Wellington costs twenty-four cents. If a man buys a ticket, and pays in
advance, for $1.50 he can get a shave every morning for a month, and
one hair-cut.... On my way to the barber’s this morning I saw this
sign: “Mrs. Jew, private hotel.” Here is another sign I saw: “Jerusalem
& Son, jewelers and New Zealand green-stone merchants.” While waiting
in the barber shop I saw this advertisement in a newspaper: “Wanted—A
Rabbiter; also a saw doctor. Apply to F. P. Welch, Masterton.”... My
friend who lived for a time in Lancaster, Pa., and who so greatly
admires the “Pennsylvania Dutch,” told of a funny experience this
morning. When he first landed in the United States he went into a
barber shop, to be shaved. The barber asked him if he wanted a shampoo.
The New Zealander, thinking that this was merely a politeness, said he
did. Then the barber asked him if he would have a face massage, and the
New Zealander accepted that offer, as well as several others, all the
while thinking of the politeness of the American barbers. Finally, when
the barber presented his bill for $2.90, there was a row, and the New
Zealander denounced us all as robbers.... This New Zealander, whom I
shall call Mr. A., was very indignant when I told him about the snoring
man on the ship, and has been telling ever since what should be done to
a man who travels about to disturb his fellow-men. “A man who snores,”
said Mr. A., “should remain at home.” Mr. A. is a nervous man himself,
and believes that a snoring man should in some way be prohibited. I
noticed that Dr. Beeson, my friend from Chicago, did not fully accept
Mr. A.’s opinion, and, when we are alone, the Doctor is disposed to
rake Mr. A. over the coals. This has convinced me that the Doctor is
a snoring man, so at nearly every meal I induce Mr. A. to abuse the
man who is so impolite as to go to bed in a room with two others and
snore all night. The Doctor and Mr. A. were at first quite friendly,
but lately they quarrel most of the time. “That man,” the Doctor said
to me today, and referring to Mr. A., “is getting on my nerves.” The
Doctor frequently comes up to my room to smoke a cigar, and sometimes
I send out for a second cigar, that I may enjoy the aroma of the
tobacco, but this is the only weak thing I do, so far as my resolution
to quit tobacco is concerned. I no longer temporize; I do not chew
toothpicks, or gum, or plug tobacco; I have quit off short, and find it
easier. If you are trying to quit tobacco, quit entirely, and do not
aggravate yourself with cardamon seed, cloves, no-tobac, or anything
else.... I am going away tomorrow, but Mr. A. and the Doctor will
remain another week, and after I am gone, and no longer able to keep
them apart, I expect them to have a fight, about snoring.... The
Doctor is going home by way of South America direct, and will round
Cape Horn. He said last evening, while smoking in my room: “Well, I now
have absolutely nothing to do for forty-eight days, except to send one
cablegram at Buenos Aires.” His statement was a very good illustration
of the idleness of travelers. He does not like traveling by sea, but
says it does him good, although he does not observe the good effect
until he has been at home some time. He will be nineteen days at sea,
without sight of land; an experience I will have between Australia
and South Africa.... An Englishman I met here today was laughing
at Americans because they call one horse a “team.” He was also amused
because Americans eat pie in the middle of a meal. That is the way
many of the stories about Americans originate: they are made up. I have
lived in America considerably more than half a century, and never knew
anyone to refer to one horse as a “team,” or eat pie in the middle of
a meal.... There is a young man staying at this hotel who doesn’t
seem to know much. “I don’t believe,” said Mr. A. today, “that he is
a full shilling.” Meaning, “I don’t believe he has good sense.” This
young fellow is a “remittance man;” he has a rich father in England,
and receives a remittance every month—he is kept in New Zealand in the
hope that he will get killed, or drink himself to death.... The
officers of small ships, since the big “Titanic” went down, frequently
ask travelers: “Well, are you satisfied now that a big ship can sink?”
Sailors, like other men, are jealous.... A traveling Englishman is
never satisfied unless he shows his pajamas all over a ship or hotel.
This morning, at 7:20, I left my room to go down on the street for a
walk before breakfast. In the hall I found an Englishman, dressed in
pajamas only, quietly drinking tea from a tray held by a maid.
FRIDAY, JANUARY 31.—At 4:20 this afternoon we left the Grand Hotel,
and went on board the “Maunganui,” advertised to sail for Sydney at 5.
