bed becomes unbearable to me by 5 A. M., and half an hour later I am
on deck. I can’t sit in the music-room or smoking-room, because the
stewards are cleaning up, and when I walk the decks I am in the way
of sailors who are washing them with hose. In addition, the early
riser never has his shoes shined, and gets no early breakfast in bed.
On a ship, the servants will not respect you if you do anything for
yourself.... The second passenger to appear on deck was a woman;
possibly she had a snorer in her room, too. Much to my surprise, the
woman calmly proceeded, after seating herself in a deck chair, to put
on her stockings. They say women always sit on the floor when they put
on their stockings, but this woman didn’t.... Bare legs are quite
common here. The fourteen-year-old messenger boy who showed us about
in Sydney wore stockings only a few inches long, and above them his
legs were bare to his knees. This is the rule with boys and girls,
and their legs are sunburned and cracked, and often covered with
pimples.... So far as I know, all the passengers on the “Maheno” are
Australians or New Zealanders, except ourselves and Mr. Bond, and we
expect him to quit speaking to us because I do not enjoy his snoring.
At home I have always had members of my family bluffed because of my
nervousness, but here everyone seems to think it perfectly absurd that
snoring should disturb me.... I hear the passengers talking about
“the bush.” In our country we call it the “short-grass country;” both
mean the frontier. I have always been interested in Australia because
Abel Magwitch made his money there. Charles Dickens created this man
out of his fancy, but no character was ever more real to me. There
is something about the old fellow that appeals to me as Falstaff or
Macbeth never did, and to my mind “Great Expectations” is the greatest
book ever written. Abel Magwitch made his money in Australia in sheep,
and at the Sydney hotels you see sheep farmers from “the bush” who are
timidly spending their money. Australia is an ideal sheep country,
and fortunes are easily made, until there is a drouth. Then there is
neither water nor grass for the animals, and they die off in great
numbers. The last drouth occurred seven years ago, and thousands of
sheep sold at a shilling a head. Many of those who bought sheep at that
price, lost them all, and became bankrupt. But sheep are prolific, and
in two or three years after the drouth they seemed to be as numerous
as ever. It is said the Australians make money easily, and are much
like Americans. The New Zealanders are much like the Australians,
although the distance from Sydney to Auckland is thirteen hundred
miles.... Abel Magwitch was sent to Australia as a convict from
England, as Australia was formerly a penal colony, but that was many
years ago; Australia is now one of the most prosperous countries in the
world, and it has been of great use to mankind because it has tried so
many experiments in trying to make the common lot easier. Many of the
advanced political notions in the United States came from Australia
and New Zealand. The per-capita wealth is higher in those countries
than in any other; there is more wealth in other countries, but it is
not so evenly distributed among the people as in Australia and New
Zealand. The government owns most of the public utilities, and no one
can help remarking the fine system of street-railway in Sydney. For
short distances the fare is two cents, and the fare increases after
passing certain limits. I am told that in some lines of business there
is a holiday at Christmas here, lasting two weeks. There is no severely
cold weather, and the people are not compelled to spend a great deal
for fuel. Wages are not as high as with us, but living is cheaper. I
had heard so much of the low cost of beef in Australia that I inquired
the price at several markets. The best cuts sold at twenty cents per
pound: altogether, meat is cheaper than in the United States, but the
difference is not so great as I expected it to be.... Everything
indicates that the Australians are good people, and hospitable,
enterprising, and intelligent; I have only admiration for them, until
they begin to talk. Then their pronunciation is a reproach to me. I
have always called it Austraylia; they call it Austrylia. “Well, old
chap,” I heard a man say to a friend in Sydney, on parting, “tyke
care of yourself!”... There is a woman on this ship with three little
children. To look at her, she seems like any other worthy woman:
devoted, unselfish, kind, polite, and always busy. But when you hear
her talk, it is different from anything you ever heard. There are two
little girls on board, and they are very kind to the mother with three
children. It is very nice to see them caring for the baby, and running
errands for the tired mother, but as soon as they begin to talk they
do not seem so much like little girls you have known. “I was a bit
groggy meself yesterday,” I heard one of them say to the mother. She
meant that she was seasick.... The English themselves do not agree
on pronunciations; Cambridge University authorizes one pronunciation of
many words, and Oxford another. I can understand how dialects originate
with people speaking the same language, and who do not associate
much with each other except locally, but the English and American see
enough of each other to get together in pronunciation.
