Whilst the Duke and his friends were visiting Mr. Edison there was a small gathering of gentlemen on their way to the quarters of Engine Company No. 4 in Eighteenth Street, near Broadway, where we speedily joined them, and saw a repetition of the business of last night. The engine was reposing in its bedroom—the horses, near at hand, were at work in their cribs and mangers. Foreman Shay strikes a gong and manipulates an electric bell, and down tumbles at once, ready for work, a gang of firemen from their beds in the room above, and in an instant lead out the horses, which rush to the shafts, are harnessed at once by a detachment of the harness, all ready above them hanging from the roof, by the electric power of the station, and are in galloping trim in 2 minutes 30 seconds. This was done several times; the horses seemed to like it more than the firemen. The Alderman and the Fire Commissioners, and others were much pleased at the expression of the Duke's satisfaction, and a gentleman whom I regarded with much interest on account of his title (which I commend to our army reformers), "Fire Master" Sheldon, was especially gratified. It would seem as if the title was honorary or undeserved, for there is no master of fire in New York, as several conflagrations during our stay in the city proved in a very conclusive manner. But in order to show how a fire ought to be put out the Duke, instead of going to bed, was taken off to the corner of Twelfth Street on Fifth Avenue, after the inspection of the premises, stables, sleeping-rooms, and office. The Fire Commissioners, marshals, and aldermen trooped in front of us till we come to the "alarm," which lived in a little pillar-looking box by the side of the kerbstone. The Duke, properly instructed ad hoc, turned on the alarm, and hey presto!—well, nearly so—the effect of his operations became manifest.
Be it noted that our small crowd at the corner of a street close to the most dignified thoroughfare in New York attracted little or no notice from the passers-by; but presently there was a thunder of wheels and hoofs, and a cry of "Hi! hi!" up Fifth Avenue, and vomiting out sparks of fire, snorting, and curveting, came down the engine of our friend Captain Shay from Eighteenth Street, No. 14, in 2' 5"; and in fast succession rushed up engine No. 18, from Tenth, Greenwich Avenue, in 2' 40"; No. 3 Hook and Ladder, from Thirteenth, near Fourth Avenue, in 3'; No. 33, from Mercer Street, near Fourth, in 3' 25"; the Insurance Patrol from Great Tower Street in 4'; and No. 5 Hook and Ladder Company, from Charles Street, in 4' 25". It was very fine to see these engines and their attendants as they made night hideous hastening to the summons, and then ranging up in order to begin, for which there was happily no need. A strong patrol of police came up at the double, formed across the road, charged the crowd to keep them back, and made a resolute demonstration of physical force on the Duke as he was in the act of examining an engine; but such interludes speedily lost all interest in the necessity which presented itself for working out the law of self-preservation, for a special call having been made for the self-propelling engine, No. 24, from Morton Street, near Hudson, and in 6' 15" that fearful mechanism made its appearance—a veritable Stromboli on wheels, and apparently quite wild with fine spirits, and perfectly unmanageable, for it went rampaging up and down the Avenue, vomiting fire and sending the spectators flying for their lives. The hydrant was opened, and the cold water had a calming effect on No. 24, which began to propel a strong jet of water down the Avenue, and, after covering itself with glory and some unwary passers-by with wet, was taken off, and our little party broke up for the night.
April 28th.—Our last day in New York! Our visit to the Empire City was just long enough to satisfy us that it would need a longer sojourn than we could afford to enable us to gain even a general idea of its sights and institutions, and a lifetime to exhaust its hospitality. We perched for a moment on the rim of the Circean bowl and flew off after a glance at the surface, not taking even a sip of the contents, unless the dinner at Mr. Edwards Pierrepoint's pleasant house, the feast of Spartan simplicity at Delmonico's, where every dish was a culinary triumph, and the glasses were charged with wines of race, could be likened to a draught.
"Surgit amari aliquid de fonte." I wonder who was behind "Box 2174, Post Office, New York"? Because we all had a circular to-day containing two printed papers, one entitled "Who is my neighbour?" the other, "Shall the Victors of Spitzkop fight in vain?" in which reference was made to that box as the centre of an organisation—based on the supposition that there is an ever-present feeling of hate to England in the mind of the American people, which, I believe, is erroneous—to make a war against Great Britain for the purpose of assisting the Boers to obtain the restoration of their independence. The man behind the box, however, stated his case artfully and forcibly, if not truthfully. He declared that the immediate and provocative cause of the annexation of the Transvaal was the attempt of the "Republic" to construct a railway to Delagoa Bay. "Alas, they did not know the depths of English hate and English greed! First the English missionary, next the English Consul, and then her hireling soldiery. This is the policy of England—first lies, next intrigue, then butchery." There was an appeal to Mr. Gladstone, however, following one "to the American people," which argued that the man behind the box had more confidence in the former than in the latter, though they were reminded and adjured "We have fought for the African! Let us now fight for the Africander!" and there were model resolutions to be adopted at imaginary public meetings; the last of all was—"Resolved: That we advise the English masses to take the government of their country into their own hands, for their dukes, their earls, their knights, and their lords and their merchant princes can only lead them in the future as they are now doing, and have done in the past, to war, dishonour, desolation, death, debt, misery, and taxes." The appeal terminated with some doggerel, headed "War Song of the Africanders." Some one else sent us numbers of a comic periodical, with a woodcut of our respectable old British Lion, in a shako and uniform, retreating precipitately from a very bandit-looking person, with the words, "The British Lion meets a Real Live White Man!"
