| 6462
military-commercial twin cities combined to render our visit to the South of England profit-
able and enjoyable. Brighton with its beauty in repose and its terror in a cyclone will long be
remembered as our last stop before going to Glasgow (Scotland), where the winter was spent
in a specially arranged building. Here we were made acquainted with the many sturdy
virtues of the Scot, and here 6,000 orphan children, impromptu, sang "Yankee Doodle" on
the appearance of the starry flag. Glasgow will ever be remembered for the many public and
social courtesies extended.
A return to the scene of our London triumphs brough a renewal of all that was pleas-
ant and agreeable in our former experience, and brought our visit to the Old World to a close
with a bright compliment under the circumstances (the Court in mourning for Prince Albert
Victor) of a Royal request to exhibit before her Most Gracious Majesty the Queen of Eng-
land and Empress of India, at Windsor Castle; who was thus the first and only potentate on
earth to view, as yet, the Wild West in conjunction with the Rough Riders of the World.
This episode has been so lately exploited in the press as to preclude more extended comment.
RETURN, RETROSPECTION AND REVIEW.
Leaving England with genuine expression of regret from thousands who witnessed
our departure, we boarded at Tillbury Docks in London the good American liner, Mohawk,
traversing the North Sea, the English Channel nd the broad Atlantic in a journey with ex-
treme comfort, and weighted down with pleasant reminscences of the past and glorious
anticipation of feeling of sentiment that permeates every one as he nears his native
land and views the grandest of all panoramas, the vision of New York Harbor with its Liberty
beacon and its starry flag flying; -- the feeling that inspired Howard Payne, and would
cause even the mute to wish to burst forth with the thrill of a bird and the power of a Patti,
or a concentrated orchestra, as a relief, in "Home, Sweet Home."
The good ship Mohawk deserves passing mention from the fact that while a nine-
day boat from London Dock to Jersey City, through her latter-day construction she equals
seven or eight days from Queenstown or Southhampton, and does not roll from side to side.
We were in a three days' storm of so severe a nature as to cause intense interest in New York
on the arrival of several "ocean greyhounds." Stories of battened-down hatches, passengers
prevented from going on deck, and in fact several crazed through excitement; yet the writer
must sat that with the exception of the "uphill and down dale" motion, the Mohawk during
the height of the three days' storm, was never sufficiently moved to render unstable the
under-pinning of a two-year-old babe.
Entering the harbor just in time of the evening to "anchor" in view of Greater New
York, the ocean traveler can imagine the scene of Indians, Cow-boys, Mexicans, Scouts,
Frontiersmen and Staff as we rode at anchor in view of the flickering lights, and what
rumor said would possibly soon be one of the objective points to present the enlarged
aggregation of Rough Riders of the World we had developed into, and probably for the last
time present a "page of passing history" of which so cosmopolitan a city is acknowledged
to be innocently ignorant.
Landing at Jersey City, the usual scenes attendant occurred with nothing to mar the
occasion, if I may except one instance in our little circle, which to a certain extent had its
tragic side. It was only a white horse, but a well-known horse; a horse whose picture the
public will remember in a conjunction with Colonel Cody's, placarded on all walls and exhibited
in all windows; a horse who possibly, with his rider, appeared in more cities and before
more people of distinction, rank, wealth, and character, than ever steed before. The fact that
he was the companion of Colonel Cody's last war horse, "Charley," who died and was buried
at sea upon our first return voyage--and that, singular to relate, without any premonitory
symptoms of sickness and never looking better in his life, "Billy" walked off the gang-plank,
neighed as he hoofs struck his native shore, and dropped dead--is food for thought that each
one may assimilate. However small it may seem, this pathetic incident will always be
remembered by the returning voyagers, as "Billy" and "Charley" were favorite members of
the "Old Guard."