[Illustration: Captain Feeding his Pet
Transferring Passengers in a Basket at Sea
The Landing Stage, Beira
The Dock at Pago Pago
Christmas at Sea]
FRIDAY, JANUARY 10.—Last night I laid my case before the chief steward,
and he said he would fix me up; that he would take me out of 27, where
Mr. Bond devotes the nights to snoring, and put me in No. 7, with
Mr. Martin. I went to bed in No. 7, complimenting the chief steward
for his disposition to please the passengers, but in ten minutes Mr.
Martin began snoring, and I spent the night trying to decide if his
snore was not rather more rasping than that of Mr. Bond. At a late
hour I dressed and retreated again to a sofa in the music-room. But
I have not lost my temper; I am rather disposed, on the contrary, to
laugh at myself for spending a large amount of money in an attempt to
have a “good time.”... The sea has been smooth today and we are all
much more comfortable, although I do not believe anyone is getting his
money’s worth. About the only excitement on board is the fact that a
flock of albatross are following us. I have always understood that
albatross are rather scarce at sea, but certainly twenty are in sight
as I write this. They often fly within twenty feet of the ship, and we
have opportunity to examine them carefully. They follow the ship for
hours without moving a wing; they seem to fly by taking advantage of
the wind.... We saw several whales today, and the captain, at whose
table we sit, says he once ran into one, and was compelled to back out
of it.
SATURDAY, JANUARY 11.—A story one always hears on approaching New
Zealand: In a strait near the coast is a fish known as “Pilot Jack,”
which escorts every ship through, except one. Some years ago a
passenger on a certain ship fired at the fish, and wounded it. The
fish disappeared for several months, but finally it appeared again,
and resumed its old habits of piloting ships through the strait; but
it never shows itself when the ship appears from the deck of which it
was fired upon. The shooting incident caused the New Zealand Parliament
to pass an act protecting “Pilot Jack.” The fish is about twenty feet
long, and photographs showing it swimming ahead of ships are common.
These photographs, it seems to me, are faked, and made specially to
sell to tourists. Seamen do not know why “Pilot Jack” appears whenever
a ship invades his territory, but certain it is that he does appear,
and swims ahead of the ship several miles. The captain of the “Maheno”
says it is possible “Pilot Jack” likes to rub his back on the bottom
of ships, and thus get rid of certain annoying parasites. Another
theory is that the fish simply plays about the ships, which is not
improbable; I have myself seen dolphins play in the waves thrown up by
the prow of a ship, and keep it up several minutes at a time....
Last night I sent a wireless message to the Grand Hotel at Auckland,
engaging accommodations on my arrival there. I was compelled to pay $2
for the service, and sign an agreement that I would not ask recovery
in case the message was not delivered.... No one seems to know much
about the albatross which are following us. A sailor told me that if
an albatross should light on the water, it couldn’t get up again. Ten
minutes later, I saw twenty of them alight on the water, apparently
fight over something thrown from the ship, and then get up again. The
sailors once caught an albatross, and concluded to take it to the
zoölogical garden at Sydney, but it became seasick, and was such a
nuisance that they knocked it in the head and threw it overboard. A
passenger once jumped from the “Sonoma,” with a view of committing
suicide. A number of albatross were following the ship and they picked
the man’s eyes out before a boat could reach him. Although very
beautiful and graceful, the bird is said to be a disgusting vulture.
Where or how it lives no one seems to know; but it is certain that it
will follow a ship night and day from Wellington to Cape Horn, a trip
of three weeks. It is not seen when land is in sight; it seems to sail
about the lonely ocean as easily as a zephyr, and the stronger the
head-wind, the easier it sails against it.... There is a peculiar
character on board at whom everyone laughs. For awhile I feared he
might be a fool American, but he turned out to be a New Zealand school
teacher. He wears a tall hat and clerical clothes, and everyone
supposed for a time that he was a missionary. One day he went after
his music, and began singing in the ladies’ parlor. He cannot sing,
and cannot play the piano, although he attempts both. A crowd soon
gathered, and vigorously applauded when he concluded “The Lost Chord.”
