i ON A glCYCLE ROM SAN FRANCISCO TO TEHERAN .^F JM (//t Jf^ /Z^ 3tl;ata, Hew ^arh CHARLES WILLIAM WASON COLLECTION CHINA AND THE CHINESE THE GIFT OF CHARLES WILLIAM WASON CLASS OF 1876 1918 Cornell University Library The original of this book is in the Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924023253093 Cornell University Library G 440.S84 ^Around the world on a bicvd^^^ 3 1924 023 253 093 FROM SAK FRANCISCO TO TEHERAN LONDON : GILBERT AND RIVINGTON, LIMITED, ST. John's house, clerkenwell road, e.c. ABOUND ^IHE WOELD ON A BICYCLE BY THOMAS STEVENS FEOM SAN FEANCISCO TO TEHEEAN WITH OVER ONE HUNDRED ILLUSTRATIONS EonWon SAMPSON LOW, MAESTOX, SEAELE, AND EIVINGTON CROWN BDILDINGS, 188, FLEET STREET 1887 [^AU rights reserved'] (^ K' I y I U f; ( T r COLONEL ALBERT A. POPE, OF BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS, "WHOSE LIBEEAL SPIBIT OF ENTEKPEISE, AMD GENEEOUS CONFIDENCE IN THE INTEGRITY AND ABILITY OF THE ATJTHOH. MADE THE TOTJB AEOimD THE WORLD ON A BICYCLE POSSIBLE, BY UNSTINTED FINANCIAL PATRONAGE, IS THIS VOLUME RESFECTFULLY DEDICATED. PREFACE. Shaxespeaee says, in AWs Wdl that Ends Well, that " a good traveller is something at the latter end of a dinner ; " and I never was more struck with the truth of this than when I heard Mr. Thomas Stevens, after the dinner given in his honor by the Massachusetts Bicycle Club, make a brief, off- hand report of his adventures. He seemed like Jules Verne, telling his own wonderful performances, or like a contemporary Sinbad the Sailor. We found that modern mechanical inven- tion, instead of disenchanting the universe, had really afforded the means of exploring its marvels the more surely. Instead of going round the world with a rifle, for the purpose of kill- ing something, — or with a bundle of tracts, in order to convert somebody, — this bold youth simply went round the globe to see the people who were on it ; and since he always had something to show them as interesting as anything that they could show him, he made his way among all nations. What he had to show them was not merely a man perched on a lofty wheel, as if riding on a soap-bubble ; but he was also a perpetual object-lesson in what Holmes calls " genuine, solid old Teutonic pluck." When the soldier rides into danger he has comrades by his side, his country's cause to defend, his uniform to vindicate, and the bugle to cheer him on ; but this solitary rider had neither military station, nor an oath of alle- giance, nor comrades, nor bugle ; and he went among men of Vill PREFACE. unknown languages, alien habits and hostile faith with only his own tact and courage to help him through. They proved sufficient, for he returned alive. I have only read specimen chapters of this book, but find in them the same simple and manly quality which attracted us all when Mr. Stevens told his story in person. It is pleasant to know that while peace reigns in America, a young man can always find an opportunity to take his life in his hand and orig.^ inate some exploit as good as those of the much-wandering Ulysses. In the German story " Titan," Jean Paul describes a manly youth who " longed for an adventure for his idle brav- ery ; " and it is pleasant to read the narrative of one who has quietly gone to work, in an honest way, to satisfy this longing. Thomas Wentwokth Higginson. Cambeidge, Mass. , April 10, 1887. CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. PAGE Over the Siereas Nevadas, 1 CHAPTER II. OvEK THE Deserts of Nevada, . , 31 CHAPTER III. Through Mormon-Land and over the Rookies, .... 46 CHAPTER IV. From the Great Plains to the Atlantic, • .... 70 CHAPTER V. From America to the German Frontier, 91 CHAPTER VI. Germany, Austria, and Hungary, 131 CHAPTER VII. Through Slavonia and Servla, 153 CHAPTER VIII. BULGARLl, ROUMELIA, AND INTO TURKEY, 184 X CONTENTS. CHAPTER rX. PAGE Through European Turkey, 315 CHAPTER X The Start through Asia, 251 CHAPTER XL On through Asia, 263 CHAPTER XU. Through the Angora Goat Country, 279 CHAPTER Xni. Bey Bazaar, Angora, and Eastward, 307 CHAPTER XIV. Across the Kizil Irmatc Riter to Tuzgat, 338 CHAPTER XV. From the Koordish Camp to Yuzqat, 351 CHAPTER XVL Through the Sivas Vilayet into Armenia, 368 CHAPTER XVII. Through Erzingan and Erzeroum, 397 CHAPTER XVIII. Mount Ararat and Koordistan, .... . 430 CONTENTS. XI CHAPTER XIX. PAGE Persia and the Tabreez Caravan Trail, 455 CHAPTER XX. Tabreez to Teheran, 486 CHAPTER XXL Teheran, , . . 517 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. PAGE PoKTKAiT OF THOMAS STEVENS Frontispiece. The Stabt, 3 The BuBNiifG Tuiles 5 Crossing the Sibrea Nbvadas, 14 In the Central Pacific Snow-sheds, 18 The "Forty-Mile Desert," ... .... 26 The Piute's Header, . . 32 Ugh ! What Is It ? 35 Bncoctnter wtth a Mountain Lion, 41 A Stampede of Wild Mustangs, 49 A Fair Young Mormon 53 A Tough Bit of Country, 58 Fishing Out My Clothes, 67 The First Homestead 71 Geemaity Transplanted, 77 Jumbo Comes Out to Meet Me, 81 Amenities of the Brie Tow-path, 87 The Starley Memorial, Coventry, 98 Resting in an English Village, 99 XIV LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. The Dieppe Milkman, 103 The Champs Eltseb at 10 p.m., Ill A Glimpse of Medieval France, 115 Borrowed Plumage 135 Whitsuntide in Bavaria, 132 The Barber op M(3lk, 140 Charming Presburg, 143 The Slavonian Shepherds, 157 A Belle of the Balkans, 175 Sunday at Bela Palanka 177 The Zaribrod Passport Office, , , 181 Meeting the "Bulgarian Express," 191 Turkish Amenities, . . 300 On the Minaret with the Muezzin, . . . 310 " Are You an English Baron ? " . . ... 213 " And Makes a Grab for Mt Revolver," 318 Almost Pursuaded to be a Christian, 226 "Play 'Yankee Doodle,'" said the Pasha, .... 230 Constantinople Fire Laddies, . . . « . . . 233 Prinkipo the Beautiful, . . 345 Bicycle Tent, ... 247 A Notice of My Journey in the Sultan's Official Organ, . 249 Osmanli Pilgrims, 354 My Bill of Fare, 359 Greeks Enjoying Themselves, 36i LIST OF ILLUSTRATIOJS^S. XV A Circassian Refugee, . 264 Sabanjans Wobrting Me to Ride, 267 Down the Sakaria, .- ... 271 Lively Times, 285 A Faithful Guardian . 291 The Byways op Asia Minor, 297 Early Morning Callers, 299 A Quarry of Startled Dears, 303 Serenaded by Turkish Dandies, 313 Racing with the Zaptibh, 819 Angora Water- works 323 Genuine Bkmek, 332 The Unspeakable Oriental, 834 A Sketch on the Kizil Irmak, 339 Grapes and Grace, 343 Camping Out, 345 The Contemplative Young Man , . 354 My Xuzgat Audience, 365 An Armenian Family Reunion, 369 Slightly Armed, . 370 A Harem Beauty, 382 The Vali on Floor with Map 383 Armenian Hospitality, , 387 At Kikkor-agha Vartarian's, 388 Apprehensive of Danger, 391 XVI LIST OP tLLTJSTBATIONS. PAGE The Armenian Egg-spoon, 398 The Native Idea of Butteb, 403 "Stand and Deliver J" 404 The Pasha -was Plating Chess, 408 "A Russian, AM I?" 412 Wantonly Assaulted, 422 "Undisturbed" Eepose, 423 A Suspicious Offer of Protection, 425 Well Guarded at Lunch, i . .... 438 The Persistent Son is Shoved into the Water, . . . 441 EiDiNG fob the Pasha Khan's Ladies 443 An Evbry-dat Occurrence, . 446 Politeness in a Koobdish Tent, 447 Explaining England's Friendly Offices 450 KooRDisH Highwaymen, 453 " Limp as a Dish-rag," ^ . , 457 Doing the Agreeable 459 Taking a Drink, 403 The Patriotic Moonshi-Bashi, 4(55 A Yankee Artist's Idea of Dervishes, 4g7 Hassan Khan Takes a Lesson, 47q The Maitah-jee Surprised, 47g The Khan-jee Escapes through the Window 477 "Take the Horse and Leave the Bicycle," .... 479 Persian Katik-jees Differ, . . . . ^ . . . 434 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. Xvii PAGE They Swoop Down on Mb from the Reae 487 The Valiat Gives Me a Race, 489 Like a CoKYPHfeE with Hand Aloft, 495 The Bridgbless Streams op Asia, 498 Midnight Intruders, 500 Firing over their Heads, 505 Passing a Camei, Caravan . 507 Persian " Lutis," or Buffoons, .... . . 509 Entering the Teheran Gate, 516 The Shah's Foot-runners, 519 Soldiers Clearing my Road, 623 The Shah Escorts Mb to Dohan Tepe, 525 The Shah shows Mb his Menagerie, 537 The Naib-i-Sultan Smiles Approvingly, 531 The Old Pomegranate Vender Wants Me to Give Chase, . 537 Ayoob Khan and His Attendant, 545 FROM SAN FRANCISCO TO TEHERAN. CHAPTEE I. OVER THE SIEREAS NEVADAS. The beauties of nature are scattered with a more lavish hand across the country lying between the summit of the Sierra Nevada Mountains and the shores where the surf romps and rolls over the auriferous sands of the Pacific, in Golden Gate Park, than in a journey of the same length in any other part of the world. Such, at least, is the verdict of many whose fortune it has been to traverse that favored stretch of country. Nothing but the lim- ited power of man's eyes prevents him from standing on the top of the mountains and surveying, at a glance, the whole glorious pan- orama that stretches away for more than two hundred miles to the west, terminating in the gleaming waters of the Pacific Ocean. Could he do this, he would behold, for the first seventy-five or eighty miles, a vast, billowy sea of foot-hUls, clothed with forests of sombre pine and bright, evergreen oaks ; and, lower down, dense patches of white-blossomed chaparral, looking in the en- chanted distance like irregular banks of snow. Then the world- renowned valley of the Sacramento Eiver, with its level plains of dark, rich soil, its matchless fields of ripening grain, traversed here and there by streams that, emerging from the shadowy depths of the foot-hUIs, wind their way, like gleaming threads of silver, across the fertile plain and join the Sacramento, which receives them, one and all, in her matronly bosom and hurries with them on to the sea. Towns and villages, with white church-spires, irregularly sprin- kled over hill and vale, as though sown like seeds from the giant 2 FKOM SAN FRANCISCO TO TEIIEUAN. hand of a mighty Imsbanclman, would be seen nestling snugly amid groves of waving shade and semi-tropical fniit trees. Beyond all this the lower coast-range, where, toward San Francisco, Mount Diablo and Mount Tamalpais — grim sentinels of the Golden Gate — rear their shaggy heads skyward, and seem to look down with a patronizing air upon the less pretentious hills that border the coast and reflect their shadows in the blue water of San Fran- cisco Bay. Upon the sloping sides of these hills sweet, nutritious grasses grow, upon which peacefully graze the cows that supply San Francisco with mUk and butter. Various attempts have been made from time to time, by am- bitious cj'clers, to wheel across America from ocean to ocean ; but — " Around the World 1 " " The impracticable scheme of a visionary," was the most chari- table verdict one could reasonably have expected. The first essential element of success, however, is to have suf- ficient confidence in one's self to brave the criticisms — ^to say noth- ing of the witticisms — of a sceptical public. So eight o'clock on the morning of April 22, 1884, finds me and my fifty-inch machine on the deck of the Alameda, one of the splendid ferry-boats plying between San Francisco and Oakland, and a ride of four miles over the sparkling waters of the bay lands us, twenty-eight ruin- utes later, on the Oakland jiier, that juts far enough out to allow the big ferries to enter the slip in deep water. On the beauties of San Francisco B.iy it is, perhaps, needless to dwell, as every- body has heard or read of this magnificent sheet of water, its sur- face flecked with snowy sails, and surrounded by a beautiful framework of evergreen hills ; its only outlet to the ocean the fa- mous Golden Gate — a narrow channel through which come and go the ships of all nations. With the hearty well-wishing of a small grou]D of Oakland and 'Frisco cyclers who have come, out of cm-iosity, to see the start, I mount and ride away to the east, down San Pablo Avenue, toward the village of the same Spanish name, some sixteen miles distant. Tlie first seven miles are a sort of half-macadamized road, and I bowl briskly along. The past winter has been the rainiest since 1857, and the con- tinuous pelting rains had not beaten down upon the last half of this imperfect macadam in vain ; for it has left it a surface of wave-like undulations, from out of which the frequent bowlder OVER THE SIERRAS NEVADAS. 3 protrudes its unwelcome head, as if ambitiously striving to soar above its lowly surroundings. But this one don't mind, and I am perfectly willing to put up with the bowlders for the sake of the undulations. The sensation of riding a small boat over " the gently-heaving waves of the murmuring sea " is, I think, one of the pleasures of life ; and the nest thing to it is riding a bicycle over The Start. the last three miles of the San Pablo Avenue macadam as I found it on that AprU morning. The wave-like macadam abruptly terminates, and I find myself on a common dirt road. It is a fair road, however, and I have plenty of time to look about and admire whatever bits of scenery happen to come in view. There are few spots in the "Golden State " from which views of more or less beauty are not to be ob- tained ; and ere I am a baker's dozen of miles from Oakland pier I Si 4 FnOM SAN FRANCISCO TO TEHERAN. find myself within an ace of taking an undesirable header into a ditch of water by the road-side, while looking upon a scene that for the moment completely wins me from my immediate surround- ings. There is nothing particularly grand or imposing in the out- look here ; but the late rains have clothed the whole smiling face of nature with a bright, refreshing green, that fails not to awaken a thiill of pleasure in the breast of one fresh from the verdureless streets of a large sea-port city. Broad fields of pale-green, thrifty- looking young wheat, and darker-hued meads, stretch away on either side of the road ; and away beyond to the left, through an opening in the hills, can be seen, as through a window, the placid waters of the bay, over whose glittering, sunlit surface white- winged, aristocratic yachts and the plebeian smacks of Greek and Italian fishermen swiftly glide, and fairly vie with each other in giving the finishing touches to a picture. So far, the road continues level and fairly good ; and, notwith- standing the seductive pleasures of the ride over the bounding bil- lows of the gently heaving macadam, the dalliance with the scenery, and the all too fi-equent dismounts in deference to the objections of phantom-eyed roadsters, I puUed up at San Pablo at ten o'clock, having covered the sixteen miles in one hour and thii-ty-two minutes ; though, of course, there is nothing speedy about this — to which desii-able qualification, indeed, I lay no claim. Soon after leaving San Pablo the country gets somewhat " choppy," and the road a succession of short-hills, at the bottom of which modest-looking mud-holes patiently await an opportunity to make one's acquaintance, or scraggy-looking, latitudinous wash- outs are awaiting their chance to commit a murder, or to make the unwaiy cycler who should ventm-e to "coast," think he had wheeled over the tail of an eai-thquake. One never minds a hiUv road where one can reach the bottom with an impetus that sends him spinning half-way up the nest ; but where mud-holes or wash- outs resolutely " hold the fort " in every depression, it is different and the progress of the cycler is necessarily slow. I have set upon reaching Suisun, a point fifty mUes alone the Central Pacific EaUway, to-night ; but the roads after leavin"- San Pablo -are anything but good, and the day is warm, so six p ^r finds me trudging along an unridable piece of road throu"h the low tuile swamps that border Suisun Bay. " Tuile " is the name ovEi; THE siei;i:as nevadas. given to a species of tall raiilc grass, or ratber rush, that grows to the lieight of eight or ten feet, and so thick in places that it is diffi- The Burning Tuiles. cult to pass through, in the low, swampy grounds in this part of CaliforDia. These tuile swamps are traversed by a net-work of 6 FROM SAN FRANCISCO TO TEHERAN. small, sluggish streams and sloughs, that fairly swarm with wild ducks and geese, and justly entitle them to their local title of "the duck-hunters' paradise." Ere I am through this swamp, the shades of night gather ominously around and settle down like a pall over the half-flooded flats ; the road is fuU of mud-holes and pools of water, through which it is difficult to navigate, and I am in some- thing of a quandary. I am sweeping along at the irresistible ve- locity of a mile an hour, and wondering how far it is to the other end of the swampy road, when thrice welcome succor appears from a strange and altogether unexpected source. I had noticed a small fire, twinkling through the darkness away off in the swamp ; and now the wind rises and the flames of the small fire spread to the thick patches of dead tuile. In a short time the whole country, in- cluding my road, is lit up by the fierce glare of the blaze ; so that I am enabled to proceed with Httle trouble. These tuiles often catch on fire in the fall and early winter, when everything is comparatively dry, and fairly rival the prairie fires of the Western plains in the fierceness of the flames. The next morning I start off in a drizzling rain, and, after going sixteen mUes, I have to remain for the day at Elmira. Here, among other items of interest, I learn that twenty miles farther ahead the Sacramento Kiver is flooding the country, and the only way I can hope to get through is to take to the Central Pacific track and cross over the six mUes of open trestle-work that spans the Sacramento Eiver and its broad bottom-lands, that are subject to the annual spring overflow. Prom Elmira my way leads through a fruit and farming country that is called second to none in the world. Magnificent farms line the road ; at short intervals appear large well-kept vineyards, in which gangs of Chinese coolies ai-e hoeing and pulling weeds, and otherwise keeping trim. A profu- sion of peach, pear, and almond orchards enhvens the landscape with a wealth of pink and white blossoms, and fills the balmy spring air with a subtle, sensuous perfume that savors of a tropical chme. Already I realize that there is going to be as much " foot-riding '' as anything for the first part of my journey ; so, while haltin"- for dinner at the village of Davisville, I deliver my rather sli"-ht shoes over to the tender mercies of an Irish cobbler of the old school with carte blanche instructions to fit them out for hard service While diligently hammering away at the shoes, the old cobbler OVER THE SIERRAS NEVADAS. 7 grows communic£ltive, and in almost unintelligible brogue tells ii complicated tale of Irish Ufe, out of which I can make neither head, tail, nor tale ; though nodding and assenting to it all, to the great satisfaction of the loquacious manipulator of the last, who in au hour hands over the shoes with the proud assertion, " They'll last yez, be jabbers, to Omaha." Reaching the overflowed country, I have to take to the trestle- work and begirt the tedious process of trundhng along that aggra- vating roadway, where, to the music of rushing waters, I have to step from tie to tie, and bump, bump, bump, my machine along for six weary miles. The Sacramento Eiver is the outlet for the tremendous volumes of water caused every spring by the melting snows on the Sierra Nevada Mountains, and these long stretches of open trestle have been found necessary to allow the water to pass beneath. Nothing but trains are expected to cross this trestle- work, and of course no provision is made for pedestrians. The en- gineer of an approaching train sets his locomotive to tooting for all she is worth as he sees a " strayed or stolen " cycler, slowly bumping along ahead of his train. But he has no need to slow uj), for occasional cross-beams stick out far enough to admit of stand- ing out of reach, and when he comes up alongside, he and the fire- man look out of the window of the cab and see me squatting on the end of one of these handy beams, and letting the bicycle hang over. That night I stay in Sacramento, the beautiful capital of the Golden State, whose well-shaded streets and blooming, almost tropical gardens combine to form a city of quiet, dignified beauty, of which Cahfornians feel Justly proud. Thi-ee and a half miles east of Sacramento, the high trestle bridge spanning the main sti-eam of the American Eiver has to be crossed, and from this bridge is obtained a remarkably fine view of the snow-capped Sien-as, the great barrier that separates the fertile valleys and glori- ous climate of California, from the bleak and barren sage-brush plains, rugged mountains, and forbidding wastes of sand and alkali, that, from the summit of the Sien-as, stretch away to the eastward for over a thousand miles. The view from the American Eiver bridge is grand and imposing, encompassing the whole foot-hiU country, which rolls in broken, irregular billows of forest -crowned bill and charming vale, upward and onward to the east, gradually getting moi-e rugged, rocky, and immense, the hills changing to 8 FROM SAN FRANCISCO TO TEHERAN. mountains, the vales to canons, until they terminate in bald, hoary- peaks whose white rugged pinnacles seem to penetrate the sky, and stand out in ghostly, shadowy outline against the aziure depths of space beyond. After cros^ng the American Eiver the character of the country changes, and I enjoy a ten-mile ride over a fair road, through one of those splendid sheep-ranches that are only found in California, and which have long challenged the admiration of the world. Sixty thousand acres, I am informed, is the extent of this pasture, all within one fence. The soft, velvety greensward is half-shaded by the wide^spreading branches of evergreen oaks that singly and in small groups are scattered at irregular intervals from one end of the pasture to the other, giving it the appearance of one of the old ancestral parks of England. As I bowl pleasantly along I invol- untarily look about me, half expecting to see some grand, stately old mansion peeping from among some one of the splendid oak- groves ; and when a Jack-rabbit hops out and halts at twenty paces from my road, I half hesitate to fire at him, lest the noise of the report should bring out the Vigilant and lynx-eyed gamc'keeper, and get me "summoned" for poaching. I remember the pleasant ten-mile ride through this park-Uke pasture as one of the brightest spots of the whole journey across America. But " every rose con- ceals a thorn," and pleasant paths often lead astray ; when I emerge from the pasture I find myself several miles off the right road and have to make my unhappy way across lots, through numberless gates and small ranches, to the road again. There seems to be quite a sprinkling of Spanish or Mexican rancheros through here, and after partaking of the welcome noon- tide hospitality of one of the ranches, I find myself, before I realize it, illustrating the bicycle audits uses, to a group of sombrero-decked rancheros and darked-eyed senoritas, by riding the machine round and roimd on their own ranch-lawn. It is a novel position, to say the least ; and often afterward, wending my solitary way across some dreary Nevada desert, with no company but my own un- canny shadow, sharply outlined on the white alkali by the glai-in" rays of the sun, my untrammelled thoughts would wander back to this scene, and I would grow "hot and cold by turns," in my uncertainty as to whether the bewitching smiles of the senoritas were smiles of admiration, or whether they were simply "grin- ning " at the figure I cut. While not conscious of havin" cut a OVEK THE SIEEEAS NEVADAS. 9 somer figure than usual on that occasion, somehow I cannot rid myself of an unhappy, harrowing suspicion, that the latter comes nearer the ti-uth than the former. The gi-ound is gradually getting more broken ; huge rocks in- trude themselves upon the landscape. At the town of Eocklin we are supposed to enter the foot-hill countiy proper. Much of the road in these lower foot-hills is excellent, being of a hard, stony character, and proof against the winter rains. Everybody who writes anything about the Golden State is ex- pected to say something complimentary — or otherwise, as his ex- perience may seem to dictate — about the " glorious climate of Cali- fornia ; " or else render an account of himself for the slight, should he ever return, which he is very Uable to do. For, no matter what he may say about it, the " glorious climate " generally manages to make one, ever after, somewhat dissatisfied with the extremes of heat and cold met with in less genial regions. This fact of having to pay my measure of tribute to the climate forces itself on my notice prominently here at RockUn, because, in- directly, the "climate " was instrumental in bringing about a slight accident, which, in turn, brought about the — to me — serious ca- lamity of sending me to bed without any supper. Eocklin is cele- brated — and by certain bad people, ridiculed — all over this part of the foot-hills for the superabundance of its juvenile population. If one makes any inquisitive remarks about this fact, the Eocklinite addressed wUl either blush or grin, according to his temperament, and say, "It's the glorious climate." A bicycle is a decided novelty up here, and, of course, the multitudinous youth turn out in droves to see it. The bewildering swarms of these small mountaineers distract my attention and cause me to take a header that tempora- rily disables the machine. The result is, that, in order to reach the village where I wish to stay over night, I have to " foot it " over four miles of the best road I have found since leaving San Pablo, and lose my supper into the bargain, by procrastinating at the village smithy, so as to have my machine in trim, ready for an eai-ly start next morning. If the " glorious climate of California " is respon- sible for the exceedingly hopeful prospects of Rocklin's future census reports, and the said lively outlook, materialized, is responsible for my mishap, then plainly the said " G. C. of C." is the responsible element in the case. I hope this compliment to the climate will strike the Californians as about the correct thing ; but, if it should 10 FROM SAN FRANCISCO TO TEHERAN. happen to work the other way, I beg of them at once to pour out the vials of their wrath on the heads of the 'Frisco Bicycle Club, in order that their fury may be spent ere I again set foot on their auriferous soiL " What'U you do when you hit the snow ? " is now a frequent question asked by the people hereabouts, who seem to be more con- versant with affairs pertaining to the mountains than they are of what is going on in the valleys below. This remark, of course, has reference to the deep snow that, toward the summits of the moun- tains, covers the ground to the depth of ten feet on the level, and from that to almost any depth where it has drifted and accumulated. I have not started out on this greatest of all bicycle tours without looking into these difficulties, and I remind them that the long snow-sheds of the Central Pacific Eailway make it possible for one to cross over, no matter how deep the snow may he on the ground outside. Some speak cheerfully of the prospects for getting over, but many shake their heads ominously and say, " You'll never be able to make it through." Rougher and more hilly become the roads as we gradually pene- trate farther and farther into the foot-hills. "We are now in fai-- famed Placer County, and the evidences of the hardy gold diggers' work in pioneer days are all about us. In every gulch and ravine are to be seen broken and decaying sluice-boxes. Bare, whitish- looking patches of washed-out gravel show where a " claim " has been worked over and abandoned. In every direction are old water-ditches, heaps of gravel, and abandoned shafts — all telling, in language more eloquent than word or pen, of the palmy days of '49, and succeeding years ; when, in these deep gulches, and on these yeUow hiUs, thousands of bronzed, red-shu-ted miners du" and delved, and " rocked the cradle " for the precious yellow dust and nuggets. But all is now changed, and where were hundreds be- fore, now only a few " old timers " roam the foot-hiUs, prospecting, and working over the old claims; but "dust,"' "nugo-ets," and " pockets " stiU form the burden of conversation in the villa"e bar- room or the cross-roads saloon. Now and then a " strike " is made by some lucky — or perhaps it turns out, unlucky — prospector. This for a few days kindles anew the slumbering spark of " gold fever " that lingers in the veins of the people here, ever ready to kindle into a flame at every bit of exciting news, in the way of a lucky " find " near home, or new gold-fields in some distant land. OVER THE SIBRBAS NEVADAS. 11 These occasions never fail to bave their legitimate effect upon the business of the bar where the " old-timers " congregate to learii the news ; and, between drinks, yarns of the good old days of '49 and '50, of " streaks of luck," of " big nuggets," and " wild times," are spun over and over again. Although the palmy days of the "diggin's" are iio more, yet the finder of a "pocket" these days seems not a whit wiser than in the days when " pockets " more fre- quently rewarded the patient prospector than they do now ; and at Newcastle — a station near the old-time mining camps of Ophir and Gold Hill — I hear of a man who lately struck a " pocket," out of which he dug forty thousand dollars ; and forthwith proceeded to imitate his reckless predecessors by going down to 'Frisco and en- tering upon a career of protracted sprees and debauchery that cut short his earthly career in less than six months, and wafted his riotous spirit to where there are no more forty thousand dollar pockets, and no more 'Priscos in which to squander it. In this instance the " find " was clearly an unlucky one. Not quite so bad was the case of two others who, but a few days before my arrival, took out twelve hundred dollars ; they simply, in the language of the goldfields " turned themselves loose," " made things hum," and " whooped 'em up " around the bar-room of their village for exactly three days ; when, " dead broke," they took to the gulches again, to search for more. "Yer oughter hev happened through here with that instrumint of yourn about that time, young fellow ; yer might hev kept as full as a tick till they war busted," remarked a slouchy-looking old fellow whose purple-tinted nose plainly indicated that he had devoted a good part of his existence to the business of getting himself " full as a tick " every time he ran across the chance. Quite a different picture is presented by an industrious old Mexican, whom I happen to see away down in the bottom of a deep ravine, along which swiftly hurries a tiny stream. He is diligently shovelling dirt into a rude sluice-box which he has constructed in the bed of the stream at a point where the water rushes swiftly down a dechvity. Setting my bicycle up against a rock, I clamber down the steep bank to investigate. In tones that savor of anything but satisfaction with the result of his labor, he informs me that he has to work " most infernal hard " to pan out two dollars' worth of " dust " a day. " I have had to work over all that pile of gravel you see yonder to clean up seventeen dollars' worth of dust," further 12 FROM SAN FRANCISCO TO TEHERAN. volunteered the old " greaser," as I picked up a spare shovel and helped him remove a couple of bowlders that he was trying to roll out of his way. I condole with him at the low grade of the gravel he is working, hope he may " strike it rich "one of these days, and take my departure. Up here I find it preferable to keep the railway track, alongside of which there are occasionally ridable side-paths ; while on the wagon roads Htile or no riding can be done on account of the hills, and the sticky nature of the red, clayey soil. From the railway track near Newcastle is obtained a magnificent view of the lower country, traversed during the last three days, with the Sacramento Eiver windiag its way through its broad valley to the sea. Deejj cuts and high embankments follow each other in succession, as the road-bed is now broken through a hill, now carried across a deep gulch, and anon winds around the next hill and over another ravine. Before reaching Auburn I pass through " Bloomer Cut,'' where perpendicular walls of bowlders loom up on both sides of the track looking as if the slightest touch or jar would unloose them and send them bounding and crashing on the top of the passing train as it glides along, or drop down on the stray cycler who might venture through. On the way past Auburn, and on up to Clipper Gap, the dry, yeUow dirt under the overhanging rocks, and in the crevices, is so suggestive of " dust," that I take a smaU prospecting glass, which I have in my tool-bag, and do a little prospecting ; without, however, finding sufficient " color " to induce me to abandon my journey and go to digging. Before reaching Chpper Gap it begins to rain ; while I am tak- ing dinner at that place it quits raining and begins to come down by buckets fuU, so that I have to lie over for the remainder of the day. The hills around Clipper Gap are gay and white with chapar- ral blossom, which gives the whole landscape a pleasant, gala-day appearance. It rains all the evening, and at night turns to heavy, damp snow, which clings to the trees and bushes. In the morning the landscape, which a few hours before was white with chaparral bloom, is now even more white with the bloom of the snow. My hostelry at Clipper Gap is a kind of half ranch, half road- side inn, down in a small valley near the railway ; and mine host, a jovial Irish blade of the good old " Donnybrook Fair " variety, who came here in 1851, during the great rush to the gold fields and, failing to make his fortune in the " diggings," wisely decided OVER THE SIERRAS NEVADAS. 13 to send foir his family and settle down quietly on a piece of land, in preference to returning to the " ould sod." He turns out to be a "bit av a sphort meself," and, after showing me a number of minor pets and favorites, such as game chickens, Brahma geese, and a litter of young bull pups, he proudly leads the way to the barn to show me "Barney," his greatest pet of all, whom he at present keeps secm-ely tied up for safe-keeping. More than one evil-minded person has a hankering after Barney's gore since his last battle for the championship of Placer County, he explains, in which he inflicted severe punishment on his adversary and reso- lutely refused to give in ; although his opponent on this important occasion was an imported dog, brought into the county by Barney's enemies, who hoped to fill their pockets by betting against the local champion. But Barney, who is a medium-sized, ferocious- looking bull terrier, " scooped " the crowd backing the imported dog, to the extent of their "pile," by "walking all round" his ad- versary ; and thereby stirring up the enmity of said crowd against himself, who — so says Barney's master — ^have never yet been able to scare up a dog able to " down " Barney. As we stand in the barn-door Barney eyes me suspiciously, and then looks at his master ; but luckily for me his master fails to give the word. Noticing that the dog is scai-red and seamed all over, I inquire the reason, and am told that he has been fighting wild boars iu the chapaiTal, of which gentle pastime he is extremely fond. " Yes, and he'll tackle a cougar too, of which there are plenty of them around here, if that cowardly animal would only keep out of the trees," admiringly continues mine host, as he orders Barney into his empty salt-barrel again. To day is Sunday, and it rains and snows with little interrup- tion, so that I am compelled to stay over till Monday morning. While it is raining at Clipper Gap, it is suovriug higher up in the mountains, and a railway employee volunteers the cheering infor- mation that, during the winter, the snow has drifted and accumu- lated ia the sheds, so that a train can barely squeeze through, leaving no room for a person to stand to one side. I have my own ideas of whether this state of affairs is probable or not, however, and determine to pay no heed to any of these rumors, but to push ahead. So I pull out on Monday morning and take to the railway track again, which is the only passable road since the tremendous downpour of the last two days. li FROM SAN FRANCISCO TO TEHERAN. The first thing I come across is a tunnel burrowing through a. hill. This tunnel was originally built the proper size, but, after Crossing the Sierra Nevadas. being walled up, there were indications of a general cave-in ; so the company had to go to work and build another thick rock- wall inside the other, which leaves barely room for the trains to pass OVER THE SIERIIAS NEVADAS. 15 through without touching the sides. It is anj-thiiig but an inviting path around the hill ; but it is far the safer of the two. Once my foot slips, and I unceremoniously sit down and slide around in the soft yellow clay, in my frantic endeavors to keep from slipping down the hill. This hardly enhances my personal appeai-auce ; but it doesn't matter much, as I am where no one can see, and a clay-besmeared individual is worth a dozen dead ones. Soon I am on the ti-ack again, briskly trudging up the steep grade toward the snow-line, which I can plainly see, at no great distance ahead, through the windings around the mountains. All through here the only riding to be done is along occasional short stretches of difficult path beside the track, where it happens to be a hard sui-face ; and on the plank platforms of the stations, where I generally take a turn or two to satisfy the consuming curi- osity of the miners, who can't imagine how anybody can ride a thing that won't stand alone ; at the same time arguing among themselves as to whether I ride along on one of the rails, or bump along over the protruding ties. This morning I follow the railway track ai'ound the famous " Cape Horn," a place that never fails to photograph itself perma- nently upon the memoi-y of all who once see it. For scenery that is magnificently grand and picturesque, the view from where the railroad track curves around Cape Horn is probably without a peer on the American continent. "When the Central Pacific Railway company started to grade their road-bed around here, men were first swung over this jsreci- pice from above with ropes, until they made standing room for themselves ; and then a narrow ledge was cut on the almost per- pendicular side of the rocky mountain, around which the railway now winds. Standing on this ledge, the rocks tower skyward on one side of the track so close as almost to touch the passing train ; and on the other is a sheer precipice of two thousand five hundred feet, where one can stand on the edge and see, far below, the north fork of the American Eiver, which looks like a thread of silver laid along the narrow valley, and sends up a far-away, scarcely perceptible roar, as it rushes and rumbles along over its rocky bed. The raUroad track is carefully looked after at this point, and I was able, by turning round and taking the down grade, to experience the nov- elty of a short ride, the memory of which will be ever welcome 16 FROM SAN FEANCISCO TO TEHERAN. should one live to be as old as " the oldest inhabitant." The scenery for the next few miles is glorious ; the grand and impos- ing mountains are partially covered with stately pines down to their bases, around which winds the turbulent American River, receiving on its boisterous march down the mountains tribute from hundreds of smaller streams and rivulets, which come splashing and dashing out of the dark cations and crevasses of the mighty hills. The weather is capricious, and by the time I reach Dutch Flat, ten miles east of Cape Horn, the floodgates of heaven are thrown open again, and less than an hour succeeds in impressing Dutch Flat upon my memory as a place where there is literally " water, water, everywhere, but not a drop to — ; " no, I cannot finish the quotation ! What is the use of lying ? There is plenty to drink at Dutch Flat ; plenty of everything. But there is no joke about the water ; it is pouring in torrents from above ; the streets are shallow streams ; and from scores of ditches and guUies comes the merry music of swiftly rush- ing waters, while, to crown all, scores of monster streams are rushing with a hissing sound from the mouths of huge pipes or nozzles, and playing against the surrounding hills ; for Dutch Plat and neighboring camps are the great centre of hydraulic mining operations in California at the present day. Streams of water, higher up the mountains, are taken from their channels and con- ducted hither through miles of wooden flumes and iron piping ; and from the mouths of huge nozzles are thrown with tremen- dous force against the hUls, literally mowing them down. The rain stops as abruptly as it began. The sun shines out clear and warm, and I push ahead once more. Gradually I have been getting up into the snow, and ever and anon a muffled roar comes booming and echoing over the mountains like the sound of distant artillery. It is the suUen noise of monster snow-slides among the deep, dark canons of the mountains, though a wicked person at Gold Run winked at another man and tried to make me believe it was the grizzlies " going about the mountains like roaiing lions, seeking whom they might devour." The giant voices of nature, the imposing scenery the gloomy pine forests which have now taken the place of the gay chaparral, combine to impress one who, all alone, looks and listens with a realizing sense of his own littleness. OVER THE SIEREAS JN'EVADAS. 17 What a change has come over the whole face of nature in a few days' travel ! But four clays ago I was in the semi-tropical Sacra- mento Valley ; now gaunt mnter reigns supreme, and the only vegetation is the hardy pine. This afternoon I pass a small camp of Digger Indians, to whom my bicycle is as much a mystery as was the first locomotive ; j-et they scarcely turn their uncovered heads to look ; and my cheery greeting of "How," scarce elicits a grunt and a stare in reply. Long years of chronic hunger and wretchedness have well-nigh eradicated what little energy these Diggers ever possessed. The discovery of gold among their native mountains has been their bane ; the only antidote the rude grave beneath the pine and the happy hunting-grounds beyond. The next morning finds me briskly trundling through the gTeat, gloomy snow-sheds that extend with but few breaks for the next forty miles. When I emerge from them on the other end I shall be over the summit and weU. dovyn the eastern slope of the moun- tains. These huge sheds have been built at gTeat expense to pro- tect the track from the vast quantities of snow that fall every winter on these mountains. They wind around the mountain-sides, their roofs built so slanting that the mighty avalanche of rock and snow that comes thunderiug down from above glides harmlessly over, and down the chasm on the other side, whUe the train glides along unharmed beneath them. The section-houses, the water- tanks, stations, and everything along here are all under the gloomy but friendly shelter of the great protecting sheds. Fortunately I find the difficulties of getting through much less than I had been led by rumors to anticipate ; and although no riding can be done in the sheds, I make very good progress, and trudge merrily along, thankful of a chance to get over the mountains without having to wait a month or six weeks for the snow outside to disappear. At intervals short breaks occur in the sheds, where the track runs over deep gulch or ravine, and at one of these open- ings the sinuous structure can be traced for quite a long distance, winding its tortuous way around the rugged mountaia sides, and through the gloomy pine forest, all but buried under the snow. It requires no great eifort of the mind to imagine it to be some won- derful relic of a past civilization, when a venturesome race of men thus dared to invade these vast wintry solitudes and burrow their way through the deep snow, like moles burrowing through the 2 18 FEOM SAK FRANCISCO TO TEHEKAN. loose earth. Not a living thing is in sight, and the only sounds the occasional roar of a distant snow-slide, and the mournful sigh- ing of the breeze as it plays a weird, melancholy dirge through the gently swaying branches of the tall, sombre pines, whose stately trunks are half buried in the omnipresent snow. ' WVrl In the Central Pacific Snow-sheds. To-night I stay at the Summit Hotel, seven thousand and seven- teen feet above the level of the sea. The " Summit " is nothing if not snowy, and I am told that thirty feet on the level is no unusual thing up here. Indeed, it looks as if snow-baUing on the " Glo- rious Fourth "were no great luxury at the Summit House ; yet not- OVER THE SIERRAS NEVADAS. 