And we were left all alone! The pleasant companions of so many weeks had gone! I wonder if they missed us as much as we missed them?
While travelling across the Rockies and the desert to San Francisco and back, our course of life was pretty uniform, and one day followed another with almost perfect resemblance in the mode of existence and in all things except the scenery and the country through which we were passing. First, in the early morning came one of the attendants to our bedside with a cup of coffee, and then the curtains of the little cubicle were thrown aside and you looked out on either plain, or mountain, or river, or col; and on the faces of early risers at doors or windows as the train passed through some rising town. At one end of the saloon there was a bath-room, and from the tank there was always to be obtained sufficient water for the purpose of an early dip, which was enjoyed as occasion offered in turn by the party. Then a cigarette. Then we dropped in as people do at a country house, into the sitting-room, and exchanged ideas as to the progress made during the night, and the stoppages, wondered where we were, and had a little conversation with the conductor or Arthur as to the place where we could stop or get the papers—and so got over the morning till 9 o'clock, when breakfast was announced, consisting of fish, poultry, meat, fruit (I had nearly said flowers, for there was always a bouquet on the table), tea, coffee, and cold dishes, with abundance of milk and butter. Where the fish came from and how they were kept fresh was matter of wonder, for the instances were very rare in which there was any indication that it had not quite recently come out of the sea or the river. The supply of ice was liberal and unfailing, and whenever we stopped at any considerable station the whole disposable strength of the attendants in the train was employed in grappling with large blocks of it and stowing it away in the ice reservoir, in which were the larder and the cellar for such wines as needed cooling, and for the vegetables and meat, of which there were great stores constantly laid in. Then after breakfast there was reading or sight-seeing, investigating the line, examining the maps, receiving visits and returning them in other parts of the train, till in the very hot days it was necessary, after expelling the flies, which were troublesome on occasion, to draw the dust-blinds and the curtains of the carriages, to mitigate the fierceness of the sun. It was objected occasionally that by this process we deprived ourselves of the opportunity of what was called "seeing the country," but after all a glance now and then is quite sufficient to reveal the general character of the districts through which the train is running; and the most diligent and painstaking observer cannot keep his eyes fixed steadily for a day on the external aspects of the region through which he is travelling. I should be sorry to declare that every one was wide awake all the time of the forenoon and up to the period of lunch, which too often exceeded on the side of many dishes, being, in fact, a mid-day dinner; but then no one was obliged to eat more than he liked, or drink either. Then came the longest stretch of the day, and at its close another banquet; and as the sun declined and the temperature decreased, we could take more pleasure in looking out at the fantastic forms of the vegetation which clothed the arid rocks in the desert, or on the bright green prairie, or on the towering mountains, waiting till the sun had set, generally in a blaze of glory. There were, of course, interruptions and variations as we halted at the more important places; disappointments about letters which had been telegraphed for and which were expected day after day, constituted also a matter of conversation and discourse. There was an harmonium in the sitting-room of the palace car, but no one had the art of playing it, although we had plenty of music of another sort; for after dinner the gentlemen of the railroad party who had not dined with us came in, and we were never tired of listening to the songs, so original and amusing, which they gave with great spirit and admirable time and tune, for it happened they all possessed good voices, and the melodies with which the troops of coloured minstrels have now rendered the world familiar were then new to us.
During the whole of our tour the weather has been most favourable. With the exception of the rainy days in Canada, and the cold and rawness which characterised the time of our short visit to Richmond, there was nothing worse to complain of than continual sunshine. Now and then the temperature was a little too good to be pleasant when we were traversing the beds of the dry seas in the desert in Colorado and California, but that was something to look back upon with satisfaction, because there was no time lost in keeping within doors owing to the rain and storm or cold. "Within doors," however, is a phrase scarcely applicable to our mode of life, as it would imply that we were in stable habitations, whereas, as will have been seen by those who have accompanied us so far, we "lived and moved, and had our being" in railway carriages; a mode of life rendered so comfortable by all appliances, that it was sometimes no relief to be told that we would have to pass the night at an hotel.
For nine days and nine nights in succession, on one occasion, we never slept out of the carriages or got out of the train except to take a stroll about the station, or a peep into the street of a small town whilst we were waiting, and one got quite accustomed to that nomad and yet civilised mode of existence, where at every halting-place we were supplied with the latest intelligence by the local papers, and made the recipients of some attention or courtesy, visits and compliments (the remarks of the other sort not being many), bouquets of flowers, presents of fruit, and plenty of conversation. But that my critics might say I dilate too much upon the material enjoyment of life, I would describe at length the means which were supplied in the course of these long journeys for animal enjoyment. Never could there be found more attentive and obliging domestics than the coloured men who waited upon us—Arthur and his fellows. There lived in the kitchen compartment of the train, at the end of one of the saloons, a coloured cook, very intelligent and gossipy, full of quaint conceits and dishes and conversation, who commenced life as a slave on a Southern plantation, probably adopted for indoor purposes on account of his smartness. He liberated himself in the course of the war, and marched off with a regiment of Federals in the capacity of cook and body-servant to one of the officers, wherein he saw a great amount of very hard fighting at very close quarters. This adventurous modern Othello was wont to discourse with much animation when he came out for a breath of fresh air on the platform and could find anybody to talk to him, although he could move no more tender heart than that of Sir Henry Green. The gentlemen of the Atchison, &c., Railway, when travelling with us, had a cordon bleu in the saloon—an Italian or Frenchman, I think, or at all events a French-speaking man, who had served also, and would have done credit to an establishment where faults in a chef would not lightly be condoned. In the interchange of courtesies, Mr. White and his friends invited our party now and then to dine in the saloon, which was not "across the way," but up a little, on the line, being the saloon in front of us.
