This story and illustrations
are from
Frank Leslies Popular MonthlyAugust, 1882
THE
COMFORTS AND DISCOMFORTS OF TRAVEL.
BY N. ROBINSON,
TRAVELING IS rendered so comfortable
nowadays that the slightest twinges of discomfort call forth "howling
commentaries on the text." Palace-cars by dayveritable
boudoirs on wheelsand sleeping-cars by night, have rendered
locomotion in this country so luxurious that distance has ceased
to appall and season to dismay. Our palatial steamers, too, contribute
their quota; while the baggage system removes the last, though
not the least, cause for anxiety from the mind of the sybaritic
traveler.
Traveling has, indeed, arrived at very
high condition of perfection, and each day witnesses some additional
rivet to our comforts. Our dining-cars, their bills of fareworthy
of Delmonico or the Brunswickrender the dreaded rush to
the dreadful buffet unnecessary, while the connoisseur in wine
can have his champagne iced to as many degrees below zero as may
suit his critical palate, or his claret warmed to blood or fever
heat if he will. The system of ordering luncheon by telegraph,
too, is in keeping with this too too rapid age. It is satisfactory
to be enabled at, say Philadelphia, to select a piquant luncheon
from the menu, and to feel that it awaits your arrival at Wilmingtonhot
or cold, as your Right Royal Highness may have been pleased to
command it.
Steamboat travel, especially river end
lake, is about as luxurious a mode of locomotion as can be by
any possibility conceived. The spacious saloons, the superb surroundings,
the gilding, the mirrors, the carvings, the carpets, the series
of decks (with their awnings in Summer), the restaurant, the staterooms!
Everything that ingenuity can suggest is pressed into the service
to render a trip by boat an episode to be immensely enjoyed, and
as gratefully remembered.
With the ocean steamer comes the terrible
monster, seasickness. Gildings and mirrors and tapestries go for
naught in the presence of this dreaded and remorseless fiend.
Like love, it levels all ranks low, and lays the sceptre by the
shepherds crookor, in less poetical language, the
votive offering to Neptune of the millionaire beside that of the
bumble and impecunious emigrant. To those who do not suffer, the
ocean steamer is a floating palace, with lackeys and retainers
in the shape of sunkissed stewards. Electric-bells and saltwater-baths,
fresh fruit and new-laid eggs, are but so many items. Passengers
growl because a daily paper is denied them, and use full-flavored
language if the bill-of-fare is minus a single luxury for which
they may have a momentary craving.
Traveling nowadays is as much a necessity
as stopping at home used to be in the year one. Everybody travelseverybody
has been somewhere; and people who have only migrated, as in the
"Vicar of Wakefield," from the blue bedroom to the brown,
hang their heads for very shame that they have done so very little
in the way of locomotion.
Traveling has been made so easy that
it requires very little effort to set the wheels going. Packing
ones impedimenta is now the severest portion of the entire
move. Once packed, the express does the rest. The fever of travel
comes upon society at stated periods; and travel, society must
and will at any cost. This fever assumes graver symptoms as the
seasons roll over, and the trip to the White Mountains in time
extends to the Yosemite Valley, or the spin over to Paris to a
dash into the Danubian Provinces. The thirst of travel needs to
be slaked, and native wine seldom possesses the necessary propertiesthe
rush is over the pond.
Of course, shore are still left a few
dignified, old-fashioned Old World people who on a certain day,
at a certain hour, move from the town to the country-house or
who make an annual excursion to visit a relative or friend. This
good old conservatism is being rapidly squeezed out through the
medium of the excursion-train and the excursion-steamer.
All the world goes upon excursion trips,
and no one returns without a fault to find or a grumble to growl.
