Reagan is a member of West Philadelphia Division No. 162, and a
conductor on the Maryland Division; he is a member of the excursion
executive committee, and is keenly alive to all that pertains to the
welfare and pleasure of the party. Brother McCarty is a member of
Susquehanna Division No. 331, and a conductor on the Frederick Division.
Brothers Reagan and McCarty enjoy the freedom of bachelorship, and are
general favorites with the ladies.
Drawing room 13 is occupied by Colonel and Mrs. Mitchell. Brother
Mitchell is a member of West Philadelphia Division No. 162, and a
conductor on the Maryland Division; he is well known as a genial,
good-hearted fellow, and was given the title of “Colonel” several years
ago by his associates because of his entertaining and hospitable
disposition.
Leaving the “Marco” with its happy occupants, whose comforts will be
looked after by the polite and attentive porter, Dennis Jackson, I
passed through the vestibule into the next car, “Milton,” which I found
similar in almost every respect to the “Marco.” Meeting the porter,
stalwart, good-natured Dick Pettus, I informed him that I had visited
the “Milton” in order to obtain the position and names of the occupants.
“I’m not much acquainted with anybody yet,” replied Dick, “but don’t
think I’ll have any trouble, as everybody seems to be all right and
happy.”
“Yes,” I answered, as I took a glance at the occupants of the car, “you
will find them all first rate people, and all right in the daytime, but
be careful and keep the doors locked and your eye on them at night, for
there are two or three in this car who are afflicted with somnambulism,
and they might walk off the train or get into the wrong berth while in
such a condition.” “Good Lord,” was Dick’s reply as he vanished into the
toilet room. I find the state room in the “Milton” reserved for a
hospital. It is hoped it will not be needed for such a purpose.
Section 1 is occupied by Mr. and Mrs. J. W. Goff. Brother Goff is a
member of Camden Division No. 170, and a conductor on the West Jersey
and Seashore Division.
Section 2 by Mr. and Mrs. H. L. Wilson. Brother Wilson is a member of
Camden Division No. 170, and a conductor on the West Jersey and Seashore
Division.
Section 3 by Mr. and Mrs. Thomas B. Gilliland. Brother Gilliland is a
member of Dauphin Division No. 143, and a conductor on the Middle
Division. Mrs. Gilliland is a member of Keystone Division No. 47, L. A.
Section 4 by Mr. and Mrs. L. E. Sheppard. Brother Sheppard is a member
of Camden Division No. 170, and a yardmaster on the Amboy Division.
Mrs. Sheppard is a member of Erickson Division No. 5, L. A.
Section 5 by Mr. and Mrs. S. N. Kilgore. Brother Kilgore is a member of
West Philadelphia Division No. 162, and a conductor on the Philadelphia
Division.
Section 6, Mr. and Mrs. D. R. Sparks. Brother Sparks is a member of
Camden Division No. 170, and a conductor on the West Jersey Division.
Section 7 by Mr. and Mrs. E. A. Kalkman. Brother Kalkman is a member of
Capitol Division No. 378, and a conductor on the Maryland Division.
Section 8 by Mr. and Mrs. W. H. Morris. Brother Morris is a member of
Wilmington Division No. 224, and a conductor on the Maryland Division.
Section 9 by Mr. and Mrs. C. E. Foster. Brother Foster is a member of
West Philadelphia Division No. 162, and a conductor on the Maryland
Division.
Section 10 by Mr. and Mrs. I. M. Cohee. Brother Cohee is a member of
Wilmington Division No. 224, and a conductor on the Maryland Division.
Section 11 by Mr. and Mrs. James Dougherty. Brother Dougherty is a
member of West Philadelphia Division No. 162, and a conductor on the New
York Division.
Section 12 by Mr. and Mrs. James H. Moore. Brother Moore is a member of
West Philadelphia Division No. 162, and a conductor on the New York
Division.
Drawing room by Doctor and Mrs. C. E. Mattson. Brother Mattson is a
member of West Philadelphia Division No. 162, and a conductor on the
Maryland Division; he is a graduate of Jefferson Medical College, and
has quite an extensive practice, to which he devotes his time when not
engaged in his duties on the road.
[Illustration: A PULLMAN SLEEPING CAR.]
Brother Mattson has kindly consented to give the party his professional
care while on the trip, if needed, but it is earnestly hoped that there
will be but a very few occasions for an exercise of his professional
skill and that his labors in this direction will be light.
Entering the “Orchis,” the fifth and last car on the train, I found the
polite and obliging porter, George Custis, busily engaged in the duties
pertaining to his position. His passengers all looked comfortable and
George looked happy.
“George, do you like fun?” I quietly asked as he passed near me to
deposit a huge telescope valise in the state room. “Yes, sir; somewhat,”
he replied, with a questioning look in his eye. “You will have a circus
on your hands, my boy, or I fail to read the combination,” I added, as
he emerged from the state room. I had glanced down the line as I entered
the car and noticed among the occupants some well-known characters for
fun and frolic, and conclude there is a picnic in store for the porter
and passengers of the sleeper “Orchis.”
Turning now to the business that brought me to the “Orchis,” I find that
the state room is occupied by Messrs. Charles Sloane and William Haas.
Brother Sloane is a member of Quaker City Division No. 204, and a
conductor on the Philadelphia Division; he is the _Nimrod_ of the party,
and has come equipped with fishing tackle and rifle. He is well
acquainted with some of the best hunting grounds in the West, and is
familiar with the haunts and habits of bear and deer. Brother Haas is a
member of R. B. Hawkins Division No. 114, and a conductor on West Penn
Division; he has a kodak with which he expects to secure some
interesting views. Brothers Sloane and Haas enjoy the privileges and
liberties of single-blessedness, but are not averse to the society of
ladies.
Section 1 by Messrs. Joseph Schuler and John B. Crispen. Brother Schuler
is a member of R. B. Hawkins Division No. 114, and a conductor on the
Pittsburgh Division. Brother Crispen is secretary and treasurer of
Renovo Division No. 333, and a conductor on the Middle Division,
Philadelphia and Erie Railroad. He is a bachelor, young in years, and
inclined to be shy in the presence of the ladies.
Section 2 by Messrs. T. J. Denniston and J. J. Restein. Brother
Denniston is a member of West Philadelphia Division No. 162, and a
conductor on the New York Division; he is a bachelor, arrived at the
years of discretion, cautious and modest in his habits, an excellent
conversationalist, whose companionship is appreciated and enjoyed by
all. Brother Restein is a member of Wilmington Division No. 224, and a
conductor on the New York, Philadelphia and Norfolk Railroad. He keeps
his kodak always handy, for it is his purpose to try to obtain some of
the best views of incidents and scenery on the trip.
Section 3 by Mr. and Mrs. Robert T. Elder. Brother Elder is a member of
West Philadelphia Division No. 162, and a conductor on the New York
Division.
Section 4 by Mr. and Mrs. Hugh Leary. Brother Leary is a member of West
Philadelphia Division No. 162, and a conductor on the Schuylkill
Division; he has been but a few days married, and both bride and groom
receive the congratulation of many friends in being so fortunate as to
be able to take such an enjoyable wedding tour. May sunshine, health,
and happiness be ever theirs.
Section 5 by Mr. P. J. Barrett and his sister, Miss Anna S. Barrett.
Brother Barrett is a member of West Philadelphia Division No. 162, and a
conductor on the New York Division. Being a single man, he had no wife
to accompany him, but he did the next best thing and brought his sister,
a commendable act that redounds to Brother Barrett’s credit. A man that
is good to his sister will be good to a wife. Mark it!
Section 6, Mr. William H. Post and daughter, Miss Ella L. Post. Brother
Post is a member of West Philadelphia Division No. 162, and a conductor
on the New York Division. Mrs. Post being unable, on account of ill
health, to accompany the excursion, permitted her daughter to take her
place, a privilege the young lady highly appreciates and enjoys.
Section 7, Mr. and Mrs. J. N. Climenson. Brother Climenson is a member
of West Philadelphia Division No. 162, and a conductor on the
Philadelphia Division.
Section 8, Mr. and Mrs. R. J. Foulon. Brother Foulon is a member and P.
C. C. of Quaker City Division No. 204, and a conductor on the
Philadelphia Division.
Section 9, Mr. and Mrs. H. R. Haefner. Brother Haefner is C. C. of
Susquehanna Division No. 331, and a conductor on the Philadelphia
Division.
Section 10, Mr. and Mrs. C. F. Smith. Brother Smith is a member of
Susquehanna Division No. 331, and a conductor on the Frederick Division.
Section 11, Mr. and Mrs. T. J. McKernan. Brother McKernan is a member of
Neptune Division No. 169, and assistant passenger yardmaster at Jersey
City.
Section 12, Mr. and Mrs. M. Houston. Brother Houston is S. C. of West
Philadelphia Division No. 162, and a conductor on the Schuylkill
Division. Mrs. Houston is a member of Erickson Division No. 5, L. A.
Drawing room, Messrs. C. E. Waddington, O. Williams, and H. H. Taylor.
Brother Waddington is C. C. of West Philadelphia Division No. 162, and a
conductor on the New York Division; Brother Williams is a member of West
Philadelphia Division No. 162, and a conductor on the Maryland Division;
Brother Taylor is a member of West Philadelphia Division No. 162, and a
conductor on the New York Division. Brothers Waddington and Williams are
unmarried, but it is not known for how long. We can only wait and see.
On the rear platform stood Brakeman T. M. Tobin, who was selected by
Trainmaster Simms to accompany Conductor Bostick as flagman because of
his well-known adherence to the rules that govern this important
position. We are spinning along at about a fifty mile per hour rate of
speed, and have passed through some of the finest farming country in the
world. A “fleeting view” is all we get, but one glance is sufficient to
show us fine, substantial buildings and fences in good repair and men
busily engaged in preparing the soil for the reception of seed.
We have passed the city of Lancaster and are nearing Harrisburg. Dinner
has been announced, and I retrace my steps to the dining car to find the
tables filled. Although hungry I console myself with the thought that
“there are others, lots of others,” and that in my misery I had lots of
company. In the meantime I avail myself of the opportunity of
ascertaining who our guests are, as a number of gentlemen accompanied
us from Philadelphia.
Glancing up the line of tables, I see Trainmasters Frank Carlisle of the
Maryland, James G. Ruth of the Central, Walter B. Gormley of the
Schuylkill, and Rees L. Hannum of the Delaware Extension and Kensington
Divisions; Yardmasters L. H. Smith, Kensington, and Anthony Hughes,
Fifteenth and Washington Avenue, and George Stults, assistant secretary
of West Philadelphia Division No. 162. They seem to be having a good
time, and are all bravely battling with Jersey mutton and Long Island
spring duck.
In the centre of one of the tables is a magnificent bouquet of choice
flowers, presented to the party in Philadelphia by Messrs. Myers &
Lautman, florists, of Wyndmoor, Chestnut Hill. It is much admired by all
for its beauty and fragrance. As the tables became vacant they were
rapidly filled up by those in waiting, and it was not long until the
entire party had partaken of a dinner that was admitted by all to be
hard to beat, and a credit to Conductor McDonald and his competent and
obliging help.
At 1.22 P. M. we arrived at Harrisburg, where a short stop of eight
minutes was made in changing engines. We bid adieu to our guests,
receiving from them many congratulations and compliments as to our
outfit and prospects, and best wishes for a happy trip and safe return.
The jovial trainmaster of the Central Division, as he bade us goodbye,
said: “You people could not travel in better form or fare better if you
were a party of millionaires. I am sure you will have a good time.”
Whole-souled, big-hearted Frank Carlisle heaved a great sigh as he
shook hands with Manager Wyman and Colonel Mitchell, and with a tear in
his eye murmured, “Boys, I wish I could go with you.” Walt Gormley and
George Stults turned their backs on the crowd to hide their emotion as
“all aboard” rang out, and the last seen of “Tony” Hughes he was
struggling in the grasp of Lew Smith and Rees Hannum, who had to hold
him to prevent him from boarding the now fast-receding train, they
knowing full well that business at Fifteenth and Washington Avenue would
suffer did they not take “Tony” back with them.
