AS TO THE IMPORTANCE OF THE PASSPORT
AND THE HANDY LITTLE CABLE CODE
Advice to those following along behind. Stock up on heavy flannels and
do not bother about a passport.
Before we became old and hardened travellers we were led to believe
that any American who appeared at a frontier without a passport would
be hurried to a dungeon or else marched in the snow all the way to
Siberia.
When I first visited the eastern hemisphere (I _do_ love to recall the
fact that I have been over here before), our little company of
travellers prepared for European experiences by reading a small
handbook of advice. The topics were arranged alphabetically, and the
specific information set out under each heading was more valuable and
impressive at the beginning of the trip than it was after we had come
home and read it in the cold light of experience. We paid particular
heed to the following:
"PASSPORTS--Every American travelling in Europe should carry a
passport. At many frontiers a passport, properly 'vised,' must be
shown before the traveller will be allowed to enter the country. A
passport is always valuable as an identification when money is to be
drawn on a letter of credit. Very often it will secure for the bearer
admission to palaces, galleries and other show places which are closed
to the general public. It is the most ready answer to any police
inquiry, and will serve as a letter of introduction to all consular
offices."
We read the foregoing and sent for passports before we bought our
steamship tickets.
I have been a notary public; I have graduated from a highschool; I have
taken out accident insurance, and once, in a careless moment, I
purchased one thousand shares of mining stock. In each instance I
received a work of art on parchment--something bold and black and
Gothic, garnished with gold seals and curly-cues. But for splendour of
composition and majesty of design, the passport makes all other
important documents seem pale and pointless. There is an American
eagle at the top, with his trousers turned up, and beneath is a bold
pronouncement to the world in general that the bearer is an American
citizen, entitled to everything that he can afford to buy. No man can
read his own passport without being more or less stuck on himself. I
never had a chance to use the one given to me years ago, but I still
keep it and read it once in a while to bolster up my self-respect.
When we first landed at Liverpool each man had his passport in his
inside coat pocket within easy reach, so that in case of an insult or
an impertinent question he could flash it forth and say: "Stand back!
I am an American citizen!" After a week in London we went to the bank
to draw some more money. The first man handed in his letter of credit
and said: "If necessary, I have a pass----"
Before he could say any more the cashier reached out a little scoop
shovel loaded with sovereigns and said: "Twenty pounds, sir."
We never could find a banker who wanted to look at our passports or who
could be induced to take so much as a glance at them. I said to one
banker: "We have our passports in case you require any identification."
He said: "Rully, it isn't necessary, you know. I am quite sure that
you are from Chicago."
We couldn't determine whether this was sheer courtesy on his part or
whether we were different.
After we were on the continent we hoped that some policeman would come
to the hotel and investigate us, so that we could smile coolly and say:
"Look at that," at the same time handing him the blue envelope. Then
to note his dismay and to have him apologise and back out. But the
police never learned that we were in town.
As for the art galleries and palaces, we had believed the handbook. We
fancied that some day or other one of us would approach the entrance to
a palace and that a gendarme would step out and say: "Pardon, monsieur,
but the palace is closed to all visitors to-day."
"To most visitors, you mean."
"To all, monsieur."
"I think not, do you know who I am?"
"No, monsieur."
"Then don't say a word about anything being closed until you find out.
I am an American. Here is my passport. Fling open the doors!"
At which the gendarme would prostrate himself and the American would
pass in, while a large body of English, French and German tourists
would stand outside and envy him.
Alas, it was a day-dream. Every palace that was closed seemed to be
really closed, and when we did find the gendarme who was to be
humiliated, we discovered that we couldn't speak his language, and,
besides, we felt so humble in his presence that we wouldn't have
ventured to talk to him under any circumstances.
We travelled in England, Ireland, Holland, Belgium, Germany,
Switzerland, Italy, and France, crossing and recrossing frontiers, and
we never encountered a man, woman or child who would consent to look at
our passports.
On the other hand, the cable code is something that no tourist should
be without. Whenever he is feeling blue or downcast he can open the
code book and get a few hearty laughs. Suppose he wishes to send a
message to his brother in Toledo. The code permits him to concentrate
his message into the tabloid form and put a long newsy letter into two
or three words. He opens the blue book and finds that he can send any
of the following tidings to Toledo:
_Adjunctio_--Apartments required are engaged and will be ready for
occupation on Wednesday.
_Amalior_--Bills of lading have not been endorsed.
_Animatio_--Twins, boy and girl, all well.
_Collaria_--Received invitation to dinner and theatre, _Illaqueo_--Have
a fly at the station to meet train arriving at eight o'clock.
_Napina_--Machinery out of order. Delay will be great.
_Remissus_--Can you obtain good security?
And so on, page after page. Theoretically, this vest pocket volume is
a valuable helpmate, but when Mr. Peasley wanted to cable Iowa to have
his Masonic dues paid and let Bill Levison take the river farm for
another year and try to collect the money from Joe Spillers, the code
book did not seem to have the proper equivalents.
We had with us on the boat an American who carried a very elaborate
code book. All the way up from Plymouth to London he was working on a
cablegram to his wife. When he turned it over to the operator, this is
the joyous message that went singing through the water back to New York:
"LIZCAM, New York. Hobgoblin buckwheat explosion manifold cranberry
suspicious.
"JAMES."
He showed us a copy and seemed to be very proud of it.
"That's what you save by having a code," he explained.
"What will Lizcam think when he receives that?"
"He? That's my wife's registered cable address. 'Liz' for Lizzie and
'Cam' for Campbell. Her maiden name was Lizzie Campbell."
"Well, what does that mean about a buckwheat hobgoblin having a
suspicious explosion?"
"Oh, those words are selected arbitrarily to represent full sentences
in the code. When my wife gets that cable she will look up those words
one after the other and elaborate the message so that it will read like
this:
He showed us the following:
"Mrs. Chauncey Cupple, Mount Joy Hotel, New York----Dear Wife: Well,
here we are at London, after a very pleasant voyage, all things
considered. We had only two days of inclement weather and I was not
seasick at any time. We saw a great many porpoises, but no whales.
The third day out I won the pool on the run. Formed the acquaintance
of several pleasant people. (Signed) James."
"It's just as good as a letter," said the man from Buffalo.
"Yes, and I save fifty-eight words," said Cupple. "I wouldn't travel
without a code."
"Why don't you tack on another word and let her know how many knots we
made each day?" asked the Buffalo man, but his sarcasm was wasted.
A week later I met Mr. Cupple and he said that the cablegram had given
his wife nervous prostration.
Mr. Cupple is not a careful penman and the cable operator had read the
last word of the message as "auspicious" instead of "suspicious." A
reference to the code showed that the mistake changed the sense of the
message.
"_Suspicious_--Formed the acquaintance of several pleasant people.
"_Auspicious_--After a futile effort to work the pumps the captain gave
orders to lower the boats. The passengers were in a panic, but the
captain coolly restrained them and gave orders that the women and
children should be sent away first."
The message, as altered in transmission, caused Mrs. Cupple some
uneasiness, and, also, it puzzled her. It was gratifying to know that
her husband had enjoyed the voyage and escaped seasickness, but she did
not like to leave him on the deck of the ship with a lot of women and
children stepping up to take the best places in the boat. Yet she
could not believe that he had been lost, otherwise, how could he have
filed a cablegram at London?
She wanted further particulars, but she could not find in the code any
word meaning "Are you drowned?"
So she sent a forty-word inquiry to London, and when Mr. Cupple counted
the cost of it he cabled back:
"All right. Ignore code."