19 withstanding the decidedly wintry aspect of the Sierras, the low temperatui'e of the Rockies farther east is unknown ; and although there is snow to the right, snow to the left, snow all around, and ice under foot, I travel all through the gloomy sheds in my shirt- sleeves, with but a gossamer rubber coat thrown over my shoulders to keep off the snow-water which is constantly melting and drip- ping through the roof, making it almost Uke going through a shower of rain. Often, when it is warm and balmy outside, it is cold and frosty under the sheds, and the dripping water, falling among the rocks and timbers, freezes into all manner of fantastic shapes. Whole menageries of ice animals, birds and all imaginable objects, are here reproduced in clear crystal ice, while in many places the gToxmd is covered with an irregular coating of the same, that often has to be chipped away from the rails. East of the summit is a succession of short tunnels, the space between being covered with snow-shed ; and when I came through, the openings and crevices through which the smoke from the en- gines is wont to make its escape, and through Avhich a few rays of light penetrate the gloomy interior, are blocked up with snow, so that it is both dark and smoky ; and groping one's way with a bicycle over the rough surface is anything but pleasant going. But there is nothing so bad, it seems, but that it can get a great deal worse ; and before getting far, I hear an approaching train and forthwith proceed to occupy as small an amoiint of space as possi- ble against the side, while three laboriously pufiSng engines, tugging a long, heavy freight train up the steej) grade, go past. These three puffing, smoke-emitting monsters fill evei-y nook and corner of the tunnel with dense smoke, which creates a darkness by the side of which the natural darkness of the tunnel is daylight in com- parison. Here is a darkness that can be felt ; I have to grope my way forward, inch by inch ; afraid to set my foot down until I have felt the place, for fear of blundering into a culvert ; at the same time never knowing whether there is room, just where I am, to get out of the way of a train. A cyclometer wouldn't have to exert itself much through here to keep tally of the revolutions ; for, be- sides advancing with extreme caution, I pause every few steps to listen ; as in the oppressive darkness and equally oppressive si- lence the senses are so keenly on the alert that the gentle rattle of the bicycle over the uneven surface seems to make a noise that would prevent me hearing an approaching train. 20 FEOM SAN FRANCISCO TO TEHEEAN. This finally comes to an end ; and at the opening in the sheds I climb up into a pine-tree to obtain a view of Conner Lake, called the " Gem of the Sierras." It is a lovely little lake, and amid the pines, and on its shores occurred one of the most pathetically tragic events of the old emigrant days. Briefly related : A smaU. party of emigrants became snowed in while camped at the lake, and when, toward spring, a rescuing party reached the spot, the last survi- vor of the party, crazed with the fearful suffering he had under- gone, was sitting on a log, savagely gnavring away at a human arm, the last remnant of his companions in misery, off whose emaciated carcasses he had for some time been living ! My road now follows the course of the Truckee River down the eastern slope of the Sierras, and across the boundary line into Nevada. The Truckee is a rapid, rollicking stream from one end to the other, and affords dam-sites and mill-sites without limit. There is Httle ridable road down the Truckee canon ; but be- fore reaching Verdi, a station a few miles over the Nevada line, I find good road, and ride up and dismount at the door of the little hotel as coolly as if I had rode without a dismount all the way from 'Frisco. Here at Verdi is a camp of Washoe Indians, who at once showed their superiority to the Diggers by clustering around and examining the bicycle with great curiosity. Verdi is less than forty miles from the summit of the Sierras, and from the porch of the hotel I can see the snow-storm still fiercely raging up in the place where I stood a few hours ago ; yet one can feel that he is already in a dryer and altogether different climate. The great masses of clouds, travelling inward from the coast with their bur- dens of moisture, like messengers of peace with presents to a far country, being unable to surmount the great mountain barrier that towers skyward across their path, unload their precious car- goes on the mountains ; and the parched plains of Nevada open their thirsty mouths in vain. At Verdi I bid good-by to the Golden State and follow the course of the sparkling Truckee towaa.-d the Forty-mile Desert. CHAPTER II. OVER THE DESERTS OF NEVADA. GBAD0AiiT I leave the pine-clad slopes of tlie Sierras behind, and every revolution of my wheel reveals scenes that constantly re- mind me that I am in the great " Sage-brush State." How ap]3ro- priate indeed is the name ! Sage-brush is the first thing seen on entering Nevada, almost the only vegetation seen while passing through it, and the last thing seen on leaving it. Clear down to the edge of the rippHng waters of the Truckee, on the otherwise barren plain, covering the elevated table-lands, up the hills, even to the mountain-tops — everywhere, everywhere, nothing but sage- brush. In plain view to the right, as I roll on toward Reno, are the mountains on which the world-renowned Comstock lode is situ- ated, and Reno was formerly the point from which this celebrated mining-camp was reached. Before reaching Reno I meet a lone Washoe Indian ; he is riding a diminutive, scraggy-looking mustang. One of his legs is muffled up in a red blanket, and in one hand he carries a rudely- invented crutch. " How will you trade horses ? " I banteringly ask as we meet in the road ; and I dismount for an interview, to find out what kind of Indians these Washoes are. To my friendly chaff he vouchsafes no reply, but simply sits motionless on his pony, and fixes a regular " Injun stare '' on the bicycle. " What's the matter with your leg ? " I persist, pointing at the blanket-be- muffled member. " Heap sick foot " is the reply, given with the characteristic brevity of the savage ; and, now that the ice of his aboriginal re- serve is broken, he manages to find words enough to ask me for tobacco. I have no tobacco, but the ride through the crisp morn- ing air has been productive of a surplus amount of animal spirits, and I feel like doing something funny ; so I volunteer to cure his "sick foot " by sundry dark and mysterious manoeuvres, that I un- blushingly intimate are "heap good medicine." With owlish so- lemnity my small monkey-wrench is taken from the tool-bag and 22 FKOM SAN FRANCISCO TO TEHERAN". waved around the " sick foot " a few times, and the operation is completed by squirting a few drops from my oil-can through a hole in the blanket. Before going I give him to understand that, in order to have the " good medicine " operate to his advantage, he will have to soak his copper-colored hide in a bath every morning for a week, flattering myself that, while my mystic manoeuvres will do him no harm, the latter prescription will certainly do him good if he acts on it, which, however, is extremely doubtful. EoUing into Eeno at 10.30 a.m. the characteristic whiskey- straight hospitality of the Far West at once asserts itself, and one individual with sporting proclivities invites me to stop over a day or two and assist him to " paint Eeno red ." at his expense. Leav- ing Eeno, my route leads through the famous Truckee meadows — a strip of very good agricultural land, where plenty pf monej' used to be made by raising produce for the Virginia City market. " But there's nothing in it any more, since the Comstock's played out," glumly remarks a ranchman, at whose place I get din- ner. " I'll take less for my ranch now than I was ofifered ten years ago," he continues. The " meadows " gradually contract, and soon after dinner I find myself again following the Truckee down a narrow space be- tween mountains, whose volcanic-looking rocks are destitute of aU vegetation save stunted sage-brush. All down here the road is ridable in patches ; but many dismounts have to be made, and the walking to be done aggregates at least one-third of the whole dis- tance travelled during the day. Sneakish coyotes prowl about these mountains, from whence they pay neighborly visits to the chicken- roosts of the ranchers in the Truckee meadows near by. Toward night a pair of these animals are observed following behind at the respectful distance of five hundred yards. One need not be appre- hensive of danger from these contemptible animals, however ; they are simply following behind in a frame of mind similar to that of a hungry school-boy's when gazing longingly into a confectioner's window. Still, night is gathering around, and it begins to look as though I will have to pillow my head on the soft side of a bowlder, and take lodgings on the footsteps of a bald mountain to-night ; and it will scarcely invite sleep to know that two pairs of sharp, wolfish eyes are peering wistfully through the darkness at one's prostrate form, and two red tongues are licking about in hungry anticipation of one's blood. Moreovei-, these animals have an uu- OVER THE DESERTS OF NEVADA. 23 pleasant habit of congregating after night to pay their compliments to the pale moon, and to hold concerts that would put to shame a whole regiment of Kilkenny cats ; though there is but little com- parison between the two, save that one howls and the other yowls, and either is equally effective in driving away the drowsy Goddess. I try to draw these two animals within range of my revolver by hiding behind rocks ; but they are too chary of their precious car- casses to take any risks, and the moment I disappear from their sight behind a rock they are on the alert, and looking " forty ways at the same time," to make sure that I am not creeping up on them from some other direction. Fate, however, has decreed that I am not to sleep out to-night — not quite out. A lone shanty looms up through the gathering darkness, and I immediately turn my foot- steps thither wise. I find it occupied. I am all right now for the night. Hold on, though ! not so fast ! "There is many a slip," etc. The little shanty, with a few acres of rather rockj- ground, on the bank of the Truckee, is presided over by a lonely bachelor of German extraction, who eyes me with evident suspicion, as, leaning on my bicycle in front of his rude cabin door I ask to be accom- modated for the night. "Were it a man on horseback, or a man with a team, this hermit-like rancher could satisfy himself to some extent as to the character of his visitor, for he sees men on horse- back or men in wagons, on an average, perhaps, once a week during the summer, and can see plenty of them any day by going to Reno. But me and the bicycle he cannot " size up " so readily. He never saw the like of us before, and we are beyond his Teutonic frontier- like comprehension. He gives us up ; he fails to solve the puzzle ; he knows not how to unravel the mj'stery ; and, with characteristic Teutonic bluntness, he advises us to push on through fifteen miles of rocks, sand, and darkness, to Wadsworth. The prospect of worrying my way, hungry and weary, through fifteen miles of rough, unknown country, after dark, looms up as rather a formida- ble task. So summoning my reserve stock of persuasive eloquence, backed up by sundry significant movements, such as setting the bicycle up against liis cabin-wall, and sitting down on a block of wood under the window, I finally prevail upon him to accom- modate me with a blanket on the floor of the shanty. He has just finished supper, and the remnants of the frugal repast are still on the table ; but he says nothing about any supper for me : he scarcely feels satisfied with himself yet : he feels that I have, in 24 FROM SAK FEANCISCO TO TEHERAN. some mysterious manner, gained an unfair advantage over him, and obtained a foothold in his shanty against his own wish — jumped his claim, so to speak. Not that I think the man really inhospitable at heart ; but he has been so habitually alone, away from his fellow- men so much, that the presence of a stranger in- his cabin makes him feel uneasy ; and when that stranger is accompanied by a queer-looking piece of machinery that cannot stand alone, but which he nevertheless says he rides on, our lonely rancher is per- haps not so much to be wondered at, after all, for his absent-mind- edness in regard to my supper. His mind is occupied with other thoughts. " You couldn't accommodate a fellow with a bite to eat, could you ? " I timidly venture, after devouring what eatables are in sight, over and over again, with my eyes. " I have plenty of money to pay for any accommodation I get," I think it policy to add, by way of cornering him up and giving him as little chance to refuse as possible, for I am decidedly hungry, and if money or diplomacy, or both, will produce supper, I don't propose to go to bed supperless. I am not much surprised to see him bear out my faith in his innate hospitality by apologizing for not thinking of my supper before, and insisting, against my expressed wishes, on lighting the fire and getting me a warm meal of fried ham and cof- fee, for which I beg leave to withdraw any unfavorable impressions in regard to him which my previous remarks may possibly have made on the reader's mind. After supper he thaws out a little, and I wheedle out of him a part of his history. He settled on this spot of semi-cultivable land during the flush times on the Comstock, and used to prosper very well by raising vegetables, with the aid of Truckee-Eivpr water, and hauling them to the mining-camps ; but the palmy days of the Comstock have departed and with them our lonely rancher's prosperity. Mine host has barely blankets enough for his own narrow bunk, and it is really an act of generosity on his part when he takes a blanket off his bed and invites me to extract what com- iort I can get out of it for the night. Snowy mountains are round about, and curled up on the floor of the shanty, like a kitten under a stove in mid-winter, I shiver the long hours away, and endeavor to feel thankful that it is no worse. For a short distance, next morning, the road is ridable but neariug Wadsworth it gets sandy, and " sandy,'' in Nevada means deep, loose sand, in which one sinks almost to his ankles at every OVER THE DESEETS OF NEVADA. 25 step, and where the possession of a bicycle fails to awaken that de- gree of enthusiasm that it does on a smooth, hard road. At Wads- worth I have to bid farewell to the Truekee River, and start across the Forty-mile Desert, which lies between the Truekee and Hum- boldt Rivers. Standing on a sand-hill and looking eastward across the dreary, desolate waste of sand, rocks, and alkali, it is with posi- tive regTet that I think of leaving the cool, sparkling stream that has been my almost constant companion for nearly a hundred miles. It has always been at hand to quench my thirst or furnish a refreshing bath. More than once have I beguiled the tedium of some uninteresting part of the journey by racing with some tri- fling object hurried along on its rippling surface. I shall miss the murmuring music of its dancing waters as one would miss the con- versation of a companion. This Forty-mile Desert is the place that was so much dreaded by the emigrants en route to the gold-fields of California, there being not a blade of grass nor drop of water for the whole forty miles ; nothing but a dreary waste of sand and rocks that reflects the heat of the sun, and renders the desert a veritable furnace in midsummer ; and the stock of the emigrants, worn out by the long journey from the States, would succumb by the score in crossing. Though much of the trail is totally unfit for cycling, there are occasional alkali flats that are smooth and hard enough to play croquet on ; and this afternoon, whUe riding with careless ease across one of these places, I am struck with the novelty of the situa- tion. I am in the midst of the dreariest, deadest-looking country imaginable. Whirlwinds of sand, looking at a distance like huge columns of smoke, are wandering erratically over the plains in aL. directions. The blazing sun casts, with startling vividness on the smooth white alkali, that awful scraggy, straggling shadow that, like a vengeful fate, alwaj'S accompanies the cycler on a sunny day, and which is the bane of a sensitive wheelman's life ! The only representative of animated nature hereabouts is a species of small gray lizard that scuttles over the bare ground with astonishing rapidity. Not even a bird is seen in the air. AU living things seem instinctively to avoid this dread spot save the lizard. A desert forty miles wide is not a particularly large one ; but when one is in the middle of it, it might as well be as extensive as Sa- hara itself, for anything he can see to the contrary, and away off to the right I behold as perfect a mirage as one could wish to see. 4fi u OVER THE DESERTS OF NEVADA. 27 A person can scarce help believing his own eyes, and did one not have some knowledge of tliese strange and wondrous phenomena, one's orbs of vision would indeed open with astonishment; for seemingly but a few miles away is a beautiful lake, whose shores are fringed with wavy foliage, and whose cool waters seem to lave the burning desert sands at its edge. A short distance to the right of Hot Springs Station broken clouds of steam are seen rising from the ground, as though huge caldrons of water were being heated there. Going to the spot I find, indeed, " caldrons of boiling water ; " but the caldrons are in the depths. At irregular openings in the rocky ground the bub- bhng water wells to the surface, and the fires — ah ! where are the fires ? On another part of this desert ai-e curious springs that look demure and innocuous enough most of the time, but occasionally they emit columns of spray and steam. It is related of these springs that once a party of emigrants passed by, and one of the men knelt down to take a drink of the clear, nice-looking water. At the instant he leaned over, the spring spurted a quantity of steam and spray all over him, scaring him nearly out of his wits.' The man sprang up, and ran as if for his life, frantically beckoning the wagons to move on, at the same time shouting, at the top of his voice, " Drive on ! drive on ! hell's no great distance from here ! " From the Forty-mile Desert my road leads up the valley of the Humboldt Eiver. On the shores of Humboldt Lake are camped a dozen Piute lodges, and I make a half-hour halt to pay them a visit. I shall never know whether I am a welcome visitor or not ; they show no signs of pleasure or displeasure as I trundle the bicycle through the sage-brush toward them. Leaning it familiarly up against one of their teepes, I wander among them and pry into their domestic affairs like a health-ofiScer in a New York tenement. I know I have no right to do this without saying, "By your leave,'' but item-hunters the world over do likewise, so I feel Httle squeam- ishness about it. Moreover, when I come back I find the Indians are playing " tit-for-tat " against me. Not only are they curiously examining the bicycle as a whole, but they have opened the tool- bag and are examining the tools, handing them around among themselves. I don't think these Piutes are smart or bold enough to steal nowadays ; their intercourse with the whites along the railroad has, in a measure, relieved them of those aboriginal traits 28 FROM SAK FEAWCISCO TO TEHEEAN. of character that would incite them to steal a brass button off their pale-faced brother's coat, or screw a nut off his bicycle ; but they have learned to beg ; 'the noble Piute of to-day is an incorrigible mendicant. Gathering up my tools from among them, the monkey- wrench seems to have found favor in the eyes of a wrinkled-faced brave, who, it seems, is a chief. He hands the wrench over with a smile that is meant to be captivating, and points at it as I am put- ting it back into the bag, and grunts, " Ugh ! Piute likum ! Piute likum ! " As I hold it up, and ask him if this is what he means, he again points and repeats, " Piute likum ; " and this time two others standing by point at him and also smile and say, "Him big chief ; big Piute chief, him ; " thinking, no doubt, this latter would be a clincher, and that I would at once recognize in " big Piute chief, him " a vastly superior being and hand him over the wrench. In this, however, they are mistaken, for the vsrench I cannot spare ; neither can I see any lingering trace of royalty about him, no king- liness of mien, or extra cleanliness ; nor is there anything winning about his smile — nor any of their smiles for that matter. The Piute smile seems to me to be simply a cold, passionless expansion of the vast horizontal slit that reaches almost from one ear to the other, and separates the upper and lower sections of their expres- sionless faces. Even the smiles of the squaws are of the same un- lovely pattern, though they seem to be perfectly oblivious of any ugliness whatever, and whenever a pale-faced visitor appears near their teepe they straightway present him with one of those repul- sive, unwinning smiles. Sunday, May 4th, finds me anchored for the day at the village of Lovelocks, on the Humboldt River, where I spend quite a re- markable day. Never before did such a strangely assorted crowd gather to see the first bicycle ride they ever saw, as the crowd that gathers behind the station at Lovelocks to-day to see me. There are perhaps one hundred and fifty people, of whom a hundred are Piute and Shoshone Indians, and the remainder a mingled company of whites and Chinese raih-oaders ; and among them all it is difii- cult to say who are the most taken with the novelty of the exhibi- tion — the red, the yellow, or the white. Later in the evening I accept the invitation of a Piute brave to come out to their camp, behind the village, and witness rival teams of Shoshone and Piute squaws play a match-game of " Fi-re-fla," the national game of both the Shoshone and Piute tribes. The principle of the game OVER THE DESERTS OF NEVADA. 29 is similar to polo. The squaws are armed with long sticks, with which they endeavor to carry a shorter one to the goal. It is a picturesque and novel sight to see the squaws, dressed in costumes in which the garb of savagery and civilization is strangely mingled and the many colors of the rainbow are promiscuously blended, flitting about the field with the agility of a team of professional polo-players ; while the bucks and old squaws, with their pap- pooses, sit around and watch the game with unmistakable enthu- siasm. The Shoshone team wins and looks pleased. Here, at Lovelocks, I fall in with one of those strange and seem- ingly incongruous characters that are occasionally met with in the West. He is conversing with a small gathering of Piutes in their own tongue, and I introduce myself by asking him the probable age of one of the Indians, whose wrinkled and leathery countenance would indicate unusual longevity. He tells me the Indian is prob- ably ninety years old ; but the Indians themselves never know their age, as they count everything by the changes of the moon and the seasons, having no knowledge whatever of the calendar year. While talking on this subject, imagine my surprise to hear my in- formant—who looks as if the Scriptures are the last thing in the world for him to speak of — volunteer the information that our ven- erable and venerated ancestors, the antediluvians, used to count time in the same way as the Indians, and that instead of Methuse- lah being nine hundred and sixty-nine years of age, it ought to be revised so as to read " nine hundred and sixty-nine moons," which would bring that ancient and long-lived person — the oldest man that ever lived — down to the venerable but by no means extraor- dinary age of eighty years and nine months. This is the first time I have heard this theory, and my astonishment at hearing it from the lips of a rough-looking habitue of the Nevada plains, seated in the midst of a group of illiterate Indians, can easily be imagined. On, up the Humboldt valley I continue, now riding over a smooth, alkali flat, and again slavishly trundling through deep sand, a dozen snowy mountain peaks round about, the Humboldt slug- gishly winding its way through the alkali plain ; on past Eye Patch, to the right of which are more hot springs, and farther on mines of pure sulphur — all these things, especially the latter, un- pleasantly suggestive of a certain place where the climate is popu- larly supposed to be uncomfortably warm ; on, past Humboldt Station, near which place I wantonly shoot a poor hai-mless badger, 30 FROM SAK FRANCISCO TO TEHEEAN. who peers inquisitively out of his hole as I ride piist. There is something peculiarly pathetic about the actions of a dying bad- ger, and no sooner has the thoughtless shot sped on its mission of death than I am sorry for doing it. Going out of Mill City next morning I lose the way, and find myself up near a small mining camp among the mountains south of the railroad. Thinking to regain the road quickly by going across country through the sage-brush, I get into a place where that enterprising shrub is so thick and high that I have to hold the bicj'cle up overhead to get through. At three o'clock in the afternoon I come to a railroad section- house. At the Chinese bunk-house I find a lone Celestial who, for some reason, is staying at home. Having had nothing to eat or drink since six o'clock this morning, I present the Chinaman with a smile that is intended to win his heathen heart over to any gastro- nomic scheme I may propose ; but smiles are thrown away on John Chinaman. "John, can you fix me up something to eat ? " " No ; Chinaman no savvy whi' man eatee ; bossee ow on thlack. Chinaman eatee nothing bu' licee [rice] ; no licee cookee.'' This sounds pretty conclusive ; nevertheless I don't intend to be thus put off so easily. There is nothing particularly beautiful about a silver half-dollar, but in the almond-shaped eyes of the Chinaman scenes of paradisiacal loveliness are nothing compared to the dull surface of a twenty-year-old fifty-cent piece ; and the jingle of the silver coins contains more melody for Chin Chin's unromantic ear than a whole musical festival. " John, I'll give you a couple of two-bit pieces if you'll get me a bite of something," I persist. John's small, black eyes twinkle at the suggestion of two-bit pieces, and his expressive countenance assumes a commerical air as, with a ludicrous change of front, he replies : " Wha' ! You gib me flore bittee, me gib you bitee eatee ? " "That's what I said, John ; and please be as lively as possible about it." " All li ; you gib me flore bittee me fly you Meliean plan-cae." "Yes, pancakes will do. Go ahead ! " Visions of pancakes and molasses flit before my hunger- distorted vision as I sit outside until he gets them ready. In ten minutes John calls me in. On a tin plate, that looks as if it has OVER THE DESERTS OF NEVADA. 31 just been rescued from a barrel of soap-grease, reposes a shapeless mass of substance resembling putty — it is the " Melican plan-cae ; " and the Celestial triumphantly sets an empty box in front of it for me to sit on and extends his greasy palm for the stipulated j)rice. May the reader never be ravenously hungry and have to choose be- tween a " Melican plan-cae " and nothing ! It is simply a chunk of tenacious dough, made of flour and water only, and soaked for a few minutes in warm grease. I call for molasses ; he doesn't know what it is. I inquire for syrup, thinking he may recognize my want by that name. He brings a jar of thin Chinese catsup, that tastes something like Limburger cheese smells. I immediately beg of him to take it where its presumably benign influence will fail to reach me. He produces some excellent cold tea, however, by the aid of which I manage to "bolt "a portion of the "plan-cae." One doesn't look for a very elegant spread for fifty cents in the Sage-brush State; but this "Melican plan-cae " is the worst fifty- cent meal I ever heard of. To-night I stay in Winnemucca, the county seat of Humboldt County, and quite a lively little town of 1,200 inhabitants. " What'U yer have ? " is the first word on entering the hotel, and " Won't yer take a bottle of whiskey along ? " is the last word on leaving it next morning. There are Piutes and Piutes camped at Winnemucca, and in the morning I meet a young brave on horseback a short distance out of town and let him try his hand with the bicycle. I wheel him along a few yards and let him dismount ; and then I show him how to mount and invite him to try it himself. He gallantly makes the attempt, but springs forward with too much euergj', and over he topples, with the bicycle cavorting around on top of him. This satisfies his aboriginal curiosity, and he smiles and shakes his head when I offer to swap the bicycle for his mustang. The road is heavy with sand aU along by Winnemucca, and but little riding is to be done. The river rans through green meadows of rich bottom-land hereabouts ; but the meadows soon disappear as I travel eastward. Twenty miles east of Winnemucca the river and railroad pass through the caiion in a low range of mountains, while my route lies over the summit. It is a steep trundle up the mountains, but from the summit a broad view of the surrounding counti-y is obtained. The HumboldtEiveris not a beautiful stream, and for the greater part of its length it meanders through alter- nate stretches of dreary sage-brush plain and low sand-hills, at long OVER THE DESERTS OF NEVADA. 33 intervals passing througli a canon in some barren mouiitain chain. But " distance lends enchantment to the view," and from the sum- mit of the mountain pass even the Humholdt looks beautiful. The Sim shines on its waters, giving it a sheen, and for many a mile its glistening surface can be seen winding its serpentine course through the broad, gray-looking sage and gi-ease-wood plains, while at oc- casional intervals narrow patches of green, in stiiking contrast to the surrovinding gray, show where the hardy mountain grasses venturously endeavor to invade the domains of the autocratic sage- brush. What is that queer-looking little reptile, half lizard, half frog, that scuttles about among the rocks ? It is different from anything I have yet seen. Around the back of its neck and along its sides, and, in a less prominent degree, all over its yellowish- gray body, are small, horn-like protuberances that give the little fellow a very peculiar appearance. Ah ! I know who he is. I have heard of him, and have seen his picture in books. I am happy to make his acquaintance. He is "Prickey," the famed horned toad of Nevada. On this mountain spur, between the Golconda mining- camp and Iron Point, is the only place I have seen him on the tour. He is a very interesting little creature, more lizard than frog, perfectly harmless ; and his little bead-like eyes are bright and fascinating as the eyes of a rattlesnake. Allcali flats abound, and some splendid riding is to be obtained east of Iron Point. Just before darkness closes down over the sur- rounding area of plain and mountain I reach Stone-House section- house. " Yes, I guess we can get you a bite of something ; but it will be cold," is the answer vouchsafed in reply to my query about sup- per. Being more concerned these days about the quantity of provis- ions I can command than the quality, the prospect of a cold supper arouses no ungrateful emotions. I would rather have a four-pound loaf and a shoulder of mutton for supper now than a smaller quan- tity of extra choice viands ; and I manage to satisfy the cravings of my inner man before leaving the table. But what about a place to sleep ? For some inexplicable reason these people refuse to grant me even the shelter of their roof for the night. They are not keep- ing hotel, they say, which is quite true ; they have a right to refuse, even if it is twenty miles to the next place ; and they do refuse. " There's the empty Chinese bunk-house over there. You can 3 34 FKOM SAN FRANCISCO TO TEIIERAPT. crawl in there, if you arn't afeerd of ghosts," is the parting remark, as the door closes and leaves me standing, like an outcast, on the dark, barren plain. A week ago this bunk-house was occupied by a gang of Chinese railroaders, who got to quarrelling among themselves, and the quarrel wound up in quite a tragic poisoning affair, that resulted in the death of two, and nearly killed a third. The Chinese are nothing, if not superstitious, and since this affair no Chinaman would sleep in the bunk -house or work on this section ; conse- quently the building remains empty. The " spooks " of murdered Chinese are everything but agreeable company ; nevertheless they are preferable to inhospitable whites, and I walk over to the house and stretch my weary frame in — for aught I know — the same bunk in which, but a few days ago, reposed the ghastly corpses of the poisoned Celestials. Despite the unsavory memories clinging around the place, and my pillowless and blanketless couch, I am soon in the land of dreams. It is scarcely presumable that one would be blessed with rosy-hued visions of pleasure under such conditions, however, and near midnight I awake in a cold shiver. The snowy mountains rear their white heads up in the silent night, grim and ghostly all around, and make the midnight air chilly, even in midsummer. I lie there, trying in vain to doze off again, for it grows perceptibly cooler. At two o'clock I can stand it no longer, and so get up and strike out for Battle Mountain, twenty miles ahead. The moon has risen ; it is two-thirds full, and a more beautiful sight than the one that now greets my exit from the bunk-house it is scarcely possible to conceive. Only those who have been in this inter-mountain country can have any idea of a glorious moonlight night in the clear atmosphere of this di-y, elevated region. It is al- most as light as day, and one can see to ride quite well wherever the road is ridable. The pale moon seems to fiU the whole broad valley with a flood of soft, silvery light ; the peaks of many snowy mountains loom up white and spectral ; the stilly air is broken by the excited yelping of a pack of coyotes noisily baying the pale-yel- low author of all this loveliness, and the wild, unearthly scream of an unknown bird or animal coming from some mysterious, undefin- able quarter completes an ideal Western picture, a poem, a dream, that fully compensates for the discomforts of the pi-ecedin"- hour. The inspiration of this beautiful scene awakes the slumberin"- poesy OVEK THE DESERTS OF NEVADA. 35 ■within, and I am inspired to compose a poem — ^" Moonlight in the Rockies " — that I expect some day to see the world go into raptures over ! A few miles from the Chinese shanty I pass a party of Indians Ugh ! What is it? camped by the side of my road. They are squatting around the smouldering embers of a sage-brush fire, sleeping and dozing. I am riding slowly and carefully along the road that happens to be rida- ble just here, and am fairly past them before being seen. As I gradually Vanish in the moonlit air I wonder what they think it 36 FKOM SAN FRANCISCO TO TEHERAN. was — that strange-looking object that so silently and mysteriously glided past. It is safe to -warrant they think me anything but flesh and blood, as they rouse each other and peer at my shadowy form disappearing in the dim distance. From Battle Mountain my route leads across a low alkali bottom, through which dozens of small streams are flowing to the Humboldt. Many of them are narrow enough to be jumped, but not with a bicycle on one's shoulder, for under such conditions there is alwaiys a disagreeable uncertainty that one may disastrously alight before he gets ready. But I am getting tired of partially undressing to ford streams that are little more than ditches, every little way, and so I hit upon the novel plan of using the machine for a vaulting-pole. Beaching it out into the centre of the stream, I place one hand on the head and the other on the saddle, and vault over, retaining my hold as I alight on the opposite shore. Pulling the bicycle out after me, the thing is done. There is no telling to what uses this two-wheeled " creature " could be put in case of necessity. Certainly the inventor never expected it to be used for a vaulting-pole in leaping across streams. Twenty-five miles east of Battle Mountain the valley of the Humboldt vridens into a plain of some size, through which the river meanders with many a horseshoe curve, and maps out the pot-hooks and hangers of our childhood days in mazy profusion. Amid these innumerable curves and counter-curves, clumps of willows and tall blue-joint reeds grow thickly, and afibrd shelter to thousands of pelicans, that here make their homes far from the disturbing presence of man. All unconscious of impending difficulties, I follow the wagon trail leading through this valley until I find myself standing on the ed"-e of the river, ruefully looking around for some avenue by which I can proceed on my way. I am in the bend of a horseshoe curve, and the only way to get out is to retrace my footsteps for several miles, which disagreeable performance I naturally feel somewhat opposed to doing. Casting about me I discover a couple of old fence-posts that have fioated down from the Be-o-wa-we settlement above and lodged against the bank. I determine to try and uti- lize them in getting the machine across the river, which is not over thirty yards wide at this point. . Swimming across with my clothes first, I tie the bicycle to the fence-posts, which barely keep it from sinking, and manage to navigate it successfully across. The village of Be-o-wa-we is full of cowboys, who are preparing for the annual OVER THE DESERTS OF NEVADA. 37 spring round-up. Whites, Indians, and Mexicans compose the motley crowd. They look a wild lot, with their bear- skin chaparejos and semi-civiUzed trappings, galloping to and fro in and about the village. "I can't spare the time, or I would," is my slightly un- truthful answer to an invitation to stop over for the day and have some fun. Briefly told, this latter, with the cowboy, consists in getting hilariously drunk, and then turning his " pop " loose at anything that happens to strike his whiskey-bedevilled fancy as pre- senting a fitting target. Now a bicycle, above all things, would intrude itself upon the notice of a cowboy on a " tear " as a peculiar and conspicuous object, especially if it had a man on it ; so after taking a " smile " with them for good-feUowship, and showing them the modus operandi of riding the wheel, I consider it wise to push on up the vallej'. Three miles from Be-o-wa-we is seen the celebrated "Maiden's Grave," on a low hill or bluff by the road-side ; and " thereby hangs a tale." In early daj'S, a party of emigrants wei-e camped near by at Gravelly Ford, waiting for the waters to subside, so that they could cross the river, when a young woman of the party sickened and died. A rudely carved head board was set up to mark the spot where she was buried. Years afterward, when the railroad was being built through here, the men discovered this rude head-board all alone on the bleak hill-top, and were moved by worthy sentiment to build a rough stone wall around it to keep off the ghoulish coy- otes ; and, later on, the superintendent of the division erected a large white cross, which now stands in plain view of the railroad. On one side of the cross is written the simple inscription, " Maid- en's Grave ;" on the other, her name, "Lucinda Duncan." Leav- ing the bicycle by the road-side, I climb the steep bluff and examine the spot with some curiosity. There are now twelve other graves beside the original " Maiden's Grave," for the people of Be-o-wa-we and the surrounding country have selected this romantic spot on which to inter the remains of their departed friends. This after- noon I follow the river through Humboldt Canon in preference to taking a long circuitous route over the mountains. The first no- ticeable things about this cation are the peculiar water-marks plainly visible on the walls, high up above where the water could possibly rise while its present channels of escape exist unobstructed. It is thought that the country east of the spur of the Red Range, which stretches clear across the valley at Be-o-wa-we, and through which 38 FEOM SAN FRANCISCO TO TEHERAN. the Humboldt seems to have cut its way, was formerly a lake, and that the water gradually wore a passage-way for itself through the massive barrier, leaving only the high-water marks on the moun- tain sides to tell of the mighty change. In this canon the rocky walls tower like gigantic battlements, grim and gloomy on either side, and the seething, boiling waters of the Humboldt — that for once awakens from its characteristic lethargy, and madly plunges and splutters over a bed of jagged rocks which seem to have been tossed into its channel by some Herculean hand — fill this mighty "rift "in the mountains with a never-ending roar. It has been threatening rain for the last two hours, and now the first peal of thunder I have heard On the whole journey awakens the echoing voices of the canon and rolls and rumbles along the great jagged fissure like an angry monster muttering his mighty wrath. Peal after peal follow each other iu quick succession, the vigorous, new- born echoes of one peal seeming angrily to chase the receding voices of its predecessor from cliff to cliflf, and from recess to pro- jection, along its rocky, erratic course up the canon. Vivid flashes of forked lightning shoot athwart the heavy black cloud that seems to rest on either wall, roofing the canon with a ceiling of awful grandeui'. Sheets of electric flame light up the dark, shadowy re- cesses of the towering rocks as they play along the ridges and hover on the mountain-tops ; while large drops of rain begin to patter down, gradually increasing with the growing fury of their battlin"* allies above, until a heavy, drenching downpour of rain and haU compels me to take shelter under an overhanging rock. At 4 P.M. I reach Palisade, a railroad village situated in the most romantic spot imaginable, under the shadows of the towerino' pali- sades that hover above with a sheltering care, as if their special mission were to protect it from all harm. Evidently these moun- tains have been rent in twain by an earthquake, and this great gloomy chasm left open, for one can plainly see that the two walls represent two halves of what was once a solid mountain. Curious caves are observed in the face of the cliffs, and one, more conspicu- ous than the rest, has been christened " Maggie's Bower," in honor of a beautiful Scottish maiden who with her parents once lingered in a neighboring creek-bottom for some time, recruiting their stock. But all is not romance and beauty even in the glorious palisades of the Humboldt ; for great, glaring, patent-medicine advertisements are painted on the most conspicuously beautiful spots of the pali- OYER THE DESERTS OF NEVADA. 89 sades. Business enterprise is of course to be commended and en- coui-aged ; but it is really annoying that one cannot let Ms aesthetic soul — that is constantly yearning for the sublime and beautiful — rest in gladsome reflection on some beautiful object without at the same time being reminded of " corns," and " biliousness," and all the multifarious evils that flesh is heir to. It grows pitchy dark ere I leave the canon on my way to Carlin. Farther on, the gorge widens, and thick underbrush intervenes be- tween the road and the river. From out the brush I see peering two little round phosphorescent balls, like two miniature moons, turned in my direction. I wonder what kind of an animal it is, as I trun- dle along through the darkness, revolver in hand, ready to defend myself, should it make an attack. I think it is a mountain-lion, as they seem to be plentiful in this part of Nevada. Late as it is when I reach Carlin, the " boys " must see how a bicycle is ridden, and, as there is no other place suitable, I manage to circle around the pool- table in the hotel bar-room a few times, nearly scalping myself against the bronze chandelier in the operation. I hasten, however, to explain that these proceedings took place immediately after my arrival, lest some worldly wise, over-sagacious person should be led to suspect them to be the riotous undertakings of one who had " smiled with the boys once too often." Little riding is possible all through this section of Nevada, and, in order to complete the forty miles a day that I have rigorously imposed upon myself, I sometimes get up and pull out at daylight. It is scarce more than sunrise when, following the railroad through Five-mile Canon — another rift through one of the many mountain chains that cross this part of Nevada in all directions under the general name of the Humboldt Mountains — I meet with a startling adventure. I am trundling through the canon alongside the river, when, rounding the sharp curve of a projecting mountain, a tawny mountain lion is perceived trotting leisurely along ahead of me, not over a hundred yards in advance. He hasn't seen me yet ; he is perfectly oblivious of the fact that he is in " the presence." A person of ordinary dis- cretion would simply have revealed his presence by a gentlemanly sneeze, or a slight noise of any kind, when the lion would have immediately bolted back into the underbrush. Unable to resist the temptation, I fired at him, and of course missed him, as a person naturally would at a hundred yards with a bull-dog revolver. The bullet must have singed him a little though, for, instead of wildly 40 FKOM SAN FRANCISCO TO TEHERAN. scooting for the brush, as I anticipated, he turns savagely round and comes bounding rapidly toward me, and at twenty paces crouches for a spring. Laying his cat-like head almost on the ground, his round eyes flashing fire, and his tail angrily waving to and fro, he looks savage and dangerous. Crouching behind the bicycle, I fire at him again. Nine times out of ten a person will overshoot the mark with a revolver under such circumstances, and, being anxious to avoid this, I do the reverse, and fire too low. The ball strikes the ground just in front of his head, and throws the sand and gravel in his face, and perhaps in his wicked round eyes ; for he shakes his head, springs up, and makes off into the brush. I shall shed blood of some sort yet before I leave Nevada ! There isn't a day that I don't shoot at something or other ; and all I ask of any animal is to come within two hundred yards and I will squander a cartridge on him, and I never fail to hit — the ground. At Elko, where I take dinner, I make the acquaintance of an individual, rejoicing in the sobriquet of " Alkali Bill," who has the largest and most comprehensive views of any person I ever met. He has seen a paragraph, something about me riding round the world, and he considerately takes upon himself the task of sum- ming up the few trifling obstacles that I shall encounter on the way round : "There is only a small rise at Sherman," he rises to explain, " and another still smaller at the AUeghanies ; all the balance is downhill to the Atlantic. Of course you'll have to ' boat it ' across the Frogpond ; then there's Europe — mostly level ; so is Asia, ex- cept the Himalayas — and you can soon cross them ; then you're all ' hunky,' for there's no mountains to speak of in China." Evidently Alkali Bill is a person who points the finger of scom at smaU ideas, and leaves the bothersome details of life to other and smaUer-minded folks. In his vast and glorious imagery he sees a centaur-like 'cycler skimming Uke a frigate-bird across states and continents, scornfully ignoring sandy deserts and bridgeless streams, halting for nothing but oceans, and only slowing up a little when he runs up against a peak that bobs up its twenty thousand feet of snowy grandeur serenely in his path. What a Csesar is lost to this benighted world, because in its blindness it will not search out such men as Alkali and ask them to lead it on- ward to deeds of inconceivable greatness ! Alkali Bill can whittle more chips in an hour than some men could in a week. Encounter with a Mountain Lion. OVER THE DESERTS OF NEVADA. 