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(Transcribed by Peggy Barriskill Perazzo, December 2005)

"Recollections of A Busy Life,"
By Eli Fayette Ruggles

H. L. Ruggles & Co., Publishers, (published circa 1904)

Chapter XIV.

California - Westward Ho!

It has been as a dream or a desired possibility for some years past that I
might yet see California. And it has seemed nearer till in the summer of
1902, I, with the good will of my family, arranged to go. On October 29th,
with grips packed and in company with the Doctor and wife, Harry and wife
and Lena, we went to the Northwestern Depot in Chicago, and after waiting
in line for a long time, and it being decidedly cold, we finally were
admitted to the car and shown to my number of seat and berth. And now I
have bidden and kissed good-bye to those who came with me, as also those
left at home, and I am in a cold car, curtains all along the bunks drawn,
for it is time for sleep to those who can find it; but outside is plenty of
noise and tumult. Soon as the porter can fix my bunk I got under cover in
search of some warmth, and here and then I thought of my children on their
way home to warm rooms and my wife at home in her warm bed, and here I am
in this cold car and not a soul near that I ever saw. Yes, I was petty near
homesick, and not yet started. But at last the cars are moving and I go to
sleep. I awake at early dawn, raise my curtain, bolster up with both
pillows, and in the twilight see farms, barns, houses, cattle, sheep,
swine, and now they are coming out to milk, and it is a fine morning of
sunshine, and the car is now warm, and I am just having a good time.

Everybody in the car is up, curtains all out of sight, and really, here is
a car full of pretty good looking people. Some are children, and just
opposite my seat is a family of six. They give me a cup of tea as we take
our breakfast, and I give the children some bananas; that pleases them.

Farm scenes follow each other as we cross this beautiful prairie country,
till we come to Council Bluffs and Omaha, and as these names are called
out, I begin to think of the letters that used to come to our old farm home
from Lyman and Fernando, after they had been a long time on their journey
to California in 1850. Then our letters cost 25 cents each, and took weeks
to reach us. And now I begin to see what I have only heard before. Some
miles of barren plain, sagebrush, gophers, prairie dogs, skeletons here and
there, one of horse or ox of the years gone by.

We are approaching the mountains, but the grade upward is so gradual we do
not perceive it. And now I begin to see where our cattle, sheep and hogs
come from by the train loads. For here, as I look out on either side, I see
the rancher with teams and gang plows, and here is a genuine cowboy on his
pony with a coil of rope hanging over the horn of his saddle. Two or three
dogs are in attendance, and with his wide wool hat it is all true to
picture. Here we are at Denver, to remain for all the afternoon. We all
leave the cars to see Denver. Go through and to the top of the courthouse,
where I have a fine view of the Rocky Mountains. Then to the State Capitol,
and at the top from the observatory we have a fine view of the city, the
Rockies, Pike's Peak, seventy miles away; then down to earth again, where
an observation car takes us all around the city, and a guide tells us all
places of note. Back to our car and about dark we start again on our
journey. We passengers are getting quite well acquainted now and all enjoy
the journey, except one lady, who has to worry about her pet dog that is in
the baggage car. She tells the conductor and the superintendent of the
train and the porter all about her pet dog Fannie. She has paid the baggage
master to feed and water that poor dog. Oh, how that poor dog will cry with
loneliness! I believe I can hear her cry now. She never was away from home
before, and now to be away from her bed and where all are strangers. Oh,
dear, I fear poor Fannie will die. Some of the passengers who have been
over this road before are saying this evening that during the night we will
pass through some of the finest scenery in this mountain gap. With a good
night's sleep, I feel as well as when I started.

At early dawn I raise the curtain to see, but I must be short-sighted, for
only a short distance away I can see but a black wall. But when it is full
day, I have to repeat what I hear said all around me. "Isn't that grand?" I
get close to the window and look up and up at those massive rocks, great
and grand and sublime.

Then to look down to the rushing, raging, foaming river, as we have to
follow its winding way. Sometimes we are nearly on a level with the river;
then again we are far above. it. Again here is a little town - a health
resort. Isn't the scenery fine? The wagon road leading back into little
circular park, with neat cottages facing the central circle and railroad,
and there is their country schoolhouse. But where do they come from or how
can any one get here, only on the railroad? This day has been full of
wonder scenes, and as night is with us again, I get to my rest of pleasant
dreams. Early in the morning I am using my eyes again to view new and grand
scenes that it may never again be my privilege and delight to behold. Each
mile of the way is different from any other mile. And I say, "Oh, isn't
that grand?" and say it till I am tired of looking and wondering. Here we
are on top of the Rocky Mountains, at the highest point of the railroad,
and yet on either side the mountain peaks rise much higher, and we appear
as in a valley or ravine, with a forest of small trees all round us, and
the snow is gently falling. The train stops for fifteen minutes. The boys
swarm out of the cars and have great sport snowballing.

We passed through Salt Lake City at earliest dawn, the street lamps
lighting up the wide streets, bordered with their shade trees, many of
which were the ------- popple. In full day we rounded Salt Lake (the
railroad now goes through it), then we pass over scenes of desolate land
and rock, and here we are more on a level with our surroundings.

And this is my birthday, November 2d, and age sixty-nine. And I so informed
some of my neighbors, and we were then having our noon lunch. One good lady
said, "Why didn't you tell that before, and I should have invited you to
our table?

It is a long and elevated birthday ride up in the mountains. But night has
succeeded the day and the new day is a change from any other; our train is
running swiftly, and the outlook is improving for one who cares for the
agricultural part of life, as is my nature. We stop at a station and out
all hands go and we get grapes, apples, oranges - yes, some fruits that I
was stranger to. As on we go, seemingly flying light, we pass such cozy
little cottages, and each one surrounded with fruit and vines and flowers.
Isn't that cozy and neat? No dust, no dirt, nothing old or decayed, but all
in fresh young life, in virgin soil.

Yes, I begin to comprehend, we are going down the western slope from the
mountains and are nearing California. The train stops and we are in Sacramento.

Sacramento Los Angeles.

Familiar sounds greet the ear of busy humanity all round - engines passing,
screeching, screaming, and our train signals all aboard, and we see but
little of this city from which Lyman and Fernando used from forty to fifty
years ago mail us their letters.

It was just at evening as we entered this city, so we see but little of it.
Now on to Los Angeles, and the ride all night has been, I judge, over a
level country. First morning light reveals here and there a rancher with a
cheap house and plenty of stables for horses and pigs and chickens, two
dogs, fruit trees and vines; so I do not pity him; he is monarch of all he
surveys. His rights there are none to dispute. But here our train stops and
they fasten one more engine in front and another in the rear. And now my
bump of wonder begins to expand, for I supposed we were through with the
mountains, till my return. But not so. Right in front of us are lofty
mountains, and we begin to climb. We are following up the very winding ways
of some creek, and often we pass cattle that here find both food and water.
But the train is often going so very slow - a good walker could keep even
time or beat it. And now beauty is everywhere. This is a rare treat - more
than I bargained for in my ticket. At times we are quite shut in by the
massive rocks that tower above us; then again, on our left we look far away
over the fertile fields of California, the garden of the world. But how is
this? And my bump of wonder expands to solve this problem. Another train is
ahead of us on this same track running north, while we run south, and they
so much higher than we. I see, I see now. This track is cut in the side of
this circle basin mountain, makes an entire circle, crosses itself at a
greater height, and thus we climb this mountain. And now look out on our
right and behold where we are. Our track dug away up in the side of a
mountain and away, away down lies a long zigzag lake; our train has turned
many a horseshoe curve and just ahead is a snow shed or tunnel, and we pass
through many of them. Now we pass over Blue canon, that lies fathoms below,
and is a beautiful blue and green.

Some time in the evening we arrive in Los Angeles and go to the Palm Hotel.
Next day was in the park, where were plenty of men, women and children,
with nothing to do but to sit in some shaded place, chat, read the papers
or stretch themselves on the lawn, or play hide and seek with children.
But, restful as it is, I must see what I can see.

Take electric car to Santa Monica. Not much town, but a few boarding houses
for tourists. And now, as I stand on the bluff, the broad Pacific lies
before me, and I think of the weeks that my daughter Myrtie was crossing it
to China with her husband, Mr. House.

But down the long flights of steps or stairs I go till I stand at the
water's edge to pick pebbles, and as my back was to the waters a larger
wave rolls in and I am wet nearly to my knees. Well, good-bye, old ocean,
if you are to treat me that way.

I return by another line that takes me by the foothills. All the land I
have seen to-day is in farming or fruit or vine or flower. And these palms,
aren't they grand? This five acres all to peas. Some just planting, some
growing in all stages to the peas that are being picked for market. Next I
go to Pasadena, that paradise on earth, where kings live, attended by the
nobility.

And now, as I have seen something of Los Angeles and its surroundings, I
will away to the place of my destination, and arrive in Hanford, and
inquire for one J. W. Young; my winter and with sister and relatives near
Hanford.

"The old gentleman, isn't it, you mean?"

Well, that took me back some, for in my mind he was yet a young man. Yes,
perhaps he is getting old. "Is this the residence of J. W. Young?"

"Yes, sir, and you are Mr. Ruggles, are you not? They are expecting you.
Walk in."

Yes, and here is J. W. Young, sure, and I guess they were right in saying
the old man.

"And my sister Louie, where is she?"

