Diary in America, Series Two

I was at Cincinnati some time after the explosion, and examined the wreck which still lay on the Ohio shore. After the report was drawn up it was discovered that the force of the explosion had been even greater than was supposed, and that portions of the engine and boilers had been thrown to a much greater distance. It is to be remarked, that Mr Woodbury’s report to Congress states from one hundred to one hundred and twenty persons as having been killed. Judge Hall, in the report of the committee, estimates it at one hundred and fifty; but there is reason to believe that the loss on this occasion, as well as in many others, was greater than even in the report of the committee. The fact is, it is almost impossible to state the loss on these occasions; the only data to go upon are the books in which the passengers’ names are taken down when the fare is paid, and this is destroyed. In a country like America, there are thousands of people unknown to anybody, migrating here and there, seeking the Far West to settle in; they come and go, and nobody knows anything of them; there might have been one hundred more of them on board the Moselle at the time that she exploded; and as I heard from Captain Pearce, the harbour-master, and others, it is believed that such was the case, and that many more were destroyed than was at first supposed.

The American steam-boats are very different from ours in appearance, in consequence of the engines being invariably on deck. The decks also are carried out many feet wider on each side than the hull of the vessel, to give space; these additions to the deck aye called guards. The engine being on the first deck, there is a second deck for the passengers, state-rooms, and saloons; and above this deck there is another, covered with a white awning. They have something the appearance of two-deckers, and when filled with company, the variety of colours worn by the ladies have a very novel and pleasing effect. The boats which run from New York to Boston, and up the Hudson river to Albany, are very splendid vessels; they have low-pressure engines, are well commanded, and I never heard of any accident of any importance taking place; their engines are also very superior—one on board of the Narangassett, with a horizontal stroke, was one of the finest I ever saw. On the Mississippi, Ohio, and their tributary rivers, the high-pressure engine is invariably used; they have tried the low-pressure, but have found that it will not answer, in consequence of the great quantity of mud contained in solution on the waters of the Mississippi, which destroys all the valves and leathers; and this is the principal cause of the many accidents which take place. At the same time it must be remembered, that there is a recklessness—an indifference to life—shown throughout all America; which is rather a singular feature, inasmuch as it extends East as well as West. It can only be accounted for by the insatiate pursuit of gain among a people who consider that time is money, and who are blinded by their eagerness in the race for it, added to that venturous spirit so naturally imbibed in a new country, at the commencement of its occupation. It is communicated to the other sex, who appear equally indifferent. The Moselle had not been blown up two hours, before the other steamboats were crowded with women, who followed their relations on business or pleasure, up and down the river. “Go a-head,” is the motto of the country; both sexes join in the cry; and they do go a-head—that’s a fact!

I was amused with a story told me by an American gentleman: a steamboat caught fire on the Mississippi, and the passengers had to jump overboard and save themselves by swimming. One of those reckless characters, a gambler, who, was on board, having apparently a very good idea of his own merits, went aft, and before he leapt overboard, cried out, “Now, gallows, claim your own!”

The attention of the American legislature has at length been directed to the want of security in steam navigation; and in July, 1838, an act was passed to provide for the better security of the passengers. Many of the clauses are judicious, especially as far as the inspecting of them is regulated; but that of iron chains or rods for tiller ropes is not practicable on a winding river, and will be the occasion of many disasters. Had they ordered the boats to be provided with iron chains or rods, to be used as preventive wheel-ropes, it would have answered the purpose. In case of fire they could easily be hooked on; but to steer with them in tide-ways and rapid turns is almost impossible. The last clause, No. 13, (page 170, Report) is too harsh, as a flue may collapse at any time, without any want of care or skill on the part of the builders or those on board.

It is to be hoped that some good effects will be produced by this act of the legislature. At present, it certainly is more dangerous to travel one week in America than to cross the Atlantic a dozen times. The number of lives lost in one year by accidents in steam boats, rail-roads, and coaches, was estimated, in a periodical which I read in America, at one thousand seven hundred and fifty.