It was just 1.30 P. M. when we left Harrisburg, drawn by P. R. R. engine
No. 32, handled by Engineer John Ficks and fired by Jesse Reynolds.
Conductor A. W. Black had charge of the train from Harrisburg to
Altoona, with Flagman J. S. Wagner and Brakeman A. Gable. W. Brooke
Moore, trainmaster of the Middle Division, was a guest on the train from
Harrisburg to Altoona. We arrived at Altoona 4.50 P. M. and left at 4.57
P. M. with P. R. R. engine No. 867, Engineer F. W. Masterson, Fireman E.
W. Pugh, Conductor W. B. Chislett, Flagman Frank Bollinger, Brakemen
John Cline and C. D. Chamberlain. As guests we had C. W. Culp,
trainmaster Pittsburgh Division, and D. M. Perine, assistant master
mechanic, of Altoona, who accompanied the party to Pittsburgh.
Six miles west of Altoona we reach Kittanning Point and circle round the
famous Horseshoe Curve. From this point a magnificent view of Alleghany
Mountain scenery can be seen. Nine miles further and we reach the
highest elevation on our trip across the Alleghanies and pass Cresson, a
beautiful summer resort, the
[Illustration: SANG HOLLOW ON THE CONEMAUGH.]
location of the noted “Mountain House,” whose marvelous reputation for
rates and rations attracts the _bon-ton_ patronage of the world.
We now enter the Conemaugh country and note its picturesque hills and
mountain ridges, among which winds and wriggles the historic Conemaugh
River, which at present seems but little more than a harmless, babbling
brook; but when the rains fall and the snows melt, and this sparkling
little creek receives the waters from a hundred hills, it becomes a very
demon in its resistless fury. For eight miles we have followed this
stream and part company with it as we pass through the city of
Johnstown. Johnstown will ever remember the Conemaugh River, flowing as
it does through the very centre of the city. It is a constant menace to
the tranquillity and security of the people, and in yonder hillside
cemetery two thousand glistening tombstones bear sad and silent
testimony to the awful horrors of a Conemaugh flood.
It has grown dark and we are approaching Pittsburgh. A stop is made at
East Liberty, and a delegation of brothers from R. B. Hawkins Division
No. 114 of Pittsburgh get aboard and accompany us into Pittsburgh. The
visitors kindly present each one of our party with a bouquet of roses.
We arrive at Pittsburgh 8.12 P. M. and stop for eighteen minutes,
leaving at 8.30 (7.30 Central) P. M. Time changes now from Eastern to
Central, which makes us leave at 7.30 instead of 8.30. To some of us
this is rather a perplexing thing, for we are leaving Pittsburgh
forty-two minutes before we arrive there. A number of our party are
setting their watches to Central time, I will allow mine to remain as
it is, and will use Eastern time in my notes in connection with the
Standard time of whatever locality we may be in.
Left Pittsburgh with P. C. C. & St. L. engine No. 183, Engineer A. F.
Winchell, Fireman O. Brown, who runs us to Dennison, Ohio, 93 miles.
Conductor L. E. Schull, Brakemen W. A. Chambers and E. S. Chambers go
with us to Columbus, Ohio, 193 miles. We almost regret that it is night,
for we desire to see the country. At 9.50 (8.50 Central) P. M. we arrive
at Steubenville, 43 miles from Pittsburgh, and stop five minutes for
water.
We are now on the Pittsburgh Division of the Pennsylvania lines,
operated by the Pittsburgh, Cincinnati, Chicago and St. Louis Railway
Company. The Pittsburgh Division extends from Pittsburgh, Pa., to
Columbus, Ohio, a distance of 193 miles. Most of the party have turned
in and at 11.30 (10.30 Central), just as our train stops at Dennison,
Ohio, I prepare to undertake the novel experiment of trying to get a
night’s sleep in the berth of a Pullman car. It is a new and strange
experience to me, but I go at it to win. There is nobody in sight, but
the presence of a carload of people is felt. The long, narrow aisle of
the car is deserted, but I hesitate to exercise the privilege its
deserted condition would seem to warrant. I desire to undress, but I
wish to hide to do it, and with this end in view I crawl under the
curtains that inclose our berth. As I do so the train starts on its way
again. Mrs. S. has retired some time ago, and I think is asleep. There
is not much room for me, but I determine to make the best of it.
Balancing myself on the edge of the berth, I make a few changes in my
apparel, and come very near being precipitated into the aisle while so
doing by a sudden lurch of the car as the train struck a curve. In
regaining my equilibrium I stepped upon the madam, who quietly inquired
what I was trying to do. “Only coming to bed, my dear,” I answered. “Is
that all,” she replied, “I have been watching you for some time and
thought you either had a fit or else was practicing gymnastics and using
the curtain pole for a horizontal bar.” I made no reply, I didn’t blame
her, and lay down thankful that she was the only witness to the
performance; and ours was not the only circus on the train that night;
“there were others.”
SUNDAY, MAY 9th.
Got up early, after passing rather a restless night; did not sleep very
well; finished dressing just as the train stops at Richmond, Ind., 5.55
(4.55 Central) A. M. Go outside and find it a lovely morning. Several of
the boys are up. Have come 220 miles since I turned in last night as the
train left Dennison, Ohio.
We are now on the Indianapolis Division of the Pittsburgh, Cincinnati,
Chicago and St. Louis Railway, which runs from Columbus, Ohio, to
Indianapolis, Ind., a distance of 188 miles. Upon inquiry I learn that
from Dennison to Columbus we had P. C. C. & St. L. engine No. 59,
Engineer Schultz. From Columbus to Indianapolis, P. C. C. & St. L.
engine No. 102, Engineer John Cassell, Fireman W. Mason, Conductor J. E.
Taylor, Brakemen Orvil Hyer and George Farmer. We arrive at Indianapolis
7.45 (6.45 Central) A. M., and leave there at 8.30 (7.30 Central) A. M.
on the Main Line Division of the Vandalia Line, which extends from
Indianapolis to St. Louis, a distance of 240 miles, and is controlled
and operated by the Terre Haute and Indianapolis Railroad Company. T. H.
& I. engine No. 34 is drawing us. It is called the World’s Fair engine,
having been built at Pittsburgh and placed on exhibition at Chicago
during the great exposition. It is a fine, large engine, and Engineer
Fred. Wood, who runs it, says “she is a daisy.” The fireman is G. E.
Hickman; conductor, A. J. Harshman; brakemen, J. G. McMahon and James
Edmunds. Breakfast is announced as we leave Indianapolis, and no second
invitation is required; our appetites are keen, and we thoroughly enjoy
McDonald’s substantial and bountiful breakfast.
We pass through Terre Haute at 10.15 (9.15 Central) A. M., and cross the
Wabash River a short distance west of the city. Ten minutes after
passing through Terre Haute we cross the State line and enter Illinois.
There is a delay of five minutes at Effingham by a hot box on engine 34.
Just after leaving Effingham a stone was thrown by some one and broke an
outside window in car “Milton,” section 4, occupied by Mr. and Mrs. L.
E. Sheppard. A stop of five minutes is made at Greenville to oil and
take water. Three strange men boarded the train at this point and were
not noticed until after it had started, when they claimed they had made
a mistake, thinking it a regular train. The train was stopped to leave
them off. We partook of lunch at 1.15 (12.15 Central) P. M., being
always ready to eat.
It is raining as we approach St. Louis, where we arrive at 2.30 (1.30
Central) P. M. The effects of last Summer’s terrible tornado can plainly
be seen, as we cross the bridge from East St. Louis, in great piles of
_débris_ that have not as yet been cleared away. On account of the rain
the prospect of seeing much of the city is very poor. A trolley ride of
five miles through the city to Forrest Park was taken by a number of our
party. It is too wet to take a walk in the park, and after spending a
half hour in a large pavilion watching the pouring rain we return to the
Union Depot, which we look through and find it to be a large and
magnificent structure, exceeding in size and excelling in grandeur our
own Broad Street Station at Philadelphia. It was built at an expense of
$6,500,000, and covers an area of 424,200 square feet. The train shed
contains thirty tracks, which are used by twenty-two different roads.
Several of us met Conductor W. Fetzer, of the Louisville and Nashville,
and had a pleasant half hour with him. On account of a defective flange,
a pair of new wheels were put under the dining car “Lafayette” this
afternoon. Mrs. Shaw, Mrs. Dale, Mrs. Reilly, and Miss Post are on the
sick list this afternoon. Called to dinner at 8.30 (7.30 Central) P. M.,
after which we were escorted through the magnificent station by
Stationmaster J. J. Coakley and Conductor A. J. Harshman. The station is
lighted with thousands of electric lights of many different hues and
colors. Every light is burning to-night, the second time since the
construction of the station, the first time at its dedication, September
1st, 1894, and this the second time in honor of the visit of the
Pennsylvania Railroad conductors, May 9th, 1897. Our most sincere thanks
are due the kind and courteous stationmaster, J. J. Coakley, for the
favor and honor accorded us. May his shadow never grow less.
An itinerary souvenir of our train over the Iron Mountain Route, Texas
and Pacific and Southern Pacific Railways, from St. Louis to Los
Angeles, via Texarkana and El Paso, was presented to each member of our
party by the Iron Mountain Route management through Mr. Coakley. It is a
neat little affair, much appreciated, and will be highly prized as a
souvenir of our trip.
At 9.15 (8.15 Central) P. M. our train rolled out of the Grand Union
Depot over the Iron Mountain Route, which extends from St. Louis to
Texarkana, a distance of 490 miles. St. L. I. M. & S. engine No. 630 is
drawing us, with Engineer John Hayes at the throttle, Fireman J. E.
Schader, Conductor W. Hall, Brakeman J. L. Thompson, and Baggagemaster
M. Madison. We have this engine and crew to Poplar Bluff, 166 miles,
with the exception of the baggagemaster, who goes through to Texarkana.
There is an inquiry for Brother Reagan; he has not been seen since
leaving St. Louis. Our hearts are filled with consternation and alarm,
for we believe he has been left, and how can we get along without “Jack;
good, jolly, jovial Jack.” Maxwell’s eyes are dimmed with tears of
sorrow, and McCarty is wringing his hands in grief. “Let us stop the
train and return and get him,” suggested Mrs. Kalkman. “I believe he has
been kidnaped,” said Brother Sloane, “or he would never have got left.”
“He’s all right; I found him,” shouted Brother Waddington, as he entered
the car, and there was great rejoicing when it was learned that instead
of being kidnaped and left behind, Brother Reagan was peacefully
sleeping in Brother Waddington’s berth in the drawing room in rear of
the train.
F. B. DeGarmo, trainmaster of St. Louis, Iron Mountain
[Illustration: AT EFFINGHAM, ILLINOIS.]
[Illustration: LEAVING LONGVIEW JUNCTION, TEXAS.]
and Southern Railroad, and his assistant, T. H. Gray, accompanied us
from St. Louis to Poplar Bluff, and Conductor P. Elkins, a member of
DeSoto Division No. 241, got on at DeSoto and went with us to Bismarck.
A large number of our party were gathered in the smoking car and we had
quite an entertainment. Brother Elkins sang a number of songs, and the
cook and waiters, one of them having a banjo, entertained us with songs
and music hard to beat, and most thoroughly enjoyed by all. Conductors
McDonald and Suter and Brother Haas sang excellent songs, and Wyman and
Shaw gave recitations. Our genial train conductor, Capt. W. Hall,
related some interesting stories of the days when this section of the
country was terrorized by the operations and exploits of the Jesse
James’ gang of train robbers. Captain Hall’s train was held up one night
by this daring band of thieves at Gad’s Hill, 120 miles south of St.
