Reminiscences of Travel in Australia, America, and Egypt

by Sir Richard Tangye

The great excursion from San Francisco is of course to the Yosemite Valley, but we were compelled to forego the pleasure of making it on account of our visit being too early in the season. Some of our fellow-voyagers from the Colonies ventured to go, but, unfortunately, they met with a serious carriage accident, owing to the roughness of the road, caused by the breaking up of the frost.

In order to secure a good seat in the train going East, it is necessary to make arrangements a few days before starting. Tickets can be obtained at a score of places in the city, and should be got as soon as possible; and in order to save all unnecessary trouble with the luggage during the journey, sufficient for use in travelling should be separately packed, and the remainder handed over to the Baggage Master, who has an office in the hotel, and who will give checks in exchange, and undertake to deliver it at any hotel or railway station in New York, or any other place in the States that may be named. By attending to this overnight, immense trouble is saved, for, if left until the morning of departure, each traveller has to look after his own baggage amid a scene of the wildest confusion, and quite unprotected from the terrible heat and dust. It was with a sense of great relief that we began to move out of the station, and to feel that at last we were fairly started on our ride across the Rocky Mountains. The railway ride for the first two hundred and fifty miles is a splendid one, through the magnificent Sacramento Valley, which I should think is fifteen or twenty miles wide, and is most fertile. Here corn is grown year after year without any manuring being required. In many “cuttings” through which we passed the soil was twenty feet deep. We passed fields hundreds of acres in extent, with nice houses, orchards, and gardens, surrounded by fine oaks and elms, making the country look like a park for a hundred miles. The corn, which in many places was over ten feet high, was fast ripening, and its glorious golden colour was often charmingly varied by immense patches of Marigold, Eschscholtzia, Lupins, and another beautiful flower which we did not recognise, all in full bloom. We also saw our old Tasmanian friend the Eucalyptus (commonly called the Gum Tree), and many of the quaint Doré-like dead Blue Gums, looking white and ghostly.

This is a magnificent State. A gentleman remarked to me that when the richness of the soil is exhausted there remains untold mineral wealth below. The people, too, are very energetic, and there is abundance of capital; so much so that a moneylender travelling in our carriage complained that it is difficult to get fifteen per cent. per annum now when some twelve years ago he could easily obtain five per cent. per month.

Soon after leaving Sacramento the track ascends the mountains and passes through the old gold-diggings so much spoken of thirty years ago. They are visible all around for miles, and some are still being worked. All the abandoned ones have been re-worked by the Chinese, who have got a great deal out of them. By and by we stopped at a station where there were several dreadful-looking Indians, some with their faces covered with red ochre and with feathers in their hair; others dressed in scarlet blankets, tall white hats, one-legged trousers and moccasins. They all looked very grave and stolid. I did my best to make one old fellow laugh as he stood on the platform with his arms folded, but his face was stony, and he remained steadfast and unmoveable. Their hair is like whalebone, matted and shaggy; their noses and mouths are broad, and the women look uglier than the men. Several of the women were carrying their papooses (babies) suspended over their shoulders, with the legs swathed like Neapolitan children. The only occupation of these degraded creatures is begging and stealing.

While we were passing through swampy tract the large bull-frogs were giving a croaking concert in full chorus, and a rare noise they made.

Soon we began to sight the snow mountains, and by nine o’clock we were right amongst the pine forests and the snow, and very beautiful the scene looked with the moon shining on it all.

Life on board a “Pullman” train is almost more peculiar than life on board ship. My party were fortunate enough to secure a cabin partitioned off from the rest of the carriage; but the remainder of the sleeping berths have no partitions, being separated merely by curtains. Inexperienced travellers are apt to forget this, and sometimes cause much amusement in consequence. One morning I heard a young lady complaining to her mamma that she could not find her stockings, a remark eliciting numerous offers of assistance from all parts of the carriage. A neighbouring compartment was occupied by a lady and gentleman, the former of whom was deaf, and with the peculiarity often observable in deaf people, she imagined everyone else was deaf as well; the consequence being that there were no secrets in that cabin. Every carriage has a negro attendant, whose duty it is to make the beds and attend to the lavatories, the ladies’ and gentlemen’s lavatories being at opposite ends of the carriage. At half-past nine o’clock Sambo begins to prepare the beds, and soon after ten almost everyone has retired, and, as fortunately there are no decks to be paced, sleep soon comes to the weary. Arrangements are made for three meals a day, the train stopping at stations convenient for the purpose, and notice being given half-an-hour before. Half-an-hour is allowed for each meal, the invariable charge being one dollar. As the train stops a general stampede is made toward the dining-room, the position of which is unmistakable, for at the door stands a negro, with a face devoid of expression, vigorously sounding a gong. As each person passes in he pays his dollar, and makes a rush to the end of the room, where the cook is usually stationed. And now happy is he who possesses the Yankee’s qualification for a good diner-out, for unless he has a long arm, a quick eye, and a silent tongue, he is likely to come off with much less than a dollar’s worth. The experienced traveller, before sitting down, gathers all the dishes before him, within arm’s length, and then proceeds to attack them seriatim, or sometimes all at once. Indeed, I think a man of naturally generous disposition, would be made utterly selfish by twelve months’ travelling on American railroads. As soon as the half-hour has gone, the guard calls out with a shrill, nasal, Yankee twang, “All aboard,” and we once more continue our journey.

Happening one day to say to a fellow-passenger that I was from Birmingham, an American gentleman hearing me came across the carriage, and, raising his hat, said: “I must shake hands with a person coming from the city which returns John Bright to Parliament.”