Breathes there a man or woman who ever yet came back after a days
cheep junketing without a dismal catalogue of complaints ? Take
the excursion steamers. You arrive, though you rise with the lark,
to find the best places always occupied. Feelings of dire ill-will
permeate your bosom as you perceive half a dozen deck-chairs appropriated
by two persons, the feet of the lady on one extra, her impedimenta
upon another, while her male companion, with a diabolical artfulness,
engrosses a couple more, loading the unwary to believe that he
is but holding these forts for temporarily absent friends. The
crush on board the excursion-boat is the next featurepitiful
in hideous discomfort. Ladies weighing 300 pounds and upward are
very good-natured and very amiable They patronize steamboat excursions
to an alarming extent. "You see," a confiding and intelligent
deckhand once observed to me, "they get on a couple o
chairs and sit facie the breeze, en fens themselves
all the time, and nobody interferes with them nor nothin.
Theyre happy as clams at high water."
Children are in mundane Paradise on the
excursion steamer, and, wild with innocent joy, romp and push
and tear round till their elders wish themat home. Then
there are the bores: the man who will talk politics, or
the prosy female who will discuss Sunday-school; the gentleman
who has just returned from Europe, and the lady whose height of
earthly ambition is to get there; the party who knows every inch
of the river or bay, and the nervous individual who informs you
of the exact place wherein to find the "best" life-preservers,
and speaks despondingly in reference to the dilapidated condition
of the boilers.
The effect of the sun playing down upon
your umbrella, assuming that you are provided with one, begets
a tortuous thirst. The ice-water has given out; the lager beer
is an infamy; the coffeeexecrable; the teapoison.
Champagne is expensive, and the red or the Rhine wine in the most
friendly relations with vinegar. You have brought your basket,
and feel peckish. You proceed to open this treasury of edibles
and to expose its toothsome contents. A hundred pair of wolfish
eyes are watching your every movement; one child nudges another,
and the electric whisper goes round. You are the centre of envious
glances; your immediate neighbors cordially detest you, and if
an occasion arrives for rendering you uncomfortable, depend upon
it that it will be utilized.
The food vended on board the excursion-steamer
is of the worst possible description, the caterers having not
one, but both eyes directed toward profit. Feverish from thirst
and fatigue, your eyelids aching, you return to the place from
whence you came, and register an inward vow never to be found
on the deck of an excursion-steamer againa row broken with
commendable regularity.
How favorably the ordinary passenger-boat
compares with its cousin, the excursion! Everything is in order.
The employee polite and anxious, the viands excellent, the time
kept to the minute, the stateroom a model of cleanliness if not
of comfort. Take, for example, and as a type, the day-boat from
New York to Albanyone of the most delightful and picturesque
trips in the wide world. You go on board at 8:30, and make one
in the eight or nine hundred travelers who are en route to the
Catskills, Saratoga, Lake George, and heaven only knows where
besides. A joyous, bustling, expectant, excited, well-bred, fashionable
crowd buzzes about the decks. Old ladies, young ladies, middle-aged
ladies, and ladies of no particular age at all, attired in traveling
costumes of every conceivable sort, shape, size and description,
sit, stand, recline, lounge and lay upstairs and down-stairs (if
such unnautical expression be permitted), in blues braided with
white, whites bound in blue, browns trimmed with black, and blacks
scalloped with brown. Some carry nickel-bound bags, and embroidered
wraps like miniature bolster-cases; others are provided with quaint
early English pockets, deftly marked with their monograms, and
containing gossamer handkerchiefs fit but to brush an enormous
butterfly from the upturned nose of the Bleeping beauty in the
wood. Some wear linen dusters from chin to heel, until they look
as though attired for a sack-race Rae. Hats shades of Gainsborough
and Greuze I such grace, such elegance, such sweep, such chic,
such liveliness, such head-caressers! Rakish little dogs, some
of them with the leaf touching the bridge of the nose, or stuck
on the side with the bewitching abandon of Peg Woffington; others
worn as demurely as Clarissa Harlowes or flung back on the
neck, and depending for support upon a rosebud or a sprig of mignonette;
flowers so ripe and real as to induce roving bees and dissipated
flies to seek Barmecidal feasts thereon. Hair! Ye gods! black,
brown, chestnut, auburn, wine colored, red, yellow, and white;
in plaits, pig-tails, curls, corkscrews, bands,. kisses, Montagues,
shells, rolls, and every other form known to the advanced females
of this the fag end of the nineteenth century; pearl-powder, rouge,
cherry-paste, and burnt umber are fairly represented, and beauty-veils
at a discount.