Louis. Hall was forced to surrender and remain quiet with the cold
muzzle of a revolver pressed against his temple. An attempt was made to
blow open the safe in the express car, but the robbers became frightened
at their own noise and fled without securing any booty. The evening has
been such a very enjoyable one that midnight approaches unawares;
finding it so late we turn in, having less difficulty in doing so than
we had last night.
MONDAY, MAY 10th.
Got up this morning at 6.30 (5.30 Central) and found our train in charge
of Conductor H. C. Withrow and Engineer A. B. Archibald, with St. L. I.
M. & S. engine No. 375, fired by T. Grifin. Captain Withrow took charge
of the train at Poplar Bluff, with instructions to consume ten hours and
thirty-two minutes in the run to Texarkana, a distance of 325 miles.
Withrow has no brakeman, but is accompanied by a colored porter, J. J.
Norris, who performs the duties of a brakeman. We are now in Arkansas,
having crossed the State line last night at Moark, 185 miles south of
St. Louis. We arrive at Little Rock, Ark., 8.15 (7.15 Central) A. M.,
and make a stop of ten minutes. We alight to look around and very much
admire the “375,” and are informed that it is one of the best engines on
the Iron Mountain Route and the first one built at the company’s new
shops at Baring Cross, Little Rock, Ark. Went to breakfast at 9.10 (8.10
Central), hungry as a hyena.
We cannot help but notice as we journey through Arkansas the advanced
condition of vegetation. Farmers in the East are only preparing their
ground for corn, and here it is up; potatoes are in blossom, and peas
are ready for use. Cotton is grown extensively here, and many acres are
seen with the plants just peeping through the ground. We are now nearing
the southern extremity of the State and approaching Texarkana, where we
arrive at 12.35 (11.35 A. M. Central) P. M., having passed through the
State of Arkansas 305 miles in a slightly southwesterly direction.
A stop of twenty-five minutes is given us at Texarkana, which is on the
line between Arkansas and Texas, one-half of the station being in
Arkansas and the other half in Texas. Brother Wyman, who acts in the
double capacity of manager and clown, has a robe of crazy patchwork
design, a veritable coat of many colors, in which he has arrayed
himself, much to the amusement
[Illustration: AT FORT WORTH, TEXAS.]
of the crowd of natives who have assembled on our arrival. The antics of
Brother Wyman and a number of others who have taken possession of a
bronco and a team of donkeys occasion a great deal of merriment. As we
are about to leave, Mrs. Robert Foulon was presented with a large bunch
of beautiful magnolias by her friend, Mrs. Carmichael, of Texarkana. It
graced the sideboard of the dining car for many days and was much
admired.
Left Texarkana 1.35 (12.35 Central) P. M. on the Texas and Pacific Road,
with T. & P. engine No. 126, Engineer William Gunn, Conductor Joseph
Scully, Brakeman J. C. Smith, who will run us to Longview Junction, 97
miles. E. W. Campbell, trainmaster on the Eastern Division of the Texas
and Pacific, will go with us to Fort Worth, the terminus of his
division, 253 miles. Trainmaster Campbell is a member of Alamo Division
No. 59, of Texarkana. Brother Sloane went to a barber shop in Texarkana
and got left. Trainmaster Campbell left instructions for the conductor
of the following train to carry him to Longview Junction, where he will
overtake us. No “weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth” in this
case, for we are assured of the safety of our brother.
We arrived at Longview Junction on time, 5.22 (4.22 Central) P. M., and
five minutes later the following train, No. 55, arrived and with it came
Brother Sloane, who was given quite a reception, the ladies presenting
him with bouquets of natural grasses and flowers and the “boys” tying a
cord to him and leading him into the train. He has promised not to do it
again.
Our train was attached to No. 55, which is called the “Cannon Ball”
Express, and at 5.35 (4.35 Central) P. M. we left Longview Junction with
a train of nine cars, drawn by T. & P. engine No. 229, in charge of
Engineer E. Smith, fired by S. Jones; Conductor E. R. Woodward, Porter
and Brakeman Bristoe Young, who ran us to Fort Worth, a distance of 156
miles, where we arrive 11.20 (10.20 Central) P. M. Just before reaching
the city we cross the Trinity River.
When we arrive at Fort Worth we learn that there is trouble ahead of us
somewhere, caused by high water, which has a discouraging effect. We
will lay over at this point to-night, with the expectation of learning
more in the morning. There is a heavy thunder storm and it is raining
hard as we turn in at 11.30 (10.30 Central) P. M.
TUESDAY, MAY 11th.
Got up at 6.30 (5.30 Central), and found it raining hard. It cleared up
about eight o’clock and the party started out to see the town, it having
been announced that our train would leave at 12.15 (11.15 A M. Central)
P. M., nothing definite having been learned as to the trouble ahead. Our
party received the best of treatment from the good people of the town,
and many places of interest were visited. Officer H. C. Town, of the
city police, loaded sixteen of the party in a patrol wagon and drove
through the city to the City Hall, where they were kindly received and
shown over the building, from there to the water works, and through the
park to a point where a trolley line took them to the station. It was a
very enjoyable trip. Others of our party visited other places of
interest and had equally as good a time. A
[Illustration:
_Yours in P.F.
O H Bacon
T & P Ry_]
number of souvenirs were procured, the most highly prized being the
Texan sunbonnets, which so fascinated the ladies of our party that they
purchased, it is said, all that were on sale in the city. They are very
unique in style and worn very extensively by the native women of this
locality. Brother Post purchased a Texan sombrero, and all agree that it
is very becoming; the ladies are wearing their sunbonnets; Wyman has his
circus gown and a Texan sunbonnet on; and a photographer is placing his
apparatus in position to take a snap at the train and party before we
leave. With the snap of the camera comes the shout of “all aboard,” and
as we scamper on, the train moves slowly off, and we leave Fort Worth
behind us, but carry away with us pleasant memories of the beauty of the
city and of the kindness and civility of its people.
T. & P. engine No. 188, run by Engineer John Baker and fired by John
Price, draws our train from Fort Worth to Big Springs, a distance of 270
miles. Conductor O. H. Bacon and Brakeman Charles Gunning go with us
from Fort Worth to El Paso, a distance of 616 miles. Division
Superintendent J. B. Paul accompanied us from Fort Worth to Weatherford,
31 miles. Shortly after leaving Weatherford we crossed the Brazos River
and obtained a fine view of the Brazos Mountains. As we passed Eastland,
105 miles west of Fort Worth, we noticed devastation and ruin, the
effect, we were told, of a recent cyclone. A few miles further we reach
Baird and stop ten minutes for orders and water. A little boy about
three years of age attracts the attention of some of our party, who
ascertain that his name is Reynaud Strobe; his mother and grandfather
live at the station; his father, who was an employe of the railroad,
was killed in an accident about a year ago, almost in sight of his home.
Master Reynaud is taken through the train and his little cap is filled
with cake and coin and his infant mind with wonderment and awe. He
cannot understand it, and his baby face expresses the puzzled condition
of his mind. Should he live it is hoped he will remember the
_Pennsylvania Railroad Conductors’ Excursion_.
We have now entered the plains of Texas and at 6.20 (5.20 Central) P. M.
commence to pass through the prairie dog district. Brother Post is at
the throttle; he ran No. 188 for about 50 miles and claims to have
killed two jack rabbits and a prairie dog. Jack rabbits and prairie dogs
are very numerous through this section, and can be seen scampering in
all directions as the train thunders past. We are now nearing Big
Springs, where a stop will be made to change engines. It has become
dark, and we can no longer view the landscape, jack rabbits, and prairie
dogs. We arrive at Big Springs 10.15 (9.15 Central) P. M., and after a
delay of fifteen minutes leave with T. & P. engine No. 75, manned by
Engineer D. C. Everley and Fireman Lewis Lem, whose run extends to El
Paso, 347 miles. We have now entered the Great Staked Plains, and
regretting that the darkness prevents us from seeing this famous
country, we retire for the night at 12.20 (11.20 P. M. Central) A. M.
WEDNESDAY, MAY 12th.
Turned out this morning about the usual time, and found the train
standing at San Martine Station, 174 miles east of El Paso. As we move
on our way again we find we are passing through a picturesque, but
barren
[Illustration: A GROUP AT VAN HORN, TEXAS.]
[Illustration: TOM McDONALD AND FRED BEACH.]
country of plains and mountain ranges. A run of 50 miles from San
Martine brings us to Van Horn, where we make a halt of forty-five
minutes and are entertained by Mrs. M. R. Beach and her son Fred. Mrs.
Beach has charge of the station at Van Horn, which is also a supply
station for the railroad. Fred. is a young man about twenty-five years
old, and a veritable cowboy both in appearance and deportment. He
entertained and amused the party with an exhibition of bronco riding,
and to show his skill in the use of the lasso, chased Brother Wyman and
lassoed him with the bronco at a full run. Miss Myrtle Taylor, a young
lady who is visiting Mrs. Beach, also rode the bronco for the amusement
of the party, but it was noticed that the animal exhibited a far more
gentle spirit under the young lady’s management than it did when in
charge of Fred. A cyclone cellar in the back yard was an object of much
interest, and the interior was explored by several of the party. All the
dwellings, of which there are but few through this region, we are told,
have their cyclone pits. For many miles through this country there are
no habitations except along the line of the railroad, and the people are
all employes of the Texas and Pacific Railroad Company.
Leaving Van Horn, we pass close to the Sierra Blanca Mountain range, and
in a short time stop at Sierra Blanca, where we lay over for half an
hour and devote the time to looking around. Sierra Blanca is 92 miles
southeast of El Paso and is the conjunction of the Texas and Pacific and
Southern Pacific Railroads, which use joint tracks from this point to El
Paso. A number of us visited the adobe residence of Jacob Hand, an aged
miner and prospector, who kindly allowed us to inspect his dwelling,
which is a very unique and novel affair, a part of which is used for a
school, and the old gentleman is the teacher. Mr. Hand generously gave
our party specimens of gold, silver, and copper ore, which are highly
prized as souvenirs. Brother Haas had considerable difficulty in getting
in range of the old gentleman with his kodak, but succeeded by strategy
in getting a “snap” before we left; also one of a group of the party
with the dwelling in the background. In the midst of the group is seen a
Mexican babe held in the arms of one of the ladies of the party, who is
closely watched by the mother of the infant, who fears her babe will be
appropriated for a souvenir.
Leaving Sierra Blanca, we pass in sight and within about 20 miles of
Livermore’s Peak, 8200 feet high, said to be the highest point in Texas.
We have now entered a wild, barren, broken, uninhabited region, hemmed
in by dreary, ominous-looking mountain ranges. As the road traverses
this broken, desolate district, there are places where almost complete
circles are made in order to avoid ridges and ravines. Just after
passing Malone Station, 15 miles from Sierra Blanca, we encounter a
curve, and after following the circle for over a mile, find the tracks
are less than 200 yards apart.
Mrs. Wyman, Mrs. Layfield, Mrs. Shaw, Brother Layfield, and myself rode
on the engine from Finlay to Ft. Hancock, which afforded us a fine view
of the rugged scenery through which we passed. We arrived at washout, 5
miles east of El Paso, at 5.30 (4.30 Central) P. M., and find our train
can proceed no further until the track is repaired, four miles of it at
the present time being under water.
[Illustration: MYRTLE TAYLOR ON A BRONCO.]
[Illustration: RESIDENCE OF JACOB HAND, SIERRA BLANCA, TEXAS.]
Wagons were in waiting to convey the party six miles across a desert
plateau to El Paso at one dollar per head; all but a few took advantage
of this method of reaching the city. The remembrance of this ride will
not fade from the memory in a hurry--six miles of knee-deep, red-hot
desert, dust and sand, through which the horses could scarcely drag
their loads. We have a good view of the flooded district and notice many
buildings surrounded with water, the occupants of which were forced to
flee to higher ground. All this water, we are told, is the result of
melting snows away up in the mountain districts, 75 or 80 miles away.
