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More or less introductory--Americans and Yankees not synonymous--Want of courtesy in the States--The Press--Voyage out--New York climate 1

New York--National types--American currency--The States as a cheap domicile 19

Why I went to America--Agents in London and the Eden promised--New York to New Orleans--Railroads in the States--American scenery--Ranch life--Deserts in the States--Antelope Valley 42

San Francisco--Army and Navy--International Court--Pacific coast--Californian ranch--Social customs--Good-bye, California! 94

Nevada--Utah--Wyoming--Denver--A restless night--Seeking for a ranch--Ranch work--Colorado Springs, the Sanitarium of Western America 133

Ranch again--Tea--American press--Celebrities victimized--Last journey--Chicago--Beauty--Niagara missed--New York--Atlantic--Home 195

THE TRUTH ABOUT AMERICA.

More or less introductory--Americans and Yankees not synonymous--Want of courtesy in the States--The Press--Voyage out--New York climate.

Apart from the object with which most authors write, viz. to make money, I purpose this little book to serve three objects.

Firstly, to make the United States of America, and the Americans, better known than they are at present to the mass of the English public.

Secondly, to put a certain class of emigrants on their guard against the machinations of a few agents in London, who victimize them not a little.

Thirdly, to let the many who suffer from pulmonary diseases in Europe know that across the Atlantic is a cure-place excelling, owing to its peculiar climate, any in the Eastern hemisphere.

As my book will be truthfully written, and my intentions are good, success will not elevate me much, blame will not depress me. If the book is a fair picture, as far as it goes, of a vast and wonderful tract on the earth's surface, if it shows clearly the prevailing characteristics of the Americans, what there is for us to copy, what to avoid, if it prove of use to the ever-increasing class of emigrants, and if it is readable and amusing withal, I shall be more than satisfied.

When, in England, a conversation, say on a rail carriage, is held between an Englishman and an American, the chances are against the latter being asked how he likes England. The Englishman should feel, if he does not, that it is begging a favourable answer, anyhow that the reply, politeness considered, cannot be worth much. Under the same circumstances, in the States , the chances are three to one the query will be put in the first half-hour. The form varies. Sometimes it is put diffidently, and in the nicest words. Sometimes just the other way. "Does not your mind expand when you consider the institutions of this great country, when you see how like a clock the machinery works, &c.?" Or, more shortly, "And how do you like our glorious country?" This last is a very favourite form. It was asked me many times in exactly the above words. My general reply was, "Well, I don't like it as well as England, though I see much we might copy with advantage, &c." The American, perhaps, then adds, "Ah, that's natural, but I'm glad you can discriminate, which few Britishers can, for believe me" , "they are prejudiced right away in favour of that little insignificant island." I cannot say the words are exact, but their drift is. The expression, "How do you like our glorious country?" I'll swear to.

We have all heard that servants in America are named "helps." This alone signifies a great deal. They object to serve you, they do not mind, "if you make it worth their while," helping you. The same feeling pervades all but the well-educated and intellectual classes in the States. Even where, as in New York, contact with Europeans has rubbed off some of this peculiarity, it exists. The shopman serving you seems to do so under protest. The conductor on the rail treats you as his equal. The hotel official picks his teeth, and expectorates in dangerous proximity to your boots, while entering your name. You need not, 'tis true, shake hands with the shopkeeper, even if he recognizes you, simply because there is no time in New York for such courtesies, but you have to do it out West.

The maxim in America seems to be that every man is as good as his neighbour, or better, at least every man seems to think so, and why, thinking so, they should address anybody as "Sir," beats their comprehension, and they simply don't do it.

The press in all countries reflects public opinion more than it leads it. Suppose a paper--I say not in London, but in Manchester, then the comparison is perfect--were to write of the Empress Eugenie as some American papers write of our Royal Family. Were she spoken of as simply "Eugenie," and even lauded as such, would not the paper so speaking of her be certainly damned? But "Wales" I have seen in several Northern States papers, do duty for our Queen's eldest son and future king. Nay more, in such papers woman's sex is no defence. Her Royal Highness, Princess Beatrice, is written of by her Christian name only, and her husband is alluded to as "Battenberg." Even worse, I have an article about him, which was headed "Beatrice's Mash," the last being a slang word used in the States for lover!

There are, of course, papers and papers in America, and many would not be guilty of the solecisms above alluded to; still, such are the exceptions. I do not care to name the two in which the above appeared, but as they were the leading journals in the capital of a western state, it is evident that this kind of thing goes down, for they, and many like them, flourish.

