ACROSS THE PLAINS

LEAVES FROM THE NOTEBOOK OF AN EMIGRANT BETWEEN NEW YORK AND SAN

FRANCISCO

MONDAY. - It was, if I remember rightly, five o'clock when we were

all signalled to be present at the Ferry Depot of the railroad. An

emigrant ship had arrived at New York on the Saturday night,

another on the Sunday morning, our own on Sunday afternoon, a

fourth early on Monday; and as there is no emigrant train on Sunday

a great part of the passengers from these four ships was

concentrated on the train by which I was to travel. There was a

babel of bewildered men, women, and children. The wretched little

booking-office, and the baggage-room, which was not much larger,

were crowded thick with emigrants, and were heavy and rank with the

atmosphere of dripping clothes. Open carts full of bedding stood

by the half-hour in the rain. The officials loaded each other with

recriminations. A bearded, mildewed little man, whom I take to

have been an emigrant agent, was all over the place, his mouth full

of brimstone, blustering and interfering. It was plain that the

whole system, if system there was, had utterly broken down under

the strain of so many passengers.

My own ticket was given me at once, and an oldish man, who

preserved his head in the midst of this turmoil, got my baggage

registered, and counselled me to stay quietly where I was till he

should give me the word to move. I had taken along with me a small

valise, a knapsack, which I carried on my shoulders, and in the bag

of my railway rug the whole of BANCROFT'S HISTORY OF THE UNITED

STATES, in six fat volumes. It was as much as I could carry with

convenience even for short distances, but it insured me plenty of

clothing, and the valise was at that moment, and often after,

useful for a stool. I am sure I sat for an hour in the baggageroom,

and wretched enough it was; yet, when at last the word was

passed to me and I picked up my bundles and got under way, it was

only to exchange discomfort for downright misery and danger.

I followed the porters into a long shed reaching downhill from West

Street to the river. It was dark, the wind blew clean through it

from end to end; and here I found a great block of passengers and

baggage, hundreds of one and tons of the other. I feel I shall

have a difficulty to make myself believed; and certainly the scene

must have been exceptional, for it was too dangerous for daily

repetition. It was a tight jam; there was no fair way through the

mingled mass of brute and living obstruction. Into the upper

skirts of the crowd porters, infuriated by hurry and overwork,

clove their way with shouts. I may say that we stood like sheep,

and that the porters charged among us like so many maddened sheepdogs;

and I believe these men were no longer answerable for their

acts. It mattered not what they were carrying, they drove straight

into the press, and when they could get no farther, blindly

discharged their barrowful. With my own hand, for instance, I

saved the life of a child as it sat upon its mother's knee, she

sitting on a box; and since I heard of no accident, I must suppose

that there were many similar interpositions in the course of the

evening. It will give some idea of the state of mind to which we

were reduced if I tell you that neither the porter nor the mother

of the child paid the least attention to my act. It was not till

some time after that I understood what I had done myself, for to

ward off heavy boxes seemed at the moment a natural incident of

human life. Cold, wet, clamour, dead opposition to progress, such

as one encounters in an evil dream, had utterly daunted the

spirits. We had accepted this purgatory as a child accepts the

conditions of the world. For my part, I shivered a little, and my

back ached wearily; but I believe I had neither a hope nor a fear,

and all the activities of my nature had become tributary to one

massive sensation of discomfort.