SAN FRANCISCO TO NEW ORLEANS.
The train reached Merced at 10.23 on Monday night, December 8th, 1890, where I was met, and in a spacious family buggy, drawn by a pair of good horses, I was very soon at the residence of my client, Mr. C.H. Huffman. The continuous day and night travelling by rail, and the taking of voluminous notes all along, had caused a constant excitement which told upon the nerves, and for two days I felt as though I needed absolute rest, but, remembering that I had already been long absent from my office, I commenced my work at Merced the next morning. The town of Merced is the capital of the county of that name; it is not many years old, but it has a striking difference to many new small towns I have seen in the Colonies, in that it has several very good buildings and residences. It has seven churches and chapels of various denominations, some good shops, medical men, society, schools, gas, water, electricity, and a station on the main Great Southern Pacific Railway. It is undoubtedly a town which must rapidly increase in value, for this reason: My clients, Messrs. Crocker and Huffman, at a cost of some two million dollars, have tapped the Great Merced River 25 miles off, and brought water down to the town and irrigated the country round. They have formed a reservoir 640 acres in extent. Hitherto the rich lands around the town of Merced have not been irrigated, and consequently were not suitable for growing the Fruits for which California is so famous; but, now that a system of canals, formed by my clients, has irrigated their estate, extending over some 50,000 or 60,000 acres, the whole of this great area is changed in value, and is available, and will eventually be used, for the production of choice Fruits. Thus, Merced will become a centre, like other parts of California, and, being so much nearer than those other parts to San Francisco, will benefit additionally by that advantage alone. Merced is only 152 miles from San Francisco, while Fresno is 207, Bakersfield 314, and Los Angeles, 483 miles. It is rumoured that another line of railway will also be formed in connection with the present main line, and Merced would then be an important railway junction. I drove out every day with Mr. Huffman, and inspected the country for some miles around the town, including the Merced River, 25 miles off. The land designated British Colony, is, at its commencement, only two miles from the Merced Railway Station, hotel, and shops. Mr. Huffman has a most comfortable residence, and has excellent stables, well filled with first-class buggy horses, so that travelling was always an easy matter. Being a lay preacher in England, I took advantage of offers made me, and preached on the Sunday I was at Merced in two of the churches at the morning and evening services.
I left Merced on Tuesday night, December 16th, by the 10.23 train, having stayed there eight days. I immediately "turned in," and next morning (December 17th) was up as usual at 6.30, and much enjoyed the splendid scenery through which we were passing—in a mountainous country, grandly diversified with all the alternations of heights and depths, lights and darks, rich and barren, including many evidences of engineering skill—as we coursed along, now looking high up, now looking low down, and presently winding along the celebrated "loop," described as the "greatest engineering feat in the world," by which the train goes through mountain passes, creeping along the tops of eminences, then returning, crosses under itself at a low level, then, ascending, crosses over itself at a higher level, so that in its meandering course you now look down at your side on the line you have just traversed, and anon look up at your side at the line you are about to traverse. We passed through the Mojava (pronounced Moharvie) desert, where the yucca palm is plentiful. A fellow passenger, and old settler, enlivened the time by some relations of his experiences thus: He once shot a grizzly bear which weighed 1,500 lbs. Some are much larger than this. Everything of weight in America is generally reckoned by pounds, not cwts. or tons. On another occasion he slew a Californian lion. He had killed a bullock, and the carcase was hanging in his house at the back, where was an aperture like a small window without glass, and under this opening outside stood an empty case. The lion scenting the carcase, and hearing no sound from within, approached the house, and was endeavouring to creep through the aperture when, in its efforts to do so, it kicked the case away, and the poor animal was stuck fast, having its head and shoulders inside. My fellow traveller, on returning home, was surprised to find his visitor, and so despatched him with an axe, and has for years used the skin, which is 9 feet 8 inches long. The temperature was charming, although in the distance we could see the snow-capped mountains. We run through the antelope valley, gather some juniper plant, see a skunk, see natural oil wells at Saugus, pass the head of the Santa Clara Valley, see the San Fernando mountains, go through the greatest tunnel in America—the San Fernando tunnel, 6,967 feet long, go by Burbank, where there is a land boom, and arrive at Los Angeles, where during the two hours of waiting I have a look at the town and a pleasant chat with Mr. White Mortimer, the British Consul, whom I called upon. The next day (December 18th) we were on the desert of Arizona, where we saw Indian camps at places which were somewhat oases as to plant life. Speaking generally, nothing grows on a great part of this desert but cactus, of which I am told there are some 200 varieties, from the dwarf kind to trees 40 feet high. This plant has a strange if not a weird appearance. Here and there, like solitary sentinels, stands out a tall cactus, with perhaps two or three heads or branches, growing perpendicularly with itself. The mountains on either side look as if they had their origin in volcanic eruptions.
