The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Truth About America, by Edward Money This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: The Truth About America Author: Edward Money Release Date: November 19, 2009 [EBook #30503] Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE TRUTH ABOUT AMERICA *** Produced by KarenD and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) THE TRUTH ABOUT AMERICA BY EDWARD MONEY "TEA—CULTIVATION AND MANUFACTURE IN INDIA," "TWELVE MONTHS WITH THE BASHI-BAZOUKS," "WOMAN'S FORTITUDE," "WE'LL SEE ABOUT IT" LONDON SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON, SEARLE, & RIVINGTON CROWN BUILDINGS, 188, FLEET STREET 1886 [All rights reserved] LONDON: PRINTED BY GILBERT AND RIVINGTON, LIMITED, ST. JOHN'S SQUARE CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. More or less introductory—Americans and Yankees not synonymous—Want of courtesy in the States—The Press— Voyage out—New York climate CHAPTER II. [Pg i] [Pg ii] [Pg iii] page. 1 A New York—National types—American currency—The States as a cheap domicile CHAPTER III. 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 CHAPTER IV. San Francisco—Army and Navy—International Court—Pacific coast—Californian ranch—Social customs—Good-bye, California! CHAPTER V. Nevada—Utah—Wyoming—Denver—A restless night—Seeking for a ranch—Ranch work—Colorado Springs, the Sanitarium of Western America CHAPTER VI. Ranch again—Tea—American press—Celebrities victimized— Last journey—Chicago—Beauty—Niagara missed—New York —Atlantic—Home Decoration THE TRUTH ABOUT AMERICA. CHAPTER I. More or less introductory—Americans and Yankees not synonymous— Want of courtesy in the States—The Press—Voyage out—New York climate. part 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. That my own knowledge of the United States is a superficial one, I admit in stating I was there not quite five months. If I have a talent for anything, it is the power of absorbing facts and describing them later. I kept no journal in America, but I made copious notes of all I saw and heard while the impressions were fresh. As I view all these in a bundle on the table before me, I 19 42 94 [Pg iv] 133 195 [Pg 1] [Pg 2] feel that I must describe succinctly, to bring all I have to say into a "little book," and there are weighty reasons, with me at least, why it should be no more. 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 (the English) 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. I affirm that the United States and its denizens are not more than superficially known to English men and women. I beg the question. Why is it? There are doubtless many books of American travel, politics, descriptions, and what not. I had read many of these, but surprised as I was on much I encountered after arrival, I was far more surprised how little what I had read had prepared me to find. The following may in some degree explain this. By far the larger number who go to the States are of two classes. 1. The rich, who go for travel, pleasure, and change. 2. The emigrant, who is poor, and who stays there. The first, naturally, see the best side of everything, and if they describe their experiences, the pictures drawn are scarcely fair ones. The second class, as a rule, it goes without saying, are not strong with their pens, and were it otherwise, having to win the bread of life, they have no leisure. There are of course exceptions. The political aspect of America has been well depicted, the features of that huge continent aptly described in several books by good authors, but of true social pictures there are few. Among these there are no better than what Dickens wrote in "Martin Chuzzlewit," for the types there discussed are truly painted with great humour, the only fear is the reader thereof may conceive they are national, instead of what they truly are, characteristic of a large class. The Americans know us far better than we know them. While, including emigrants, more pass from Great Britain to the States than America sends eastward, the proportion in visitors is certainly American. They come in shoals to England and Europe, returning generally the same year. Not strange, therefore, that their knowledge of our habits and customs exceeds ours of theirs. That the Americans know this is so, is shown by the style of conversation held with a "Britisher," when by chance (if he does not show it otherwise) his nationality is discovered. In England if A, an Englishman, meets B, an American, A does not discuss England with B as if it was necessarily all new to him. B is supposed to have probably been here before, possibly to know England as well as A does, and often it is so. But on the other side of the Atlantic A (and generally truly) is supposed to know nothing of the country. This was one of the salient features that first struck me. Quite true, in my case at least, I did know nothing! 