American Notes for General Circulation

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by Dickens, Chales


  Franklin, a beautiful mail steamboat, and reached Cincinnati

  shortly after midnight. Being by this time nearly tired of

  sleeping upon shelves, we had remained awake to go ashore

  straightway; and groping a passage across the dark decks of other

  boats, and among labyrinths of engine-machinery and leaking casks

  of molasses, we reached the streets, knocked up the porter at the

  hotel where we had stayed before, and were, to our great joy,

  safely housed soon afterwards.

  We rested but one day at Cincinnati, and then resumed our journey

  to Sandusky. As it comprised two varieties of stage-coach

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  travelling, which, with those I have already glanced at, comprehend

  the main characteristics of this mode of transit in America, I will

  take the reader as our fellow-passenger, and pledge myself to

  perform the distance with all possible despatch.

  Our place of destination in the first instance is Columbus. It is

  distant about a hundred and twenty miles from Cincinnati, but there

  is a macadamised road (rare blessing!) the whole way, and the rate

  of travelling upon it is six miles an hour.

  We start at eight o'clock in the morning, in a great mail-coach,

  whose huge cheeks are so very ruddy and plethoric, that it appears

  to be troubled with a tendency of blood to the head. Dropsical it

  certainly is, for it will hold a dozen passengers inside. But,

  wonderful to add, it is very clean and bright, being nearly new;

  and rattles through the streets of Cincinnati gaily.

  Our way lies through a beautiful country, richly cultivated, and

  luxuriant in its promise of an abundant harvest. Sometimes we pass

  a field where the strong bristling stalks of Indian corn look like

  a crop of walking-sticks, and sometimes an enclosure where the

  green wheat is springing up among a labyrinth of stumps; the

  primitive worm-fence is universal, and an ugly thing it is; but the

  farms are neatly kept, and, save for these differences, one might

  be travelling just now in Kent.

  We often stop to water at a roadside inn, which is always dull and

  silent. The coachman dismounts and fills his bucket, and holds it

  to the horses' heads. There is scarcely ever any one to help him;

  there are seldom any loungers standing round; and never any stablecompany

  with jokes to crack. Sometimes, when we have changed our

  team, there is a difficulty in starting again, arising out of the

  prevalent mode of breaking a young horse: which is to catch him,

  harness him against his will, and put him in a stage-coach without

  further notice: but we get on somehow or other, after a great many

  kicks and a violent struggle; and jog on as before again.

  Occasionally, when we stop to change, some two or three halfdrunken

  loafers will come loitering out with their hands in their

  pockets, or will be seen kicking their heels in rocking-chairs, or

  lounging on the window-sill, or sitting on a rail within the

  colonnade: they have not often anything to say though, either to

  us or to each other, but sit there idly staring at the coach and

  horses. The landlord of the inn is usually among them, and seems,

  of all the party, to be the least connected with the business of

  the house. Indeed he is with reference to the tavern, what the

  driver is in relation to the coach and passengers: whatever

  happens in his sphere of action, he is quite indifferent, and

  perfectly easy in his mind.

  The frequent change of coachmen works no change or variety in the

  coachman's character. He is always dirty, sullen, and taciturn.

  If he be capable of smartness of any kind, moral or physical, he

  has a faculty of concealing it which is truly marvellous. He never

  speaks to you as you sit beside him on the box, and if you speak to

  him, he answers (if at all) in monosyllables. He points out

  nothing on the road, and seldom looks at anything: being, to all

  appearance, thoroughly weary of it and of existence generally. As

  to doing the honours of his coach, his business, as I have said, is

  with the horses. The coach follows because it is attached to them

  and goes on wheels: not because you are in it. Sometimes, towards

  the end of a long stage, he suddenly breaks out into a discordant

  fragment of an election song, but his face never sings along with

  him: it is only his voice, and not often that.

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  He always chews and always spits, and never encumbers himself with

  a pocket-handkerchief. The consequences to the box passenger,

  especially when the wind blows towards him, are not agreeable.

  Whenever the coach stops, and you can hear the voices of the inside

  passengers; or whenever any bystander addresses them, or any one

  among them; or they address each other; you will hear one phrase

  repeated over and over and over again to the most extraordinary

  extent. It is an ordinary and unpromising phrase enough, being

  neither more nor less than 'Yes, sir;' but it is adapted to every

  variety of circumstance, and fills up every pause in the

  conversation. Thus:-

  The time is one o'clock at noon. The scene, a place where we are

  to stay and dine, on this journey. The coach drives up to the door

  of an inn. The day is warm, and there are several idlers lingering

  about the tavern, and waiting for the public dinner. Among them,

  is a stout gentleman in a brown hat, swinging himself to and fro in

  a rocking-chair on the pavement.

  As the coach stops, a gentleman in a straw hat looks out of the

  window:

  STRAW HAT. (To the stout gentleman in the rocking-chair.) I

  reckon that's Judge Jefferson, an't it?