The Chicago doctor went with us, and said he should be very lonesome
after our departure. He says he intends to amuse himself by trimming
up Mr. A., the gentleman who lived awhile at Lancaster, Pa. This
gentleman has very positive notions about everything, particularly
about Americans, and the Doctor says he intends to talk the Chicago
language to him after we go. “I didn’t like to say anything rough while
Miss Adelaide was at the table,” the Doctor said, “but I’ll be mad
anyway, because of your going, and he’ll hear from me.” In addition
to his liberal notions about punishing men who snore, Mr. A. “makes
up” stories about Americans. He says, for example, that when he was in
Chicago, the hotel bell-boy who guided him to his room took hold of
his coat, looked at it critically, and said: “What funny clothes you
Englishmen wear.” The Doctor is certain no such thing ever happened,
at Chicago or elsewhere, and proposes to say so to the hero of the
incident.... The “Maunganui” is a large ship, nearly new, but
instead of two men in my room I found three. The ship has two parlors,
very large and fine, the floors covered with Turkish rugs, but its
staterooms are very small, and most of them are provided with four
beds; and extra beds are made in the dining-room. There are twice as
many passengers on the ship as there should be; there are almost as
many at the second sitting in the dining-saloon as at the first....
Very much to our surprise, Mr. A. came down to see us off, and, on
hearing that I was to occupy a room with three others, said he wouldn’t
stand it; that there was a way of avoiding such disagreeable things,
and that he always found it. The Doctor nudged me, and, when the row
starts, this big talk will probably come up, also. Mr. A. says he has
already spoken to the head waiter at the Grand, and given him notice
that our places at his table must be taken by pleasant people....
Owing to an extra amount of freight, the ship did not get away until 7
o’clock; the Doctor and Mr. A. left at 6, and, the last we saw of them,
they seemed to be getting along amicably.... We finished dinner in
time to go on deck and see the ship leave the harbor. A heavy wind had
been blowing several days, and we expected bad weather outside, but in
this we were disappointed; the sea was as calm as I have ever seen it,
and we walked the decks until ten o’clock. Adelaide is not so lucky
this trip, and has three women in her room.... The piano-playing
began within an hour after dinner, and most of the players were young
men. There are more amateur musicians in this section, probably, than
in any other part of the world.... Two of the passengers, young
Englishmen, are wearing smoking-jackets with their initials embroidered
on the left arm. It is an entirely new idea, and it does not seem
improbable that other Englishmen will adopt it.... Travel between
New Zealand and Australia is enormous. The boats of the Union Steamship
Co. are always crowded. And, in saying your prayers at night, ask for
a special curse on the Union Steamship Co., as well as on the Standard
Oil Co., and the Eastman Kodak Co. It is a monopoly, and does just as
it pleases; and it pleases to put four men in a room nine by ten feet,
which I regard as a greater outrage than that Decoration day, or Arbor
day, or Flag day, are not more generally observed.
SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 1.—I have spent this day in bed, seasick. Early
this morning we ran into a rough sea, and not one passenger in twenty
appeared at breakfast. Fortunately, the three others in my room are
very polite gentlemen, but this did not prevent them from being ill,
and four sick men in a room nine by ten feet, with one small window,
and that closed, is not pleasant. In our room there is not so much as
a chair to sit on, and not as many hooks as one man requires for his
clothing, on retiring; I have no hooks at all in my berth, and, when
I went to bed, was compelled to pile my clothes on the bed, or under
it. There is one washbowl for four men, and, after two have used it,
the water in this runs out. And this on the largest and finest ship
sailing out of New Zealand. And I paid $5 in addition to the usual
tariff, in order that I might have better than the average first-class
passenger. I have never before seen four persons placed in a room on a
steamship; it occasionally happens that the sofa is used for a third
passenger, when a ship is badly crowded, but on the Atlantic this is
rare; passengers won’t stand it. But here, six are often placed in
first-class cabins, and there does not seem to be much protest. The
newspapers are always abusing the railroads, which actually supply very
good accommodations; I wonder they do not have something to say about
the steamships. The two parlors on the “Maunganui” must be 100 feet
long, and as broad as the ship itself; yet they are rarely occupied by
more than a dozen, while four people are forced to occupy a room nine
by ten. The smoking-room is a fine apartment, and the halls are wide
and airy, but the cabins are disgracefully small. If an American is
unwise enough to travel, he should not visit this part of the world,
where the ships are all small, and where there does not seem to be the
slightest protest against four or six in a cabin. The new and fast
ships on the Atlantic travel from New York to Queenstown in almost
the time required to travel from Australia to New Zealand, for the
ships here are slow as well as small. The distances here are great;
in Europe, a trip of seven hours, which includes crossing the English
channel, takes you from London to Paris. A night takes you from Paris
to Switzerland, and another night to Rome. All the big sights there
are comparatively close together; but the time from San Francisco to
Australia is three weeks, and, if you go by boat from Sydney, the time
to South Africa is four weeks. If you have a notion to visit this part
of the world, give it up. The people here are always polite, but it
is a country an American will find himself familiar with. The Maori
wars in New Zealand were like our Indian wars, and the bush-rangers in
Australia were like our Western cattle thieves, gamblers, and gun-men.