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 (unless the American has visited Europe), 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 (a safe and true one) 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" (here he gives you a painful dig in the side), "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. Let it not be supposed that the above is characteristic of the Americans. It is so of the Yankee class alone. It is a significant word that "Yankee," I do not like it altogether, for it has more or less of depreciation in it. Still no one writing of America can help using it occasionally. What does it mean? In Latham's Dictionary it is defined, "Term applied in England to the Americans of the United States generally." This may have been so, it is certainly not the case now. Why, I know not, but the term has acquired a low meaning. In speaking to a subject of the United States, you might ask him, "Are you an American?" You could certainly not, without transgressing good taste and most certainly offending him, ask if he is a Yankee. In what sense, then, may the word rightly be used? Sometimes it is employed to designate the inhabitants of the Northern States, but this again is wrong, simply, if for no other reason, that they do not relish it. By "Yankee" I understand, and shall use it to mean, a denizen of the Northern States, but one of a low type. The North American gentleman or lady can vie in that way with any nationality (in intelligence they are perhaps ahead of their compeers), but the Yankee, "the cute Yankee," is a [Pg 3] [Pg 4] [Pg 5] [Pg 6] [Pg 7] very prononcé type, peculiar to America, and there are, alas, many of them. They hail principally from the North, but I have seen some in the South, and when met with there they grate against you more in proportion because civility and courtesy are generally the rule in the latter States. 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 first thing that strikes you on landing in America is the want of deference and courtesy among all classes. Not only from the inferior to the superior, but vice versa also. The maxim noblesse oblige has no sway there. In England, speaking to an equal or a social inferior, "Kindly do this," or "Please give me that," is general. In America the "kindly" and "please" are carefully omitted, and the servant or "help" retaliates by the substance and tone of the answer. But I am wrong, perhaps, to use the word retaliates, for I never found that civility in asking produced any other effect. 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. It seemed to me, among the class I write of, that the feeling is "Civility argues inferiority, ergo, the less given the better." It can only be some feeling of the kind, deeply implanted, that accounts for the fact that the Yankee (mind I use the word as I have defined it above) is the most uncourteous being in creation. 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 (I care not to sully this page with even an extract) 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. But to other subjects. I went out to New York in that magnificent Anchor Line steamer, the City of Rome, which, after the Great Eastern, is the largest vessel afloat. The Atlantic was exceptionally kind, like a mill-pond, all the way between Liverpool and Sandy Hook, and the passage was nice in every way. We crossed in something less than eight days. The society on board was extensive and good—Americans, French, Germans, English, and others, there was no lack of choice. I studied the Americans most, for they were to me a new study, and I was very much pleased with the result. When I left the ship, I did so with the impression that, nation for nation, as regards intelligence, wide views, and general knowledge, the women certainly, if not the men, were ahead of us English. I had not many opportunities in America of mixing with the upper classes, but my limited experience there strengthened the above belief. Of course, all I met on the City of Rome were more or less travelled Americans (in no country, perhaps, does travel make a greater change than among our transatlantic cousins), but I was particularly struck by the intelligence, and the broad and charitable views of the ladies. 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 sex, 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. [Pg 8] [Pg 9] [Pg 10] [Pg 11] [Pg 12] 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 passengers 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 ship. 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 spacious smoking-room, the comfortable cabins, the absence of vibration from the screw, all and everything about the ship 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 latitude 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, 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. 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 ship 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, [Pg 13] [Pg 14] [Pg 15] [Pg 16] [Pg 17] A and yet the coup d'œil 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. Decoration Decoration CHAPTER II. New York—National types—American currency—The States as a cheap domicile. s 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 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. [Pg 18] [Pg 19] [Pg 20] [Pg 21] 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 = 2½d. 