Our train, fully nine hours late, in our journey from Salt
Lake City, arrived at its destination on the great Oakland pier or
mole at 2:30 A.M. The understanding with the conductor the evening
before, as we were descending the Sierra Nevada Mountains, was that
we would not be disturbed until day break. When the end of our long
journey was reached I was oblivious to the world of matter in midnight
slumber; but as soon as the wheels of the sleeping coach had ceased to
revolve I was aroused with the cry, "Ticket!" First I thought I was
dreaming, as I had heard the phrase, "Show your tickets," so often;
but the light of "a lantern dimly burning" and a stalwart figure
standing before the curtains of my sleeping berth, soon convinced
me that I was in a world of reality. This, I may say, was my only
experience of the kind, in all my travelling over the Southern Pacific
Railway, the Sante Fe, and the Mexican International and Mexican
Central Railways. There was little sleep after the interruption; and
when the morning came with its interest and novelty I was ready to
proceed across the Bay of San Francisco.
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