Let us take a look at the men. Old dandies,
with dyed hair and aide-whiskers of that purple so fashionable
in Rome B.C. 500. Paterfamilias issuing orders in an authoritative
way, and glowing with the pride of " Here I am, with my household
gods, off to the best hotel at Saratoga I Look at me 1" Young
fellows with collared heads, in the loudest possible suits, and
nautical hats that would have won the heart of Black-eyed Susan,
attached to canes of enormous proportions, and sucking cheap cigars
or cheaper toothpicks, with an "Ive just dined at Delmonicos!"
air. Portly brokers in stiff white waistcoats, giving them all
the appearance of gazing over newly whitewashed walls.
Legislators, looking very profound, and
about as cheerful as Acts of Congress. Earnest middle-aged men
in spectacles and alpaca goats thirsting for information, and
deep in the mysteries of the guide-books. Languid swells in blue
suits, with striped stockings and patent-leather shoes, absorbed
in each other, and maintaining a masterly inactivity. Greasy men
in bulgy clothes, with diamond shirtstuds, chains enormous enough
to hang bales of cotton, and immense rings upon fat, hairy fingers,
surmounted by inky nails. A few provincials of the stage-Yankee
type, tourists whose glacial coldness, fixed eye-glasses, and
general imperturbability bespeak them Englishmen, arrayed in their
rhinoceros robes of insular prejudice. And, of course, just as
the gangway is about to be drawn aboard, the stereotyped elderly
lady is declared in sight, who stoutly refuses to " hurry
up," who thrusts her bandbox in the eye of the nearest deckhand
and her umbrella to back it up; who will not venture on the plank
until it is more securely fixed; who drops her umbrella, then
her reticule, then her spectacles, then all three, and refuses
point-blank to budge an inch until her property is restored to
her; and who is finally somewhat unceremoniously thrust forward
under indignant protests and threats of writing to the Herald.
A bright and brilliant sight greets us
as we ascend to the deck. The river is studded with craft of every
description, from the huge ocean steamer to the tiny sailing-boat,
from the richly laden and dignified argosy to the impudent little
tug, scooting hither and thither and audaciously darting beneath
the very bows of some leviathan, in momentary danger of being
crushed up like an eggshell. White-sailed sloops and schooners,
ferryboats speeding from shore to shore with their living and
anxious freight, canal-boats of enormous dimensions, great tows
of barges, the lazy life on which would seem like a Summer dream;
pleasure craft in saucy swiftness, their snowy canvas resembling
the outstretched wings of gigantic seabirdsall these, with
the teeming life on either shore, and the Palisades in the purple-blue
and hazy distance, tend to form an ensemble at once striking,
impressive, and to the memory imperishable.
Little groups soon form themselves in
coigne of vantage. The bows are extensively patronized, camp-stools
are in tremendous requisition, windlasses speedily utilized, and
coils of rope compelled a double debt to pry. Jaunty young gentlemen,
with a view to exhibit their intrepidity, sit loosely on the bulwarks,
allowing their feet to hang over the side of the
ship, to the admiration and dismay
of the young ladies. Very large cigars are smoked, and cheeks
grow pale that but an hour ago blushed, if not exactly in praise
of their own loveliness, possibly beneath the flushing influence
of the seductive cobbler. Jones, of Wall Street, poses as if for
his photograph; the position is painful, but Miss Bluepatch, of
Fifth Avenue, rewards him with a look wherein a smile is secretly
wrapped up, and he poses on to Poughkeepsie. Smiths boots
are new, and just a leetle too small for him, and yet this
heroic fellow stands the whole way to West Point, expatiating
on the beauties of the scenery to Miss Mintsauce, who, happy girl,
is seated upon an icebox, utterly unconscious of the delicious
agonies of her afflicted admirer. We saw all this at a glance,
and we saw more than this.
