Read Ebook: A Flight in Spring In the car Lucania from New York to the Pacific coast and back during April and May 1898 by Knowles J Harris John Harris

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"THEY LEAVE TO-DAY."

"Dr. Frederick Humphreys and his party will leave to-day for an extended tour on the Pacific Coast.

"All the party, except Dr. and Mrs. Humphreys, the Misses Hayden, and Mr. Hanson, arrived here on Thursday, in the private car 'Lucania,' a palace on wheels, in which the tour will be made.

"Dr. Humphreys spent yesterday in showing his guests some of the attractive drives and scenery in and around the town. And they could not have had the guidance of one more familiar with this charming winter resort, or one more competent to tell of its many attractions. The good doctor has been a great friend of Thomasville, and all our people will cordially join us in the wish that he may spend many more happy winter months at his pretty home on Dawson Street. He has done much for the place, and it is duly appreciated by all classes of our citizens.

"The party will leave in the 'Lucania' this afternoon at 2.35. The itinerary will embrace the following principal points: New Orleans, San Antonio, El Paso, Los Angeles, San Diego, Santa Barbara, San Francisco, Monterey, San Jos?, Ogden, Salt Lake City, Glenwood Springs, Colorado Springs, Denver, Kansas City, and St. Louis. Stops of more or less length will be made at all these points. New York will be reached on the 25th of May.

"It will be a most delightful, interesting, and instructive outing. We trust it may be made without a single mishap, and that the party may all reach their Northern homes in safety, and that when memory calls up its scenes and incidents, Thomasville, clothed in its fresh garments of spring, with its countless flowers, its balmy air and blue skies, will have a place in the picture."

We can hear the cheery voice of our editorial friend, Captain Triplett, in all these lines, full of kindness and good feeling.

Departure from Thomasville.--Pet Superstitions.--Montgomery, Alabama.-- The Capitol.--The Public Fountain.--Montgomery to New Orleans.

It seemed as if we were commencing our journey in dead earnest as we were leaving Thomasville. Our party was complete, and we were all settled in our special places for the trip, our luggage and bags all in ship-shape order. The day, too, was Saturday, the 16th; hence our real beginning was not, after all, on the fatal "13th," when we left New York. Some of us had little pet superstitions about numbers. Sixteen, however, seemed to satisfy all parties. It was composed of seven and nine, and had also in it two eights and four fours. Here was completeness and perfection, besides the mystery and infinity of the sacred seven and the thrice perfect nine.

On our way from New York, had we not also a bad omen? The end extension step of our car got ripped off at one of the stations; and as we were also shunted about a little at Thomasville, just before starting, rip went the other step. There was suppressed gloom at these accidents; but the said gloom was all dispersed when, some hours after, we were detained by a broken bridge. "There," said one of the ladies, "that is the third accident since we left. We are all safe now." Although the third accident was to a bridge, and not to our car, it, however, answered all purposes, and set us completely at rest.

How inevitable those little superstitions are, and how hard it is to despise them, or, as we say, rise above them! We sometimes laugh at them, but we cherish them all the same, and fain would show our more exalted wisdom by the mirth they give us. Unlucky days and numbers, together with signs and omens, and all such, are open questions with me. I should be sorry to be incapable of a little superstition, so called, now and then. Indeed, I rather believe it is all a phantasmal flickering of the abyss of mysteries with which we are, at all times and in all places, ever enveloped.

Off we are, then, from Thomasville, with waving handkerchiefs and pleasant farewells from the dear friends we leave behind. Our journey lay through a rich country, the whole effect like an English landscape--luxuriant trees, and a verdant, undulating surface, glowing with flowers, and here and there, opulent with cultivation. We had hoped to have reached New Orleans in time for church service on Sunday morning, but the broken bridge prevented all that; and when we reached Montgomery, Alabama, we were too late, even there, for attendance at morning service, and were inexorably scheduled to leave for New Orleans early in the afternoon.

Our stay gave us an opportunity to get a sort of silent silhouette of the old Capitol of the Confederacy. A Sunday sleep was over the business portions of the town, broken only by the pathetic persistence of those who will run to the store, and look at the mail, or do something or other, from the mere fact that the average business man, in the average town, does not know what on earth to do with himself when not at work. He will hang around even on Sunday at his place of business, for it is less wearisome there than anywhere else.