There is nothing picturesque here, as there is in Japan, which may be
reached from San Francisco in four days’ less time than is required
to reach Australia. Besides, very large ships sail from San Francisco
to Japan and China, whereas only small ships sail from San Francisco
to Australia or New Zealand.... It is my experience that there
is always something unpleasant about a ship. Every ship has some
peculiarity of motion at sea, and one trip does not accustom you to
another. I waited a week in New Zealand in order to cross in the big
“Maunganui,” but the worst spell of seasickness I ever had was in one
of the “Maunganui’s” rooms. And three other gentlemen, all experienced
travelers, joined me in it, and we grunted, and growled, and swore all
day. I refer to this ship as a big one; its tonnage is 7,800; a boat
twice as large is considered rather small on the Atlantic. And the idea
that the Pacific is smooth and the Atlantic violent, is a fiction. Both
are violent at times, and one is not much worse than the other. This
is the most favorable season, and we have had much bad weather....
My part of stateroom 15, for which I paid a stiff price, is about as
big as a coffin. Next thing, they will put a cot in the space between
the four beds, and sell it to a silly man who thinks there is joy in
traveling, and discovers his mistake after actually trying it. I am
as finicky and fussy as an old maid when it comes to sleeping, but my
indignation over four in a room does me no good; no one else seems to
object to it. I suppose I will next draw a room for six; but I don’t
care—I should as soon have the whole ship’s company in with me as
three.... One is treated better everywhere than at sea. In order to
travel comfortably, a man should be married, and have his wife with
him. Then he could have her in a room with him, and impose on her, as
usual.... A woman traveling incognito, and occupying my bed on this
ship, would not be shocked by the three other men in the room. They are
polite, clean, decent, and considerate. They are Australian commercial
travelers, and this morning one of them told an “American story,”
for my benefit. A man was standing on a street corner in Chicago,
vigorously puffing a big cigar. A good man approached him, and said:
“Do you realize the waste of smoking? How many cigars do you smoke a
day?”
The smoker estimated the number at fifteen, and said he had been
smoking at least twenty years.
“Had you saved that money,” the good man said, “you might have owned
that sky-scraper,” pointing to a big building across the street.
“Do you smoke?” the smoker asked the good man.
“Certainly not,” was the indignant answer.
“Do you own that sky-scraper?”
“No.”
“Well,” replied the smoker, puffing complacently on his cigar, “I do.”
SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 2.—This has been as fine a day as I have ever
experienced on a ship. As a rule, the weather is better far out at
sea than near land. Yesterday the passengers were confined to their
rooms, and everywhere one might hear them trying to get rid of that
last meal, but today they are all on deck. It is a polite and agreeable
company, and the ship is fine, but I still dislike the sea. I don’t
care much for close contact with a lot of people, however polite and
agreeable they may be. It is pleasant enough to be in a crowd for an
hour or two, and note human characteristics, but four or five days
of it is too much.... From the time you start on a trip until you
return, you have the same things to eat. Bills of fare on ships are
exactly alike, and hotels copy the ships. I am offered a great variety
of food on the “Maunganui,” but do not care for it: at dinner today I
ordered a plate of soup, and lamb with mint sauce, although the bill
of fare showed a very great variety. Meals are announced in the usual
way: by a man playing a cornet. The man on the “Maunganui” is unusual
in that he plays a part of a selection at every meal, and poses while
playing.... In this country, the uglier the man, the more sheep he
owns. The ugliest man I have ever seen is on board, and he is said to
be the sheep king of New Zealand. It is no unusual thing for a man in
New Zealand or Australia to own thirty or forty thousand sheep....