In the remotest corners of the boat sits
the brand-new brides and bridegrooms. Angelina is attired in a
traveling costume composed expressly for the occasion by that
great artist, Worththe Talleyrand of the toilet. The dress
is a veritable poem, and seems to caress the fair form like a
thing of life. It would take the condensed evidence of a dozen
French milliners to describe even the "goring," so it
is not for us to rush in where a modiste would fear to
tread. Edwin, too, is brand-new, from the gilt sole of his boot,
which betrays the fact of its never having been hitherto worn,
to the shiny felt hat, with the impress of the hatters thumb
still upon it, as glossy and bright as a new drugstore.
The grim, gaunt grandeur of the Palisades
serves to render the gaff, sheeny, dimpled hills around Tarrytown,
Nyack and Sleepy Hollow even more lovely, and bathed in a glowing
bath of golden light, an auriferous glory, such as won Dana for
the mighty Jove. We crane for a peep at Sunnysidethe home,
"made up of gable-ends and fall of angles and corners as
an old crooked hat"of Washington Irving; the scene
of the loves of Ichabod, Katrina and the muscular Brom Brones,
whose daring impersonation of the headless horseman won for him
his pretty pouting bride. We picture Irving seated beneath the
spreading foliage, employed in thinking out some of his charming
creations, or engaged in gentle converse with a welcome guestsay
with the man of drooping eyelids waxed mustaches, who did not
then foresee that awful day when the French eagles would be trailed
in the bloody dust of Se;dan. Yea, Napoleon III. was once upon
a time a visitor at Sunnyside.
And on we speed past Tarrytown, with
its sad, sad story of treachery and treason, and Sing Sing, where
piteous and strained eyes watch us from behind prison bars, till
we enter the beautiful Highlands, to be confronted by the Dunderberg,
and the exquisite scenery of West Point. Passing through this
cleft in the mountains we throb onward till the Catskills dreamily
lift themselves on the left, and six oclock finds us at
Albany, the cupola of the magnificent Capitol standing out in
wondrous and superb relief.
We have dined wella conscientious
soup, a slice of striped base, a warm cutlet with green peas and
a broiled chicken; ice cream and a peach. This is the very essence
of luxurious traveling.
The palace-car
is a revelation to such of our cousins as venture across the pond.
Its size, its decorations, its lounges, its conveniences. Compare
it with the stuffy first-class carriage of British or Continental
travel, and how effete the latter article appears! The stiffness
of a compartment, be it upholstered in yellow plush or blue satin,
or Japanese silk, or Utrecht velvet, is to an American simply
appalling. His sense of freedom is deeply injured when he finds
himself deliberately locked into a prison on wheels. He cannot
stretch his limbs. Ice-water there is none. To bathe his temples
or flirt with his mustache through the medium of a mirror and
a comb is out of the question. The friendly and well posted conductor
is non est. There are no information-giving officials passing
through, no books presented or newspapers flung into his lap,
no candies or bananas, no cough-drops or cigars. He is dropped
into a seat, provided he can get one, with haughty and frozen-mannered
womankind and silent and abstracted men. If his luck be good he
may meet very pleasant, well-bred people; but then he must be
in luck, and fortune must be in a propitious mood. He is hemmed
in without even the luxury of a chance of stretching his limbs,
since the slightest movement in that direction might lead to the
disarrangement of the draperies of the opposite lady. If he is
the happy possessor of a newspaper, and offers it to his neighbor,
the chances are that the civility will be received with a frigid
" Thanks," and then he must endeavor to amuse himself
as best he may, cramped, with the uneasy feeling upon his mind
of being a prisoner until the train slows into a station, when
a muchly-bearded guard will politely but sternly inform him that
he must not descend, as the train will start in a "couple
o seconds, sir."