Volume One—Chapter Four

Travelling

To one who has been accustomed to the extortion of the inns and hotels in England, and the old continent, nothing at first is more remarkable than to find that there are more remains of the former American purity of manners and primitive simplicity to be observed in their establishments for the entertainment of man and horse, than in any portion of public or private life. Such is the case, and the causes of the anomaly are to be explained.

I presume that the origin of hotels and inns has been much the same in all countries. At first the solitary traveller is received, welcomed, and hospitably entertained; but, as the wayfarers multiply, what was at first a pleasure becomes a tax. For instance, let us take Western Virginia, through which the first irruption to the Far West may be said to have taken place. At first every one was received and accommodated by those who had settled there; but as this gradually became inconvenient, not only from interfering with their domestic privacy, but from their not being prepared to meet the wants of the travellers, the inhabitants of any small settlement met together and agreed upon one of them keeping the house of reception; this was not done with a view of profit, the travellers being only charged the actual value of the articles consumed. Such is still the case in many places in the Far West; a friend of mine told me that he put up at the house of a widow woman; he supped, slept, had his breakfast, and his horse was also well supplied. When he was leaving, he inquired what he had to pay, the woman replied—, “Well, if I don’t charge something, I suppose you will be affronted. Give me a shilling;” a sum not sufficient to pay for the horse’s corn.

The American innkeeper, therefore, is still looked upon in the light of your host; he and his wife sit at the head of the table-d’hôte at meal times; when you arrive he greets you with a welcome, shaking your hand; if you arrive in company with those who know him, you are introduced to him; he is considered on a level with you; you meet him in the most respectable companies, and it is but justice to say that, in most instances, they are a very respectable portion of society. Of course, his authority, like that of the captains of the steam-boats, is undisputed; indeed the captains of these boats may be partly considered as classed under the same head.

This is one of the most pleasing features in American society, and I think it is likely to last longer than most others in this land of change, because it is upheld by public opinion, which is so despotic. The mania for travelling, among the people of the United States, renders it most important that every thing connected with locomotion should be well arranged; society demands it, public opinion enforces it, and therefore, with few exceptions, it is so. The respect shown to the master of a hotel induces people of the highest character to embark in the profession; the continual streams of travellers which pours through the country, gives sufficient support by moderate profits, to enable the innkeeper to abstain from excessive charges; the price of every thing is known by all, and no more is charged to the President of the United States than to other people. Every one knows his expenses; there is no surcharge, and fees to waiters are voluntary, and never asked for. At first I used to examine the bill when presented, but latterly I looked only at the sum total at the bottom and paid it at once, reserving the examination of it for my leisure, and never in one instance found that I had been imposed upon. This is very remarkable, and shows the force of public opinion in America; for it can produce, when required, a very scarce article all over the world, and still more scarce in the profession referred to, Honesty. Of course there will be exceptions, but they are very few, and chiefly confined to the cities. I shall refer to them afterwards, and at the same time to some peculiarities, which I must not omit to point out, as they affect society. Let me first describe the interior arrangements of a first-rate American hotel.

The building is very spacious, as may be imagined when I state that in the busy times, from one hundred and fifty to two, or even three hundred, generally sit down at the dinner-table. The upper stories contain an immense number of bed-rooms, with their doors opening upon long corridors, with little variety in their furniture and arrangement, except that some are provided with large beds for married people, and others with single beds. The basement of the building contains the dinner-room, of ample dimensions, to receive the guests, who at the sound of a gong rush in, and in a few minutes have finished their repast. The same room is appropriated to breakfast and supper. In most hotels there is but one dining-room, to which ladies and gentlemen both repair, but in the more considerable, there is a smaller dining-room for the ladies and their connexions who escort them. The ladies have also a large parlour to retire to; the gentlemen have the reading-room, containing some of the principal newspapers, and the Bar, of which hereafter. If a gentleman wants to give a dinner to a private party in any of these large hotels, he can do it; or if a certain number of families join together, they may also eat in a separate room (this is frequently done at Washington;) but if a traveller wishes to seclude himself à l’Anglaise, and dine in his own room, he must make up his mind to fare very badly, and, moreover, if he is a foreigner, he will give great offence, and be pointed out as an aristocrat—almost as serious a charge with the majority in the United States, as it was in France during the Revolution.

