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[Illustration: The White Terrace, Hot Lakes, New Zealand.
_Frontispiece._ Page 119.]
FORTY THOUSAND MILES OVER LAND AND WATER
The Journal of a Tour Through the British Empire and America
by
MRS. HOWARD VINCENT
With Numerous Illustrations
Third and Cheaper Edition.
London:
Sampson Low, Marston, Searle & Rivington,
Crown Buildings, 188, Fleet Street.
1886.
[All rights reserved.]
London:
Printed by Gilbert and Rivington, Limited,
St. John's Square.
TO
OUR FRIENDS,
THE CHILDREN OF THE METROPOLITAN AND CITY POLICE
ORPHANAGE,
This Journal is Dedicated
BY
THEIR CONSTANT WELL-WISHERS.
PREFACE.
My husband, during his six years' tenure of the office of Director of
Criminal Investigations, took the greatest interest in the Metropolitan
and City Police Orphanage.
In taking leave of his young friends he promised to keep for their
benefit a record of our travels through the British Empire and America.
I have endeavoured to the best of my power to relieve him of this task.
It is but a simple Journal of what we saw and did.
But if the Police will accept it, as a further proof of our admiration
and respect for them as a body, then I feel sure that others who may be
kind enough to read it will be lenient towards the shortcomings of a
first publication.
ETHEL GWENDOLINE VINCENT.
1, GROSVENOR SQUARE, LONDON.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
CHAPTER I.
ACROSS THE ATLANTIC 1
CHAPTER II.
NEW YORK, HUDSON RIVER, AND NIAGARA FALLS 4
CHAPTER III.
THE DOMINION OF CANADA 17
CHAPTER IV.
THE AMERICAN LAKES, AND THE CENTRES OF LEARNING,
FASHION, AND GOVERNMENT 26
CHAPTER V.
TO THE FAR WEST 43
CHAPTER VI.
SAN FRANCISCO AND THE YOSEMITE VALLEY 66
CHAPTER VII.
ACROSS THE PACIFIC 88
CHAPTER VIII.
COACHING THROUGH THE NORTH ISLAND OF NEW
ZEALAND; ITS HOT LAKES AND GEYSERS 102
CHAPTER IX.
THE SOUTH ISLAND OF NEW ZEALAND; ITS ALPS AND
MOUNTAIN LAKES 146
CHAPTER X.
AUSTRALIA--TASMANIA, AND VICTORIA 161
CHAPTER XI.
AUSTRALIA--NEW SOUTH WALES, AND QUEENSLAND 181
CHAPTER XII.
WITHIN THE BARRIER REEF, THROUGH TORRES
STRAITS TO BATAVIA 200
CHAPTER XIII.
NETHERLANDS INDIA 212
CHAPTER XIV.
THE STRAITS SETTLEMENTS 235
CHAPTER XV.
THE METROPOLIS OF INDIA AND ITS HIMALAYAN
SANATORIUM 250
CHAPTER XVI.
THE SHRINES OF THE HINDU FAITH 274
CHAPTER XVII.
THE SCENES OF THE INDIAN MUTINY 287
CHAPTER XVIII.
THE CITIES OF THE GREAT MOGUL 304
CHAPTER XIX.
GWALIOR AND RAJPUTANA 332
CHAPTER XX.
THE HOME OF THE PARSEES 352
CHAPTER XXI.
THROUGH EGYPT--HOMEWARDS 361
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE
The White Terrace, Hot Lakes, New Zealand _Frontispiece_
Route Map _to face_ 1
"That horrible fog-horn!" 1
Elevated-Railway, New York 6
Parliament Buildings, Ottawa _to face_ 22
The Capitol, Washington 40
The Royal Gorge of the Arkansas _to face_ 58
The Sentinel, Yosemite Valley " 77
The Cathedral Spires, Yosemite Valley 79
Big Tree, California 83
Maori Chieftain 110
Tuhuatahi Geyser, New Zealand 128
Lake Wakitipu, New Zealand 157
Government House, Melbourne _to face_ 165
Sydney Harbour " 182
Govett's Leap, Blue Mountains 191
Zig-zag on Railway, Blue Mountains _to face_ 192
Banyan Trees, Buitenzorg, Java " 227
Traveller's Palm, Singapore " 236
Jinricksha 249
The Hooghley, Calcutta _to face_ 251
The Darjeeling and Himalayan Railway " 263
Benares Bathing Ghât " 276
The Residency, Lucknow 288
The Imambara, Lucknow _to face_ 291
The Taj Mahal, Agra " 312
Column, Kutub Minar, Delhi " 329
The Caves of Elephanta, Bombay " 356
Cairene Woman 372
The Sphinx _to face_ 377
[Illustration: ROUTE MAP TO "FORTY THOUSAND MILES OVER LAND AND WATER" BY
MRS. HOWARD VINCENT.
