leaving the ship. At 8 o’clock this morning I had another sight of
Sydney’s famous harbor, and at 9 we landed and went to the Australia
Hotel, where we saw another fine sight: several Americans. We found Mr.
and Mrs. Harry Clay Blaney, the New York theatrical people, there, and
several others we knew on the “Sonoma.” The Blaneys leave next Saturday
for the Philippine Islands and China, by a ship of twenty-seven hundred
tons; it is so small that it cannot accommodate more than two dozen
first-class passengers. Nothing could induce me to take that trip; the
ship is too small. I leave on the 12th for Durban, in South Africa, on
the “Anchises,” a ship of 12,000 tons, and have been grumbling because
it is not larger.... Another American I met there is W. B. Knight,
born in New York state, and reared in the Standard Oil Co. family
at Cleveland, Ohio. He is now connected with the Texas company, but
received all his training with the Standard. There is a great deal of
romance connected with Mr. Knight’s business career. He has lived in
Persia, India, China, Japan, Australia, the Straits Settlements, and
half a dozen other strange places. His wife is the daughter of another
wandering oil man, and they were married at Canton, China, at the
American Legation, by a preacher from Pennsylvania. His wife is with
him here, and they are both anxious to get home: both declare that this
is their last trip—that they are tired of hotel, ship and railroad
life. Mr. Knight said to me: “I am now an opponent of the Standard Oil
Co., but have no hesitancy in saying that the manner in which that
company is persecuted by the government is a disgrace. I have been
intimate with Standard affairs a quarter of a century, and have never
known the company to be guilty of a disreputable or dishonest act. The
company with which I have been connected a year, the Texas company, is
composed almost entirely of men trained by the Standard, and we are
trying to do what the Standard has done. We are the opposition, but our
business methods are no better than those of the Standard.”
WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 5.—I am almost persuaded that Sydney is one of
the handsomest cities I have ever visited. One of its numerous bays
extends so far in the interior that it is called a river. We traveled
up it today by boat for an hour and a half, and all the way saw
handsome homes, and attractive coves. Returning, we came by electric
car most of the way, and saw another interesting part of the city.
While waiting for a car, we went into a little place for a drink. We
ordered what seemed to be ginger ale, and it was cold; it is warmer in
Australia than in New Zealand, and the people have learned the value
of ice. “In America, you would call it pop,” the woman said. There is
no doubt here as to our identity.... The weather today has been
as hot as we ever get it on the Fourth of July. And this the 5th of
February.... In the United States there is a great rivalry as to
the best five-cent cigar. Here the manufacturers of six-cent cigars
make equally extravagant claims.... There is nothing serious the
matter with this country except that managers of steamships put four
in a room 9×10 feet. The officers of the ships do not sleep in any
such higgledy-piggledy fashion; they insist upon large single rooms
for themselves, but force four passengers into a room not big enough
for one. During the Spanish-American war, you may remember that the
American officers, including Theodore Roosevelt, rebelled against
certain regulations of their superiors. This rebellion they called a
round robin. This country needs a similar rebellion against four in the
same steamship room.... There are so many ferries in Sydney harbor
carrying people to different suburbs along the bays that occasionally
incoming steamships are held up during rush hours, in order that the
ferry traffic may not be interfered with. This usually happens between
7:30 and 8 in the morning.... Wherever English print is in use, you
will see the name of Theodore Roosevelt. He knows more of the art of
securing free advertising than any other living man. In a morning paper
I find a Melbourne dispatch saying the Minister for Home Affairs has
received a letter from Mr. Roosevelt. A part of the letter is quoted,
as follows:
“There is nothing that would give me more pleasure than to visit
Australia. I cannot imagine any American seriously interested in the
affairs of his country and of the world who would not feel himself
fortunate to visit your great commonwealth. You have been pioneers
along many paths of social and industrial reform. I have personally
a very great admiration for the Australian people. One of my prized
hunting companions in Africa was an Australian,” etc., etc.
In the same newspaper I find the following from New Zealand:
“The High Commissioner for New Zealand said he was proud that the
Dominion had led the way in presenting a battleship to the British
Empire. Mr. James Allen, Minister for Defense, said New Zealand would
not be satisfied until she gave both men and ships.”
What may be said of New Zealand may be said of Australia. Is it
pioneering in social or industrial reform for a peaceful country to
build battleships, and present them to a quarrelsome king thousands
of miles away?... This afternoon I went to a theatre, and saw moving
pictures of the Panama canal. The pictures have packed the house for
weeks; they are doing much to increase respect here for American
energy and ability. The comments I heard around me were extremely
gratifying. Never in the history of the world has a great work been
carried on as energetically, as economically or as intelligently as
at Panama. These pictures prove the smartness of the Yankee, and
the actual accomplishment at Panama is as great as the big talk
about the smart Yankee has ever been.... In this city of Sydney
there is a big department store operated by the Anthony Hordern Co.
