In the United States the distances between leading places is so great that the fares charged, albeit generally moderate, cannot suit slender purses, while empty pockets are nowhere. In consequence many attempt to smuggle themselves through. The writer remembers, in about the part of the route under notice, a “dead-head” who had for several stations managed to elude the notice of the guard, but who was at last detected, and put off at a point a dozen or more miles from the nearest settlement. The “dead-head,” like the stowaway on board ship, of whom as many as fourteen have been concealed on a single vessel, and not one of them discovered by the proper authorities till far out at sea, is an unrecognised institution on the railways of the United States. Perhaps because our ticket system is more rigidly enforced, few attempt to take a free passage on English railways, although it is stated that a sailor was found, some little time since, asleep under a carriage, his arms and legs coiled round the brake-rods, having succeeded in nearly making the trip from London to Liverpool undiscovered. But, then, sailors are hardened to jars and shocks and noises, by being accustomed to the warring of the elements and so forth. The reader may remember that when, some few years ago, a Great Western train intersected and completely cut in two another which crossed its path, a sailor was found asleep on the seat of a half third-class carriage, and that he was quite angry [pg 27]when awoke and told of his narrow escape. All this bears a strong resemblance to digression, so let us return to our subject—“dead heads.” Examples of this tribe have boasted that they have travelled all over the States for nothing. Good-natured guards—always “conductors” in America—will often wink at his presence, but more rigid officials have been known to stop the train outside a long tunnel, or on one side of a dangerous open trestle-work bridge, and peremptorily tell the vagrant to “get!” He has often worked his way clear across the American continent. Turned off one train, kicked off another, left in the snow half-way between far distant stations, charitably allowed a short ride on an open freight car, walking where he may not ride, stealing where it is easier than begging, and vice versâ, he has at last arrived in California, where, to do a glorious country and a generous people justice, not even a tramp is allowed to starve. After all, does not the vagabond deserve something for his enterprise? Perhaps in that land, now far more of corn and hops and wine than of gold, he may, under more auspicious circumstances, become a better and more prosperous man.
Few tourists or travellers of leisure will fail to pay a flying visit to the grand and beautiful lakes and tarns lying among the eternal snows of the Sierra Nevada mountains, which separate the Silver from the Golden State, and are crossed by the Pacific Railway at an elevation of 7,042 feet above the sea level. From the Summit and Truckee stations there are all necessary facilities for reaching Donner, Tahoe, and other lakes, and for a stay among some of the grandest scenery in the world. The space occupied by this chapter would not describe in the barest details the grand mountain peaks, in one case rising to an altitude of 14,500 feet; the forests of magnificent trees; the quieter valleys “in verdure clad;” the waterfalls and cataracts and torrents of this Alpine region, which is within half a day’s journey of San Francisco, and but three or four hours from districts which for eight months of the year have the temperature of Southern Italy. Sufficiently good coaches convey you to leading points, where there are comfortable inns, or, in the summer months, travellers can do a little tent-life and open-air camping with advantage, the climate among the mountains being pure, bracing, and yet warm. On the leading lakes there are boats to be had, and on one or two there are small steamers plying regularly. Fishing and hunting can be indulged in to the heart’s content. The Sierra mountain trout is unsurpassed anywhere; while the sportsman can bag anything from a Californian quail to a grizzly bear—the latter, more especially, if he can. At most of the ordinary places of resort he will get the morning papers of San Francisco the same day, while Truckee boasts of a journal of its own, published, be it observed, 7,000 feet up the mountains![11]
One of the writer’s recollections of the Sierra region is not so pleasant, but then it was under its winter aspect. He had been warned on leaving San Francisco that the railway might be “snowed up,” as it was in 1871-2, when for several weeks there was a blockade, and he was recommended to go to New York viâ Panama. That voyage he had once made, and, besides, had a desire to see the continent in winter, when the journey [pg 28]from the Sierra Nevada Mountains to New York is made through 3,000 miles of snow. So he started, and for twelve hours or so all went well; but at the very “summit” of the railway line, i.e., its highest point among the Sierra Nevada, and near the station of the same name, the train came suddenly to a standstill in the gloom of a long “snow-shed” tunnel. Worse, as it seemed to some, the engine deserted it, and ran away, while the conductor was also absent for a long time. The carriages were not too well lighted, although quite warm enough, thanks to the glowing stoves, while memories of former blockades and half-starved passengers did not aid in reassuring the frozen-in travellers. Few slept that night, and, indeed, in one carriage, where there were several squalling babies and scolding females, it would have been difficult. Some of the older travellers, who had something of Mark Tapleyism about them, did their best to cheer the rest, and passed their wicker-covered demijohns—flasks are hardly enough for a seven days’ journey, which might be indefinitely extended—to those who had not provided themselves; one individual did his best to relieve the monotony with a song; but it fell rather flat, and melancholy reigned supreme.[12] But not for long. About seven next morning there was a commotion; a whistle in the distance; another nearer, which, hoarse as it was, sounded like heavenly music; and in a few minutes the good locomotive arrived, coupled with the train, and took it to the nearest station, where breakfast was ready for all who would partake. And that breakfast! Trout, chicken, venison, hot bread, buckwheat cakes, and molasses, and all the usual, and some other of the unusual, adjuncts of a regular American meal. The traveller must not expect all these luxuries at places nearer the centre of the continent, where, in some cases, all that you will get are beans and bacon, hot bread, tea or coffee, and perhaps stewed (dried) apples or peaches. At such places the excuse is sufficient, for everything is brought from a considerable distance, while the stations themselves have only been erected for the railway, and sometimes do not boast a single dwelling other than those immediately connected with it.
