Savannah, Georgia
The city of Savannah, with its balmy air, its far famed Bonaventure Cemetery, its pretty parks, broad streets and many natural attractions (acknowledged to be one of the most attractive Southern cities), was long avoided by many pleasure tourists, because it had no hotel worthy of a city claiming fifty thousand inhabitants and doing a business of over one hundred and thirty millions of dollars annually.
Savannah is the greatest cotton port in the world—New Orleans excepted. Savannah has deep water and good docks. Sometimes as many as thirty English ships are in this port at the same time. They take cotton direct to foreign ports. Savannah is easily approached from North and South: presently it is to have communication with the west—direct from Kansas City. When these and other contemplated improvements are made, Savannah expects to experience an era of great prosperity. It is predicted that the city will double its population in the next ten years.
Anyone who doubts that Savannah is steadily moving forward in prosperity has only to take a glimpse at the tax returns made to the city treasurer for 1891, to have the doubt quickly dispelled. In 1890, the returns of personal property footed up $9,948,048, and in 1891 they were considerably over $10,000,000, the increase being about $500,000. The banks alone in ’91 made returns of $506,000 in excess of 1890. This shows that there is a great demand for banking institutions. Real estate has increased $1,300,000.
Such being the present condition and future prospects of Savannah, it was time that some movement were made for the better entertainment of visitors, so at last the citizens put their heads together and concluded that no matter how rich a city is in natural attractions, the climax of success is only capped by railway facilities and first class hotels.
Mr. H. B. Plant, head of the Plant System, furnished the railway facilities, and now the citizens of Savannah have supplied the hotel. They formed a stock company, subscribed a million of dollars and opened the De Soto, two years ago, which proved to be exteriorly one of the handsomest houses in this country, if not in the world, and interiorly one of the best appointed—in keeping with the American idea.
Savannah never had a habit of going across the seas for hotel names. It boasts of no Victoria, no Buckingham, no Imperial, but it has a Screven, named after a prominent Georgia family; a Pulaski, named for a military hero, and now a De Soto, in honor of the discoverer of the Mississippi river. Savannah is nothing if not patriotic. It has a Monterey square, a Forsyth park, and among its monuments are the noble columns erected to perpetuate the memory of three revolutionary heroes—Jasper, Green and Pulaski.
The De Soto cost a round million of dollars. It occupies, but does not literally “cover, an entire block of ground,” as the writer of the little descriptive pamphlet has it. The house is built in the form of a hollow square, with entrances on three sides. This plan of construction was adopted to leave a large open court in the centre, thus securing an ample supply of light and air; and the plan has succeeded to perfection.
The dining-room, which seats nearly four hundred guests, has air and light its full length, on both sides. Some of the bedroom doors, instead of wooden panels, have panels of ground glass to let light into the halls. The bedroom in which these lines are written is fifteen feet square, not counting a deep recess for the windows, of which there are two, each measuring seven feet six by four feet six. There is also a transom over the door. To such an extent has this love of light been carried that even the elevator, instead of being built with solid sides, has sides of strong, open wire work, through which light and air stream freely.
The interior, while being on a broad, liberal, yes, a luxurious scale, has no striking novelties. It is modelled after the style of the large modern American hotels of the first-class. There is a large and splendid “office” with reading-room, smoking-room, writing-room, and small parlors branching off; there are open fires and all the etceteras of convenience and luxury; the whole ground floor is marble-tiled, the corridors are ten feet wide and richly carpeted; they lead on each side to an inviting veranda; there is pure water from an artesian well and the sanitary arrangements are said to be scientifically correct.
The parlor, with its onyx tables, its gold-framed chairs, delicate carpets, its richly-embossed furniture covering, its mirrors, electric lights and the light-colored walls minus anything that suggests a work of art, is, to my mind, rather cold and stiff. I prefer the home-like drawing-room of the Imperial Hotel in Aberdeen, Scotland, with its profusion of fresh flowers, its cabinets and pretty things, or say, the drawing-room of the Langham Hotel, London, rich and pleasing in subdued, dark colors; but the De Soto is an American hotel, it is kept after the American methods, and without doubt the parlor suits to perfection those for whom it is furnished—then why should anybody criticise its decorations?
