanese art,
that here find a ready sale.
Disgusted with the climate of San Francisco, we fully expected to be
told the usual story about "phenomenal weather." Every one has observed
how exceptional the weather generally is when they happen to visit a
certain place. But no, we found it is the rule here for the bright, sunny
mornings to change to cold wind and sea fog in the afternoon throughout
the summer months. During the winter the climate is warm and equable,
and it therefore possesses the advantage of having no great extremes
throughout the year.
_Monday, August 25th. San Francisco._--A morning of indecision, angry
agents, each "touting" for their route, a hurrying about from one office
to the other.
The question under consideration was an expedition to the Yosemite
Valley. A telegram from New York confirmed the date of the 30th as the
arrival of the mails and the departure of the Pacific Mail Steamboat, the
_Australia_, for New Zealand. This left us exactly four days in which
to carry out the expedition, one and a half to go into the valley, the
afternoon there, and two days to come out again. I confess now that it
is all over, that it was a mad idea to think it practicable. Five years
ago I had heard my first description of this wonderland, and been seized
with an unreasoning desire to see it. All through the continent I had
been hurrying and pushing on, particularly towards the last, chafing
feverishly against the delays caused by our mishaps on the railways;
fearful lest time should fail us at the last for the Yosemite Valley.
Was it to be so after all? It was just possible. My earnest entreaties
prevailed, and we went.
Miller, generally considered the popular agent, and supported by the
powerful influence of the chief clerk of the Palace, drew us out
programme No. 1, returning us to San Francisco on Saturday morning
in time to catch the steamer. Walton, the rival agent, drew us out
programme No. 2, which possessed the advantage of bringing us back on
Friday evening, the day before the departure of the steamer. Miller
said Walton was underhorsed and undertimed; Walton read us out a letter
from an Englishman praising his route and saying he had found Miller
"an unmitigated liar." We went to Miller's office, and as we turned
the corner were pounced upon by Walton. This might have lasted out the
day had we not trenched matters, by deciding to go into the valley by
Miller's route, and come out by Walton's, who solemnly promised to stake
his reputation on bringing us back on the Friday evening. I packed all
our luggage in the morning in readiness to be sent down to the wharf,
arranged our cabin boxes for the voyage, and, taking only hand-bags, we
started on the expedition.
Mr. Lee, a fellow-traveller, and with whom we became friendly during the
long day spent together in the Desert at Grand Junction, came with us;
to add greatly to our pleasure by his uniform Irish cheerfulness and
imperturbable good temper, under the most trying circumstances.
The first stage of the journey was made in the train, sleeping in the
Pullman Car, which was slipped at 11 p.m. and left standing on the rails
all night. At 4 a.m. the next morning, we hurried across in the grey dawn
to the inn opposite for breakfast. We looked critically at the coach and
team of six horses that were standing ready at the door. The vehicle
perhaps might be more properly described as a large red _char-à-banc_
swung on leathern straps, with a cover overhead. Later on in the morning
we blessed that cover, not only for its grateful protection from the sun,
but for the support that its upright iron stanchions afforded us. We
clung to them convulsively, for to say that we jolted and bumped would
be to give no adequate idea of the violent exercise we went through. We
collided with one another, and slipped up and down the seat, we were
thrown up in the air to come down again with a thud that jarred the
whole system. In vain we grasped the front seat, or clung round the iron
standards, planting the feet firmly on the footboard, determined not to
go up with the next bound of the coach. It was all to no purpose, and by
the end of the first hour we were sore and aching, looking at each other
in blank dismay, with the knowledge of the seventy miles' coaching to be
gone through that day. I remember that it was our shoulder-blades that
suffered most, and that it was impossible to keep the air cushions we
tried, as a relief, in their place. It was not the pitching of the coach,
though we often saw it rise up above the leaders and then descend till
the wheelers were visible again, that we dreaded, but the large stones
over which the wheels passed with a relentless jar which communicated
itself to the whole nervous system.