If the traveler is in need of refreshment
he must restrain the inner cravings until the train arrives at
a station possessing a refreshment counter. To this counter he
must plunge with the most frantic haste, to be snubbed by the
pretty, pert barmaids in attendance. If he is lucky enough to
secure a plate of soup he must swallow it in hot haste; if he
has annexed a portion of the carcass of a lean fowl, he is constrained
to recollect that fingers were constructed before knives and forks.
A bell rings the guard, bearded like a pard, growls something
in a hoarse and unintelligible voice, and the traveler, despoiled
of half a grown, for which he has in turn received a Barmecidal
feast, rushes back to the carriage, mistaking his compartment,
and finally, as the train is in motion, is bundled by the bearded
guard into his prison cellflung over the foot of some gouty
countess, or into the arms of a spiteful elderly spinster, who
talks at him about American barbarians for the remainder
of the journey.
Arrived at his destination, instead of
quietly proceeding to his hotel, his baggage-check reposing in
his waistcoat pocket, he has to hustle and force his way into
a throng of eager, rude and excited people, all clamoring and
clambering for their luggage; all yelling at the porters, claiming
trunks and portmanteaus they had never laid eyes on before, while
the most acrobatic, disdaining the slow process of being waited
on by wooded headed employee, leap into the middle of the valice-laden
arena, and bear away in triumph their impedimentaay, and
not unfrequently the impedimenta of other people as well, for
this miserable baggage muddle is a rich mine to a certain class
of " gentlemen of the road. "
Our American, having by dint of "
skinning his eyes " and a leviathan bribe to a porter, at
last secured his baggage, beholds it flung on to the top of a
growler, alias a four-wheeler or a hansom, the fare being an unknown
quantity; or if he decline to ride in solitary grandeur, the hotel
omnibus is yawning to receive himand still with a sense
of insecurity in regard to his luggage hanging over him like a
black cloud, he is driven to his hotel, again to worry and skirmish
over his trunks; nor is he happy until he beholds them deposited
in his bedroom.
How often during that fatiguing ride
has he longed for the short, sharp but welcome cry of " Baggage
checked! Want your baggage checked?" so significant of ease,
comfort, and security! How often has he yearned for a stretch
in the direction of the platform! How often has he wished for
a gossip with the ever-courteous and thoroughly posted conductor!
The nuisance of having books, periodicals and newspapers flung
into his lap every five minutes would have proved a boon, and
the crack of the shell of the homely peanut, delicious music.
The day-journey will be gotten through,
somehow or other.
"se the day weary, be the day long,
At last it ringeth to evensong.,"
Be the journey ever so dusty, ever so
hot, ever so tedious, the terminus at last comes in sight, and
should the Americans companions have proved unsociable or
worse, he has at least had the satisfaction of gazing out of the
windows, and of filling his eyes with "bits" of the
country as the iron horse sped upon its way. There are many distractions,
and pleasing ones, to boot, in a day journey, but at nightye
gods!
Where, oh, where is the sleeping-car?
where is the ebony attendant, all smiles and white teeth? where
the cozy little smoking-compartment, where one can whiff the best
Henry Clay, and partake of a " modest quencher " in
the shape of a nightcap?
Our helpless
countryman is conveyed to an ill-lighted, fearfully stifling compartment,
containing eight divided seats, seven of which are already occupied.
A wheezy old lady refuses to have the window opened. The floor
is littered with handbags, wraps, etc., while the netting overhead
threatens to burst and brain the luckless individuals reposing
beneath it, a rap on the cranium from a heavy dressing-case being
somewhat dangerous in consequences. The American finds the netting
full, the floor packed. Where will he put his grip-sack, his hand-valise,
his "hard-shell" hat? He begs for a little space, addressing
a ghostly company in the dim religious light. Room is begrudgingly
doled to him with the remark, " These railway companies ought
to be ashamed of themselves, cramming people like sheep into their
beastly carriages!"
