Part 17

WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 26.—This evening members of the crew gave a concert on deck, for the amusement of the passengers. The concert did not begin until 9 o’clock, as most of the performers are waiters in the dining-room, and they were compelled to “do up” their work before starting.... As is common at amateur concerts, the stage was the best part of it. There were elaborate lighting effects, including footlights, and much nice furniture, and palms, had been loaned for the occasion. As usual, the disturbance was not ten feet from my door; as a matter of fact, I loaned my cabin for a dressing-room. Toward the sea, the space above the rail was covered with flags, and the result was a very elaborate little theatre. Steamerchairs were arranged in rows for the convenience of the passengers, and these chairs are much more comfortable than theatre chairs. As is customary at such events here, there was a chairman: John Adams, the chief engineer, who announced the numbers, although elaborate programmes had been printed, and sold at a shilling each. Mr. Adams sat near the stage, with a table in front of him, and on the table was a pitcher of water and a tumbler. “The first item on the programme,” Mr. Adams announced, “will be a song by W. Mansbridge, entitled ‘Captain Ginjah, O. T.’” An American would have said, “The first number on the programme,” but here they always say “The first item on the programme.”... W. Mansbridge turned out to be the steward who has charge of Adelaide’s room, and we were quite proud of his performance, as he was called back twice. The affair throughout was considerably better than the average amateur concert in a town the size of Atchison. The young man who waits on us in the dining-room appeared as a female impersonator, but was very awkward; in fact, about the worst of the lot. He thought he must “act natural,” and walk about, and all the performers had the same notion. Another of the singers was the assistant barkeeper who had distinguished himself the day before in a cricket match. But he was painfully frightened, when singing before an audience, and could not show off a voice which was really quite good. A dining-room steward named R. Morris was positively clever; if he had a little training, he could make a living as an actor-singer, as he has an excellent voice, and is young and good-looking. J. S. Tait, the purser’s clerk, appeared in a series of crayon sketches which were very good. Another clever performer was W. A. Dalton, who, I believe, is storekeeper.... At the conclusion of the entertainment, Mr. Adams, the chairman, proposed a vote of thanks to Miss Woodburn, a passenger, who had volunteered as accompanist. Thereupon the chairman of the Sports Committee made a speech, and endorsed the motion to adopt a vote of thanks to Miss Woodburn; indeed, he moved a vote of thanks not only to Miss Woodburn, but to the captain, crew, etc. At mention of his name, Captain Warrall, who had come down quietly from the upper deck, slipped out; I don’t think he cares much about mingling with the passengers. Anyhow, he acts bored when with them, and we do not see much of him. But the proposition of the chairman of the Sports Committee was adopted, and, this being accomplished, we sang “God Save the King,” and went to bed, or to the smoking-room, or to walk the decks. “God Save the King” is sung at the conclusion of every entertainment here, including dances; it is the same air as our “My Country, ’Tis of Thee.” But the words are different; the English words begin: “God save our gracious king, long live our noble king. Send him victorious, happy and glorious, long to reign over us. God save the king.” While we stole the tune from the English, they stole it from the Germans; so it is to the Germans that both Americans and English should apologize.... Mr. Riley, of course, attended the concert, and, being drunk, and knowing most of the songs on the programme, sang as loudly as the performers, very much to the disgust of the passengers. A good many have threatened to “speak” to Mr. Riley, and tell him plainly that he is a nuisance, but so far no one has done so, and he is still of the opinion that all of us will greatly miss him when he leaves the ship at Durban.... I have had neuralgia in the face several days, and the ship doctor said to me: “When a man has used tobacco many years, and quits, the effect upon his system is very great. Try smoking two strong cigars.” I had his prescription filled at the bar, and enjoyed an exquisite pleasure; cigars never tasted so good before. I hoped that I had lost my taste for them, but found I hadn’t. The men were very much amused over the doctor’s prescription. Did the cigars do the neuralgia any good? The pain stopped within five minutes after I began smoking, and has not returned since. I smoked only two, and I shall not smoke again except on the advice of a physician.

THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 27.—I find that Mr. May, the fine old gentleman who was attended by so many friends when he embarked at Adelaide, is manufacturer of May’s Complete Harvester, the Australian machine which strips off the heads of wheat. This machine also threshes the wheat, or separates it from the husks, and, within an hour after cutting, the grain is ready to be sent to market. At home we cut wheat with a binder, which drops it in sheaves. These sheaves are then set up in the field to dry, and, in a few days, stacked. After the stack has gone through a sweat, a thresher is sent for, and the grain made ready for market. Some farmers thresh out of the field, within a few weeks after cutting, but old-fashioned farmers prefer stacking. The Australian way seems very much better than our way, and Mr. May says that with his machine, wheat may be harvested at an expense of only 25 cents an acre for labor. The May machine sells for from four to six hundred dollars, cuts from five to eight feet, and is drawn by from four to six horses. The machine has cut as high as thirty acres in a day, with everything running favorably, and has been in practical use in Australia for twelve years. There is waste in any method, but Mr. May says his complete harvester saves as large a per cent of the wheat as the best machine manufactured in America. He told me of a farmer with 400 acres of wheat who harvested it with the assistance of a man and a boy. It is probable that the May machine would not work satisfactorily in our section, although it might prove successful in the dry districts further west. Mr. May admits that his complete harvester is a success only when the wheat is very dry and very ripe. A little dampness would necessitate the use of the older-fashioned binder.... Mr. May says wheat-growing in Australia has been revolutionized by the discovery that the land needed phosphate. This was supplied at a cost of about $2 an acre, and the wheat yield doubled. Virgin land is now fertilized with phosphate, which is drilled in with the wheat. The discovery that the land needed additional phosphate was made by a young scientist in an agricultural college; farmers everywhere should pay more attention to the doings of agricultural colleges, horticultural societies, etc.... Another great machine invented in Australia is the jump plow. Much of the land in Australia is full of either stumps or stones. The jump plow jumps the stumps or stones by means of a clever device, the main feature of which is a hinge attachment. Most of the Australian plows are in gangs of six to twelve, all of them supplied with the jump attachment.... So far as I was able to judge from what Mr. May said, our wheat yield is one-third or one-fourth greater per acre, without fertilizer, than the wheat yield of Australia; but our land costs a third more.... In Australia, when a young woman is called upon regularly by a young man, he is known as a “follower.” In the section of country where I live, he would be called the young woman’s “steady,” or steady company.... Nine-tenths of the passengers on this ship are Australians or New Zealanders, en route to England, and most of them will return home by way of the United States, a route considerably shorter than by way of Cape Town or the Suez Canal. Most of them have interviewed me about routes, and I am now getting even with those American railroads against which I have grudges.... Today we are off the southern coast of Madagascar, but a drizzly rain is falling, and we cannot see a half-mile from the ship. At noon the distance to Durban is about the distance from New York to Chicago, which is made by railroad train in eighteen hours, but we shall not make it under three days and nights, as we steam only 330 miles a day. This is our fifteenth day at sea, without sight of land, and neither of our double engines has stopped once since they were started at Adelaide.... I believe I admire our tall pastor as much as anyone on board. He lets us all alone, and does not ask us if we read the Bible, and say our prayers. To let people alone is the most agreeable thing you can do for them.... When you send a wireless telegram at sea, you are compelled to sign the following agreement: “No company concerned in the forwarding of this telegram shall be liable for any loss, injury, or damage from non-transmission or non-delivery or neglect, in relation to this telegram, or delay, or error, or omission in the transmission thereof, through whatever cause such non-transmission, non-delivery, neglect, delay, error or omission shall have occurred. Having read the above conditions, I request that this telegram may be forwarded according to said conditions, by which I agree to be bound.”... Under that agreement, the wireless operator might tear up every telegram, and senders would have no redress. A wireless contract is as one-sided as the contract you sign when you buy a steamship ticket. When I bought two tickets for Durban from Adelaide, I was compelled to sign a contract which relinquished every right I have in law. If the captain sees fit, he may change his destination from Durban to Capetown or Montevideo, and not go to Durban at all. In case he should conclude to go to London direct, and not stop at any South-African port, I agreed to pay him the price of two tickets between Durban and London. If for any reason he finds it necessary or convenient to put into any other port, to make repairs, I agreed to pay my board while such repairs were being made. If the captain should take a dislike to me, and put me off on the coast of Madagascar, I agreed not to ask damages for the inconvenience when I purchased my tickets. Fortunately, these cutthroat contracts are almost never enforced, but they could be enforced should necessity arise.

FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 28.—This has been the most miserable day I have ever spent at sea. A steady rain began falling at daylight, and continued without intermission until evening. The passengers were driven from the upper deck, and congregated on one side of the main deck, where the children made more noise than ever. The dampness was of the penetrating kind that reached our clothing and our rooms, and we could not be comfortable anywhere.... About five o’clock the rain ceased, and a boy went about beating a gong. This was notice of a meeting of the general Sports Committee in the music-room, to decide whether the fancy dress ball arranged for tonight should be given up on account of the rain. The vote was in favor of going ahead with it. The sailors at once began arranging the dry side of the deck into a ball-room, and the passengers were forced to go to their cabins, or sit in the smoking-room.... The fancy dress ball proved to be more creditable than was anticipated. Those who took part wore their costumes to dinner at 7 o’clock, and the children, nurses and stewards gathered in the main hallway to see them go in. There were about twenty-five costumes in all, nearly all of them made on board. One young woman appeared as “Topsy,” and her feet were bare. Women usually dislike to show their feet, and there was a good deal of surprise expressed because this woman appeared with nothing much on except a dress made of coarse sacking. She not only appeared barefooted in the dining-room, but danced in her bare feet. Afterwards the passengers voted on the best costume, and “Topsy” won the second prize, the first going to an English actor who appeared as Cardinal Wolsey.... Mr. Riley borrowed a greasy suit of working-clothes from a sailor, and, appearing at the dance as a Sundowner, or tramp, it became necessary to take him away.... The gents who appeared in fancy dresses talked about the ball until 1:30 A. M., as amateur actors talk about the performance, and of course this talk centered around the bar. As my room adjoins the bar, I heard the talk and the accompanying rattle of glasses. So my disagreeable day began at 5:30 A. M., and ended at 1:30 the following morning. I shall long remember February 28, 1913.

