The Biographical Edition of the Works of Robert Louis Stevenson: Across the plains. 1937 PDF Download

Author: Robert Louis Stevenson
Publisher:
ISBN:
Category : Authors, English
Languages : en
Pages : 320

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Author: Robert Louis Stevenson
Publisher:
ISBN:
Category :
Languages : en
Pages :

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Author: Robert Louis Stevenson
Publisher:
ISBN:
Category : Scottish literature
Languages : en
Pages : 324

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Author: Robert Louis Stevenson
Publisher: Hardpress Publishing
ISBN: 9781314998689
Category : History
Languages : en
Pages : 326

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This is a reproduction of the original artefact. Generally these books are created from careful scans of the original. This allows us to preserve the book accurately and present it in the way the author intended. Since the original versions are generally quite old, there may occasionally be certain imperfections within these reproductions. We're happy to make these classics available again for future generations to enjoy!

Author: Robert Louis Stevenson
Publisher:
ISBN:
Category :
Languages : en
Pages : 0

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Author: Robert Louis Stevenson
Publisher:
ISBN:
Category : Authors, English
Languages : en
Pages : 288

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Author: Robert Louis Stevenson
Publisher:
ISBN:
Category : Authors, English
Languages : en
Pages : 376

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Author: Robert Louis Stevenson
Publisher:
ISBN:
Category : Scottish literature
Languages : en
Pages : 260

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Author: Robert Louis Stevenson
Publisher:
ISBN:
Category : Authors, English
Languages : en
Pages : 272

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Author: Robert Louis Stevenson
Publisher: YouHui Culture Publishing Company
ISBN:
Category : Fiction
Languages : en
Pages : 178

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CHAPTER I - 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.