There is seldom any rain through this region, and the Rio Grande, one
half the year a shallow, insignificant stream, is to-day spread over
many miles of country, causing devastation, ruin, and suffering.
Arriving in the city of El Paso, we are obliged to seek for
accommodations, which causes a separation of our party. The Firemen’s
State Convention is in progress here, and the town is full of visitors.
Ten of us found rooms at the “Grand Central,” some at “Vendome,” and a
number at the “Pierson.” The latter is the most popular place, and an
effort was made to get the entire party quartered there, but it could
not be done. After engaging rooms at the “Grand Central” we went across
the river, which is not overflowed at this point, into the old Mexican
town of Ciudad Juarez, the Paso del Norte of our childhood geographies.
Under the escort of Conductors T. H. Purcell and Charles Allen, of the
Southern Pacific, we were shown much that was of interest. We were
introduced by Captain Purcell to Signor Miguel Ahuamada, the gentlemanly
Governor of the State of Chihuahua, who entertained us very nicely for
half an hour, giving us an international treat, which ceremony consists
of drinks of whatever each member of the party wishes, the guests
forming in a semicircle in front of the Governor, touching glasses with
him as they pass. Captain Purcell at the same time made a speech in the
Mexican language, with which he is thoroughly conversant, having at one
time filled the position of Government Interpreter at this point. Of
course none of us understood a thing that he said, but we felt sure it
was all right from the pleased expression on his Honor’s, face, who
replied in a pleasant manner in his native tongue.
Purcell told us afterward that he had informed the Governor that we were
a party of Americans who had called to do him honor; that we drank to
his health and a long and happy life; that we had the highest regard for
Mexican institutions, believing them to be the best in the world; that
their men were the noblest and their women the most beautiful we had
ever met; that we wore upon our bosoms the colors of the Mexican flag,
which we considered, next to the Stars and Stripes, the most beautiful
banner in the world, and we hoped it would ever wave in triumph and in
peace over an empire that would continue to increase in prosperity and
wealth. No wonder the old man smiled; we would have smiled too had we
understood what was being said. The red, white and green of our tourist
badges had caught his eye and he was pleased. Captain Purcell’s speech
flatters him and he wants to do something to show his appreciation.
Our visit does him great honor, and he desires to reciprocate; had he
time to arrange for a bull fight he could give us much amusement, but
his best bull was killed a short time ago and his matadors are out of
training; but he has a prisoner under the sentence of death, and if we
will return on the morrow he will execute him for our pleasure and
entertainment. Captain Purcell made us acquainted with this proposition,
which we declined with thanks. We had no desire to see the poor fellow
shot, which is their method of administering capital punishment. Bidding
his Honor adieu, we are next escorted through several of the principal
gambling resorts and are much interested in all we see. It is growing
late, and when we return to El Paso and reach our rooms it is midnight.
THURSDAY, MAY 13th.
Arose about 6.30 and found the morning clear and warm. There are many
wonderful, strange, and unusual things in, around, and about El Paso,
but one of the most puzzling and perplexing things is its time.
Traveling westward you arrive on Central time and depart on Pacific, a
difference of two hours, while in the city they use local time, which is
a split between the two. Over the river in Juarez they use Mexican time.
Visited a barber shop for a shave, then a restaurant for breakfast and
got another shave; I was taxed one dollar and twenty cents for breakfast
for two. We didn’t return for dinner.
Those of our party who did not visit Juarez last evening attended the
State Firemen’s ball and banquet under the escort of Colonel Whitmore,
Acting Mayor of El Paso, and Chief J. J. Connors, of the city fire
department, and they all speak in the highest terms of the royal
treatment they received and the grand time they had. The city of El Paso
contains about 12,000 inhabitants, but the population is almost double
that number this week, which gives the town a very lively appearance. We
learn that our train cannot be gotten over the washout to-day, and
arrangements are being made to remain in the city to-night. Engaged a
pleasant room for fifty cents per day at the “Wellington,” corner of
Staunton and Texas Streets, kept by Mrs. Whitmore; quite a number of our
party are stopping here.
Brother Wyman hired a horse to-day and rode in the parade. It is very
hot in the sun. Went over in front of the Court House this afternoon to
see the firemen race. There was quite an exciting time. Brother Haas was
there with his kodak and had a narrow escape from being run over in
trying to get a “snap” at a team as the horses galloped past. Had a
pleasant chat in the evening with Mr. Pettus, an old resident of the
place, who has a furnishing store next to the “Wellington.” He is an
entertaining man and gave some interesting information relative to the
early history and habits of the country and people. I turned in about
eleven o’clock, but can’t speak for them all, for this is an interesting
city.
FRIDAY, MAY 14th.
Turn out this morning about 7.30 and find the weather clear and warm. We
go to a nearby restaurant for breakfast; mutton chops are one of the
items on the bill of fare, and we are pleased, for we are partial to
chops--nice, juicy, tender mutton chops; but these chops do not quite
come up to our idea of what mutton chops should be--not so juicy nor so
tender as we would like; but being hungry we quietly and uncomplainingly
devour what is set before us. “Where do you people in El Paso get your
mutton?” I inquired of the waiter as we arose from the table (for I had
no recollection of seeing a sheep since we entered the State of Texas).
“_Goats_,” was the short but suggestive answer. A little private inquiry
elicited the information that it is a fact that the greater part of the
“mutton” consumed in El Paso is a product of the goatherd. The supply is
apparently inexhaustible, for thousands of those ruminating, odoriferous
quadrupeds can be seen roaming the adjacent plains and plateaus in great
herds, attended by boys and dogs.
Accompanied Manager Wyman to Superintendent Martin’s office, where we
learn “that there is no prospect of getting our train across the washout
this week. The water has fallen but very little, and while we are
working day and night, endeavoring to close the break, our progress is
necessarily slow on account of the action of the high water, and the
work cannot be completed sufficiently to get our train across until the
water recedes. And no one knows,” continued Mr. Martin, “when this will
be, for the water is just as likely to rise as to fall. The weather has
been very hot these last few days and has melted the snow in the
mountains very rapidly, which has caused the high water here. When the
snow is gone the water will fall, so you see it depends upon the supply
of snow, of which we know nothing about. If you wish to continue on your
journey I will send you to Los Angeles by regular train, and when we
succeed in getting your train across will send it on after you.”
Brother Wyman rather favors this proposition, as he desires to reach Los
Angeles before the Grand Division adjourns, but the majority of our
party will not agree to it, preferring to remain with the train and take
their chance with it; so the idea of going ahead by regular train is
abandoned. A party of us procured a four-horse team and went over to the
train to-day, some to remain and others to return. Would have remained
had Mrs. S. been along, for it is a dreadful hot trip of two and
one-half hours across that burning sand.
We found our train sidetracked at Alfalfa, one mile east of the washout,
and had one mile to walk after leaving the wagon. Alfalfa is not a
place--it is only a name. There is a sidetrack here and a post with a
board on it, and on the board is painted in large black letters the word
ALFALFA. That is all. It is a flagstop for accommodation trains, but
there is no station, not even a shed, a platform, nor a plank. The
nearest civilized communities are El Paso, 7 miles away to the west, and
Fort Bliss, the same distance to the north. On the east end of the same
sidetrack where our train lies are a number of cabooses of the Texas and
Pacific construction train, occupied by Mexican families whose husbands
and fathers are working on the repairs at the washout. They are a
squalid, uninviting-looking set, but seem happy and contented with their
lot.
Here and there in the edge of a sandbank can be seen a “dugout,” or,
sheltered in a mesquite thicket, a “shack” occupied by the same
nationality, who with their goats and burros are very pictures of meek
and lowly contentment. These are the surroundings in the midst of which
we are sidetracked. We find our people (those who are with the train)
with smiles upon their faces as they tell us they are “all right” and
are having a good and pleasant time. There must surely be an element or
ingredient in this desert air and atmosphere that breeds contentment and
repose.
Several of the boys went over to the train and back on broncos to-day,
and experienced a hot but exhilarating ride. The party consisted of
Brothers Waddington, Taylor, Matthews, Moore, Mattson, Leary, and Elder,
who all claim that the ride, although a very hot one, was rare sport.
The novel experience of a ride of 14 miles on a fiery, wiry Texan horse
is a feature of their visit to El Paso that will not be forgotten.
Brother Wyman remained at Alfalfa to watch the progress of repairs at
the washout, and I returned in the wagon to El Paso. Dining-car
Conductor McDonald accompanied us; he was looking for a wagon-load of
supplies for his car from El Paso that had not arrived. When about half
way across the plateau we met the team. Mr. McDonald interviewed the
driver to ascertain if his wagon was loaded with what had been ordered
and found everything satisfactory.
As we leave behind us the hot, suffocating desert trail we pass close to
the base of Mt. Franklin, in the shadow of which El Paso lies, and
crossing the railroad tracks of the Fort Bliss Branch we feel a deep
sense of relief as we strike the hard, smooth street that leads us into
the city’s welcome shade and rest.
Learning on our arrival back that the El Paso _Telegraph_, a morning
paper, contained an account of our trip and detention, we procured
several copies and sent them East to friends.
The majority of our party went over to the train this afternoon; those
remaining in town witnessed this evening a grand pyrotechnical
exhibition under the auspices and management of the McGinty Club, a
powerful social and political organization of El Paso. After the parade,
during which there was a fine display of fireworks, the storming of Fort
McGinty took place, which was the leading feature of the occasion. The
fort, built of some light material, was erected on a neighboring hill,
Roman candles and sky rockets were used as weapons by both the storming
party and the defenders, which caused the mock battle to assume a very
realistic appearance.
After the exhibition of fireworks a party of us visited the famous Astor
House, kept by Col. Si Ryan. Si is one of the noted characters of El
Paso. Years ago he was sheriff of three counties in Southern California,
Mono, Inyo, and San Bernardino, and in dealing with the outlaws and
renegades that infested the country at that time he achieved a
reputation for nerve and courage that has never been surpassed, and the
numerous scars upon his person, made by knife and bullet, bear silent
testimony that he never shirked his duty in the face of danger or turned
his back upon a foe. We find the colonel a prince of good fellows, and
after enjoying his company and partaking of his hospitality, we repaired
to the headquarters of the McGinty Club, and with a number of visiting
firemen were royally entertained.
Brother McCarty was with us, and for some unexplained reason he
received special attention; but Charlie is a good fellow and deserves
it, and being a bachelor it is all right. Several of us withdrew from
the meeting before it adjourned, as it was drawing near midnight. We had
spent a long and busy day and were tired. Soon reached my room at “The
Wellington,” and retiring, endeavored to recall the various events of
the day, but rushing water, desert dust, galloping broncos, McGinties,
sky rockets, and smoke got mixed up in inextricable confusion as I lost
consciousness in sleep.
SATURDAY, MAY 15th.
Turned out this morning about seven o’clock and found the weather clear,
with every indication pointing to another hot day. Not feeling very
well, I went out in search of “medicine”; met several of the boys out on
the same errand; our symptoms are similar, and we conclude that the
powder smoke inhaled during the McGinty demonstration is responsible for
our indisposition.
A visit to Superintendent Martin’s office results in the information
that the washout situation remains unchanged. Mr. Martin can give us no
encouragement. Brother Layfield and myself called on Mr. Joseph Sweeney
during the morning and spent a pleasant hour with him. Learning that a
party was being made up to return to the train, Mrs. Wyman, Mrs. Shaw,
and myself join them. The Colonel and Mrs. Layfield desire to go, but
the wagon is already crowded. The sun is intensely hot, and at 9.30 A.