But the most trying thing of all was the dust, which under the
twenty-four hoofs of our six horses, rose in clouds around us. Sometimes
for a moment we were so enshrouded as to be invisible to each other,
and then as it cleared off, and we drew breath freely again, mouth and
nostril were full of the fine sand which we tasted and smelt. It was,
too, of a peculiar red colour, imparting its ruddy tinge to everything we
wore; in fact, our things never recovered that expedition, and for long
afterwards, notwithstanding the vigorous brushings, which I gave with
an unstinting hand on our return, we used to detect its traces and say,
"Some of the Yosemite dust!" A soft woollen shawl which we had with us,
absorbed such an immense quantity, that it even now responds to a gentle
shake by giving forth a little cloud of dust. We used to arrive each
night at our destination enshrouded in a film of the same, and there was
difficulty amongst the passengers in claiming their small hand-baggage
from amongst a pile of dust-smothered luggage.
We began our journey by crossing over a flat plain, and our curiosity
was excited by a wooden aqueduct running parallel with the road. We kept
it in sight for many miles, and never really lost it throughout the
whole day, passing it again late in the afternoon. It was a plane or
wooden trough, constructed on a slight incline, filled with a stream of
water, flowing at the rate of five miles an hour, and down which lumber
was floated a distance of seventy miles. This ingenious contrivance is
the means of utilizing much of the splendid timber that lies rotting
in the mountain forests, useless because of the enormous labour and
expense of transporting it to the abode of man. Several experiments were
necessary before the "flume" was perfected, the V shape being adopted,
as it was found in the square troughs that the lumber in floating down
would be driven transversely, and so occasion a block. We presently
exchanged the prairie-like plain for a more hilly country abounding in a
stunted undergrowth of dwarf oak, cork, myrtle, and ilex trees, freely
interspersed with large masses of rock, in such isolated positions, that
we could not help wondering how they ever came there. The blue range of
mountains that we were to cross later in the afternoon were becoming
more distinct. At a very early hour in the morning the sun had become
powerful; we were hungry after our five o'clock breakfast, depressed at
the prospect before us, and by eleven o'clock, when we made our first
halt to change horses, we had reached a pitch of great misery.
There were some tame rattlesnakes shedding their skins outside the inn,
and we were able to get a large cornucopia of sweet white grapes to
refresh us.
The Californian coach-drivers are famed for their skilful driving; they
are hardly worked with four days a week, driving continuously seventy
miles, but they receive high pay, ranging from seventy to eighty dollars
a month. It is nice to watch their care and interest in the horses;
knowing the peculiarities of each one, husbanding their strength, and
frequently stopping to water them from the iron pail that clanks in the
boot behind. They are well known on the road, and it is amusing to hear
their various merits discussed. They need to be careful and experienced
men when you think of the sharp corners turned at a hand gallop, and
the roads, which for the most part are made overhanging the precipice.
More danger might be feared from the footpads, or "road agents" as they
are called, who have frequently stopped the coach and robbed the mails.
This occurred only last year, and no traces have ever been found of the
robbers.
Another three hours of growing discomfort brought us to Coarse Gold
Gulch, where we rested for luncheon. We were received by the German
daughters of the house in the cool trellised verandah covered with vines,
with long feather brooms, and the outer layer of dust was prudently
removed before we were allowed to enter the house. We waited a weary
while for the coach returning from the valley, and when it did arrive it
was comforting to see others in a condition as bad as ourselves; to hear
that we had got over the most scorching and dusty bit of road; to be told
of the glories of the valley by those still under its influence; and to
be given advice on the best way of spending our one afternoon there.
We discovered at once a passenger booked like ourselves for the
_Australia_, Mr. Davidson, of Edinburgh, who proved, in our subsequent
journeyings together, such a pleasant and intelligent travelling
companion.
We began gently ascending again, when we continued our journey, for the
most part through a shady ravine, till we crossed what was apparently an
outlying spur, and began the tedious climb of the larger range. At times
the horses seemed hardly to make any progress, and they crawled along
with the coach lumbering and creaking after them. Then for the first time
we saw specimens of the Sequoia Gigantea, that wonderful genus peculiar
to California. Presently we were passing through miles of its forests,
their purple and pink-streaked stems, straight and slim, reaching to
an enormous height before striking out into long branching arms, which
interlace to form a feathery network against the sky. This closely packed
array of mighty giants, stretching away into long vistas of upright stems
in the dim distance, gives one a feeling of being surrounded by conscious
though inanimate beings; they give a feeling of strength in repose,
increased by the stillness and silence of all around; for the wheels move
noiselessly over the thick carpet of fir needles, and there is only a
rustling murmur of the breeze in the pines overhead.