The largest hotels in the United States are Astor House, New York; Tremont House, Boston; Mansion house, Philadelphia; the hotels at West Point, and at Buffalo; but it is unnecessary to enumerate them all. The two pleasantest, are the one at West Point, which was kept by Mr Cozens, and that belonging to Mr Head, the Mansion House at Philadelphia; but the latter can scarcely be considered as a hotel, not only because Mr Head is, and always was, a gentleman with whom it is a pleasure to associate, but because he is very particular in whom he receives, and only gentlemen are admitted. It is more like a private club than any thing else I can compare it to, and I passed some of my pleasantest time in America at his establishment, and never bid farewell to him or his sons, or the company, without regret. There are some hotels in New York upon the English system: the Globe is the best, and I always frequented it; and there is an excellent French restaurateur’s (Delmonico’s).

Of course, where the population and traffic are great, and the travellers who pass through numerous, the hotels are large and good; where, on the contrary, the road is less and less frequented, so do they decrease in importance, size, and respectability, until you arrive at the farm-house entertainment of Virginia and Kentucky; the grocery, or mere grog-shop, or the log-house of the Far West. The way-side inns are remarkable for their uniformity; the furniture of the bar-room is invariably the same: a wooden clock, map of the United States, map of the State, the Declaration of Independence, a looking-glass, with a hair-brush and comb hanging to it by strings, pro bono publico; sometimes with the extra embellishment of one or two miserable pictures, such as General Jackson scrambling upon a horse, with fire or steam coming out of his nostrils, going to the battle of New Orleans, etcetera, etcetera.

He who is of the silver-fork school, will not find much comfort out of the American cities and large towns. There are no neat, quiet little inns, as in England. It is all the “rough and tumble” system, and when you stop at humble inns you must expect to eat peas with a two-pronged fork, and to sit down to meals with people whose exterior is any thing but agreeable, to attend upon yourself, and to sleep in a room in which there are three or four other beds; (I have slept in one with nearly twenty,) most of them carrying double, even if you do not have a companion in your own.

A New York friend of mine travelling in an Extra with his family, told me that at a western inn he had particularly requested that he might not have a bed-fellow, and was promised that he should not. On his retiring, he found his bed already occupied, and he went down to the landlady, and expostulated. “Well,” replied she, “it’s only your own driver; I thought you wouldn’t mind him.”

Another gentleman told me, that having arrived at a place called Snake’s Hollow, on the Mississippi, the bed was made on the kitchen-floor, and the whole family and travellers, amounting in all to seventeen, of all ages and both sexes, turned into the same bed altogether. Of course this must be expected in a new country, and is a source of amusement, rather than of annoyance.

I must now enter into a very important question, which is that of eating and drinking. Mr Cooper, in his remarks upon his own countrymen, says, very ill-naturedly—“The Americans are the grossest feeders of any civilised nation known. As a nation, their food is heavy, coarse, and indigestible, while it is taken in the least artificial forms that cookery will allow. The predominance of grease in the American kitchen, coupled with the habits of hearty eating, and of constant expectoration, are the causes of the diseases of the stomach which are so common in America.”

This is not correct. The cookery in the United States is exactly what it is and must be every where else—in a ratio with the degree of refinement of the population. In the principal cities, you will meet with as good cookery in private houses as you will in London, or even Paris; indeed, considering the great difficulty which the Americans have to contend with, from the almost impossibility of obtaining good servants, I have often been surprised that it is so good as it is. At Delmonico’s, and the Globe Hotel at New York, where you dine from the Carte, you have excellent French cookery; so you have at Astor House, particularly at private parties; and, generally speaking, the cooking at all the large hotels may be said to be good; indeed, when it is considered that the American table-d’hôte has to provide for so many people, it is quite surprising how well it is done. The daily dinner, at these large hotels, is infinitely superior to any I have ever sat down to at the public entertainments given at the Free-Masons’ Tavern, and others in London, and the company is usually more numerous. The bill of fare of the table-d’hôte of the Astor House is printed every day. I have one with me which I shall here insert, to prove that the eating is not so bad in America as described by Mr Cooper.