  BROWN HAT. (Still swinging; speaking very slowly; and without any

  emotion whatever.) Yes, sir.

  STRAW HAT. Warm weather, Judge.

  BROWN HAT. Yes, sir.

  STRAW HAT. There was a snap of cold, last week.

  BROWN HAT. Yes, sir.

  STRAW HAT. Yes, sir.

  A pause. They look at each other, very seriously.

  STRAW HAT. I calculate you'll have got through that case of the

  corporation, Judge, by this time, now?

  BROWN HAT. Yes, sir.

  STRAW HAT. How did the verdict go, sir?

  BROWN HAT. For the defendant, sir.

  STRAW HAT. (Interrogatively.) Yes, sir?

  BROWN HAT. (Affirmatively.) Yes, sir.

  BOTH. (Musingly, as each gazes down the street.) Yes, sir.

  Another pause. They look at each other again, still more seriously

  than before.

  BROWN HAT. This coach is rather behind its time to-day, I guess.

  STRAW HAT. (Doubtingly.) Yes, sir.

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  BROWN HAT. (Looking at his watch.) Yes, sir; nigh upon two hours.

  STRAW HAT. (Raising his eyebrows in very great surprise.) Yes,

  sir!

  BROWN HAT. (Decisively, as he puts up his watch.) Yes, sir.

  ALL THE OTHER INSIDE PASSENGERS. (Among themselves.) Yes, sir.

  COACHM
AN. (In a very surly tone.) No it an't.

  STRAW HAT. (To the coachman.) Well, I don't know, sir. We were a

  pretty tall time coming that last fifteen mile. That's a fact.

  The coachman making no reply, and plainly declining to enter into

  any controversy on a subject so far removed from his sympathies and

  feelings, another passenger says, 'Yes, sir;' and the gentleman in

  the straw hat in acknowledgment of his courtesy, says 'Yes, sir,'

  to him, in return. The straw hat then inquires of the brown hat,

  whether that coach in which he (the straw hat) then sits, is not a

  new one? To which the brown hat again makes answer, 'Yes, sir.'

  STRAW HAT. I thought so. Pretty loud smell of varnish, sir?

  BROWN HAT. Yes, sir.

  ALL THE OTHER INSIDE PASSENGERS. Yes, sir.

  BROWN HAT. (To the company in general.) Yes, sir.

  The conversational powers of the company having been by this time

  pretty heavily taxed, the straw hat opens the door and gets out;

  and all the rest alight also. We dine soon afterwards with the

  boarders in the house, and have nothing to drink but tea and

  coffee. As they are both very bad and the water is worse, I ask

  for brandy; but it is a Temperance Hotel, and spirits are not to be

  had for love or money. This preposterous forcing of unpleasant

  drinks down the reluctant throats of travellers is not at all

  uncommon in America, but I never discovered that the scruples of

  such wincing landlords induced them to preserve any unusually nice

  balance between the quality of their fare, and their scale of

  charges: on the contrary, I rather suspected them of diminishing

  the one and exalting the other, by way of recompense for the loss

  of their profit on the sale of spirituous liquors. After all,

  perhaps, the plainest course for persons of such tender

  consciences, would be, a total abstinence from tavern-keeping.

  Dinner over, we get into another vehicle which is ready at the door

  (for the coach has been changed in the interval), and resume our

  journey; which continues through the same kind of country until

  evening, when we come to the town where we are to stop for tea and

  supper; and having delivered the mail bags at the Post-office, ride

  through the usual wide street, lined with the usual stores and

  houses (the drapers always having hung up at their door, by way of

  sign, a piece of bright red cloth), to the hotel where this meal is

  prepared. There being many boarders here, we sit down, a large

  party, and a very melancholy one as usual. But there is a buxom

  hostess at the head of the table, and opposite, a simple Welsh

  schoolmaster with his wife and child; who came here, on a

  speculation of greater promise than performance, to teach the

  classics: and they are sufficient subjects of interest until the

  meal is over, and another coach is ready. In it we go on once

  more, lighted by a bright moon, until midnight; when we stop to

  change the coach again, and remain for half an hour or so in a

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  miserable room, with a blurred lithograph of Washington over the

  smoky fire-place, and a mighty jug of cold water on the table: to

  which refreshment the moody passengers do so apply themselves that

  they would seem to be, one and all, keen patients of Dr. Sangrado.