There are no singing birds here, and the only sign of animal life is a
ground squirrel darting across the road, and scampering up the nearest
tree.
Here and there we emerged into sunlight from the cool depths of the
forest, to see the range of mountains forming part of the great Coast
Range, looking thin and hazy in the warm afternoon sun. Fire had wrought
destruction amongst many of the trees, leaving charred and blackened
stumps, decaying into curious and weird forms, Sometimes the trunks and
branches, scathed by the fire, remain a beautiful silver grey; in others
the trunks would be completely hollowed, and yet still able to support an
immense framework above. In one case I remember a pine was burnt through
at the base, hollowed out so as to form a perfect V shape.
There appear to be two theories as to the origin of these forest fires;
some say that the trees fire themselves in the fall from extreme dryness;
the other, which would seem the more probable, that the mischief
originates from a spark of the woodman's pipe, or perhaps a brand left
burning from the camper's fire. There is no doubt that this is sometimes
the cause of the terrible devastation wrought, and it is no uncommon
thing to see far away the blue wreaths of smoke curling up from the very
heart of a forest that betokens one of these conflagrations.
It is very difficult to convey any idea of the gigantic height of the
sequoias by simple measurement or figures, but I know that many of them
took root in the ravine so far below, that we in the coach overhanging
the precipice, and leaning over, could not trace their origin; whilst
the tops would just be on a level with the road. But all this time we
were toiling upwards, and the shades of evening were beginning to close
around us in gloom, surrounded as we were by the dark pines. We reached
the top about 6 p.m. Just one view of a grand, white mountain, with dark,
purple shadows lying on its jagged peak touched with a few last rays of
light, and we began a mad rush, wild and headlong, down into the valley
in the gathering darkness. The horses swung round the zigzag turns at a
gallop, the leaders all but over the precipice to allow of room for the
remaining four, and for the coach to graze round the corner. Ten, twelve,
fifteen miles an hour, the speed gradually increasing, until, breathless
and unconscious, save of flying through the air, you gave up at last the
anxious watch on the horses, and resigned yourself to the care of the
driver.
Mr. Lee, seeing my terrified face, tried to reassure me by saying, "I
have perfect confidence in the driver, and in the horses, but hope the
vehicle will hold together,"--words that were hardly uttered, when
convulsively the driver was seen straining at the reins, and trying to
pull up suddenly. One of the powerful brakes had given way, and the
horses, feeling the coach at their heels, were preparing to rush madly
round the corner we were just coming to, when they were checked--and
we were saved. The wheel after that had to be dragged with a chain and
straps, and we walked down the remainder of the way, a relief to our
overstrained nerves; but the driver looked crestfallen on arriving at
Clarke's without the usual flourish round the circular drive, pulling up
the steaming horses at the exact arch in the verandah opposite the door.
We slept in the valley that night, guarded by the mountains on every
side, with the sound of a gurgling stream in our ears, dimly seen by the
light of the crescent moon.
_Wednesday, August 27th._--We were off at six the next morning (which
meant getting up at five), ascending the mountains, and soon many feet
above our last night's resting-place in the valley, looking at the lovely
blue mist wreathing and curling up the opposite mountains, out of the
dark shadows of the pine forests. We had a still, quiet morning among
the giant forest trees and shady glades. Down their gullies trickled
sparkling streams, burrowing underground and then flowing out again,
forming tiny cascades over a few rocks and sprinkling the surrounding
ferns with dewdrops. Some of them were so hidden that we only heard
a rustling amongst the green bed by which we traced their course.
Everything in nature could not help looking lovely on that bright morning
with the keen freshness of the early day yet in the air, and the sunlight
peeping through the dark pines, to play in golden cobwebs on the brown
carpet below; but again we missed all sign of life in the absence of
singing birds, and the stillness became almost oppressive. One of the
most beautiful things in these forests are the bright green mosses, that
hang like lichens from the branches of the trees, looking most vivid
against those that are blackened by the fire. The fir cones that lie on
the ground in hundreds are remarkable for their perfect formation and
great length, frequently attaining to a foot or more.
