Part 1 (2/2)
Speaking generally of both nations, the English woman who holds matured and decided opinions on politics, theology, or social questions, hesitates to give them vent. Not so the American. And, as regards the failings of her own s.e.x, commend me to the ladies over the water, who are far more Christian-minded than we are in that way.
It was also a real pleasure to converse with many of the American gentlemen on board. As I have nothing to say, except in his favour, one of them will perhaps forgive my naming him. Mr. D'Almar is a well-known man in the States. He is a great writer on political economy and currency, and I believe an authority in the States on those and other heads. But I wish to speak of him here as a companion. Highly gifted with thinking power, and possessing an amount of knowledge which is extraordinary, so diversified are the subjects, he literally bristled all over with information. The above, joined to a modest demeanour and pleasant manner, made him one in many. All on board liked him, and that alone speaks much in a man's favour; for ten days on a vessel betrays more of character than months elsewhere. If children like a man, I always think I shall do the same. We had a large nursery on board; the little ones liked Mr D'Almar, and so did I.
The _City of Rome_ is a luxurious boat, and, given calm water and a set of pa.s.sengers such as we had, what nicer than the Atlantic under such conditions? I do not like the sea, and am often sea-sick. The last thing I would do is to keep a yacht. So, enjoying the trip as I did, speaks volumes for the comfort and pleasure which was attainable. But then the _City of Rome_ is not an ordinary s.h.i.+p. The sweep of deck for a walk, the superb saloon made gay with flowers, the _cuisine_, which tempted you to eat more than is well on board, the s.p.a.cious smoking-room, the comfortable cabins, the absence of vibration from the screw, all and everything about the s.h.i.+p was simply perfect, and I felt almost sorry when we arrived, for though I have travelled much I have never ploughed the deep in this wise.
New York--I am not going to add one more to the many descriptions extant. As to the city, the many beautiful churches, the grand museums, perfect picture-galleries, magnificent opera-house, luxurious clubs, and numerous theatres, are they not all described, and far better than I could do it, in Murray's hand-book and many others. Still I will say a few words. First, as to climate. I was there twice, once in the height of summer, once late in the autumn.
The temperature was as nice the last time as it was disagreeable the first. I have spent years in the tropics, but I never suffered more from heat than I did in New York last July. The nights were very nearly as hot as they are in Calcutta the same month, and while in the capital of Bengal to sleep except under a punkah is thought impossible, in New York, punkahs or any cooling appliances being unknown, you really suffer more. Still there is a difference. In Calcutta, at that time of the year, you simply _cannot_ walk out in the day time, the sun would knock you down. In New York you can, but any time towards the middle of the day it is very disagreeable to do so. Calcutta is in lat.i.tude 22, New York 40. This accounts for the less powerful sun in the latter place; but why the nights there are so cruelly hot, I know not. The sea, as is well known, lessens extremes of temperature, but it does not seem to have that effect in New York, though it is virtually on the sea, for the winters there are as cold as the summers are hot. Twice in the year is the climate exquisite, viz. spring and autumn, but both summer and winter are intensely disagreeable. We have no idea here in England of extremes of temperature, for we never experience them. Were we visited with the heat and cold of New York, 100 Fahr. in summer, 20 to 25 below zero in winter, as maximums and minimums, we should feel new sensations, and be thankful for the temperate climate we have, instead of abusing it as so many of us do.
I cannot, I doubt if many can, sympathize with the sailor who, returning from a Pacific station, and entering the Channel one typical English day, thick with fog and sleet, b.u.t.toned his overcoat around him, and looking up aloft, exclaimed, ”Ah! this is the sort of thing. None of your d--d blue skies here.” If the story is not true, it is well invented. Poor Jack was sick of blue skies and hot suns, but why he should have selected for commendation perhaps the main point in which the English climate is deficient, makes it very humorous. As I said, I cannot go as far as he did, and while I admit the English climate is far from perfect, that it is a climate of changes, the only rule being that no day shall be like its predecessor or its successor, that the winter is dark and dismal, that rain and slush, fog and mist, easterly winds and such like are the rule, and bright, balmy days the exceptions, still, in the immunity we possess from extremes of temperature, I think we have a blessing that balances all these drawbacks. Who, except those who have so suffered, can realize the la.s.situde, the intense discomfort of great heat, the acute physical suffering produced by extreme cold.
I have been in many climes, but I know of one only I would, if I could, subst.i.tute for the English climate. I found that one in America, at San Francisco, on the Pacific coast, but of this farther on.
The entrance to New York is very beautiful, and a great contrast to the dingy approach to London by the Thames. On a bright day, and bright days there are the rule, excepting perhaps the Bosphorus as you near Constantinople, I have seen nothing to equal it. Shortly before arrival the Brooklyn suspension bridge, the finest structure of its kind on earth, comes in view. But of this wonderful bridge presently. We left the good s.h.i.+p _City of Rome_ some three or four miles down-stream, and after being transferred and closely packed in an inland boat, we steamed up the Hudson river to New York.
It is only two and a half centuries (1609) since the first European entered the New York Bay, and yet the _coup d'oeil_ from the water of the vast city and its surroundings argues many centuries of existence. America is wonderful in much, but in nothing more than its growth. I felt this first then, and my after life daily increased my wonder.
But here we are at the custom-house. My first experience of the scarcity of labour in the States came that day. There were no porters of any kind in the searching-room to move the luggage (it is ”baggage” in America), and I had to carry all mine myself. It was brought in and thrown down anywhere. The examination took place at the far end of the building, but each and every one had to carry his own things there. With this exception it was plain sailing, for the officers did the work quickly, and were not painfully suspicious.
CHAPTER II.