A dead silence falls upon the prisoners
as the black van moves out into the dark night. Sleep! Absurd!
Who could sleep seated in one position, the legs at a right angle,
the head being bumped against the dirty and fussy and musty wall-cushions?
Some one goes offa loud snore proclaims that Sleep has taken
a scalp. A general snorting ensues. Bodies become limp and roll
to one side. The man or woman who but a few brief minutes before
would scarcely vouchsafe a reply to the disgusted Americans
query now lean upon him as though he were a brother. In vain he
nudges and fends them off; they return to their first love; they
are true as steel. Sleep! Oh, for that colored porter, and the
ice-water, and the stretch on the platform! Why, the curtained
lane between the berths would be scenery surpassing that so rapturously
described by Claude Melnotte, and the stockinged foot of the gentleman
in the upper berth a thing of beauty. Even the ordinary car, crammed
with passengers in every form of acrobatic position, were a paradise
on earth compared to the stifling first-class compartment on a
night-journey in Europe.
Some railway
companies in England have put on sleeping-cars, notably the "
Wild Irishman," between Holyhead and London, and the "
Scotch Limited Mail," from London to Edinburgh. In France,
too, there are sleeping oars between Paris and Bordeaux, and also
on two of the other lines; but to compare these, cars with a Pullman
or a Wagner would be equivalent to comparing a grocers wagon
to Mrs. Van Spuyten Dargoles victoria. They are, however,
a move in the right but as yet the traveling public has not taken
to them, and while the first-class carriages will be full of suffering
humanity, the sleepers will have many berths to let.
Diligence-traveling is rapidly dying
out, since mountains are being tunneled and the iron road laid
everywhere. The diligence for a mountain day trip is very delightful
traveling; for a night journey it is a horror. The discomforts
of the "good old coaching days," so rapturously referred
to by our grandfathers, are still preserved in diligence travel,
and a night in the wheezy, bone-setting, " leathern conveniency
" will live long in the memory. I have done two consecutive
nights in Mexico, sixteen mules being the team, the driver yelling
at the top of 0a lungs, his assistant pelting the leading files
with stones, and if I wasnt as sore as Mickey Frees
father, I know nothing of contusions, abrasions and partial dislocations.
I have crossed the Pyrenees from Perpignan to Gerona, To say that
I was stiff as the mummy of one of the Ptolemies at the end of
the journey is a close approximation to my condition. The Irish
jaunting-car is a delightful conveyance, and has to be experienced
in order to be appreciated. With a chosen companion, a good horse,
a cheerful driver, and a " drop o the crayture"
" in the well, the jaunting-car "bangs Banagher."
Many a glorious spin I have had on Killarney, through the wilds
of Connemara, and in the lovely valleys of Wicklow, and a more
agreeable mode of conveyance it is impossible to conceive. I would
never care to sit on a jaunting-car outside of "Ould Ireland,"
for, somehow or other, the vehicle seems to adapt itself to the
country and to the people. In Connemara and the West of Ireland
elongated jaunting-ears are run, each side capable of containing
from eight to ten passengers. They are worked with four horses,
usually garrons, or miserable animals, only fit for the
Knackers Yard, or the Corrida de Toros in sunny Spain. The
covered oar which confronts the American tourist at Queenstown
is a relic of the dark ages, and ought to have disappeared with
the sedan-chairs. An Irishman, upon being asked what was the difference
between an inside and an outside car, promptly replied:
" Shure, thin, the outside car has its wheels inside, an
the inside car has its wheels outside."
The omnibuses of the world would form
a not uninteresting article. By far the most comfortable and most
elegant in my experience are those plying in Viennathe horse-cars
also taking the palm. Paris, too, is admirably and comfortably
omnibused. The stages in this country are a little behind the
age. They are lumbrous, cumbrous vehicles, uncomfortable to the
last degree, and the system of packing people into them like figs
in a drum is as reprehensible as it is abominable.