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, buttoned 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 lassitude, 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, substitute for the English climate. I found that one in America, at San Francisco, on the Pacific coast, but of this farther on.

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 , 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.

New York--National types--American currency--The States as a cheap domicile.

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 principal 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 passenger 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 names of streets in America are not put up on the corners as with us. They are painted on the nearest lamp-glass. 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 principal 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 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 noble 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!

New York is divided into three parts. The larger is New York proper. The other two are Jersey City and Brooklyn. The Hudson river runs between New York proper and Jersey City. This is not bridged, being about two miles wide, but I doubt not the go-ahead Americans will do it some day. The East river divides Brooklyn from New York, and is crossed by the bridge described above. The termini of the great rail lines, running North, South, and West, are in Jersey City, so when leaving New York you cross the Hudson river. There are six lines of ferries across. The boats are of enormous size, with separate compartments for wheeled vehicles and passengers. The horses pull the vehicles on board, and off at the other side. The saloons for the passengers are pictures of ornament, elegance, and comfort. In all such things the Americans are far ahead of us. Look at the steamboats running up and down the Thames, what miserable craft they are. You could put six or eight of them on board one of the American steam-ferries described, not to descant on the absence of all decent accommodation. I like to be fair and give the Americans their due. There is much I must decry. Will it make my praise appreciated on the other side of the Atlantic? I doubt it; but it will, I feel sure, make my English readers believe I write fairly, and do not hesitate to point out the many things in which the Americans are ahead of the "Britisher." Do you, if English, mind the word? I do not, but it is very American.

Such are, in my opinion, the general characteristics of two similar types of young men in England and America. Both, after travel and as they advance in years, improve. But, as painted, they are, of course, neither of them desirable companions, and I do not think there is much to choose between them.

I care not here to continue the subject, and try to depict the opposing national characteristics of the Americans and English . I have already done it more or less in the foregoing pages, and would rather it peeped out in the same way as my book proceeds.

The two last figures, the five and the cypher, are cut off, and they indicate the cents, the figures reading 18^50, which is the true amount I shall get at the above rate of exchange.

The silver coins are ten cents, quarter, half, and whole dollars. The gold, five, ten, and twenty dollars, which are roughly worth a little over one, two, and four pounds sterling. The last is a very handsome gold piece, a trifle smaller in diameter than an English crown, but, I think, thicker. The bank-notes, called "Bills," begin at fifty cents, and run up to one thousand dollars. There may be higher, but I have not seen them. There is nothing to be said in their favour. They are of many patterns and devices, and most of them dilapidated and dreadfully dirty; so dirty that they stick to one another, and so greasy and discoloured by usage that I always fancied they gave off an unpleasant odour. They are not nice things to put in your pocket! I speak of those of moderate value, say 100 dollars. I believe those of higher denominations, not so much in use, are better. Accustomed to our clean and crisp notes, I was surprised that the go-ahead Americans had such paper money, for bad as it is in some parts of the continent, I have never seen such offensive notes as the American. I believe, here in England, all paper money paid into the bank is destroyed, and new issued in its stead, and that this accounts for our clean, crisp, and undilapidated notes. I wish the same plan held over the water.

I had forgotten the copper coins. These are one cent, two cents, and five cent pieces. The last is covered over with some nickel composition, so that it looks like silver. Side by side with the ten cent silver piece, the five cent nickel bit looks the more valuable, and it takes time to realize it is only worth half the other. The five cent piece is often called "a nickel," the ten cent piece "a dime."

It is the same with many other things. In fact, the purchasing power of a dollar in inner America is not, for all such articles, much more than one shilling in England! It goes without saying, that English emigrants of the lower class, settling in America, can, by selling their labour, as they do, at such a high price, and with the cheap common food available, more than make up for the high cost of such things as I have described. But people who have been accustomed to comforts in England should avoid the States, unless they are prepared to forego society, and live the sort of life one leads on a cattle ranch, where nothing in the way of appearance is necessary.

FOOTNOTE:

In vastness and ingenuity it has certainly no rival on earth. In beauty, the Palais de Justice at Brussels may be a rival.

Why I went to America--Agents in London and the Eden promised--New York to New Orleans--Railroads in the States--American scenery--Ranch life--Deserts in the States--Antelope Valley.

I left New York for California, which is right on the other side of the huge continent, but why I did so I must explain, for thereby hangs an important tale.