M. we leave El Paso for one more trip across that never-to-be-forgotten
scorching desert plateau. The party consists of nine, including the
driver, in a large transfer coach drawn by two horses. To relieve the
overburdened animals, the men walk part of the way and keep a sharp
lookout for rattlesnakes, for the driver had hinted that we might
encounter some, as they are known to be quite numerous in this locality.
Two large snakes of an unknown species were seen; one glided into a hole
in the side of the bank of a deep arroyo, and we did not go to look for
him; the other was discovered lying quietly behind a large sage bush by
one of the “boys,” who silently imparted the information to the rest.
We gathered around, and looking where he pointed, saw a portion of his
snakeship’s form through a small opening in the bush. “Think it would be
safe to shoot at him?” whispered the discoverer of the snake, as he
clutched his ever-ready revolver in his grasp. “Yes; blaze away,”
answered a chorus of low voices. _Bang!_ went the pistol, and we saw the
snake slightly move, but it did not run away. “I hit him,” exclaimed our
brother with the pistol; and we all moved cautiously around the bush to
investigate. There he was, sure enough, a greenish-striped fellow about
six feet long, but he had no head, and from his appearance it had been
three or four days since he had lost it. Our marksman’s ball had struck
the ground just underneath the body and turned it partly over, which
movement had deceived us. I will say no _more_ about it lest you guess
who did the shooting; not that I think he would care, for mistakes are
being made every day by some of us that are worse than shooting dead
snakes.
Arriving at our train about noon, after an absence
[Illustration: FLOODED DISTRICT, ALFALFA, TEXAS.]
[Illustration: WRECKED BY TRAIN ROBBERS ON SOUTHERN PACIFIC RAILWAY.]
of three days, brings with it a feeling of relief, similar to getting
home again. The majority of the party had preceded us, a number having
come over yesterday. All express themselves as being glad to get back to
the train, notwithstanding its uninviting surroundings and isolated
condition. What we all appreciate very much and what goes far toward
breaking the monotony of the situation is the fact that nearly all the
Texas and Pacific and Southern Pacific trains stop here, and are very
kind in furnishing us with water and ice when we need it.
Yesterday afternoon a Southern Pacific train stopped here that had been
held up by train robbers a few miles east of Sierra Blanca. The safe in
the express car was blown open with dynamite and robbed of a large
amount of money. The train was held for one and a half hours while the
work was being done. The passengers on the train were not molested. Some
of our party entered the car and examined the wrecked safe, which was
blown almost into fragments. A portion of the car roof was torn off by
the force of the explosion and pieces of the safe were found in the
sides and ends of the car. A parrot and a rooster in the car lost nearly
all their feathers, but otherwise were apparently uninjured. Several of
our party obtained parrot and rooster feathers and pieces of the safe as
souvenirs. The Texan Rangers, we are told, are hot on the trail of the
outlaws.
Manager Wyman has just returned from the washout and brings no
encouragement. “The break cannot be repaired until the water falls two
feet,” says Brother Wyman, “and it shows no disposition to fall.” “Give
me two hundred men and the material to bridge those arroyos and lay the
track and I will have a railroad from here into El Paso across that
desert plateau inside the time they have been waiting for this water to
fall,” exclaimed Brother Sloane, spiritedly. “They won’t leave you do
it, Charlie,” said Brother Terry, sympathetically. The arrival of six
more of our people from El Paso and the announcement of dinner at the
same time prevented further conversation in this direction.
We were favored with a light shower in the afternoon, which evidently
stirred up the mosquitoes, for they are very numerous and aggressive
this evening. This is a beautiful night. It is the full of the moon, and
the clear, marvelous light it sheds is the most wonderful moonlight we
have ever seen; so clear, so bright, and yet so soft; no one can
describe it, for it is simply indescribable. Objects can be discerned at
a remarkable distance, and Mt. Franklin, six miles away, looms up to the
vision dark, grim, and majestic.
As our party one by one retire to their berths there is not a mind among
them all but what is impressed with the beauty and grandeur of the
night, the silence and serenity of which is broken only by the
occasional barking of a watchful Mexican dog or the quarrelsome snarling
of thieving coyotes.
SUNDAY, MAY 16th.
To-day is clear and warm, with a delightful breeze stirring. We avoid
the hot glare of the sun by remaining as much as possible on the shady
side of the train. There are remarkable conditions of climate here. In
the sun the heat is distressing, almost unbearable; in the shade it is
more than comfortable, almost luxurious, producing a feeling of
exuberant pleasure and vitality that is difficult to express or
understand. There was a light thunder shower during the night, which no
doubt had a tendency to further clarify and rarify this wonderful
atmosphere. We are making the best of the situation; have plenty to eat
and drink, but there is a scarcity of water for washing purposes,
although large irrigating ditches are close to hand, but the waters are
too muddy for use.
About noon a Southern Pacific work train came along and supplied our
cars with water, which is hauled in large wooden tanks holding about
4000 gallons each. It is brought from Lasca, about 70 miles east of
Alfalfa. S. P. engine No. 904 is drawing the train which is supplying us
with water, Engineer John Condon, Conductor G. M. Seamonds, Brakemen J.
M. Bates and Charles McDonald, who are very kind and obliging, carefully
supplying each car with all the water needed. Manager Wyman has just
received a telegram from Superintendent Martin saying that the break
situation is not improving, and suggests that our committee make
arrangements to go some other way.
Brakeman Charles Gunning, who has been with us since we left Ft. Worth,
made suggestions to our committee which were immediately taken up, viz.,
that we return to Sierra Blanca and from there take the Southern Pacific
to Spofford Junction, thence over Eagle Pass and the Mexican
International to Torreon, then up over the Mexican Central to El Paso,
making a triangle trip of about 1450 miles. The committee immediately
set out to communicate with the railroad officials, and we are all
waiting anxiously to know the result of the conference.
In the meantime work at the washout must have progressed with remarkable
rapidity, for some one just from there brings the highly encouraging
report that the break in the track is trestled over and the prospect of
getting us away soon is good. This report comes less than three hours
after Manager Wyman had received a message from Superintendent Martin
saying “he could give us no hope; that we had better go some other way.”
Is it any wonder that we are doubtful of the good news and regard it as
a fake? But it is true, nevertheless, for Brothers Wyman and Maxwell
have just returned and verify the report, adding “that if the water does
not rise again we will go out of here to-morrow.”
Brothers Wyman, Maxwell, Sheppard, Gilliland, and myself walked down to
the washout this evening and came back in the caboose of the work train.
It is about three miles from where our train lies to the break in the
track that has caused so much labor and anxiety. The greater part of
this work is performed by Mexicans, and they have been working day and
night, much of the time up to the waist in water, in order to get the
break repaired. More of our party came over from El Paso this evening;
they are all over now but two or three. Brothers Haas and Smith and Mrs.
Smith went over to El Paso to-day to go by regular train to Los Angeles.
When Brother John Reilly came over to the train he brought with him a
very much corroded revolver, presented as a souvenir to the Pennsylvania
Railroad conductors’ excursion party by Col. Si Ryan. The revolver
belonged to George Daley, mining engineer, of Lake
[Illustration: WILLIAM J. MAXWELL, OF THE COMMITTEE.]
Valley, New Mexico, who was killed by Indians September 9th, 1878. The
revolver was found on the alkali plains where Engineer Daley met his
death. The alkali had eaten off all the woodwork and corroded with rust
the iron. It is an interesting relic and highly valued as a souvenir.
The “boys” have been patrolling the train at night since we have been
sidetracked here. I have volunteered to go on second watch to-night, and
turned in at eleven o’clock, expecting to be called at 2 A. M. for
patrol duty.
MONDAY, MAY 17th.
Awakened at 2.30 this morning by Brother George Dale, and with Brother
Sam Horner go on duty to watch and to wait for morning to come. There is
nothing else for us to do; all is quiet outside and around the train as
we promenade back and forth on the alert for anything of a suspicious
nature. The morning is clear and bright and the air cool and refreshing.
Brother Kilgore, who sleeps near the roof in the car “Milton,” is doing
some vigorous snoring, and Brother Houston, in the rear of the “Orchis,”
is talking earnestly in his sleep. We catch an occasional glimpse of a
skulking dog or coyote seeking for food amongst the scraps thrown from
the train, but no marauder appears to molest us. A heavy 44-caliber
six-shooter, presented to the writer just before starting on the trip by
Lyttleton Johnson, Esq., of Chadd’s Ford, Pa., has been at the service
of our watchmen, and we feel that we are well armed. When not in
possession of the watchmen, Baggagemaster George Anderson sleeps with it
under his pillow.
The coming of day and the stir of the occupants of the cars relieve us
from duty, and we strike out through the mesquite thicket to reconnoitre
and obtain a view of our surroundings. Less than 200 yards from the
train we come to a deep, wide, irrigating canal, through which the muddy
water is rushing in a torrent. We can go no further in this direction
and conclude to follow the stream in quest of a bridge. We go but a
short distance when the thicket becomes impenetrable, and we retreat,
and cutting a cane from the thicket as a memento of our little walk, we
return to the train, glad to find that breakfast is ready and to learn
that an effort will be made to get us over the break to-day.
Brother Wyman has been closely watching the progress of the repairs, and
under the supervision of Master Mechanic H. Small, the work these last
two days has made very rapid advancement. The sun is scorching hot and
the forenoon is spent by the party sitting in groups in the shadow of
the train discussing the various features of the situation, and many are
the surmises as to what will be the result of an attempt to cross that
sea of water over the repaired and trestled tracks with a train of cars
of such weight as ours. We feel that the risk is great, but realize the
effort to get us over is to be made, when about 1 P. M. S. P. engine No.
719, in charge of Engineer M. Love, is run in against our train and we
are pushed, with six construction cars ahead of us, out on the main
track and up toward the flooded district. Conductor J. H. Ludwig has
charge of the train, and in him Mrs. Ed. Foster recognizes a cousin whom
she had not seen for many years. The recognition is mutual and the
meeting a happy one. The knowledge that the conductor is related to and
personally known by a member of our party creates a feeling of
confidence that almost assures our safe deliverance.
We have now reached high water and our train is being slowly pushed
farther and farther into a gurgling, surging, muddy flood until the
dreaded break is reached, with miles of water all around us. The
repaired track, propped and trestled, settles and sinks out of sight
when it receives the weight of the cars, that toss and roll and creak in
a manner which, if it does not frighten us, fills us with much concern,
for we are afraid we will lose our train in the flood. A sudden stop,
caused by the bursting of an air-brake hose on the engine, fills us with
alarm. “We are lost,” murmured Mrs. Maxwell, and her face wore a
frightened look. “Not yet,” replied Brother Schuler, and his assurance
gave us comfort; but the few minutes delay caused by the accident was
almost fatal, for our heavy dining car had settled until its wheels were
covered with water and the repairsmen thought a rail had broken beneath
its weight. In water almost up to their necks the men made an
examination of the track under the car and found it intact.
The signal was given to move ahead, and as slowly the sunken car comes
into position, hearts become lighter and faces grow brighter; the
dreadful suspense is over, and we give more attention to our
surroundings. We see many fine residences surrounded by water, and large
fields of grain inundated and ruined. We are two hours coming through
the four miles of high water. Slowly and carefully we are safely brought
through, and all concerned are entitled to the highest praise for the
able and judicious manner in which the train was handled.