Our street-cars are eminently useful
and-that is all. There is little or no attempt at either comfort
or adornment, while in the principal cities of Europe the streetcar
is a perfect model of both. The vehicles are roomy, elegantly
gotten up, and exquisitely glean, while no overcrowding is permitted,
and every woman is sure of a seat. The conductors and drivers
wear uniforms, and are as presentable as Austrian Life-guardsmen.
With us the greater the load the greater the praise to driver
and conductor. The former is about as ragged and disreputable-looking
a personage as the heavy villain in the melodrama; the latter,
as a rule wears a uniform cap, sadly at variance with the remainder
of his raiment. Our illustration of the agonies of the rear platform
tells a piteous but oer true tale. Fancy a lady having to
fight her way through that closely packed mass of perspiring humanity.
" How am I to get out ?" is the idea that weighs upon
the mind of some delicate woman during the entire ride. The conductor
is of no avail; he is powerless; and her chance of emancipation
lies in a stout heart and a pair of sharp elbows. The light-fingered
gentry approve highly of this system of packing street-cars especially
since the wearing of watches and jewelry has become so fashionable.
The basket nuisance in a street-car is one with which we are all
tolerably familiar.
There is a vast stride toward improvement
in the waiting-rooms of our large railway depots, and from being
great gloomy, depressing square ball-alleys, they are assuming
shape and color and form, with groined roofs, and paneled walls,
and stained-glass windows. As a natural sequence the country stations
will follow suit, and the waiting-room in the near future will
be a tasteful apartment, papered in perhapsand why not ?sunflowers,
with a dado and medieval window.
The great art-wave which is breaking
over this vast continent will not only beautify our abodes, but
our trysting-places as well, and the traveler will find the loss
of train or boat less painful, since he or she can wait for the
next that is to follow, in a room which will savor more of a humanized
habitation than of an enlarged cattle-pen.
There ought to be a large reward in store
for the noble being with mental capacity to organize some method
for ticket-checking once only. "Tickets ready!"
are words that raise feelings of no very amiable nature in the
breast of the ordinary traveler. To be wakened from a nap by an
implacable employe;, whose punch is pointed at your unoffending
head like a weapon of destruction, is, to say the least of it,
a singularly disagreeable sensation. To know that you carry about
your person that which may be called for at any moment, and must
be produced instanter, is a "turn on the nerves."
One is perpetually on the rack. Every time the door opens, every
appearance of a uniformed official, every stoppage of the train,
mentally sends the hand to the pocket-book for the be;te noir
that harasses from the commencement of the journey to the end;
and with what a sigh of relief one delivers up the punched and
tattered ticket for the last time! One feels inclined to give
the conductor something for himself for having taken it off ones
hands. Something should be done, if possible, some system devised
by which the traveler will be relieved from this nightmareone
punching at the beginning of the journey, when the ticket will
be taken up for good and alland a boon will be conferred
on millions.
On the New York elevated railroads the
passengers, until a comparatively recent date, were compelled
to carry their tickets and deliver them up at the end of their
respective trips. So many mistakes occurred, and so much grumbling
arose, that now the ticket is dropped into a box while it is still
warm with the digital pressure of the delivery clerk. The system
works well, and millions are all the happier.
The days of the bobtail-car have been
too long in the land. It is an accommodation, but a nuisance.
The anguish of having ones pet corns trample I upon while
a heavy man or woman wobbles to the change-window is too dreadful
to dwell upon. The jerk which sends the change flying all over
the car; the catapultic upheaval that flings the newcomer into
a seat or into the repelling arms of an already seated passenger;
the terrible anxiety when the bell rings, announcing a defaulter
lest you be suspected; the frownings and scowlings of the uncongenial-looking
driver as he counts his heads preparatory to pouncing upon the
assumed swindler; the dangers arising from the accumulation of
small boys on the stepsall these are the discomforts attaching
themselves to the " bobtail," and I say, "Away
with it."