This evening, after dinner, I was amused in watching a smart young
fellow in the second-cabin. The second-cabin deck is separated from
ours by a rail containing this notice: “Second-cabin passengers not
allowed forward of this.” The smart young fellow was amusing a number
of companions by walking around the first-cabin deck. His companions
thought he was extremely devilish, and laughed boisterously when he
returned safely. I sat near them, and could hear their conversation.
The bold young man said that if anyone would give him a shilling, he
would go up the stairs to the next deck, and spend it in the first
cabin smoking-room. The shilling was produced, and I saw the young man
disappear up the stairway. Then he offered to speak to the captain for
another shilling, and disappeared for that purpose, but whether he
did it or not, I do not know. The young men were having a tremendous
lot of fun without harming anyone.... Last night there was almost
continuous piano-playing in the big parlor of the ship. A man or
woman was waiting all the time, with music, for a chance at the piano;
it reminded me of passengers waiting around the bathrooms during
the rush hour. Two young girls, sisters, sat in the room the entire
evening. They pretended to be reading, but they were really watching
and talking about people, and their short, quick remarks to each other
probably contained a good deal of ginger.... When you can’t do
anything else to a boy, you can make him wash his face. There is a
man on board with a son seven or eight years old, and certainly every
hour I hear the father say to the son: “Go to your room, sir, and wash
your face. And use a little extra soap on your hands.”... Seasickness
is no disgrace. Governor Crose, of American Samoa, and who is also
captain of the warship “Princeton,” told me that he is often seasick;
and he has been a sailor twenty-five years.... I heard a man making
a long explanation today, and I knew he was not telling the truth; an
explanation is never the truth, on sea or land.... A lonesome old
woman on board attracts the attention of all the passengers. I talked
to her awhile this afternoon, and she made one remark I’ll never forget.
“My children,” she said, “are already reconciled to my death.”
She is traveling alone, is ill, and occupies a room with three young
women who don’t want her in with them, and she is very wretched.
Will your children be reconciled to your death by the time you are
sixty-five or seventy? Probably; maybe earlier.
MONDAY, FEBRUARY 3.—A man on board was born in Warsaw, New York, but
has been in business in Sydney for the past thirty years. He says
the Australian and New Zealand newspapers are habitually unfair with
events in the United States. He often writes to the editors, and
corrects their blunders, but they refuse to print his letters. The
papers frequently print references to American crooks arriving in
Australasia which are palpably unfair and untrue; on one occasion the
American obtained a letter from the police authorities saying that
certain thieves referred to as Americans, were not Americans, but not
a newspaper in Australia would print the American’s indignant denial.
All American news in the Australian and New Zealand papers comes from
London, although it might be easily obtained direct from American
papers. American news coming by way of London is of course unreliable.
He says that the middle-class people here admire Americans, but that
the Imperialists do not, and always misrepresent them. I asked him what
he meant by the term “Imperialist.”
“Well,” he replied, “an Australian or New Zealander will go to London,
and be entertained at dinner by a cheap duke or knight. After that,
he is an Imperialist, and talks of England as ‘back home.’ Admiration
for the rich is often ridiculous, but it is nothing compared with
admiration for a title.”
I asked him how the general prosperity here compared with the average
prosperity in America. He replied that the farmers here are more
prosperous generally than the farmers of New York state.
“But,” I said to him, “the farmers of New York state are not typical
American farmers. Our typical farmers are found in Iowa, Kansas,
Nebraska, Missouri, Wisconsin, Illinois, Oklahoma, and states of that
class.”
“I have heard of the great prosperity of Kansas farmers,” he said;
“our farmers are not as prosperous as the Kansas farmers are said to
be. And our farmers do not live as well as yours. Not on one farm in
fifty here will you find a vegetable garden or fruit tree; I should say
your farmers are much superior to ours in culture, too. Certainly the
educational test is higher in your rural communities than it is with
us. Your working-people, in my judgment, earn better wages than ours.”
