Part 10

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.

TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 4.—The greatest pleasure of this day consisted of 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: