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Niagara made a matter of "a round," dollars, and cents, was too much for my equanimity; and in the hope of losing my feelings of disappointment, I went into the Clifton House, enduring a whole volley of requests from the half-tipsy drosky-drivers who thronged the doorway.
I have seen the most vagabond-looking istrovoschik, or drosky-drivers, jump out of their drosky and perform similar courtesies toward each other; and where men of this craft are given to politeness, one may rest assured that it must be a national characteristic. All seem to be the slaves of ceremony, from the Czar down to the Mujik.
The modernized, or European, portion of the city contains broad streets, rows of shops in which is displayed everything that could be found in any city in Europe, and street-railways. These latter were introduced in 1882, and at first met with fierce antagonism from the drosky-drivers, who swarm here as in every city in Russia.
These wild Jehus of the Caucasus expected the tram-cars to turn out the same as any other vehicle. Four people were killed by collisions the first day. Severe punishment had to be resorted to in order to stop the hostility of the drosky-drivers against the strange innovation.
After this meal, eaten in the "five minutes all aboard" style, we started on a sight-seeing expedition. Round the door of the Clifton House were about twenty ragged, vociferous drosky-drivers, of most demoralised appearance, all clamorous for "a fare." "We want to go to Goat Island; how much is it?" "Five dollars." "I'll take you for four dollars and a half."
"I've seen nothing" A disappointment Incongruities Hotel gaieties and "doing Niagara" Irish drosky-drivers "The Hell of Waters" Beauties of Niagara The picnic party The White Canoe A cold shower-bath "The Thunder of Waters" A magic word "The Whirlpool" Story of "Bloody Run" Yankee opinions of English ladies A metamorphosis The nigger guide A terrible situation Termination Rock Impressions of Niagara Juvenile precocity A midnight journey Street adventures in Hamilton.
Summoning one of the swarm of drosky-drivers that beset the exit from the wharf, we are soon tearing over the Belgian blocks to the Hotel de l'Europe. The Russian drosky-driver, whether in Baku or in Moscow, seems incapable of driving at a moderate pace. Over rough streets or smooth he plies the cruel whip, shouts vile epithets at his half-wild steed, and rattles along at a furious pace.
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