Arriving at the Southern Pacific station in El Paso about three o’clock,
and finding we have an hour before leaving, many avail themselves of the
opportunity of taking a parting look at this interesting city and
bidding adieu to the many kind friends who have done so much toward
making our forced stay a pleasant and happy one. Four of our party,
under the escort of Brother Sloane, have taken a trip over to Juarez,
and much uneasiness and concern is felt for them, as the time is up for
our train to go and they have not returned. The engine whistle is
sounded long and loud to call them in, but they do not come. “They have
gone over there to make some purchases,” asserts Brother Sheppard, “and
I fear have been arrested for trying to evade the customs laws.” “No
fear of that,” replies Captain Purcell, who has charge of our train,
“you may rest assured that no member of your party will be molested by
the customs officers. The courtesy and freedom of the cities of El Paso
and Juarez have been extended to you, and the badge you wear is a
guarantee of your safety.” “Yes,” adds Col. Si Ryan, who is on hand to
see us off, “Diaz wouldn’t allow any of you Pennsylvanians pinched if
you should carry off the whole State of Chihuahua, for his Honor thinks
Pennsylvania the greatest and best State of the Union, with the
exception, of course, of Texas,” and there is a proud, faraway look in
the Colonel’s eye as he contemplates the enormous area and the
illimitable possibilities of the great Lone Star State. Notwithstanding
the assurance of Captain Purcell and Colonel Ryan, Brother Post is very
much concerned, for Miss Ella is with the absent party, and he has gone
to look for them. Brothers Moore and Dougherty have
[Illustration: COL. SI RYAN.]
taken advantage of the delay and are off looking for souvenirs. Those
who are waiting for the return of the absent ones are growing very
impatient, and when at last they are seen coming, impatience and
uneasiness give way to feelings of relief and gladness, and Brother
Sloane is forgiven once more on the plea “that it was a misunderstanding
of the time that caused the trouble,” and gave it as his opinion that
“El Paso time is one of the most confusing problems that ever worried a
tourist.”
The deep-toned engine bell peals out the warning that the train is about
to start; “All aboard” is shouted, the last hand shake is given, and at
5.45 (2.45 Pacific) P. M., just five days, six hours, and forty-five
minutes late, our train rolled out of the Southern Pacific Station and
across the Rio Grande, leaving behind the pretty and interesting city of
El Paso and our many new-found friends, whose liberality and kindness
will ever remain a pleasant and happy memory with us. Our train is drawn
by S. P. engine No. 1395, in charge of Engineer Joseph Bird and fired by
J. V. Paul, who accompany us to Tucson, 312 miles. Conductor T. H.
Purcell and Brakeman E. G. Shaub go with us to Yuma, 563 miles.
We are in New Mexico, having entered it when we crossed the Rio Grande
River. The country is wild and barren and the railroad very crooked.
Engineer Bird, in his eagerness to make up the lost time, is running at
a speed which Manager Wyman thinks is not consistent with safety. The
cars rock and roll in an alarming manner, and several dishes have been
broken in the dining car, which calls forth a protest from our friend
McDonald of that most cherished department. Brother Wyman immediately
requests Conductor Purcell to instruct the engineer to reduce speed,
which is done, much to the relief and comfort of all on board. Brother
Joseph Flory, of St. Louis Division No. 3, State Railroad and Warehouse
Commissioner, of Jefferson City, Mo., and Harry Steere, Esq., traveling
passenger agent of the Southern Pacific Railroad, are our guests from El
Paso to Los Angeles, and a much appreciated acquisition to our party.
They have a fund of useful and interesting information on hand
pertaining to the country through which we are passing, which they
impart to us in a pleasant and entertaining manner. “What place is this,
Mr. Steere?” we inquire as a pretty little town bursts upon our vision.
“This is Deeming,” replies Mr. Steere, “and it is quite an important
place. We are now 88 miles from El Paso, and this is the first town we
have seen. A few years ago it was as barren and uninhabitable here as
any of the desolate country through which we have passed, but good water
was discovered a few feet below the surface of the ground, and now the
place is noted for its many wells of fine water, which is shipped for
hundreds of miles and is also used for irrigating purposes, for nothing
will grow throughout this region unless it is artificially watered. The
thrifty young shade trees, the shrubbery and patches of verdant
vegetation you noticed as we passed through Deeming is convincing
evidence that all this region needs, to make it one of the most fertile
and productive countries in the world, is plenty of water.”
For 60 miles further we pass through this region of desert plateaus
known as the plains of Deeming. The dust is almost suffocating and
sifts through every crack and crevice, the double, almost air-tight,
windows of the Pullmans being insufficiently close to keep it out. At
the little station of Lordsburg, 60 miles from Deeming, Engineer Bird
stops to water his iron horse. “This supply of water,” remarked Mr.
Steere, “is brought here in pipes from a large spring or lake in yonder
mountain, five miles away.”
Looking in the direction indicated, we can see through the gathering
dusk of evening the dark outlines of a mountain in the distance. “’Tis a
pity,” continued Mr. Steere, “that you were not enabled to pass through
this section during daylight, for there are some things I should like
you to see. We are drawing near the Arizona line, and the scenery is
becoming more broken and varied. Those mountains which you can dimly
discern on your right are composed of cliffs and crags of reddish rock
of a peculiar and interesting formation. On the left the great San Simon
Valley stretches away to the south for a distance of 75 or 80 miles, and
is the grazing ground for many thousands of cattle. One company alone,
the San Simon Cattle Company, it is said, has a herd of nearly 100,000
head.” “What do they feed on, Mr. Steere?” I asked, for visions of the
dust-environed plains of Deeming were still floating in my mind. “This
great valley,” answered Mr. Steere, “through the northern boundary of
which we are now passing, is not nearly so dry as the more elevated
country through which we have passed. There are occasionally short
periods of wet weather which produces pasture very rapidly, the pasture
consisting chiefly of what is known through here as gama grass, which
grows very fast and luxuriant and possesses great feeding qualities.
The strangest but most valuable feature of this peculiar vegetation is
that it retains all its sweetness and nutrition after it is dead and
brown, and stock feed upon it with as much avidity in a dry and sapless
condition as they do when they find it in the green and juicy stage of
life and growth.
“Away to the south, bounding this immense valley, is a wild and rocky
range of the Chiricahua Mountains, said to be from time immemorial the
rendezvous of renegades and desperadoes, one of the most noted being an
outlaw Apache Indian called the ‘Arizona Kid,’ whose depredations and
crimes were a terror to all the surrounding country. And were it only
light,” continued Mr. Steere, “I would show you one of the most notable
landmarks on the Southern Pacific Road. Away over to the south there,
clearly outlined against the sky, is a mountain formation that plainly
resembles the up-turned profile of a human face. It is called ‘Cochise’s
Head,’ bearing a strong likeness, it is said, to Cochise, the most noted
chieftain of the Apache tribe.”
We have now reached what is known as “Territorial Line,” about midway
between the little stations of Stein’s Pass and San Simon. Conductor
Purcell kindly stops the train at this point, giving those who wish the
opportunity and privilege of gathering some mementoes of the occasion
and locality. I look at my watch; it is 11.20 P. M. “Philadelphia” time,
8.20 P. M. “Territorial Line” time; it is pretty dark for the business
on hand, but the post that marks the dividing line is easily found, and
in a very short time is so badly cut and splintered by the relic hunters
that it looks as though it had been struck by lightning. Several
standing astride the designated and imaginary dividing line picked
pebbles from New Mexico and Arizona at the same time. In five minutes we
are on our way again, and in a short time thereafter the snores of the
tourists heard above the rumble of the train proclaim that “the weary
are at rest.”
TUESDAY, MAY 18th.
Got up this morning about the usual time and found that we had passed
Tucson in the early part of the morning and had changed engines at that
point. We have now S. P. engine No. 9030, Engineer J. W. Bunce and
Fireman J. Weir, who run us to Yuma, a distance of 251 miles. It cannot
always be day, nor we cannot always be awake, so when night comes and we
sleep we miss much that is novel and interesting. “You have missed much
since entering Arizona that is well worth seeing,” I hear Mr. Steere
remark to several of the party with whom he is conversing as I enter the
smoker. “During the night we have passed through the most wonderful
cactus country in the world, many of the plants rising to the height of
thirty and forty feet; but you will see similar plants should you pass
through the Antelope Valley, Cal., in daytime after leaving Los Angeles.
You also missed seeing the town of Benson, which is one of the important
places on this line, where we connect with the New Mexico and Arizona
and the Arizona and Southwestern Railroads; and it is really too bad
that you did not get at least a passing look at Tucson, for there is
only one Tucson in the world. It is one of the oldest and queerest
places in the United States, and a place with a history. The population
is estimated to be about 8000, and nearly all of the residences are of
adobe construction. Claims are made that it was first settled by the
Spanish in 1560.” A call to breakfast interrupted Mr. Steere’s
interesting talk as we all make a break for the dining car.
All the morning we have been descending the Gila River Valley, and the
picturesque, complex scenery of mountain, plain, and valley has been
much enjoyed by all. As we approach Yuma, situated on the Colorado
River, in the extreme southwestern corner of Arizona, we can scarcely
realize that in the 251 miles we have come since leaving Tucson we have
dropped from an altitude of 2390 feet to that of 140 feet, the elevation
of Yuma, but such is the case, according to the figures given on the
time table of the Southern Pacific Railroad which I hold in my hand, and
which Captain Purcell and Mr. Steere both declare is correct beyond a
shadow of doubt, adding “that the Southern Pacific Railroad Company was
never known to publish a falsehood or make a mistake.”
We arrive at Yuma 12.30 P. M. Eastern (9.30 A. M. Pacific), and make a
stop of fifteen minutes. The station is a low-built, commodious
building, surrounded on three sides by extensive grounds in which
flowers are blooming in profusion. A number of bouquets were gathered by
the ladies. Several native Indians are about the station having for sale
trinkets and toys of their own manufacture. It is a strange and novel
sight to behold these old remnants of an almost extinct race and tribe
dressed in the scant and grotesque garb of their nativity, with their
faces and the exposed
[Illustration: ARIZONA LANDSCAPE.]
[Illustration: “YUMA BILL,” INDIAN CHIEF AT YUMA, OVER 100 YEARS OLD.]
parts of their limbs and bodies painted and tattooed with bright and
varied colors, increasing tenfold their natural ugliness, which showing
to its best advantage, unassisted by art, is far above par. Yuma Bill,
the biggest, oldest, and ugliest of the lot, seems to claim the most
attention, and as I see him coming down the station platform and
entering the waiting-room door, bareheaded and barefooted, with a
bright-striped blanket about him, I think of Mark Twain’s story of his
visit to the camp of Sitting Bull. “The old chief saw me coming,” says
Mark, “and he came to meet me. I had pictured him in my mind as an old
warrior covered with glory; I found him clothed with the nobility of his
race, assisted by an old horse blanket, one corner of which hid his
approach and the other corner covered his retreat.” Similar characters
are Yuma Bill and his pals, and if ever “Mark” encounters them he will
be strongly reminded of his notable interview with the famous Sitting
Bull.
We all buy trinkets of Bill, for we never expect to see him again and we
don’t want to forget him. We are told that he is a good old Indian, but
was not always so. Years ago, when there were battles to be won, Bill
made a record as a fighter. He will fight no more; there are only a few
of him left; and Uncle Sam has given him and his comrades a refuge in a
little reservation across the river where they hope to live and die in
quietness and peace.
A short distance back of the station can be seen the territorial prison
or penitentiary, on a bluff overlooking the Colorado River. We thought
it was a fort until told that it was a prison. Our train is about to
start, and we find a large car or tank of water attached on the front
end next the engine and a freight caboose on the rear. We find that a
freight crew has charge of us, that the tank of water will be needed to
supply the engine, as there is a run of 120 miles through a country
devoid of water, and that the crew will need the caboose when they leave
us, for they expect to take back from Indio a train of freight. We have
S. P. engine No. 1609, with Engineer W. Hayes at the throttle, fired by
George McIntyre, Conductor H. J. Williams, Brakemen H. J. Schulte and R.
M. Armour. As our train moves slowly off across the bridge that spans
the Colorado we take a last look at Yuma and its picturesque
surroundings, and in two minutes we are in California and crossing the
Colorado Desert.