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 = 4s. 2d., 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-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 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 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! The said fireman showed us many other things, and having found out we were "Britishers," was much pleased at our encomiums. He said that Captain Shaw, the head of the London Fire Brigade, visited New York in 1884, and adopted much that was shown him. "In fact," he said, "the London Brigade has to thank us for much of its excellence." I smiled when he so spoke, the remark was so American; but I doubt not we have in this department, as in so many, profited by their inventive faculty, though I ventured to suggest it was not likely the obligation was all on one side. The Brooklyn Suspension Bridge is, I think, the sight of New York. It connects New York [Pg 22] [Pg 23] [Pg 24] [Pg 25] [Pg 26] with Brooklyn. It is the longest suspension bridge in the world, and I believe the best in every way. It took eight years, I think, to build. It is one mile 720 feet long between the entrances, and 85 feet wide. From either entrance to the large supporting towers is 2200 feet, which leaves a clear length of 1600 feet for the main span. The said towers, constructed of huge blocks of granite, are 268 feet high. The bridge is 135 feet above high-water mark. It cost $17,000,000, i.e. about three and a half million sterling. There are three roads, or ways, below and one above. The centre lower way is for carriages, the other two for single lines of rails, trains crossing both ways. The upper road or way is for foot-passengers, and thus as you cross the bridge you see the carriages and trains below. The peculiarity of this wonderful and beautiful structure is the enormous span between the supporting towers, and the apparent extreme lightness of the whole bridge. It would take more engineering knowledge than I possess, and pages of space, to describe the manner the roadways, i.e. the whole bridge, is supported. But the idea conveyed is that the supporting-rods, and the ties of every kind, are far more numerous and lighter than in other suspension bridges. The mesh of a spider's web, but with threads running in every direction, is the only thing I can compare it to. I know not who the engineer was, but his name should go down to all posterity. I have travelled in many lands, but I never saw any human achievement that impressed me so much as this Brooklyn Bridge. In vastness, in beauty, in ingenuity, there is no edifice, I believe, reared by man to equal it.[1] 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. It has always struck me that nationalities, judging of each other, do not act fairly. Each individual, be he or she English, American or of any Continental country, is apt to regard the question at issue solely from the nationalistic point of view, and does not attempt to place himself or herself on the other side, and try to realize how it would look there. There are no people on earth more apt to do this than the English, though the Americans do it likewise to quite as great an extent. There is nothing, I think, to choose between them in this respect, and for national egotism these two nations head the list. There are not many more disagreeable beings than the egotistical, untravelled young Englishman (age generally modifies his views), who reviles everything foreign, and thinks nothing really good is found out of Great Britain! The class are well known on the Continent, and naturally avoided, for they exhibit little or no delicacy in propounding their views. The young Englishman in question, often of the upper classes, and also often rich, is disagreeable in other ways also. He adores wealth and despises poverty. He is a very slave to what is most foolish in our social customs, ignoring entirely those that are commendable. He would not carry a parcel through the street if any amount of money would induce some one else to do it for him. He scoffs at religion of every kind. He scarcely believes in the existence of right and wrong. He is shallow to an extent, and fast it goes without saying. Yet is he not all bad. He has a code, loose as it is, and acts up to it. It is real pain to him to be backward with a debt of honour (though I write it, how foolish the expression: as if all debts were not equally incumbent), but any tradesman may wait for years. He does not lie, except to save a woman's reputation (query—Is it then justifiable? I really don't know), but he exaggerates fearfully. Animal courage he has, but nothing of the moral attribute. Except as regards his egotism, personal and national, he is not offensive in manner or language. To ladies he is courteous, but his opinion of woman is of the lowest. I have said enough to show such a one does not commend himself to foreigners. There is an American of the same type, but he differs. Far more intellectual than his English brother, he has much wider views. He is equally puffed up with conceit as to his own "glorious country" (odd how often you hear this expression in the States), but he recognizes it is a new country, and may thus have some shortcomings. Still, that it is on the high road to eclipse all [Pg 27] [Pg 28] [Pg 29] [Pg 30] [Pg 31] [Pg 32] others is part of his creed. He does not, like the other described, look up to a rich man because he is rich, but because he must have been "cute" to attain the position. Social customs of all kinds he ignores, and if with the Englishman aforesaid would willingly carry his parcel for him! He too is a free-thinker in theology, but he is more tolerant of creed and dogma in others. I cannot call him "fast" as compared with other Americans, for they are all fast in a sense. The word, as we understand it, somehow does not apply to them. So much for his best side. As regards any code of honour, or appreciation of the virtue of truth, it is not in him. As regards physical courage I would back the Englishman, moral courage the American. He (the latter) is often offensive both in manner and language. Courtesy to any one he does not practise, for he thinks it argues his own inferiority. I know not what he thinks of women, for I never cared to discuss the subject with him. 