The Health Officer's boat came alongside with friends at the Quarantine Ground, and Judge Pierrepoint, formerly United States Minister at the Court of St. James's, boarded the "Gallia" to welcome the Duke of Sutherland, whose guest he had been at Dunrobin Castle, and to claim the fulfilment of the Duke's promise given in London to dine with him in New York.
In one sense the attachment of Americans to the land of their birth or adoption is generally intense; our fellow-passengers gazed on the shore with delight. "You have before you, sir," said a gentleman alongside, as I leant over the bulwarks, "the most beautiful bay in the world!" "The most beautiful bay in the world"! I wonder how many places there are of that description? Several I know of in Ireland and in Scotland, some in England, a few in the Mediterranean; and others there are in Indian and Chinese seas, right away to California, north and south, and east and west, and in all the isles of the ocean. But, certainly, the approach to the great city enthroned on the Hudson, with its wide-stretching arms of river and commingling sea, is very fine, and, although the scenery around it is not of the very highest order of beauty, New York is grandly placed.
"Breathes there a man with soul so dead"—
Well! though Sir Walter may have put the thought into very exalted verse, most of us have felt the sensation he describes, and it does not require a very remarkable or ancient pedigree among the nations to cause a country to be beloved of its people. Woman, however, was occupied at that particular moment on board the "Gallia" in devising means to evade the inquisitorial search of the myrmidons of Uncle Sam's Custom House, and to reduce the amount of her contributions to the Imperial Exchequer—for a Republic can be Imperial, I presume—to the lowest possible figure.
The manners of the Custom House officers were exceedingly bland, and so were their customs as far as our baggage was concerned, because they passed it with the greatest readiness on nominal parole, and I may now declare that there was not in the whole lot a single article subject to the smallest duty. But there was a fair and charming lady who was returning with the purchased plunder of, I dare say, the best milliners and dressmakers in the capitals of Europe, and on these treasures there would be heavy duty to pay. Feminine sagacity, aided by masculine depravity, enabled her to achieve a triumph in which most of the outside accomplices rejoiced exceedingly. "Mrs. A., I see you have twenty-two packages marked; have you anything to declare?" Mrs. A. smiled, blushed, and with downcast eyes said, "Yes, sir; I have got some lace, silk, and other things of the kind in box No. 4." "We will search box No. 4, if you please, ma'am." The keys were produced, the articles duly examined and assessed, and the twenty-one unexamined boxes were marked with the sign of customs emancipation. The box which was examined contained, as the lady declared subsequently when she got on shore, the smallest number of articles liable to duty of the whole number; the others were crammed with them!
I shall not attempt to describe the approaches to New York and the various objects on shore—the towering Elevators and the antithetical beauties of the New Jersey hills; the monumental piles of the mammoth hotels on Coney Island—"where," whispers my American, "from 50,000 to 60,000 people go for dinner every day during the season. Why, if they spend but 50 cents each, that's £5,000 to £6,000 a day of your money! Just see!"—but suppose we have worked up the river, and are sidling in to our berth through the flotillas of the white-sailed coasters and the huge walking-beam steamers crowded with people, which impress new-comers perhaps more than any other novelty.
CHAPTER II.
NEW YORK.
Friends on shore—The landing—First impressions—Brevoort House—The interviewers—Aspect of the streets—1861 and 1881—Cockades and armorial bearings—The Union League Club—The Fire Brigade.
As the "Gallia" neared the Cunard wharf a mass of upturned faces was visible on shore with eyes fixed on the steamer to detect friends. "There is Jack!" "I see Lucy." "There is Sam!" and so on. And, indeed, there was "Sam" ready to greet us, and the "desiderium tam cari capitis" was gratified by the appearance of its valued owner. It was over twenty years ago since I first landed at this very wharf on a bright March morning in 1861, and there were some men living whom I longed to see once more, despite the change which had been wrought in their faith, and the time which had elapsed and separated our lives. The States were then unconsciously preparing for the tremendous conflict which burst on the world so suddenly. New York was divided into two camps, in one of which was concentrated most of the ability, culture, wealth, and political knowledge of the State, and into that I was thrown on my arrival. I speedily found out there was another and a tremendous power which commanded "les gros bataillons" arrayed on the other side. The decks were now soon thronged with visitors and friends, and passengers mistaken for the Duke enjoyed the intoxication of a brief ovation till the imposture was discovered. There was the leave-taking—the civility which costs so little, and is so agreeable, giving even the misanthrope a kindly impression of human nature escaping from shipboard—the telling off, with all their bags, rugs, sticks, dressing-cases, bundles, and umbrellas, of the party to the quaint old carriages à la Queen Anne's time, and then, scattering groups of interviewers, we set out for our quarters. Our rooms had been taken at the Brevoort House, and we were expected with impatience. The purlieus on the riverside between the landing-place and the streets in which the fashionable hotels are situated are at least as bad as those of other great cities; but in New York the horrors of bad pavements and filthy ways are aggravated by the ribs of the tram-car ways, which cross the roads in every direction. However, our first impressions were effaced by the trimness and neatness of the better parts of the city, the brightness, and even grandeur, of the Fifth Avenue, and by the wealth and display of Broadway. The characteristics of hotels on the American system are well known, but the Brevoort House is not one of these. Instead of a fixed charge per diem, to include bed and board in all its wonderful profusion of meals and of dishes, the Brevoort House has a varied tariff for apartments, and meals à la carte. There is an old-fashioned air about the house, combined with a great degree of comfort and a full attainment of all the objects which American travellers desire in baths, barber's shop, reading-room, bar, and the like. An excellent cook and a large and well-chosen cellar leave little to be desired in the way of eating and drinking. But as the kitchens are far away and dishes are not cooked until the order for them is given, the service, although plentifully armed, is necessarily slow.
Friends, railway authorities, and representatives of the press received the travellers on their arrival, and the process of interviewing commenced at once with great severity. As it would be inconvenient for all the gentlemen of the press to interview the same individual at once, a distribution of duties was made, and very soon after our appearance at the Brevoort House each member of the party had a little private confidence with the representative of some leading journal. The peculiar views of the interviewers themselves were reflected in their reports next day. Some attributed importance to personal details; others desired to ascertain our political opinions; some were anxious to be instructed on English social questions; others were curious to know our views respecting the municipal government of New York and the condition of the city, founded on what we gleaned from our inspection of the streets from the windows of the carriages in which we were carried to the hotel. But as even in so small a party there was diversity of opinions, the accounts of the general impressions of the whole body were rather contradictory and confused. It is a novel experience to English people to be accosted in the most familiar way by persons whom they have never seen in their lives, and to be subjected to an examination, even to minute particulars, respecting their views in relation to all manner of things, knowing all the while that their answers will be given with more or less accuracy in print in a few hours. But it is nevertheless an ordeal to which public men and notabilities in the United States submit generally without a struggle; and it would be considered a mark of "aristocratic exclusiveness" if titled people from England refused to acquiesce in the general custom.