Here, as elsewhere, the railroads are considered fair game for every
swindler. This man says that a few months ago there was a railroad
accident in Australia, and three hundred and forty-three claims for
damages were filed. Investigation revealed the fact that there were but
two hundred and fifty-one passengers on the wrecked train.... One
prominent fault here is overcrowding. You notice it on every railroad
train, in every ship, and in every hotel. Crowding is barbarism.
The railroads, although owned by the government, do not run enough
trains. The ship on which this is written is crowded beyond the legal
or safe limit.... Possibly you do not know that the casings of
American “wieners” come from Australian or South-American sheep.
I met a traveling-man the other day who sells nothing but sausage
casings; mainly sheep entrails, and his house has branches nearly
everywhere. The most interesting thing in the world is business, but
it is neglected by magazines and newspapers for scandal or foolish
fiction.... There is a good deal of excitement here now over what
is called “American blight,” which affects fruit. My American friend
who lives in Sydney says he secured undoubted evidence that the
blight existed in Tasmania in 1832, and does not come from America,
but the newspapers will not print his evidence.... I can easily
understand that everything American is unfairly treated by the papers
of Australia. We in America are grossly unfair with everything
English, not because we desire to be, but because we do not know any
better. I grossly exaggerate that which I do not understand, and so
does everyone.... The fine weather continues, and all day the sea
has been as smooth as a pond. I am in good humor today, but I am
still of the opinion that four men in a steamship room nine by ten
is an outrage. You cannot realize its discomfort until you have had
experience.... Late last night, while sitting in the music-room of
the ship “Maunganui,” a steward came in to collect the steamer rugs
scattered about. The steward told me that for several months he has
averaged $35 a week in tips. The ship is always crowded; this trip
there were ninety people at the second sitting in the dining-room. As
a result, the stewards have a double number in the dining-room and a
double number in the staterooms. I doubt if the captain makes more
than the most popular and capable stewards on his ship. A passenger
told me that he frequently sees the stewards of the “Maunganui” riding
in motor cars in Sydney, and drinking champagne with lady friends in
the expensive restaurants. The steward said that when he starts on
a trip, he can look over the passengers in his care and tell almost
exactly what he will get in tips when the ship lands. He showed me
a $5 gold-piece which one man had given him, although the usual tip
is $1.25. Why did that passenger give $5? Largely because he was a
fool, I should say, for ship servants rarely do anything special for
passengers. The steward told me, also, that the tourists are the
best pay; that commercial men demand a good deal of service, and tip
lightly, whereas all tourists tip liberally, whether they receive any
special attention or not. As soon as a tourist goes on a ship, he
begins inquiring concerning the tipping customs, and if he asks the
barber, or an officer, he is advised to be liberal. There is a law
in New Zealand which prohibits ship employees from working more than
eight hours a day.... One of the passengers is a man named Willis,
Speaker of the New South Wales House of Parliament. He is accompanied
by his wife, two young lady daughters, and a son. All of them ate at
the second sitting in the dining-room. I was told by several passengers
that Willis is very unpopular; he certainly received no attention on
board. In Australia there are only two political parties: the Labor
and the Liberal. Willis, it is said, was a Liberal for years, and then
switched to Labor, although he is not a workingman; on the contrary,
he is well off. Many people regard him as a political adventurer, but
they all credit him with unusual cleverness. I predict that some of
these days he will get even with the Union Steamship Co. for putting
him at the second sitting in the dining-room. I heard an American
woman say lately that New Zealand women wear funny shoes and corsets.
The Speaker’s women-folks do; for several days I thought Willis was
a prosperous sheep farmer going to Sydney to spend his money. The
women of Australia lack the good taste in dress that distinguishes the
women of countries less prosperous.... Young children are better
behaved here than in the United States; they “mind” better, and lack
the impudence which distinguishes so many children with us.... The
population of New Zealand does not increase; that country does not
hustle for immigrants, as Australia does. Besides, a good many of the
New Zealand sheep farmers are going to Argentina, in South America, one
of the wonders of modern times, and more favorable for sheep-raising
than this section. Wellington, a fine town, and the capital of New
Zealand, does not grow; when I was there, the old wooden capitol was
being repaired, and will probably be used another forty years. The
population of New Zealand is only a million; but for that matter big
Australia has only five times as many, almost one-half of them being in
the big cities on the coast. The interior of Australia is hot, and its
inhabitants hug the coast.