_Route marked thus_ ----]
FORTY THOUSAND MILES OVER LAND AND WATER.
CHAPTER I.
ACROSS THE ATLANTIC.
[Illustration]
Lat. 43° 15´ N., Long. 50° 12´ W. All is intensely quiet. The revolution
even of the screw has ceased. We are wrapped in a fog so dense that we
feel almost unable to breathe.
We shudder as we look at the white pall drawn closely around us. The
decks and rigging are dripping, and everything on board is saturated
with moisture. We feel strangely alone. When hark! A discordant screech,
a hideous howl belches forth into the still air, to be immediately
smothered and lost in the fog. It is the warning cry of the fog-horn.
[Illustration: "That horrible fog-horn!"]
We are on board the White Star steamer _Germanic_, in mid-Atlantic, not
far off the great ice-banks of Newfoundland.
It was on Wednesday, the 2nd of July, that we left London, and embarked
from Liverpool on the 3rd.
I need not describe the previous bustle of preparation, the farewells to
be gone through for a long absence of nine months, the little crowd of
kind friends who came to see us off at Euston, nor our embarkation and
our last view of England.
I remember how dull and gloomy that first evening on board closed in, and
how a slight feeling of depression was not absent from us.
The next morning we were anchoring in Queenstown Harbour, and whilst
waiting for the arrival of the mails in the afternoon we went by train to
Cork.
The mails were on board the _Germanic_ by four o'clock. We weighed
anchor, and our voyage to America had commenced. The often advertised
quick passages across the Atlantic are only reckoned to and from
Queenstown. The sea-sick traveller hardly sees the point of this
computation of time, for the coasts of "ould Ireland" are as stormy and
of as much account as the remainder of the passage.
And now we have settled down into the usual idle life on board ship, a
life where eating and drinking plays the most important part. There is
a superfluity of concerts and literary entertainments, the proceeds in
one instance being devoted to the aid of a poor electrical engineer who
has had his arm fearfully torn in the machinery, and whose life was only
saved by the presence of mind of a comrade in cutting the strap.
Fine weather again at last, for we are past the banks so prolific in
storms and fog. The story goes that a certain captain much harassed by
the questioning of a passenger, who asked him "if it was always rough
here?" replied, "How should I know, sir? I don't live here."
We are nearing America, and may hope to land to-morrow.
The advent of the pilot is always an exciting event. There was a lottery
for his number and much betting upon the foot with which he would first
step on deck.
A boat came in sight early in the afternoon. There was general
excitement. But the captain refused this pilot as he had previously
nearly lost one of the company's ships. At this he stood up in his dinghy
and fiercely denounced us as we swept onwards, little heeding.
Another pilot came on board soon afterwards, but the news and papers he
brought us were very stale. These pilots have a very hard life; working
in firms of two or three, they often go out 500 miles in their cutters,
and lie about for days waiting to pick up vessels coming into port. The
fee varies according to the draught of the ship, but often exceeds 30_l._
At two o'clock a white line of surf is seen on the horizon. Land we know
is behind, and great is the joy of all on board.
We watched and waited till behind the white line appears a dark one,
which grew and grew, until Long Island and Fire Island lighthouse are
plainly visible.
Three hours more and we see the beautiful Highlands of the Navesink on
the New Jersey shore; then the long sandy plain with the lighthouse which
marks the entrance--and we cross the bar of Sandy Hook. As we do so the
sunset gun goes off, and tells us that we must pass yet another night on
board, for it closes the day of the officer of health.
We pass the quarantine station, a white house on a lonely rock--then
entering the Narrows, anchor in the dusk off lovely Statten Island.
The lights of Manhattan and New Brighton beach twinkle in the darkness.
Steamers with flashing signals ply swiftly backwards and forwards. A line
of electricity marks the beautiful span of Brooklyn Bridge, and over
all a storm is gathering, making the surrounding hills resound with the
cannon of its thunder and the sky bright with sheets of lightning.
And so we pass the night, within sight of the lights of New York, with
pleasurable excitement looking forward to our first impressions on the
morrow.
_Sunday, July 13th._--By six o'clock all is life on board the _Germanic_,
for a great steamer takes some time getting under weigh. Breakfast is a
general scramble, interspersed with declarations to the revenue officials
who are sitting in the saloon.
We pass the Old Fort on Governor's Island, now the military station, in
our upward progress, see the round tower of Castle Garden, the emigrants'
depôt, and by eight o'clock are safely moored alongside the company's
pier.
On the wharf are presently to be seen passengers sitting forlorn on their
trunks, awaiting the terrible inspection of the custom-house officer. The
one detailed to us showed signs of becoming offensive, being unwilling
to believe the statement that a dress some six months' old was not
being taken round the world for sale; but on making representations to
his superior we were able to throw the things back into the boxes and
"Express" them to the hotel.