When we arrived at the station, Octavia and I were put into a two horse
fly because it was very windy and cold. It always is, we are told, and
the motors for hire were all open. So we started to go to Fairmount, the
big hotel right up on the hill. At first it was a sort of gradual slope
past such sad desolation of levelled houses, with hardly the foundations
left. The results of the earthquake and the fire are so incredible that
you would think I was recounting travellers' tales if I described them,
so I won't. Presently the coachman turned his two strong fat horses to
the right, up one of the perpendicular roads, to get to our destination,
but they would have none of it! They backed and jibbed and got as cross
as possible, and he was obliged to continue along the slope, explaining
to us that there was another turning further on which they might be
persuaded to face. But when we got there it was just the same, no
whipping or coaxing could get them to sample it. They backed so
violently that we nearly went over into the cellars of a ruin at the
corner, and the man asked us to get out, as he said it was no use, none
of his horses would face these streets. And to go on to a gradual hill
was miles further along, and he advised us to walk, as the hotel was
only about six hundred yards away!! So in the growing night Octavia and
I, clutching our jewel cases, were left to our own devices.
Pages:
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158