Anthony Hordern was a plodder who built up a great business, and died
from overwork at sixty-four. The business is now managed by heads
of departments trained by Anthony Hordern, but his two sons own it.
A floor-walker told me today that the store employs four thousand
people, and has fifteen acres of floor space. I do not know just how
much an Australian’s statements should be discounted; the average at
home is about one-third. The store has a special sale on now, which is
attracting great crowds, as special sales seem to everywhere. Wherever
I go here, floor-walkers step up and ask if I have been waited on,
whereupon I reply that I am simply a visitor looking about, etc. In
most cases the floor-walker will show me around; at Anthony Hordern’s
today, he mentioned Marshall Field’s place in Chicago, and at once
labeled me as an American. The Anthony Hordern store is very large,
but not half as big as the Marshall Field store. And it isn’t half as
fine. The Hordern store looks old-fashioned; the ceilings are low,
and the place isn’t very neat—I don’t know exactly what the trouble
is, but I was compelled to tell the floor-walker, a very polite man,
that it wasn’t in the Marshall Field class.... At sea, I become
angry, and half the time won’t take my bath, or shave, or dress for
dinner, but when I am on land, I am good-natured, and thoroughly enjoy
going about. It is a joy for me to poke around a strange town. On our
return to Sydney we employed the same boy who showed us about on our
first visit; we liked the little man, although we could not understand
half he said. At the Anthony Hordern store today, we wanted to go up
to the art department, but the elevator man could not understand my
pronunciation of the word Art. The boy had heard the floor-walker
recommend that we visit the Art department, so he pronounced the word
Art, and the elevator man understood him.... The floor-walker wanted
to introduce me to young Anthony Hordern, but I asked to be excused. No
doubt the son was like a sailor on the “Sonoma:” Captain Trask said he
wasn’t worth much except to play the part of “Neptune” when the ship
crossed the line.... I am good-natured now, and intend to dress for
dinner tonight, and drink coffee in the Winter Garden afterwards, but
as soon as I go on board the “Anchises” at Adelaide, I expect to be
mad again. The sea knocks me, and I can’t help it. And it will knock
you, if you fool with it, and have lived in a prairie country a good
deal.... Adelaide has been much interested in the fact that there is
a smart city in Australia named Adelaide; it is at this town we take
ship for South Africa. She has also been interested in Cape Howe, and
Lord Howe Island; but I called her attention to a historical fact today
which had previously escaped her. It seems that in the early days, one
of the famous bush-rangers was Michael Howe, a convict who had been
a sailor. He was sent here to serve seven years for robbery, but he
escaped, and joined a band of bush-rangers. He soon became their chief,
and ruled like a tyrant. He was also very haughty, calling himself
“the governor of the range.” The governor of the colony he called
“the governor of the town.” A price was placed on the head of Michael
Howe, and one day a sailor named Worral, also a convict, brought it
in. Worral received the promised reward, and was sent back to England
a free man. No convicts have been sent to Australia from England since
1868.... You may think I grumble about ships a good deal. You mainly
hear grumbling on shipboard. Whoever tells the truth will confess that
he didn’t have a very good time at sea. When I went on the trip to the
West Indies, I did so well that I fancied I was becoming a sad sea-dog.
This experience induced me to undertake the present journey; but I know
now that my sea-legs are wobbly. I can get along well enough on land
anywhere, but I do not understand the ways of ocean-going crews, or of
those strange persons who pretend to like ship voyages.
THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 6.—This morning we went with the Blaneys to inspect
the “Prince Waldemar,” the little ship on which they will sail next
Saturday for the Philippine Islands and China. Except that it is small,
we were delighted with it. The servants are Japanese, and the sailors
of a brown race with which we are not familiar. The Blaneys have a
stateroom with two windows; it is so large that the chief steward of
the “Maunganui” would have crowded at least six into it. Never travel
on a popular ship, or fall in love with a beautiful woman who has many
admirers. The servants of the “Prince Waldemar” were as grateful for
a little attention as an old maid. The boat is said to have excellent
management, but it is only half as big as the “Sonoma,” and the
“Sonoma” is a pony. The “Prince Waldemar” is a 2,700-ton boat; the
“Anchises,” on which we sail for South Africa, is 12,000 tons. Any ship
under 17,000 tons is a crime. There are no real ships in Australian
waters; if a real ship should visit Sydney, people would come from New
Zealand, and travel four and six in a room, to look at it. A ship of
12,000 tons is referred to as a “Leviathan of the Deep” in the papers
here. The “Baltic,” on which I crossed the Atlantic not very long ago,
is a 38,000-ton ship; and, when the weather is rough, it is none too
large. The Hamburg-American company is building a ship almost twice
as large as the “Baltic.”... Near the “Prince Waldemar” lay
the “Ventura,” sister ship of the “Sonoma,” and which sails for San
Francisco next Saturday. We went on board, and it was like a visit
home, as it is exactly like the “Sonoma” in every detail. We showed
our “Sonoma” pictures, and soon had members of the crew interested.