"Oh, she is up to Ed's; they have a little boy; but Merle, Art Young's
wife, will hitch Dot to the buggy," and in a jiffy she is in my presence -
yes, immediate personal presence.

Well, we did hug just a little to part make up for what we hadn't done for
the past twenty-two years. But she is just as jolly as ever, and says there
is the room all ready for you, and you are to occupy it all winter.

"You will remember that, won't you Eli?"

Well, that seems homelike to be called Eli. It is always Mr. Ruggles or
Brother Ruggles ever since I left the old farm. Now I am a boy again, and
can go or come as the boy Eli.

Every few days Dot is to draw us to town or out in the country - or my good
niece Mollie comes and takes me or us home with her; or I often go to Ed's
pleasant home, where I can sit by the fire and read from his fine library
or play with Yvonne, a bright little girl of three, or rock the baby to
sleep, or go with Inez to the piano for a little music feast. Across the
way from Ed's lives Jo Dopking and his brother and sisters are near here
and at Woodland. This family lived in Keeler Township, joining Hartford,
and we were in the same school district. Days and weeks pass too swiftly
by, and I must again pack my grips, and so have to say good-bye to those I
have learned to love - the Gallops, the Farmers, Clarence, Birdie and
Sister - and away I go for Woodland.

My Visit at Woodland.

Here Cousin Amander meets me with horse and buggy and takes me to his
house, where I found a warm welcome in a very pleasant home of his own for
two weeks, and I was escorted around the country by my cousin and others,
to my great delight. Cousin's family are all married, and I have met all of
them, and found them to be intelligent and agreeable.

At the Ranch Home of My Niece, Molly Cox, and Husband.

From Woodland I was taken to the home of Eben Cox, ten miles away, through
a rich farming country, without a foot of waste land. Here I remained two
weeks, being taken to the many relatives in this vicinity. My niece Molly
and Mr. Cox have a valuable and pleasant home.

At Winter's, Cal.

But time is up, and Mr. Cox takes me to Winter's to my nephew Jesse
Ruggles' home, and again I repeat my stay of two weeks, and I have had two
additions to mountain scenery, and I have been taken up one canon to the
northwest, and another most beautiful and romantic of all - the winding,
circling up and down ways, fruit of every kind, lemon trees, hanging full
and fairly yellow with ripe lemons, grapes in abundance.

Then south and east for many miles and all the way is fruit, fruit, fruit.
I have become quite attached to this large family of Jesse's, for though
not rich, they take more pleasure in each other than most families, though
in riches abundant. Here I met some twenty of my relatives. But now I am
off again and arrive safe at my Cousin Byron Jackson's office, 411 Market
street, San Francisco.

In San Francisco.

He takes me in his automobile to his residence, where I met his amiable
wife and son Byron of nine years. My room looks out on San Francisco Bay
and waters of the Golden Gate. How nice it is that again I can spend two
weeks in this interesting city. I go to the Presidio with cousin in his
auto and he takes me through the soldiers' camp grounds, with its clean,
winding roads, closely filled with slim saplings about 25 feet high, and so
thick you could hardly crawl through them. Then to the Forts, where cannon
are ready to defend the Golden Gate pass. Four times I visited Golden Gate
Park, and then was reluctant to leave it. Here in San Francisco and Oakland
I found Cousin Amander's daughters. Then at the Cliff House, where is a
fine view of the ocean and seals on Seal Rock.

And now I board an ocean coast vessel for Seattle. The first part of the
ocean ride is very pleasant, the passing through the Golden Gate (the only
one I know of on earth), keeping in sight of shore most of the way, but
finally many of us passengers seemed to be attracted to the side of the
boat and most of us contributed to the feeding of shark or whatnot we
neither knew or cared. But I knew I was glad when the whistle blew for
Seattle. Here I boarded a new trolley car line to Tacoma, where I soon
found my daughter Iva's home, and would you believe it, here I met my wife,
who had come with Iva from our home in Oak Park some four weeks previous,
and next day was born to Charlie and Iva Olcott a son, healthy and fair.
When I was a schoolboy I learned that this was a country of much rain, and
in fair view from this city stands Mt. Rainier. But citizens of Tacoma call
it Mt. Tacoma. Viola and I went out to different places of interest on
trolley cars, boarded the little steamer to Seattle, where we visited
Charles Congleton and wife, and had a fine view of the city; had a pleasant
day, and returned at night to find that it had rained all day in Tacoma.

Off For Home.