Some of us saw at Montgomery the spot in the Capitol, marked by a star in the pavement, where Jefferson Davis stood when sworn in as President of the Confederacy; others of us in our stroll saw the public fountain, with its bronze tablets of: "This side for colored people," "This side for white people," and also a tablet, of possibly universal application to blacks and whites alike: "No loafing round here." We also noticed a rather startling announcement at the Y.M.C.A. Hall: "The devil will be fought in four rounds here to-night."

Our afternoon and evening ride from Montgomery to New Orleans gave one the impression of all manner of possible wealth and progress. It seemed a rich, fertile country, needing but the influx of capital and labor to make it a paradise. There may be dragons lurking in swamps, or demons in the upper air, ready to hurl fiery darts at daring man in his Promethean efforts. But dragons can be starved by drainage, and atmospheric disturbances of storm and tornado, no doubt, do more good than harm in the long run.

It was well on in the night when we got into New Orleans, but we enjoyed the quiet of the Sunday, even on our speeding train. We felt the beauty of the great level stretches of flat land, mingled constantly with the gleaming waters of lake and bayou and morass, all looking more and more mysterious as the light faded away into the night.

New Orleans.--Surviving Traces of Spanish and French Occupation.-- Jackson Square.--Cathedral of St. Louis.--The Cemeteries.-- Melancholy Perspectives.--Audubon Park.--Graves for Sale.--The French Market.-- Mobile and New Orleans as Seen Nearly Thirty Years Ago.--St. Charles Hotel.--A Dinner at Dr. Mercer's.

The train moved along leisurely over bridges and trestle work, and through flowery forests, until, we scarcely knew how, we found ourselves at our temporary destination.

One could see very little of New Orleans in the short space of our stay, but we made the most of it. The city itself, in its historic and social aspects, is one of the most interesting in America and the least American. It has on it yet the traces of former Spanish and French ownership and occupation, but the equestrian statue of Old Hickory in Jackson Square, still known by its ancient name, the Place d'Armes, crowns all the past with the American idea. The monument of General Jackson is directly in front of the Cathedral of St. Louis of France. We entered this edifice and noted the reredos back of the high altar, emblazoned with the arms of St. Louis and the record of his virtues.

While we were there, a large class of boys were being catechized, in the French tongue; again and again the answers would come in loud monotone. We noted, also, with interest, the unmistakable Gallic type, in head and eyes and hair, of the restless young scholars upon the benches.

Some of our party took carriage drives, and some preferred the ubiquitous street cars. In various ways we each sought our pleasure. We went to the cemeteries, with their overground, oven-like tombs, necessitated by the water-soaked condition of the soil. The French burial places had that sombre effect which straight lines and extended alleys ever produce. Why this disposition of line should so impress the mind is very curious, but I have always found it so. One feels it at Versailles, as well as in the most up-to-date of places, like Chicago. The vanishing points of long distances, where, as it were, one can never hope to reach, produce in the mind a kind of sorrow; while the curve, which conceals the unseen, urges on to pursue and attain to that which is beyond. Audubon Park, which we visited, and the Arboretum produce more pleasing effects by the winding walks and constant variety of beautiful trees and flowers. It is rather a doleful thing to make even the very best kept cemeteries places for lounging pleasure.

In the incongruity of such a situation, the frequent little green lizards flashing over the marble tombstones were a diversion. We caught one of them, and it was most curious to see it change color in its nervous alarm. From the most vivid green it became a dull blood red, and then brown, panting as if its heart would break; and not until it was well away from us did it return to its normal emerald tint.

It must be confessed that the ludicrous ever lurks near one in such places, and often, also, that which is sadder than sad. For instance, in the midst of the silent sombreness of the French cemeteries it was a dreary incident in the drama of life to see the placards of "For sale" on monuments whose occupation was gone, for they who were enclosed therein were, for some cause or another, to be ousted from their rest.

We did the French market early in the morning, but possibly we were not early enough; for the whole place, display, and everything there seemed tame and commonplace. I found, however, pleasant study in some of the people, especially the poor, but aristocratic looking women with blue jean sunbonnets on, market baskets on their arms, and wearing dresses of most uncrinoline proportions.