If Americans are subjected in England to the same fire of paper projectiles that was opened on the Duke and his friends, there is some reason for their avoiding our country. Circulars we are accustomed to at home—announcements of alarming sacrifices and reckless sale we can bear with patience. But here we have ways and means revealed to us of achieving absolute health, wealth, and happiness—patents and portents—mechanical inventions certain to "annihilate both time and space," and make "investors" happy—parents with children to be adopted—patent safes—veritable El Dorados—mines of gold and silver—medicines of subtlest power—agricultural implements—chemical products—hair dyes—new motive forces—astrologers burning to reveal the secrets of the world of spirits and stars—mediums palpitating with anxiety for conference and confidence—the Atomic Steam Coal Gas Reform's disciples insisting on our using their gas "made from refuse coal-dust and steam" and joining the "National Gas Reform Syndicate."
Having completed all our baggage arrangements and handed the pile over to Mr. Trowbridge, the obliging agent of the London and North-Western Railway, to see safely stowed in the special train at the other side of the river, we drove down to the wharf, where the steamer "Juniata," chartered by our indefatigable hosts, the Philadelphia Railway Company, was awaiting us. We embarked, and made an agreeable excursion up and down the river, inspecting the termini of the railways and the corn elevators, and passing under the great bridge which is to connect Brooklyn with the city. The lively aspect of the waterway, crowded with shipping, and the incessant movement of the vast ferry-boats and steamers, impressed us greatly. When one thinks that it is not three centuries ago since Henry (whom the Americans persist in calling Hendrick) Hudson made his way up the stream and began the civilising processes on the Red man, which have ended in their disappearance, New York, with its forest of steeples and chimneys, and great elevators, is indeed a marvel. At the beginning of this century its population was very little over 60,000; last year it was 1,207,000.
The four Commissioners sent over by Charles II. "to reduce the Colony into bounds" in 1664, who, August 29, "marched with 300 red-coats to Manhadoes and took from the Dutch the chief town, then called New Amsterdam, now New York, and turned out their Governor, with a Silver Leg, and all the rest but those who acknowledged subjection to the King of England, suffering them to enjoy their houses and estates as before," had a very easy task if the old book[4] from which I quote be correct. "Thirteen days after," continues the writer, "Sir Robert Carr took the fort and town of Aurania, now called Albany, and twelve days after that the fort and town of Avasapha, then Delaware Castle, manned with Dutch and Swedes, so that the English are now masters of three handsome towns, three strong forts, and a castle, without the loss of one man." In those days New York was reputed a large place, "containing five hundred well-built houses of Dutch brick, the meanest not valued under one hundred pounds—to the landward it is encompassed with a wall of good thickness, and fortified at the entrance of the river, so as to command any ship that passeth that way, by a fort called James Fort." The inhabitants "were supplied with venison and fowl in the winter and fish in the summer by the Indians at an easie price, and had a considerable trade for the skins of elkes, deers, bears, beaver, otter, racoon, and other rich furs." These Indians are described as well proportioned, swarthy, black-haired, very expert with their bows and arrows, very serviceable and courteous to the English, being of a ready wit and very apt to receive instruction from them, "but there are now but few Indians on the island, being strangely decreased since the English first settled there, for not long ago there were six towns full of them which are now reduced to two villages, the rest being cut off by wars among themselves or some raging mortal diseases." The question arises, however, how it was that these wars and diseases did not reduce the numbers of the Indians before the arrival of the English, and the answer might point to the theory that the latter had had something to do with the spread of both. And, indeed, the author soon tells the terrible secret of it all. "They are very great lovers of strong drink, so that without they have enough to be drunk they care not to drink at all—if any happen to be drunk before he has taken his share, which is ordinarily a quart of brandy, rum, or strong waters, to show their justice they will pour the rest down his throat, in which debauches they often kill one another, which the friends of the dead revenge upon the murtherer." He declares they are descendants of the Jews, and gives some curious reasons for it. In another place the author says, "Don't abuse them, but let them have justice and you win them. The worst is that they are the worse for the Christians, who have propagated their vices and have given them tradition for ill, and not for good things." Alas, that it should be so! How little was the pious prayer he offers heard on High! "I beseech God to incline the hearts of all that come into these parts to outlive the knowledge of the Natives by a fixed obedience to their greater knowledge of the will of God, for it were miserable indeed for us to fall under the just censure of the poor Indian conscience whilst we make profession of things so far transcending it." What Nemesis has followed the wrong the English white man rendered to his fellow? None, I trow.
CHAPTER III.
DEPARTURE FOR PHILADELPHIA.
Our Special Train—On the Rail—Eye-sores—The Quaker City—The Pennsylvania Railroad—Reminiscences—Excursions—The New Public Buildings—Mr. Childs and "The Ledger"—Mr. Simon Cameron—Baltimore—Arrival at Washington.
At 12.30 we landed at the Pennsylvania Terminus or Depôt, where our special train was in readiness, consisting of several Pullman palace-cars and the private car of President Roberts, and a staff of smart, well-uniformed coloured waiters, and, as we found, with an ample store of creature comforts. At the Depôt the experts examined the whole system of transportation of freight, stowage, passenger traffic, and baggage checking. As far as I could gather from Mr. Neale and the Directors, who applied their minds to the subject, the American system of checking luggage offers no advantages which would recommend its introduction in England, although it may be, and is, no doubt, exceedingly well suited to the United States, where passengers may have to travel thousands of miles continuously over different lines of railway with many breaks. It seemed to our London and North-Western Directors that English travellers would not put up with the delays which would be experienced in the transportation of their baggage from the railway stations to the hotels, under the American check system, and that they would prefer a short detention when the train arrived, in order to pick out their own property and carry it away with them bodily.