On May 4th I started for home via the Canadian Pacific, leaving my wife to
come later, as she did via Salt Lake. I took trolley line to Seattle, where
the steam cars took me north to a junction connecting east from Vancouver.
This is a new country. Much has been heavy pine where now great stumps and
brush hold sway; here and there a few acres are cleared, and in that is
somebody at home very likely happier than most kings. The approach to the
mountains is very gradual. Little farms here and there, and some are homes
of Indians. Often a papoose is on the fence; their straight, black hair and
the dogs and pony tell the rest. The thicket becomes more dense, the river
is more rapid, and we begin to see the foothills. To follow the windings of
the Frazer river, as in a few places it glides smoothly along as if resting
for the next great battle with rocks that lie just ahead, and then goes
leaping and dancing as if a life force lay beneath. Now we are climbing,
and an engine is placed at the rear. Most of the mountains stand out
separate and are covered with evergreens; they are pretty for a landscape
picture, yet not so majestic as where I crossed going west. Occasionally we
go between almost perpendicular rocks that reach skyward, but lack the
beautiful colors. Now our track is cut in the mountain side and on our
right we look away, way down to a small stream, and now our train turns to
the right, crossing this deep gulch, and we are suspended in air on
trestle-work till we cross to the opposite bank, where, for a short
distance, we are going westerly, where we come to another deep chasm coming
from the south, and cross this twice before we are again on our eastern
way. We are nearing the top of the Rockies. Here is snow and a health
resort, and they are shoveling out some snow to get down to the ground, and
the snow is piled high and is deep. Cold? Yes pretty cold. Soon after
leaving this locality we find that we are following up one of these deep
chasms; the stream of water is now on our left, and away way down it dashes
and foams furiously. Now two engines have been placed in the center of the
train, and we can hear the four engines puffing with all their might, and
yet the train goes very slow. The grade is so steep that we notice it
perceptibly. But the stream of water is now much nearer and is fast nearing
us, or, in truth, we are nearing its source. Now the engines have easy
work; the tiny creek is on a level with us; often we cross the little
brook, and now we are at its source, a wee bit of a lake on the top of the
Rocky Mountains. Now three engines are removed, and we glide along so
easily on the eastern slope.

It was just at dark when we left this summit, and no doubt we passed most
beautiful scenery, as we must have done, the past two nights. Daylight
finds us gliding over a smooth plain, with no more in sight than as if in
the boundless ocean. Not a tree or shrub or even a sage brush. Barren as a
desert yet seemingly solid ground, awaiting, it is said, the irritating
ditch to make it fertile. But with the thermometer at 55 degrees I beg to
be excused.

The second day begins to show signs of life - a few shrubs, a shanty and
here a herd of cattle, the rancher getting ahead of the season and other
herders for the summer grazing, but not a sign of grazing is here. They
ship hay by train or carloads. And now we have here and there a little
town, and gradually getting to a better civilization.

Stop at St. Paul over night and have an interesting ride next day to
Chicago, and arrive at Dr. Ruggles' home at 10 P.M. all safe and sound, and
I have enjoyed much of beautiful scenery and met many friends and relatives
that will be a pleasant memory while memory endures.

[END.]

The accompanying song was sung by Father and Mother Ruggles on the occasion
of Father's last birthday. It had always been the custom for Mother to give
a Birthday Dinner in honor of each member of the family - and good dinners
they were, too. Mother was always noted for being a good cook, and on this
particular occasion there was a goodly number of friends present, and
everything was jolly and bright.

After the congratulatory speeches a song was called for. Father stood by
Mother's side, his arm about her waist, and as they sweetly sang this good
old song there was scarcely a dry eye in the room. I realized for the first
time that there would not be many more, if any, meetings like this. I felt
that I would not hear his dear voice much more, and such was the case - he
scarcely sang again.

Harry Lyman Ruggles.

We're Growing Old Together.

Allie Toland Criss. E. F. Miller. Last Verse by E. F. Miller.

We're growing old together, wife, Our heads are silvr'ing fast;
Our race of life will soon run, All cares will soon be past;
For years we've helped each other, wife, Thro' rough and stormy weather,
But soon the clouds will disappear, For we're growing old together.

Chorus.

For years we've helped each other, wife, Thro- rough and stormy weather,
But soon the clouds will disappear, For we're growing old together.

Ah! well do I remember, wife, Those happy days long flown,
When we together crossed the fields, Where the hay was freshly mown;
Those summer days flew swiftly by, And winter crossed the heather,
But our love is just as strong to-day, Tho' we're growing old together.

It seems but yesterday, dear wife, I stood with manly pride,
In the village church close by our home, And claimed you for my bride;
And solemn were the vows we made, And said we'd both endeavor,
To cheer each other day by day, While growing old together.

But best of all to me, dear wife, We know our Savior's love,
His Word has cheered us all the way, And leads to realms above;
We soon shall gain our mansion fair, Our home beyond the river,
Where we shall see our Savior's face, And reign with Him forever.

Chorus - Last Verse.

We soon shall gain our mansion fair, Our home beyond the river,
Where we shall see our Savior's face, And reign with Him forever.

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