There are some trifling points relative to eating which I shall not remark upon until I speak of society, as they will there be better placed. Of course, as you advance into the country, and population recedes, you run through all the scale of cookery until you come to the “corn bread, and common doings,” (i.e. bread made of Indian meal, and fat pork,) in the Far West. In a new country, pork is more easily raised than any other meat, and the Americans eat a great deal of pork, which renders the cooking in the small taverns very greasy; with the exception of the Virginian farm taverns, where they fry chickens without grease in a way which would be admired by Ude himself; but this is a State receipt, handed down from generation to generation, and called chicken fixings. The meat in America is equal to the best in England; Miss Martineau does indeed say that she never ate good beef during the whole time she was in this country; but she also says that an American stage-coach is the most delightful of all conveyances, and a great many other things, which I may hereafter quote, to prove the idiosyncracy of the lady’s disposition; so we will let that pass, with the observation that there is no accounting for taste. The American markets in the cities are well supplied. I have been in the game market, at New York, and seen at one time nearly three hundred head of deer, with quantities of bear, racoons, wild turkeys, geese, ducks, and every variety of bird in countless profusion. Bear I abominate; racoon is pretty good. The wild turkey is excellent; but the great delicacies in America are the terrapin, and the canvas-back ducks. To like the first I consider as rather an acquired taste. I decidedly prefer the turtle, which are to be had in plenty, all the year round; but the canvas-back duck is certainly well worthy of its reputation. Fish is well supplied. They have the sheep’s head, shad, and one or two others, which we have not. Their salmon is not equal to ours, and they have no turbot. Pine-apples, and almost all the tropical fruits, are hawked about in carts in the Eastern cities; but I consider the fruit of the temperate zone, such as grapes, peaches, etcetera, inferior to the English. Oysters are very plentiful, very large, and, to an English palate, rather insipid. As the Americans assert that the English and French oysters taste of copper, and that therefore they cannot eat them, I presume they do; and that’s the reason why we do not like the American oysters, copper being better than no flavour at all.

I think, after this statement, that the English will agree with me that there are plenty of good things for the table in America; but the old proverb says, “God sends meat, and the devil sends cooks;” and such is, and unfortunately must be, the case for a long while, in most of the houses in America, owing to the difficulty of obtaining, or keeping servants. But I must quit the subject of eating, for one of much more importance in America, which is that of drinking.

I always did consider that the English and the Swiss were the two nations who most indulged in potations; but on my arrival in the United States, I found that our descendants, in this point most assuredly, as they fain would be thought to do in all others, surpassed us altogether.

Impartiality compels me to acknowledge the truth; we must, in this instance, submit to a national defeat. There are many causes for this: first, the heat of the climate, next the coldness of the climate, then the changeableness of the climate; add to these, the cheapness of liquor in general, the early disfranchisement of the youth from all parental control, the temptation arising from the bar and association, and, lastly, the pleasantness, amenity, and variety of the potations.

Reasons, therefore, are as plentiful as blackberries, and habit becomes second nature.

To run up the whole catalogue of the indigenous compounds in America, from “iced water” to a “stone fence,” or “streak of lightning,” would fill a volume; I shall first speak of foreign importations.

The Port in America is seldom good; the climate appears not to agree with the wine. The quantity of Champagne drunk is enormous, and would absorb all the vintage of France, were it not that many hundred thousand bottles are consumed more than are imported.

The small state of New Jersey has the credit of supplying the American Champagne, which is said to be concocted out of turnip juice, mixed with brandy and honey. It is a pleasant and harmless drink, a very good imitation, and may be purchased at six or seven dollars a dozen. I do not know what we shall do when America fills up, if the demand for Champagne should increase in proportion to the population; we had better drink all we can now.