My object in going to America was to buy an estate and settle on it with my two sons, whom I had sent out there some eighteen months before. They went to learn farm and cattle ranch work, and had been so employed. Before leaving London I inquired much as to the best part of America to go to, but, as is so often the case, I found that nearly all the advice I received was prompted by self-interest, i.e. that among the class I applied to, mostly agents connected in some way or other with America, each vaunted the excellence of the State and locality he worked for. In short, the result of all my inquiries was that a great many different States were the best in the Union!

And I, like a fool, was more or less satisfied, for I found the areas and population mentioned were right.

Now in all the above, truth and fiction were so closely blended, that, to discriminate which was which, I should have to travel over the whole ground again, and this is not the place to do it. Wait till we get there. But I would ask the reader to note this page, and compare it later on with the facts.

Suffice it here to state that the said agent, who sent me and many others there, knew that not one in twenty would remain, and that numbers in fair positions here in England, who, influenced by him, sold up all they had and went out, some with wives and families, to this El Dorado, crossed the Atlantic on the high road to ruin!

But what was his object? Did he own lands there and want to sell them? Not an acre, I believe! He got a commission on the passengers he sent over a particular line of rail, and thus managed to send all his victims the same way that I went.

Besides the extra distance, and consequent extra expense, there was another very serious disadvantage in summer to the line he recommended. It is much farther south, and in consequence a great deal hotter. I suffered not a little therefrom. Others did the same, and as they dropped in by twos and threes, exhausted by the heat, and joined the exasperated and despairing prior arrivals in the valley, they cursed, in no measured terms, the man who had so deceived them. In two words, the Antelope Valley is a howling desert. Not a blade of grass, not a green tree, no trees at all. In this it is a perfect contrast to the swampy "Eden," so well described by Dickens in "Martin Chuzzlewit," but as regards the impossibility of making it a home, the two are alike. More on this head when we get there.

I am not one of those to whom "money is no object;" quite the reverse, and more especially had I to study economy when I left for America. I therefore took second-class tickets from the said agent for the whole line from New York to San Francisco. The Antelope Valley is, by the route I was to travel, some 300 miles nearer, but I thought it better to go to the capital of California first, and get what I might want. He assured me I should have every comfort in the said second class, and the amount I paid him for the tickets, considering the enormous distance , was not great. He told me I should not get a regular bed as in a Pullman car, but that if I took a small mattress and blankets, I should find room to lie down and sleep. The tickets he gave me were to be exchanged at New York for a rail-book, with coupons in it to carry me over the different lines.

Running south from New York, the country we passed through until night fell was very beautiful. That, and some I saw near Lake Erie months later, was the most charming pastoral country I beheld in the States. It was quite equal to anything in England, which is so rich in pastoral scenery. One charm in American travel is, that, in traversing that mighty continent, you see scenery equal to, and like, the best that any country on earth produces. While executing the enormous distances on American rail lines, you lie down at night, the last of the twilight having shown you rural scenes--peaceful villages, ivy-clad churches, browsing cattle, waggon teams and green fields. You awake in a desert--a real desert like the great African ones. Far as the eye can reach, for hours and hours as the train rolls on, sand and nothing else. Not a house, not an inhabitant, no water anywhere. You close your eyes that night on the arid waste, and lo! next morning you are in Swiss scenery. Great fir-clad mountains, capped with snow, border the rail, a precipice is below, and you shudder as you realize how near you are to the edge. A mountain stream, with numerous cascades, accompanies you for miles. Domestic animals are confined to a small breed of horses and goats, but if lucky you may see a large stag, or a grizzly bear, and possibly have a shot at the latter. Before evening all changes again. Vast and interminable plains of grass, with an occasional sluggish stream. Cattle by the thousand in great flocks, sometimes grazing peacefully, sometimes driven by wild-looking cowboys on wiry horses with the high-peaked Mexican saddles and long whips. Here again you may travel for hours and see no habitation. Trees, too, there are none. It seems to be a country designed by nature for cattle only, and such is indeed the use it is put to.

The cattle on such ranches stay out the year round. On the largest the owner often knows not how many there are. Occasionally they are driven into corrals , and counted, while the young stock are then branded. The life is necessarily wild, rough, and solitary. The ranch-owner, like Robinson Crusoe, is lord of all he surveys for many miles round. His work is not hard, his gun, his rod, his horses are his amusements, but domestic happiness, the charm of "home" is not his. Think you he is to be envied or pitied?

All ranches in the States are not as above described. Where there is more population the ranches are smaller and differ in other ways. I shall have to describe one later which I bought, so will not do it here.

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