But here we are at Kansas City once again! At 5.30 P.M. the train arrived at the platform, which was gay with a Sunday crowd, of whom many were negresses—black, brown, brindled, and yellow citoyennes—in much variety of colour and garmenting. Unlike Samson, their weakness is in their hair, and like Achilles, they are vulnerable about the heels (to the arrows of an æsthetical criticism, which accepts the Greek idea of beauty in form); but they seemed to enjoy life amazingly, and not to be in need of beaux; perhaps the happiest people in the world now that their chattel days are over. It was late when we turned into our berths, for it was a lovely night and the fire-flies exercised a great attraction over us, but at last the charm was worn out and we slept till morning without a break.
June 20th.—Still the same boundless plain. In vain does one look for the grass fields with close, even, carpet-like surface to be seen in Europe. We are still passing through exceedingly rich land—the fields covered with flocks of sheep and herds of good-looking cattle. There are more trees by the stream-side, and shrubs growing in the hollows. Habitations are more frequent, and so are fencing and planting. As the sun was setting we approached St. Louis. There were some park-like glades, and vistas opening up to pleasant mansions, amid grounds showing marks of culture. There had been a severe thunderstorm the night before, and the St. Louis Station had still traces of its effects in pools of mud. But the rain had cooled the air, and the people were rejoicing exceedingly in the great improvement that had taken place in the weather, for, they told us, men and women had been dropping down with the heat a few days ago as though they had been struck by musketry.
The appearance of the St. Louis Terminus gave one a high idea of the importance of this city. Eight trains were waiting on their respective lines to start with passengers to all parts of the Union; and by the simple device of placing at the end of each train a large board announcing its destination and the time of its departure, much anxiety was saved to intending passengers, not to speak of the irritation of officials avoided by this simple expedient. The journey was continued by the [Indianopolis] and Vandalia, and by what is called the "Pa'handle" line to the Pennsylvania Railroad on to Philadelphia. The train was timed on Tuesday so that we were able to see the famous passage over the Alleghany Mountains from Conemaugh to Altoona. For nearly eleven miles we were carried without steam, and with the brakes on, through very fine scenery, down the mountain-side, but the summit was crossed in the darkness of a tunnel 1200 yards long. There are some striking engineering feats in the way of curves and gradients, and the trace of the line is very bold all the way down to Altoona, where the Pennsylvania Railroad engine and machinery shops are established—the centre of a population of some 17,000 souls, where twenty years ago "there were," as a friend said, "only bears, deer, woodpeckers, and skallywags." The Duke, Mr. Stephen, and our railway experts got out and visited the workshops, and came back very much pleased at the discovery of several London and North-Western men in good positions in the Pennsylvania Railroad Company's service, who welcomed their old directors with effusion, and that there was nothing visible there for Crewe to copy, unless perhaps cast-iron wheels. The speed at which we travelled was a sensible proof that we were once more on the line of our old friends of Pennsylvania. From Altoona to Harrisburg, 132 miles, we rattled along in two hours and forty-three minutes. On another stretch of the line we travelled eighty-three miles in one hour and forty-two seconds, including stoppages; and the rapid motion was very agreeable, as there was a perceptible increase of temperature after we reached the plains and approached the beautiful valley of the Susquehannah—a scene of industry, prosperity, and peace. Fortunately there was a good light on the river, and we had a fine view of the country all the way to Harrisburg under the rays of the setting sun. A little farther on we were gratified by the appearance of General Roberts at a station on the way, where he was awaiting the Duke to congratulate him on his safe return from the Western expedition, and we bade him farewell at his own house, with many sincere and well-deserved acknowledgments of great and constant kindness. Then over the river by the noble bridge, and on to Philadelphia. We did not visit Pittsburg, which was vomiting out masses of smoke, nor did we halt this time at the capital of the Quaker State.
CHAPTER VI.
NEW YORK—NEWPORT—DEPARTURE.
Coney Island—Newport—Bass-fishing—Habit of Spitting—Brighton Beach—Newport—Coaching—Extra Ecclesiam—Victories of American Horses—Newport Avenues—Return to New York—Our last day in America.
The special train was detained by the immense amount of traffic on the line, as we approached New York, and we did not reach Brooklyn till a little before 11 P.M. on June 21, so that it was past midnight when we ascended the steps of the Windsor Hotel, which we had selected by way of a change, and found to be every way commendable, with the exception of its distance from the busy parts of the city. The following day was devoted to letter reading and writing, receiving visitors, and various attempts "to go out," which were not generally successful, for New York was palpitating with the intense heat. The "heated term" was in full vigour, but it was now quite temperate in comparison to the excesses which had marked its advent some time before our arrival. In the evening we got up strength and courage enough to go to Wallack's Theatre, a very pretty, well-constructed house, and saw "The World" excellently acted and admirably put on the stage. Next day, June 23rd, in virtue of a solemn league and covenant with Uncle Sam and Mr. Hurlbut, the Duke and I devoted ourselves to fresh fields and pastures new, and ordered ourselves accordingly for Coney Island. A long bank of sand by the sea-shore has, by an accident, become one of the most crowded resorts in the world, and to-day there were races in the new ground. It was not, as we found, so easy to get there. Having the advantage of two experienced guides, our party of four managed to break up into two and to miss each other; one taking the boat at one iron pier, and the other embarking by a different mode of conveyance. But as we were bound to see Coney Island, the Race course being a secondary object, our temporary separation did not prove a source of great annoyance.