One of the discomforts connection with
ocean travel is the Custom-house that grimly confronts you on
your arrival anywhere, everywhere You are as innocent as a lamb,
your hands are as clean as those of the Princess in the "Arabian
Nights, " who made the famous cheese. cakes. You have nothing
to declare, nothing dutiable, nothing but your immediate wearing
apparel; and yet, as in the case of the bell on the bobtail car,
the approach of the Custom-house officer causes an indefinable
thrill of apprehension.
Assuming, my dear madam, that you have
bought a seal skin sacque for a dear friend, or a couple of silk
dresses for your sisters or your cousins, are you not singularly
exercised as the grim official deliberately plunges his not always
savory hands amongst your delicate finery and nervous to the last
degree when he comes to disturb the articles in question? What
indignation and terror do you experience as he coldly informs
you that the dresses must be appraised, and what a flow of language
comes to your rosy lips in disparagement of articles which you
selected in Paris as being the most chic in the "Bon
Marche;" or in the Magazin du Louvre.
Here is a discomfort in travel that must
be done away with. No matter how innocent we may be, the thought
of the dreaded Custom house officer is a shadow upon the sunniest
and smoothest voyage.
It is, however, due to the Customs employee
to say that they do their spiriting very gently, and that they
meet with "hard cases", goes without saying; ladies
with elastic consciences and gentlemen without any consciences
at all. Their treatment, however, Or the ordinary passenger, subject
to the ordinary weaknesses of human nature, is, so far as official
nature will permit, highly considerate.
"Beautiful Snow" has been so
gracefully sung in song and story that it needs no rhapsodizing
here. A snowdrift in a deep cutting, blocking the track, may be
a thing of beauty, but it is scarcely a joy for ever. Nor is it
a comfortable feeling for the traveler by rail to hear torpedoes
exploding as the train rushes through a blinding, bewildering
snowstorm. Snow, save for sleighing purposes, is one of the discomforts
of travel. It disarranges the timetable, it breaks appointments,
it spoils dinner, it compels one to wear gum-shoesits
a nuisance.
The heating of cars and bouts is a question
that demands a few words. As a rule, there is either too much
heat or too little. You are suffocated or you are shivering. Cold
is not so difficult to bear as heat, for you can warm yourself,
but to cool yourself is another matter. The thermometer is far
below freezing-point; the conductor of the car being a chilly
mortal himself, or being very good natured, resolves that the
passengers shall at all events have nothing to complain of on
the score of heat. He turns on all at his command, piles coal
into the stove, and in a few minutes comes the dry, suffocating
feel, that knows of no relief save one, that of flinging open
the window or door, and letting in a knife-like air that cuts
to the very marrow.
Of course!, there are some passengers
who partake of the nature of Salamander, for whom no heat is too
much, and who would flirt with the stove in the dog-days; but
the average passenger dislikes to be stifled or dry-baked, and
he undergoes both in a long Winter railway journey.
Some plan should be devised by which
our cars could be heated to a certain temperature, warm enough
to prove agreeable, yet not too warm. Let the Salamanders put
on overcoats and wraps, as is done in English railway carriages,
where they have no artificial heat at all save in the first-class,
where long jars covered with flannel and filled with hot water
are placed beneath your feet at certain stations along the line.
That feeling of asphyxiation that one endures, consequent upon
the overheating of the cars, is about the most unendurable one
can experience. The flushed cheek, the pink hand, the incipient
headache, the unquenchable thirst, all arise from an overdose
of heat, and the entire pleasure of a trip is completely marred
either through the carelessness or extravagance of a thoughtless
conductor.
There is one feature in connection with
the comforts and discomforts of travel that should not be passed
over, and that is the knack some people possess for making themselves
comfortable, and, vice versa. Persons of the Mark Tapley class
enjoy travel under every circumstance, and to this class of the
community at large I make my most deferential bow.
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