All the morning we alternated in a slow and tedious progress up-hill, and
one of the quick rushes downhill, when we would accomplish in half an
hour the same distance that it had taken us three hours before to mount.
But about twelve o'clock we emerged from the forest on to a level winding
road, overhanging a terrible precipice on the one side, from which was
a view unequalled in beauty and extent in all California. And this is
saying something; for throughout these two days' drives we had been
enjoying a series of superb and magnificent mountain scenes, that taken
singly would alone have been worth coming to see. But here was something
that surpassed them all. The valley at our feet was so deep that the eye
became giddy in following the downward line of the vertical precipice of
rock. You followed the upward slope of dark green mountains rising on
either side of the entrance of the valley, till you gradually let the eye
float away and away over the blue lines that each indicated a separate
mountain range growing fainter as they reached the horizon. This was the
great Sierra Nevada Range.
A more frantic and perilous rush than usual, over a rough, shingly road,
somewhat damped our keen look-out and eager expectation for the first
sight of the longed-for Valley, till we drew up point blank opposite a
sign board,--"Inspiration Point."
This is the most memorable incident in a visit to Yosemite, for in this
first comprehensive glance you take an impression of the Valley, _the
one_ which is to remain always with you, and for all time.
I think this Valley ought to be counted as one of the wonders of the
world, and that this Inspiration Point ought to have a world-wide fame;
to see it should be counted as much an event in a man's life as "to see
Naples and die."
I hope we were not like the gentleman "who had written largely and
felicitously on many subjects," but who exclaimed as he reached this
point, "My God! self-convicted as a spendthrift in words, the only terms
applicable to this spot I have wasted on minor scenes," but I know that
we felt awestruck and stunned for a moment by the beauty before us. We
were on a platform that projected, so that we saw ourselves hanging
over the precipice, just midway between the valley which seemed some
immeasurable distance below, and those strangely human rocks above. Six
miles long, but at no part broader than one mile, the Valley is simply
formed of a cleft or gorge in one of the peaks of the Sierra Nevada. It
is full of gigantic sequoias, dwarfed into ordinary fir-trees when seen
from this tremendous height.
We traced the green waters of the Merced, whose source is in the
imperishable fields of ice and snow, of some far-away peak, in its
wayward wanderings, through the centre of the flat valley.
But the grandeur and sublimity of the valley lie above us in those
marvellous configurations, those fanciful phantoms and wayward fancies
placed there by nature. For centuries and centuries since the foundation
of the world, they have stood there alone in their solemn glory, unseen
by civilized eye, unknown until some thirty years ago.
[Illustration: The Sentinel, Yosemite Valley.
Page 77.]
Facing us there is El Capitan, called by the Indians Totokohula, or great
chief of the valley, the most matchless piece of masonry in the world.
The Twin Brothers are there, the Three Graces, the Sentinel Rock, the
Cathedral with its graceful Spires, the Bridal Veil, the Dome, and the
Half Dome.
"Hundreds have gazed enraptured upon these natural wonders, and return
again and yet again to drink their fill of Nature's handiwork; and
looking 'from Nature up to Nature's God,' thank Him that He has traced
with Almighty hand so many pictures of wondrous and unspeakable grandeur
and beauty. In the course of years, countless beholders will feel their
souls expand to the dimensions of their Almighty Architect as they gaze
upon this incomparable valley."
We drove down over a road invisible from the valley, and stopped just
on the bridge under which flows the stream from the "Bridal Veil." The
Indians gave it the name of "Pohono," or Spirit of the Evil Wind. You
can almost see the single drops falling against the side of the dark
rock, as the spray-like foam, far more beautiful than the "Staubbach" in
Switzerland, comes over the left side of the Cathedral Rock. It falls in
an unbroken sheet, 630 feet, then dashing from the _débris_ of rocks some
200 feet more, flows in a succession of tiny cataracts. The fancifully
pretty name came from the body of water, which, when falling lightly over
the cliff, is swayed to and fro by the pressure of the wind striking the
long column, often giving to it the appearance of a fluttering veil. I
thought it the most beautiful object in the valley.
