CHICAGO TO SAN FRANCISCO.
The train was due at Chicago (December 2nd) at 9.45 a.m., being exactly a 23 hours and 45 minutes' run from New York. Having crossed Chicago from one terminus to another, I found that three trains left Chicago by which I could travel to San Francisco—two were slow trains, and one a fast train; but, by whichever train I went, it would make no difference as to the time I left Omaha, and consequently no difference to the time I should arrive at San Francisco, so I went on by one of the slow trains, as I wanted to see Council Bluffs. This train was similarly fitted to the other, except that it had no drawing-room car, nor stenographer, etc., nor were the platforms connecting the carriages enclosed; so that, in passing to the dining car, or any other car, the sudden change from a hot car to a shower of snow was not pleasant. The distance from Chicago to Omaha is 492 miles, and the country between the two places formed a part of the great prairie region, which, 50 years ago, had no other inhabitant than the Indian and the trapper, but now is a succession of homesteads, villages, and towns, bearing evidence of prosperity. At Creston, and many other stations, I noticed that there is no protection whatever from the railway; the line is unfenced, and the train runs through the town as openly as a coach would; there is generally a rough board put up here and there with the words, crudely painted on them, "Look out for the cars!" We were due at Council Bluffs the next morning (December 3rd) at 7.23, but we arrived some half-hour late. Council Bluffs Station is four miles from Omaha Station, but the towns adjoin. The former has a population of over 35,000, and the latter of over 110,000. They are divided by the great Missouri River, which is crossed by two bridges, one being 2,750 feet long, and the other 2,920 feet long. Having had breakfast at the station, I went up to the town by the "motor," that is, the electrical tram-car. The motor cars, like the railway cars, are heated. I noticed a large number of detached wooden cottages, "standing in their own grounds," of about one-eighth of an acre, and I learned that these are owned by labourers. Mr. Day, an agent there, told me that the cottage would cost 500 dollars, and the land 400 dollars, i.e., £100 for the house, and £80 for the land. An eighth of an acre for £80 would be £640 per acre, and this quite out in the suburbs; and I was told that good business blocks in the town itself would fetch £32,000 (not dollars, but pounds) per acre. In the large cities, such as New York, Chicago, etc., prices in the principal streets would compare with prices in the City of London. Returning to the station, I joined the express train, and crossing the Missouri River to Omaha, we proceeded west. The river was frozen at its sides, and presented no attractions worth notice. On we go through hundreds of fields of maize, always called "corn" in America; other grain crops, such as wheat, etc., are called by their own names, but the crop known only as "corn" in America is maize. The rich clusters of corn are gathered, and the stalks, something in appearance between a wheat stalk and a sugar cane, are left standing for the cattle to pick over. Forty years ago this part was uninhabited by white men, and was the home of countless buffaloes; now these animals are extirpated, and everywhere we see nothing, for mile upon mile, but corn, corn, corn. One of my fellow travellers was Mr. H.C. Jacobs, of Chicago, whose father-in-law was one of the pioneers, and who gave me much information. The next day (December 4th), we traverse the great rolling prairies of Nebraska, and see many herds of horses and cattle, and here and there ranch homes and cowboys.
Having run through Illinois, Iowa, and Nebraska, we commence the State of Wyoming as we pull up at the City of Cheyenne, where, in the far distance, we see, with its peaks well clothed in snow, the grand range of the Rocky Mountains. Soon after leaving Cheyenne, we commence the ascent of the Rockies—not, of course, the actual summit range itself, but the foot hills and high lands stretching away from, and forming part of it—and as we climb the ascent terminating at Sherman, where we have gained an elevation of 8,247 feet, we pass through very wild, grand scenery. At this altitude we look down upon floating clouds, and see in the distance Long's Peak, 14,000 feet high, towering above them. All along, at intervals, are portable fences, placed to catch the snow as it drifts, to prevent it blocking the line; and also what are called snow sheds, which are rough timber tunnels built up to protect the rails from the great drifts arising out of heavy snowstorms. At the highest point is a pyramid, commemorating a certain Mr. Oakes Ames, which looked 20 feet high and very near the line; it is however, 75 feet high and half-a-mile off. The air is so rarefied that distances are most deceiving.
