Across the Plains, with Other Memories and EssaysStevenson, Robert Louis
General
Across the Plains, with Other Memories and Essays
Stevenson, Robert Louis
Essays; Monterey (Calif.) -- Description and travel; West (U.S.) -- Description and travel
PAGE
I. ACROSS THE PLAINS 1
II. THE OLD PACIFIC CAPITAL 51
III. FONTAINEBLEAU 72
IV. EPILOGUE TO “AN INLAND VOYAGE” 95
V. RANDOM MEMORIES 112
VI. RANDOM MEMORIES CONTINUED 126
VII. THE LANTERN-BEARERS 138
VIII. A CHAPTER ON DREAMS 153
IX. BEGGARS 169
X. LETTER TO A YOUNG GENTLEMAN 182
XI. PULVIS ET UMBRA 193
XII. A CHRISTMAS SERMON 202
I
ACROSS THE PLAINS
LEAVES FROM THE NOTEBOOK OF AN EMIGRANT BETWEEN NEW YORK AND SAN
FRANCISCO
_Monday_.—It was, if I remember rightly, five o’clock when we were all
signalled to be present at the Ferry Depôt of the railroad. An emigrant
ship had arrived at New York on the Saturday night, another on the Sunday
morning, our own on Sunday afternoon, a fourth early on Monday; and as
there is no emigrant train on Sunday a great part of the passengers from
these four ships was concentrated on the train by which I was to travel.
There was a babel of bewildered men, women, and children. The wretched
little booking-office, and the baggage-room, which was not much larger,
were crowded thick with emigrants, and were heavy and rank with the
atmosphere of dripping clothes. Open carts full of bedding stood by the
half-hour in the rain. The officials loaded each other with
recriminations. A bearded, mildewed little man, whom I take to have been
an emigrant agent, was all over the place, his mouth full of brimstone,
blustering and interfering. It was plain that the whole system, if
system there was, had utterly broken down under the strain of so many
passengers.
My own ticket was given me at once, and an oldish man, who preserved his
head in the midst of this turmoil, got my baggage registered, and
counselled me to stay quietly where I was till he should give me the word
to move. I had taken along with me a small valise, a knapsack, which I
carried on my shoulders, and in the bag of my railway rug the whole of
_Bancroft’s History of the United States_, in six fat volumes. It was as
much as I could carry with convenience even for short distances, but it
insured me plenty of clothing, and the valise was at that moment, and
often after, useful for a stool. I am sure I sat for an hour in the
baggage-room, and wretched enough it was; yet, when at last the word was
passed to me and I picked up my bundles and got under way, it was only to
exchange discomfort for downright misery and danger.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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