  Among them is a very little boy, who chews tobacco like a very big

  one; and a droning gentleman, who talks arithmetically and

  statistically on all subjects, from poetry downwards; and who

  always speaks in the same key, with exactly the same emphasis, and

  with very grave deliberation. He came outside just now, and told

  me how that the uncle of a certain young lady who had been spirited

  away and married by a certain captain, lived in these parts; and

  how this uncle was so valiant and ferocious that he shouldn't

  wonder if he were to follow the said captain to England, 'and shoot

  him down in the street wherever he found him;' in the feasibility

  of which strong measure I, being for the moment rather prone to

  contradiction, from feeling half asleep and very tired, declined to

  acquiesce: assuring him that if the uncle did resort to it, or

  gratified any other little whim of the like nature, he would find

  himself one morning prematurely throttled at the Old Bailey: and

  that he would do well to make his will before he went, as he would

  certainly want it before he had been in Britain very long.

  On we go, all night, and by-and-by the day begins to break, and

  presently the first cheerful rays of the warm sun come slanting on

  us brightly. It sheds its light upon a miserable waste of sodden

  grass, and dull trees, and squalid huts, whose aspect is forlorn

  and grievous in the last degree. A very desert in the wood, whose

  growth of green is dank and noxious like that upon the top of

  standing water: where poisonous fungus grows in the rare footprint

  on the oozy ground, and sprouts like witches' coral, from the

  crevices in the cabin wall and floor; it is a hideous thing to lie

  upon the very threshold of a city. But it was purchased years ago,

  and as the owner cannot be discovered, the State has been unable to

  reclaim it. So there it remains, in the midst of cultivation and

  improvement, like ground accursed, and made obscene and rank by

  some great crime.

  We reached Columbus shortly before seven o'clock, and stayed there,

  to refresh, that day and night: having excellent apartments in a

  very large unfinished hotel called the Neill House, which were

  richly fitted with the polished wood of the black walnut, and

  opened on a handsome portico and stone verandah, like rooms in some

  Italian mansion. The town is clean and pretty, and of course is

  'going to be' much larger. It is the seat of the State legislature

  of Ohio, and lays claim, in consequence, to some consideration and

  importance.

  There being no stage-coach next day, upon the road we wished to

  take, I hired 'an extra,' at a reasonable charge to carry us to

  Tiffin; a small town from whence there is a railroad to Sandusky.

  This extra was an ordinary four-horse stage-coach, such as I have

  described, changing horses and drivers, as the stage-coach would,

  but was exclusively our own for the journey. To ensure our having

  horses at the proper stations, and being incommoded by no

  strangers, the proprietors sent an agent on the box, who was to

  accompany us the whole way through; and thus attended, and bearing

  with us, besides, a hamper full of savoury cold meats, and fruit,

  and wine, we started off again in high spirits, at half-past six

  o'clock next morning, very much delighted to be by ourselves, and

  disposed to enjoy even the roughest journey.

  It was well for us, that we were in this humour, for the road we

  went over that day, was certainly enough to have shaken tempers

  that were not resolutely at Set Fair, down to some inches below

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  Stormy. At one time we were all flung together in a hea
p at the

  bottom of the coach, and at another we were crushing our heads

  against the roof. Now, one side was down deep in the mire, and we

  were holding on to the other. Now, the coach was lying on the

  tails of the two wheelers; and now it was rearing up in the air, in

  a frantic state, with all four horses standing on the top of an

  insurmountable eminence, looking coolly back at it, as though they

  would say 'Unharness us. It can't be done.' The drivers on these

  roads, who certainly get over the ground in a manner which is quite

  miraculous, so twist and turn the team about in forcing a passage,

  corkscrew fashion, through the bogs and swamps, that it was quite a

  common circumstance on looking out of the window, to see the

  coachman with the ends of a pair of reins in his hands, apparently

  driving nothing, or playing at horses, and the leaders staring at

  one unexpectedly from the back of the coach, as if they had some

  idea of getting up behind. A great portion of the way was over

  what is called a corduroy road, which is made by throwing trunks of

  trees into a marsh, and leaving them to settle there. The very

  slightest of the jolts with which the ponderous carriage fell from

  log to log, was enough, it seemed, to have dislocated all the bones

  in the human body. It would be impossible to experience a similar

  set of sensations, in any other circumstances, unless perhaps in

  attempting to go up to the top of St. Paul's in an omnibus. Never,

  never once, that day, was the coach in any position, attitude, or

  kind of motion to which we are accustomed in coaches. Never did it

  make the smallest approach to one's experience of the proceedings

  of any sort of vehicle that goes on wheels.

  Still, it was a fine day, and the temperature was delicious, and

  though we had left Summer behind us in the west, and were fast

  leaving Spring, we were moving towards Niagara and home. We

  alighted in a pleasant wood towards the middle of the day, dined on

  a fallen tree, and leaving our best fragments with a cottager, and

  our worst with the pigs (who swarm in this part of the country like

  grains of sand on the sea-shore, to the great comfort of our

  commissariat in Canada), we went forward again, gaily.

  As night came on, the track grew narrower and narrower, until at

  last it so lost itself among the trees, that the driver seemed to

  find his way by instinct. We had the comfort of knowing, at least,

 

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