Among other pictures, we had one of the “Ventura,” taken at sea when
we passed it on Christmas day. The American flag was displayed at the
ship’s peak, and it looked as good to us as it probably looks to an old
soldier on Decoration Day.... We meet traveling acquaintances every
day. This morning we met Mr. Adams, the life insurance man, whose wife
was so ill on the “Sonoma,” and who was so devoted to her that the men
were proud of him. “I am staying at the Wentworth,” he said; “it is
twice as good as the Australia.” The Australia Hotel is the best in
Australasia (which includes New Zealand), and of course many hotels
are said to be superior to it. Mr. Adams is meeting his wife’s kin for
the first time, but I neglected to ask him if he suited.... We also
met the Sandersons. We greatly admired Mrs. Sanderson, in spite of the
fact that she is English. She was coming over to meet her husband’s
people for the first time, and we predicted she would be satisfactory;
but she was fearful—people are so particular in cases of that kind.
Mr. Sanderson, however, told me that his folks dearly love his wife.
Mr. Sanderson is the man who operates apple orchards in Oregon, and
they leave for home on Saturday, on the “Ventura.”... At 7:40 in
the evening we resumed The Traveler’s Trot, and departed by train for
Melbourne, 585 miles. The railroad is standard gauge, and the sleeper
very good. As usual, we found the train crowded. Melbourne is almost
as large as Sydney, yet there is but one railroad between the two
cities, and this runs but one train a day: a train in three sections,
leaving at 7:40, 8 and 9:30 P. M. Between Kansas City and Chicago
there are at least five direct lines, and each line runs numerous
through trains daily: morning, noon, and night. The government lines
do not pay as high wages as our privately owned lines. The train on
which I traveled between Sydney and Melbourne is the best in Australia;
it may be compared with the Pennsylvania Limited between Chicago and
New York. The conductor, or guard, received $3 a day. The engineer
received $3.75 a day, and the fireman $1.75. Engineers on freight
trains here receive as low as $3 a day. The wages of similar employees
in the United States are certainly double.... The train made good
time, and I slept better than I usually sleep in a sleeping-car. The
sleeper was not gaudy and heavy like a Pullman, but it did very well.
The only attendant was a white man, who made up the beds as well as
took the tickets. The sleeping-car fare from 8 P. M. to 7 A. M. (when
we changed to cars of another gauge), was $2.50. The charge for a
similar service in the United States is universally $2. The train fare
was about two and a half cents a mile; in Kansas, the universal charge
for first-class passengers is two cents a mile. The time was rather
fast, but as the cars were light, the train was noisy and unsteady.
The people in Australia are more accustomed to Americans than are
New Zealanders, and we do not attract so much attention, but they
immediately spot us as Americans. I have never in my life, anywhere,
met as many polite people as I have met here and in New Zealand; I
believe I have said this before, but I wish to repeat and emphasize
the statement.... I think I detect a slight difference between New
Zealand and Australia: the last named is more prosperous, and does
everything a little better. Australians have a little of the swagger
and strut you detect in Chicago people, whereas New Zealanders are as
modest as people living in St. Louis, or any other less prosperous and
enterprising city.
FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 7.—In the wash-room of the sleeping-car, early this
morning, I met an American, a Boston man, who has been a gentleman
farmer in Australia for twelve years. He told me he owned 52,000 acres
of land, and that whereas he came here with nothing twelve years ago,
he would not take a million and a half dollars for what he owns now.
He originally visited the country on business, thought he detected
great possibilities, and came here to live. He didn’t know corn from
barley when he began, but applied business rules to farming, and has
succeeded. I expressed surprise as to his large land-holding, whereupon
he told me that in the interior there are sheep farms five hundred
miles square, or as big as the state of Kansas. This land is leased
from the government at a penny an acre. Artesian wells three thousand
feet deep are being bored, and these wells are greatly improving the
arid districts. There are plenty of stock farms in Australia 150 to 200
miles square.... The Boston man pays a good deal of attention to
dairying, although he is interested in all branches of farming: fruit,
vegetables, grain, stock, etc., and employs 280 men. Farm wages are
lower here, judging from what he told me, than in the United States. He
has no renters on his land; he calls that “the lazy, shiftless way.”