A memory also abides with me which I surely may rehearse. It was a dinner given to visiting ecclesiastics and lay dignitaries at the hospitable home of Dr. Mercer in Canal Street. If I am right, he was a bachelor; he lived in great elegance in his own house. The dinner was thoroughly Southern, and so intended. I still have pleasing reminiscences of the gumbo soup; and a boned turkey, boiled, and stuffed with oysters, ought not, and can not, ever be forgotten. It was pallid, but palatable, in its moist modesty, and a cut right through its entire circumference was something to be brought away as a grateful remembrance, safely disposed within the inner man.

Impressions of New Orleans.--Its Harbor.--The Levee at Night.--Southern Texas.--Its Forests, Flowers, and Birds.--The Prairie Pool.

We left New Orleans at 8.40 P.M., on Monday, with visions of broad, unpaved streets embowered in trees; of stately mansions in enclosed gardens; of the huge levee, which, like a giant laid at length, pushes its shoulders against the ever-threatening flood of the mighty Mississippi. Our ladies, too, had additional memories of the shopping districts; of ill-smelling open drains which offended them; of ravishing summer goods of cotton and silk from the looms of France; of exquisite bijouterie tempting to one's purse; of great square paving blocks which seemed made to float; and over all the remembrance of the yellow flag of Spain, of the lily of France, and of the awakened bravery of the eagle of America, strangely rousing up to war, and we hoped to conquest.

The great river at New Orleans is ever an object of interest. The huge three-sided bend which forms the harbor has a width varying from 1,500 to 3,000 feet, and a depth of from 60 to more than 200 feet. This great body of water has at times a current of five miles an hour. It is the aggregate of a river system extending more than 100,000 miles. You may put together the Amazon, the Nile, the Ganges, and all the river systems of the earth, and they would scarcely approach the magnificent showing of the Father of Waters and its tributaries as it flows on by New Orleans to the sea.

As we looked back from our ferry-boat over the levee, luminous with its electric lights, at the huge bulk of the wonderful river over which we were passing, and then thought of all we had already seen in the few short days of our trip, and of all that was yet before us, we felt that rest in our dear "Lucania" would be welcome, and that we could well afford to sleep through Louisiana and wake in Texas.

When we woke up after our night's ride from New Orleans, we found ourselves in the southern part of that wondrous State, Texas. One is not surprised that its vast extent should have awakened in its first adventurous settlers the dream of an independent "Lone Star Empire." How could it be otherwise then, before the time and space annihilating forces of steam and electricity had been discovered and applied? Now all is different. The great pulses of life and trade throb all through the world, in a wondrous fashion, of which our fathers could not even dream. Everywhere is now a centre to touch all else with influences.

It was lovely in the fresh morning light to look out over this jocund land. This is how it impressed dear Mrs. Morgan, and I transcribe directly from her diary, kindly placed at my disposal.

"Tuesday, April 19th.--Up early; a most exquisite morning. We pass through luxuriant forests of live oak, magnolia, and other trees of various kinds, draped in some places with southern moss, in others with beautiful creepers, among them the rich wistaria in full bloom.

"A heavy storm during the night left all the foliage sparkling with raindrops; and the songs of the birds and the odors from the refreshed earth added to the charm. It was a day of delight. Sat almost all the morning on the piazza in rear of the car in a state of beatitude.

"After the forest came sugar plantations--one of 5,000 acres, off which the owner last year made a million pounds of sugar. The cane, as we saw it, just coming up, resembled corn in its early growth. We also saw immense tracts of cotton, and then came the prairie, a seemingly boundless expanse of green, gemmed with lovely wild flowers. There were acres of beautiful blue larkspur, crimson phlox, varieties of poppies, and other yellow flowers, besides many that I failed to recognize as we rushed along. Here, too, the mocking-birds perched on the wires and sang to us, and the poet of the party was inspired to write his lines on 'A Prairie Pool,' one of many which we passed on our way."

I here give the little poem to which Mrs. Morgan refers. The fatigues of the day before were yet upon me, and I ensconced myself near one of the windows to have a silent, quiet little spell all to myself. It was while thus abstracted, that one of the many pools, left by the recent storm, looked at me with its sunlit face and said as follows:

THE PRAIRIE POOL

Within my heart I hold the skies, Whatever hue they seem to wear; In tempest gloom, or sunlight clear, Their storm and shine alike I prize.