There are several small inns, but we stopped at Barnard's, which lies
immediately under the Falls which give their name to the Valley. A
hurried consultation with the landlord resulted in the decision to go up
to Glacier Point, which has the most extensive and complete view of all
the different points of interest in the valley. The ascent was to take
us three hours, when it would be possible for us to drive afterwards to
Mirror Lake in time to see the sunset. We started immediately on a pony
and two mules (Mr. Lee being of the party) up the steep trail, preceded
by the guide, who turned out to be surly, useless, and disobliging. The
sun glared fiercely in our eyes, blurring out the view of the valley
below. I tried with ill-success the shelter of a sun-umbrella, the pony
shying violently, and turning round on the narrow path to look me in the
face. We became impatient with the slow progress, and weary of urging on
the animals, and at last, by dint of persistent questioning, I found out
from the guide that Glacier Point was six miles from the valley, or about
six hours' expedition there and back! Mirror Lake disappeared entirely
from our programme, and we even began to think of contenting ourselves
with Union Point. We reached there at 4.30, having taken two hours for
the four miles, and the guide assured us we must allow the same time for
returning. After some discussion the matter was finally settled for us,
by looking at the soft haze about the sun, and seeing that the brightness
of the afternoon was passing away. We decided to give up Glacier Point,
and be contented with the less extensive, though I can hardly believe
less beautiful, view.
At Union Point we were 2200 feet up, and on the platform immediately
facing us stood the beautiful Agassiz Column, a spiral fragment of rock
raised up on end. There was a great solemnity and grandeur in the silence
and stillness of the valley below. We were above the hum and stir of
life, away from mankind, from the petty aims and ambitions of the world
beneath us, left alone with the grand mountains. The evening shadows,
with their soft blue lights, fell on the surrounding points even as we
looked, and the valley itself lay in shadow below. Immediately above and
inclining down towards us were the Three Brothers, their Indian name
signifying "mountains playing leap-frog," giving the truest description
of their triple zigzag peaks. We knew that on the other side of the
rock, only 200 feet lower down, there was a similar formation--the
Three Graces, or the sweet "Wakwahlena" of the Mona dialect. We saw the
Sentinel or Watch Tower of the Indians, a mass of perpendicular granite
tapering into a peak that seemingly points its summit _into_ the sky, and
which for ever stands watching, keeping guard over the valley. Again,
on the same side, the beautiful Cathedral Spires were just to be seen
tapering to a height of 500 feet above the massive roof of the Cathedral
Rock, which is itself a piece of unified granite of 2660 feet in height.
These spires are the most graceful specimens of natural masonry and
architecture in the valley, and at times when the wind soughs and moans
amongst the crevices, and round about the spires, they say you can hear
the deep tones as of some minor organ wailing "The Miserere of lost
souls."
[Illustration: The Cathedral Spires, Yosemite Valley.]
Turning away from this side and looking on the other, in the far distance
we saw the Dome; and a very perfectly rounded dome it is. It seems to
be made up of prodigious concentric plates of granite, on one side
suggesting the formation of what are called, the "Royal Arches." But
towering so far above it, that it is completely dwarfed by comparison, is
the half dome, the "Goddess of the Valley," the most remarkable formation
amongst the many that are in this valley of marvels. It is a symmetrical
dome of bare rock, scarred and worn with the storms that gather and play
about its mighty head--"storm-written hieroglyphics,"--they have rightly
been called, rising 4737 feet above the valley, the valley itself being
4000 feet above the level of the sea. But instead of sloping away on
both sides, this dome, on the left, is cut completely away, and descends
in an absolutely vertical line of 1800 feet or more, thus producing a
perfect half dome. Some great convulsion of Nature seems to have split
it directly in two, and the western half has disappeared, no one knows
where. The valley is here narrowed to its smallest limit, and this tends
to add to the stupendous majesty of this "imperfect" dome. To give some
idea of its vast height, it is not once, nor twice, nor thrice, but
fifteen times the height of St. Peter's at Rome--all rock, nothing but
rock! "And God's hand built it--not in masses of slow-mounting masonry,
gaining adventurously and toilsomely, foot by foot, and pushing its
scaffolding ever higher to keep command of the work, and straining its
enginery to swing aloft the chiselled and ponderous blocks to their
place--but with one lift, without break of course, or any gradation
of rising completeness, the Supreme Builder set the domed mountain in
its place, foundation wall, and top-stone--one sublime integral whole,
unprofaned by craftsmen's tools, untrod by foot of man."