43 Much of the Humboldt Valley, through which my road now runs, is at present flooded from the vast quantities of water that are pouring into it from the Euby Range of mountains now visible to the southeast, and which have the appearance of being the snowiest of any since leaving the Sierras. Only yesterday I threatened to shed blood before I left Nevada, and sure enough my prophecy is destined to speedy fulfilment. Just east of the Osino Canon, and where the North Fork of the Humboldt comes down from the north and joins the main stream, is a stretch of swampy ground on which swai-ms of wild ducks and geese are paddling about. I blaze away at them, and a poor inoffensive gosling is no more ! While writing my notes this evening, in a room adjoining the " bar " at Halleck, near the United States fort of the same name, I overhear a boozy soldier modestly informing his comrades that forty-five miles an hour is no unusual speed to travel with a bi- cycle. Gradually I am nearing the source of the Humboldt, and at the town of Wells I bid it farewell for good. Wells is named from a group of curious springs near the town. They are supposed to be extinct volcanoes, now filled with water ; and report says that no sounding-liue hasyet been found long enough to fathom the bottom. Some day when some poor, unsuspecting tenderfoot is peering in- quisitively down one of these well-like springs, the volcano may suddenly come into play again and convert the water into steam that win shoot him clear up into the moon ! These volcanoes may have been soaking in water for millions of years ; but they are not to be trusted on that account ; they can be depended upon to fill some citizen full of lively surprise one of these days. Everything here is surprising ! You look across the desert and see flowing water and waving trees ; but when you get there, with your tongue hanging out and your fate wellnigh sealed, you are surprised to find nothing but sand and rocks. You climb a mountain expecting to find trees and birds' eggs, and you are surprised to find high- water marks and sea-shells. Finally, you look in the looking-glass and are surprised to find that the wind and exposure have trans- formed your nice blonde complexion to a semi-sable hue that would prevent your own mother from recognizing you. The next day, when nearing the entrance to Montella Pass, over the Goose Creek Range, I happen to look across the mingled sage- brush and juniper-spruce brush to the right, and a sight greets my 44 FKOM SAW FRANCISCO TO TEHEI4AN. eyes that causes me to iustinctively look around for a tall tree, though well knowing that there is nothing of the kind for miles ; neither is there any ridable road near, or I might try my hand at breaking the record for a few miles. Standing bolt upright on their hind legs, by the side of a clump of juniper-spruce bushes and in- tently watching my movements, are a pair of full-grown cinnamon bears. When a bear sees a man before the man happens to descry him, and fails to betake himself off immediately, it signifies that he is either spoiling for a fight or doesn't care a continental password whether war is declared or not. Moreover, animals recognize the peculiar advantages of two to one in a fight equally with their human inferi — superiors ; and those two over there are apparently in no par- ticular hurry to move on. They don't seem awed at my presence. On the contrary', they look suspiciously like being undecided and hesi- tative about whether to let me proceed peacefully on my way or not. Their behavior is outrageous ; they stare and stare and stare, and look quite ready for a fight. I don't intend one to come off, though, if I can avoid it. I prefer to have it settled by arbitration. I haven't lost these bears ; they aren't mine, and I don't want anything that doesn't belong to me. I am not covetous ; so, lest I should be tempted to shoot at them if I come within the regulation two hun- dred yards, I " edge off" a few hundred yards in the other direction, and soon have the intense satisfaction of seeing them stroU off toward the mountains. I wonder if I don't owe my escape on this occasion to my bicycle ? Do the bright spokes glistening in the sunlight as they revolve make an impression on their bearish intellects that iufluences their decision in favor of a retreat. It is perhaps need- less to add that, aU through this mountain-pass, I keep a loose eye busily employed looking out for bears. But nothing more of a bearish nature occurs, and the early gloaming finds me at Tacoma, a village near the Utah boundary line. There is an awful calamity of some sort hovering over this village. One can feel it La the air. The habitues of the hotel bar- room sit around, listless and glum. When they speak at all it is to predict all sorts of difficulties for me in my progress through Utah and Wyoming Territories. " The black gnats of the Salt Lake mud flat'lleat you clean up," snarls one. " Bear Elver's floodin"- the hull kintry up Weber Canon way," growls another. " The slickest thin'v you kin do, stranger, is to board the keers and git out of this " says a third, in a tone of voice and with an emphasis that plainly in- OVER THE DESERTS OF NEVADA. 45 dicates his great disgust at " this." By " tliis " he means the village of Tacoma ; and he is disgusted with it. They are all disgusted ■with it, and with the whole world this evening, because Tacoma is " out of whiskey." Yes, the village is destitute of whiskey ; it should have arrived yesterday, and hasn't shown up yet ; and the effect on the society of the bar-room is so depressing that I soon retire to my couch, to dream of Utah's strange intermingling of forbidding de- serts and beautiful orchards through which my route now leads CHAPTER in. THROUGH MORMON-LAND AND OVER THE ROCKIES. A DEEAET-LOOKING countrj is tlie " Great American Desert," in . Utah, the northern boundary line of which I traverse next morning. To the left of the road is a low chain of barren hills ; to the right, the uninviting plain, over which one's eye wanders in vain for some green object that might raise hopes of a less desolate region be- yond ; and over all hangs an oppressive silence — the silence of a dead country — a country destitute of both animal and vegetable life. Over the great desert hangs a smoky haze, out of which Pilot Peak, thirty-eight miles away, rears its conical head 2,500 feet above the level plain at its base. Some riding is obtained at intervals along this unattractive stretch of country, but there are no continuously ridable stretches, and the principal incentive to mount at all is a feeling of disgust at so much compulsory walking. A noticeable feature through the desert is the almost unquenchable thirst that the dry saline air in- flicts upon one. Reaching a railway section-house, I find no one at home ; but there is a small underground cistern of imported water, in which "wrigglers '' innumerable wriggle, but which is otherwise good and cool. There is nothing to drink out of, and the water is three feet from the surface ; while leaning down to try and drink, the wooden framework at the top gives way and precipitates me head first into the water. Luckily, the tank is large enough to enable me to turn round and reappear at the surface, head first, and with considerable difficulty I scramble out again, with, of coui-se, not a dry thread on me. At three in the afternoon I roll into Terrace, a small Mormon town. Here a rather tough-looking citizen, noticing that my gar- ments are damp, suggests that 'cycling must be hard work to make a person perspire like that in this dry climate. At the Matlin sec- tion-house I find accommodation for the night v?ith a whole-souled section-house foreman, who is keeping bachelor's hall temporarily, as his wife is away on a visit at Ogden. From this house, which is THROUGH MORMON-LAND AND OVER THE ROCKIES. 47 situated on the table-land of the Red Dome Mountains, can be ob- tained a more comprehensive view of the Great American Desert than when we last beheld it. It has all the appearance of being the dry bed of an ancient salt lake or inland sea. A broad, level plain of white alkali, which is easily mistaken in the dim distance for smooth, still water, stretches away like a dead, motionless sea as far as human vision can penetrate, until lost in the haze ; while, here and there, isolated rocks lift their rugged heads above the dreary level, like islets out of the sea. It is said there are many evidences that go to prove this desert to have once been covered by the waters of the great inland sea that still, in places, laves its eastern borders with its briny flood. I am. informed there are many miles of smooth, hard, salt-flats, over which a 'cycler could skim like a bird ; but I scarcely think enough of bird-like skimming to go searching for it on the American Desert. A few miles east of Matlin the road leads over a spur of the Red Dome Eange, from whence I obtain my first view of the Great Salt Lake, and soon I am enjoying a long-antici- pated bath in its briny waters. It is disagreeably cold, but other- wise an enjoyable bath. One can scarce sink beneath the surface, so strongly is the water" impregnated with salt. For dinner, I reach Kelton, a town that formerly prospered as the point from which vast quantities of freight were shipped to Idaho. Scores of huge freight-wagons are now bunched up in the corrals, having outUved their usefulness since the innovation from mules and " overland ships " to locomotives on the Utah Northern Railway. Empty stores and a general air of vanished i^rosperity are the main features of Kelton to-day ; and the inhabitants seem to reflect in their persons the aspect of the town ; most of them being freighters, who, finding their occupation gone, hang listlessly around, as though conscious of being fit for nothing else. From Kelton I follow the lake shore, and at six in the afternoon arrive at the salt-works, near Monument Station, and apply for accommoda- tion, which is readily given. Here is erected a wind-mill, which pumps the water from the lake into shallow reservoirs, where it evaporates and leaves a layer of coarse salt on the bottom. These people drink water that is disagreeably brackish srnd unsatisfactory to one unaccustomed to it, but which they say has become more acceptable to them, from habitual use, than purely fresh water. This spot is the healthiest and most favorable for the prolific pro- duction of certain forms of insect hfe I ever was in, and I spend 48 FEOM SAN FRANCISCO TO TEHEEAN. the liveliest night here I ever spent anyvfhere. These people pro- fessed to give me a bed to myself, but no sooner have I laid my head on the pillow than I recognize the ghastly joke they are playing on me. The bed is already densely populated with guests, who naturally object to being ousted or overcrowded. They seem quite a kittenish and playful lot, rather inclined to accomplish their ends by playing wild pranks than by resorting to more austere measures. Watching tiU. I have closed my eyes in an attempt to doze off, they slip up and playfully tickle me under the chin, or scramble around in my ear, and anon they wildly chase each other up and down my back, and play leap-frog and hide-and-go-seek all over my sensitive form, so that I arise in the morning anything but refreshed from my experience. Still following the shores of the lake, for several miles, my road now leads over the northern spur of the Promontory Mountains. On these hiUs I find a few miles of hard gravel that affords the best riding I have experienced in Utah, and I speed along as rapidly as possible, for dark, threatening clouds are gathering overhead. But ere I reach the summit of the ridge a violent thunder-storm breaks over the hills, and I seem to be verily hobnobbing with the thunder and lightning, that appears to be round about me, rather than overhead. A troop of wild bronchos, startled and stampeded by the vivid lightning and sharp peals of thunder, come wildly charging down the mountain trail, threatening to run quite over me in their mad career. PuUing my six-shooter, I fire a couple of shots in the air to attract their attention, when they rapidly swerve to the left, and go tearing frantically over the rolling hills on their wild flight to the plains below. Most of the rain falls on the plain and in the lake, and when I arrive at the summit I pause to take a view at the lake and sur- rounding country. A more auspicious occasion could scarcely Jiave been presented. The storm has subsided, and far beneath my feet a magnificent rainbow spans the plain, and dips one end of its variegated beauty in the sky-blue waters of the lake. From this point the view to the west and south is truly grand — rugged, irregular mountain-chains traverse the country at every conceivable angle, and around -among them winds the lake, filling with its blue waters the intervening spaces, and reflecting, impartially alike, their grand majestic beauty and their faults. What dreams of empire and white-winged commerce on this inland sea must fill the mind A Stampede of Wild Mustangs, so FKOM SAN FKANCISCO TO TEIIEEAW. and fire the imagery of tlie newly arrived Mormon convert v^lio, standing on tlie commanding summit of these mountains, feasts his eyes on the glorious panOTama of blue water and rugged moun- tains that is spread like a wondrous picture before him ! Surely, if he be devotionally inclined, it fails not to recall to his mind an- other inland sea in far-off Asia Minor, on* whose pebbly shores and by whose rippling waves the cradle of an older rehgion than Mor- monism was rocked — but not rocked to sleep. Ten miles farther on, from the vantage-ground of a pass over another spur of the same range, is obtained a widely extended view of the country to the east. For nearly thirty miles from the base of the mountains, low, level mud-flats extend eastward, bor- dered on the south by the marshy, sinuous shores of the lake, and on the north by the Blue Creek Mountains. Thirty miles to the east — looking from this distance strangely like flocks of sheep grazing at the base of the mountains — can be seen the white- painted houses of the Mormon settlements, that thickly dot the narrow but fertile strip of agricultural land between Bear River and the mighty Wahsatch Mountains, that, rearing their snowy crest skyward, shut out all view of what lies beyond. From this height the level mud-flats appear as if one could mount his wheel and bowl across at a ten-mile pace ; but I shall be agreeably sur- prised if I am able to aggregate ten miles of riding out of the thirty. Immediately after getting down into the bottom I make the acquaintance of the tiny black gnats that one of our whiskey- bereaved friends at Tacoma had warned me against. One's head is constantly enveloped in a black cloud of these little wretches. They are of infinitesimal proportions, and get into a person's ears, eyes, and nostrils, and if one so far forgets himself as to open his mouth, they swarm in as though they think it the " pearly gates ajar," and this their last chance of effecting an entrance. Mingled with them, and apparently on the best of terms, are swarms of mosquitoes, which appear perfect Jumbos in comparison with their disreputable associates. As if partially to recompense me for the torments of the after- noon, Dame Fortune considerately provides me with two separate and distinct suppers this evening. I had intended, when I left Promontory Station, to reach Corinne for the night ; consequently I bring a lunch with me, knowing it will take me till late to reach there. These days, I am troubled with an appetite that makes me TIIUOUGn MOEMON-LAND AND OVER THE EOCKIES. 51 blush to speak of it, and about five o'clock I sit down — on the bleacbed skeleton of a defunct mosquito ! — and proceed to eat my lunch of bread and meat — and gnats ; for I am quite certain of eating hundreds of these omnipresent creatures at every bite I take. Two hours afterward I am passing Quarry section-house, when the foreman beckons me over and generously invites me to remain over night. He brings out canned oysters and bottles of Milwaukee beei', and insists on my helping him discuss these ac- ceptable viands ; to which invitation it is needless to say I yield without extraordinary pressure, the fact of having eaten two hours before being no obstacle whatever. So much for 'cychng as an aid to digestion. Arriving at Corinne, on Bear Eiver, at ten o'clock next morning, I am accosted by a bearded, patriarchal Moi-mon, who requests me to constitute myself a parade of one, and ride the bicycle around the town for the edification of the people's minds. " In coui^se they knows what a ' perlocefede ' is, from seein' 'em in picturs ; but they never seed a real machine, and it'd be a ' hefty ' treat fer 'em," is the eloquent appeal made by this person in behalf of the Corinnethians, over whose destinies and happiness he appears to preside with fatherly solicitude. As the streets of Corinne this morning consist entirely of black mud of uncertaiil depth, I am reluctantly compelled to say the elder nay, at the same time promising him that if he would have them in better condition next time I happened around, I would willingly second his brilHant idea of making the people happy by permitting them a glimpse of my " perlocefede " in action. After crossing Bear Eiver I find myself on a somewhat superior road leading through the Mormon settlements to Ogden. No greater contrast can well be imagined than that presented by this strip of country lying between the lake, and the Wahsatch Moun- tains, and the desert country to the westward. One can almost fancy himself suddenly transported by some good genii to a quiet farmin"' community in an Eastern State. Instead of untamed bronchos and wild-eyed cattle, roaming at their own fi-ee will over unlimited tenitory, are seen staid work-horses ploughing in the field, and the sleek milch-cow peacefully cropping tame grass in en- closed meadows. Birds are singing merrily in the willow hedges and the shade-trees ; green fields of alfalfa and ripening grain line the road and spread themselves over the surrounding country in 52 FROM SAN FEANCISCO TO TEHERAN. alternate squares, like those of a vast checker-board. Farms, on the average, are small, and, consequently, houses are thick ; and not a farm-house among them all but is embowered in an orchard of fruit and shade-trees that mingle their green leaves and white blossoms harmoniously. At noon I roU into a forest of fmiit-trees, among which, I am informed, WiUard City is situated ; but one can see nothing of any city. Nothing but thickets of peach, plum, and apple trees, aU in full bloom, surround the spot where I alight and begin to look aroimd for some indications of the city. "Where is "WUlard City? " I inquire of a boy who comes out from one of the orchards carrying a can of kerosene in his hand, suggestive of having just come from a grocery, and so he has. " This is Wil- lard City, right here,'' replies the boy ; and then, in response to my inquiry for the hotel, he points to a small gate .leading into an orchard, and tells me the hotel is in there. The hotel — like every other house and store here — is embow- ered amid an orchard of blooming fruit-trees, and looks like any- thing but a public eating-house. No sign up, nothiag to distin- guish it from a private dwelling ; and I am ushered into a nicely furnished parlor, on the neatly papered walls of which hang en- larged portraits of Brigham Young and other Mormon celebrities, while a large-sized Mormon bible, expensively bound in morocco, reposes on the centre-table. A charming Miss of — teen summers presides over a private table, on which is spread for my material benefit the finest meal I have eaten since leaving California. Such snow-white bread ! Such delicious butter ! And the exquisite flavor of " spiced peach-butter " lingers in my fancy even now ; and as if this were not enough for " two bits " (a fifty per cent, come-down from usual rates in the mountains), a splendid bouquet of flowers is set on the table to round off the repast with their grateful perfume. As I enjoy the wholesome, substantial food, I fall to musLag on the mighty chasm that intervenes between the elegant meal now be- fore me and the " Melican plan-cae " of two weeks ago. " You have a remarkably pleasant country here, Miss," I venture to remark to the young lady who has presided ovfer my table, and whom I judge to be the daughter of the house, as she comes to the door to see the bicycle. " Yes ; we have made it pleasant by planting so many orchards '' she answers, demurely. " I should think the Mormons ought to be contented, for they 54 FROM SAiSr FEANCISCO TO TEIIEUAN. possess the only good piece of farming country between California and 'the States,'" I blunderingly continued. "I never heard anyone say they are not contented, but their enemies," replies this fair and yaliant champion of Mormonism in a voice that shows she quite misunderstands my meaning. "What I intended to say was, that the Mormon people are to be highly congTatulated on their good sense in settling here," I has- ten to explain ; for were I to leave at this house, where my treat- ment has been so gratifying, a shadow of prejudice against the Mor- mons, I should feel like kicking myself all over the Territory. The women of the Mormon religion are instructed by the \viseacres of the church to win over strangers by kind treatment and by the charm of their conversation and graces ; and this young lady has learned the lesson well ; she has graduated with high honors. Coming from the barren deserts of Nevada and Western Utah — from the land where the irreverent and irrepressible " Old Timer " fills the air with a sulphurous odor from his profanity and where nat- ure is seen in its sternest aspect, and then suddenly finding one's self literally surrounded by flowers and conversing with Beauty about Religion, is enough to charm the heart of a marble statue. Ogden is reached for supper, where I quite expect to find a 'cycler or two (Ogden being a city of eight thousand inhabitants) ; but the nearest approach to a bicycler in Ogden is a gentleman who used to belong to a Chicago club, but who has failed to bring his " wagon " West with him. Twelve miles of alternate riding and walking eastwardly from Ogden bring me to the entrance of Weber Canon, through which the Weber River, the Union Pacific Rail- road, and an uncertain wagon-trail make theh' way through the Wahsatch Mountains on to the elevated table-lands of Wyoming- Territory. Objects of interest foUow each other in quick succes- sion along this part of the journey, and I have ample time to ex- amine them, for Weber River is flooding the canon, and in many places has washed away the narrow space along which wagons are wont to make their way, so that I have to trundle slowly along the railway track. Now the road turns to the left, and in a few min- utes the rugged and picturesque walls of the canon are towering in imposing heights toward the clouds. The Weber River comes rushing— a resistless torrent — from under the dusky shadows of the mountains through which it runs for over fifty miles, and on- ward to the plain below, where it assumes a more moderate pace, THROUGH MOEJCON-LAND AND OVER THE ROCKIES. 66 as if conscious tliat it lias at last escaped from the Lurrying tur- moil of its boisterous march down the mountain. Advancing into the yawning jaws of the range, a continuously resounding roar is heard in advance, which gradually beconies louder as I proceed eastward ; in a short time the source of the noise is discovered, and a weird scene greets my enraptured vision. At a place where the fall is tremendous, the waters are opposed in their mad march by a rough-and-tumble collection of huge, jagged rocks, that have at some time detached themselves from the walls above, and come crashing down into the bed of the stream. The rushing waters, coming with haste from above, appear to pounce with insane fury on the rocks that dare thus to obstruct their path ; and then for the next few moments all is a hissing, seething, roar- ing caldron of strife, the mad waters seeming to pounce with ever- increasing fury from one imperturbable antagonist to another, now leaping clear over the head of one, only to dash itself into a cloud of spray against another, or pour like a cataract against its base in a persistent, endless struggle to undermine it ; while over all tower the dark, shadowy rocks, grim witnesses of the battle. This spot is known by the appropriate name of " The Devil's Gate." Wherever the walls of the canon recede from the river's brink, and leave a space of cultivable laud, there the industrious Mormons have built log or adobe cabins, and converted the circumscribed domain into farms, gardens, and orchards. In one of these isolated settle- ments I seek shelter from a passing shower at the house of a " three- ply Mormon " (a Mormon with three wives), and am introduced to his three separate and distinct better-halves ; or, rather, one should say, " better-quarters," for how can any tiling have three halves? A noticeable feature at all these farms is the universal plurality of wom- en around the house, and sometimes in the field. A familiar scene in any farming community is a woman out in the field, visiting her husband, or, perchance, assisting him in his labors. The same thing is observable at the Mormon settlements along the Weber Eiver — only, instead of one woman, there are generally two or three, and perhaps yet another standing in the door of the house. Passing through two tunnels that burrow through rocky spurs stretching across the cailon, as though to obstruct farther progress, across the river, to the right, is the " Devil's Slide " — two perpen- dicular walls of rock, looking strangely like man's handiwork,, stretching in parallel lines almost from base to summit of a slop- 56 ^ FROM SAN FEANCISCO TO TEHERAW. ing, grass-covered mountain. The walls are but a dozen feet apart. It is a curious phenomenon, but only one among many that are scattered at intervals all through here. A short distance farther, and I pass the famous " Thousand-mile Tree " — a rugged pine, that stands between the railroad and the river, and which has won re- nown by springing up just one thousand miles from Omaha. This tree is having a tough struggle for its life these days ; one side of its honored trunk is smitten as with the leprosy. The fate of the Thou- sand-mile Tree is plainly sealed. It is unfortunate in being the most conspicuous target on the line for the fe-ro-ci-ous youth who comes West with a revolver in his pocket and shoots at things from the car-window. Judging from the amount of cold lead contained in that side of its venerable trunk next the railway few of these thoughtless marksmen go past without honoring it with a shot. Emerging from " the Narrows " of Weber Canon, the route follows across a less contracted space to Echo City, a place of two hundred and twenty-five inhabitants, mostly Mormons, where I remain over- night. The hotel where I put up at Echo is all that can be deeired, so far as " provender " is concerned ; but the handsome and pictu- resque proprietor seems afflicted with sundry eccentric habits, his leading eccentricity being a haughty contempt for fractional cur- rency. Not having had the opportunity to test him, it is difficult to say whether this peculiarity works both ways, or only when the change is due his transient guests. However, we willingly give him the benefit of the doubt. Heavily freighted rain-clouds are hovering over the mountains next morning and adding to the gloominess of the gorge, which, just east of Echo City, contracts again and proceeds eastward under the name of Echo Gorge. Turning around a bold rocky projection to the left, the far-famed " Pulpit Rock " towers above, on which Brigham Young is reported to have stood and preached to the Mor- mon host while halting over Sunday at this point, during their pil- grimage to their new home in the Salt Lake Valley below. Had the redoubtable prophet turned " dizzy " while haranguing his fol- lowers from the elevated pinnacle of his novel pulpit, he would at least have died a more romantic death than he is accredited with — from eating too much green corn. Fourteen miles farther brings me to " Castle Eocks,'' a name given to the high sandstone bluffs that compose the left-hand side of the canon at this point, and which have been worn by the ele- THROUGH MOEMON-LAND AWD OVER THE ROCKIES. 57 ments into all manner of fantastic shapes, many of them calling to mind the towers and turrets of some old-world castle so vividly, that one needs but the pomp and circumstance of old knight-errant days to complete the illusion. But, as one gazes with admiration on these towering buttresses of nature, it is easy to realize that the most massive and imposing feudal castle, or ramparts built with human hands, would look like children's toys beside them. The weather is cool and bracing, and when, in the middle of the afternoon, I reach Evanston, Wyo. Terr., too late to get din- ner at the hotel, I proceed to devour the contents of a bakery, filling the proprietor with boundless astonishment by consuming about two-thirds of his stock. When I get through eating, he bluntly refuses to charge anything, considering himself well repaid by having witnessed the most extraordinary gastronomic feat on record — the swallowing of two-thirds of a bakery ! Following the trail down Yellow Creek, I arrive at Hilliard after dark. The Hil- liardites are " somewhat seldom," but they are made of the right material. The boarding-house landlady sets about preparing me supper, late though it be ; and the "boys" extend me a hearty in- vitation to turn in with them for the night. Here at Hilliard is a long V-shaped flume, thirty miles long, in which telegraph poles, ties, and cordwood are floated down to the railroad from the piner- ies of the Uintah Mountains, now plainly visible to the south. The " boys " above referred to are men engaged in handling ties thus floated dovm ; and sitting around the red-hot stove, they make the evening jolly with songs and yarns of tie-drives, and of wUd rides down the long " V " flume. A happy, light-hearted set of feUows are these " tie-men," and not an evening but their rude shanty re- sounds with merriment galore. Fun is in the air to-night, and " Beaver " (so dubbed on account of an unfortunate tendency to fall into every hole of water he goes anywhere near) is the' unlucky wight upon whom the rude witticisms concentrate ; for he has fallen into the water again to-day, and is busily engaged in drying his clothes by the stove. They accuse him of keeping up an un- comfortably hot fire, detrimental to everybody's comfort but his own, and threaten him with dire penalties if he doesn't let the room cool off; also broadly hinting their disapproval of his over-fondness for "Adam's ale," and threaten to make him "set 'em up" every time he tumbles in hereafter. In revenge for these remarks, " Beaver " piles more wood into the stove, and, with many a west- 58 FEOM SAW FEAWCISCO TO TEHERAN. ernism — not permitted in print — threatens to keep up a fire that will drive them all out of the shanty if they persist in their perse- cutions. Crossing next day the low, broad pass over the Uintah Moun- tains, some stretches of ridable surface are passed over, and at this point I see the first band of antelope on the tour ; but as they faU to come within the regulation two hundred yards they are graciously permitted to hve. At Piedmont Station I decide to go around by way of Fort Bridger and strike the direct trail again at Carter Station, twenty- four miles farther east. ■A. ^.r. ■V J- A tough bit of Country. The next day at noon finds me " tucked in my little bed " at Carter, decidedly the worse for wear, having experienced the touoh- est twenty-four hours of the entu-e journey. I have to ford no less than nine streams of ice-cold water ; get benighted on a rain-soaked adobe plain, where I have to sleep out all night in an abandoned freight-wagon ; and, after carrying the bicycle across seven miles of deep, sticky clay, I finally arrive at Carter, looking like the last sad remnant of a dire calamity — having had nothing to eat for twenty-four hours. From Carter my route leads through the Bad- Lands, amid buttes of mingled clay and rock, which the elements have worn into all conceivable shapes, and conspicuous among them TIIEOUGII MORMON-LANX) AND OVER THE KOCKIES. 59 can be seen, to the south, " Church Buttes," so called from ha-ving been chiselled by the dexterous hand of nature into a group of domes and pinnacles, that, from a distance, strikingly resembles some magnificent cathedral. High-water mai-ks are observable on these buttes, showing that Noah's flood, or some other aqueous calamity once happened ai-ound here ; and one can easily imagine droves of miserable, half-clad Indians, perched on top, looking with doleful, melancholy expression on the suiTounding wilderness of waters. Arriving at Granger, for dinner, I find at the hotel a crest-fallen state of affairs somewhat similar to the glumness of Tacoma. Ta- coma had plenty of customers, but no whiskey ; Granger on the contrary has plenty of whiskey, but no customers. The effect on that marvellous, intangible something, the saloon proprietor's intel- lect, is the same at both places. Here is plainly a new field of re- search for some ambitious student of psychology. Whiskey without customers ! Customers without whiskey ! Truly all is vanity and vexation of spirit. Next day I pass the world-renovyned castellated rocks of Green Eiver, aud stop for the night at Eock Springs, where the Union Pacific Railway Company has extensive coal mines. On calling for my bill at the hotel here, next morning, the proprietor — a corpu- lent Teuton, whose thoughts, words, aud actions, run entirely to ■^eer— rephes, "Twenty-five cents a quart." Thinking my hearing apparatus is at fault, I inquire again. " Twenty-five cents a quart and vumish yer own gan." The bill is abnormally large, but, as I hand over the amount, a " loaded schooner " is shoved under my nose, as though a glass of beer were a tranquillizing antidote for all the ills of life. Splendid level alkali flats abound east of Eock Springs, and I bowl across them at a lively pace until they termi- nate, and my route follows up Bitter Creek, where the surface is iust the reverse ; being seamed and furrowed as if it had just emerged from a devastating flood. It is said that the teamster who successfully navigated the route up Bitter Creek, considered himself entitled to be called " a tough cuss from Bitter Creek, on wheels, with a perfect education." A justifiable regard for individ- ual rights would seem to favor my own assumption of this distin- guished title after traversing the I'oute with a bicycle. Ten o'clock next morning finds me leaning on my wheel, sur- veying the sceneiy from the " Continental Divide "—the bactbone of the continent. Facing the north, all waters at my right hand 60 FROM SAIf FRANCISCO TO TEHERAW. flow to the east, and all on my left flow to the west — the one event- ually finding their way to the Atlantic, the other to the Pacific. This spot is a broad low pass through the Eockies, more plain than mountain, but from which a most commanding view of nu- merous mountain chains are obtained. To the north and north- west are the Seminole, Wind Eiver, and Sweet- water ranges — ^bold, rugged mountain-chains, filling the landscape of the distant north with a mass of great, jagged, rocky piles, grand beyond conception ; their many snowy peaks peopling the blue ethery space above with ghostly, spectral forms well calculated to inspire with feel- ings of awe and admiration a lone cycler, who, standing in silence and solitude profound on the great Continental Divide, looks and meditates on what he sees. Other hoary monarchs are visible to the east, which, however, we shall get acquainted with later on. Down grade is the rule now, and were there a good road, what an enjoyable coast it would be, down from the Continen- tal Divide ! but half of it has to be walked. About eighteen miles from the divide I am greatly amused, and not a little astonished, at the strange actions of a coyote that comes trotting in a leisurely, confidential way toward me ; and when he reaches a spot com- manding a good view of my road he stops and watches my move- ments with an air of the greatest inquisitiveness and assurance. He stands and gazes as I trundle along, not over fifty yards away, and he looks so much like a well-fed collie, that I actually feel like patting my knee for him to come and make friends. Shoot at him ? Certainly not. One never abuses a confidence like that. He can come and rub his sleek coat up against the bicycle if he likes, and — blood-thirsty rascal though he no doubt is — I will never fire at him. He has as much right to gaze in astonishment at a bicycle as anybody else who never saw one before. Staying over night and the next day at Eawlins, I make the sixteen miles to Fort Fred Steele next morning before breakfast, there being a very good road between the two places. This fort stands on the west bank of North Platte Eiver, and a few miles west of the river I ride through the first prairie-dog town encoun- tered in crossing the continent from the west, though I shall see plenty of these interesting little fellows during the next three hun- dred miles. These animals sit near their holes and excitedly bark at whatever goes past. Never before have they had an opportunity to bark at a bicycle, and they seem to be making the most of their THROUGH MORMON-LAND AND OVER THE ROCKIES. 61 opportunity. I see at this village none of the small speckled owls, which, with the rattlesnake, make themselves so much at home in the prairie-dogs' comfortable quarters, but I see them farther east. These three strangely assorted companions may have warm affec- tions toward each other ; but one is inclined to think the great bond of sympatliy that binds them together is the tender regard entertained by the owl and the rattlesnake for the nice, tender young prairie-pups that appear at intervals to increase the joys and cares of the elder animals. I am now getting on to the famous Laramie Plains, and Elk Mountain looms up not over ten mUes to the south — a solid, towery mass of black rocks and dark pine forests, that stands out bold and distinct from surroundiQg mountain chains as though some animate thing conscious of its own strength and superiority. A snow-storm is raging on its upper slopes, obscuring that portion of the moun- tain ; but the dark forest-clad slopes near the base are in plain view, and also the rugged peak which elevates its white-crowned head above the storm, and reposes peacefully in the bright sunlight in striking contrast to the warring elements lower down. I have heard old hunters assert that this famous " landmark of the Eockies " is hollow, and that they have heard wolves howling inside the moun- tain ; but some of these old western hunters see and hear strange things ! As I penetrate the Laramie Plains the persistent sage-brash, that has constantly hovered around my path for the last thousand mUes, grows beautifully less, and the short, nutritious buffalo-grass is creeping everywhere. In Carbon, where I arrive after dark, I mention among other things in reply to the usual volley of ques- tions, the fact of having to foot it so great a proportion of the way through the mountain country ; and shortly afterward, from among a group of men, I hear a voice, thick and husky with "val- ley tan," remark: "Faith, Oi cud roide a bicycle meself across the counthry av yeez ud lit me walluk it afut ! " and straightway a luminous bunch of shamrocks dangled for a brief moment in the air, and then vanished. After passing Medicine Bow Valley and Como Lake I find some good ridable road, the surface being hard gravel and the plains high and dry. Beaching the brow of one of those rocky ridges that hereabouts divide the plains into so many shallow basins, I find myself suddenly within a few paces of a small herd of antelope peacefully grazing on the other side of the narrow 62 FROM SAN FRANCISCO TO TEHERAN. ridge, all unconscious of the presence of one of creation's alleged proud lords. My ever handy revolver rings out clear and sharp on the mountain air, and the startled antelope go bounding across the plain in a succession of quick, jerky jumps peculiar to that nimble animal ; but ere they have travelled a hundred yards one of them lags behind and finally staggers and lays down on the grass. As I approach him he makes a ' gallant struggle to rise and make off after his companions, but the effort is too much for him, and com- ing up to him, I quickly put him out of pain by a shot behind the ear. This makes a proud addition to my hitherto rather smaU hst of game, which now' comprises jack-rabbits, a badger, a fierce gos- ling, an antelope, and a thin, attenuated coyote, that I bowled over in Utah. From this ridge an extensive view of the broad, billowy plains and surrounding mountains is obtained. Elk Mountain still seems close at hand, its towering form marking the western Hmits of the Medicine Bow Range whose dark pine-clad slopes form the western border of the plains. Back of them to the west is the Snowy Eange, towering in ghostly grandeur as far above the timber-clad summits of the Medicine Bow Range as these latter are above the grassy plains at their base. To the south more snowy mountains stand out against the sky like white tracery on a blue ground, with Long's Peak and Fremont's Peak towering head and shoulders above them alL The Rattlesnake Eange, with Laramie Peak rear- ing its ten thousand feet of rugged grandeur to the clouds, are visible to the north. On the east is the Black HiUs Eange, the last chain of the Rockies, and now the only barrier intervening be- tween me and the broad prairies that roll away eastward to the Missouri River and " the States.'' A genuine Laramie Plains rain-storm is hovering overhead as I pull out of Rock Creek, after dinner, and in a little while the per- formance begins. There is nothing of the gentle pattering shower about a rain and wind storm on these elevated plains ; it comes on with a blow and a bluster that threatens to take one off his feet. The rain is dashed about in the air by the wild, blustering wind, and comes from all directions at the same time. While you are frantically hanging on to your hat, the wind playfully unbuttons your rubber coat and lifts it up over your head and flaps the wet, muddy corners about in your face and eyes ; and, ere you can dis- entangle your features fi-om the cold uncomfortable embrace of THROUGH MORMON-LAND AND OVER THE ROCKIES. 