SATURDAY, MARCH 1.—On the lower deck this morning there was a Pillow Fight, arranged by the Sports Committee. A spar, or smooth pole, was fixed about six feet from the deck. Beneath the spar was arranged a net made of heavy sail-cloth. Two men climbed out on the pole, and fought with pillows, the aim of each man being to knock his opponent off. The participants were not permitted to hold to the pole with their hands, and they fell off very easily. This was the only really amusing thing arranged by the Sports Committee at many meetings announced by the disagreeable beating of a gong. The passengers witnessed the pillow fights from the deck above, and screamed with laughter. The sea was rough, and every player got one or more tumbles into the net.... Soon after the pillow fight, I got even with members of the Sports Committee. They were standing on the weather side of the lower deck, displaying their usual gravity in superintending a foolish game, when a big wave came over the side and soaked them all. This was even funnier than the pillow fight, and the passengers enjoyed it quite as much.... The storm which began with rain yesterday morning, increased in violence as the day wore on, and it was soon necessary to suspend the sports. By noon, the sea was much rougher than it has been at any time since we left Adelaide on the 12th of last month. The passengers dreaded to go to their rooms, as all portholes were closed; so the stewards found it necessary to distribute the little tin affairs which add to the discomfort of a sea voyage.... Throughout the day I did not feel the slightest discomfort because of the terrific motion, and for the first time witnessed a storm at sea from the deck of a ship. On a quiet day the sea is very uninteresting, but on a rough day it is wonderful; the waves seem to fight each other and the ship. Ten or twelve of the passengers had gone to the upper deck to finish some foolish deck game, when a wave swept over them. The ship reeled from the blow, and we saw the water pouring in torrents from the roof of the deck where we sat. Then down the stairway came not only a flood of water, but the soaked passengers who had been playing the foolish game. They were as wet as though they had been in swimming without removing their clothing. The same wave poured water into the skylight over the dining-room, and flooded everything. After that, passengers were not permitted on the storm side of either deck.... Late in the afternoon I went to my room to take a nap. In order to get about the ship, it was necessary to catch a quiet moment, and then take a run. I soon went to sleep after reaching my room, but was awakened by a tremendous rattle and bang in the bar, next door. A big roll had sent most of the glassware crashing to the floor, and Mr. Riley will be compelled to drink out of bottles. It was a great comfort to me to get even with the barroom.... The stewards say the approach to the coast of South Africa is always rough. The passengers are saying that the storm will be very much worse during the night; that a sailor told them so, but the chief engineer told me that a wireless message announces that the weather at Durban is calm, and that we shall certainly run out of the storm during the night.... At dinner, not half the passengers were in their places, but Adelaide and I occupied our usual seats at table, although we had a difficult time getting down the two stairways to the dining-room. The dishes were fenced up, so that they could not roll off the tables, and the portholes were under water at every roll of the ship. The sick man who has been seen on deck nearly every day of the voyage, surprised us all by appearing at dinner for the first time, although he was almost literally carried down the stairways, and across the dining-room floor. The diners at the two centre tables were forced to go to other tables, owing to a crash in the skylight above, and a downpour of water. But in spite of all this confusion, Mr. Connell, a very calm and well-informed man who sits at my table, interested me by telling of something he had read during the day. At the battle of Waterloo, in 1812, less than 170,000 men were engaged. The battle lasted twelve hours, yet the casualties amounted to 61,000. The battle of Lule-Burgas, fought between the Bulgarians and Turks in 1912, lasted five days, and, although 300,000 men took part with modern implements of war, the casualties amounted to only 35,000. We moderns have more effective weapons than the ancients, but seem afraid to use them. The modern man has more sense than bravery. The old savage man had a fool notion that it was bravery to fight for a ruler, but modern man has discovered that bravery is to fight for himself, and meet his ordinary difficulties with patience and fairness. The prizefighter is brave in that he is able to stand a great deal of punishment, but in private life he is not very nice, and often keeps a saloon and whips his wife.... At dinner, Mr. Connell also told me that in Australia, where the women have full suffrage, the wives of the workingmen often vote against their husbands. In a certain election of 1911, the Labor party demanded the adoption of a measure that would result in many strikes and much disturbance. It was believed that the measure would carry by a large majority, but the wives of the labor men generally voted for peace, and the measure demanded by their husbands was defeated by two to one.

[Illustration: A Caravan at rest

A Native Sledge

Cultivating Land, Egypt

Mohammedan Procession

Natives and Hut]