Beneath the Half Dome, but hidden from us, lies the Mirror Lake, where on
a surface absolutely motionless, at sunset and at sunrise, are reflected
all the magnificent surroundings in perfection. Cloud's Rest is the
culminating mountain-top in this part of the valley.
And now, after we have been looking at these far-off points, our eyes
fall down to those nearer home, and we look opposite at El Capitan. We
follow upwards the lines that seem interminable in their length, from
the base to the brow of this wall of rock, this mass of immensity. "El
Capitan imposes on us by its stupendous bulk, which seems as if hewn from
the mountains on purpose to stand as the type of eternal massiveness."
"Wipe out the beautiful Merced with its snow-fed streams, let the fierce
summer heat dry up the waterfalls, blast as with a curse the whole
valley, El Capitan would still smite you with his austere silence." The
spire of Strasburg Cathedral, that masterpiece of Gothic architecture,
is 468 feet high, and still the compound height of seven such cathedrals
would not equal the height of this granite mass.
Over a recess in a dim corner, during the earlier months of the year,
pour the "Ribbon Falls," or "Virgin's Tears," (the "Long and Slender" of
the Indians), though in summer it dwindles down into what we saw it, a
single ribbon string.
Much the same may be said of the Yosemite Falls, from which the Valley
takes its name, signifying in Indian "large Grizzly Bear," which are very
beautiful from the months of March till July, when they likewise dwindle
into insignificance. These may also be said to be divided into three
distinct falls; with a perpendicular descent of 1500 feet, a 600 feet of
cataracts over a shelving rock, and a final fall of 400 feet ending in
spray and foam.
The great advantage of the further ascent to Glacier Point is that you
have the more complete view of the valley which includes the Vernal and
Nevada Falls, two very beautiful falls of 400 and 600 feet each, some
way up the Cañon of the Merced; the Sentinel Dome, which is a mile and a
half above the point; the Washington Column or "Watching Eye," and a very
far-reaching view over the further side of the valley--of the "little
Yosemite," and the higher peaks of the Sierra Nevada.
This view from Union Point proved our only hope of carrying away with
us some general idea of the wonderful formations of the valley in the
short space of time we could allow, and after trying, with some success,
I since think, to print them indelibly in our mind's eye, we turned our
thoughts towards the descent.
My pony had come down on his knees at a very early period of the
expedition, and I greatly mistrusted his powers of holding up down the
steep stony trail, not counting the discomfort of feeling the legs of the
animal sliding away in front, and subsiding behind, whilst simultaneously
being pitched forward at a _very_ inclined angle. I declined to ride
down the first and steepest part of the trail, and eventually it ended
in my running down the four miles, and resting at the bottom for half
an hour for the others to come up. We returned to Barnard's decidedly
crestfallen, and with very different feelings to those of pleasurable
excitement with which we had started out earlier in the afternoon. We
went to bed quite worn out after such a long day, but--there was to
be no sleep for us that night. Mosquitoes and the hardest beds I ever
slept on were small drawbacks when compared to the weekly ball that
was going on immediately underneath us. Every sound was heard through
the thin partitions, and we could only lie and listen to the Master of
the Ceremonies with his "Figure number one, and cross over, turn, face
partner, ladies' chain, sides," &c., the scraping of the fiddle, and the
shuffling of the feet.