The howling of a dog, accompanied by a child banging on a piano,
would not have been worse, and it was so ridiculous that the man was
asked to sing again. He readily consented, and attempted a tenor aria
from “The Messiah.” The passengers now call the man “the professor,”
and two or three times a day he is asked to sing. He always complies
promptly. There are half a dozen excellent musicians on board, and when
they sing or play, “the professor” is plainly bored. He seems more
like a character from a play or book than a real man, and is mild and
inoffensive. I talked awhile with him today, and found him an educated
man, and apparently quite intelligent, but he is not able to understand
that he cannot sing, or play the piano; he cannot realize that all the
passengers are making fun of him. I suppose all of us are made fun of
when we do not know it, but the case of “the professor” is more than
usually glaring. A concert is being arranged for tonight, as this is
the last day of the voyage, and “the professor” has been put on the
programme, to avoid hurting his feelings. Last night he was the only
man on board who dressed for dinner; he put on a swallow-tailed coat
much too long for him, and looked odd in other particulars. And after
all the trouble he went to, in dressing for dinner, he was compelled to
dine at the second sitting. He is a small man, with smooth, white face,
and wears his dark hair quite long. The passengers are learning to like
him, for he is evidently a gentleman, but none of us can understand
why the man so readily consents to make a fool of himself. Perhaps the
other passengers make fools of themselves, too, and are as unconscious
of it as “the professor.” When not playing or singing, he carries an
algebra about, and works problems. He has two pairs of spectacles,
and is constantly changing them, and forgetting in which pocket he
placed the pair he wishes to use next.... I am very proud of
the men on this ship, they are so modest and well-behaved. I hear no
swearing, or rude talk, and there is almost no drinking at table or
in the smoking-room. The three men I have roomed with are quiet, and
genteel, and I should admire them very much did they not snore. I am
certain Mr. Martin was annoyed because I was put in with him, but he is
so considerate of me that I can almost forgive his bad habit. I think
he knows he snores, and when I hear him threshing about in his bed,
I almost conclude he is keeping awake in order that he may not annoy
me. He is an elderly man, and frequently gets up in the night, but he
does it so quietly that I rarely hear him.... A man I supposed to
be an Episcopal rector turns out to be a Presbyterian preacher named
Thompson. He is an Englishman, but was educated at Yale, and now has
a charge in a small town in New Zealand. I walk the decks with him a
good deal. He says he has been taking a vacation, and that, during his
idleness, he has been thinking a great deal.
“Many times,” he said, “I asked myself the question: ‘In view of
modernism, what is the best thing to do for my people?’ and I always
came to the conclusion that there is nothing better for any of us
than fairness, politeness, temperance, and industry; I could come to
no other conclusion than that the oldest and simplest doctrine is the
best.”
Another passenger is a little man who rides running horses in races.
The Australians are very fond of racing, and the favorite riders are
noted and prosperous men. All of them are small; this man has a wife
almost twice his size. Some of them become as noted as Nat Goodwin,
the actor, and marry as often. A little intelligence and coolness at
a critical moment will often win a race, and the noted jockeys are
usually men of intelligence. The man showed me a number of scars,
the result of accidents. In racing in Australia, the horses jump
hurdles, and often fall.... At 3 o’clock this afternoon we passed
the “Three Kings,” barren islands without a light, which have caused
many shipwrecks. An hour later we sighted the coast of New Zealand,
and followed it throughout the night.... This evening we had a
concert in the music-room, lasting two hours. This is a great country
for amateur singing; every traveler seems to carry music, and on the
slightest provocation will go to his room and get it. In addition to
singing and piano-playing, we had four recitations; the recitation
habit seems respectable here.... A New York traveling-man says the
fashions in New Zealand and Australia are always a year or two behind
New York, and that goods going out of style in the United States are
just coming in here. Goods that are unsalable in New York, because they
are out of fashion, may be picked up at low prices, and sold here at
a good profit, according to the New York traveling-man, who has been
visiting Australia and New Zealand for fifteen years.
SUNDAY, JANUARY 12.—At daylight this morning we passed into a
land-locked gulf, and continued in it all the way to Auckland. At 8
o’clock, while at breakfast, the suburbs of Auckland began to appear,
but we did not get through the custom-house and go ashore until two
hours later. We hurried to the Grand Hotel, where we had ordered
rooms by wireless, paying two dollars for the service. The manager
said he had not received the message, therefore had not reserved
the rooms. While he was talking, he excused himself to attend to a
telephone call. On his return, he said our wireless message had just
been telephoned him from the ship. That is the service you get from
the much-advertised wireless. Later I met an officer of the ship on
the street, and he said I was entitled to a return of my money, but
I will never get it; on paying for the service two days ago, I was
compelled to sign an agreement not to ask for my money back in case
no service was rendered.... The manager of the Grand recommended
the Royal, which is under the same management. At the Royal we found a
woman clerk so polite that we liked the place at once. When she called
a boy to show us our rooms, she called him “Buttons.” This young man
took us up in a primitive elevator, which stuck, and the servants were
compelled to pull us out. When we finally reached our rooms, we liked
them, and probably we are as well off here as we would have been at
the Grand.... All the hotels in Auckland, with five unimportant
exceptions, are owned by a Jew named Ernest Davis. He owns hotels in
other places, and they are all compelled to sell Hancock beer, as
Davis also owns the Hancock brewery. One hears a good deal here about
the five free hotels of Auckland. Freedom in this case means freedom
to sell any beer the manager chooses to buy. In the United States,
breweries own saloons, but I have never before heard of breweries
owning hotels.... The Royal is very modest in its charges; we pay
ten shillings and sixpence per day each for accommodations. This means
$2.62 a day for room, three regular meals, early morning tea, and
supper at 10 P. M. And the hotel is really good; I do not care for
anything better, although the rooms are old-fashioned, and the elevator
does not work half the time. When you want anything, you step into the
hall and push a button marked Maid’s Bell. When the maid appears, you
order hot water for shaving, or whatever it may be you need. There
are four bathrooms near my room, which include needle and douche
baths. The New Zealanders are fond of bathing, and there is never a
lack of bathrooms in their hotels.... I have before referred to
the fact that women out here wear afternoon and evening dresses in the
morning; I believe I would have noticed the custom had not Adelaide
called my attention to it. When the ship landed this morning, a pretty
woman we admired, dressed in white satin and white kid slippers for
the occasion.... On our way up-town, we passed a store labeled the
Clobbery. The stock seemed to consist of gents’ furnishing goods.