As our descent proceeds, we catch sight, in the distance, of a herd of wild elk, and where these rolling prairies have better herbage, we see herds of horses with ranch buildings here and there. We pass the ranch of William Cody, who, by virtue of his being a Senator of the State of Nebraska, is called Honourable, but who was known in London, a short time ago, at Mr. Whitley's "Wild West" show as "Buffalo Bill." As we pass Fort Laraime, one of the forts erected by the United States Government as a protection against the Indians, I was told some stories of Cody's exploits against the Indians. In former days, emigrants traversing these great prairies to found a home in this Wild West, were often harassed by Indians, and the soldiers at the fort had to protect them. Buffalo Bill has been in many a skirmish, and, if rumour is true, many redskins have succumbed to him; the Government took counsel with him in all Indian difficulties in that part of the country, and the day before I passed his ranch he had been sent for by the authorities that they might confer with him as to the outbreak which then existed, and which cost "Sitting Bull" his life. We passed a house cut clean in two by the wind, great herds of horses and cattle, beautiful specimens of the bald and other eagles and vultures, some deer, and a very fine grey wolf about the size of a Newfoundland dog.
The distant mountain scenery at times is very grand, and everywhere snow-capped. The air is very pure and keen. I much enjoyed the society of two fellow travellers over this part of my journey, Mr. Lee, of General Lee's family, of Virginia, and Mr. Hurley, Solicitor to the Directors of the line we were traversing. We passed the "Divide of the Continent" at an altitude of 7,100 feet, which is the dividing line of the running of water; that running east empties into the North Platte River, thence into the Missouri, thence into the Gulf of Mexico and the Atlantic Ocean; that running west empties into the Green River, thence into the Colorado, thence into the Pacific Ocean.
In the early morning of December 5th we ran into Ogden, which is near Salt Lake, at the base of the Wasatch Mountains, which are snow-capped, and have some very fine peaks. Salt Lake is 126 by 45 miles, and on it is situate the great City of the Mormons. On the more fertile parts of the prairies I gathered, at Humboldt Wells, some of the sage grass which used to be the food of the buffaloes when they existed; at other places I gathered samples of herbage on less favoured soils. As we proceed, we see an encampment of Indians with red paint on their faces, which was put on to show sympathy with, and, if necessary, take part with other tribes of Indians, then commencing a "war" with the United States soldiers. This district was not far, as distances go in America from the scene of action. Presently we commence our run through the great barren alkali plains, emerging from which we get into a more fertile country, and, at Cedar Pass, notice the great ranch of Messrs. Sparks and Tinnin, who are reputed to have 100,000 head of cattle. Mr. Byrne, of Elko, Nevada, also the owner of a large ranch, was on board the cars, and gave me some useful information. He said that cattle raising is very profitable, as they double in number every four years, i.e., a profit of 25 per cent.; thus, if a man start with a 1,000 head of stock cattle, he will have 4,000 head in four years.
If a thousand head of stock cattle were purchased off a ranch, they would be sold just as they run, without any selection whatever—steers, heifers, cows, calves, bulls, yearlings, both sexes and all ages, but calves which still suck their mothers are not counted, and go for nothing. Many head of cattle perish in the winter, when the land is covered with snow, as on many large ranches no food is given them. I urged that it would pay to have stock-yards and give food during the snow time, and Mr. Byrne said that he always did so himself, and that the great ranch men were having their eyes opened to this necessity.
We passed various other encampments of Indians, and far from any encampment or habitation saw an Indian on the track carrying a small light bundle, and following him a long way behind was his squaw, labouring under a very heavy burden.
During this day we ran through ranges of uneven mountains, rising one above another in broken undulations and with ever-varying tops, such as table lands, sharp conical peaks, rounded heads, and broken indentations.