New York--National types--American currency--The States as a cheap domicile.
As London is the capital of Great Britain, I suppose New York may be called the first city in the United States, and yet I doubt its right to be so named. Commercially and in size it may be so, but scarcely in appearance. As regards buildings, cleanliness, commodious high-ways, the _tout-ensemble_ which one looks for in a capital, San Francisco, on the Pacific coast, takes by much the precedence, and I am not sure that Chicago does not in a measure do the same, though not in a like degree. As regards the climatic advantages of New York and the capital of California, there cannot be two opinions. New York is certainly not a nice climate, while I believe there is none on this earth to equal in excellence that of San Francisco. Still, the inhabitants of a city are not answerable for the climate!
There is not a decently paved street in New York. The asphalte and wooden pavements of London and Paris are unknown there. I was told both had been tried, but that the climate was against them. I could understand this as regards the latter but not the former. Anyhow they proved failures. Blocks of stone, when of one size and height, and laid in the best way, make a jolting, noisy road, but it is not even thus in New York. Take Broadway, the princ.i.p.al thoroughfare, the stones are not the same size, and a large proportion of them are one to two inches higher than their neighbours, while every here and there are depressions. This being so, I imagine, accounts for the scarcity of wheeled vehicles except tram-cars. These latter, generally drawn by horses, seemed to me to run in every street and road in the city. Of course on rails they travel smoothly, but they and the rails greatly increase the difficulty for cabs and carriages.
The traffic in a New York street in no way resembles that in a London one. Where there is one tram-car in London there are fifty in New York, and fifty cabs here to one there. The same as to carriages.
Nearly the whole of the pa.s.senger traffic is done in the tram-cars and elevated railroads, and no wonder it is so, for to traverse the streets on wheels in any other way is very painful.
The foot-pavements are not much better than the roadways. The paving-stones are not evenly laid, and every here and there a thin iron ridge runs across an inch or so higher than the foot-way, apparently ingeniously placed with a view to cause accidents.
In two words, I have never seen a city with such bad roads and pavements as New York.
The tram-cars are much better than ours. They are better designed, far more roomy, and commodious. The fares, too, are moderate, generally five cents = 2_d._ for any distance. Another advantage: when you want to get out, you pull a rope, and the driver stops. How much better this than poking the conductor with an umbrella, the general plan in London!
The few cabs there are resemble ours, four-wheelers and Hansoms. But woe to the visitor who hires one. I was told, and believe, there _is_ a tariff of fares, but in no way is it acted up to. For a short distance, say one mile, the least demanded is one dollar = 4_s._ 2_d._, and if you object there's a row. I asked several Americans why the tariff is not enforced. ”Few, only rich people, use cabs,” they replied, ”and it's not worth their while.” Anyhow the cabbies have it their own way. I was warned on this head before I arrived, but I was obliged once to take one. I paid about six times the London fare.
However, as you can go almost anywhere in a tram-car with comfort, it does not much matter, especially as you escape the woful jolting a cab entails.
The names of streets in America are not put up on the corners as with us. They are painted on the nearest lamp-gla.s.s. This is well for the night, but inconvenient for the day. The name is only on one lamp, and so small you must go close to read it. You have thus generally to cross the road, and where four streets meet it is not easily found. I did not like the plan. But London is also far from perfect in this way, and might take a lesson from Paris. There, as a rule, the name of the street is at every corner.
The elevated railways are a feature in New York. Like our underground lines they lessen much the street traffic. They run about the height of the second floor windows, and must be an awful nuisance to the inhabitants of those rooms. The rails are supported on a timber frame which rests on stout wooden piles. These latter are possibly twenty feet high, they are very rough, and greatly disfigure the thoroughfare. Another disfigurement in the streets of New York are the telegraph-poles. We run our wires over the house-tops or underground. They do not. The wires are probably more numerous than ours, but all are supported on poles.
I went one trip on the elevated railroad. As you cross the open streets, you get good views of the city, but only then; at all other times the houses on either side shut out every thing. I thought the service, the punctuality, the carriages quite equal to, if not better than, our underground lines.
Among other things I went to one of the princ.i.p.al Fire Brigade Stations. We all know, or ought to know, the Americans are an inventive race. Much I saw showed great ingenuity, and not only that but high powers of organization. I may mention one instance. The horses for service stand ready harnessed except their collars (the harness is peculiarly simple). The said collars are suspended in front of the fire-engine, as far from it as when on the horses. The collars open at bottom, and hang thus something like the capital letter V inverted. A telegraph-bell rings when a fire breaks out anywhere. The horses are taught, when they hear this bell, to go at once in front of the engine, and put their heads and necks through the collars till they are in their places. The collars close with a spring, and the engine is ready to start! If I remember right, two minutes is the time allowed for the engine, with horses harnessed, firemen on it, and everything complete, to leave the yard. The firemen on duty are always ready dressed in the loft of the building where the fire-engines and horses stand, and it is significant of the value attached to time, that they do not come down stairs as this would take too long. There is a square opening in the floor of their room, and through this a polished, round iron pillar ascends. When the bell rings, they slide down in quick succession.
The horses were n.o.ble beasts, and gentle as lambs. A lady and her child were with me, and the fireman, a most obliging fellow, put the child on the backs of the pair in succession. Upwards of sixteen hands high, the girl, nine years old, looked a very mite when so elevated. It may be that my lady friend petting the horses, won the fireman's heart. Anyhow he offered to show us how quick all could be got ready. He asked us to stand on one side, and giving notice above, to prevent the men descending, he rang the bell. Both horses immediately rushed forward and put their heads and necks through the collars. He fastened the traces in a moment--some quick way, I forget how--and all was ready. I timed the operation: all was done under the minute!
<script>