ON THE PACIFIC RAILWAY: THE INTERIOR OF A SNOW-SHED IN THE SIERRA NEVADA.
And so we descend, first to the foot-hills, and then to the plains of sunny California. Evidences of mining, past and present, are to be often seen: flumes and ditches through which the water is rushing rapidly, old shafts, and works, and mills, and boarding-houses. But the glory is departed, or rather changed for the more permanent vineyard and grain-field and orchard. Some of the finest wines and fruits are raised among these said foot-hills. And now we cross the American river, and are in Sacramento, the legislative capital of the State, a city surrounded by pleasant suburbs, handsome villas, and splendid mansions. Thence to San Francisco there is the choice of a ride on the Sacramento River to the Bay, or one of two railways—once so near the Bay City, few care to delay, and so press on. The railway bears you through a highly-cultivated country to Oakland, the Brooklyn of San Francisco, and place of residence for many of its merchant princes. Here all the year round flowers are in full bloom. When leaving California in winter we noted roses, daisies, verbenas, pansies, violets, [pg 29]hollyhocks, calla lillies, and camellias, all growing in the open-air. This is not particularly surprising, for in our own country, in Devonshire and Cornwall, particularly at Penzance, a modified statement of the same nature might be made. At Oakland the railway runs out on a wooden pier or bridge, one mile and a quarter long, to the bay.
Of San Francisco and its glorious bay these pages have already furnished some account. It is the grand depôt for all that concerns commerce and travel between every part of America and much of Europe and the Pacific generally. The successful miner, trader, or farmer, from Nevada, Oregon, Colorado, and all outlying territories, spends his money there; as the metropolis of the coast-trade of all kind centres there. Hence its success and cosmopolitan character.
In speaking of the cosmopolitan characteristics of the Golden City, a traveller (Mr. Carlisle), says that one of the good points, coming, as did he, from the remoteness of Japan, is the proximity of the city to Europe as regards the receipt of news.
“The city of San Francisco is eight hours behind London in the matter of time, [pg 30]and one turns this to good advantage. When her corn-merchants go down to their offices in the morning they find on their desks a report of the Liverpool market of that morning; each morning paper has two or three columns filled with telegrams of the preceding evening from all parts of Europe, and not unfrequently there appears among these telegrams a notice of the following kind:—‘The Times of to-day has an article in which it says,’ &c., &c., giving the substance of that morning’s leader.” The present writer can illustrate this point by an actual occurrence in his own experience. Every reader will remember the terrible explosion in the Regent’s Park, which did so much damage, and which happened about half-past three in the morning. He was then occupying the post of “telegraphic editor,” &c., on the staff of the Alta California, the oldest journal published on that coast. The news of the explosion reached him by telegram at 11.30 the evening before, that is, apparently, before it happened! The Alta therefore was able to give the sad intelligence to all its readers—some few of them as early as four o’clock—the next morning, while the London newspapers of the early editions could naturally have nothing about it, as they were printed before its occurrence.
Mr. W. F. Rae, a writer before quoted in regard to the character which the city unfortunately acquired in early days, says of it:—“From being a bye-word for its lawlessness and licentiousness, the city of San Francisco has become in little more than ten years as moral as Philadelphia, and far more orderly than New York.” The fact is that one must obtain a “permit” to carry a revolver at all, and that permission cannot properly be obtained by anyone of dissipated or dangerous character. A heavy fine is inflicted on any one wearing a pistol without having secured the necessary authority. The same writer says:—“That the Golden State is of extraordinary richness is well known to every traveller. To some, as to me, it may have been a matter of rejoicing to discover that California is also a land teeming with unexpected natural beauties and rare natural delights.” He quotes approvingly Lieutenant-Governor Holden’s speech at a festive meeting held in Sacramento, California, on the completion of the Pacific Railway. “Why, sir,” said the Lieutenant-Governor, a gentleman who had himself done much towards the successful consummation of that grand enterprise, “we have the bravest men, the handsomest women, and the fattest babies of any place under the canopy of heaven!” Baron Hübner, in his published work,[13] says of the climate, “It is a perpetual spring;” and then, alluding to the decreased yield of gold, remarks truly, “Its real riches lie in the fertility of the soil.” And once more, Margharita Weppner, the German lady-traveller before mentioned, says, speaking of a fruit-show she visited:—“What I saw there could only be found in California, for I have never seen anything to equal it, even in the tropics.” She adds, enthusiastically:—“This beautiful city of the golden land I prefer to any other in America. My preference is due to the agreeable kind of life which its people lead, and to the extraordinary salubrity of the climate.” The present writer has preferred to collate from these independent sources rather than from his own long experience; but he can testify to the truth of every one of the above statements. One of the grandest features in San Francisco’s present [pg 31]and assured future success is the fact that the steamship companies of the whole Pacific make it their leading port.