Some parts of the desert are covered with a dwarf kind of evergreen shrub. We see large numbers of prairie dogs, which are of a size between a rat and a rabbit; they live in holes like rabbits. There are also gophers, skunks, prairie rats, rattlesnakes, and hawks, which feed on snakes and rats. We pass tribes of Yuma Indians, Aztec Indians and Gila (pronounced Heela) Indians. On reaching a part where is some grass we see some cattle, which are straying on the line; the engine whistle shrieks, the cattle run, and some coyote wolves are startled from their lairs and run, too; large numbers are here, and the preceding night their yells aroused some passengers from sleep. As we proceed, quail are seen, and wild cats something like a lynx. Arriving at Tucson (pronounced Tewsohn), I enquired for a gentleman to whom I had an introduction, but learned that he was up at his gold mine. This Tucson is an ancient city, having been founded by the Jesuits in 1560 A.D. It does a large business in exporting gold dust, wool, and hides. I expect that these mountains of Arizona contain much value in minerals. The Indians in this part of the country are the Apaches, and were described to me as the most treacherous of all the American Indians, that they are cowardly and will never fight in the open. A gentleman who entered the train at Tucson gave me many instances of this. In the evening we saw "cow-boys" round their fire camping out in the open, and also a camp of freighters resting on their journey across the desert. The next morning early (December 19th) we arrived at El Paso, a most interesting Mexican town situate on the borders of Old Mexico, New Mexico and Texas, where I bought the skin of a Mexican tiger, and other things.
In travelling for some days in a train continuously one feels the need of exercise, and this I obtained by getting in and out of many of the railway stations and walking up and down. Between San Francisco and New Orleans there are 322 stations, and I should suppose the number of stations on both the Northern and Southern routes I traversed would probably amount to nearly 700.
We are now commencing to cross the great plains of Texas. At first the plains are desert, with mountains skirting our view; the scenery is less interesting than the Arizona desert, because there are no cacti. This desert has probably been under salt water at some time. The rocky hills appear to have a volcanic origin. As we go on, we reach a poor kind of pasture, growing out of a scrubby kind of shrub, with some occasional cacti, many hills and mountains like barren rocks, with not a bird or an animal to be seen. The weather has been warm since leaving Merced, but now, so far south as we are, it is hot on this December day. I had read in the short telegrams given by American papers, that the winter was very severe in England, and I pictured often to myself, friends and clients in England muffled up amidst frost and snow, whilst I was revelling in glorious sunshine, so warm that no greatcoat could be worn. Had I returned by the route I went (the Northern Prairies), I might have been delayed by snow drifts, but by this, the Southern route, there was no snow, but a continuous, cheerful, delightful sunshine, not too hot anywhere, but simply delightful. I should certainly recommend anyone going from England to California in the winter season, to go by the Southern route. Amongst the objects of interest, we notice in the distance a small herd of 14 wild antelope trotting along; cattle, coyote wolves, and, at many places, the well-picked bones of animals which had dropped dead, or, when weak, had been killed or eaten by carnivora or reptiles. We saw large numbers of prairie dogs; they sit outside their holes like a squirrel, on their haunches, with their fore paws up; they are very quick, and most difficult even to shoot. More antelopes and coyotes. At a station called Alpine were several cowboys, all armed with revolvers and cartridge belts, and some with dagger knives too; their mustangs were hitched up close by. These cowboys are some old and some young men, some wild and some cultivated, some never educated, some have gone through Harvard, or Oxford, or Cambridge, some the sons of English county gentlemen and noblemen—but all cowboys, i.e., men who live on ranches where large herds of cattle or horses are bred, and whose duty it is to ride over the wild rough country to know where the herds of cattle and horses are feeding, so that if they need to be ridden up for cutting or branding, or selling, they may be found. I was told that this was one of the "hardest" places for a cowboy, i.e., one of the wickedest, meaning that when they visit it, it is for a "spree," and they get drunk, and fights and murders follow. I was pointed to a little cemetery on a hill, enclosed by a white fence, and was told that it contained 150 bodies, and that only 50 had died a natural death; the others had been shot or otherwise murdered in drunken frays and other ways. Many strange little histories were told me about these men, but which I have no time to record here. In some parts of the country where water was very scarce, there seemed to be no vegetation, and the cattle seemed to wander solitarily along, a mere heap of hide and bone. At many stations I had quite a considerable interval for running about, such as when a wheel caught fire, which happened two or three times, or some freight had to be taken in, or taken out, etc. When the train again starts, the conductors shout "All aboard," and there is a general rush.