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 (of course, what is written above applies to neither, only to the particular type of each country as set forth). 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. But all this is not New York, which I am bound to finish in this chapter. Before we go further I had better, for the benefit of those who know it not, state the American currency and its equivalent value in English money, for it will save repetition. The "almighty dollar" is the unit of currency in the States. Why the coin is thus lauded in American phraseology is a puzzle, for it certainly procures less as regards its nominal value than any coin I know. The dollar is divided into 100 cents, and is worth itself 4s. 2d. Thus each cent represents one halfpenny; twenty-five cents, roughly one shilling; and the English sovereign is generally worth $4.85, generally written $485, and read four dollars eighty-five cents. This decimal system is most convenient for all calculations. I may give one example. Suppose the exchange to be as above, £1 = $4.85, and I want to send the equivalent of £210 to America; I simply multiply 485 by 210 and divide the product by 100; practically cut off the two last figures in the said product. Thus— 485 × 210 = 101850. The two last figures, the five and the cypher, are cut off, and they indicate the cents, the figures reading $101850, which is the true amount I shall get at the above rate of exchange. Again, in casting up columns of English money figures, we have to divide the total of the pence by 12, the total of the shillings by 20, and only set down the remainder, carrying over the quotient. With the American currency the dollars are set down in one column, the cents in another, but the whole are added up together, then the two right-hand figures of the product struck off. These are the cents, all the rest are dollars. There are other ways in which this decimal system is convenient, but I have exemplified it sufficiently. Shall we ever have as good a system? 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." [Pg 32] [Pg 33] [Pg 34] [Pg 35] [Pg 36] Out far west the copper coinage is not current under five cents. When at "San Francisco," I found that nothing was sold under that amount, which is, of course, 2½d. The poor there take two or three of any cheap thing to make up the sum. Not only did the storekeepers there not think it inconvenient, they regretted the time in the gold fever days when ten cents was the lowest tender, and if I remember right, when that splendid city was in its first infancy (i.e. gold in California was first discovered) nothing could be bought under 25 cents, or one shilling! It is a great mistake to suppose America is a cheap country. It may be, nay often is, a good country to make money in for the very reason that things are not cheap, but it is, a very dear country to live in, and, take it all in all, the dearest I have ever visited. It is well that this all- important fact should be known, for numbers of emigrants go out, deceived by agents in London, with quite a contrary opinion. But still the broad fact requires qualification. Some few things are cheaper than in England or the continent, but most are far dearer. Food of some sorts is cheaper—notably meat—in many places less than half the price it is here. Bread, beer, and liquors much the same. Preserved provisions are a little dearer. Vegetables, perhaps, are cheaper. But all other necessaries of life are two or three times their cost here. Clothing is very dear. Furniture more reasonable. Crockery, three times the home price, and everything else that is wanted in a house exceeds by much what it would cost here. Travelling is far more expensive, but more on this head farther on. The truth is as follows:—If a man or family live in the States in an out-of-the-way place, and are content so to live without the comforts of life, nothing but the bare necessaries, they can then, after once setting themselves up, live cheaper than in England. But only in this case can it be done. To live otherwise, that is to allow yourself and family things on the ordinary scale we have them in England, costs far more. The reason why things are dear in the States is simply because labour is scarce and expensive. For an ordinary day's work, a man there gets one to one and a half dollars besides his food. This is certainly equal to three times the ordinary English wage. The consequence is, that, in spite of the heavy import dues on foreign manufactured goods, the Americans, in many cases, find it cheaper to import than to manufacture them. Take crockery for instance. By far the greater part in use comes from England. They have as good clay in the States as there is here. I need not say that the Americans, ingenious and au fait at all machinery as they are, could make it, still they do not, to any extent, simply because, so made, it would be dearer than what they import. English crockery will be found all over America; it has borne sea freight, import dues, rail charges for perhaps fifteen hundred miles, what wonder then that when you buy such it costs three or four times what it does here? 