Claret, and the other French wines, do very well in America, but where the Americans beat us out of the field is in their Madeira, which certainly is of a quality which we cannot procure in England. This is owing to the extreme heat and cold of the climate, which ripens this wine; indeed, I may almost say, that I never tasted good Madeira, until I arrived in the United States. The price of wines, generally speaking, is very high, considering what a trifling duty is paid, but the price of good Madeira is surprising. There are certain brands, which if exposed to public auction, will be certain to fetch from twelve to twenty, and I have been told even forty dollars a bottle. I insert a list of the wines at Astor House, to prove that there is no exaggeration in what I have asserted. Even in this list of a tavern, the reader will find that the best Madeira is as high as twelve dollars a bottle, and the list is curious from the variety which it offers.

But the Americans do not confine themselves to foreign wines or liquors; they have every variety at home, in the shape of compounds, such as mint-julep and its varieties; slings in all their varieties; cocktails, but I really cannot remember, or if I could, it would occupy too much time to mention the whole battle array against one’s brains. I must, however, descant a little upon the mint-julep; as it is, with the thermometer at 100 degrees, one of the most delightful and insinuating potations that ever was invented, and may be drank with equal satisfaction when the thermometer is as low as 70 degrees. There are many varieties, such as those composed of Claret, Madeira, etcetera; but the ingredients of the real mint-julep are as follows. I learnt how to make them, and succeeded pretty well. Put into a tumbler about a dozen sprigs of the tender shoots of mint, upon them put a spoonful of white sugar, and equal proportions of peach and common brandy, so as to fill it up one third, or perhaps a little less. Then take rasped or pounded ice, and fill up the tumbler. Epicures rub the lips of the tumbler with a piece of fresh pine-apple, and the tumbler itself is very often incrusted outside with stalactites of ice. As the ice melts, you drink. I once overheard two ladies talking in the next room to me, and one of them said, “Well, we have a weakness for any one thing, it is for a mint-julep—” a very amiable weakness, and proving her good sense and good taste. They are, in fact, like the American ladies, irresistible.

The Virginians claim the merit of having invented this superb compound, but I must dispute it for my own country, although it has been forgotten of late. In the times of Charles the First and Second it must have been known, for Milton expressly refers to it in his Comus:—

“Behold the cordial julep—hereWhich flames and dances in its crystal boundsWith spirits of balm and fragrant syrups mixed.Not that Nepenthes, which the wife of ThoneIn Egypt gave to Jove-born HelenaIs of such power to stir up joy like this,To life so friendly, or so cool to thirst.”

If that don’t mean mint-julep, I don’t know the English language.

The following lines, however, which I found in an American newspaper, dates its origin very far back, even to the period when the heathen gods were not at a discount as they are now.

Origin of Mint-Julep’Tis said that the gods, on Olympus of old,(And who, the bright legend profanes, with a doubt,)One night, ’mid their revels, by Bacchus were toldThat his last butt of nectar had somewhat run out!But determined to send round the goblet once more,They sued to the fairer immortals—for aidIn composing a draught which, till drinking were o’er,Should cast every wine ever drank in the shade.Grave Cerce herself blithely yielded her corn,And the spirit that lives in each amber-hued grain,And which first had its birth from the dews of the morn,Was taught to steal out in bright dew drops again.Pomona, whose choicest of fruits on the board,Were scattered profusely in every one’s reach,When called on a tribute to cull from the board,Expressed the mild juice of the delicate peach.The liquids were mingled while Venus looked onWith glances so fraught with sweet-magical power,That the honey of Ilybla, e’en when they were gone,Has never been missed in the draught from that hour.Flora, then, from her bosom of fragrance shook,And with roseate fingers pressed down in the bowl,As dripping and fresh as it came from the brook,The herb whose aroma should flavour the whole.The draught was delicious, each god did exclaim,Though something yet wanting they all did bewail,But Julep the drink of immortals became,When Jove himself added a handful of hail.

I have mentioned the principal causes to which must be assigned the propensity to drink, so universal in America. This is an undeniable fact, asserted by every other writer, acknowledged by the Americans themselves in print, and proved by the labours of their Temperance Societies. It is not confined to the lower classes, but pervades the whole mass: of course, where there is most refinement, there is less intoxication, and in the Southern and Western States, it is that the custom of drinking is most prevalent.