The next day (December 20th) was again a brilliant day of sunshine; we see many buzzards, and breakfast at San Antonio. The railway stations along this country have two roofs, one being two or three feet above the other, so that air between should keep the building cool. At breakfast, I read the San Antonio Daily Express, which informed me "severe storms prevailed everywhere in Great Britain," and my thoughts were naturally much occupied with the Old Country. The day was sultry, but sunshine is always a great treat to me, and it was never too hot.
Now we are running into civilization again, and I catch sight of a man ploughing; he has a pair of mules, and is holding the reins in his teeth. As we proceed, it is a continuous succession of cotton fields, cotton fields, cotton fields. We see many bales; these weigh from 475 to 600 lbs. each. At a station called Sequin, I obtained lots of cotton seeds, and gathered some cotton in the fields as we went along. The scavengers of this country are Turkey buzzards, which are protected by law because of their usefulness.
I could not refrain from writing several times in my note-book, "glorious sunshine." Hitherto we have had mountains continuously in sight, but now they are out of vision. This being Saturday we see markets at the towns we go through; at Habwood and Flatonia especially was this noticeable. The population seemed almost altogether negro. I observed a negro and his wife, well dressed, riding on horseback in the old English pillion style; another negro and his wife, and about twelve children, in a capacious kind of wagon-buggy, and many negroes and negresses, the latter dressed in white and gay colours, standing at their pretty verandahed cottages.
We now pass a spot where a train was stopped and the passengers robbed some time ago, by Jesse and Frank Jeames and the Ford Brothers. The modus operandi is for all the men to be secreted but one, who stands on the line holding up a red flag which indicates danger; the engineer then stops and the men spring aboard; some hold revolvers to the heads of the engineers, and others go through the train and rob the passengers. The robbers shout out "hands up," and one man points his weapon at the passenger's head, whilst another rifles his pockets. If a passenger fails to hold up his hands he is shot down. A passenger on the Northern Prairies told me of a fellow passenger, who under such circumstances having a revolver, aimed at a robber and pulled the trigger, but it missed fire, and he was instantly shot down. But these attacks are now more rare, and the officials are more prepared for them. Sometimes the robbers get on board the train as passengers, and act suddenly in concert. All along the country now we pass the cabins of the slaves, familiarised to us by "Uncle Tom's Cabin." These cabins are pleasant little houses with verandahs, and I reflected how favourably they compared with the "homes" of many of the London poor, and how happy the slaves might have been but for the knowledge that at any time they were liable to be sold like a mule or a bullock. Now we pass sugar, cotton and rice plantations, and go through such cultivations all through Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, North and South Carolina, Georgia, and Virginia. I gathered sugar and cotton going along at places, saw a racoon in a stream fishing for crawfish, and go through a country, in which are plenty of alligators.
