NIAGARA FALLS
The way is long from New York to San Francisco. We have to pass the
Continent from East to West, making about 5000 miles. It took thirty-five
days to make that journey before the railway was built. We will touch
Niagara on our way to Chicago, and will continue the journey the same day
by a later train. To leave America without seeing the Falls of Niagara
was impossible.
The train rattled out of New York and crossed the Harlem. We skirted
that pretty little river and ran over the prairies. We travel in a
splendid “Wagner Express,” a rival to “Pullman’s Express.” All the cars
are first-class; it is only the so-named “Colonist trains” which are
second-class. Our saloon-car had no compartments in it, there was just
one wide corridor with velvet armchairs dotted about. In front of our
engine a kind of giant spade is fastened to clear the line from droves of
cattle and other encumbrances. A huge bell keeps ringing all the time for
the same purpose.
Towards night we removed to the sleeping-car, fitted up with a long
double file of two-storeyed bunks, the rows separated by a green calico
partition. The railway conductors are shiny black negroes, surnamed
“Johnny,” all of them. Our Johnny, a most jolly-looking nigger, in white
livery, was very talkative, his tongue went like an express train.
He plied us with questions and cross-examined us about where we came
from, where we were going to. Wasn’t he also a spy? At all events we
did not reveal our destination. We pretended we were going no further
than Niagara. In the night Mme. Beurgier went to drink a glass of
water, and when she crawled in, in the dark, she couldn’t find out her
sleeping-berth, and got into Johnny’s couch. When her hands touched the
darkie’s slippery face, she thought she had touched a frog, and throwing
herself back, she bumped her face against the boards, at which her
forehead instantly developed a bump of many colours.
The jingle of the breakfast bell and Johnny’s piercing voice shouting
“First call for breakfast,” awakened me in the morning. I had to crouch
up and dress on my berth, and succeeded in putting on my frock in a
series of contortions. The Americans are very unceremonious people;
peeping through the curtain of my division, I saw unattractive-looking
bare legs underneath. All the passengers assembled in the saloon to drink
coffee, which was brought in by Johnny and tasted very nasty.
We pass the towns of Rochester and Albion, and are speeding along the
wooded banks of Niagara River. The opposite bank is Canada, a territory
belonging to England. Johnny began cleaning manipulations over our
clothes, proceeding with bold strikes of his brush, as if he were
grooming a horse. Then he took off Sergy’s hat unceremoniously, gave a
vigorously brushing to it, and clapped it upon his head again. After that
he made a dash at my hat, but without success, I having jumped back in
time.
Here we are at “Niagara Village,” an agglomeration of splendid hotels.
The next train left at 9-15, and we had plenty of time to spare. We made
our way to “Hôtel National,” as we had no porters to carry our things, we
had to do it ourselves. We passed before a negro boy perched on a high
seat, motionless like a black statue, sticking out both feet adorned with
boots shining like twin stars. We were told that the black statue was a
boot-boy serving as advertisement to a patent shoe cream.
At the entrance hall of the “National” we found negroes with brushes who
made dusting attacks at our clothes.
We are just in time for luncheon. The big hall was filled with tourists
who had come to see the Falls, the great wonder of the world. We were
served by a staff of waiters, negroes of blackest ebony, the head
waiter wore a flower in his buttonhole, and looked awfully smart.
During luncheon a pianist played to the accompaniment of an orchestra.
After lunch we stretched ourselves comfortably in rocking-chairs on the
veranda, looking out into a shady park, and after a good rest, we took a
carriage and drove to Goat Island to see the Falls.
Niagara, in the Indian language, means “Thundering Waters,” and in fact,
from afar the thunder of the Niagara filled the air. We wandered away in
the direction of the huge roar. As we advanced the sound became sharper
and we had to shout to make ourselves heard above the noise of the
cataract. At length we came face to face with the Falls. The sight of the
foaming rapids fringed by splendid trees, was awfully grand. Rainbows are
reflected in the water. The tumult of the Falls which attained the height
of seventy yards, broke in clouds of spray against the rocks. It was well
worth travelling all the way to see. Here and there we saw inscriptions:
“_Don’t venture in dangerous places!_” Leaning over the Falls, I felt
very small and strangely attracted by its foaming wonderful sheet of
water, just the same as I did whilst standing on Mount Vesuvius, on the
very brink of the crater. In a part of the park called “The Cape of the
Winds,” where the Falls have the form of a horse-shoe, we met a party of
audacious tourists, enveloped in yellow mackintoshes, who were slowly
groping their way along a narrow bridge thrown across the cataract;
underneath, the Niagara rolled gigantic and majestic in a vast flood.
After having rested for a little while on the grass, discoursing about
the beauty of the wonderful water-fall, we returned to the hotel just
in time for dinner. After the repast, all my companions went out for a
sail on the Niagara River; as for me, I had quite enough of thrilling
sensations for that day and pleaded a headache as an excuse for remaining
within. They went underneath the Falls in oilskin coats and caps,
supplied by the hotel, after which they descended in a lift, and then
walked along passages scooped out of the rock, until they were underneath
the Falls, which poured over in front of them like a curtain, and then
reached a steamboat called “The Maid of the Mist.”
When my indefatigable companions returned, we walked across the park
to Canada “abroad,” as they call it here, and crossed the river by a
suspended bridge joining Canada to the United States. We had to pay 25
cents each to cross the Suspension Bridge, which seemed to hang over the
water. This bridge had recently collapsed and was now built again.
Whilst our companions explored Canada, I entered with Mrs. Serebriakoff,
a white farm-house with green shutters, entirely covered with creeping
plants, which announced in large white letters “New Milk,” where we
regaled ourselves with strawberries and cream.
We were back to the hotel towards sunset and walked to the station laden
with our bags and umbrellas, where we arrived just as the train was about
to start.
This time our sleeping berths were still more uncomfortable, arranged
behind the partition for two persons on one bunk. This is all very well
for married couples but is it not particularly cosy for strangers of
different sexes to lie down all night side by side. This lot befell Mme.
Beurgier; her berth-mate turned out to be Mr. Koulomsine, who after long
parleys succeeded in finding a sleeping berth in the next car.
I slept badly that night and got up very early. We had luncheon in the
restaurant-car about a quarter of a mile away from us in the train.
Pretty girls waited on us while in continual chorus came from them:
“Steaks, chops, ham and eggs, pie or pudding!” After the repast the
waitresses distributed small bouquets to the lady passengers, and
dining-car advertisements to the gentlemen.