63 the wet mackintosh, the rain — which " falls " upward as well as clo^vn, and sidewise, and eveiy other way — has wet you through up as high as the armpits ; and then the gentle zephyrs complete your discomfiture by purloining your hat and making off across the sod- den plain with it, at a pace that defies pursuit. The storm winds up in a pelting shower of hailstones — round chunks of ice that cause me to wince whenever one makes a square hit, and they strike the steel spokes of the bicycle and make them produce harmonious sounds. Trundling through Cooper Lake Basin, after dark, I get occasional glimpses of mysterious shadowy objects flitting hither arid thither through the dusky pall around me. The basin is full of antelope, and my presence here in the darkness fills them with consternation ; theu- keen scent and instinctive knowledge of a strange presence warn them of my proximity ; and as they cannot see me in the darkness they are flitting about in wild alarm. Stopping for the night at Lookout, I make an early start, in order to reach Laramie City for dinner. These Laramie Plains "can smile and look pretty" when they choose, and, as I bowl along over a fairly good road this sunny Sunday morning, they certainly choose. The Laramie Eiver on my left, the Medicine Bow and Snowy ranges — black and white respectivelj' — towering aloft to the right, and the intervening plains dotted with herds of antelope, complete a picture that can be seen nowhere save on the Laramie Plains. Beaching a swell of the plains, that almost rises to the digiiity of a hill, I can see the nickel-plated wheels of the Laramie wheelmen glistening in the sunlight on the opposite side of the river several miles from where I stand. They have come out a few miles to meet me, but have taken the wrong side of the river, thinkins; I had crossed below Kock Creek. The members of the Laramie Bicycle Club are the first wheehnen I have seen since leav- ing California ; and, as I am personally acquainted at Laramie, it is needless to dwell on my reception at their hands. The rambles of the Laramie Club are well known to the cycUng world from the iliany interesting letters from the graphic pen of their captain, Rlr. Owen, who, with two other members, once took a tour on their wheels to the Yellowstone National Park. They have some very good natural roads around Laramie, but in then- rambles over the mountains these "rough riders of the Eockies" necessarily take risks that are unknown to theii- fraternal brethren farther east. 64 FROM SAN FRANCISCO TO TEHERAN. Tuesday morning I pull out to scale the last range that separates me from " the plains " — popularly known as such — and, upon arriving at the summit, I pause to take a farewell view of the great and wonderful inter-mountain country, across whose mountains, plains, and deserts I have been travelling in so novel a manner for the last month. The view from where I stand is mag- nificent — ay, sublime beyond human power to describe — and well calculated to make an indelible impression on the mind of one gaz- ing upon it, perhaps for the last time. The Laramie Plains extend northward and westward, like a billowy green sea. Emerging from a black canon behind Jelm Mountain, the Laramie Eiver winds its serpentine course in a northeast direction until lost to view behind the abutting mountains of the range, on which I now stand, receiving tribute in its course from the Little Laramie and numbers of smaller streams that emerge from the mountainous bulwarks forming the western border of the marvellous picture now before me. The unusual rains have filled the numberless depres- sions of the plains with ponds and lakelets that in their green set- ting glisten and glimmer in the bright morning sunshine like gems. A train is coming from the west, winding around arhong them as if searching out the most beautiful, and finally halts at Laramie City, which nestles* in their midst — the fairest gem of them all — the "Gem of the Eockies." Sheep Mountain, the embodiment of all that is massive and indestructible, juts boldly and defiantly for- ward as though its mission were to stand guard over all that lies to the west. The Medicine Bow Range is now seen to greater advan- tage, and a bald mountain-top here and there protrudes above the dark forests, timidly, as if ashamed of its nakedness. Our old friend. Elk Mountain, is still in view, a stately and magnificent pile, serving as a land-mark for a hundred miles around. Beyond all this, to the west and south — a good hundred mUes away — are the snowy ranges ; their hoary peaks of glistening purity penetrat- ing the vast blue dome above, like monarchs in royal vestments robed. Still others are seen, white and shadowy, stretching away down into Colorado, peak beyond peak, ridge beyond ridge, until lost in the impenetrable distance. As I lean on my bicycle on this mountain-top, drinking in the glorious scene, and inhaling the ozone-laden air, looking through the loop-holes of recent experiences in crossing the great wonder- land to the west ; its strange intermingling of forest-clad hiUs and THROUGH MORMON-LAND AND OVER THE ROCKIES. 65 grassy valleys ; its barren, rocky mountains and dreary, desolate plains ; its vast, snowy solitudes and its sunny, sylvan nooks ; the no less strange intermingling of people ; the wandering red-skin with Lis pathetic history ; the feverishly hopeful prospector, toiling and searching for precious metals locked in the eternal hills ; and the wild and free cow-boy who, mounted on his wiry bronco, roams these plains and mountains, free as the Ai-ab of the desert — I heave a sigh as I realize that no tongue or jaen of mine can hope to do the subject justice. My road is now over Cheyenne Pass, and fi-om this point is mostly down-grade to Cheyenne. Soon I come to a naturally smooth granite surface which extends for twelve miles, where I have to keep the brake set most of the distance, and the constant friction heats the brake-spoon and scorches the rubber tire black. To-night I reach Cheyenne, where I find a bicycle club of twenty members, and where the fame of my journey from San Francisco draws such a crowd on the corner where I alight, that a blue-coated guardian of the city's sidewalks requests me to saunter on over to the hotel. Do I? Yes, I saunter over. The Cheyenne "cops" are bold, bad men to trifle with. They have to be " bold, bad men to trifle with," or the wild, wicked cow-boys would come in and "paint the city red" altogether too frequently. It is the morning of June 4th as I bid farewell to the "Magic City," and, turning my back to the mountains, ride away over very fair roads toward the rising sun. I am not long out before meet- ing with that characteristic feature of a scene on the Western plains, a "prairie schooner;" and meeting prame schooners will now be a daily incident of my eastward journey. Many of these "pilgrims" come from the backwoods of Missouri and Arkansas, or the rural districts of some other Western State, where the perse- vering, but at present circumscribed, cycler has not yet had time to penetrate, and the bicycle is therefore to them a wonder to be gazed at and commented on, generally — it must be admitted — in language more fluent as to words than in knowledge of the subject discussed. Not far from where the trail leads out of Crow Creek bottom on to the higher table-land, I find the grassy plain smoother than the wagon-trail, and bowl along for a short distance as easUy as one could wish. But not for long is this permitted ; the ground becomes covered with a carpeting of small, loose cacti that stick to the rubber tire with the clinging tenacity of a cuckle-burr to a 5 66 FEOM SAN FKANCISCO TO TEHERAN. mule's tail. Of course they scrape off again as they come round to the bridge of the fork, but it isn't the tire picking them up that fills me with lynx-eyed vigilance and alarm ; it is the dreaded pos- sibility of taking a header among these awful vegetables that un- nerves one, starts the cold chills chasing each other up and down my spinal column, and causes staring big beads of perspiration to ooze out of my forehead. No more appalling physical calamity on a small scale could befall a person than to take a header on to a cactus-covered greensward ; milhons of miniature needles would fill his tender hide with prickly sensations, and his vision with floating stars. It would perchance cast clouds of gloom over his whole hie. Henceforth he would be a solemn- visaged, bilious-eyed needle-cushion among men, and would never smile again. I once knew a young man named Whipple, who sat down on a bunch of these cacti at a picnic in Virginia Dale, Wyo., and he never smiled again. Two meek-eyed maidens of the Eockies invited him to come and take a seat between them on a thin, innocuous-looking layer of hay. Smilingly poor, unsuspecting Whipple accepted the invitation ; jokingly he suggested that it would be a rose between two thorns. But immediately he sat dovm. he became convinced that it was the liveliest thorn — or rather miUions of thorns — be- tween two roses. Of course the two meek-eyed maidens didn't know it was there, how should they ? But, all the same, he never smiled again — ^not on them. At the section-house, where I call for dinner, I make the mis- take of leaving the bicycle behind the house, and the woman takes me for an uncommercial traveller — yes, a tramp. She snaps out, "We can't feed everybody that comes along," and shuts the door in my face. Yesterday I was the centre of admiring crowds in the richest city of its size in America ; to-day I am mistaken for a hun- gry-eyed tramp, and spumed from the door by a woman with a faded calico dress and a wrathy what-are-you-doing-here ? look in her eye. Such is life in the Far West. Gradually the Eockies have receded from my range of vision, and I am alone on the boundless prairie. There is a feeling of utter isolation at finding one's self alone on the plains that is not experienced in the mountain country. There is something tann-i- ble and companionable about a mountain ; but here, where there is no object in view anywhere — nothing but the boundless, level plains, stretching away on every hand as far as the eye can reach. TIIEOUGII MORMON-LAND AND OVER THE ROCKIES. 67 and all around, wliicbever way one looks, nothing' but tlie green carpet below and the cerulean arch above — one feels that he is the sole occupant of a vast region of otherwise unoccupied space. This evening, while fording Pole Creek with the -bicycle, my clothes, Fishing out my Ciothes. and shoes — all at the same time — the latter fall in the river ; and in my wild scramble after the shoes I drop some of the clothes ; then I drop the machine in my effort to save the clothes, and wind up by falhng down in the water with everything. Everything is 68 rnoM SAN francisco to teheraw. fished out again all right, but a sad change has come over the clothes and shoes. This morning I was mistaken for a homeless, friendless wanderer ; this evening as I stand on the bank of Pole Creek with nothing-over me but a thin mantle of native modesty, and ruefully wring the water out of my clothes, I feel considerably like one ! Pine Bluffs provides me with shelter for the night, and a few miles' travel next morning takes me across the boundary-line into Nebraska. My route leads down Pole Creek, with ridable roads probably half the distance, and low, rocky bluffs lining both sides of the narrow valley, and leading up to high, rolling prairie beyond. Over these rocky bluffs the Indians were wont to stampede herds of buffalo, which falling over the precipitous bluffs, would be killed by hundreds, thus XDrocuring an abundance of beef for the long winter. There are no buffalo here now — they have departed with the Indians — and I shall never have a chance to add a bison to my game-list on this tour. But they have left plenty of tangible evidence behind, in the shape of numerous deeply worn trails lead- ing from the bluffs to the creek. The prairie hereabouts is spangled with a wealth of divers-col- ored flowers that fill the morning air with gratifying perfume. The air is soft and balmy, in striking contrast to the chilly atmos- phere of early morning in the mountain country, where the accu- mulated snows of a thousand winters exert their chilling influence in opposition to the benign rays of old Sol. This evening I pass through "Prairie-dog City,'' the largest congregation of prairie- dog dwellings met with on the tour. The " city " covers hundreds of acres of ground, and the dogs come out in such multitudes to present their noisy and excitable protests against my intrusion, that I consider myself quite justified in shooting at them. I hit one old fellow fair and square, but he disappears like a flash down his hole, which now becomes his grave. The lightniug-like movements of the prairie-dog, and his instinctive inclination toward his home, combine to perform the last sad rites of burial for his body at death. As, toward dark, I near Potter Station, where I expect ac- commodation for the night, a storm comes howling from the west, and it soon resolves into a race between me and the storm. With a good ridable road I could win the race ; but, being handicapped with an unridable trail, nearly obscured beneath tall, rank grass, the storm overtakes me, and comes in at Potter Station a winner by about three hundred lengths. THROUGH MORMON-LAND AND OVER THE ROCKIES. 69 In the morning I start out in good season, and, nearing Sidney, the road becomes better, and I sweep into that enterprising town at a becoming pace. I conclude to remain at Sidney for dinner, and pass the remainder of the forenoon visiting the neighboring fort. CHAPTER IV. PROM THE GREAT PLAINS TO THE ATLANTIC. Through the courtesy of the commanding o£Scer at Fort Sidney I am enabled to resume my journey eastward under the grateful shade of a military summer helmet in lieu of the semi-sombrero slouch that has lasted me through from San Francisco. Certainly it is not without feelings of compunction that one discards an old friend, that has gallantly stood by me through thick and thin throughout the eventful journey across the inter-mountain country ; but the white helmet gives such a delightfully imposing air to my otherwise forlorn and woebegone figure that I ride out of Sidney feeling quite vain. The first thing done is to fill a poor yellow- spotted snake — whose head is boring in the sand — with lively sur- prise, by riding over his mottled carcass ; and only the fact of the tire being rubber, and not steel, enables him to escape unscathed. This same evening, while halting for the night at Lodge Pole Sta- tion, the opportunity of observing the awe-inspiring aspect of a great thunder-storm on the plains presents itself. "With absolutely nothing to obstruct the vision the Alpha and Omega of the whole spectacle are plainly observable. The gradual mustering of the forces is near the Rockies to the westward, then the skirmish-line of fleecy cloudlets comes rolling and tumbling in advance, bringing a current of air that causes the ponderous -wind-mill at the railway tank to "about face" sharply, and sets its giant arms to -whirling vigorously around. Behind comes the compact, inky veil that spreads itself over the whole blue canopy above, seemingly banish- ing all hope of the future ; and athwart its Cimmerian surface shoot zigzag streaks of lightning, accompanied by heavy, muttering thunder that rolls and reverberates over the boundless plains seemingly conscious of the spaciousness of its play-ground. Broad sheets of electric flame play along the ground, filling the air with a strange, unnatural light ; hea-vy, pattering raindrops begin to fall, and, ten minutes after, a pelting, pitiless down-pour is drench- FROM THE GREAT PLAINS TO THE ATLANTIC. 71 ing the sod-cabin of the lonely rancher, and, for the time being, converting the level plain into a shallow lake. A fleet of prairie schooners is anchored in the South Platte bottom, waiting for it to dry up, as I trundle down that stream— every mile made interesting by reminiscences of Indian fights and massacres— next day, toward Ogallala ; and one of the " Pilgrims ' looks wise as I approach, and propounds the query, " Does it hev ter git very muddy afore yer kin ride yer verlocify, mister?" " Ya-as, purty dog-goned muddy," I drawl out in reply ; for, although comprehending his meaning, I don't care to venture into The First Homestead. an explanatory lecture of uncertain • length. Seven weeks' travel through bicycleless territory would undoubtedly convert an angel into a hardened prevaricator, so far as answering questions is con- cerned. This afternoon is passed the first homestead, as distinguished from a ranch — ^consisting of a small tent pitched near a few acres of newly upturned prairie — in the picket-line of the great agricult- ural empire that is gradually creeping westward over the plains, crowding the autocratic cattle-kings and their herds farther west, even as the Indians and their still greater herds — buffaloes — have 72 FROM SAN FRANCISCO TO TEHERAN. been crowded out by the latter. At Ogallala — which but a few years ago was par excellence the cow-boys' rrillying point — "home- steads," "timber claims," and "pre-emption" now form the all- absorbing topic. " The Platte's ' petered ' since the hoosiers have begun to settle it up," deprecatingly reflects a bronzed cow-boy at the hotel supper- table ; and, from his standpoint, he is correct. Passing the next night in the dug-out of a homesteader, in the forks of the North and South Platte, I pass in the morning Buffalo Bill's home ranch (the place where a ranch proprietor himself re- sides is denominated the "home ranch" as distinctive from a ranch presided over by employes only), the house and improvements of which are said to be the finest in Western Nebraska. Taking din- ner at North Platte City, I cross over a substantial wagon-bridge, spanning the turgid yellow stream just below where the north and south branches fork, and proceed eastward as " the Platte " simply, reaching Brady Island for the night. Here I encounter extraordi- nary difiiculties in getting supper. Pour families, representing the Union Pacific force at this place, aU living in separate houses, con- stitute the population of Brady Island. " AU our folks are just recovering from the scarlet fever," is the reply to my first applica- tion ; " Muvver's down to ve darden on ve island, and we ain't dot no bread baked," says a barefooted youth at house No. 2 ; " Me ould ooman's across ter the naybur's, 'n' there ain't a boite av grub cooked in the shanty," answers the proprietor of No. 3, seated on the threshold, puffing vigorously at the traditional short clay ; " We all to Nord Blatte been to veesit, und shust back ter home got mit notings gooked," winds up the gloomy programme at No. 4. I am hesitating' about whether to crawl in somewhere, supperless, for the night, or push on farther through the darkness, when, "I don't care, pa ! it's a shame for a stranger to come here where there are four families and have to go without supper," greet my ears in a musical, tremulous voice. It is the convalescent daughter of house No. 1, valiantly championing my cause ; and so well does she suc- ceed that her "pa" comes out, and notwithstanding my protests insists on setting out the best they have cooked. Homesteads now become more frequent, groves of youno- cot- tonwoods, representing timber claims, are occasionally encoun- tered, and section-house accommodation becomes a thing of the past. Near Willow Island I come within a trifle of steppin" on a FUOM THE GREAT PLAINS TO THE ATLANTIC. 73 belligerent rattlesnake, and in a moment his deadly fangs are hooked to one of the thick canvas gaiters I am wearing. Were my exquisitely outlineel calves encased in cycling stockings only, I should have had a " heap sick foot " to amuse myself with for the next three weeks, though there is little danger of being " snuffed out " entirely by a rattlesnake favor these days ; an all-potent rem- edy is to drink plenty of whiskey as quickly as j)ossible after being bitten, and whiskey is one of the easiest things to obtain in the "West. Giving his snakeship to understand that I don't appreciate his " good intentions " by vigorously shaking him off, I turn my "barker" loose on him, and quickly convert him into a "goody- good snake ; " for if "the only good Indian is a dead one," surely the same terse remark applies with much greater force to the vi- cious and deadly rattler. As I progress eastward, sod-houses and dug-outs become less frequent, and at long intervals frame school- houses appear to remind me that I am passing through a civilized country. Stretches of sand alternate with ridable roads all down the Platte. Often I have to ticklishly wobble along a narrow space between two j'awning ruts, over ground that is anything but smooth. I consider it a lucky day that passes without adding one or more to my long and eventful list of headers, and to-day I am fairly " un- horsed ' by a squall of wind that — taking me unawares — blows me and the bicycle fairly over. East of Plum Creek a greater proportion of ridable road is encountered, but they still continue to be nothing more than well-worn wagon-trails across the prairie, and when teams are met en route westward one has to give and the other take, in order to pass. It is doubtless owing to misunderstanding a cycler's capacities, rather than ill-nature, that makes these Western team- sters oblivious to the precept, " It is better to give than to re- ceive ; " and if ignorance is bliss, an outfit I meet to-day ought to comprise the happiest mortals in existence. Near Elm Creek I meet a train of " schooners," whose drivers fail to recognize my right to one of the two wheel-tracks ; and in my endeavor to ride past them on the uneven greensward, I am rewarded by an inglori- ous header. A dozen freckled Arkansawish faces are watching my movements with undisguised astonishment ; and when my crest- fallen self is spread out on the prairie, these faces — one and aU — resolve into expansive grins, and a squeaking female voice from out the nearest wagon, pipes ; " La me ! that's a right smart chance of 74 FKOM SAN FEANCISCO TO TEHERAN. a travelling machine, but, if that's the way they stop 'em, I wonder they don't break every blessed bone in their body ! " But all sorts of people are mingled promiscuously here, for, soon after this inci- dent, two young men come running across the prairie from a semi- dug-out, who prove to be college graduates from " the Hub," who are rooting prairie here in Nebraska, preferring the free, indepen- dent life of a Western farmer to the restraints of a position at an Eastern desk. They are more conversant with cycling affairs than myself, and, having heard of my tour, have been on the lookout, expecting I would pass this way. At Kearney Junction the roads are excellent, and everything is satisfactory ; but an hour's ride east of that city I am shocked at the gross misconduct of a vigorous and vociferous young mule who is confined alone in a pasture, presumably to be weaned. He evi- dently mistakes the picturesque combination of man and machine for his mother, as, on seeing us approach, he assumes a thirsty, anxious expression, raises his unmusical, undignified voice, and en- deavors to jump the fence. He follows along the whole length of the pasture, and when he gets to the end, and realizes that I am drawing away from him, perhaps forever, he bawls out in an agony of grief and anxiety, and, recklessly bursting through the fence, comes tearing down the road, filling the air with the unmelodious notes of his soul-harrowing music. The road is excellent for a piece, and I lead him a lively chase, but he finally overtakes me, and, when I slow up, he jogs along behind quite contentedly. East of Kearney the sod-houses disappear entirely, and the im- provements are of a more substantial character. At Wood Eiver I " make my bow " to the first growth of natural timber since leav- ing the mountains, which indicates my gradual advance off the vast timberless plains. Passing through Grand Island, Central City, and other towns, I find myself anchored Saturday evening, June 14th, at Duncan — a settlement of Polackers — an honest-hearted set of folks, who seem to thoroughly understand a cycler's digestive ca- pacity, though understanding nothing whatever about the uses of the machine. Eesuming my journey next morning, I find the roads fair. After crossing the Loup Eiver, and passing through Colum- bus, I reach — about 11 a.m. — a country school-house, with a gather- ing of farmers hanging around outside, awaiting the arrival of the parson to open the meeting. Alighting, I am engaged in answer- ing forty questions or thereabouts to the minute when that pious FROM THE GREAT PLAINS TO THE ATLANTIC. 75 inclividual canters ug, and, dismounting from his nag, comes for- ward and joins in the conversation. He invites me to stop over and hear the sermon ; and when I beg to be excused because desirous of pushing ahead while the weather is favorable His Eeverence sol- emnly warns me against desecrating the Sabbath by going farther than the prescribed " Sabbath-day's journey." At Fremont I bid farewell to the Platte — which turns south and joins the Missouri Eiver at Plattsmouth — and fbllow the old military road through the Elkhorn Valley to Omaha. "Military road " sounds like music in a cycler's ear — suggestive of a well- kept and well-graded highway ; but this particular military road between Fremont and Omaha fails to awaken any blithesome sen- sations to-day, for it is almost one continuous mud-hole. It is * called a military road simply from being the route formerly tra- versed by troops and supply trains bound for the Western forts. Resting a day in Omaha, I obtain a permit to trundle my wheel across the Union Pacific Bridge that spans the Missouri Eiver — the ' ' Big Muddy," toward which I have been travelling so long — between Omaha and Council Bluffs ; I bid farewell to Nebraska, and cross over to Iowa.' Heretofore I have omitted mentioning the tremendously hot weather I have encountered lately, because of my inability to pro- duce legally tangible evidence ; but to-day, while eating dinner at a farm-house, I leave the bicycle standing against the fence, and old Sol ruthlessly unsticks the tire, so that, when I mount, it comes off, and gives me a gymnastic lesson all unnecessary. My first day's experience in the great " Hawkeye State " speaks volumes for the hospitality of the people, there being quite a rivalry between two neighboring farmers about which should take me in to dinner. A compromise is finally made, by which I am to eat dinner at one place, and be "turned loose" in a cherry orchard afterward at the other, to which happy arrangement I, of course, enter no objections. In strik- ing contrast to these friendly advances is my own unpardonable con- duct the same evening in conversation with an honest old farmer. "I see you are taking notes. I suppose you keep track of the crops as you travel along ? " says the H. O. P. " Certainly, I take more notice of the crops than anything ; I'm a natural born agiiculturist myself." "Well," continues the farmer, "right here where we stand is Carson Township." 76 FKOM SAN FKAWCISCO TO TEHBRAX. ." All ! indeed ! Is it possible that I have at last arrived at Car- son Township ? " " You have heard of the township before, then, eh ? " " Heard of it ! why, man alive, Carson Township is all the talk out in the Eockies ; in fact, it is known all over the world as the finest Township for corn in Iowa ! " This sort of conduct is, I admit, unwarrantable in the extreme ; but cycling is responsible for it all. If continuous cycling is pro- ductive of a superfluity of exhilaration, and said exhilaration bub- bles over occasionally, plainly the bicycle is to blame. So forcibly does this latter fact intrude upon me as I shake hands with the farmer, and congratulate him on his rare good fortune in belong- ing to Carson Township that I mount, and with a view of taking a little of the shine out of it, ride down the long, steep hill leading to the bridge across the Nishnebotene Eiver at a tremendous pace. The machine "kicks" against this treatment, however, and, when about half way down, it strikes a hole and sends me spinning and gyrating through space ; and when I finally strike terra firvxa, it thumps me unmercifully in the ribs ere it lets me up. " Variable " is the word descriptive of the Iowa roads ; for seventy-five miles due east of Omaha the prairie rolls like a heavy Atlantic swell, and during a day's journey I pass through a dozen alternate stretches of muddy and dusky road ; for like a huge watering-pot do the rain-clouds pass to and fro over this great garden of the West, that is practically one continuous fertile farm from the Missouri to the Mississippi. Passing through Des Moines on the 23d, muddy roads and hot, thunder-showery weather characterize my journey through Cen- tral Iowa, aggravated by the inevitable question, " Why don't you ride ? " one Solomon-visaged individual asking me if the railway company wouldn't permit me to ride along one of the rails. No base, unworthy suspicions of a cycler's inability to ride on a two- inch rail finds lodgement in the mind of this wiseacre ; but his compassionate heart is moved with tender soheitude as to whether the soulless "company" will, or will not, permit it. Hurryin"- timorously through Grinnell — the city that was badly demolished and scattered all over the surrounding country by a cyclone in 1882 — I pause at Victor, where! find the inhabitants highly elated over the prospect of building a new jail with the fines nightly in- 78 FEOM SAN FRANCISCO TO TEHEEAN. flicted on graders employed on a new railroad near by, who come to town and " hilars " every evening. " What kind of a place do you call this ? " I inquire, on arriv- ing at a queer-looking town twentj'-five miles west of Iowa City. " This is South Amana, one of the towns of the Amana Society," is the civil reply. The Amana Society is found upon inquiry to be a commu- nism of Germans, numbering 15,000 souls, and owning 50,000 acres of choice land in a body, with woollen factories, four small towns, and the best of credit everywhere. Everything is common property, and upon withdrawal or expulsion, a member takes with him only the value of what he brought in. The domestic relations are as usual ; and while no person of ambition would be content with the conditions of life here, the slow, ease-loving, methodical people composing the society seem well satisfied with their lot, and ai-e, perhaps, happier, on the whole, than the average outsider. I re- main here for dinner, and take a look around. The people, the buildings, the language, the food, everything, is precisely as if it had been picked up bodily in some rural district in Germany, and set down unaltered here in Iowa. " Wie gehts," I venture, as I wheel past a couple of plump, rosy-cheeked maidens, in the quaint, old-fashioned garb of the German peasantry. " Wie gehts," is the demure reply from them, both at once ; but not the shadow of a dimple responds to my unhappy attempt to win from them a smile. Pretty but not coquettish are these communistic maidens of Amana. At Tiffin the stilly air of night is made joyous with the mel- lifluous voices of whip-poor-wills — the first I have heard on the tour — and their tuneful concert is impressed on my memory in happy contrast to certain other concerts, both vocal and instru- mental, endured en route. Passing through Iowa City, crossinn^ Cedar Biver at Moscow, nine days after crossing the Missouri, I hear the distant whistle of a Mississippi steamboat. Its hoarse voice is sweetest music to me, heralding the fact that two-thirds of my long tour across the continent is completed. Crossing the " Father of Waters " over the splendid government bridge between Davenport and Rock Island, I pass over into Illinois. For several miles my route leads up the Mississippi River bottom, over sandy roads ; but neariug Rock River, the sand disappears, and, for some distance, an excellent road winds through the oak-groves lining FROM THE GKEAT PLAIN'S TO THE ATLANTIC. 79 this beautiful stream. The green •woods are free from under- brush, and a cool undercurrent of air plays amid the leafy shades, which, if not ambrosial, are none the less grateful, as it registers over 100° in the sun ; without, the silvery sheen of the river glim- mers through the interspaces ; the dulcet notes of church-bells come floating on the breeze from over the river, seeming to pro- claim, ^Yith their melodious tongues, peace and good-will to all. Eock Eiver, with its 300 yards in width of unbridged waters, now obstructs my path, and the ferryboat is tied up on the other shore. " "Whoop-ee," I yeU at the ferryman's hut opposite, but without receiving any response. " Wh-o-o-p-e-ee," I repeat in a gentle, civilized voice — learned, by the by, two years ago on the Crow res- ervation in Montana, and which sets the surrounding atmosphere in a whiii and drowns out the music of the church-bells — but it has no effect whatever on the case-hardened ferryman in the hut ; he pays no heed whatever until my persuasive voice is augmented by the voices of two new arrivals in a buggy, when he sallies serenely forth and slowly ferries us across. Biding along rather indifferent roads, between farms worth $100 an acre, through the handsome town of Geneseo, stopping over night at Atkinson, I resume my jour- ney next morning through a country abounding in all that goes to make people prosperous, if not happy. Pretty names are given to places hereabouts, for on my left I pass " Pink Prairie, bordered with Green Eiver." Crossing over into Bureau County, I find splendid gravelled roads, and spend a most agreeable hour with the jolly Bicycle Club, of Princeton, the handsome county seat of Bureau County. Pushing on to Lamoille for the night, the en- terprising village barber there hustles me into his cosey shop, and shaves, shampoos, shingles, bay-rums, and otherv?ise manipu- lates me, to the great enhancement of my personal appearance, all, so he says, for the honor of having lathered the chin of the " great and only " In fact, the Blinoisians seem to be most excellent folks. After three days' journey through the great Prairie State my -iiead is fairly turned with kindness and flattery ; but the third night, as if to rebuke my vanity, I am bluntly refused shelter at three different farm-houses. I am benighted, and conclude to make the best of it by " turning in " under a hay-cock ; but the Fox Eiver mosquitoes oust me in short order, and compel me to "mosey '' alon"- through the gloomy night to Yorkville. At Yorkville a stout 80 FROM SAW FRANCISCO TO TEHERAN. German, on being informed that I am going to ride to Chicago, replies, " What ! Ghigago mit dot ? Why, mine dear vellow, Ghi- gago's more as vorty miles ; you gan't ride mit dot to Ghigago ; " and the old fellow's eyes fairly bulge with astonishment at the bare idea of riding forty miles " mit dot.'' I considerately refrain from telling him of my already 2,500-mile jaunt "mit dot," lest an apo- plectic fit should waft his Teutonic soul to realms of sauer-kraut bliss and Limburger happiness forever. On the morning of July 4th I roll into Chicago, where, having persuaded myself that I deserve a few days' rest, I remain till the Democratic Convention winds up on the 13th. Fifteen miles of gaod riding and three of tough trundling, through deep sand, brings me into Indiana, which for the first thirty-five miles around the southern shore of Lake Michigan is simply and solely sand. Finding it next to impossible to traverse the wagon-roads, I trundle around the water's edge, where the sand is firmer because wet. After twenty miles of this I have to shoulder the bicycle and scale the huge sand-dunes that border the lake here, and after wandering for an hour through a bewildering wil- derness of swamps, sand-hills, and hickory thickets, I finally reach Miller Station for the night. This place is enough to give one the yellow-edged blues : nothing but swamps, sand, sad-eyed turtles, and ruthless, relentless mosquitoes. At Chesterton the roads im- prove, but still enough sand remains to break the force of headers, which, notwithstanding my long experience on the road, I still manage to execute with undesirable frequency. To-day I take one, and while unravelling myself and congratulating my lucky stars at being in a lonely spot where none can witness my discom- fiture, a gruff, sarcastic " haw-haw " falls like a funeral knell on my ear, and a lanky "Hoosier " rides up -on a diminutive pumpkin- colored mule that looks' a veritable pygmy between his hoop-pole legs. It is but justice to explain that this latter incident did not occur in "Posey County." At La Porte the roads improve for some distance, but once again I am benighted, and sleep under a wheat-shock. Traversing several miles of corduroy road, through huckleberry swamps, next morning, I reach Crum's Point for breakfast. A remnant of some Indian tribe still lingers around here and gathers huckleberries for the market, two squaws being in the village purchasing supplies for their camp in the swamps. "What's the name of these Indians here ? " I ask. FROM THE 6KEAT PLAINS TO THE ATLANTIC. 81 " One of em's Blinkie, and t'other's Seven-up," is the reply, in a, voice that implies such profound knowledge of the subject that I Jumbo comes out to meet me. forbear to investigate further. Splendid gravel roads lead from Crum's Point to South Bend, and on through Mishawaka, alternat- ing witli sandy stretches to Goshen, which town is said^by the 6 82 FROM SAIif FRANCISCO TO TEHERAN. Goshenites — to be the prettiest in Indiana ; but there seems to be considerable pride of locality in the great Hoosier State, and I vent- ure there are scores of "prettiest towns in Indiana." Neverthelesp, Goshen is certainly a very handsome place, with unusually broad, well-shaded streets ; the centre of a magnificent farming country, it is romantically situated on the bants of the beautiful Elkhart Eiver. At Wawaka I find a corpulent 300-pound cycler, who, being afraid to trust his jumbolean proportions on an ordinary machine, has had an extra stout bone-shaker made to order, and goes out on short runs with a couple of neighbor wheelmen, who, being about fifty per cent, less bulky, ride regulation wheels. " Jumbo " goes all right when mounted, but, being unable to mount without aid, he seldom ventures abroad by himself for fear of having to foot it back. Ninety-five degrees in the shade characterizes the weather these days, and I generally make a few miles in the gloaming — not, of course, because it is cooler, but because the " gloaming " is so delightfully romantic. At ten o'clock in the morning, July 17th, I bowl across the boundary line into Ohio. Following the Merchants' and Bankers' Telegraph road to Napoleon, I pass through a district where the rain has overlooked them for two months ; the rear wheel of the bicycle is half buried in hot dust ; the blackberries are dead on the bushes, and the long-suffering corn looks as though afflicted with the yeUow jaundice. I sup this same evening with a family of Germans, who have been settled here forty years, and scarcely know a word of English yet. A fat, phlegmatic-looking baby is peacefully reposing in a cradle, which is simply half a monster pumpkin scooped out and dried ; it is the most intensely rustic cradle in the world. Surely, this youngster's head ought to be level on agricultural af- fairs, when he grows up, if anybody's ought ! From Napoleon my route leads up the Maumee Eiver and canal, first trying the tow-path of the latter, and then rehnquishing it for the very fair wagon-road. The Maumee Eiver, winding through its splendid rich valley, seems to possess a pecuUar beauty all its own, and my mind, unbidden, mentally compares it with our old friend, the Humboldt. The latter stream traverses dreary plains, where almost nothing but sage-brush grows ; the Maumee waters a smiling valley, where orchards, fields, and meadows alternate with sugar-maple groves, and in its fair bosom reflects beautiful landscape views, that are changed and rebeautified by the master- FROM THE GREAT PLAINS TO THE ATLANTIC. 83 hand of the sun every hour of the day, and doubly embeUished at night by the moon. It is whispered that during " the late un- pleasantness " the Ohio regiments could out-yell the Louisiana tigers, or any other Confederate troops, two to one. Who has not heard the " Ohio yell ? " Most people are magnanimously inclined to regard this rumor as simply a " gag " on the Buckeye boys ; but it isn't. The Ohioans are to the manner born ; the " Buckeye yell " is a tangible fact. AU along the Maumee it resounds in my ears ; nearly every man or boy, who from the fields, far or near, sees me bowling along the road, straightway delivers himself of a yeU, pure and simple. At Perrysburg I strike the famous " Mau- mee pike " — forty mUes of stone road, almost a dead level. The western half is kept in rather poor repair these days ; but from Fremont eastward it is splendid wheeling. The atmosphere of BeUevue is blue with politics, and myself and another innocent, unsuspecting individual, hailing from New York, are enticed into apolitical meeting by a wily politician, and dexterously made to pose before the assembled company as two gentlemen who have come — one from the Atlantic, the other from the Pacific — to wit- ness the overwhelming success of the only honest, horny-handed, double-breasted patriots — the . . . party. The roads are found rather sandy east of the pike, and the roadful of wagons go- ing to the cu-cus, which exhibits to-day at Norwalk, causes consid- erable annoyance. Erie County, through which I am now passing, is one of the finest fruit countries in the world, and many of the farmers keep open orchard. Staying at Eidgeville overnight, I roll into Cleveland, and into the out-stretched arms of a policeman, at 10 o'clock, next morning. " He was violating the city ordinance by riding on the sidewalk," the arresting policeman informs the captain. " Ah ! he was, hey ! " thunders the captain, in a hoarse, bass voice that causes my knees to knock together with fear and trembling ; and the captain's eye seems to look clear through my trembling form. " P-1-e-a-s-e, s-i-r, I d-i-d-n't t-r-y t-o d-o i-t," I falter, in a weak, gasping voice that brings tears to the eyes of the assembled officers and melts the captain's heart, so that he is already wavering be- tween justice and mercy when a local wheelman comes gallantly to the rescue, and explains my natural ignorance of Cleveland's city laws, and I breathe the joyous air of freedom once again. Three members of the Cleveland Bicycle Club and a visiting 84 FROM SAN FRANCISCO TO TEHERAN. wheelman accompany me ten miles out, riding down far-famed Eu- clid Avenue, and calling at Lake View Cemetery to pay a visit to Garfield's tomb. I bid them farewell at Euclid village. Following the ridge road leading along the shore of Lake Erie to Buffalo, I ride through a most beautiful farming country, passing through "Willoughby and Mentor — Garfield's old home. Splendidly kept roads pass between avenues of stately maples, that cast a grateful shade athwart the highway, both sides of which are lined with magnificent farms, whose fields and meadows fairly groan bebeath their wealth of produce, whose fructiferous orchards are marvels of productiveness, and whose barns and stables would be veritable palaces to the sod-housed homesteaders on Nebraska's frontier prairies. Prominent among them stands the old Garfield home- stead — a fine farm of one hundred and sixty-five acres, at present managed by Mrs. Garfield's brother. Smiling villages nestling amid stately groves, rearing white church-spires from out their green, bowery surroundings, dot the low, broad, fertile shore-land to the left ; the gleaming waters of Lake Erie here and there glisten like burnished steel through the distant interspaces, and away be- yond stretches northward, like a vast mirror, to kiss the blue Cana- dian skies. Near Conneaut I whirl the dust of the Buckeye State from my tire and cross over into Pennsylvania, where, from the little hamlet of Springfield, the roads become good, then better, and finally best at Girard — the home of the veteran showman, Dan Eice, the beau- tifying works of whose generous hand are everywhere visible in his native town. Splendid is the road and delightful the country com- ing east from Girard ; even the red brick school-houses are embow- ered amid leafy groves ; and so it continues with ever-varying, ever- pleasing beauty to Erie, after which the highway becomes hardly so good. Twenty-four hours after entering Pennsylvania I make my exit across the boundary into the Empire State. The roads continue good, and after dinner I reach Westfield, six miles from the famous Lake Chautauqua, which beautiful hill and forest embowered sheet of water is popularly believed by many of its numerous local admirers to be the highest navigable lake in the world. If so, however, Lake Tahoe in the Sierra Nevada Mountains comes next, as it is about six thousand feet above the level of the sea, and has three steamers ply- ing on its waters ! At Fredonia I am shown through the celebrated FROM THE GREAT PLAINS TO THE ATLANTIC. 