We are disappointed. We thought California a land of beauty, fertility,
and flowers--a desert waste is all we see, bald mountains and barren
plains on every side. Our course is upward for about 25 miles, until an
elevation of 400 feet is reached, and then we begin to descend, and when
we pass the little station of Flowing Well, 60 miles west of Yuma, we
are only five feet above the level of the sea. Ten miles farther we stop
at Volcano Springs and are 225 feet below the sea level. After leaving
Flowing Well our attention was called by Mr. Steere to what was
apparently a large lake of clear, sparkling water ahead, and to the left
of our train, about half a mile away. We were running toward it but got
no closer to it. It remained there, the same distance from us, a bright,
sparkling, rippling body of water; not one on the train but what would
have said, “It is water.” Mr. Steere says, “No; it is not water;
[Illustration: THE CALIFORNIA POPPY.]
it is a delusion, a mirage caused by the glare of the sun on the shining
salt crust of this alkali desert. There is not much doubt,” continued
Mr. Steere, “but what ages upon ages ago all this immense basin was the
bottom of a great sea. You can see upon the sides of these barren bluffs
and upon those walls of rock the mark of the water line that for
thousands of years perhaps have withstood the ravages and test of time.
This little station is called Volcano Springs because of the number of
springs in this locality that are apparently of volcanic origin. They
are not in operation at the present time, but certain seasons of the
year they are very active and spout up mud and water to a height of from
10 to 25 feet.”
A thermometer hanging in the doorway of the station, in the shade,
registers 101 degrees, and it is not unusual, we are told, for it to
reach 125. It is actually too hot in the sun to stand still; it almost
takes one’s breath away. We feel relieved when our train starts and we
are in motion once more. We create a breeze, a sea breeze, as it were,
wafted to us o’er the mummified saliniferous remains of an ancient sea
3000 years a corpse. But the “mirage” still is there, a wonderful
delusion, a monstrous deception, a gigantic “Will o’ the wisp,” whose
alluring promises have led hundreds of men and animals a fruitless chase
that ended in horrid death.
Sixty-five miles ahead of us we can plainly see San Jacinto Mountain,
towering 11,500 feet in the air, with its summit covered with ice and
snow that glistens in the noonday sun. Twenty-four miles from Volcano
Springs we pass Salton, noted for its great salt industry. This is the
lowest point on the line of the Southern Pacific Railroad, being 263
feet below sea level. About three miles to the left of the railroad we
see the great white salt marsh or lake, containing such a vast deposit
of this useful substance that the supply is thought to be inexhaustible.
Steam plows are used for gathering the salt, and the works erected here
have a capacity of nearly 1000 tons per day.
Twenty-five miles from Salton we reach Indio, where a short stop is made
to change engines. Indio is a veritable oasis in the desert. After miles
and miles of desert dust and glaring sand, it is very refreshing to see
again trees and grass and flowers. We are still 20 feet below the level
of the sea, but good water has been found here, and plenty of it applied
to the soil has worked wonders. Whatever is planted grows with rapidity
and in profusion, and with an abundance of water Indio can look forward
to fast increasing beauty and prosperity. It has been discovered that
the climate here is very beneficial to consumptives, and Indio has
already become noted as a resort for those afflicted with pulmonary
trouble, and it is claimed some very remarkable cures have been
effected.
We leave Indio at 4.15 P. M. Eastern (1.15 P. M. Pacific), with S. P.
engine No. 1397. Engineer Ward Heins, Fireman J. A. Shanehan; Conductor
Williams and his brakemen will continue on to Los Angeles with us, 130
miles further.
Soon after leaving Indio we ascend a grade of 120 feet to the mile and
pass along the base of San Jacinto Mountain, with its summit frowning
down upon us from a height of 11,500 feet. The snow can now be plainly
seen upon its highest peaks, and rivulets and cataracts can be seen in
places dashing and leaping down its seamed and rugged sides.
At Rimlon we get Engineer Eli Steavens and Fireman M. Anderson with
engine No. 1963 to assist us up a steep grade to Beaumont, a distance of
35 miles.
At Palm Springs a short stop was made to take aboard some guests who
came to meet us from Los Angeles. They were Mr. G. L. Mead, Mr. H.
Kearney, and Mr. J. E. White. Mr. Mead is a merchant of Los Angeles who
heard of our coming and came to meet us to bid us welcome to the
“Paradise of America,” and to emphasize his expressions of good
feelings, presented the tourists with a case of very fine California
wine. Mr. Mead could have done nothing more in accord with the feelings
of the party. No wine ever tasted better, no wine ever did more good; it
is a medicine our systems crave after 150 miles of the scorching,
glaring, waterless Colorado Desert; a right thing in the right place; it
is appreciated far more than Mr. Mead will ever know. Mr. Kearney is a
promoter of stage lines and is about to establish a route between Palm
Springs and Virginia Dale, a distance of 71 miles. He is an interesting
gentleman to converse with, being perfectly familiar with all the
surrounding country. Mr. White is a transfer agent doing business in Los
Angeles, and is on hand to render aid to any of the party who may need
his services.
We arrive at Beaumont and have reached the summit of the grade. In the
50 miles we have come since leaving Indio, we have made an ascent of
5280 feet. Our helper engine No. 1397 has left us; and we commence our
descent of the western slope of the San Bernardino Range. Mr. J.
Jacobs, a civil engineer in the employ of the Southern Pacific Railroad
Company, was invited to get aboard at Beaumont and accompany us to Los
Angeles. We find him a very agreeable guest, giving us a great deal of
entertaining information.
We have passed from desert wastes into a rich agricultural district;
farmers are engaged in harvesting hundreds of acres of barley, which in
this region is cut while in a green state and cured for hay. We pass
many large fruit orchards of different varieties, while away in the
distance on every hand the mountains rear their snow-clad peaks to the
clouds. It is a grand and wonderful transformation from the scenes
through which we have lately passed, and needs to be seen to be
appreciated.
“This section of country through which we are now passing,” observed Mr.
Jacobs, “is the famous Redlands district, a country that has shown far
greater development and been subject to more rapid improvements in the
same number of years than any other known section of its size in the
world. Ten years ago it was almost barren, and known only as a vast
sheep range; to-day, owing to a thorough system of irrigation, there are
nearly 30,000 acres of reclaimed land that bloom and blossom and bear
fruit with all the fertility, the beauty, and abundance of a tropical
garden.”
We have now entered the orange district, and large groves are seen on
every hand, golden with the luscious fruit. At Pomona a halt of
sufficient length is made to allow several baskets of oranges to be put
on the train, which are distributed amongst the party and found to be
delicious and refreshing. We are unable to ascertain who are the
thoughtful donors, but all the
[Illustration: A CLUSTER OF NAVEL ORANGES, CALIFORNIA.]
same they have the most sincere thanks of the entire party for their
kindness and generosity.
For 25 miles we pass through a fairyland of blooming loveliness, and at
8.45 P. M. Eastern (5.45 Pacific) our train rolls into the station in
Los Angeles, five days, five hours, and forty-five minutes late. On an
adjacent track a train is loading, and we learn it is the New York
Central excursion about ready to start for home. We exchange greetings
and cards with many of them before their train pulls out, bound for its
journey through the heat and dust of desert and plain, for they return
by the route we came, and we know what is in store for them.
We begin to realize what we have missed by thus coming in at the
eleventh hour. We find we were saved from a watery grave in the raging
Rio Grande only to discover that we are here just in time to be too late
to participate in the “good times” all the other visitors have had. The
twenty-sixth session of the Grand Division of the “Order of Railway
Conductors” that we had expected to attend is about ready to adjourn;
the pleasure trips planned for the entertainment of members of the order
to all the surrounding points of interest have been taken, and we
weren’t “in it.” ’Tis rather a discouraging outlook, but with the true
Yankee spirit of self-reliance we quickly determine to make the best of
it, trusting our future to luck and Providence.
Brothers Houston, Haefner, and myself start for Music Hall, No. 234
South Spring Street, where the Convention is in session, and arrive five
minutes before its adjournment. We hear Brother Grand Chief Conductor E.
E. Clark make his closing speech. As the members of the Convention
commence to pour out of the hall into the street the greater part of our
folks arrive on the scene, and for more than an hour an impromptu
meeting is held on the sidewalk and on the street in front of the
building, where old friends are greeted and new friends are made;
everybody wants to exchange cards with everybody else; all are
good-natured, good-humored, and happy, and “perpetual friendship” seems
to be the ruling spirit of the hour. The crowd gradually disperses and
becomes scattered over the city, members of our party mingling with the
rest, seeing the sights and looking for souvenirs.
Brother Ristein received a telegram that had been lying in the Los
Angeles office four days awaiting his arrival, telling him of the
serious illness of one of his children far away in his Delmar home, and
he is at the office now, anxiously awaiting a reply to a message of
inquiry sent as to the present condition of the child. Brother Ristein
fears the worst, and we all share his anxiety. Promptly the answer
flashes back, “The child is better and thought to be out of danger.” The
words make light a heavy heart, and we are all glad for Brother
Ristein’s sake.
Our train occupies a track in the Arcade Station train shed for our
convenience, and by ten o’clock there are very few but what have turned
in. A few of the “boys” are still out, of course, but it is a hopeless
task to try and “keep tab” on them. We cannot do it. These nocturnal
outings of theirs will have to be noted down as “unwritten history.” How
much of it there will be we cannot tell. There has been considerable
already, of which we might mention one night at Fort
[Illustration: WINTER IN SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA.]
Worth, testing the efficacy of police protection while attempting to
follow a “blind trail”; four or five nights in El Paso chasing the
fleeting phantom of merry luck to the musical whirl of the wheel of
fortune. They are all right, these “boys” of ours, and they know a good
thing when they see it.
WEDNESDAY, MAY 19th.
We are all up bright and early this morning, and after breakfast parties
are formed to take in the sights. A number of us have decided to take a
tally-ho ride, and Brother Wyman has gone to procure the outfit. In a
short time he returns with the information that “the wagon will soon be
here.” It is not long until a fine roomy coach, drawn by six white
horses, reins up in front of the group, and we clamber in. There is just
room enough. We count the party and find there are fourteen, including
the driver. The team is from the Panorama Stables and driven by “Mac,”
the veteran stager and coachman, who knows every crook and turn in all
the highways and byways and drives and trails throughout Southern
California. “Mac” is a character; we try to draw him out, but he won’t
talk about himself, won’t even tell you his name, only that it is “Mac.”
He will tell you about everything else, and he is thoroughly posted. He
takes us through the principal streets of this most wonderful city,
rightly named “The town of the Queen of Angels.”
Los Angeles lies amongst the foothills of the Sierra Madre Mountains,
with an average elevation of 300 feet above sea level, only 15 miles
from the coast, with an active, bustling business population of about
75,000 inhabitants. The beauty and magnificence of this tropical
profusion through which we are passing is something we have heard of,
but never saw before, and we find we are helpless when we attempt to
describe it. In fancy and in dreams we have pictured “The Land of
Sunshine and Flowers,” but now, brought face to face with this marvelous
reality, the beautiful pictures of dreams and fancy pale into crudeness
and insignificance. Through avenues shaded on either side by rows of
palms, eucalyptus, and pepper trees, past rose-embowered cottages and
lawns filled with tropical plants, surrounded by hedges of roses and
calla lilies, we continue on our way out through the suburbs into the
rural districts, through the avenues of vast orange groves, the trees
loaded with luscious golden fruit, through beautiful Pasadena, and on
until “Mac” draws up at the famous ostrich farm, where we alight and go
in to look around.
We spend about half an hour looking at the birds and two and a half
dollars in the purchase of feathers. Loading up, we start on our way
again, bound for “Lucky Baldwin’s” ranch, “the largest individual tract
of land,” says “Mac,” “in Southern California. It comprises 50,000
acres, nearly all under a condition of cultivation and improvement.”
Here it is our pleasure to behold the largest and most wonderful orange
grove in the world. For miles we see nothing but orange trees and
oranges; the trees are loaded and the ground is covered with the yellow
fruit. We feast upon the beauty and grandeur of this unusual sight, with
lots of oranges thrown in. It is needless to state that we ate all we
could and loaded up the hack.