Weary and dispirited, we left the valley the next morning at 6 a.m.,
taking our farewell view from the top of the mountain which we had
been winding up the side of for three hours. We had in the coach with
us Mrs. McCauley, who kept the inn at Glacier Point, and one of the
first inhabitants of the valley. She told us that there was general
complaint about the meagre compensation that Government had given to
the inhabitants since they had taken possession. The early settlers had
expended much toil on the formation of the first and most dangerous
trails to the principal points, charging some small fee. It was in
1864 that Congress granted the valley to the State of California, as
"the cleft or gorge in the granite peak of the Sierra Nevada," under
the express condition that it was to be kept for "the benefit of the
people, for their use, resort, and recreation, and especially to
hold them inalienable for all time." And so it always is in America,
parks, gardens, all places are kept and maintained for the _people_.
Congress has just taken possession of the comparatively newly discovered
Yellowstone Park, for the nation, preparatory to developing its wonders
and making it accessible "for the people." A guardian and commissioners
were appointed for the valley, who have since done wonders in making the
points of interest more approachable by new roads, bridges, and trails.
We had another of those magnificent forest drives, looking over the
valleys and the mountain peaks of the Sierra Nevada from the opposite
side to that on which we had entered the valley; but the coach was of a
smaller build than the others we had been in; it was more than unusually
laden with passengers, and the heat was very great. We arrived cramped
and somewhat cross at Mrs. Crocker's, a Nottinghamshire woman, where we
found a charming luncheon provided in a cool, neat cottage.
In the afternoon we drove through the trunk of one of the monster trees,
"the Dead Giant," where there was room for the six horses and coach to
pass at a full trot, describing a slight curve of the road in passing
through the aperture, but it required the fine skilful driving that we
had, to do it.
[Illustration: Big Tree, California.]
Then we pictured to ourselves those marvellous groves of big trees near
the Yosemite, the Calaveras and Mariposa and south groves, wonders which
we had missed altogether, without which no description of the valley is
complete. I therefore give a rough outline gathered from those who have
seen them.
The discovery of this new tree of sequoia occasioned much excitement; at
first it was supposed to be of the species of Redwood or Wellingtonia,
but eventually it was given a genus of its own and called after a
Cherokee Indian, _Gigantea Sequoia_. It is limited exclusively to the
Sierra Nevada Range, as the Redwood is to the Sea Coast Range, and both
are Californian natives.
The Calaveras grove contains the most celebrated of these monarchs
of the forest; and nearly all have received names from numerous
hero-worshippers. They attain to a height varying from 250 to 300 feet,
and to a diameter of from 20 to 30 feet. Their age is assigned to be
from two to three thousand years, and this is judged from the number
of their concentric rings. So many of them are partially destroyed by
fire, that it has given rise to a theory that a thousand years ago there
must have been a terrible fire which raged among the sequoias alone; and
this is supported by the fact that sugar pines and other old trees now
side by side with these, show no signs of fire, proving that they had no
existence at the time.
On entering the grove the three leading generals of the Union Army,
Grant, Sherman, and McPherson, stand facing you; the "Pride of the
Forest," the "Miner's Cabin," blown down in a gale in November, 1860, and
the "Three Graces," a beautiful cluster, are quite near; others lie all
around, each known by its own name.
The "Mother" and the "Twins" are succeeded by the "Father of the Forest."
The "Father" long since bowed his head in the dust, yet how stupendous he
is even in his ruin! A hollow chamber or burnt cavity extends through the
trunk, large enough for a person to ride through, and near its base is a
never-failing spring of water.
There are "Richard Cobden," "John Bright," "Daniel O'Connell," the
"Sequoia Queen," and her "Maids of Honour," the "Old Maid," and the "Old
Bachelor," "Daniel Webster," "George Washington," and very many others,
and perhaps what is best of all to see, many other young sequoias growing
up with promise of the same gigantic proportions, that may be middle-aged
trees of their kind in about a thousand years.
In the south grove, extending for three miles and a half, there are 1300
trees. One of them still standing and growing has the interior portion so
burned out, that there is a room large enough to contain sixteen men on
horseback at the same time, and yet enough is left of the outer rim to
support the colossal proportions above. In this grove traces of the great
fire are most visible, and "Noah's Ark" and "Old Goliath," two of the
giants, are prone upon the ground. A limb alone of the latter measures
twelve feet in circumference, and, standing in the trunk, it is easy to
believe you are on the deck of some large ship; meantime the base is used
as a stable for horses.