85 watcli-movemeut factory here, by the captain of the Fredonia Club, who accompanies me to Silver Creek, where we call on another en- thusiastic wheelman — a physician who uses the wheel in preference to a horse, in making professional calls throughout the surround- ing country. Taking supper with the genial "Doc," they both accompany me to the summit of a steep hill leading up out of the creek bottom. No wheelman has ever yet rode up this hill, save the muscular and gritty captain of the Fredonia Club, though sev- eral have attempted the feat. From the top my road ahead is plainly visible for miles, leading through the broad and smiling Cattaraugus Valley that is spread out like a vast garden below, through which Cattaraugus Creek slowly winds its tortuous way. Stopping over night at Angola I proceed to Buffalo next morning, catching the first glimpse of that important " seaport of the lakes," where, fifteen miles across the bay, the wagon-road is almost licked by the swashing waves ; and entering the city over a " misfit" plank- road, oS which I am almost upset by the most audaciously indiffer- ent woman in the world. A market woman homeward bound with her empty truck-wagon, recognizes my road-rights to the extent of barely room to squeeze past between her wagon and the ditch ; and holds her long, stiff buggy-whip so that it " swipes " me viciously across the face, knocks my helmet off into the mud ditch, and well- nigh upsets me into the same. The woman — a crimson-crested blonde — jogs serenely along without even deigning to turn her head. Leaving the bicycle at "Isham's " — who volunteers some slight re- pairs — I take a flying visit by rail to see Niagara Falls, returning the same evening to enjoy the proffered hospitality of a genial member of the Buffalo Bicycle Club. Seated on the piazza of his residence, on Delaware Avenue, this evening, the symphonious voice of the club- whistle is cast a'drift whenever the glowing orb of a cycle-lamp heaves in sight through the darkness, and several members of the club are thus rounded up and their hearts captured by the witchery of a smile — a " smile '' in Buffalo, I hasten to explain, is no kin what- ever to a Rocky Mountain " smile " — far be it from it ! This club- whistle of the Buffalo Bicycle Club happens to sing the same melo- dious son g as the police-whistle at Washington, D. C. ; and the Buffalo cyclers who graced the national league-meet at the Capital with their presence took a folio of club music along. A small but frolic- some party of them on top of the Washington monument, "heaved a sigh " from their whistles, at a comrade passing along the street 86 FEOM SAN FRANCISCO TO TEIIEBAN. below, •when a corpulent policeman, naturally mistaking it for a signal from a brother "cop," hastened to cHmb the five hundred feet or thereabouts of asceiit up the monument. When he arrived, puffing and perspiring, to the summit, and discovered his mistake, the wheelmen say he made such awful use of the Queen's English that the atmosphere had a blue, sulphurous tinge about it for some time after. Leaving Buffalo next moKning I pass through Batavia, where the wheelmen have a most aesthetic little club-room. Besides be- ing jovial and whole-souled fellows, they are awfully aesthetic ; and the sweetest little Japanese curios and bric-d-brac decorate the walls and tables. Stopping over night at LeEoy, in company with the president and captain of the LeEoy Club, I visit the State fish-hatchery at Mumford next morning, and ride on through the Genesee Valley, finding fair roads through the valley, though somewhat hilly and stony toward Canandaigua. Inquiring the best road to Geneva I am advised of the superiority of the one leading past the poor- house. Finding them somewhat intricate, and being too super- sensitive to stop people and ask them the road to the poor-house, I deservedly get lost, and am wandering erratically eastward through the darkness, when I fortunately meet a wheelman in a buggy, who directs me to his mother's farm-house near by, with instructions to. that most excellent lady to accommodate me for the night. Nine o'clock next morning I- reach fair Geneva, so beautifully situated on Seneca's silvery lake, passing the State agri- cultural farm en route ; continuing on up the Seneca River, passing through Waterloo and Seneca Falls to Cayuga, and from thence to Auburn and Skaneateles, where I heave a sigh at the thoughts of leaving the last — I cannot say the loveliest, for all are equally lovely — of that beautiful chain of lakes that transforms this part of New York State into a vast and delightful summer resort. "Down a romantic- Swiss glen, where scores of sylvan nooks and rippUng rills invite one to cast about for fairies and sprites,'' is the word descriptive of my route from Marcellus next morning. Once again, on nearing the CamiUus outlet from the narrow vale, I hear the sound of Sunday bells, and after the chutch-bell-less Western wilds, it seems to me that their notes have visited me amid beautiful scenes, strangely often of late. Arriving at Camil- lus, I ask the name of the sparkling little stream that dances along ^^ c- 88 FROM SAN FRANCISCO TO TEHERAN. this fairy glen like a child at play, absorbing the sun- rays and coquettishly reflecting them in the faces of the venerable oaks that bend over it like loving guardians protecting it from evil My ears are prepared to hear a musical Indian name — " Laughing- Waters " at least ; but, like a week's washing ruthlessly intruding upon love's young dream, falls on my waiting ears the uupoetic misnomer, " Nine-Mile Creek." Over good roads to Syracuse, and from thence my route leads down the Erie Canal, alternately riding down the canal tow-path, the wagon-roads, and between the tracks of the New York Central Railway. On the former, the greatest drawback to peaceful cycling is the towing-mule and his unwarrantable animosity toward the bicycle, and the awful, unmentionable profanity engendered there- by in the utterances of the boatmen. Sometimes the burden of this sulphurous profanity is aimed at me, sometimes at the inoffen- sive bicycle, or both of us collectively, but oftener is it directed at the unspeakable mule, who is really the only party to blame. A mule scares, not because he is really afraid, but because he feels skittishly inclined to turn back, or to make trouble between his enemies — the boatmen, his task-master, and the cycler, an intruder on his exclusive domain, the Erie tow-path. A span of mules will pretend to scare, whirl around, and jerk loose from the driver, and go "scooting" back down the tow-path in a manner indicating that nothing less than a stone wall would stop them ; but, exactly in the nick of time to prevent the tow-line jerking them sidewise into the canal, they stop. Trust a mule for never losing his head when he runs away, as does his hot-headed relative, the horse ; he never once allows surrounding circumstances to occupy his thoughts to an extent detrimental to his own self-preservative interests. The Erie Canal mule's first mission in life is to engender profanity and strife between boatmen and cyclists, and the second is to work and chew hay, which brings him out about even with the world aU round. At Rome I enter the famous and beautiful Mohawk Valley, a place long looked foj'ward to with much pleasurable anticipation, from having heai;d so often of its natural beauties and its interest- ing historical associations. " It's the garden spot of the world ■ and travellers who have been all over Europe and everywhere, say there's nothing in the world to equal the quiet landscape beauty of the Mohawk Valley,'' entlmsiastically remai'ks an old gentelman FROM THE GKEAT PLAINS TO THE ATLANTIC. 89 in spectacles, wliom I cbance to encounter on the heights east of Herkimer. Of the first assertion I have nothing to say, having passed through a dozen " garden spots of the world " on this tour across America ; but there is no gainsaying the fact that the Mohawk Valley, as viewed from this vantage spot, is wonderfully beautiful. I think it must have been on this spot that the poet received in- spiration to compose the beautiful song that is sung alike in the quiet homes of the valley itself and in the trapper's and hunter's tent on the far off Yellowstone — " Fair is the vale where the Mohawk gently glides, On its clear, shining way to the sea." The valley is one of the natural gateways of commerce, for, at Lit- tle Falls — where it contracts to a mere pass between the hills — one can almost throw a stone across six railway tracks, the Erie Canal and the Mohawk River. Spending an hour looking over the mag- nificent Capitol building at Albany, I cross the Hudson, and proceed to ride eastward between the two tracks of the Boston & Albany Eailroad, finding the riding very fair. From the elevated road-bed I cast a longing, lingering look down the Hudson Valley, that stretches away southward like a heaven-born dream, and sigh at the impossibility of going two ways at once. "There's $50 fine for riding a bicycle along the B. & A. Eailroad," I am informed at Albany, but risk it to Schodack, where I make inquiries of a section foreman. "No ; there's no foine ; but av yeez are run over an' git killed, it'll be useless for yeez to inther suit agin the company for damages," is the reassuring reply ; and the unpleasant visions of bankrupting fines dissolve in a smile at this characteristic Milesian explanation. Crossing the Massachusetts boundary at the village of State Line, I find the roads excellent ; and, thinking that the highways of the "Old Bay State "wiU be good enough anywhere, I grow careless about the minute directions given me by Albany wheel- men, and, ere long, am laboriously toiling over the heavy roads and steep grades of the Berkshire Hills, endeavoring to get what consolation I can, in return for unridable roads, out of the charming scenery, and the many interesting features of the Berkshire-Hill country. It is at Otis, in the midst of these hills, that I first be- come acquainted with the peculiar New England dialect in its na- tive home. 90 FROM SAN FEANCISCO 'to TEHEKAN. The widely heralded intellectual superiority of the Massachusetts fair ones asserts itself even in the wildest parts of these wild hills ; for at small farms — that, in most States, would be characterized by bare-footed, brown-faced housewives — I encounter spectacled ladies whose fair faces reflect the encyclopEedia of knowledge within, and whose wise looks naturally fill me with awe. At Westfield I learn that Karl Kron, the author and publisher of the American road- book, " Ten Thousand Miles on a Bicycle" — not to be outdone by my exploit of floating the bicycle across the Humboldt — undertook the perilous feat of swimming the Potomac with his bicycle sus- pended at his waist, and had to be fished up from the bottom with a boat-hook. Since then, however, I have seen the gentleman himself, who assures me that the whole story is a canard. Over good roads to Springfield — and on through to Palmer ; from thence riding the whole distance to Worcester between the tracks of the railway, in preference to the variable country roads. On to Boston next morning, now only forty miles away, I pass venerable weather-worn mUe-stones, set up in old colonial days, when the Great West, now trailed across -with, the rubber hoof- marks of " the popular steed of to-day," was a pathless wilderness, and on the maps a blank. Striking the famous "sand-papered roads " at Framingham — which, by the by, ought to be pumice- stoned a little to make them as good for cycling as stretches of gravelled road near Springfield, Sandwich, and Piano, 111. ; La Porte, and South Bend, Ind. ; Mentor, and WUloughby, O. ; Gir- ard, Penn. ; several places on the ridge road between Erie and Buffalo, and the alkali flats of the Eocky Mountain territories. Soon the blue intellectual haze hovering over " the Hub " heaves in sight, and, at two o'clock in the afternoon of August 4th, I roll into Boston, and whisper to the wild waves of the sounding At- lantic what the sad sea-waves of the Pacific were saying when I left there, just one hundred and three and a half days ago, having wheeled about 3,700 miles to deliver the message. Passing the winter of 1884-85 in New York, I became acquainted with the Outing Magazine, contributed to it sketches of my tour across America, and in the Spring of 1885 continued around the world as its special correspondent ; embarking April 9th from New York, for Livei'pool, aboard the City of Chicago, CllAPTEE V. FROM AMERICA TO THE GERMAN FRONTIER. At one p.m., on that day, the ponderous but shapely hull of the City of Chicago, with its li-ving and lively freight, moves from the dock as though it, too, were endowed with mind as weU as matter ; the crowds that a minute ago disappeared down the gang- plank are now congregated on the outer end of the pier, a compact mass of waving handkerchiefs, and anxious-faced people shouting out signs of recognition to friends aboard the departing steamer. From beginning to end of the voyage across the Atlantic the weather is delightful ; and the passengers — well, half the cabin- passengers are members of Henry Irving's Lyceum Company en route home after their second successful tour in America ; and old voyagers abroad who have crossed the Atlantic scores of times pro- nounce it altogether the most enjoyable trip they ever experienced. The third day out we encountered a lonesome-looking iceberg — an object that the captain seemed to think would be better appreci- ated, and possibly more affectionately remembered, if viewed at the respectful distance of about four miles. It proves a cold, un- sympathetic berg, yet extremely entertaining in its own way, since it accommodates us by neutralizing pretty much aU the surplus caloric in the atmosphere around for hours after it has disappeared below the horizon of our vision. I am particularly fortunate in finding among my fellow-passen- gers Mr. Harry B. French, the traveller and author, from whom I obtain much valuable information, particularly of China. Mr. French has travelled some distance through the Flowery Kingdom himself, and thoughtfully forewarns me to anticipate a particularly lively and interesting time in invading that country with a vehicle so strange and incomprehensible to the Celestial mind as a bicycle. This experienced gentleman informs me, among other interesting things, that if five hundred chattering Celestials batter down the door and swarm unannounced at midnight into the apartment where 92 FROM SAN FEANCISCO TO TEHEEAN". I am endeavoring to get the first wink of sleep obtained for a whole week, instead of following the natural inclinations of an Anglo- Saxon to energetically defend his rights with a stuffed club, I shall display Solomon-hke wisdom by quietly submitting to the invasion, and deferentially bowing to Chinese inquisitiveness. If, on an oc- casion of this nature, one stationed himself behind the door, and, as a sort of preliminary warning to the others, greeted the first interloper with the business end of a boot-jack, he would be morally certain of a lively one-sided misunderstanding that might end dis- astrously to himself ; whereas, by meekly submitting to a critical and exhaustive examination by the assembled company, he might even become the recipient of an apology for having had to batter down the door in order to satisfy their curiosity. One needs more discretion than valor in dealing with the Chinese. At noon on the 19th we reach Liverpool, where I find a letter awaiting me from A. J. Wilson (Paed), inviting me to call on him at Powerscroft House, London, and offering to tandem me through the intricate mazes of the West End ; likewise asking whether it would be agreeable to have him, with others, accompany me from London down to the South coast — a programme to which, it is need- less to say, I entertain no objections. As the custom-house ofScer wrenches a board off the broad, flat box containing my American bicycle, several fellow-passengers, prompted by their curiosity to obtain a peep at the machine which they have learned is to carry me around the world, gather alsout ; and one sympathetic lady, as she catches a gUmpse of the bright nickeled forks, exclaims, " Oh, what a shame that they should be allowed to wrench the planks off ! They might injure it;" but a small tip thoroughly convinces the individual prying off the board that, by removing one section and taking a conscientious squint in the direction of the closed end, his duty to the British government would be performed as faithfully as though everything were laid bare ; and the kind-hearted lady's ap- prehensions of possible injury are thus happily allayed. In two hours after landing, the bicycle is safely stowed away in the un- derground store-rooms of the Liverpool & Northwestern Railway Company, and in two hours more I am wheeUng rapidly toward London, through neatly cultivated fields, and meadows and parks of that intense greenness met with nowhere save in the British Isles, and which causes a couple of native Americans, riding in the same compartment, and who are visiting England for the first FROM AMERICA TO THE GERMAN FRONTIER. 93 time, to express their admiration of it all in tbe unmeasured lan- guage of the genuine Yankee when truly astonished find delighted. Arriving in London I lose no time in seeking out Mr. Bolton, a ■well-known wheelman, who has toured on the continent probably as extensively as any other English cycler, and to whom I bear a letter of introduction. Together, on Monday afternoon, we ruth- lessly invade the sanctums of the leading cycling papers in London. Mr. Bolton is also able to give me several useful hints concerning wheeling through France and Germany. Then comes the appUca- tion for a passport, and the inevitable unpleasantness of being sus- pected by every policeman and detective about the government buildings of being a wild-eyed dynamiter recently arrived from America with the fell purpose of blowing up the place. On Tuesday I make a formal descent on the Chinese Embassy, to seek information regarding the possibiHty of making a serpen- tine trail through the Flowery Kingdom via Upper Burmah to Hong-Kong or Shanghai. Here I learn from Dr. McCarty, the in- terpreter at the Embassy, as from Mr. French, that, putting it as mildly as possible, I must expect a wild time generally in getting through the interior of China with a bicycle. The Doctor feels certain that I may reasonably anticipate the pleasure of making my way through a howling wilderness of hooting Celestials from one end of the country to the other. The great danger, he thinks, -will be not so much the well-known aversion of the Chinese to having an " outer bai-barian " penetrate the sacred interior of their coun- try, as the enormous crowds that would almost constantly surround me out of curiosity at both rider and wheel, and the moral cer- tainty of a foreigner unwittingly doing something to offend the Chinamen's peculiar and deep-rooted notions of propriety. This, it is easily seen, would be a peculiarly ticklish thing to do when surrounded by surging masses of dangling pig-tails and cerulean blouses, the wearers of which are from the start predisposed to make things as unpleasant as possible. My own experience alone, however, will prove the kind of reception I am likely to meet with among them ; and if they will only considerately refrain from im- paling me on a bamboo, after a barbarous and highly ingenious custom of theirs, I httle reck what other unpleasantries they have in store. After one remains in the world long enough to find it out, he usually becomes less fastidious about the future of things in general, than when in the hopeful days of boyhood every pros- 94 FROM SAN FRANCISCO TO TEHERAN. pect ahead was fringed ■with the golden expectations of a budding and inexperienced imagery ; nevertheless, a thoughtful, meditative person, who realizes the necessity of drawing the line somewhere, would naturally draw it at impalation. Not being conscious of any presentiment savoring of impalation, however, the only request I make of the Chinese, at present, is to place no insurmountable obstacle against my pursuing the even— or uneven, as the case may be — tenor of my way through their country. China, though, is sev- eral revolutions of my fifty-inch wheel away to the eastward, at this present time of writing, and speculations in regard to it are rather premature. Soon after reaching London I have the pleasure of meeting "Faed,"a gentleman who carries his cycling enthusiasm almost where some people are said to carry their hearts — on his sleeve ; so that a very short acquaintance only is necessary to convince one of being in the company of a person whose interest in whirling wheels is of no ordinary nature. When I present myself at Powers- croft House, Faed is busily wandering around among the curves and angles of no less than three tricycles, apparently endeavoring to encompass the complicated mechanism of all three in one grand com- prehensive effort of the mind, and the addition of as many tricycle crates standing around makes the premises so suggestive of a flour- ishing tricycle agency that an old gentleman, happening to pass by at the moment, is really quite excusable in stopping and inquirin"' the prices, with a view to purchasing one for himself. Our tandem ride through the West End has to be indefinitely postponed, on account of my time being limited, and our inability to procure readily a suitable machine ; and Mr. Wilson's bump of discretion would not permit him to think of allowing me to attempt the feat of manoeuvring a tricycle myself among the bewildering traffic of the metropolis, and risk bringing my " wheel around the world" to an inglorious conclusion before being fairly begun. While walking down Parliament Street my attention is called to a venerable-look- ing gentleman wheeling briskly along among the throngs of vehicles of every description, and I am informed that the bold tri- cycler is none other than Major Knox Holmes, a vigorous youth of some seventy-eight summers, who has recently accomplished the feat of riding one hundred and fourteen miles in ten hours • for a person nearly eighty years of age this is really quite a promising performance, and there is small doubt but that when the gallant FROM AMERICA TO THE GERMAN FRONTIER. 95 Major gets a littie older — say •when he becomes a centenarian — he will develop into a veritable prodigy on the cinder-path ! Having obtained my passport, and got it vis^ for the Sultan's dominions at the Tui-kish consulate, and placed in Faed's possess- ion a bundle of maps, which he generously volunteers to forwai-d to me, as I require them in the various counti-ies it is proposed to ti-averse, I retui-n on April 30th to Liverpool, from which point the formal start on the wheel across England is to be made. Four o'clock in the afternoon of May 2d is the time announced, and Edge Hill Chui-ch is the appointed place, where Mi-. Lawrence Fletcher, of the Anfield Bicycle Club, and a number of other Liver- pool wheelmen, have volunteered to meet and accompany me some distance out of the city. Several of the Liverpool daily papers have made mention of the affair. Accordingly, upon arriving at the ap- pointed place and time, I find a crowd of several hundred people gathered to satisfy their curiosity as to what sort of a looking indi- vidual it is who has crossed America awheel, and furthermore pro- poses to accomplish the greater feat of the circumlocution of the globe. A small sea of hats is enthusiastically waved aloft ; a ripple of applause escapes from five hundred English throats as I mount my glistening bicycle ; and, with the assistance of a few policemen, the twenty-five Liverpool cyclers who have assembled to accompany me out, extricate themselves from the crowd, mount and fall into line two abreast ; and merrily we wheel away down Edge Lane and out of Liverpool. English weather at this season is notoriously capricious, and the present year it is unusually so, and ere the start is fairly made we are pedaling along through quite a pelting shower, which, however, fails to make much impression on the roads beyond causing the flinging of more or less mud. The majority of my escort are mem- bers of the Anfield Club, who have the enviable reputation of being among the hardest road-riders in England, several members having accomplished over two hundred miles within the twenty-four hours ; and I am informed that Mr. Fletcher is soon to undertake the task of beating the tricycle record over that already weU-eoutested route, from John o' Groat's to Land's End. Sixteen miles out I become the happy recipient of heai-ty weU-wishes innumerable, with the accom- panying hand-shaking, and my escort turn back toward home and Livei-pool — all save four, who wheel on to Wan-ington and remain overnight, with the avowed intention of accompanying me twenty- 96 FEOM SAN FRANCISCO TO TEHERAN. five miles farther to-morrow morning. Our Sunday morning expe- rience begins with a shower of rain, which, however, augurs well for the remainder of the day ; and, save for a gentle head wind, no reproachful remarks are heard about that much-criticised individ- ual, the clerk of the weather ; especially as our road leads through a country prolific of everything charming to one's sense of the beau- tiful. Moreover, we are this morning bowling along the self-same highway that in days of yore was among the favorite promenades of a distinguished and enterprising individual known to every Brit- ish juvenile as Dick Turpin — a person who won imperishable re- nown, and the undying affection of the small Briton of to-day, by making it unsafe along here for stage-coaches and travellers indis- creet enough to carry valuables about with them. " Think I'll get such roads as this all through England ? " I ask of my escort as we wheel joyously southward along smooth, ma- cadamized highways that would make the " sand-papered roads " around Boston seem almost unfit for cycling in comparison, and that lead through picturesque villages and noble parks ; occasion- ally catching a glimpse of a splendid old manor among venerable trees, that makes one unconsciously begin humming : — "The ancient homes of England, How beautiful they stand Amidst the tall ancestral trees O'er all the pleasant land ! " " Oh, you'll get much better roads than this in the southern counties," is the reply ; though, fresh from American roads, one can scarce see what shape the improvements can possibly take. Out of Lancashire into Cheshire we wheel, and my escort, after wishing me all manner of good fortune in hearty Lancashire style, wheel about and hie themselves back toward the rumble and roar of the world's greatest sea-port, leaving me to pedal pleasantly southward along the green lanes and amid the quiet rural scenery of Staffordshire to Stone, where I remain Sunday night. The coun- try is favored with another drenching down-pour of rain during the night, and moisture relentlessly descends at short, unreliable in- tervals on Monday morning, as I proceed toward Birmingham. Notwithstanding the superabundant moisture the morning ride is a most enjoyable occasion, requiring but a dash of sunshine to make everything perfect. The mystic voice of the cuckoo is heai-d FROM AMERICA TO THE GERMAN FRONTIER. 97 from many an emerald copse around ; songsters that inhabit only the green hedges and woods of " Merrie England " are carolling their morning vespers in all directions ; skylarks are soaring, soar- ing skyward, warbling their unceasing pseans of praise as they gradu- ally ascend into cloudland's shadowy realms ; and occasionally I bowl along beneath an archway of spreading beeches that are col- onized by crowds of noisy rooks incessantly "cawing" their ap- proval or disapproval of things in general. Surely England, with its wellnigh perfect roads, the wonderful greenness of its vegeta- tion, and its roadsters that meet and regard their steel-ribbed rivals with supreme indifference, is the natural paradise of 'cyclers. There is no annoying" dismounting for frightened horses on these happy highways, for the English horse, though spirited and brim- ful of fire, has long since accepted the inevitable, and either has made friends with the wheelman and his swifi^winged steed, or, what is equally agreeable, maintains a haughty reserve. Pushing along leisurely, between showers, into Warwickshire, I reach Birmingham about three o'clock, and, after spending an hoiir or so looking over some tricycle works, and calling for a leather writing-case they are making especially for my tour, I wheel on to Coventry, having the company of Mr. Priest, Jr., of the tricycle works, as far as Stonehouse. Between Birmingham and Coventry the recent rainfall has evidently been less, and I mentally note this fifteen-mile stretch of road as the finest traversed since leaving Liverpool, both for width and smoothness of surface, it being a veritable boulevard. Arriving at Coventry I call on "Brother Stur- mey," a gentleman well and favorably known to readers of 'cycling literature everywhere ; and, as I feel considerably like deserving reasonably gentle treatment after perseveringly pressing forward sixty miles in spite of the rain, I request him to steer me into the Cyclists' Touring Club Hotel — an office which he smilingly i:)ev- forms, and thoughtfully admonishes the proprietor to handle me as tenderly as possible. I am piloted around to take a hurried glance at Coventrj', visiting, among other objects of interest, the Starley Memorial. This memorial is interesting to 'cyclers from having been erected by public subscription in recognition of the great interest Mr. Starley took in the 'cycle industry, he having been, in fact, the father of the interest in Coventry, and, conse- quently, the direct author of the city's present prosperity. The mind of the British small boy along my route has been 7 .98 FEOM SAN FRANCISCO TO TEHERAN. taxed to its utmost to account for my white military helmet, and various and interesting are the passing remarks heard in conse- quence. The most general impression seems to be that I am direct from the Soudan, some youthful Conservatives blandly intimating The Starley Memorial, Coventry. that I am the advance-guard of a general scuttle of the army out of Egypt, and that presently whole regiments of white-helmeted wheelmen will come whirling along the roads on nickel-plated steeds, some even going so far as to do me the honor of callino- FROM AMERICA TO THE GERMAN FRONTIER. 99 me General "Wolseley ; while others — rising young Liberals, proba- bly — recklessly call me General Gordon, intimating by this that the hero of Khartoum was not killed, after all, and is proving it by sweeping through England on a bicycle, wearing a white helmet to prove his identity ! A pleasant ride along a splendid road, shaded for miles with rows of spreading elms, brings me to the charming old village of Dun- church, where everything seems moss-grown and venerable with age. A squatty, castle-like church-tower, that has stood the brunt of '-%_^\''-, Resting in an English Village. many centuries, frowns down upon a cluster of picturesque, thatched cottages of primitive architecture, and ivy-clad from top to bottom ; while, to make the picture complete, there remain even the old wooden stocks, through the holes of which the feet of boozy un- fortunates were wont to be unceremoniously thrust in the good old times of rude simplicity ; in fact, the only really unprimitive building about the place appears to be a newlj' erected Methodist chapel. It couldn't be — no, of course it couldn't be possible, that there is any connecting link between the American peculiarity of 100 FEOM SAN FKANCISCO TO TEHERAN. elevating the feet on the window-sill or the drum of the heating- stove and this old-time custom of elevating the feet of those of our ancestors possessed of boozy, hilarious procUvities ! At Weedon Barracks I make a short halt to watch the soldiers go through the bayonet exercises, and suffer myself to be per- suaded into quaffing a mug of delicious, creamy stout at the can- teen with a genial old sergeant, a bronzed veteran who has seen active service in several of the tough expeditions that England seems ever prone to undertake in various uncivilized quarters of the world ; after which I wheel away over old Eoman military roads, through Northamptonshire and Buckinghamshire, reaching Penny Stratford just in time to find shelter against the machina- tions of the weather-clerk, who, having withheld rain nearly all the afternoon, begins dispensing it again in the gloaming. It rains uninterruptedly all night ; but, although my route for some miles is now down cross-country lanes, the rain has only made them rather disagreeable, without rendering them in any respect unridable ; and although I am among the slopes of the Chiltern Hills, scarcely a dismount is necessary during the forenoon. Spending the night at Berkhamstead, Hertfordshire, I pull out toward London on Thursday morning, and near Watford am highly gratified at meet- ing Faed and the captain of the North London Tricycle Club, who have come out on their tricycles from London to meet and escort me into the metropolis. At Faed's suggestion I decide to remciu over in London untU Saturday, to be present at the annual tricycle meet on Barnes Common, and together we wheel down the Edge- ware Koad, Park Road, among the fashionable turnouts of Pic- cadilly, past Knightsbridge and Brompton to the " Inventories " Exhibition, where we spend a most enjoyable afternoon inspecting the thousand and one material evidences of inventive genius from the several countries represented. Five hundred and twelve 'cyclers, including forty-one tandem tricycles and fifty ladies, ride in procession at the Barnes Common meet, making quite an imposing array as they wheel two abreast between rows of enthusiastic spectators. Here, among a host of other wheehng celebrities, I am introduced to Major Knox Holmes, before mentioned as being a gentleman of extraordinary powers of endurance, considering his advanced age. After tea a number of tricyclers accompany me down as far as Croydon, which place we enter to the pattering music of a drenching rain-storm, experienc- FROM AMERICA TO THE GERMAN FRONTIER. 101 ing the accompanying pleasure of a wet skin, etc. The threaten- ing aspect of the weather on the following morning causes part of our company to hesitate about venturing any farther from Lon- don ; but Faed and three companions wheel with me toward Brighton through a gentle morning shower, which soon clears away, however, and, before long, the combination of the splendid Sussex roads, fine breezy-weather, and lovely scenery, amply repays lis for the discomforts of yester-eve. Fourteen mUes from Brigh- ton we are met by eight members of the Kempton Bangers Bicycle Club, who have saUied forth thus far northward to escort us into town ; having done which, they deliver us over to Mr. C , of the Brighton Tricycle Club, and brother-in-law to the mayor of the city. It is two in the afternoon. This gentleman straightway ingratiates himself into our united affections, and wins our eternal gratitude, by giving us a regular wheelman's dinner, after which he places us under still further obligations by showing us as many of the lions of Brighton as are accessible on Sunday, chief among which is the famous Brighton Aquarium, where, by his influence, he kindly has the diving-birds and seals fed before their usual hour, for our especial delectation — a proceeding which naturally causes the barometer of our respective self-esteems to rise several notches higher than usual, and doubtless gives equal satisfaction to the seals and diving-birds. We linger at the aquarium until near sun-down, and it is fifteen miles by what is considered the smoothest road to Newhaven. Mi-. C declares his inten- tion of donning his riding-suit and, by taking a shorter, though supposably roiigher, road, reach Newhaven as soon as we. As we halt at Lewes for tea, and ride leisurely, likewise submitting to be- ing photographed en route, he actually arrives there ahead of us. It is Sunday evening. May 10th, and my ride through " Merrie England " is at an end. Among other agreeable things to be ever remembered in connection with it is the fact that it is the first three hundred miles of road I ever remember riding over without scoring a header — a circumstance that impresses itself none the less favor- ably perhaps when viewed in connection with the solidity of the average English road. It is not a very serious misadventure to take a flying header into a bed of loose sand on an American country road ; but the prospect of rooting up a flint-stone with one's nose, or knocking a curb-stone loose with one's bump of cautiousness, is an entirely different affair ; consequently, the universal smoothness 102 FROM SAN FKAWCISCO TO TEHERAX. of the surface of the English highways is appreciated at its full value by at least one wheelman whose experience of roads is nothing if not varied. Comfortable quarters are assigned me on board the Chan- nel steamer, and a few minutes after bidding friends and England farewell, at Newhaven, at 11.30 p.m., I am gently rocked into un- consciousness by the motion of the vessel, and remain happily and restfally oblivious to my surroundings imtil awakened next morning at Dieppe, where I find myself, in a few minutes, on a foreign shore. All the way from San Francisco to Newhaven there is a consciousness of being practically in one country and among one people — people who, though acknowledging separate governments, are bound so firmly together by the ties of common instincts and -interests, and the mystic brotherhood of a common language and a common civilization, that nothing of a serious nat- ure can ever 6ome between them. But now I am verily among strangers, and the first thing talked of is to make me pay duty on the bicj'cle. The captain of the vessel, into whose hands Mr. C as- signed me at Newhaven, protests on my behalf, and I likewise enter a gentle demurrer ; but the custom-house officer declares that a duty will have to be forthcoming, saying that the amount will be returned again when I pass over the German frontier. The captain finally advises the payment of the duty and the acceptance of a receipt for the amount, and takes his leave. Not feeling quite satisfied as yet about paying the duty, I take a short stroll about Dieppe, leaving my wheel at the custom-house ; and when I shortly return, pre- pared to pay the assessment, whatever it may be, the officer who, but thirty minutes since, declared emphatically in favor of a duty, now answers, with all the politeness imaginable : " Monsieur is at liberty to take the velocipede and go whithersoever he will." It is a fairly prompt initiation into the impulsiveness of the French char- acter. They don't accept bicycles as baggage, though, on the Chan- nel steamers, and six shillings freight, over and above passage- money, has to be yielded up. Although upon a foreign shore, I am not yet, it seems, to bo left entirely alone to the tender mercies of my own lamentable ina- bility to speak French. Fortunately there lives at Dieppe a gen- tleman named Mr. Parkinson, who, besides being an Englishman to the backbone, is quite an enthusiastic wheelman, and, among other things, considers it his solemn duty to take charge of visitin"- 104 FKOM SAN FEANCISCO TO TEHEEAN. 'cyclers from England and America and see them safely launched along the magnificent roadways of Normandy, headed fairly toward their destination. Faed has thoughtfully notified Mr. Parkinson of my approach, and he is watching for my coming as tenderly as though I were a returning prodigal and he charged with my wel- coming home. Close under the frowning battlements of Dieppe Castle — a once wellnigh impregnable fortress that was some time in possession of the English — romantically nestles Mr. Parkinson's studio, and that genial gentleman promptly proposes accompanying me some distance into the country. On our way through Dieppe I notice blue-bloused peasants guiding small flocks of goats through the streets, calling them along with a peculiar, tuneful instrument that sounds somewhat similar to a bagpipe. I learn that they are Nor- mandy peasants, who keep their flocks around town aU summer, goat's milk being considered beneficial for infants and invalids. They lead the goats from house to house, and miUj whatever quantity their customers want at their own door — a custom that we can readily understand will never become widely popular among Anglo- Saxon milkmen, since it leaves no possible chance for pump-handle combinations and corresponding profits. The morning is glorious with sunshine and the carols of feathered songsters as together we speed away down the beautiful Arques Valley, over roads that are simply perfect for wheehng ; and, upon arriving at the picturesque ruins of the Chateau d'Arques, we halt and take a casual peep at the crumbling walls of this once famous fortress, which the trailing ivy of Normandy now partially covers with a dark-green mantle of charity, as though its piu-pose and its mission were to hide its fall- en grandeur from the rude gaze of the passing stranger. All along the roads we meet happy-looking peasants driving into Dieppe market with produce. They are driving Normandy horses — and that means fine, large, spirited animals — which, being un- familiar with bicycles, almost invariably take exception to ours, j)rancing about after the usual manner of high-strung steeds. Un- hke his English relative, the Norman horse looks not supinely upon the whirling wheel, but arrays himself almost unanimously against us, and usually in the most uncompromising manner, similar to the phantom-eyed roadster of the United States agriculturist. The similarity between the turnouts of these two countries I am forced to admit, however, terminates abruptly with the horse itself, and does not by any means extend to the driver ; for, while the Nor- FROM AMERICA TO THE GERMAN FRONTIER. 105 mandy horse capers about and threatens to upset the vehicle into the ditch, the Frenchman's face is wreathed in apologetic smiles; and, while he frantically endeavors to keep the refractory horse under control, he delivers himself of a whole dictionary of apologies to the wheelman for the animal's fooHsh conduct, touches his cap with an air of profound deference upon noticing that we have con- siderately slowed up, and invariably utters his Bon jour, monsieur, as we wheel past, in a voice that plainly indicates his acknowledg- ment of the wheelman's — or anybody else's — right to half the road- way. A few days ago I called the EhgUsh roads perfect, and Eng- land the paradise of 'cyclers ; and so it is ; but the Normandy roads are even superior, and the scenery of the Arques Valley is truly lovely. There is not a loose stone, a rut, or depression anywhere on these roads, and it is little exaggeration to call them veritable bilhard-tables for smoothness of surface. As one bowls smoothly along over them he is constantly wondering how they can possibly keep them in such condition. Were these fine roads in America one would never be out of sight of whirUng wheels. A luncheon of Normandy cheese and cider at Cleres, and then cnwai-d to Rouen is the word. At every cross-roads is erected an iron guide-post, containing directions to several of the nearest towns, telling the distances in kUometres and yards ; and small stone pUlaxs are set up alongside the road, marking every hundred 3'ards. Arriving at Rouen at iova o'clock, Mr. Parkinson shows me the famous old Rouen Cathedral, the Palace of Justice, and such examples of old medieval Rouen as I care to visit, and, after invit- ing me to remain and take dinner with him by the murmuring waters of the historic Seine, he bids me bon voyage, turns my head southward, and leaves me at last a stranger among strangers, to "comprendre i^Vanpais " unassisted. Some wiseacre has placed it on record that too much of a good thing is worse than none at aU ; however that may be, from having concluded that the friendly iron guide-posts would be found on evei-y corner where necessai-y, pointing out the way with infallible truthfulness, and being doubt- less influenced by the superior levelness of the road leading down the valley of the Seine in comparison with the one leading over the bluffs, I wander towai-d eventide into Elbeuf, instead of Pont de I'Arques, as I had intended ; but it matters little, and I am con- tent to make the best of my suiToundings. WheeHng along the crooked, paved streets of Elbeuf, I enter a small hotel, and, after 106 FROM SAN FRANCISCO TO TEHEKAN. tlie customary exchange of civilities, I arcli my eyebrows at an in- telligent-looking madame, and inquire, " Oomprendre Anglais ? " — " Non," replies the lady, looking puzzled, while I proceed to venti- late my pantomimic powers to try and make my wants understood. After fifteen minutes of despairing effort, mademoiselle, the daugh- ter, is despatched to the other side of the town, and presently re- turns with a bewhiskered Frenchman, who, in very much broken English, accompanying his words with wondrous gesticulations, gives me to understand that he is the only person in all Elbeuf capable of speaking the English language, and begs me to unbur- den myself to him without reserve. He proves himself useful and obliging, kindly interesting himself in obtaining me comfortable accommodation at reasonable rates. This Elbeuf hotel, though, is anything but an elegant establishment, and le propriUaire, though seemingly intelligent enough, brings me out a bottle of the inevita- ble mn ordinaire (common red wine) at breakfast-time, instead of the coffee for which my opportune interpreter said he had given the order yester-eve. If a Frenchman only sits down to a bite of bread and cheese he usually consumes a pint bottle of vin ordinayre with it. The loaves of bread here are rolls three and four feet long, and frequently one of these is laid across — or rather along, for it is oftentimes longer than the table is wide — the table for you to hack away at during your meal, according to your bread-eating capacity or inclination. Monsieur, the accomplished, comes down to see his Anglais friend and prot'eg'e next morning, a few minutes after his Anglais friend and protege has started off toward a distant street called Hue Poussen, which le gar^n had unwittingly directed him to when he inquired the way to the bureau de poste ; the natural result, I sup- j-iose, of the difference between Elbeuf pronunciation and mine. Discovering my mistake upon arriving at the Eue Poussen, I am more fortunate in my attack upon the interpreting abilities of a passing citizen, who sends an Elbeuf gamin to guide me to the post-office. Post office clerks are proverbially intelligent people in any coun- try, consequently it doesn't take me long to transact my business at the bureau de poste ; but now — shades of Csesar ! — I have thoughtlessly neglected to take down either the name of the hotel or the street in which it is located, and for the next half-hour go wandering about as helplessly as the "babes in the wood." Once, FROM AMERICA TO THE GERMAN FRONTIER. 