Perhaps an English friend can tell you where the word Clobbery comes
from; I never heard of it before.... After dinner, we walked about
the streets of Auckland. Adelaide wore what is known at home as a
“Peter Thompson suit,” and it attracted so much attention that I asked
her to return to the hotel and change it. There were great crowds
on the streets, and they seemed to think Adelaide was a member of a
lady brass band of which I was director. She took off the “Peter
Thompson,” and put on a gray suit made by a man tailor in Kansas City,
but she still looked funny to the people, for they continued to stare
at her. She wore a Panama hat for which I paid $12 (marked down from
$20), and I thought she looked pretty well, but she was a sight to many
of the people of Auckland.... We heard a brass band, and walked
that way. It turned out to be a Salvation Army band of thirty men. The
players wore red coats, and played like professionals. The men and
women in the procession were much more decent-looking than members of
the Salvation Army at home. There were no guitars, and no tambourines;
the music was furnished by an excellent band of thirty men. It was a
very respectable outfit in every way, and finally disappeared into a
theatre. In Auckland, Sunday theatricals are prohibited, and religious
services are held in every theatre twice on Sunday. In the early
evening, while on the streets, we encountered the big Salvation Army
band again; also, the Mission band. I was told that the Mission was
much like the Salvation Army, except that it was more modest. The
Mission had a good band of twenty-four men, and a little organ, which
two men carried. After a selection by the band, there was singing, with
organ accompaniment. The song was entitled, “Just the Same Jesus,” and
was so simple, and repeated so often, that I was soon able to sing it
with the others. The leader asked for people to give their experiences,
and a good many stepped into the middle of the ring, and talked briefly
and modestly. One old fellow was a particularly good talker, and said
he had been a soldier in the Civil War in the United States, and
traveled all over the world, but had always found Jesus his friend in
time of trouble. As each speaker ceased, the same song was sung, “Just
the Same Jesus,” and I joined with the others in the singing. Presently
the leader came to me, and said:
“You are evidently a religious man, and a stranger. Won’t you make a
few remarks?”
[Illustration: Maunganui River
Pool of Bathers, Whakarewarewa
A Galaxy of Maori Beauty
A Maori Girl
Native House, New Zealand]
I excused myself, and he then asked the band to play.... When we
walked up the street, in front of every theatre we found men announcing
special religious services. In front of the theatres, also, were
choirs singing religious songs as the people went in, precisely as at
a street fair in America, a party of the performers will come out to
the front to assist the ticket-seller in attracting a crowd. The New
Zealanders are evidently a very religious people; I have been hearing
church bells all day. Everything is closed tight except drug stores
and restaurants.... Both bands I have mentioned had only brass
instruments; no clarinets. In each one I noticed that there were cornet
players who could play an octave higher than the score, and thus get
what we used to call “the clarinet tone” when I played in brass bands
in country towns. I have never seen as respectable a Salvation Army
outfit as I saw in Auckland, and the Mission outfit was still better
looking.... As in Australia, January is like July or August in New
Zealand; snow is unknown about Auckland. All the vegetables and fruits
are at their best here now, and the bathing-beaches are crowded....
On the “Sonoma” I heard the steward say that when anything came from
New Zealand, it was always the very best. We have found the butter
particularly excellent, and the mutton is better than the turkey....
An American I met today says that in New Zealand it is no uncommon
thing to see girls of fourteen with complete sets of false teeth; that
something in the water here is very hard on teeth.