The Mariposa grove is about two miles square, and is divided into an
upper and lower grove. "The Grizzly Giant" is its great sequoia, but
its upper part is much battered and torn away. Some who have seen these
groves concur in a feeling of disappointment about the size of the trees,
which is attributable to the two causes of their close proximity, and
isolation from other trees, there being no others to compare their height
with, and so few of the trees continue complete to the top, nearly all
being broken off or withered. But others are very beautiful, and one who
has seen them writes:--
"It is impossible for pen to convey or tongue to tell the feeling of
shadowy mystery that invites the gazer into the solemn and mighty forests
to enter and explore. Little by little the light before begins to pale
and dim, and the trunks to grow grander in proportion, the height vaster,
until at last one stands in reverence before the silent and ancient
monarchs themselves. It is twilight. No breeze whispers through the
branches of these forest gods, that climb seemingly to the zenith in
their search for space and light. All the eloquence that has stirred
and electrified the civilized world, fails utterly to hold spell-bound
and attentive the man, as does the mute appeal of these monsters to the
truth, 'I am the Lord thy God.' Yosemite is grand, terrific, beautiful,
but is stone. These--the trees--'live.' Their tops, as the ocean breeze
wafts through them, sigh a mournful requiem of the Ages they have
witnessed, of the suffering, the toil and the little recompense of man.
What stories could they tell of nations, peoples, cities, born and
decayed on this our continent before Columbus came from the rising sun to
people with a new race a long-lost world! Do they hold the future of our
nation, the destiny of our children, in the grasp of their knowledge, and
look mute and pityingly down upon a pride, a glory, that, like all other
prides and glories, pomps and circumstances, whether of nations or men,
shall surely fade?"
To return to that hot afternoon during which we went coaching on,
leaving the mountains behind us, and coming to a dead level country,
which was interesting from its being the scene of some of the earliest
of the Californian gold diggings. The ground was of a brilliant reddish
colour, and in some parts gulched and undermined in all directions.
These diggings are deserted now, but traces of the gold fever are left
in the numerous and scattered population,--men who came out expecting
sudden riches, remaining in the bitterness of disappointment to work
for daily bread. We had dinner about five o'clock at Priest's, and then
a long moonlight drive afterwards of twenty miles. We descended into
a valley to cross the Tuolumne river, coach and horses being driven
on to the ferry-boat, which was worked by a man by means of a rope
suspended in mid-air across the river. The heat in this valley was
intense, nor was it much better when we got up on to the open plain,
and galloped along with the shadow of the coach rolling round and round
after us in the moonlight; nor yet when we arrived at Chinese Camp, our
night's resting-place. We all spent a sleepless night in our small,
barely-furnished rooms, with insect companionship, and were glad when
the first streaks of daylight came, and we made another early start, in
the grey dawn this time, for it was 4 a.m. We had twenty-eight miles to
drive to catch the 10.50 train at Milton. It was pleasant after such a
bad night to feel the cool breeze of the early morning, and to know the
sun had risen behind the hill by the pinky tinge of the sky.
When we stopped for breakfast at Sonora, we found a Noah's Ark waiting
to receive us, in place of our coach, which went no further. It was an
ancient vehicle lined with greasy yellow leather, with neither door nor
window, but curtains that rolled up and down and did duty instead. The
way was through a baking piece of prairie, over a road "not" made with
hands, and we suffered very bitterly. It was a crowning misery, for
we felt that the expedition had been somewhat of a failure. Vainly we
strained our eyes across the dreary waste for miles around, in search of
what it seemed hopeless to find--a railway station. We did not breathe,
we panted breathlessly; we did not sit, we rolled helplessly, and C.
_quite_ felt, whilst I _almost_ did, that no Yosemite could be worth such
terrible misery. We were near to Milton before we saw it, and found the
station, and the train waiting. We were positively ashamed of the dust
that we brought into the railway carriage to the other passengers, and
certainly were not less so when we arrived at Stockton, and drove to the
hotel for luncheon; and a great deal more so when we came to Oakland
Ferry, and crossed in the ferry-boat, driving to the "Palace" once more.
We spent that evening in trying to remove some of the traces of our
expedition. The rooms seemed almost oppres
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