107 twice I fancy recogniziug the location ; but the ordinary Elbeuf house is not easily recognized from its neighbors, and I am stand- ing looking around me in the bewildered attitude of one uncertain of his bearings, when, lo ! the landlady, who has doubtless been wondering whatever has become of me, appears at the door of a building which I should certainly never have recognized as my hotel, besom in hand, and her pleasant, "Otii, monsieur,'' sounds cheery and welcome enough, under the circumstances, as one may readily suppose. Fine roads continue, and between Gaillon and Vernon one can see the splendid highway, smooth, straight, and broad, stretching ahead for miles between rows of stately poplars, forming magnifi- cent avenues that add not a little to the natural loveliness of the country. Noble chateaus appear here and there, oftentimes situa- ted upon the bluffs of the Seine, and forming the background to a long aveniie of chestnuts, maples, or poplars, running at right angles to the main road and principal avenue. The well-known thriftiness of the French peasantry is noticeable on every hand, and particularly away off to the left yonder, where their small, well- cultivated farms make the sloping bluffs resemble huge log-cabiii quilts in the distance. Another glaring and unmistakable evidence of the Normandy peasants' thriftiness is the remarkable number of patches they manage to distribute over the surface of their panta- loons, every peasant hereabouts averaging twenty patches, more or less, of all shapes and sizes. When the British or United States Governments impose any additional taxation on the people, the people grumblingly declare they won't put up with it, and then go ahead and pay it ; but when the Chamber of Deputies at Paris turns on the financial thumb-screw a little tighter, the French peas- ant simply puts yet another patch on the seat of his pantaloons, and smilingly hands over the difference between the patch and the new pair he intended to purchase ! Huge cavalry barracks mark the entrance to Vernon, and, as I watch with interest the manoeuvring of the troops going through their morning drill, I cannot help thinking that with such splendid roads as France possesses she might take many a less practical measure for home defence than to mount a few regiments of light infantry on bicycles ; infantry travelling toward the front at the rate of seventy-five or a hundred miles a day would be something of an improvement, one would naturally think. Every few miles my 108 FKOM SAN FRANCISCO TO TEIIEEAN. road leads through the long, straggling street of a village, every building in which is of solid stone, and looks at least a thousand years old ; while at many cross-roads among the fields, and in all manner of unexpected nooks and corners of the villages, crucifixes are erected to accommodate the devotionally inclined. Most of the streets of these interior villages are paved with square stones which the wear and tear of centuries have generally rendered too rough for the bicycle ; but occasionally one is ridable, and the as- tonishment of the inhabitants as I wheel leisurely through, whist- ling the solemn strains of "Eoll, Jordan, roll," is really quite amusing. Every village of any size boasts a church that, for fine- ness of architecture and apparent costliness of construction, looks out of all proportion to the straggling street of shapeless structui'es that it overtops. Everything here seems built as though intended to last forever, it being no unusual sight to see a ridiculously small jDiece of ground surrounded by a stone wall built as though to re- sist a bombardment ; an enclosure that must have cost more to erect than fifty crops off the enclosed space could repay. The important town of Mantes is reached early in the evening, and a good inn found for the night. The market-women are arraying their varied wares all along the main street of Mantes as I wheel down toward the banks of the Seine this morning. I stop to procure a draught of new milk, and, while drinking it, point to sundry long rows of light, flaky- looking cakes strung on strings, and motion that I am desirous of sampling a few at current rates ; but the good dame smiles and shakes her head vigorously, as well enough she might, for I learn afterward that the cakes are nothing less than dried yeast-cakes, a breakfast off which would probably have produced spontaneous combustion. Getting on to the wrong road out of Mantes, I find myself at the river's edge down among the Seine watermen. I am shown the right way, but from Mantes to Paris they are not Nor- mandy roads ; from Mantes southward they gradually deteriorate until they are little or no better than the " sand-papered roads of Boston." Having determined to taboo vin ordinaire altogether I astonish the restaurateur of a village where I take lunch by motion- ing away the bottle of red wine and calling for " de Veau," and the glances cast in my direction by the other customers indicate plainly enough that they consider the proceeding as something quite ex- traordinary. from: AMEliICA TO THE GEKMAJST FRONTIER. 109 Rolling througli Saint Germain, Chalon Pav6y, and Nanterre, the magnificent Arc cle Triomphe looms up ia the distance ahead, and at about two o-'clock, "Wednesday, May 13th, I wheel into the gay capital through the Porte Maillott. Asphalt pavement now takes the place of macadam, and but a short distance inside the city limits I notice the 'cycle depot of Eenard Fferres. Knowing instinctively that the fraternal feelings engendered by the magic wheel reaches to wherever a wheelman lives, I hesitate not to dismount and present my card. Yes, Jean Glinka, apparently an employ^ there, compre- hends Anglain ; they have all heard of my tour, and wish me hon voyage, and Jean and his bicycle is forthwith produced and dele- gated to accompany me into the interior of the city and find me a suitable hotel. The streets of Paris, like the streets of other large cities, are paved with various compositions, and they have just been sprinkled. French-like, the luckless Jean is desirous of dis- playing his accomplishments on the wheel to a visitor so distingue ; he circles around on the slippery pavement in a manner most un- necessary, and in so doing upsets himself while crossing a car- track, rips his pantaloons, and injures his wheel. At the Hotel du Louvre they won't accept bicycles, having no place to put them ; but a short distance from there we find a less pretentious estab- lishment, where, after requiring me to fill up a formidable-looking blank, stating my name, residence, age, occupation, birthplace, the last place I lodged at, etc., they finally assign me quarters. Prom Paul DeviUiers, to whom I bring an introduction, I learn that by waiting here till Friday evening, and repairing to the rooms of the Societe Velocipedique Metropolitaine, the president of that club can give me the best bicycle route between Paris and Vienna ; accordingly I domicUe myself at the hotel for a couple of days. Many of the lions of Paris are within easy distance of my hotel. The reader, however, probably knows more about the sights of Paris than one can possibly find out in two daj'S ; there- fore I refrain from any attempt at describing them ; but my hotel is worthy of remark. Among other agreeable and sensible arrangements at the Hotel du Loiret, there is no such thing as opening one's room-door from the outside save with the key ; and unless one thoroughly understands this handy peculiarity, and has his wits about him continually, he is morally certain, sometime when he is leaving his room, absent-mindedly to shut the door and leave the key in- 110 FROM SAN FRANCISCO TO TEHERAN. side. This is, of course, among tlie first things that happen to me, and it costs me half a franc and three hours of wretched- ness before I see the interior of my room again. The hotel keeps a rude skeleton-key on hand, presumably for possible emergencies of this nature ; but in manipulating this uncouth in- strument le portier actually locks the door, and as the skeleton-key is expected to manage the catch only, and not the lock, this, of course, makes matters infinitely worse. The keys of every room in the house are next brought into requisition and tried in succes- sion, but not a key among them all is a duplicate of mine. What is to be done ? Le portier looks as dejected as though Paris was about to be bombarded, as he goes down and breaks the dreadful news to le proprietaire. Up comes le proprietaire — avoirdupois three hundred pounds — sighing like an exhaust-pipe at every step. For fifteen unhappy minutes the skeleton-key is wriggled and twisted about again in the key-hole, and the fat proprietaire rubs his bald head impatiently, but all to no purpose. Each returns to his respective avocation.. Impatient to get at my writing materials, 1 look up at the iron bars across the fifth-story windows above, and motion that if they will procure a rope I will descend from thence and enter the window. They one and all point out into the street; and, thinking they have sent for something or somebody, I sit down and wait with Job-like patience for something to turn up. Nothing, however, turns up, and at the expiration of an hour I naturally begin to feel neglected and impatient, and again suggest the rope ; when, at a motion from le proprietaire, le portier pilots me around a neighboring corner to a locksmith's establishment, where, voluntarily acting the part of interpreter, he engages on my behalf, for half a franc, a man to come with a bunch of at least a hundred skeleton-keys of all possible shapes to attack the refrac- tory key-hole. After trying nearly all the keys, and disburdening himself of whole volumes of impulsive French ejaculations, this man likewise gives it up in despair ; but, now everything else has been tried and failed, the countenance of le portier suddenly lights up, and he slips quietly around to an adjoining room, and enters mine inside of two minutes by simply lifting a small hook out of a staple with his knife-blade. There appears to be a slight coolness, as it were, between le proprietaire and me after this incident, prob- ably owing to the intellectual standard of each becoming somewhut lowered in the other's estimation in consequence of it. Le pro- The Champs Elysee at 10 P.M. FROM AMERICA TO THE GERMAN ERONTIEK. 113 prietaire, doubtless, thinks a man capable of leaving the key inside of the door must be the worst type of an ignoramus ; and certainly my opinion of him for leaving such a diabolical ai-rangement un- changed in the latter half of the nineteenth century is not far re- moved from the same. Visiting the headquarters of the Soci^te Velocipedique Me- tropolitaine on Friday evening, I obtain from the president the de- -sired directions regarding the route, and am all prepared to con- tinue eastward in the morning. Wheeling down the famous Champs Elys^es at eleven at night, when the concert gardens are in full blast and everything in a blaze of glory, with myriads of electric lights festooned and in long brilliant rows among the trees, is something to be remembered for a lifetime. Before breakfast I leave the city by the Porte Daumesiul, and wheel through the envii-onments toward Vincennes and JoinviUe, pedalling, to the sound of martial music, for miles beyond the Porte. The roads for thirty miles east of Paris are not Normandy roads, but the country for most of the distance is fairly level, and for mile after mile, and league beyond league, the road is beneath avenues of plane and poplar, which, crossing the plain in every direction Uke emerald walls of nature's own building, here embel- lish and beautify an otherwise rather monotonous stretch of coun- try. The villages are little different from the villages of Normandy, but the churches have not the architectural beauty of the Nor- mandy churches, being for the most part massive structures with- out any pretence to artistic embellishment in theu' construc- tion. Monkish-looking priests are a characteristic feature of these villages, and when, on passing down the narrow, crooked streets of Fontenay, I wheel beneath a massive stone archway, and looking around, observe cowled priests and everything about the place seemingly in keeping with it, one can readily imagine himself transported back to medieval times. One of these little interior French villages is the most unpromising looking place imaginable for a hungry person to ride into ; often one may ride the whole length of the village expectantly looking around for some visible evidence of wherewith to cheer the inner man, and all that greets the hungry vision is a couple of four-foot sticks of bread in one dust-begrimed window, and a few mournful-looking crucifixes and Eoman Catholic paraphernalia in another. Neither are the peas- ants hereabouts to be compared with the Normandy peasantry in 114 FROM SAN FRAKCISCO TO TEHERAN. personal appearance. True, tliey have as many patches on theii; l^antaloons, but they don't seem to have acquired the art of at- taching them in a manner to produce the same picturesque effect as does the peasant of Normandy ; the original garment is almost invariably a shapeless corduroy, of a bagginess and an o'er-ample- ness most unbeautiful to behold. The well-known axiom about fair paths leading astray holds good with the high-ways and by-ways of France, as elsewhere, and soon after leaving the ancient town of Provins, I am tempted by a splendid road, following the windings of a murmuring brook, that appears to be going in my direction, in consequence of which I soon find myself among crosscountry bj'-ways, and among peasant proprietors who apparently know little of the world beyond their native villages. Pour o'clock finds me wheeling through a hilly vineyard district toward Villenauxe, a town several kilometres off my proper route, from whence a dozen kilometres over a very good road brings me to Sezanne, where the Hotel de France affords ex- cellent accommodation. After the table d'hote the clanging bells of the old church hard by announce services of some kind, and hav- ing a natural penchant when in strange places from wandering whithersoever inclination leads, in anticipation of the ever possible item of interest, I meander into the church and take a seat. There appears to be nothing extraordinary about the service, the only unfamiliar feature to me being a man weaiing a uniform similar to the gendarmerie of Paris : cockade, sash, sword, and everything complete ; in addition to which he carries a large cane and a long brazen-headed staff resembling the boarding-pike of the last cen- tury. It has rained heavily during the night, but the roads around here are composed mainly of gravel, and are rather improved than otherwise by the rain ; and from Sezanne, through Champenoise and on to Vitry le Francois, a distance of about sixty -five kilo- metres, is one of the most enjoyable stretches of road imaginable. The contour of the country somewhat resembles the swelling prairies of Western Iowa, and the roads are as perfect for most of the distance as an asphalt boulevard. The hills are gradual ac- clivities, and, owing to the good roads, are mostly ridable, -while the declivities make the finest coasting imaginable ; the exhilara- tion of gliding dovra them in the morning air, fresh after the rain can be compared only to Canadian tobogganing. Ahead of you 116 FROM SAN FRANCISCO TO TEHERAX. stretches a gradual downward slope, perhaps two kilometres long. Knowing full well that from top to bottom there exists not a loose stone or a dangerous spot, you give the ever- ready steel-horse the rein ; faster and faster whirl the glistening wheels until objects by the road -side becom^ indistinct phantoms as they glide instan- taneously by, and to strike a hole or obstruction is to be trans- formed into a human sky-rocket, and, later on, into a new arrival in another world. A mid yell of warning at a blue-bloused peas- ant in the road ahead, shrill screams of dismay from several fe- males at a cluster of cottages, greet the ear as you sweep past like a whirlwind, and the next moment reach the bottom at a rate of speed that would make the engineer of the Flying Dutchman green with envy. Sometimes, for the sake of variety, when glid- ing noiselessly along on the ordinary level, I wheel unobserved close up behind an unsuspecting peasant walking on ahead, with- out calling out, and when he becomes conscious of my presence and looks around and sees the strange vehicle in such close proximity it is well worth the price of a new hat to see the lively manner in which he hops out of the way, and the next moment becomes fairly rooted to the ground with astonishment ; for bicycles and bicycle riders are less familiar objects to the French peasant, outside of the neighborhood of a few large cities, than one would naturally sup- pose. Vitry le Francois is a charming old town in the beautiful valley of the Marne ; in, the middle ages it was a strongly fortified city ; the moats and earth- works are still perfect. The only entrance to the town, even now, is over the old draw-bridges, the massive gates, iron wheels, chains, etc., still being intact, so that the gates can yet be drawn up and entrance denied to foes, as of yore ; but the moats are now utilized for the boats of the Marne and Rhine Canal, and it is presumable that the old draw-bridges are nowadays always left open. To-day is Sunday — and Sunday in France is equivalent to a holiday — consequently Vitry le Frangois, being quite an im- portant town, and one of the business centres of the prosperous and populous Marne Valley, presents all the appearance of circus- day in an American agricultural community. Several booths are erected in the market square, the proprietors and attaches of two peregrinating theatres, several peep-shows, and a dozen various games of chance, are vying with each other in the noisiness of theii- demonstrations to attract the attention and small change of the FROM AMERICA TO THE GERMAN FRONTIER. 117 crowd to their respective enterprises. Like every other highway in this part of Prance the Marne and Ehine Canal is fringed with an avenue of poplars, that from neighboring elevations can be seen winding along the beautiful valley for miles, presenting a most pleasing effect. East of Vitry le Fran9ois the roads deteriorate, and from thence to Bar-le-Duc they are inferior to any hitherto encountered in France ; nevertheless, from the American standpoint they are very good roads, and when, at five o'clock, I wheel into Bar-le-Duc and come to sum up the aggregate of the day's journey I find that, without any undue exertion, I have covered very nearly one hundred and sixty kilometres, or about one hundred English miles, since 8.30 a.m., notwithstanding a good hour's halt at Vitry le Franjois for dinner. Bar-le-Duc appears to be quite an important business centre, pleas- antly situated in the valley of the Ornain Eiver, a tributary of the Marne ; and the stream, in its narrow, fertile valley, winds around among hills from whose sloping sides, every autumn, fairly ooze the celebrated red wines of the Meuse and Moselle regions. The valley has been favored with a tremendous downpour of rain and hail during the night, and the partial formation of the road lead- ing along the level valley eastward being a light-colored, slippery clay, I find it anything but agreeable wheeling this morning ; more- over, the Ornain Valley road is not so perfectly kept as it might be. As in every considerable town in France, so also in Bar-Ie-Duc, the mihtary element comes conspicuously to the fore. - Eleven kilometres of slipping and sliding through the greasy clay brings me to the little village of TronviUe, where I halt to investigate the prospect of ob- taining something to eat. As usual, the prospect, from the street, is most unpromising, the only outward evidence being a few glass jars of odds and ends of candy in one small window. Entering this establishment, the only thing the woman can produce besides candy and raisins is a box of brown, wafer-like biscuits, the unsubstantial appearance of which is, to say the least, most unsatisfactory to a per- son who has pedalled his breakfastless way through eleven kilome- tres of slippery clay. Uncertain of their composition, and remem- bering my unhappy mistake at Mantes in desiring to breakfast ofi' yeast-cakes, I take the precaution of sampling one, and in the ab- sence of anything more substantial conclude to purchase a few, and so motion to the woman to hand me the box in order that I can show her how many I want. But the o'er-careful Frenchwoman, 118 FROM SAN FRANCISCO TO TEHERAN. mistakiug my meaning, and fearful that I only want to sample yet another one, probably feeling uncertain of whether I might not wish to taste a whole handful this time, instead of handing it over moves it out of my reach altogether, meanwhile looking quite angry, and not a little mystified at her mysterious, pantomimic customer. A half-franc is produced, and, after taking the precaution of putting it away in advance, the cautious female weighs me out the current quantity of her ware ; and I notice that, after giving lumping weight, she throws in a few extra, presumably to counterbalance what, upon sober second thought, she perceives to have been an unjust sus- picion. While I am extracting what satisfaction my feathery jJurchase contains, it begins to rain and hail furiously, and so continues with little interruption all the forenoon, compelling me, much against my inclination, to search out in Tronville, if possible, some accom- modation till to-morrow morning. The village is a shapeless cluster of stone houses and stables, the most prominent feature of the streets being huge heaps of manure and grape-vine prunings ; but I manage to obtain the necessary shelter, and such other accom- modations as might be expected in an out-of-the-way village, un- frequented by visitors from one year's end to another. The follow- ing morning is still rainy, and the clayey roads of the Ornaiu Valley are anything but inviting wheeling ; but a longer stay in Tronville is not to be thought of, for, among other pleasantries of the place here, the chief table delicacy appears to be boiled escargots, a large, ungainly snail procured from the neighboring hiUs. Whilst fond of table delicacies, I emphatically draw the line at escargots. Pulling out toward Toul I find the roads, as expected, barely ridable ; but the vineyard-environed little valley, lovely in its tears wrings from one praise in spite of muddy roads and lowering weather. Un route down the valley I meet a battery of artillery travelling from Toul to Bar-le Due or some other point to the west- ward ; and if there is any honor in throwing a battery of French artillery into confusion, and weUnigh routing them, then the bicy- cle and I are fairly entitled to it As I ride carelessly toward them, the leading horses suddenlv wheel around and begin plunging about the road. The officers' horses, and, in fact, the horses of the whole company, catch the in- fection, and there is a plunging and a general confusion all alono- the line, seeing which I, of course, dismount and retire but not FROM AMEKICA TO THE OEKMAN FRONTIEK. 119 discomfited — from the field until tbey have passed. These French horses are certainly not more than half-trained. I passed a battery of English artillery on the road leading out of Coventry, and had I v^heeled along under the horses' noses there would have been no confusion whatever. On the divide between the Oruain and Moselle Valleys the roads are hiUier, but somewhat less muddy. The weather con- tinues showery and unsettled, and a short distance beyond Void I find myself once again wandering off along the wrong road. The peasantry hereabout seem to have retained a lively recollection of the Prussians, my helmet appearing to have the effect of jogging their memory, and frequently, when stopping to inquire about the roads, the first word in response will be the pointed query, "Prus- sian ? " By following the directions given by three different peas- ants, I wander along the muddy by-roads among the vineyards for two wet, unhappy hours ere I finally strike the main road to Toul again. After floundering along the wellnigh unimproved by-ways for two hours one thoroughly appreciates how much he is indebted to themilitary necessities of the French Government for the splen- did highways of France, especially among these hills and valleys, where natural roadways would be anything but good. Following down the Moselle Valley, I arrive at the important city of Nancy in the eventide, and am fortunate, I suppose, in discovering a hotel where a certain, or, more properly speaking, an uncertain, quantity and quality of English are spoken. Nancy is reputed to be one of the loveliest towns in Prance. But I merely remained in it over night, and long enough next morning to exchange for some Ger- man money, as I cross over the frontier to-day. Luneville is a town I pass through, some distance nearer the border, and the military display here made is perfectly overshadow- ing. Even the scarecrows in the fields are military figures, with wooden swords threateningly waving about in their hands with every motion of the wind, and the most frequent sound heard along the route is the sharp bang ! bang ! of muskets, where companies of soldiers ai'e target-practising in the woods. There seems to be a bellicose element in the very atmosphere ; for every dog in every village I ride through verily takes after me, and I run clean over one bumptious cur, which, miscalculating the speed at which I am coming, fails to get himself out of the way in time. It is the nar- rowest escape from a header I have had since starting from Liver- 120 FROM SAN FEANCISCO TO TEHEEAW. pool ; although both man and dog were more scared than hurt. Sixty-five kilometres from Nancy, and I take lunch at the frontier town of Blamont. The road becomes more hDIy, and a short dis- tance out of Blamont, behold, it is as though a chalk-line were made across the roadway, on the west side of which it had been swept with scrupulous care, and on the east side not swept at all ; and when, upon passing the next roadman, I notice that he bears not upon his cap the brass stencil-plate bearing the inscription, " Cantonnier," I know that I have passed over the frontier into the territory of Kaiser Wilhelm. My journey through fair France has been most interesting, and perhaj)S instructive, though I am afraid that the lessons I have taken in French politeness are altogether too superficial to be last- ing. The " Bon jour, monsieur," and " Bon voyage," of France, may not mean any more than the "If I don't see you again, why, heUo ! " of America, but it certainly sounds more musical and pleasant. It is at the table d'hdte, however, that I have felt myself to have invariably shone superior to the natives ; for, lo ! the Frenchman eats soup from the end of his spoon. True, it is more convenient to eat soup from the prow of a spoon than from the larboard ; nevertheless, it is when eating soup that I instinctively feel my superiority. The French peasants, almost without exception, con- clude that the bright-nickelled surface of the bicycle is silver, and presumably consider its rider nothing less than a mUlionnaire in consequence ; but it is when I show them the length of time the rear wheel or a pedal wiU «pin round that they manifest their greatest surprise. The crowning glory of French landscape is the magnificent avenues of poplars that traverse the country in every direction, winding with the roads, the railways, and canals along the valleys, and marshalled like sentinels along the brows of the distant hiUs ; without them French scenery woiild lose half its charm. CHAPTER VI. GERMANY, AUSTEIA, AND HUNGARY. NoTWiTHSTANDiNO Alsace was Frendi territory only fourteen years ago (1871) tliere is a noticeable difference in the inhabitants, to me the most acceptable being -their great Hnguistio superiority over the people on the French side of the border. I linger in Saar- burg only about thirty minutes, yet am addressed twice by natives in my own tongue ; and at Pfalzburg, a smaller- town, where I remain over night, I find the same characteristic. Ere I penetrate thirty kilometres into German territory, however, I have to record what was never encountered in France ; an insolent teamster, who, hav- ing his horses strung across a narrow road-way in the suburbs of Saarburg, refuses to turn his leaders' heads to enable me to ride past, thus compelling me to dismount. Soldiers drilling, soldiers at target practice, and soldiers in companies marching about in every direction, greet my eyes upon approaching Pfalzburg ; and although there appears to be less beating of drums and blare of trumpets than in French garrison towns, one seldom turns a street corner without hearing the measured tramp of a military company receding or approaching. These German troops appear to march briskly and in a business-like manner in comparison with the French, who always seem to carry themselves with a tired and de- jected deportment ; but the over-ample and rather slouchy-looking pantaloons of the French are probably answerable, in part, for this impression. One cannot watch these sturdy-looking German sol- diers without a conviction that for the stem purposes of war they are inferior only to the soldiers of our own country. At the little gasthaus at Pfalzburg the people appear to under- stand and anticipate an Englishman's gastronomic peculiarities; and for the first time since leaving England I am confronted at the supper-table with excellent steak and tea. It is raining next morning as I wheel over the rolling hills toward Saverne, a city nestling pleasantly in a little valley beyond 122 FROM SAN FKAKCISCO TO TEUEEAN. those dark wooded heights ahead that form the eastern boundary of the valley of the Rhine. The road is good but hilly, and for several kilometres, before reaching Saveme, winds its way among the pine forests tortuously and steeply down from the elevated di- vide. The valley, dotted here and there with pleasant villages, is spread out like a marvellously beautiful picture, the ruins of sev- eral old castles on neighboring hill-tops adding a charm, as well as a dash of romance. The rain pours down iu torrents as I wheel into Saverne. I pause long enough to patronize a barber shop ; also to procure an additional small wrench. Taking my nickelled monkey-wrench into a likely-looking hardware store, I ask the proprietor if he has anything similar. He examines it with lively interest, for, in comparison with the clumsy tools comprising his stock-in-trade, the wrench is as a watch-spring to an old horse-shoe. I purchase a rude tool that might have been fashioned on the anvil of a village blacksmith. Prom Saverne my road leads over another divide and down into the glorious valley of the Ehine, for a short distance through a narrow defile that reminds me somewhat of a canon in the Sierra Nevada foot-hills ; but a fine, broad road, spread with a coating of surface-mud only by this morning's rain, prevents the comparison from assuming definite shape for a cycler. Extensive and beautifully terraced vineyards mark the eastern exit The road-beds of this country are hard enough for anything ; but a certain proportion of clay in their composition makes a slip- pery coating in rainy weather. I enter the village of Marlenheim and observe the first stork's nest, built on top of a chimney, that I have yet seen in Europe, though I saw plenty of them afterward. The parent stork is perched solemnly over her youthful brood which one would naturally think would get smoke-dried. A short distance from Marlenheim I descry in the hazy distance the famous spire of Strasburg cathedral looming conspicuously above every- thing else in all the broad valley ; and at 1.30 p.m. I wheel through the massive arched gateway forming part of the city's fortifications, and down the broad but roughly paved streets, the most mud-be- spattered object in all Strasburg. The fortifications surrounding the city are evidently intended strictly for business, and not merely for outward display. The railway station is one of the finest in Europe, and among other conspicuous improvements one notices steam tram-cars. While ' trundling through the city I am impera- GERMANY, AUSTRIA, AND HUNGARY. 123 tively ordered oif the sidewalk by the policemnn ; and when stop- ping to inquire of a respectable-looking Strasburger for the Ap- penweir road, up steps an individual with one eye and a cast off mihtary cap three sizes too small. After querying, " Appen- loeir? Englander?" he wheels "about face "with military pre- cision—doubtless thus impelled by the magic influence of his headgear — and beckons me to follow. Not knowing what better course to pursue I obey, and after threading the mazes of a dozen streets, composed of buUdings ranging iu architectiu-e from the much gabled and not unpicturesque structures of mediteval times to the modern brown-stone front, he j)ilots me outside the fortifi- cations again, points up the Appenweir road, and after the never neglected formality of touching his cap and extending his palm, returns city-ward. Crossing the Ehine over a pontoon bridge, I ride along level and, happily, rather less muddy roads, through pleasant suburban villages, near one of which I meet a company of soldiers in undress uniform, strung out carelessly along the road, as though returning from a tramp into the country. As I approach them, pedalling laboriously against a stiff head wind, both myself and the bicycle fairly yellow with clay, both ofiBcers and soldiers begin to laugh in a good-natured, bantering sort of manner, and a round dozen of them sing out in chorus "Ah! ah! der Englander!" and as I reply, "Yah ! yah ! " in response, and smile as I wheel past them, the. laughing and banter go all along the line. The sight of an "Englander" on one of his rambling expeditions of adventure furnishes much amusement to the average German, who, while he cannot help admiring the spirit of enterprise that impels him, fails to comprehend where the enjoyment can possibly come in. The average German would much rather loll around, sipping wine or beer, and smoking cigarettes, than impel a bicycle across a con- tinent. A few miles eastv^ard of the Ehine another grim fortress frowns upon peaceful village and broad, green meads, and off yonder to the right is yet another ; sure enough, this Franco-German frontier is one vast military camp, with forts, and soldiers, and munitions of war everywhere ! When I crossed the Ehine I left Lower Al- sace, and am now penetrating the middle Ehine region, where vil- lages are picturesque clusters of gabled cottages — a contrast to the shapeless and ancient-looking stone structures of the French vil- 124 FROM SAW FRANCISCO TO TEHEEAN, lages. The difference also exteada to the inhabitants ; the peasant women of France, in either real or affected modesty, would usually pretend not to notice anything extraordinary as I wheeled past, but upon looking back they would almost invariably be seen stand- ing and gazing after my receding figure with unmistakable interest ; but the women of these Ehine villages burst out into merry peals of laughter. Eolling over fair roads into the village of Oberkirch, I conclude to remain for the night, and the first thing undertaken is to dis- burden the bicycle of its covering of clay. The awkward-looking hostler comes around several times and eyes the proceedings with glances of genuine disapproval, doubtless thinking I am cleaning it myself instead of letting him swab it with a besom with the sin- gle purpose in view of dodging the inevitable tip. The proprietor can speak a few words of English. He puts his bald head out of the window above, and asks : " Pe you Herr Shtevens ? " "Yah, yah," I reply. "Do you go mit der veld around? " " Yah ; I goes around mit the world." "I shoust read about you mit der noospaper." " Ah, indeed ! what newspaper ? " "Die Frankfurter Zeitung. You go around mit der veld." The landlord looks delighted to have for a guest the man who goes " mit der veld around," and spreads the news. During the evening several people of importance and position drop in to take a curious peep at me and my wheel. A dampness about the knees, superinduced by wheeling in rub- ber leggings, causes me to seek the privilege of the kitchen fire upon arrival. After listening to the incessant chatter of the cook for a few moments, I suddenly dispense with aU pantomime, and ask in purest English the privilege of drying my clothing in peace and tranquillity by the kitchen fire. The poor woman hurries out, and soon returns with her highly accomplished master, who, com- prehending the situation, forthwith tenders me the loan of his Sun- day pantaloons for the evening ; which offer I gladly accept, not- withstanding the wide disproportion in their size and mine, the landlord being, horizontally, a very large person. Oberkirch is a pretty village at the entrance to the narrow and charming valley of the River Eench, up which my route leads, into the fir-clad heights of the Black Forest. A few miles farther up 126 FEOM SAN FRANCISCO TO TEHERAN. the valley I wheel through a small village that nestles amid sur- roundings the loveliest I have yet seen. Dark, frowning firs inter- mingled with the lighter green of other vegetation crown the sur- rounding spurs of the Knibis Mountains ; vineyards, small fields of waving rye, and green meadow cover the lower slopes with varie- gated beauty, at the foot of which huddles the cluster of pretty cottages amid scattered orchards of blossoming fruit-trees. The cheery lute of the herders on the mountains, the carol of birds, and the merry music of dashing mountain-streams fill the fresh morning air with melody. All through this country there are apple-trees, pear-trees, cherry-trees — everywhere. In the fruit season one can scarce open his mouth out-doors without having the goddess Pomona pop in some delicious morsel. The poplar avenues of France have disappeared, but the road is frequently shaded for miles with fruit-trees. I never before saw a spot so lovely — certainly not in combination with a wellnigh perfect road for wheeling. On through Oppenau and Petersthal my way leads — this latter a place of growing importance as a summer resort, several commodious hotels with swimming-baths, mineral waters, etc., being already prepared to receive the anticipated influx of health and pleasure-seeking guests this coming summer — and then up, up, up among the dark pines leading over the Black Forest Mountains. Mile after mile of steep incline has now been trundled, following the Bench River to its source. Ere long the road I have lately traversed is visible far below, winding and twisting iip the mountain-slopes. Groups of swarthy peasant women are carrying on their heads baskets of pine cones to the villages below. At a dis- tance the sight of their bright red dresses among the sombre green of the pines is suggestive of the fairies with which legend has peo- pled the Black Forest. The summit is reached at last, and two boundary posts apprise the traveller that on this wooded ridge he passes from Baden into Wurtemberg. The descent for miles is agreeably smooth and gradual ; the mountain air blows cool and refreshing, with an odor of the pines ; the scenery is Black Forest scenery, and what more could be possibly desired than this happy combination of circum- stances ? Reaching Freudenstadt about noon, the mountain-climbing, the bracing air, and the pine fragrance cause me to give the good peo- ple at the gasthaus an impressive lesson in the effect of cyclino- on (JEEMANY, AXJSTEIA, and HUNGAEf. 127 the human appetite. At every town and village I pass through in WUrtemberg the whole juvenile population collects around me in an incredibly short time. The natural impulse of the German small boy appears to be to start running after me, shouting and laughing immoderately, and when passing through some of the larger villages, it is no exaggeration to say that I have had two hundred small Germans, noisy and demonstrative, clattering along behind in their heavy wooden shoes. Wiirtemburg, by this route at least, is a decidedly hilly coun- try, and the roads are far inferior to those of both England and France. There will be, perhaps, three kilometres of trundling up through wooded heights leading out of a small valley, then, after several kilometres over undulating, stony upland roads, a long and not always smooth descent into another small valley, this programme, several times repeated, constituting the journey of the day. The small villages of the peasantry are frequently on the uplands, but the larger towns are invariably in the valleys, sheltered by wooded heights, perched among the crags of the most inaccessible of which are frequently seen the ruins of an old castle. Scores of little boys of eight or ten are breaking stones by the road-side, at which I somewhat marvel, since there is a compulsory school law in Ger- many ; but perhaps to-day is a holiday ; or maj'be, after school hours, it is customary for these unhappy youngsters to repair to the road-sides and blister their hands with cracking flints. "Hungry as a buzz-saw " I roll into the sleepy old town of Rothenburg at six o'clock, and, repairing to the principal hotel, order supper. Several flunkeys of different degrees of usefulness come in and bow obsequiously from time to time, as I sit around, expecting supper to appeiir every minute. At seven o'clock the waiter comes in, bows profoundly, and lays the table-cloth ; at 7.15 he appears again, this time with a plate, knife, and fork, doing more bowing and scraping as he lays them on the table. Another half-hour roUs by, when, doubtless observing my growing impa- tience as he happens in at intervals to close a shutter or re-regulate the gas, he produces a small illustrated paper, and, bowing pro- foundly, lays it before me. I feel very much like making him swallow it, but resigning myself to what appears to be inevitable fate, I wait and wait, and at precisely 8.15 he produces a plate of soup ; at 8.30 the kalbscotolel is brought on, and at 8.45 a small plate of mixed biscuits. During the meal I call for another piece 128 FROM SAN FKANCISCO TO TEHERAN. of bread, and behold there is a hurrying to and fro, and a resound- ing of feet scurrying along the stone corridors of the rambling old buildiug, and ten minutes later I receive a small roU. At the op- posite end of the long table upon which I am writing some half- dozen ancient and honorable Eothenburgers are having what they doubtless consider a " howling time." Confronting each is a huge tankard of foaming lager, and the one doubtless enjoying himself the most and making the greatest success of exciting the envy and admiration of those around him is a certain ponderous individual who sits from hour to hour in a half comatose condition, barely keeping a large porcelain pipe from going out, and at fifteen-minute intervals taking a telling pull at the lager. Were it not for an oc- casional bUuk of the eyelids and the periodical visitation of the tankard to his lips, it would be difficult to teU whether he were awake or sleeping, the act of smoking being barely perceptible to the naked eye. In the morning I am quite naturally afraid to order anything to eat here for fear of having to wait until mid-day, or thereabouts, before getting it ; so, after being the unappreciative recipient of several more bows, more deferential and profound if anything than the bows of yesterday eve, I wheel twelve kilometres to Tubingen for breakfast. It showers occasionally during the forenoon, and after about thirty-five kilometres of hilly country it begins to de- scend in torrents, compelling me to foUow the example of several peasants in seeking the shelter of a thick pine copse. We are soon driven out of it, however, and donning my gossamer rubber suit, I push on to Alberbergen, where I indulge in rye bread and milk, and otherwise while away the hours until three o'clock, when, the rain ceasing, I pull out through the mud for Blaubeuren. Down the beautiful valley of one of the Danube's tributaries I ride on Sunday morning, pedalling to the music of Blaubeuren's church-beUs. After waiting untU ten o'clock, partly to allow the roads to dry a little, I conclude to wait no longer, and so puU out toward the important and quite beautiful city of Ulm. The char- acter of the country now changes^ and with it Hkewise the charac- teristics of the people, who verily seem to have stamped upon their features the pecuUarities of the region they inhabit. My road eastward of Blaubeuren follows down a narrow, winding valley, be- side the rippling head-waters of the Danube, and eighteen kilo- metres of variable road brings me to the strongly fortified city of GERMANY, AUSTRIA, AND HUNGARY. 