The writer followed the sun on its westward course with his Red Brother, and it would
take a chapter to describe the scenes at the grand reception at the foothills of the Rockies
upon the return to the Ogallallas of the various bands--among them many of the Ghost
Dance prisoners, now changed by the experience--where the camp fires and dances of their
friends showed the savage nature to possess the same warm sentiment towards loved ones as
that which animates more civilized men. | 6462
military-commercial twin cities combined to render our visit to the South of England profit-
able and enjoyable. Brighton with its beauty in repose and its terror in a cyclone will long be
remembered as our last stop before going to Glasgow (Scotland), where the winter was spent
in a specially arranged building. Here we were made acquainted with the many sturdy
virtues of the Scot, and here 6,000 orphan children, impromptu, sang "Yankee Doodle" on
the appearance of the starry flag. Glasgow will ever be remembered for the many public and
social courtesies extended.
A return to the scene of our London triumphs brough a renewal of all that was pleas-
ant and agreeable in our former experience, and brought our visit to the Old World to a close
with a bright compliment under the circumstances (the Court in mourning for Prince Albert
Victor) of a Royal request to exhibit before her Most Gracious Majesty the Queen of Eng-
land and Empress of India, at Windsor Castle; who was thus the first and only potentate on
earth to view, as yet, the Wild West in conjunction with the Rough Riders of the World.
This episode has been so lately exploited in the press as to preclude more extended comment.
RETURN, RETROSPECTION AND REVIEW.
Leaving England with genuine expression of regret from thousands who witnessed
our departure, we boarded at Tillbury Docks in London the good American liner, Mohawk,
traversing the North Sea, the English Channel nd the broad Atlantic in a journey with ex-
treme comfort, and weighted down with pleasant reminscences of the past and glorious
anticipation of feeling of sentiment that permeates every one as he nears his native
land and views the grandest of all panoramas, the vision of New York Harbor with its Liberty
beacon and its starry flag flying; -- the feeling that inspired Howard Payne, and would
cause even the mute to wish to burst forth with the thrill of a bird and the power of a Patti,
or a concentrated orchestra, as a relief, in "Home, Sweet Home."
The good ship Mohawk deserves passing mention from the fact that while a nine-
day boat from London Dock to Jersey City, through her latter-day construction she equals
seven or eight days from Queenstown or Southhampton, and does not roll from side to side.
We were in a three days' storm of so severe a nature as to cause intense interest in New York
on the arrival of several "ocean greyhounds." Stories of battened-down hatches, passengers
prevented from going on deck, and in fact several crazed through excitement; yet the writer
must sat that with the exception of the "uphill and down dale" motion, the Mohawk during
the height of the three days' storm, was never sufficiently moved to render unstable the
under-pinning of a two-year-old babe.
Entering the harbor just in time of the evening to "anchor" in view of Greater New
York, the ocean traveler can imagine the scene of Indians, Cow-boys, Mexicans, Scouts,
Frontiersmen and Staff as we rode at anchor in view of the flickering lights, and what
rumor said would possibly soon be one of the objective points to present the enlarged
aggregation of Rough Riders of the World we had developed into, and probably for the last
time present a "page of passing history" of which so cosmopolitan a city is acknowledged
to be innocently ignorant.
Landing at Jersey City, the usual scenes attendant occurred with nothing to mar the
occasion, if I may except one instance in our little circle, which to a certain extent had its
tragic side. It was only a white horse, but a well-known horse; a horse whose picture the
public will remember in a conjunction with Colonel Cody's, placarded on all walls and exhibited
in all windows; a horse who possibly, with his rider, appeared in more cities and before
more people of distinction, rank, wealth, and character, than ever steed before. The fact that
he was the companion of Colonel Cody's last war horse, "Charley," who died and was buried
at sea upon our first return voyage--and that, singular to relate, without any premonitory
symptoms of sickness and never looking better in his life, "Billy" walked off the gang-plank,
neighed as he hoofs struck his native shore, and dropped dead--is food for thought that each
one may assimilate. However small it may seem, this pathetic incident will always be
remembered by the returning voyagers, as "Billy" and "Charley" were favorite members of
the "Old Guard."
The writer followed the sun on its westward course with his Red Brother, and it would
take a chapter to describe the scenes at the grand reception at the foothills of the Rockies
upon the return to the Ogallallas of the various bands--among them many of the Ghost
Dance prisoners, now changed by the experience--where the camp fires and dances of their
friends showed the savage nature to possess the same warm sentiment towards loved ones as
that which animates more civilized men. |