But the exterior with its novel and beautiful construction, a combination of architectural styles forming a very pleasing whole, commands instant admiration. There are towers, turrets, arched entrances, Queen Anne windows, fountains and a number of overhanging red-tiled roofs through which waterspouts project in picturesque fashion. The walls are of brick in two different colors with terra cotta trimmings, railings and ornaments of black iron. All of these materials and colors are used with skill and the very best taste, making an artistic combination which is remarkably pleasing. Then the graceful palm trees here and there give the surroundings a tropical appearance and serve to add to the beautiful picture.
The site of the De Soto was well chosen. All of the four streets on which it is built being wide, ample opportunity is afforded to admire from a distance its lines of beauty. Its main front is on a very wide street, Liberty street, probably not quite so broad as Unter den Linden in Berlin, nor has it the grand palaces of that renowned German street; but Liberty street is neat, clean and kept in good order, which is more than can be said of Unter den Linden. The sidewalks are of smooth-faced red brick; between them and the roadway on either side there is a row of trees. There is another row of trees, also a car track, in the middle of the street, and on either side of the track again there is an asphalt drive for carriages. There is abundant space, and although it lacks the solid buildings of larger cities, the street itself is not lacking in attractions.
Within five minutes’ walk of the house is Forsyth park, with its acres of forest trees, and plenty of japonicas and roses in full bloom at this writing, January 26. In the centre of this park there is a handsome fountain, modeled after the grand fountain in the Place de la Concorde, Paris. It is a mistake and a pity to half hide it behind japonica trees and rose bushes, from six to eight feet high.
It is very enjoyable to sit in any of Savannah’s pretty parks these days, say between noon and four o’clock. There is no danger of taking nor of feeling cold. At night and in the early morn the air is cool (36 to 42 degrees), but in the afternoon it is soft and balmy—anywhere from 56 to 76 degrees. It is an old habit of mine to carry a thermometer in my satchel, so I am not dependent on the hotel instrument nor on hearsay for my facts and figures concerning the temperature. Frost is rarely seen in Savannah, and they never get a sight of snow unless some of the “beautiful” article should remain on the car roofs of trains coming from the North.
The De Soto can accommodate four hundred guests, and besides, the dining-room and the smaller “early breakfast-room” on the main floor, there is a banqueting hall on the first floor in which two hundred guests can sit down comfortably. A novel feature for a hotel is a gymnasium, on the sixth floor, and above this, at the very summit, there is a large “Solarium,” fitted up with chairs, tables and lounges. Here you can sit, bask in the sun, and, as Walt Whitman says, “loaf and invite your soul.” In this elevated position you get a magnificent view of Savannah and the surrounding country—as far east as the Tybee coast, twenty miles distant.
There are in all three hundred and thirty-eight bedrooms, forty parlors and sixty bath-rooms in the house, affording many choice suites for families. There are no dark rooms nor inner rooms; all have a street view, a park view, or look out upon the court-yard. Every room has a wardrobe built in the wall, and this is covered by a tasteful portière. All the carpets and draperies, by the way, came from W. & J. Sloane, and the electroliers and gasoliers were supplied by Archer, Pancoast & Co., both leading New York houses in their respective branches.
A band of twelve pieces (Cobb’s Savannah Band) performs excellent music in an alcove near the dining-room during the luncheon and dinner hours.
The house has been leased for fifteen years by Watson & Powers, who have had long experience in Charleston and other hotels. They kept the Pulaski House here, as a colored driver told me in answer to a question, “a right smart time,” which still leaves the number of years rather indefinite. The same gentleman and brother, who drive carriages for the house, and who drove me through Bonaventure Cemetery, said that the fire of two years ago, which burned for two days, destroyed the “‘Sonic Hall.” He also volunteered this piece of intelligence: “Der Pulaski House is makin’ a very big condition,” which I translated to mean addition. My esteemed friend, Mr. Marcus Wight and his charming wife, of Lowell, Mass., were our travelling companions for that day, and their delightful company enhanced the interest and the enjoyment of the drive.
If you desire to see a hotel which contains all the latest and best American ideas, and, unlike the hotels of Europe, combines them into a perfect system, telegraph for rooms to the De Soto. It is advisable to take it in, as a resting place, between New York and Florida, or vice versa.
P. S.—This is called a cold winter in Savannah, yet at six A.M., Thursday, January 29, the thermometer marked sixty degrees.