129 Ulm, the place I should have reached yesterday, except for the inclemency of the weather, and where I cross from Wurtemberg into Bavaria. On the uninviting uplands of Central "Wurtemberg one looks in vain among the peasant women for a prepossessing countenance or a graceful figure, but along the smiling valleys of Bavaria, the women, though usually with figures disproportionately broad, nevertheless carry themselves with a certain gracefulness ; and, while far from the American or English idea of beautiful, are several degrees more so than their relatives of the part of Wiirtem- berg I have traversed. I stop but a few minutes at Ulm, to test a mug of its lager and inquire the details of the road to Augsburg, yet dui'ing that short time I find myself an object of no little curi- osity to the citizens, for the fame of my undertaking has pervaded Ulm. The roads of Bavaria possess the one solitary merit of hardness, otherwise they would be simply abominable, the Bavarian idea of road-making evidently being to spread unUmited quantities of loose stones over the sui'face. For miles a wheelman is compelled to follow along narrow, wheel- worn tracks, incessantly dodging loose stones, or otherwise to pedal his way cautiously along the edges of the roadway. I am now wheeling through the greatest beer-drink- ing, sausage-consuming country in the world ; hop-gardens are a prominent feature of the landscape, and long links of sausages are dangling in nearly every window. The quantities of these viands I see consumed to-day are something astonishing, though the cele- bration of the Whitsuntide holidays is probably augmentative of the amount. The strains of instrumental music come floating over the level bottom of the Lech valley as, toward eventide, I approach the beautiful environs of Augsburg, and ride past several beer-gardens, where merry crowds of Augsburgers are congregated, quaffing foaming lager, eating sausages, and drinking inspiration from the music of military bands. " Where is the headquarters of the Augsburg Velocipede Club?" I inquire of a promising-looking youth as, after covering one hundred and twenty kilometres since ten o'clock, I wheel into the city. The club's headquarters are at a prominent cafe and beer-garden in the south-eastern suburbs, and repairing thither I find an accommodating individual who can speak English, and who willingly accepts the office of interpreter between me and the proprietor of the garden. Seated amid 9 130 FROM SAN FRANCISCO TO TEHERAN. hundreds of soldiers, Augsburg civilians, and peasants from the surrounding country, and with them extracting genuine enjoyment from a tankard of foaming Augsburg lager, I am informed that most of the members of the club are celebrating the Whitsuntide holidays by touring about the surrounding country, but that I am very welcome to Augsburg, and I am conducted to the Hotel Moh- renkopf (Moor's Head Hotel), and invited to consider myseK the guest of the club as long as I care to remain in Augsburg — the Bavarians are nothing if not practical. Mr. Josef Kling, the president of the club, accompanies me as far out as Friedburg on Monday morning ; it is the last day of the holidays, and the Bavarians are apparently bent on making the most of it. The suburban beer-gardens are abeady filled with people, and for some distance out of the city ■ the roads are thronged with hoUday-making Augsburgers repairing to various pleasure resorts in the neighboring country, and the peasantiy streaming cityward from the villages, their faces beaming in an- ticipation of unlimited quantities of beer. About every tenth person among the outgoing Augsburgers is carrying an accor- dion ; some playing merrily as they walk along, others preferring to carry theirs in blissful meditation on the good time in store immediately ahead, while a thoughtful majority have large um- brellas strapped to their backs. Music and song are heard on every hand, and as we wheel along together in sUence, enforced by an ignorance of each other's language, whichever way one looks, people in holiday attire and holiday faces are moving hither and thither. Some of the peasants are fearfully and wonderfully attired : the men wear high top-boots, polished from the sole to the up- permost hair's-breadth of leather ; black, broad-brimmed felt hats, frequently with a peacock's feather a yard long stuck through the band, the stem protruding forward, and the end of the feather be- hind ; and their coats and waistcoats are adorned with long rows of large, ancestral buttons. I am now in the Swabian district, and these buttons that form so conspicuous a part of the holiday attire are made of silver coins, and not infrequently have been handed down from generation to generation for several centuries, they be- ing, in fact, family heirlooms. The costumes of the Swabish peas- ant women are picturesque in the extreme : their finest dresses and that wondrous head-gear of brass, silver, or gold — the Schwa- GERMANY, ATJSTEIA, AND IIUNGAET. 131 bische Bauernfrauenhauhe (Swabish farmer-woman hat) — being, like the buttons of the men, family heirlooms. Some of these won- derful ancestral dresses, I am told, contain no less than one hun- dred and fifty yards of heavy material, gathered and closely pleated in innumerable perpendicular folds, frequently over a foot thick, - making the form therein incased appear ridiculously broad and squatty. The waistbands of the dresses are up in the region of the shoulder-blades ; the upper portion of the sleeves are likevfise padded out to fearful proportions. The day is most lovely, the fields are deserted, and the roads and villages are alive with holiday-making peasants. In every village a tall pole is erected, and decorated from top to bottom with small flags and evergreen ■^'reaths. The little stone churches and the adjoining cemeteries are filled with worshippers chanting in solemn chorus ; not so preoccupied with their devotional exercises and spiritual meditations, however, as to prevent their calling one another's attention to me as I wheel past, craning their necks to obtain a better view, and, in one instance, an o'er-inquisitive wor- shipper even beckons for me to stop — this person both chanting and beckoning vigorously at the same time. Now my road leads through forests of dark firs ; and here I overtake a procession of some fifty peasants, the men and women alternately chanting in weird harmony as they trudge along the road. The men are bareheaded, carrying their hats in hand. Many of the women are barefooted, and the pedal extremities of others are incased in stockings of marvellous pattern ; not any are wearing shoes. All the colors of the rainbow are represented in their respective costumes, and each carries a large umbrella strapped at his back ; they are trudging along at quite a brisk pace, and altogether there is something weird and fascinating about the whole scene : the chanting and the surroundings. The variegated costumes of the women are the only bright objects amid the gloominess of the dark green pines. As I finally pass ahead, the unmistakable expressions of interest on the faces of the men, and the even rows of ivories displayed by the women, betray a di- verted attention. Near noon I arrive at the antiquated to-^vn of Dachau, and upon repairing to the gasthaus, an individual in a last week's paper col- lar, and with general appearance in keeping, comes forward and addresses me in quite excellent English, and during the dinner 132 FROM SAN FEAlSrCISCO TO TEHERAN. hour answers several questions concerning the country and the natives so intelligently that, upon departing, I ungrudgingly offer him the small tip customary on such occasions in Germany. " No, Whitsuntide in Bavaria. I thank you, very muchly," he replies, smiling, and shaking his head. " I am not an employe of the hotel, as you doubtless think ; I am a student of modem languages at the Munich University, visiting Dachau for the day." Several soldiers playing billiards in GERMANY, AUSTRIA, AND HUNGARY. 133 tjie room grin broadly in recognition of tlie ludicrousness of the situation ; and I must confess that for the moment I feel like ask- ing one of them to draw his sword and charitably prod me out of the room. The unhappy memory of having, in my ignorance, ten- dered a smaU tip to a student of the Munich University will cling around me forever. Nevertheless, I feel that after all there are extenuating circumstances — he ought to change his paper collar occasionally. An hour after noon I am industriously dodging loose flints on the level road leading across the Isar KiverVaUey toward Munich ; the Tyrolese Alps loom up, shadowy and indistinct, in the distance to the southward, their snowy peaks recalling memories of the Rockies through which I was wheeling exactly a year ago. While wending my way along the streets toward the central portion of the Bavarian capital the familiar sign, "American Cigar Store," looking like a ray of Ught penetrating through the gloom and mystery of the multitudinous unreadable signs that surround it, greets my vision, and I immediately wend my footsteps thither- ward. I discover in the proprietor, Mr. Walsch, a native of Munich, who, after residing in America for several years, has returned to dream away declining years amid the smoke of good cigars and the quaffing of the delicious amber beer that the brewers of Munich alone know how to brew. Then who should happen in but Mr. Charles Buscher, a thorough-going American, from Chicago, who is studying art here at the Eoyal Academy of Fine Arts, and who straightway volunteers to show me Munich. Nine o'clock next morning finds me under the pilotage of Mr. Buscher, wandering through the splendid art galleries. We next visit the Eoyal Academy of Fine Arts, a magnificent building, be- ing erected at a cost of 7,000,000 marks. We repair at eleven o'clock to the royal residence, making a note by the way of a trifling mark of King Ludwig's well-known eccentricity. Opposite the palace is an old church, with two of its four clocks facing the King's apartments. The hands of these clocks are, according to my informant, made of gold. Some time since the King announced that the sight of these golden hands hurt his eyesight, and ordered them painted black. It was done, and they are black to-day. Among the most interesting objects in the palace are the room and bed in which Napoleon I. slept in 1809, and which has since been occupied by no other person ; the " rich 134 FROM SAN FEAWCISCO TO TEHEEATST. bed," a gorgeous affair of pink and scarlet satin-work, on which forty women wove, with gold thread, daily, for ten years, until 1,600,000 marks were expended. At one of the entrances to the royal residence, and secured with iron bars, is a large bowlder weighing three hundred and sixty- three pounds" ; in the wall above it are driven three spikes, the highest spike being twelve feet from the ground ; and Bavarian historians have recorded that Earl Christoph^ a famous giant, tossed this bowlder up to the mark indicated by the highest spike, with his foot. After this I am kindly warned by both Messrs. Buscher and Walsch not to think of leaving the city without visiting the Konig- liche Eofbrauhaus (Eoyal Court Brewery) the most famous place of its kind ia all Europe. For centuries Munich has been famous for the excellent quality of its beer, and somewhere about four cen- turies ago the king founded this famous brewery for the charitable purpose of enabling his poorer subjects to quench their thirst with the best quality of beer, at prices within their means, and from gen- eration to generation it has remained a favorite resort in Munich for lovers of good beer. In spite of its remaining, as of yore, a place of rude benches beneath equally rude, open sheds, with cob- webs festooning the rafters and a general air of dilapidation about it ; in spite of the innovation of dozens of modem beer-gardens with waving palms, electric lights, military music, and all modern improvements, the Konigliche Hofbrduhaus is daily and nightly thronged with thirsty visitors, who for the trifling sum of twenty- two pfennigs (about five cents) obtain a quart tankard of the most celebrated brew in all Bavaria. "Munich is the greatest art-centre of the world, the true hub of the artistic universe," Mr. Buscher enthusiastically assures me as we wander together through the sleepy old streets, and he points out a bright bit of old frescoing, which is already partly obliterated by the elements, and compares it with the work of recent years ; calls my attention to a piece of statuary, and anon pilots me down into a'restaurant and beer-hall in some ancient, underground vaults and bids me examine the architecture and the frescoing. The very custom-house of Munich is a glorious old church, that would be carefuUy preserved as a relic of no small interest and importance in cities less abundantly blessed with antiquities, but which is here piled with the cases and boxes and bags of commerce. GERMANY, AUSTRIA, AND HUNGARY. 135 One other conspicuous featui-e of Munich life must not be over- looked ere I leave it, viz., the hackmen. Unlike their Transatlantic brethren, they appear supremely indifferent about whether they pick up any fares or not. Whenever one comes to a hack-stand it is a pretty sure thing to bet that nine drivers out of every ten are tak- ing a quiet snooze, reclining on their elevated boxes, entirely ob- livious of their surroundings, and a timid stranger would almost hesitate about disturbing their slumbers. But the Munich cabby has long since got hardened to the disagreeable process of being wakened up. Nor does this lethargy pervade the ranks of hackdom only : at least two-thirds of the teamsters one meets on the roads, hereabouts, are stretched out on their respective loads, contentedly sleeping while the horses or oxen crawl leisurely along toward their goal. Munich is visited heavily with rain during the night, and for several kilometres, next morning, the road is a horrible waste of loose flints and mud-filled ruts, along which it is all but impossible to ride ; but after leaving the level bottom of the Isar Eiver the road improves sufficiently to enable me to take an occasional, ad- miring glance at the Bavarian and Tyrolese Alps, towering cloud- ward on the southern horizon, their shadowy outlines scarcely dis- tinguishable in the hazy distance from the fleecy clouds their peaks aspire to invade. While absentmindedly taking a more lingering look than is consistent with safety when picking one's way along the narrow edge of the roadway between the stone-strewn centre and the ditch, I run into the latter, and am rewarded with my first Cis-atlantic header, but fortunately both myself and the bicycle come up uninjured. Unlike the Swabish peasantry, the natives east of Munich appear as prosy and unpicturesque in dress as a Kansas homesteader. Ere long there is noticeable a decided change in the character of the villages, they being no longer clusters of gabled cottages, but usually consist of some three or four huge, rambHng build- ings, at one of which I call for a drink and observe that brewing and baking are going on as though they were expecting a whole regiment to be quartered on them. Among other things I mentally note this morning is that the men actually seem to be bearing the drudgery of the farm equally with the women ; but the favorable impression becomes greatly imperilled upon meeting a woman har- nessed to a small cart, heavily laboring along, while her husband — 136 FROM SAN FEANCI8CO TO TEHERAK. kind man — is walking along-side, holding on to a rope, upon which he considerately pulls to assist her along and lighten her task. Nearing Hoag, and thence eastward, the road becomes greatly im- proved, and along the Inn River Valley, from Muhldorf to Alt Get- ting, where I remain for the night, the late rain-storm has not reached, and the wheeling is superior to any I have yet had in Ger- many. Muhldorf is a curious and interesting old town. The side- walks of Mtihldorf are beneath long arcades from one end of the principal street to the other ; not modern structures either, but massive archways that are doubtless centuries old, and that sup- port the front rooms of the buildings that tower a couple of stories above them. As toward dusk I ride into the market square of Alt Getting, it is noticeable that nearly all the stalls and shops remaining open display nothing but rosaries, crucifixes, and other paraphernalia of the prevailing religion. Through Eastern Bavaria the people seem pre-eminently devotional ; church- spires dot the landscape at every point of the compass. At my hotel in Alt Getting, crucifixes, holy water, and burning tapers are situated on the dififerent stairway landings. I am sitting in my room, penning these lines to the music of several hundred voices chanting in the old stone church near by, and can look out of the window and see a number of peas- ant women taking turns in dragging themselves on their knees round and round a small religious edifice in the centre of the mar- ket square, carrying on their shoulders huge, heavy wooden crosses, the ends of which are traiUug on the ground. All down the Inn River Valley, there is many a picturesque bit of intermingled pine-copse and grassy slopes ; but admiring scen- ery is anything but a riskless undertaking along here, as I quickly discover. Gn the Inn River I find a primitive ferry-boat operated by & facsimile of the Ancient Mariner, who takes me and my wheel across for the consideration of five pfennigs — a trifle over one cent — and when I refuse the tiny change out of a ten-pfennig piece the old fellow touches his cap as deferentially, and favors me vrith a look of gratitude as profound, as though I were bestowing a pen- sion upon him for life. My arrival at a broad, well-travelled high- way at once convinces me that I have again been unwittingly wan- dering among the comparatively untravelled by-ways as the result of following the kindly meant advice of people whose knowledge of bicycling requirements is of the slimmest nature. The Inn River GERMANY, AUSTRIA, AND HUNGARY. 137 has a warm, rich vale ; haymaking is ah-eady in full progress, and the delightful perfume is wafted on the fresh morning air from meadows where scores of barefooted Maud Mullers are raking hay, ay, and mowing it too, swinging scythes side by side with the men. Some of the out-door crucifixes and shrines (small, substan- tial buildings containing pictures, images, and all sorts of religi- ous emblems) along this valley are really quite elaborate affairs. AH through Eoman Catholic Germany these emblems of rehgion are very elaborate, or the reverse, according to the locality, the chosen spot in rich and fertile valleys generally being favored with better and more artistic affairs, and more of them, than the com- paratively unproductive uplands. This is evidently because the in- habitants of the latter regions are either less wealthy, and conse- quently cannot afford it, or otherwise realize that they have really much less to be thankful for than their comparatively fortunate neighbors in the more productive valleys. At the town of Simbach I cross the Inn River again on a substan- tial wooden bridge, and on the opposite side pass under an old stone archway bearing the Austrian coat-of-arms. Here I am conducted into the custom-house by an officer wearing the sombre uniform of Franz Josef, and required, for the first time in Europe, to produce my passport. After a critical and unnecessarily long examination of this document I am graciously permitted to depart. In an ad- jacent money-changer's office I exchange what German money I have remaining for the paper currency of Austria, and once more pursue my way toward the Orient, finding the roads rather better than the average German ones, the Austrian s, hereabouts at least, having had the goodness to omit the loose flints so characteristic of Bavaria. Once out of the valley of the Inn River, however, I find the uplands intervening between it and the valley of the Dan- ube aggravatingly hilly. While eating my first luncheon in Austria, at the village of Altheim, the village pedagogue informs me in good English that I am the first Briton he has ever had the pleasure of conversing with. He learned the language entirely from books, without a tutor, he says, learning it for pleasure solely, never expecting to utilize the accomplishment in any practical way. One hill after another characterizes my route to-day ; the weather, which has hitherto remained reasonably mild, is turning hot and sultry, and, arriving at Hoag about five o'clock, I feel that I have done sufficient hill- 138 FROM SAN FRANCISCO TO TEHERAJST. climbing for one day. I have been wheeling through Austrian territory since 10.30 this morning, and, with observant eyes the whole distance, I have yet to see the first native, male or female, possessing in the least degree either a graceful figure or a prepos- sessing face. There has been a great horse-fair at Hoag to-day ; the business of the day is concluded, and the principal occupation of the men, apart from drinking beer and smoking, appears to be frightening the women out of their wits by leading prancing horses as near them as possible. My road, on leaving Hoag, is hilly, and the snowy heights of the Nordliche Kalkalpen (North Chalk Mountains), a range of the Aus- trian Alps, loom up ahead at an uncertain distance. To-day is what Americans call a " scorcher," and climbing hills among pine-woods, that shut out every passing breeze, is anything but exhilarating ex- ercise with the thermometer hovering in the vicinity of one hun- dred degrees. The peasants are abroad in their fields as usual, but a goodly proportion are reclining beneath the trees. Reclin- ing is, I think, a favorite pastime with the Austrian. The team- ster, who happens to be wide awake and sees me approaching, knows instinctively that his team is going to scare at the bicycle, yet he makes no precautionary movements whatever, neither does he arouse himself from his loUing position until the horses or oxen begin to swerve around. As a usual thing the teamster is filling his pipe, which has a large, ungainly-looking, porcelain bowl, a long, straight wooden stem, and a crooked mouth-piece. Almost every Austrian peasant from sixteen years old upward carries one of these uncomely pipes. The men here seem to be dull, uninteresting mortals, dressed in tight-fitting, and yet, somehow, ill-fitting, pantaloons, usually about three sizes too short, a small apron of blue ducking — an un- becoming garment that can only be described as a cross between a short jacket and a waistcoat — and a narrow-rimmed, prosy-looking billycock hat. The peasant women, are the poetry of Austria, as of any other European country, and in their short red dresses and broad-brimmed, gypsy hats, they look picturesque and interesting in spite of homely faces and ungraceful figures. Eiding into Lam- bach this morning, I am about wheeling past a horse and drag that, careless and Austrian-like, has been left untied and unwatched in the middle of the street, when the horse suddenly scares, swerves around just in front of me, and dashes, helter-skelter, down the GERMANY, AUSTRIA, AND HUNGARY. 139 street. The horse circles around the market square and finally stops of his own accord without doing any damage. Eunaways, like other misfortunes, it seems, never come singly, and ere I have left Lambach an hour I am the innocent cause of yet another one ; this time it is a large, powerful work-dog, who becomes excited upon meeting me along the road, and upsets things in the most lively manner. Small carts pulled by dogs are common vehicles here, and this one is met coming up an incline, the man consider- ately giving the animal a lift. A life of drudgery breaks the spirit of these work-dogs and makes them cowardly and cringing. At my approach this one howls, and swerves suddenly around with a rush that upsets both man and cart, topsy-turvy, into the ditch, and the last glimpse of the rumpus obtained, as I sweep past and down the hill beyond, is the man pawing the air with his naked feet and the dog struggling to free himself from the entangling harness. Up among the hills, at the village of Strenburg, night arrives at a very opportune moment to-day, for Strenburg proves a nice, sociable sort of village, where the doctor can speak good English and plays the role of interpreter for me at the gasthaus. The school-ma'am, a vivacious Italian lady, in addition to French and German, can also speak a few words of English, though she per- sistently refers to herself as the "school-master." She boards at the same gasthaus, and all the evening long I am favored by the liveliest prattle and most charming gesticulations imaginable, while the room is half fiUed with her class of young lady aspirants to linguistic accomplishments, listening to our amusing, if not in- structive, efforts to carry on a conversation. It is altogether a most enjoyable evening, and on parting I am requested to write when I get around the world and tell the Strenburgers all that I have seen and experienced. On top of the gasthaus is a rude observa- tory, and before starting I take a view of the country. The out- look is magnificent ; the Austrian Alps are towering skyward to the southeast, rearing snow-crowned heads out from among a biUowy sea of pine-covered hills, and to the northward is the lovely valley of the Danube, the river glistening softly through the morning haze. On yonder height, overlooking the Danube on the one hand and the town of Molk on the other, is the largest and most im- posing edifice I have yet seen in Austria ; it is a convent of the 140 PEOM SAN FRANCISCO TO TEHERAN. Benedictine monks ; and though Molk is a solid, substantially built town, of perhaps a thousand inhabitants, I should think there is more material in the immense convent building than in the whole town besides, and one naturally wonders whatever use the monks can possibly have for a building of such enormous dimen- sions. Entering a barber's shop here for a shave, I find the barber fol- The Barber of Molk. lowing the example of so many of his countrymen by snoozing the mid-day hours happily and unconsciously away. One could easily pocket and walk off with his stock-in-trade, for small is the danger of his awakening. Waking him up, he shuffles mechanically over to his razor and lathering apparatus, this latter being a soup-plate with a semicircular piece chipped out to fit, after a fashion, the contour of the customers' throats. Pressing this jagged edn'e of GERMANY, AUSTRIA, AND HUNGART. 141 queen's-waxe against your ■windpipe, the artist alternately rubs the water and a cake of soap therein contained about your face with his hands, the water meanwhile passing freely between the ill-fit- ting soup-plate and your throat, and running down your breast ; but don't complain ; be reasonable : no reasonable-minded person could expect one soup-plate, however carefully chipped out, to fit the throats of the entire male population of Molk, besides such travellers as happen along. Spending the night at Neu Lengbach, I climb hiUs and wabble along, over rough, lumpy roads, toward Vienna, reaching the Austrian capital Sunday morning, and putting up at the Englischer Z?o/" about noon. At Vienna I determine to make a halt of two days, and on Tuesday pay a visit to the headquarters of the Vienna Wanderers' Bicycle Club, away out on a suburban street called Schmmmschulenstrasse ; and the club promises that if I will delay my departure another day they will get up a small party of wheel- men to escort me seventy kilometres, to Presburg. The bicycle clubs of Vienna have, at the "Wanderers' headquarters, constructed an excellent race-track, three and one-third laps to the English mile, at an expense of 2,000 gulden, and this evening several of Austiia's fliers are training upon it for the approaching races. English and American wheelmen little understand the difficulties these Vienna cyclers have to contend with : all the city inside the Eingstrasse, and no less than fifty streets outside, are forbidden to the mounted cyclers, and they are required to ticket themselves with big, glaring letters, as also their lamps at night, so that, in case of violating any of these regulations, they can by their number be readily recog- nized by the police. Self-preservation compels the clubs to exer- cise every precaution against violating the police regulations, in order not to excite popular prejudice overwhelmingly against bicy- cles, and ere a new rider is permitted to venture outside their own grounds he is hauled up before a regularly organized committee, consisting of officers from each club in Vienna, and required to go through a regular examination in mounting, dismounting, and otherwise proving to their entire satisfaction his proficiency in managing and manceuvi-ing his wheel ; besides which every cycler is provided with a pamphlet containing a list of the streets he may and may not frequent. In spite of all these harassing regulations, the Austrian capital has already two hundi-ed riders. The Viennese impress themselves upon me as being possessed 142 FROM SAN FEANCISCO TO TEHERAN. of more than ordinary individuality. Yonder comes a man, walking languidly along, and carrying his hat in his hand, because it is warm, and just behind him comes a feUow-citizen muffled up in an overcoat because — because of Viennese individuality. The people seem to walk the streets with a swaying, happy-go-anyhow sort of gait, colliding with one another and jostling together on the side- walk in the happiest manner imaginable. At five o'clock on Thursday morning I am dressing, when I am notified that two cyclers are awaiting me below. Church-bells are clanging joyously all over Vienna as we meander toward sub- urbs, and people are already streaming in the direction of the St. Stephen's Church, near the centre of the city, for to-day is Frohn- leichnam (Coi-pus Christi), and the Emperor and many of the great ecclesiastical, civil, and military personages of the empire 'will pass in procession with all pomp and circumstance ; and the average Viennese is not the person to miss so important an occasion. Three other wheelmen are awaiting us in the suburbs, and together we ride through the waving barley-fields of the Danube bottom to Schwechat, for the light breakfast customary in Austria, and thence onward to Petronelle, thirty kilometres distant, where we halt a few minutes for a Corpus Christi procession, and drink a glass of white Hungarian wine. Near Petronelle are the remains of an old Roman waU, extending from the Danube to a lake called the Neu- sledler See. My companions say it was built 2,000 years ago, when the sway of the Romans extended over such ]parts of Europe as were worth the trouble and expense of swaying. The roads are found rather rough and inferior, on account of loose stones and uneven surface, as we push forward toward Pr^sburg, passing through a dozen villages whose streets are carpeted with fresh-cut grass, and converted into temporary avenues, with branches stuck in the ground, in honor of the day they are celebrating. At Hamburtr we pass beneath an archway nine hundred years old, and wheel on through the grass-carpeted streets between rows of Hungarian soldiers drawn up in line, with green oak-sprigs in their hats ; the villagers are swarming from the church, whose bells are filling the air with their clangor, and on the summit of an over- shadowing cliff are the massive ruins of an ancient castle. Near about noon we roll into Presburg, warm and dusty, and after dinner take a stroll through the Jewish quarter of the town up to the height upon which Presburg castle is situated, and from which a most extensive 144 FROM SAN FRANCISCO TO TEHERAN. and beautiful view of the Danube, its wooded bluffs and broad, rich bottom-lands, is obtainable. At dinner the waiter hands me a card, which reads : " Pardon me, but I believe you are an English- man, in which case I beg the privilege of drinking a glass of wine with you." The sender is an English gentleman residing at Buda- pest, Hungary, who, after the requested glass of wine, tells me that he guessed who 1 was when he first saw me enter the garden with the five Austrian wheelmen. My Austrian escort rides out with me to a certain cross-road, to make sure of heading me direct toward Budapest, and as we part they bid me good speed, with a hearty " Eljen I " — the Hunga- rian "Hip, hip, hui-rah." After leaving Presburg and crossing over into Hungary the road-bed is of a loose gravel that, during the dry weather this country is now experiencing, is churned up and loos- ened by every passing vehicle, until one might as well think of rid- ing over a ploughed field. But there is a fair proportion of ridable side-paths, so that I make reasonably good time. Altenburg, my objective point for the night, is the centre of a sixty-thousand-acre estate belonging to the Archduke Albrecht, uncle of the present Emperor of Austro-Hungary, and one of the wealthiest land-owners in the empire. Ere I have been at the gasthaus an hour I am hon- ored by a visit from Professor Thallmeyer, of the Altenburg Royal Agricultural School, who invites me over to his house to spend an hour in conversation, and in the discussion of a bottle of Hungary's best vintage, for the learned professor can talk very good English, and his wife is of English birth and parentage. Although Frau Thallmeyer left England at the tender age of two years, she calls herself an Englishwoman, speaks of England as " home," and wel- comes to her house as a countryman any wandering Briton hap- pening along. I am no longer in a land of small peasant proprie- tors, and there is a noticeably large proportion of the land devoted to grazing purposes, that in Prance or Germany would be found divided into small farms, and every foot cultivated. Villages are farther apart, and are invariably adjacent to large commons, on which roam flocks of noisy geese, herds of ponies, and cattle with horns that would make a Texan blush — the long-horned roadsters of Hungary. The costumes of the Hungarian peasants are both picturesque and novel, the women and girls wearing top-boots and short dresses on holiday occasions and Sundays, and at other times short dresses without any boots at all ; the men wear loose-flowing GEKMANY, AUSTRIA, AND HUNGARY. 145 pantaloons of white, coarse linen tliat reach just below the knees, and which a casual observer would unhesitatingly pronounce a short skirt, the material being so ample. Hungary is still practi- cally a land of serfs and nobles, and nearly every peasant encoun- tered along the road touches his cap respectfully, in instinctive acknowledgment, as it were, of his inferiority. Long rows of women are seen hoeing in the fields vntli watchful overseers stand- ing over them — a scene not unsuggestive of plantation life in the Southern States in the days of slavery. If these gangs of women are not more than about two hundred yards from the road their inquisitiveness overcomes every other consideration, and dropj)ing everything, the whole crowd comes helter-skelter across the field to obtain a closer view of the strange vehicle ; for it is only in the neighborhood of one or two of the principal cities of Hungary that one ever sees a bicycle. Gangs of gypsies are now frequently met with ; they are dark- skinned, interesting people, and altogether different-looking from those occasionally encountered in England and America, where, al- though swarthy and dark-skinned, they bear no comparison in that respect to these, whose skin is wellnigh black, and whose gleaming white teeth and brilliant, coal-black eyes stamp them plainly as alien to the race around them. Bagged, unwashed, happy gangs of vagabonds these stragglers appear, and regular droves of par- tially or wholly naked youngsters come raciag after me, calling out " kreuzer ! kreuzer ! kreuzer ! " and holding out hand or tattered hat in a supplicating manner as they run along-side. Unlike the peasantry, none of these gypsies touch their hats ; indeed, yon swarthy-faced vagabond, arrayed mainly in gewgaws, and eyiag me curiously with his piercing black eyes, may be priding himself on having royal blood in his veins ; and, unregenerate chicken-lifter though he doubtless be, would scarce condescend to touch bis tat- tered tile even to the Emperor of Austria. The black eyes scintil- late as they take notice of what they consider the great wealth of sterling silver about the machiae I bestride. Eastward from Alten- burg the main portion of the road continues for the most part un- ridably loose and heavy. For some kilometres out of Eaab the road presents a far better surface, and I ride quite a lively race with a small Danube passen- ger steamer that is starting down-stream. The steamboat toots and forges ahead, and in answer to the waving of hats and exclamations 10 146 FROM SAN FEANCISCO TO TEHERAN. of encouragement from the passengers, I likewise forge ahead, and although the boat is going down-stream with the strong current of the Danube, as long as the road continues fairly good I manage to keep in advance ; but soon the loose surface reappears, and when I arrive at Gonys, for lunch, I find the steamer already tied up, and the passengers and officers greet my appearance with shouts of rec- ognition. My route along the Danube Valley leads through broad, level wheat-fields that recall memories of the Sacramento Valley, CaUfomia. Geese appear as the most plentiful objects around the villages : there are geese and goslings everywhere ; and this even- ing, in a small village, I wheel quite over one, to the dismay of the maiden driving them homeward, and the unconcealed delight of several small Hungarians. At the village of Nezmely I am to-night treated to a foretaste of what is probably in store for me at a goodly number of places ahead by being consigned to a bunch of hay and a couple of sacks in the stable as the best sleeping accommodations the vUlage gast- haus afibrds. True, I am assigned the place of honor in the man- ger, which, though uncomfortably narrow and confining, is perhaps better accommodation, after all, than the peregrinating tinker and three other hkely-iooking characters are enjoying on the bare floor. Some of these companions, upon retiring, pray aloud at unseemly length, and one of them, at least, keeps it up in his sleep at frequent intervals through the night ; horses and work-cattle are rattling chains and munching hay, and an uneasy goat, with a bell around his neck, fills the stable with an incessant tinkle tiU dawn. Black bread and a cheap but very good quaUty of white wine seem about the only refreshment obtainable at these little villages. One asks in vain for milck-brod, butter, kcise, or in fact anything acceptable to the English palate ; the answer to all questions concerning these things is "nicht, nicht, nicht." — "What have you, then?" I some- times ask, the answer to which is almost invariably " brod und wein." Stone-yards thronged with busy workmen, chipping stone for ship- ment to cities along the Danube, are a feature of these river-side villages. The farther one travels the more frequently gypsies are encountered on the road. In almost every band is a maiden, who, by reason of real or imaginary beauty, occupies the position of pet of the camp, wears a profusion of beads and trinkets, decorates herself with wild flowers, and is permitted to do no manner of drudgery. Some of these gypsy maidens are really quite beautiful GERMANY, AUSTP.IA, AXD HUNGARY. 147 iu spite of their very dai-k complexions. Their eyes glisten with inborn avai-ice as I sweep past on my " silver " bicycle, and in their astonishment at my strange appearance and my evidently enormous wealth they almost forget their plaintive waU of " kreuzer ! kreu- zer ! " a cry which readily bespeaks their origin, and is easily recog- nized as an echo from the land where the cry of " backsheesh " is seldom out of the traveller's hearing. The roads east of Nezmely ai-e variable, flint-strewn ways pre- dominating ; otherwise the way would be very agreeable, since the gradients are gentle, and the dust not over two inches deep, as against three in most of Austro-Hungary thus far traversed. The weather is broUing hot ; but I worry along perseveringly, through rough and smooth, toward the land of the rising sun. Nearing Buda- pest the roads become somewhat smoother, but at the same time hill- ier, the country changing to vine-clad slopes ; and all along the un- dulating ways I meet wagons laden with huge wine-casks. Reaching Budapest in the afternoon, I seek out Mr. Kosztovitz, of the Buda- pest Bicycle Club, and consul of the Cj'clists' Touiing Club, who proves a most agreeable gentleman, and who, besides being an en- thusiastic cycler, talks English perfectly. There is more of the sport- ing spirit iu Budapest, perhaps, than in any other city of its size on the Continent, and no sooner is my arrival known than I am taken in hand and practically compelled to remain over at least one day. Svetozar Igali, a noted cycle tourist of the village of Duna SzekesiJ, now visiting the international exhibition at Budapest, volunteers to accompany me to Belgrade, and perhaps to Constantinople. I am rather surprised at finding so much cychng enthusiasm in the Hun- garian capital. Mr. Kosztovitz, who lived some time in England, and was president of a bicycle club there, had the honor of bring- ing the first wheel into the AustroHungai-ian empire, in the autumn of 1879, and now Budapest alone has three clubs, aggregating nearly a hundred riders, and a still greater number of non-riding mem- bers. Cyclers have far more liberty accorded them in Budapest than in Vienna, being permitted to roam the city almost as untrammelled as in London, this happy condition of affairs being partly the re- sult of Mr. Kosztovitz's diplomacy in presenting a ready drawn-up set of rules and regulations for the government of wheelmen to the police authorities when the first bicycle was introduced, and partly to the police magistrate, being himself an enthusiastic all- 148 FROM SAX FRANCISCO TO TEHERAN". 'round sportsman, inclined to patronize anything in the way of athletics. They are even experimenting in the Hungarian army with the view of organizing a bicycle despatch service ; and I am told that they already have a bicycle despatch in successful opera- tion in the Bavarian army. In the evening I am the club's guest at a supper under the shade-trees in the exhibition grounds. Mr. Kosztovitz and another gentleman who can speak EngUsh act as in- terpreters, and here, amid the merry clinking of champagne-glasses, the glare of electric lights, with the ravishing music of an Hunga- rian gypsy band on our right, and a band of swarthy Servians play- ing their sweet native melodies on our left, we, among other toasts, drink to the success of my tour. There is a cosmopoHtan and exceedingly interesting crowd of visitors at the international ex- hibition : natives from Bulgaria, Servia, Eoumania, and Turkey, in their national costumes ; and mingled among them are Hungarian jjeasants from various provinces, some of them in a remarkably picturesque dress, that I afterward learn is Croatian. A noticeable feature of Budapest, besides a predilection for sport among the citizens, is a larger proportion of handsome ladies than one sees in most European cities, and there is, moreover, a certain atmosphere about them that makes them rather agreeable company. If one is traveUing around the world with a bicycle, it is not at all inconsistent with Budapest propriety for the wife of the wheelman sitting opposite you to remark that she wishes she were a rose, that you might wear her for a button-hole bouquet on your journey, and to ask whether or not, in that case, you would throw the rose away when it faded. Compliments, pleasant, yet withal as meaningless as the coquettish glances and fan-play that accompany them, are given with a freedom and liberality that put the sterner native of more western countries at his wits' end to re- turn them. But the most delightful thing in all Hungary is its gypsy music. As it is played here beneath its own sunny skies, methinks there is nothing in the wide world to compare with it^ The music does not suit the taste of some people, however ; it is too wild and thrilling. Budapest is a place of many languages, one of the waiters in the exhibition caf6 claiming the ability to speak and understand no less than fourteen different languages and dialects. Nine wheelmen accompany me some distance out of Budapest on Monday morning, and Mr. Philipovitz and two other members GERMANY, AUSTRIA, AND HUNGARY. 