He says the people here do not know the meaning of hard work; that
they work only five days a week, and have very short hours, whereas he
has always worked long hours every day; and it agrees with him, for he
is stout, and looks exactly like a prosperous business man. He owns
thousands of sheep and cattle; and if I did not make an error in my
notes, he told me he made $175,000 from his land last year. I remember
the statement particularly because he had just been telling me about
an income tax lately imposed, and which hit him hard. One tract of his
land, 2,500 acres, cost him $150,000, counting an irrigation plant
which he built; but lately he refused $225,000 for it. He predicts
that as soon as Americans find out the opportunities for making money
here, they will come in flocks. He told me of one piece of land that
is worth $400 an acre, and which has been producing corn at the rate
of 100 bushels per acre for sixty-five years, without manuring. This
is choice land in a choice district, and perhaps the statement is
exaggerated, as we exaggerate when we talk of forty bushels of wheat
per acre, or seventy of corn. The country through which we were passing
looked very dry, but the American said it was good land; the famous
chocolate land of Australia, so named because the soil has a reddish
cast. “We have been having a drouth for two months,” he said, “and
the dry weather is good for the land.” He talked a good deal about
“sour” and “sweet” soil. I said the expressions were new to me, and my
companion laughingly replied that he was forgetting all he ever knew
about America; he made me think of an Englishman who had traveled a
good deal in America, and had the rough edges worn off. At several of
the stations through which we passed we saw a great deal of wheat piled
on the ground, in three-bushel sacks. We also saw numerous twelve-ox
teams along the country roads, hauling sacked wheat to market. Wheat
is harvested here in a fashion which seems better than our way. A
machine slightly larger than our harvester is used. This machine pulls
the heads off the wheat, and threshes them; the grain is then put into
sacks, and dumped on the ground, as our harvesters dump the twine-bound
sheaves. A number of Australian gentlemen farmers had joined the
conversation by this time, and they all assured me that such a thing
as a thresher is almost unknown here. Asked where the machine came
from that harvested and threshed the wheat in one operation, they said
they were supplied by the International Harvester Co., of America;
also, by an English company. I was compelled to confess I had never
seen such a machine, or heard of one. Along the road I saw numerous
wheat-fields which had evidently been treated in the manner indicated;
the grain heads had been frayed off, and the stalks left standing, for
sheep pasturage. The gentlemen farmers told me of one man who had tried
a new experiment in wheat-raising. He cleared his land, but did not
break, or plow it, as we say; instead, he drilled in his wheat on the
unbroken land, and followed the drill with some sort of farm implement
which slightly covered the seed; possibly it was a harrow—I did not
quite understand the term used. The season was exceptionally favorable,
and the wheat made an average of thirteen bushels per acre. The land
on which the experiment was tried was worth about $25 an acre. The
rainfall here varies from six to sixty inches, but the heavy rainfall
usually comes in torrents, when it is not needed. In the center of the
country, at points farthest from the coast, there is almost no rain
at all. We were passing through what is possibly the best section of
Australia, and it looked very dry to me; I saw almost no rivers or
creeks. It reminded me of India, or Colorado, or California, but my
traveling acquaintances said: “Ah, yes; it looks dry now, after two
months of drouth, but when the rain comes it will look as green as your
country.” I said: “It is evident that you run fewer sheep per acre here
than in New Zealand.” They admitted it, but said the volcanic soil
of New Zealand was much inferior to the chocolate soil of Australia;
New Zealand has more rain than Australia, but not as good a soil, a
fact I had myself noticed.... Wheat piled on the ground in sacks,
seemed very shiftless to me. I saw no grain elevators, such as we
have, and when the wheat is shipped, it is loaded in open box cars; no
protection from the weather. But in spite of many evidences of a dry
country, you see many evidences of prosperity here, too. Australia is
almost as big as the United States, but has only five million people;
it doesn’t need to feed a dozen sheep per acre. I also heard much of
irrigation projects, and the country seems to be booming.... At 8
A. M. we changed to another train; to a railroad with a gauge of five
feet three inches. The standard gauge of the world is four feet eight
and a half inches; the usual narrow-gauge is three feet six inches. The
train on the broad-gauge—5 feet 3 inches—had a diner, but we could not
get in, so we ate breakfast at a railway restaurant. The broad-gauge
train also had a parlor car, in which we had reserved seats, and were
very comfortable. We stopped every two or three hours, to permit the
passengers to drink tea. The train was a fine one, but it could not be
compared with our best trains, and was badly crowded, as is the usual
custom over here in all public places. At ten minutes after one in the
afternoon, we reached Melbourne.