[Illustration: BROOKSIDE AVENUE, REDLANDS, CALIFORNIA.]
A few miles further on we arrive at the Bonita Hotel, belonging to the
ranch kept by Mrs. Warner, where the horses are taken from the coach and
fed and the party takes lunch. Large lawns surround the buildings filled
with many varieties of flowers, and we are given the privilege of
plucking all we want, and when we leave each lady carries a large
bouquet in her hand and each gentleman a smaller one in his buttonhole.
Starting on our way again, the horses refreshed with rest and food, we
speed along lengthy drives and avenues, shaded by large Lombardy poplar
and eucalyptus trees, for about two miles, when we pass through a large
gateway over which is an arch in the form of an immense horse shoe, and
enter the stable grounds where Baldwin’s famous blooded horses are kept.
We are kindly received by the stableman, shown through the stalls, where
a number of the celebrated equines are seen. Brother Layfield evinces
such a surprising knowledge of horseflesh and shows so much interest in
the history of the different animals as related by the stableman that he
is presented by that courteous gentleman with a mule’s shoe as a
souvenir of the visit. Brother Kilgore is also interested in the horses
and would like to have a shoe; a search for one is unsuccessful, and so
long did Brother Kilgore remain in the stable looking for the
much-desired relic that he came near being left.
Leaving the stable grounds, we drive a mile further to the palatial
residence and magnificent grounds of the renowned ruler of these
domains. Mr. Baldwin is not at home at the present time, but the place
is in charge of trusted employes. Leaving the coach, we walk through the
spacious grounds surrounding the princely mansion. Paradise can hardly
be more beautiful and grand--the largest, the sweetest, the reddest
roses that ever delighted the sense of sight or smell, the grandest
trees, the most beautiful shrubbery bearing flowers of every kind and
color. Bordered with blooming lilies are lakes of water, clear as
crystal, on the surface of which graceful swans are swimming and in
whose depth gold and silver fish dart and dive. Fine fountains and
statuary intersperse the lawn, adding to its richness and beauty.
Mounted above a pedestal in a conspicuous spot we notice an old bell. It
is possessed of no beauty, and we wonder what it is for. We inquire of
an old man working near by, “Uncle, what is the old rusty bell for?”
“That old bell,” answered the old gentleman, removing his hat with a low
bow as he turns toward the object in question, “is the most valued thing
you see. It is a relic that money cannot buy. Mr. Baldwin prizes it very
highly, and we people all adore it.” As the old servant utters the last
words he makes another low courtesy. We begin to think he is a little
daft and are about to move on, when, straightening up and with
outstretched arm he points toward the old bell a bony, trembling finger,
and continues slowly and with emphasis, “That old bell came from the
chimes tower of the San Gabriel Mission. That is why we prize it; that
is why we love it.” We thought at first the old fellow bowed to us; we
know now that he bowed to the old bell out of respect and reverence, for
whatever is connected or associated with those old missions is looked
upon as something almost sacred by many of the people here, especially
those of the Roman faith.
A whistle from “Mac” informs us we must be going,
[Illustration: SAN GABRIEL MISSION, CALIFORNIA.]
[Illustration: GIANT PALMS ON THE ROAD TO SAN GABRIEL.]
and climbing into the ’bus the horses start off on a brisk trot and we
soon leave “Lucky Baldwin’s” ranch behind and enter “Sunny Slope”
vineyard, owned by L. J. Rose. This immense vineyard contains 1500 acres
and is traversed by beautiful avenues which divide this vast acreage of
grapevines into great squares.
We are soon across this interesting tract and enter the grounds of the
vintage plant of the San Gabriel Wine Company. We were very courteously
treated and shown through the large establishment, the capacity of which
is 1,500,000 gallons of wine per year. Upon leaving we pass through
their vineyard, containing 1000 acres, which is near the vintage plant.
As we approach the old San Gabriel Mission and “Mac” reins up his steeds
in front of the low, quaint building, I instinctively glance up at the
ancient belfry and find that two of the niches or arches where bells
once had swung are vacant. “Lucky Baldwin” has one of the bells; I
wonder who has the other. At this moment another tally-ho drives up and
stops, and we find it is a coaching party of our own people. We all
alight and enter the historic and sacred edifice. Those who are of the
faith render their acknowledgment with quiet, humble reverence; we who
are not stand silently by in an attitude of mute veneration. San Gabriel
stands fourth in the line of the twenty-one missions established in
California from July 16th, 1769, to April 25th, 1820, the date of its
establishment being September 8th, 1771.
The party we encountered consists of Mr. and Mrs. Mitchell, Mr. and Mrs.
Maxwell, Mr. and Mrs. Reilly, Mr. and Mrs. Matthews, Mr. Reagan, Mr.
McCarty, Mr. Waddington, Mr. Taylor, Mr. Williams, and Mr. Suter. They
occupy one of Hoag’s White Livery tally-ho coaches, followed by Mr. and
Mrs. Horner in a buggy. Our party consists of Mr. and Mrs. Wyman, Mr.
and Mrs. Kilgore, Mr. and Mrs. Layfield, Mr. and Mrs. McKernan, Mr. and
Miss Barrett, Mr. Crispen, Mrs. Shaw and myself.
As we bowl along the level drive toward the city, after leaving the old
Mission, our conversation turns upon the pleasures of the day and of the
interesting and beautiful things we have seen. We are all well pleased
with our day’s outing, especially the Colonel, who is in a high good
humor, for had he not obtained what no one else could get, a substantial
memento of his visit to the famous Baldwin ranch? “I am going to have
this shoe decorated with ribbon and hung up in my parlor,” asserts the
Colonel, as he searches in the bottom of the coach for his prize. “I
guess not,” exclaims Mrs. Shaw, as she gives him a dig in the ribs with
her elbow, “that’s my shoe you’ve got hold of.” “But where’s my horse
shoe? Has any one got it? Has any one seen my horse shoe?” excitedly
inquires the Colonel, as he makes another dive into the bottom of the
coach. “I think it flew away,” quietly remarks Mrs. Wyman, as she draws
her feet up and out of the way. “Who ever saw a shoe fly,” snaps the
Colonel, as he continues rummaging in the bottom of the vehicle. “I
have,” answers Manager Wyman, removing his hat, exposing a pate as
devoid of hair and as bald as a door knob, from which he brushes an
imaginary fly. “I saw a horse fly, but didn’t notice if he had shoes
on,” observes Mrs. McKernan, keeping her eye on the Colonel, who is
growing desperate in his failure to find
[Illustration: AN AVENUE IN PASADENA, CALIFORNIA.]
his treasure. But it was gone; it had escaped from the bottom of the
coach in some way, and we all sympathize with Brother Layfield in his
bereavement, now that we find he has actually lost his valued souvenir.
We enter the city through East Side Park, which is a most beautiful and
delightful drive. We bid goodbye to “Mac” and his spanking team and
hurry to our dining car, where we arrive just in time for one of
McDonald’s dandy dinners, which we heartily enjoy after such a busy day.
We find a number of our party had taken trips similar to our own, and
over nearly the same route; others had ascended Mt. Lowe, been away
above the clouds; some had taken a run down to Santa Monica and sported
in the surf of the Pacific; some to Santa Catalina Island, the alleged
“Garden of Eden” of the Pacific coast. All express themselves as having
had an exceedingly good time and are laying plans for the morrow. There
are many places we would like to visit and many things we would like to
see, but our time is too limited “to take it all in,” for we are to
leave here to-morrow at 2.00 P. M. We have friends in San Diego we had
intended to visit and there are fish at Catalina Island we had expected
to catch; both friends and fish will have to charge their disappointment
or pleasure, as the case may be, to the turbid waters of the Rio Grande.
Dinner being over, the most of our people take a walk up town and enjoy
a promenade through the brilliantly-lighted streets, admiring the
handsomely-furnished stores, with goods and wares arranged and exposed
in so tempting a manner that many trinkets and knicknacks are purchased
for souvenirs. Returning to the train at an early hour and hearing such
a favorable account of the trip to Mt. Lowe from some who were there
to-day, we conclude to join a party that is going in the morning and
“take it in.” One by one and two by two our people keep dropping in like
unto the oft-mentioned fowls that “come home to roost,” until only a few
of the “boys,” as usual, are left outside the fold, and to them I need
again ascribe “_unwritten history_.” As I leave the smoker to retire to
my berth in the “Marco” I see our faithful George H. (Alfalfa) Anderson
making up his bed, under the pillow of which he carefully places our
“artillery,” and I feel we are as safe as though surrounded by a cordon
of Gatling guns.
THURSDAY, MAY 20th.
Arose early this morning and found the weather not very favorable for
our contemplated trip to Mt. Lowe, being cloudy and somewhat foggy, but
we concluded to go, so after breakfast the party, consisting of Mr. and
Mrs. Wyman, Mr. and Mrs. Layfield, Mr. and Miss Barrett, Mr. Kilgore,
Mr. Sloane, Mr. Haas, Mr. Crispen, Mr. Denniston, two guests--Miss R.
Stradling and Mr. A. L. Bailey--George H. Alfalfa Anderson, and myself,
under the escort of Brother Ed. Butcher, of Los Angeles Division No.
111, who is a passenger conductor on the Los Angeles Terminal Road,
boarded a car at 10.00 A. M. Eastern (7.00 A. M. Pacific) on the
Pasadena and Los Angeles Electric Railway, conducted by W. A. Brown, and
started on a never-to-be-forgotten trip to Mt. Lowe.
Out through the suburbs of Los Angeles, with its
[Illustration: GREAT CABLE INCLINE, MT. LOWE RAILWAY.]
beautiful rose-embowered cottages and palatial residences and lawns of
palms and tropical shrubbery, on through miles of country districts,
rich with groves of golden fruit, through eden--Pasadena to Altadena,
where we change cars for another electric road that carries us for about
three miles over hill and dale, through ravines and across
frightful-looking chasms, but always tending upward, until at an
elevation of 2200 feet Rubio Cañon is reached and we are at the foot of
the great cable incline, claimed to be the most wonderful cable road in
the world, extending from Rubio Pavilion to Echo Mountain, a distance of
3000 feet. It makes a direct ascent of 1350 feet. Looking up at the
wonderful construction it seems to almost pierce the sky; its summit is
enshrouded in a veil of fog that hides it from our view.
“I don’t quite like the looks of that,” ventures Brother Kilgore,
looking over his glasses with a scrutinizing glance, as his eyes follow
the great incline up to where it is lost in the fog. “I guess it’s all
right; I don’t think we’ll find it as terrifying as it looks to be;
anyhow, the proof of the pudding is in eating it, and I for one am going
up,” answers Brother Sloane. “Charlie, if you go I will go,” responds
his bosom friend and chum, Brother Haas. “There is no danger I will not
share with you, and perhaps we can see some mountain goats.”
“Or capture a deer,” adds Brother Denniston, who is keeping pretty close
to Miss Stradling, for that young lady looks as though she needs
sympathy and companionship in this trying ordeal.
“Do you think it’s safe, Charlie?” quietly inquires Mrs. Wyman of her
husband as we start to ascend to the landing where we board the car.
“Yes, perfectly safe,” replies Manager Wyman. “Human skill and ingenuity
can make it no safer. They claim they never had an accident since the
road has been in operation. The cable by which these cars are drawn has
been tested to stand a strain of 100 tons, and the cars when loaded do
not weigh five tons, so there is no danger at all.” “If I thought there
was the least danger I wouldn’t go up,” utters Brother Layfield, “but I
know there isn’t a bit.” Mrs. Layfield makes no comment, but clings
nervously to the Colonel’s arm. The rest of the party follow without any
apparent trepidation with the exception of “Alfalfa,” who looks a trifle
pale.