149 continue with Igali and me to Duna Pentele, some seventy-five miles distant ; this is our first sleeping-place, the captain making me his guest iintil our separation and departure in different direc- tions, next morning. Dui-ing the fierce heat of mid-day we halt for about three hours at Adony, and spend a pleasant after-dinner hour examining the trappings and trophies of a noted sporting gen- tleman, and witnessing a lively and interesting set-to with fen- cing foils. There is everything in fire-arms in his cabinet, from an English double-barrelled shot-gun to a tiny air-pistol for shooting flies on the walls of his sitting-room ; he has swords, oars, gymnas- tic paraphernalia — in fact, everything but boxing gloves. Arriving at Duna Pentele early in the evening, before supper we swim for an hour in the waters of the Danube. At 9.30 p.m. two of oiu- little company board the up-stream-bound steamer for the return home, and at ten o'clock we are proposing to retire for the night, when lo, in come a half-dozen gentlemen, among them llr. XJjvarii, whose private wine-cellar is celebrated all the country round, and who now proposes that we postpone going to bed long enough to pay a short visit to his cellar and sample the "finest wine in Hungary." This is an invitation not to be resisted by ordinary mortals, and accordingly we accept, following the gentle- man and his friends through the dark streets of the village. Along the dark, cool vault penetrating the hill-side Mr. tJjviSrii leads the way between long rows of wine-casks, heber * held in ai"m like a sword at dress parade. The heber is first inserted into a cask of red wine, with a. perfume and flavor as agreeable as the rose it re- sembles in color, and cai-ried, full, to the reception end of the vault by the coipulent host with the stately air of a monarch bearing his sceptre. After two rounds of the red wine, two hebers of champagne are brought — champagne that plays a fountain of dia- mond spray three inches above the glass. The following toast is proposed by the host : " The prosperity and welfare of England, America, and Hungary, three countries that are one in their love and appreciation of sport and adventure.'' The Hungarians have all the Anglo-American love of sport and adventure. * A glass combination of tube and flask, holding about three pints, with an orifice at each end and tlie bulb or flask near the upper orifice ; the wine is sucked up into the flask with the breath, and when withdrawn from the ca.«k the index finger is held over the lower orifice, from which the glasses are filled by manipulations of the finger. 150 FROM SAN FEANCrSCO TO TEHERAN. From Budapest to Paks, about one liundrecl and twenty kilo-t metres, the roads are superior to anything I expected to find east of Germany ; but the thermometer clings around the upper regions, and everything is covered with dust. Our route leads down the Danube in an almost directly southern course. Instead of the poplars of France, and the apples and pears of Germany, the roads are now fringed witli mulberry-trees, both raw and manufactured silk being a product of this part of Hun- gary. My companion is what in England or America would be con- sidered a " character ; '' he dresses in the thinnest of racing cos- tumes, through which the broiling sun readily penetrates, wears racing-shoes, and a small jockey-cap with an enormous poke, be- neath which glints a pair of " specs ; " he has rat-trap pedals to his wheel, and winds a long blue girdle several times around his waist, consumes raw eggs, wine, milk, a certain Hungarian mineral water, and otherwise excites the awe and admiration of his sport-admiring countrymen. Igali's only fault as a road companion is his utter lack of speed, six or eight kilometres an hour being his natural pace on average roads, besides footing it up the gentlest of gradi- ents and over all rough stretches. Except for this little drawback, he is an excellent man to take the lead, for he is a genuine Magyar, and orders the peasantry about with the authoritative manner of one born to rule and tyrannize ; sometimes, when the surface is un- even for wheeling, making them drive their cliimsj' ox-wagons almost into the road-side ditch iu oi'der to avoid any possible chance of difficulty in getting past. Igali knows four languages : French, German, Hungarian, and Slavonian, but Anglaise nicht, though with what little French and German I have j^icked up while crossing those countries we manage to converse and understand each other quite readily, especially as I am, from constant practice, getting to be an accomplished pantomimist, and IgaU is also a pantomimist by nature, and gifted with a versatility that would make a French- man envious. Ere we have been five minutes at a gasthaus Igali is usually found surrounded by an admiring circle of leading citizens — not peasants ; Igali would not suffer them to gather about him — pouring into their willing ears the account of my journey ; the words, " San Francisco, Boston, London, Paris, Wien, Pesth, Bel- grade, Constantinople, Afghanistan, India, Khiva," etc., which are repeated in rotation at wonderfully short intervals, being about all GERMATSTT, AUSTRIA, AND HUNGARY. 151 that my linguistic abilities are capable of grasping. The road con- tinues hard, but south of Paks it becomes rather rough ; conse- quently, halts under the shade of the mulberry-trees for Igali to catch up are of frequent occurrence. The peasantry, hereabout, seem very kindly disposed and hos- pitable. Sometimes, while lingering for Igali, they -will wonder what I am stopping for, and motion the questions of whether I wish anything to eat or drink ; and this afternoon one of them, whose curiosity to see how I mounted overcomes his patience, offers me a twenty-kreuzer piece to show him. At one village a number of peasants take an old cherry-woman to task for charging me two kreuzers more for some cherries than it appears she ought, and al- though two kreuzers are but a farthing they make quite a squabble with the poor old woman about it, and will be soothed by neither her voice nor mine until I accept another handful of cherries in lieu of the overcharged two kreuzers. Szekszard has the reputation, hereabout, of producing the best quality of red wine i?! all Hungary — no small boast, by the way — and the hotel and wine-gardens here, among them, support an ex- cellent gypsy band of fourteen pieces. Mr. Gari'iy, the leader of the band, once spent nearly a year in America, and after supper the band plays, with all the thrilling sweetness of the Hungarian muse, "Home, sweet Home," " Yankee Doodle," and "Sweet Violets," for my especial delectation. A wheelman the fame of whose exploits has preceded him might as well try to wheel through hospitable Hungary without breathing its atmosphere as without drinking its wine ; it isn't pos- sible to taboo it as I tabooed the vin ordinaire of France, Hunga- rians and Frenchmen being two entirely different people. Notwithstanding music until 11.30 p.m., yesterday, we are on the road before six o'clock this morning — for genuine, unadulter- ated Hungarian music does not prevent one getting up bright and fresh next day — and about noon we roll into Duna Szekeso, Igali's native town, where we have decided to halt for the remainder of the day to get our clothing washed, one of my shoes repaired, and otherwise i^repare for our journey to the Ssrvian capital. Duna Szekeso is a calling-place for the Danube steamers, and this after- noon I have the opportunity of taking obsei-vations of a gang of Danubian roustabouts at their noontide meal. They are a swarthy, wild-looking crowd, wearing long hair parted in the middle, or not 152 FEOM SAN FRAA'CISCO TO TEHEEAN. parted at all ; to their national costume are added the jaunty trap- pings affected by river men in all countries. Their food is coarse black bread and meat, and they take turns in drinking wine from a wooden tube protruding from a two-gallon watch-shaped cask, the body of which is composed of a section of hollow log instead of staves, lifting the cask up and drinking from the tube, as they would from the bung-hole of a beer-keg. Their black bread would hardly suit the palate of the Western world ; but there are doubt- less a few individuals on both sides of the Atlantic who would will- ingly be transformed into a Danubian roustabout long enough to make the acquaintance of yonder rude cask. After bathing in the river we call on several of Igali's friends, among them the Greek priest and his motherly-looking vrife, Igali being of the Greek religion. There appears to be the greatest familiarity between the priests of these Greek churches and their people, and during our brief visit the priest, languid-eyed, fat, and jolly, his equally fat and joUy wife, and Igali, caress playfully, and cut up as many antics as three kittens in a bay window. The far- ther one travels southward the more amiable and affectionate in disposition the people seem to become. Five o'clock next morning finds us wheeling out of Duna Sze- keso, and dm-ing the forenoon we pass through Baranyavar, a col- ony of Greek Hovacs, where the women are robed in white drapery as scant as the statuary which the name of their religion calls to memory. The roads to-day are variable ; there is little but what is ridable, but much that is rough and stony enough to compel slow and careful wheeling. Early in the evening, as we wheel over the bridge spanning the Eiver Drave, an important tributary of the Danube, into Eszek, the capital of Slavonia, unmistakable rain- signs appear above the southern horizon. CHAPTER Vri. THEOUGH SLAVONIA AND SERVIA. The editor of Der Drau, the semi-weekly official organ of the Slavonian capital, and Mr. Freund, being the two citizens of Eszek capable of speaking English, join voices at the supper-table in hop- ing it will rain enough to compel us to remain over to-morrow, that they may have the pleasure of showing us around Eszek and of inviting us to dinner and supper ; and Igali, I am con- strained to believe, retires to his couch in full sympathy with them, being possessed of a decided weakness for stopping over and accepting invitations to dine. Their united wish is gratified, for when we rise in the morning it is still raining. Eszek is a fortified city, and has been in time past an important fortress. It has lost much of its importance since the introduction of modern arms, for it occupies perfectly level ground, and the for- tifications consist merely of large trenches that have been excavated and walled, with a view of preventing the city from being taken by storm — not a very overshadowing consideration in these days, when the usual mode of procedure is to stand off and bombard a citj' into the conviction that further resistance is useless. After dinner the assistant editor of Der Drau comes around and pilots us about the city and its pleasant environments. The worthy assistant editor is a sprightly, versatile Slav, and, as together we promenade the parks and avenues, the number and extent of which appear to be the chief glory of Eszek, the ceaseless flow of language and wellnigh contin- uous interchange of gesticulations between himself and Igali are quite wonderful, and both of them certainly ought to retire to-night far more enlightened individuals than thej' found themselves this morning. The Hungarian seems in a particularly happy and gracious mood to-day, as I instinctively felt certain he would be if the fates decreed against a continuation of our journey. When our com- panion's conversation tiu-us on any particularly interesting sub- 154 FROM SAW FRANCISCO TO TEHERAN. ject I am graciously given the benefit of it to the extent of some French or German word the meaning of which, Igali has discovered, I understand. During the afternoon we wander through the intri- cacies of a yew-shrub maze, where a good-sized area of impenetrably thick vegetation has been trained and trimmed into a bewildering j net- work of arched walks that almost exclude the light, and IgaU pauses to favor me with the information that this maze is the favor- ite trysting place of Slavonian nymphs and swains, and further- more expresses his opinion that the spot must be indeed romantic and an appropriate place to " come a-wooin' " on nights when the moonbeams, penetrating through a thousand tiny interspaces, con- vert the gloomy interior into chambers of dancing light and shadow. All this information and these comments are embodied in the two short words, " Amour, luna," accompanied by a few gesticulations, and is a fair sample of the manner in which conversation is carried on between us. It is quite astonishing how readily two persons constantly together will come to understand each other through the medium of a few words which they know the meaning of in com- mon. Scores of ladies and gentlemen, the latter chiefly miUtary offi- cers, are enjoying a promenade in the rain-cooled atmosphere, and there is no mistaking the glances of interest with which many of them favor — Igali. His pronounced sportsmanlike make-up at- tracts universal attention and causes everybody to mistake him for myself— a kindly office which I devoutly wish he would fiU until the whole journej' is accomplished. In the Casino garden a dozen bearded musicians are playing Slavonian airs, and, by request of the assistant editor, they play and sing the Slavonian national an- them and a popular air or two besides. The national musical in- strument of Slavonia is the "tamborica" — a smaU steel-stringed instrument that is twanged with a chip-like piece of wood. Their singing is excellent in its way, but to the writer's taste there is no comparison between their tamboricas and the gypsy music of Hun- gary. There are no bicycles in all Eszek save ours— thouo-h Mr. Freund, who has lately returned from Paris, has ordered one, with which he expects to win the admiration of all his countrymen and Igali and myself are lionized to our hearts' content ; but this evening we are quite startled and taken aback by the reappearance of the assistant editor, excitedly announcing the arrival of a tricycle THROUGH SLAVONIA AND SERVIA. 155 in town ! Upon going down, in breathless anticipation of summar- ilj- losing the universal admiration of Eszek, we find an itinerant cobbler, who has constructed a machine that would make the rudest bone-shaker of ancient memory seem hke the most elegant product of Hartford or Coventry in comparison. The backbone and axle- tree are roughly hewn sticks of wood, ironed equally rough at the village blacksmith's ; and as, for a twenty-kreuzer piece, the rider mounts and wobbles all over the sidewalk for a short distance, the spectacle would make a stoic roar with laughter, and the good peo- ple of the Lower Danubian provinces are anything but stoical. Sis o'clock nest morning finds us travelling southward into the interior of Slavonia ; but we are not mounted, for the road pre- sents an unridable surface of mud, stones, and ruts, that causes my companion's favorite ejaciilatory espletive to occur with more than its usual frequency. For a portion of the waj- there is a narrow siclepath that is fairly ridable, but an uuiuvitingly deep ditch runs unpleasantly near, and no amount of persuasion can induce my copnpanion to attempt wheeling along it. IgaH's bump of cautious- ness is fully developed, and day by day, as we journey together, I am becoming more and more convinced that he would be an inval- uable companion to have accompany one around the world ; true, the journey would occupy a decade, or thereabout, but one would be morally certain of coming out safe and sound in the end. During our progression southwaixl there has been a percepti- ble softening in the disposition of the natives, this being more no- ticeably a marked characteristic of the Slavonians ; the generous southern sun, shining on the great area of Oriental gentleness, casts a softening influence toward the sterner north, imparting to the people amiable and genial dispositions. It takes but compara- tively small deeds to win the admiration and applause of the natives of the Lower Danube, wth their chUdlike manners ; and, by slowly meandering along the roadways of Southern Hungary occasionally with his bicycle, Igali has become the pride and ad- miration of thousands. For mile after mUe we have to trundle our way slowly along the muddy highway as best we can, our road leading through a flat and rather swampy area of broad, waving wheat-fields ; we reheve the tedium of the journey bj' whistling, alternately, " Yankee Doodle,"' to which IgaU has taken quite a fancy since first healing it played by the gypsy band in the wine-garden at Szekszard three days ago, 156 FKOM SAW FRANCISCO TO TEHERAIT. and the Hungarian national air — this latter, of course, falling to Igali's share of the entertainment. Having been to college in Paris, IgaU is also able to contribute the famous Marseillaise hymn, and, not to be outdone, I favor him with " God Save the Queen" and "Britannia Eules the Waves," both of which he thinks very good tunes — the former seeming to strike his Hungarian ear, however, as rather solemn. In the middle of the forenoon we make a brief halt at a rude road-side tavern for some refreshments — a thick, narrow slice of raw, fat bacon, white with salt, and a level pint of red wine, satisfying my companion ; but I substitute for the bacon a sHce of coarse, black bread, much to Igali's won- derment. Here are congregated several Slavonian shepherds, in their large, ill-fitting, sheejDskin garments, with the long wool turned inward — clothes that apparently serve them alike to keep out the summer's heat and the winter's cold. One of the peas- ants, with ideas a trifle befuddled with wine, perhaps, and face all aglow with admiration for our bicycles, produces a tattered memo- randum and begs us to favor him with our autographs, an act that of itself proves him to be not without a degree of intelligence one would scarcely look for in a sheepskin-chid shepherd of Slavonia. Igali gruffly bids the man " begone," and aims a careless kick at the proffered memorandum ; but seeing no harm in the request, and, moreover, being perhaps by nature a trifle more considerate of others, I comply. As he reads aloud, " United States, America," to his comrades, they one and all lift their hats quite reverently and place their brown hands over their hearts, for I suppose they recognize in my ready compliance with the simple request, in com- parison with Igali's rude rebuff — which, by the way, no doubt comes natural enough — the difference between the land of the prince and peasant, and the land where "liberty, equality, and fraternity " is not a meaningless motto — a land which I find every down-trodden peasant of Europe has heard of, and looks upward to. Soon after this incident we are passing a prune-orchard, when, as though for our especial benefit, a couple of peasants working there begin singing aloud, and with evident enthusiasm, some national melody, and as they observe not our presence, at my sug- gestion we crouch behind a convenient clump of bushes and for several minutes are favored with as fine a duet as I have heard for many a day ; but the situation becomes too ridiculous for Igali, 158 FllOM SAN FRANCISCO TO TEHEKAN. and it finally sends him into a roar of laughter that causes the per- formance to terminate abruptly, and, rising into full view, we doubtless repay the singers by letting them see us mount and ride into their native village, but a few hundred yards distant. We are to-day passing through villages where a bicycle has never been seen — this being outside the area of Igali's peregrina- tions — and the whole population invariably turns out en masse, clerks, proprietors, and customers in the shops unceremoniously dropping everything and running to the streets ; there is verily a hurrying to and fro of all the citizens ; husbands hastening fi'om magazine to dv^elling to inform their wives and families, mothers running to call their children, children their parents, and every- body scampering to call the attention of their sisters, cousins, and aunts, ere we are vanished in the distance, and it be everlastingly too late. We have been worrying along at some sort of pace, with the ex- ception of the usual noontide halt, since six o'clock this morning, and the busy mosquito is making life interesting for belated way- farers, when we ride into Sarengrad and put up at the only gasl- haus in the village. Our bedroom is situated on the ground floor, the only floor in fact the gasthaus boasts, and we are in a fair way of either being lulled to sleep or kept awake, as the case may be, by a howling chorus of wine-bibbers in the public room adjoining ; but here, again, Igali shows up to good advantage by peremptorily ordering the singers to stop, and stop instanter. The amiably dis- posed peasants, notwithstanding the wine they have been drinking, cease their singing and become silent and circumspect, in defer- ence to the wishes of the two strangers with the wonderful ma- chines. We now make a practice of taking our bicycles into our bedroom with us at night, otherwise every right hand in the whole village would busy itself pinching the "gum-elastic" tires and pedal-rubbers, twirling the pedals, feeling spokes, backbone, and forks, and critically examining and commenting upon every visible portion of the mechanism ; and who knows but that the latent cu- pidity of some easy-conscienced villager might be aroused at the unusual sight of so much " silver " standing around loose (the na- tives hereabout don't even ask whether the nickelled parts of the bicycle are silver or not ; they take it for granted to be so), and surreptitiously attempt to chisel off enough to purchase an em- broidered coat for Sundays? From what I can understand of TIIUOUGH SLAVONIA AND SEKVIA. 159 their comments among tliemselves, it is perfectly consistent with their ideas of the average Englishman that he should bestride a bicycle of soUd silver, and if their vocabulary embraced no word corresponding to our "millionnaire,'' and they desired to use one, they would probably pick upon the word " Englander " as the most appropriate. While we are making our toilets in the morning- eager faces are peeriug inquisitively through the bedroom windows ; a murmur of voices, criticizing us and our strange vehicles, greets our waking moments, and our privacy is often invaded, in spite of IgaU's inconsiderate treatment of them whenever they happen to cross his path. Many of the inhabitants of this part of Slavonia are Croatians — people who are noted for their fondness of finery ; and, as on this sunny Sunday morning we wheel through their villages, the crowds of peasantry who gather about us in all the bravery of their best clothes present, indeed, an appearance gay and picturesque be- yond, anything hitherto encountered. The garments of the men are covered with braid-work and silk embroidery wherever such ornamentation is thought to be an embellishment, and, to the Cro- atian mind, that means pretty much everywhere ; and the girls and women are arrayed in the gayest of colors ; those displaying the brightest hues and the greatest contrasts seem to go tripping along conscious of being irresistible. Many of the Croatian peasants are fine, strapping fellows, and very handsome women are observed in the villages — women with great, dreamy eyes, and faces with an expression of languor that bespeaks their owners to be gentleness personified. Igali shows evidence of more susceptibility to female charms than I should naturally have given him credit for, and shows a decided incHnation to linger in these beauty-blessed villages longer than is necessary, and as one dark-eyed damsel after another gathers around us, I usually take the initiative in mounting and clearing out. Were a man to go suddenly flapping his way through the streets of London on the long-anticipated flying-machine, the aver- age Cockney would scarce betray the unfeigned astonishment that is depicted on the countenances of these Croatian villagers as we ride into their midst and dismount. This afternoon my bicycle causes the first runaway since the trifling affair at Lembach, Austria. A brown-faced peasant woman and a little girl, driving a small, shaggy pony harnessed to a bas- 160 FROM SAN FEANCISCO TO TEIIEEATT. ket-work, four-wheeled vehicle, are approaching ; their humble- looking steed betrays no evidence of restiveness until just as I am turning out to pass him, when, without warning, he gives a swift, sudden bound to the right, nearly upsetting the vehicle, and with- out more ado bolts down a considerable embankment and goes helter-skelter across a field of standing grain. The old lady pluckily hangs on to the reins, and finally succeeds in bringing the runaway around into the road again without damag- ing anything save the corn. It might have ended much less satis- factorily, however, and the iacident illustrates one possible source of trouble to a 'cycler travelling alone through countries where the people neither understand, nor can be expected to understand, a wheelman's position ; the situation would, of course, be aggravated in a country vUlage where, not speaking the language, one could not make himself understood in his own defence. These people here, if not wise as serpents, are at least harmless as doves ; but, in case of the bicycle frightening a team and causing a runaway, with the unpleasant sequel of broken Umbs, or injured horse, they would scarce know what to do in the premises, since they would have no precedent to govern them, and, in the absence of any intelligent guidance, might conclude to wreak summary vengeance on the bi- cycle. In such a case, would a wheelman be justified in using his revolver to defend his bicycle ? Such is the reverie into which I fall while reclining beneath a spreading mulberry-tree waiting for Igali to catch up ; for he has promised that I shall see the Slavonian national dance sometime to-day, and a village is now visible in the distance. At the Danube- side vUlage of Hamenitz an hour's halt is decided upon to give me the promised opportunity of witnessing the dance in its native land. It is a novel and interesting sight. A round hundred young gal- lants and maidens are rigged out in finery such as tio other people save the Croatian and Slavonian peasants ever wear — the young men braided and embroidered, and the damsels having their hair entwined with a profusion of natural flowers in addition to their costumes of all possible hues. Forming themselves into a large ring, distributed so that the sexes alternate, the young men extend and join their hands in front of the maidens, and the latter join hands behind their partners ; the steel-strung tamboricas strike up a lively twanging air, to which the circle of dancers endeavor to shuffle time with their feet, while at the same time moving around THROUGH SLAVONIA AND SERVIA. 161 in a circle. Livelier and faster twang the tamborieas, and more and more animated becomes the scene as the dancing, shuffling ring endeavors to keep pace with it. As the fun progi-esses into the fast and furious stages the youths' hats have a knack of getting into a jaunty position on the side of their heads, and the wearers' faces assume a reckless, flushed appearance, like men half intoxi- cated, while the maidens' bright eyes and beaming faces betoken unutterable happiness ; finally the music and the shuffling of feet terminate with a rapid flourish, everybody kisses everybody — save, of course, mere luckless onlookers like Igali and myself — and the Slavonian national dance is ended. To-night we reach the strongly fortified town of Peterwardein, opposite which, just across a pontoon bridge spanning the Dan- ube, is the larger city of Neusatz. At Hamenitz we met Professor Zaubaur, the editor of the Uj Videk, who came down the Danube ahead of us by steamboat ; and now, after housing our machines at our gasthaus in Peterwardein, he pilots us across the pontoon bridge in the twilight, and into one of those wine-gardens so uni- versal in this part of the world. Here at Neusatz I listen to the genuine Hungarian gypsy miisic for the last time on the Euro- pean tour ere bidding the territory of Hungary adieu, for Neusatz is on the Hungarian side of the Danube. The professor has evi- dently let no grass grow beneath his feet since leaving us scarcely an hour ago at Hamenitz, for he has, in the mean time, ferreted out .the only English-speaking person at present in town, the good Prau Sclirieber, an Austrian lady, formerly of Vienna, but now at Neusatz with her husband, a well-known advocate. This lady talks English quite fluently. Though not yet twenty-five she is very, very wise, and among other things she informs her admiring- friends gathered round about us, listening to the — to them — unin- telligible flow of a foreign language, that Englishmen are " very grave beings," a piece of information that wrings from Igali a really sympathetic response — nothing less than the startling announce- ment that he hasn't seen me smile since we left Budapest to- gether, a week ago ! " Having seen the Slavonian, I ought by all means to see the Hungarian, national dance," Frau Schrieber says ; adding, " It is a nice dance for Englishmen to look at, though it is so very gay that English ladies would neither dance it nor look at it being danced." Ere parting company with this entertaining lady she agrees that, if I will but remain in Hungary permanently, she 11 162 FROM SAN FEANCISCO TO TEHERAN. knows of a very handsome fraulein of sixteen summers, -who, hav- ing heard of my "wonderful journey," is already predisposed in my favor, and with a little friendly tact and management on her — Frau Schrieber's — part would no doubt be wilUng to waive the formalities of a long courtship, and yield up hand and heart at my request ! I can scarcely think of breaking in twain my trip around the world even for so tempting a prospect, and I recommend the fair Hun- garian to Igali ; but " the fraulein has never heard of Herr Igali, and he will not do." "Will the fraulein be willing to wait until my journey around the world is completed ? " " Yes ; she vill vait mit much pleezure ; I viU zee dat she vait ; und I know you vill return, for an Englishman alvays forgets his promeezes.'' Henceforth, when Igali and myself enter upon a programme of whistling, " Yankee Doodle " is supplanted by " The girl I left behind me," much to his annoyance, since, not under- standing the sentiment responsible for the change, he thinks " Yan- kee Doodle " a far better tune. So much attached, in fact, has Igali become to the American national air, that he informs the pro- fessor and editor of Uj Videk of the circumstance of the band play- ing it at Szekszard. As, after supper, several of us promenade the streets of Neusatz, the professor links his arm in mine, and, taking the cue from Igali, begs me to favor him by whistling it. I try my best to palm this patriotic duty off on Igali, by paying flatter- ing compliments to his style of whistling ; but, after all, the duty falls, on me, and I whistle the tune softly, yet merrily, as we walk along, the professor, spectacled and wise-looking, meanwhile exchanging numerous nods of recognition with his fellow-Neusatzers we meet. The provost-judge of Neusatz shares the honors with Frau Schrieber of knowing more or less English ; but this evening the judge is out of town. The enterprising professor lies in wait for him, however, and at 5.30 on Monday morning, while we are dress- ing, an invasion of our bed-chamber is made by the professor, the jolly-looking and portly provost-judge, a Slavonian lieutenant of artillery, and a druggist friend of the others. The provost-judge and the lieutenant actually own bicycles and ride them, the only representatives of the wheel in Neusatz and Peterwardein, and the judge is " very angry" — as he expresses it — that Monday is court day, and to-day an unusually busy one, for he would be most happy to wheel with us to Belgrade. inROUGII SLAVONIA AND SERVIA. 163 The lieutenant fetches his wheel and accompanies us to the next village. Peterwardein is a strongly fortified place, and, as a po- sition commanding the Danube so completely, is furnished with thirty guns of large calibre, a battery certainly not to be despised when posted on a position so commanding as the hill on which Peterwardein fortress is built. As the editor and others at Eszek, so here the professor, the judge, and the druggist unite in a friend- 1}' protest against my attempt to wheel through Asia, and more es- pecially through China, " for everybody knows it is quite danger- ous,'' they say. These people cannot possibly understand why it is that an Englishman or American, knowing of danger beforehand, will stiU venture ahead ; and when, in reply to their questions, I modestly announce my intention of going ahead, notwithstanding- possible danger and probable difficulties, they each, in turn, shake my hand as though reluctantly resigning me to a reckless deter- mination, and the judge, acting as spokesman, and echoing and in- terpreting the sentiments of his companions, exclaims, " England and America forever ! it is ze grandest peeples on ze world ! " The lieutenant, when questioned on the subject by the judge and the professor, simply shrugs his shoulders and says nothing, as be- comes a man whose first duty is to cultivate a supreme contempt for danger in all its forms. They all accompany us outside the city gates, when, after mutual farewells and assurances of good-will, we mount and wheel away down the Danube, the lieutenant's big mastiff trotting soberly alongside his master, while Igali, sometimes in and sometimes out of sight behind, brings up the rear. After the lieutenant leaves us we have to trundle our weary way up the steep gradients of the Fruskagora Mountains for a number of kilometres. For Igali it is quite an adventurous morning. Ere we had left the shadows of Peterwardein fortress he upset while wheeling beneath some overhanging mulberry-boughs that threatened destruction to his jockey-cap ; soon after parting company with the lieutenant he gets into an altercation with a gang of gypsies about being the cause of their horses breaking loose from their picket-ropes and stampeding, and then making uncivil comments upon the circumstance ; an hour after this he overturns again and breaks a pedal, and when we dismount at Indjia, for our noontide halt, he discovers that his saddle-spring has snapped in the middle. As he ruefuUy surveys the breakage caused by the roughness of the Fruskagora roads, and 164 FllOM SAN FEANCISCO TO TEHEEAN. sends out to scour the village for a mechanic capable of undertak- ing the repairs, he eyes my Columbia wistfully, and asks me for the address where one like it can be obtained. The blacksmith is not prepared to mend the spring, although he makes a good job of the pedal, and it takes a carpenter and his assistant from 1.30 to 4.30 P.M. to manufacture a grooved piece of wood to fit between the spring and backbone so that he can ride with me to Belgrade. It would have been a fifteen-minute task for a Yankee carpenter. We have been traversing a spur of the Pruskagora Mountains all the morning, and our progress has been slow. The roads through here are mainly of the natural soil, and correspondingly bad ; but the glorious views of the Danube, with its alternating wealth of green woods and greener cultivated areas, fully recompense for the extra toil. Prune-orchards, the trees weighed down with fruit yet green, clothe the hiU-sides with their luxuriance ; indeed, the whole broad, rich valley of the Danube seems nodding and smiling in the consciousness of overflowing plenty ; for days we have traversed roads leading through vineyards and orchards, and broad areas with promising-looking grain-crops. It is but thirty kilometres from Indjia to Semlin, on the river- bank opposite Belgrade, and since leaving the Pruskagora Moun- tains the country has been a level plain, and the roads fairly smooth. But Igali has naturally become doubly cautious since his succession of misadventures this morning, and as, while waiting for him to overtake me, I recline beneath the mulberry-trees near the vUlage of Batainitz and survey the blue mountains of Servia looming up to the southward through the evening haze, he rides up and pro- poses Batainitz as our halting-place for the night, adding persua- sively, " There will be no ferry-boat across to Belgrade to-night, and we can easily catch the first boat in the morning." I reluctantly agree, though advocating going on to Semlin this evening. While our supper is being prepared we are taken in hand by the leading merchant of the village and " turned loose " in an orchard of small fruits and early pears, and from thence conducted to a large gypsy encampment in the outskirts of the villan-e, where in acknowledgment of the honor of our visit — and a few kreuzers by way of supplement — the "flower of the camp," a bloomin^ damsel about the shade of a total eclipse, kisses the backs of our hands and the men play a strumming monotone with sticks and an in- verted wooden trough, while the women dance in a most Uvely and THROUGH SLAVONIA AND SERVIA. 165 not ungraceful manner. These gj'psy bands are a happy crowd of vagabonds, looking as though they had never a single care in all the world ; the men wear long, flowing hair, and to the ordinary costume of the peasant is added many a gewgaw, worn with a care- less, jaunty grace that fails not to carry with it a certain charm in spite of unkempt locks and dirty faces. The women wear a mini- mum of clothes and a profusion of beads and trinkets, and the children go stark naked or partly dressed. Unmistakable evidence that one is approaching the Orient ap- pears in the semi-Oriental costumes qI the peasantry and roving gypsy bands, as we gradually near the Servian capital. An Oriental costume in Eszek is sufficiently exceptional to be a novelty, and so it is until one gets south of Peterwardein, when the national cos- tumes of Slavonia and Croatia are gradually merged into the tas- selled fez, the many-folded waistband, and the loose, flowing pan- taloons of Eastern lands. Here at Batainitz the feet are encased in rude raw-hide moccasins, bound on with leathern thongs, and the ankle and calf are bandaged with many folds of heavy red material, also similarly bound. The scene around our gasthans, after our arrival, resembles a populai' meeting ; for, although a few of the villagers have been to Belgrade and seen a bicycle, it is only within the last sis months that Belgrade itself has boasted one, and the great majority of the Batainitz people have simply heard enough about them to whet their curiosity for a closer acquaintance. More- over, from the interest taken in my tour at Belgrade on account of the bicycle's recent introduction in that capital, these villagers, but a dozen kilometres away, haVe heard more of my journey than people in villages fai-ther north, and their curiosity is roused in proportion. We are astir by five o'clock next morning ; but the same curious crowd is making the stone corridors of the rambling old gasthaus im- passable, and fiUing the space in front, gazing curiously at us, and commenting on our appearance whenever we' happen to become visible, while waiting with commendable patience to obtain a glimpse of our wonderful machines. They are a motley, and withal a ragged assembly; old women devoutly cross themselves as, after a slight repast of bread and milk, we sally forth with our wheels, prepai-ed to start ; and the spontaneous murmur of admiration which breaks forth as we mount becomes louder and more pronounced as I turn in the saddle Eind doff my helmet in deference to the homage paid 166 FROM SAN FRANCISCO TO TEHERAN. US by hearts which are none the less warm because hidden beneath the rags of honest poverty and semi-civilization. It tates but little to win the hearts of these rude, unsophisticated people. A two hours' ride from Batainitz, over level and reasonably smooth roads, brings us into Semlin, quite an important Slavonian city on the Danube, nearly opposite Belgrade, which is on the same side, but separated from it by a large tributary called the Save. Ferry-boats ply regularly between the two cities, and, after an hour spent in hunting up different officials to gain permission for Igali to cross over into Servian territory without having a regular traveller's pass- port, we escape from the madding crowds of SemHnites by board- ing the ferry-boat, and ten minutes later are exchanging signals with three Servian wheelmen, who have come down to the landing in full uniform to meet and welcome us to Belgrade. Many readers will doubtless be as surprised as I was to learn that at Belgrade, the capital of the little Kingdom of Servia, inde- pendent only since the Treaty of Berlin, a bicycle club was organ- ized in January, 1885, and that now, in June of the same year, they have a promising club of thirty members, twelve of whom are riders owning their own wheels. Their club is named, in French, La Societe Velocipedique Serbe ; in the Servian language it is un- pronounceable to an Anglo-Saxon, and printable only with Slav type. The president, Milorade M. Nicolitch Terzibachitch, is the Cyclists' Touring Club Consul for Servia, and is the southeastern picket of that organization, their club being the extreme 'cycle out- post in this direction. Our approach has been announced before- hand, and the club has thoughtfully " seen " the Servian authorities, and so far smoothed the way for our entrance into their country that the officials do not even make a pretence of examining my passport or packages — an almost unprecedented occiirrence, I should say, since they are more particular about passports here than perhaps in any other European country, save Eussia and Turkey. Here at Belgrade I am to part company with Igali, who, by the way, has applied for, and just received, his certificate of appoint- ment to the Cyclists' Touring Club Consulship of Puna Szekesii and Mohacs, an honor of which he feels quite proud. True, there is no other 'cycler in his whole district, and hardly likely to be for some time to come ; but I can heartily recommend him to any wandering wheelman happening down the Danube Valley on a tour ; he knows the best wine-cellars in all the country round, and TIIKOXJGII SLAVONIA AND SERVIA. 167 besides being an agreeable and accommodating road companion, wiU prove a salutary check upon the headlong career of anyone disposed to over-exertion. I am not yet to be abandoned entirely to my own resources, however ; these hospitable Servian wheel- men couldn't think of such a thing. I am to remain over as their guest till to-morrow afternoon, when Mr. Douchan Popovitz, the best rider in Belgrade, is delegated to escort me through Servia to the Bulgarian frontier. When I get there I shall not be much astonished to see a Bulgarian wheelman offer to escort me to Roumelia, and so on clear to Constantinople ; for I certainly never expected to find so jolly and enthusiastic a company of 'cyclers in this corner of the world. The good fellowship and hospitality of this Servian club know no bounds ; Igali and I are banqueted and di'iven about in carriages all day. Belgrade is a strongly fortified city, occupying a commanding hill overlooking the Danube ; it is a rare old town, battle-scarred and rugged ; having been a frontier position of importance in a country that has been debatable ground between Turk and Christian for centuries, it has been a coveted prize to be won and lost on the diplomatic chess-board, or, worse still, the foot-ball of contending armies and wranghng monarchs. Long before the Ottoman Turks first appeared, like a small dark cloud, no bigger than a man's hand, upon the southeastern horizon of Europe, to extend and overwhelm the budding flower of Christianity and civilization in these fairest portions of the continent, Belgrade was an important Eoman fortress, and to-day its national museum and antiquarian stores are particularly rich in the treasure-trove of Byzantine an- tiquities, unearthed from time to time in the fortress itself and the region round about that came under its protection. So plentiful, indeed, are old coins and relics of aU sorts at Belgrade, that, as I am standing looking at the collection in the window of an antiquary shop, the proprietor steps out and presents me a small handful of copper coins of Byzantium as a sort of bait that might perchance tempt one to enter and make a closer inspection of his stock. By the famous Treaty of Berlin the Servians gained their com- plete independence, and their country, from a principality, paying tribute to the Sultan, changed to an independent kingdom with a Servian on the throne, owing allegiance to nobody, and the people have not yet ceased to show, in a thousand little ways, their thorough 168 FKOM SAN FRANCISCO TO TEHERAN. appreciation of the change ; besides filling the picture-galleries of their museum with portraits of Servian heroes, battle-flags, and other gentle reminders of their past history, they have, among other practical methods of manifesting how they feel about the departure of the dominating crescent from among them, turned the leading Turkish mosque into a gas-house. One of the most interesting relics in the Servian capital is an old Koman well, dug from the brow of the fortress hill to below the level of the Danube, for furnishing water to the city when cut off from the liver by a besieging army. It is an enormous affair, a tubular brick wall about forty feet in circumference and two hundred and fifty feet deep, outside of which a stone stairway, winding round and round the shaft, leads from top to bottom. Openings through the wall, six feet high and three wide, occur at regular intervals all the way down, and, as we follow our ragged guide down, down into the damj) and darkness by the feeble light of a tallow candle in a broken lantern, I cannot help thinking that these o'erhandy open- ings leading into the dark, watery depths have, in the tragic his- tory of Belgrade, doubtless been responsible for the mysterious disappearance of m'ore than one objectionable person. It is not without certain involuntary misgivings that I take the lantern from the guide — whose general appearance is, by the way, hardly calcu- lated to be reassuring — and, standing in one of the openings, peer