Part 11

“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.