The distant mountains are enveloped in snow, upon which gleams a resplendent setting sun, presenting a prospect which only such a region could produce. From the dazzling whiteness of one range we look upon the dense darkness of another, as being out of the sun's influence. The lights and shades, the gorges, the fissures, the striations in the range upon range, with their intervals of plains and valleys, here and there opening up peeps of great tracts of country, and then again shutting all in to the circumference of their gigantic heads, interspersed with the brilliance of rich gold, tingeing some tops and revealing dark recesses, some ruby tints and fantastic shadows,—all combine to reflect a glory which lifts the mind beyond the great heights of hills to a height, greater still, whence originated all natural grandeur.
We had run through Utah and Nevada, and were now approaching the northern part of California. In the very early morning of December 6th I awoke and found that the train was at a standstill. Thinking that we were at a station I tried to sleep again, but, finding that we continued motionless, I went out on to the platform connecting our car with the next and found all around was deep snow, and that another train on the other metals had broken down, and that our men were apparently helping to get it off. We were then two miles from Truckee, and at an elevation of nearly 6,000 feet. After a long delay we got away and ran into Truckee. The scenery on this day was also of a truly grand character: precipices, declivities, chasms; and in one very romantic spot, of weird and wild mountain sides, graduating to narrow gullies, with pine and other trees, some perfect, others broken by the wind was one great wreck of a forest monster—a tree rudely snapped asunder by wind or lightning, about 40 feet from the ground, and stripped of every branch, so that it looked like a broken column; on its top sat a great vulture in the well-known attitude of its kind, as motionless as rock, and apparently meditating on the incongruity of a noisy, vulgar bit of machinery, with its train of cars, invading such a nook of Nature's solitudes.
As we proceeded we came upon the succession of Placer gold diggings, known as the hydraulic mines, which were then for the most part abandoned, and these brought to my remembrance many similar spots I had seen in Australia. The débris of the mines had stopped up, or diverted, or otherwise interfered with the Sacramento River, the Bear River, and other rivers, to the great detriment of agriculture, horticulture, stock rearing, etc., whereupon the State Legislature of California passed an Act to prohibit all interference with the water, for without water the miners could not wash their dirt, and so had to abandon the diggings. All around this part, ravine followed ravine, with beautiful vistas between, affording a continuous luxury of scenic gratification. Presently we reached what is called by many the grandest scenery on the American Continent, known as Cape Horn; it is where the train winds round a mountain side, on a narrow ledge, and at such a height, that to hold one's hand out of the window would be to hold it over a sheer precipice of 2,500 feet. The train runs along the ledge or narrow roadway cut in the face of the mountain rock, and all around is presented a spectacle of the majesty of Nature, which only such a range of mountains as the Sierra Nevada could produce.
About 14 miles from Truckee, we reach a station called "Summit," which lies at an elevation of 7,017 feet, and is the highest point on the Sierra Nevada Mountains reached by railroads, but the granite peaks rise up to an altitude of over 10,000 feet. Grizzly bears, and other wild creatures, find their homes in the recesses of these fastnesses. On leaving these mountains we make a rapid descent, and in an hour feel that we are in another country. At Colfax I bought fruit; at Arlington the temperature was like summer. At Rockling Station I saw some very fine orange trees, full of splendid fruit. Now we have entered the fertile plains of North California, and run through cultivated lands, till we reach Sacramento, the capital of the State. It is a great change: from desert, alkaline plains, miles of snow sheds, snow-covered mountains, a semi-civilization, and a freezing atmosphere, we find ourselves in a warm, genial climate, cultivated farms, vineyards, gardens, and orchards of nectarines, pears, apples, and the rest.
Arriving at Oakland, we crossed the Bay in the great ferry-ship, or floating wharf, "Piedmont." The weather was charming—the bay dotted about with islands and surrounded by hills. The temperature was the more enjoyable from the fact that only a few hours before we were surrounded by deep snow.