On the early morning of Sunday (December 21st), we go through swamps, such as we used to read of as the hiding-places of runaway slaves. All through these Southern States we saw everywhere sugar and cotton, sugar and cotton, sugar and cotton; these, with rice, are the principal products; sugar mills, cotton yards, etc., etc. We soon reach Algiers, and cross the grand Mississippi River, then land at New Orleans. The actual city of New Orleans covers an area of about 41 square miles, but the statutory limits of the city embrace nearly 150 square miles. It is situate on both banks of the Mississippi River, and from 1,000 to 1,500 steamers and other vessels, from all parts of the world, may frequently be seen lying there. New Orleans is the chief market in the world for cotton. The site of the city was surveyed in 1717 by De la Tour, and it was settled in 1718, but abandoned in consequence of overflows, storms, and sickness; it was resettled in 1723, held by the French till 1729, then by the Spaniards till 1801, by the French again till 1803, and then, with the Province of Louisiana, was ceded to the United States. The present population is about 250,000. There are 33 cemeteries, and they are remarkable, inasmuch as the bodies are buried above ground, in vaults like tiers of ovens; the ground is too wet for burial. I attended Trinity Church in the morning, had some black bear for dinner at my hotel, the "Hotel St. Charles," and then attended the Y.M.C.A., where I gave the address in the afternoon, which was followed by a very solemn after meeting. I went to bed very early, and was up very early the next morning (Monday, December 22nd). I had to draw the mosquito curtains in the night, but not till after some of these insects had left their mark. The principal ground floor of the hotel was on the first floor level, and the actual ground floor was of secondary importance; the front part was occupied by stone steps and a colonnade, and the rear was a liquor bar and a large hall. This hall used to be one of the principal auction rooms of the city, where slaves were sold by auction; and as I entered the now rather desolate-looking place, which is partly circular in shape and constructed with many pillar supports, I pictured to myself the emotional agonies, the tempests of passion, the lust of greed, the calm, subdued, resistless attitude of despair which at times found expression, as domestic circles were for ever broken, tenderest sympathies for ever sundered, closest friendships for ever separated—yea, even the most sacred relationships of life ruthlessly shattered, by the sale of mothers or fathers, brothers or sisters, wives or husbands, sweethearts or friends. Of this I will give just two illustrations: Our porter on the train crossing the Northern Prairies was a coloured man named Farrell; he told me that his mother had seven boys, and that they were all sold away from her, and that it had been his life-work to try to find his brothers. He had shipped to Australia as a seaman, had worked in hotels, and on wharves and rivers, and now was working on the railway cars endeavouring to find his brothers; he had advertised for them in the newspapers, but he had never heard of one of them. When this family was broken up, Farrell and his brothers were only boys; for it will be remembered that the date of the official announcement of the total abolition of slavery in the United States was made on the 18th December, 1862, when upwards of 4,000,000 slaves were legally declared free men. Another coloured man engaged at this hotel, who was born a slave, remembered walking with his father, who was also a slave, and his father's anxiety to get home before nine o'clock at night, as no coloured man was allowed to be in the streets after that hour unless he possessed a sufficient authority from his owner. This man told me that at an auction of slaves at this hotel (auctions of slaves were held in New Orleans at different places three times a week) a very fine intelligent young man was sold by auction for 2,100 dollars to a lawyer who was known to be a cruel man. My informant told me that his name was—well, it sounded like Rumo, possibly Roumeaux, as most of the wealthy settlers were of French origin, that he lived in St. James' Ward, and that when he bought slaves and sent them down to his plantations, they each received twenty-five lashes as they entered his gates, as an example, of what they would receive if they did not please him. Well, when the hammer fell and this slave knew that he belonged to an owner whose cruelty was common talk, he exclaimed, "You have lost your money." This slave was sent down with others to the steamer on the Mississippi (which is only some ten minutes' walk from the hotel), for shipment to this owner's plantations. The poor fellow was not even allowed to say good-bye to his people, but was sent on board. When he arrived there, he repeated to the man in charge of the slaves, "Mr. Rumo will lose his money," and shortly after he took advantage of a favourable moment, and, folding his arms, he threw himself backward into the river, and was drowned.
A few minutes' walk from my hotel is the Henry Clay monument, where the mob was addressed last month by Mr. Parkerson, who incited them to proceed to the prison and force an entrance, and then to take the lives of a number of Italian murderers by lynch law. On this monument some memorable words are inscribed which Mr. Clay uttered, and which T copied. They are as follows:—"If I could be instrumental in eradicating this deep stain, slavery, from the character of our country, I would not exchange the proud satisfaction which I should enjoy for the honour of all the triumphs ever decreed to the most successful conqueror." That deep stain was removed in 1862, and slaves were raised from the condition of cattle to that of men, who could thenceforward rejoice in the freedom of being masters of their own bodies.