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. One word more as to the poor emigrant class. It is not all couleur de rose for them. True, labour is in demand and its cost high, but the man, or the family, have often a hard fight before they can take advantage of these conditions, and during the interval they have necessarily to spend far more than they would in England. I do not say that the said poor class, who cannot find work here, should not emigrate to America, but I do say they are unwise to do so, unless some assured favourable locality, some kind of probable opening, is assured to them. America needs population, but the need is America's, and she should give the inducements. Back to New York. There are many very good hotels there; among them may be named the Fifth Avenue Hotel, the Windsor, Brunswick, and Astor House, but all these are expensive, five to six dollars per day per head, which is a good deal more than the best hotels in London. There are also many good hotels in which the charges are not more than half the above, but in most of the latter breakfast only lasts from 7 to 9, and dinner is at 1 o'clock—hours many will object to. You can have baths in all these houses, but the comfort of a sponge bath in your bedroom is not usual, and if you insist on it, you pay for your obstinacy. I went to Earl's Hotel: it is quite as good as any of the second-class houses; the waiters there are all negroes, they are attentive and serve well. It was the height of summer when I landed, and the heat was awful. The nights were suffocating; I could have fancied myself in the tropics, for the high temperature lasted till early morning. Sleep and great heat, in my case at least, are antagonistic, and, as I tossed on my bed, I longed for the waving punkah we have under such circumstances in India. I was not sorry to leave the place, and advise any one visiting it, to do so either in the Spring or [Pg 37] [Pg 38] [Pg 39] [Pg 40] [Pg 41] I the Autumn, at those times the climate is delightful, but avoid both Summer and Winter, the extremes of temperature, heat and cold, at those seasons, are such as we in England wot not of, for above 100° in summer and 20° to 25° below zero (Fahr.) in winter are extremes. FOOTNOTE: In vastness and ingenuity it has certainly no rival on earth. In beauty, the Palais de Justice at Brussels may be a rival. Decoration CHAPTER III. 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. 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! While in doubt what to do, and with the determination not to be "done" by an agent, I read a very tempting advertisement, and eventually, like many more, was done very completely by the advertiser and his representations! The said advertisement set out that 160 acres in California would be granted free of cost by the Government to any one, above twenty-one years of age, and that any further area could be bought on very reasonable terms. The locality was said to possess a charming climate and many advantages, all of which would be detailed on application, &c., &c. I have not the advertisement, unfortunately, or would set it out. This I thought looked tempting. My two sons and I could take up 480 acres, and I could buy any more I wanted. I went to the advertiser (I found out later that he was an American, but he had been long in England and did not betray it), and what I saw of him I liked. He said the locality was in California, and that it was known as the "Antelope Valley" (a taking name!), and possessed a very perfect climate. The winters were very mild, the summers not hot, and bright sunny days were the rule. That he was there in June, and wore with comfort the same clothes he did in England. That the rainfall was scanty, but the deficiency was supplied by artesian wells, which could be sunk at a small cost anywhere in the valley, and with certain results. That California was known to be a great fruit country, and that the valley in question was pre-eminently fitted for all kinds of fruit. That settlers had only begun to go there a few months before, and were increasing in number at a great pace. That a railroad ran through the valley, and that all the land in its vicinity was taken up, but that, if I went out soon, I could probably get land two or three miles from it. That crops of most kinds, besides fruit of all kinds, could be grown there, and that the rail connecting at either end with San Francisco and Los Angelos (the former the capital of California and on the sea, the latter a large town and seaport), there was an unlimited market for all produce. The scenery, too, he said, was beautiful, the valley being surrounded by picturesque hills, &c., &c., &c. All these statements he supported by a map of the valley, showing the lands taken up, by a pamphlet he had written, in which the glories of this Eden were highly painted, and to which were added letters from the settlers, thanking him for having brought such a paradise to their notice.[2] But this was not all. Specimens of the crops and fruits grown in the valley, some dried, some imitations in wax, heavy bunches of grapes, peaches [1] [Pg 42] [Pg 43] [Pg 44] [Pg 45] wonderful as to size, Brobdingnag strawberries, and what not! The only wonder was why so desirable a tract had only lately become known, and I asked as much. The answer was, "Want of population. California is roughly 800 miles long, with perhaps an average width of 200 miles. In this large tract, twice as big as England and Wales together, there are about a million inhabitants." And I, like a fool, was more or less satisfied, fo...