On arriving at San Francisco (on Saturday, December 6th), I went straight to the Palace Hotel, and my first effort was to get a bath, for a continuous day and night run from New York of 3,367 miles, makes one who is accustomed to the use of plenty of water to look for a good ablution as the first refresher. The Palace Hotel claims to be the "model hotel of the world." Its architect visited the leading hotels of Europe so as to produce a hotel superior to any. As to size, it occupies a complete block—that is, it has a street traversing each side of it. It rises to a height of 120 feet, and covers an area 350 feet by 275 feet—that is, 96,250 square feet, or nearly 2-3/4 acres, and, with sub-sidewalk extensions, exceeds three acres. The lower story is 27 feet high, the uppermost one 16 feet high. The foundation wall is 12 feet thick, and the principal materials are stone, iron, brick, and marble. Every partition wall throughout is stone and brick. It is fire and earthquake proof, the walls being additionally tied by iron bands. It has four artesian wells, yielding 28,000 gallons of water an hour, a 630,000 gallon reservoir, and tanks holding 130,000 gallons more. The water is served by three large steam fire pumps, which throw the water above the roof. There are five patent safety-catch hydraulic elevators (or lifts). Immense precautions have been taken against fire. The dining-rooms are 150 feet by 55 feet, and 100 feet by 50 feet. The public rooms are very numerous, and are of immense size. The rooms for guests are principally 20 feet by 20 feet; none are less than 16 feet by 16 feet; all are well furnished. The corridors are like streets—space, elegance, solidity, and comfort are apparent everywhere; the whole being lighted by gas and electricity. Each bedroom has a bath-room, with hot and cold water services; w.c., coat-closet, and lavatory closet, with hot and cold water services to itself, and which can only be used by the occupant of the bed-room. The hotel, of course, has a barber's shop, and as I expected my client to call I was anxious to get through my toilet quickly; so I rang for one of the barber's assistants to come to my bed-room to cut my hair preparatory to the bath. This did not take long, and I asked the price, when, to my surprise, a dollar and a-half, i.e., 6s. 3d., was required. I thought it was barbarism indeed!
I left San Francisco on Monday, December 8th, and during my short stay I saw something of the town; but it was not the same place as I remembered it from my two visits to it in 1862. It is full of life and activity, has many wealthy men, 50 of whom, it is said, are millionaires. It has a large number of grand buildings, fine shops, extensive markets, beautiful private residences, and an immense development of electricity for motion, light, sound, etc. The tram-cars run in constant succession everywhere; but the most remarkable cars are those worked by an endless cable. In the city are works with immense steam power, and from these works endless cables revolve throughout the city, under the roads, in various directions. In the bed of the tramway is a groove, under which is the cable, revolving at a great speed. The driver of the car lets down his grip, which tightly holds the cable, and, of course, the car starts at full speed, and is carried along by the cable. When the driver wants to stop, he lets go his grip on the cable and applies his brake. Some of the hills in San Francisco are very steep, and the first sensation in riding on the outside front seat, while going full speed down a sharp declivity, is certainly novel, with no apparent motive power, and no apparent means of stopping. The speed, of course, is always the same, whether up or down hill, or on level ground. Telegraph Hill is 394 feet high, Clay Street Hill 376 feet, and Russian Hill 360 feet. A San Francisco Sunday is painful to one accustomed to our English ways; travelling in every form, and buying and selling are very prevalent. The Y.M.C.A. have a large building there, and get large meetings. I attended one gathering, which I addressed shortly.
San Francisco is described as having "the mildest and most equable climate known to any large city in the world." January is the coldest month, and the mean temperature then is stated to be 50°. September is the hottest month, and the mean temperature then is stated to be 58°. Thus only 8° difference between the coldest and warmest months, and the average for the whole year is 54°.
San Francisco has a population of about 300,000 (including some 40,000 Chinese), is the principal city of the State of California, and the principal commercial centre on the Pacific coast. I must not, however, dwell longer on this part of my journey. On Monday, December 8th, I left San Francisco with one of my clients, Mr. C.H. Huffman, for Merced, by the 4 p.m train. The sun was shining gloriously, producing a charming effect upon the placid waters of the Bay and its beautiful surrounding hills.