I lonely am, and motionless, And yet, what great things come to me! The planets in their mystery, Sun, Moon, and Stars, the great, the less.

Deep in my heart I hold them all, Their quiring voices cheer my lot; All motionless in one lone spot, Yet God's full heaven in sight and all.

And creatures great and creatures small, Find comfort in my fixed abode; It may be man, or bird, or toad, I share my life with each and all.

For all are dear to heart of God, And each can serve where'er he be; Whether in life, full, rich, and free, Or bound as I, by Prairie sod.

San Antonio.--Work of Jesuit Missionaries.--Street Ramble.--The Old Cathedral.--Evenings in our Car.--A Mission Car.--The Tired Clergyman with his Renewal of Vigor.--The Alamo.--The Siege Sustained by Colonel Travis and his Men.--The Tragedy.--Hymn of the Alamo.--The Western Texas Military Academy.

After a glorious day along the southern line of Texas, at some points being very near the Mexican frontier, we reached San Antonio at tea time. Soon after, we were all ready, just in the gloaming, for a leisurely stroll through the streets of the beautiful and interesting town.

San Antonio had among its Spanish founders some Jesuit missionaries, and these wise Fathers set their Indian converts at once at good works which took practical shape in the deep water courses which still line the streets at each side to this day, and bring to every man's door water for irrigation, an absolute necessity in this dry climate. This accounts for the wealth of roses which embower the trees and houses. It is a paradise of sweet, flowery shrubs, and the air is vocal with the songs of the happy birds. "Never," says Mrs. Morgan in her diary, "Never have I heard such a wealth of bird music as here. Here, too, I first saw the Mexican red bird in its wild condition."

It has quite a charm to saunter round in a strange town, and mingle all unknown in the crowd. Thus we went in and out among them. The shops we found were attractive, especially those of the saddlers and harness makers, where the ingenious and practical shape of the goods, and their rich ornamentation in Mexican style, were quite interesting.

Leaving the Cathedral we again mingled in the crowded streets, brilliant with electric lights, really now to be met with everywhere. In our stroll we saw the outside of the Alamo, which has quite a history. All had to wait, however, until next morning.

Here I may mention that our evenings on our car were always evenings at home. We had many a pleasant hour together in fun and frolic, in story-telling, in playing games, such as consequences and nonsense verses; in occasional singing, and music on the reed organ, part of our car belongings; but whatever we engaged in, we always brought our day to a close with family prayers and the singing of one or two hymns, as an act of devotion. When our closing hymn rang out from our car that night, at the depot grounds in San Antonio, doubtless many were curious to know just what we were. Since my return from our "Flight in Spring," it has occurred to me that much real pleasure and spiritual profit could be had by a mission band of clergymen making just such a tour as we made, but with the special end in view to hold services for one or more days at the points visited. I think the clergy would hail such a mission with gladness, judging from the hungry way in which Dr. Morgan and myself were constantly importuned to "stay over and preach."

One dear old brother made such a pitiful appeal, and seemed so feeble, that Dr. Morgan defied the injunction of his Vestry not to use his throat while away, and disregarded even the appealing advice of his dear wife, and did actually preach. The Doctor said that, of course, I would do the same at night. Of course, I had to consent. Then a miracle took place: our dear old brother seemed to have a new lease of life the moment his two Sunday sermons were off his conscience. He was so spry that on Sunday afternoon he suggested a Sabbath day's drive among some orange groves, which we took behind two spanking bays, the ribbons being held by our erewhile feeble brother, now in all the vigor of hearty old age, warming up to the exciting drive. On and on we went until I suggested that it would be well to turn back, as I wanted a little quiet time before church to gather my thoughts together before preaching. In the blandest way the old gentleman told us he had lost his way, and was looking for a place to turn back. I thought we never should get home; but I made the best of it, and brooded all the return way on recent events at the Philippines, of Dewey and his watchword: "Keep cool and obey orders," and at night I gave a patriotic sermon on the text: "But thanks be to God which giveth us the victory."

I felt sure that if we remained over until next Sunday, our dear brother would be again as feeble as ever, and that in our charity we could not but preach, even though we might suspect. We did not leave San Antonio until after five o'clock the next day, and that gave us a little more pleasurable time there. It is such a flowery, bright, and cheerful place, that it quite attracted us.

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