Part 3

TUESDAY, JANUARY 7.—This morning we employed a messenger boy to show us around Sydney. The boy is fourteen years old, and was educated in English schools. He talks no other language than English, but we could not understand half he said: there is this marked difference in American and English pronunciation. Sydney is an English city, and its signs are in English, but we do not understand many of them. Australia is not only an English colony, but the people of its larger towns have a dialect of their own. Sydney is a fine city, but looks more like Manchester or Liverpool than it looks like London. There are no sky-scrapers here, in the American sense; one of the Sydney newspapers wanted to build a sky-scraper, and occupy it as an office, but Parliament would not permit it. Everywhere you see American goods, and signs calling attention to them, and Bud Atkinson’s American Wild West is giving exhibitions daily in one of the parks. It seemed queer to me that an exhibition of this character should be granted permission to exhibit in one of the parks; imagine an Australian Wild West in Central Park in New York. And I do not recall Bud Atkinson as a noted American in the Wild West line. This show came over a month ago, in the ship ahead of ours. I should say a jump of three weeks is a tolerably big one. This is the summer season here, and the show will return to the United States in April.... In the fruit stores in Sydney you see strawberries, cantaloupes, peaches, green corn, tomatoes, etc. At home you hear a good deal about low prices in Australia. I only know I paid fifty cents each for cantaloupes, which are known as Rock Melons here, but they are particularly large and fine. Strawberries were fifty cents a quart, but they were extra good. I am told that the people here do not care much for Rock Melons. The melons we bought we carried to a restaurant, and the woman who served them had never tasted melons, and thought we had queer taste.... A thing that attracted our attention in Sydney was an unusually large number of young women. At one of the bathing-beaches I saw a party of twelve, and nine of them were young women. We entered Sydney harbor early Monday morning, and the bathing-beaches were already crowded; there seems to be more merrymaking here than in American cities. On Monday and Tuesday the parks were crowded, as were the bathing-beaches. And the parks here are wonderfully fine, and the zoölogical garden I visited was the best I have ever seen. The impudent English sparrows may be seen here in great numbers, and in the parks they enter the cages of rare birds and rob them of their feed.... Adelaide is very polite, but she says the people here look funny to her; that it is a constant source of amusement to her to walk the streets and see the people. She says the women wear afternoon dresses in the morning, on the street. Along the docks this morning, we came upon a big crowd witnessing the departure of a ship. Half the women wore fancy white dresses, and big picture hats.... The residences here do not seem to be numbered, but each has a name; a flat with four occupants will have four names, and a double house will have two. Out in the suburbs, little houses of two and three rooms will have tremendously big names. And we passed through miles of suburbs where every house seemed to be new: there is no doubt that Sydney is growing rapidly.... An attraction here at one of the theatres is “Faust,” of which America tired years ago. “Marguerite” is exploited after the fashion of “Little Eva” in an “Uncle Tom” show, and somehow it looks ridiculous. “Faust” is a ridiculous play, so far as that goes, and the story of “Marguerite” foolish. One of the bills now being shown in Sydney represents “Marguerite” being transported alive into heaven, by angels, in spite of the devil, who is flying along with the angels, and snorting fire.... We hear in the United States that there are no labor troubles in Australia; that everything is settled by arbitration. But I see much more about labor troubles in the Sydney papers than I ever see in the papers of America. One of the unions now making trouble is that of the Rabbit Trappers. You may think I made that up, but I didn’t: there is really such a union here, and it is just now prominent because of some sort of controversy. Many years ago rabbits were imported to Australia, to afford sport for the people. Conditions are so favorable for rabbits here that they soon became a great pest. Farmers are now compelled to fence against rabbits, and millions of the animals are caught, frozen, and sent to the London market.... At least one of the leading newspapers here, _The Morning Telegraph_, denounces unionism, saying it was originally in the interest of workingmen, but lately it has become political despotism, and union labor leaders political adventurers. “Capital,” said _The Telegraph_, in an editorial this morning, “will leave Australia, and go where labor is not a political despot.” I do not know of a leading paper in the United States that would care to print a similar editorial. Plenty of such editorials are printed in the United States, but in trade papers, and not in leading daily newspapers.

WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 8.—We sailed at noon today for Auckland, New Zealand, on the ship “Maheno.” It is about the size of the “Sonoma;” six thousand tons.... We are accomplishing so much by law now that I suggest the adoption of a law providing that no ship of less than twelve thousand tons be permitted to carry passengers; a six-thousand-ton ship is too small. Adelaide drew seat No. 13 at the table, but I did worse than that: I drew two men in my room. I resent two men in my room as I do going to jail, but resentment did me no good; the ship is crowded, and I was compelled to stand it. But what do you think happened to Adelaide, who occupies seat No. 13 at the table? She has a room to herself.... One of the men in my room is a New-Yorker named Bond, an importer who has a branch house in Sydney. The man with him is one of his traveling salesmen. Mr. Bond is an old traveler, and has made this trip many times. He hates the “Maheno,” and predicts a disagreeable experience. He says the “Maheno” can kick up a rough sea when the weather is fine, and that there is nothing commendable about the boat except that it usually gets across in a little less than four days.... You can never know what it means to be crowded until you have been one of three in a steamship stateroom. It was a disagreeable experience, getting to bed, which we attempted at 8:30, as the weather was rough. After I was in bed with my two roommates, I began thinking: “Suppose one of them should snore!” I am a bad sleeper at best, and the thought of a snoring man in my room all night set my nerves on edge.... The opportunity was too good to be neglected. Mr. Bond and his friend talked business awhile, another thing I am not accustomed to in my sleeping-room, and then Mr. Bond began snoring. For years, people around me have paid attention to my nerves, because I am a bad sleeper, and I resented this snoring as a spoilt child does when whipped by a neighbor. I stood it until midnight, and then I crawled out of bed, found a bath-robe and slippers, and spent the night on a sofa in the music-room.

THURSDAY, JANUARY 9.—A ship is no place for an early riser. A ship bed becomes unbearable to me by 5 A. M., and half an hour later I am on deck. I can’t sit in the music-room or smoking-room, because the stewards are cleaning up, and when I walk the decks I am in the way of sailors who are washing them with hose. In addition, the early riser never has his shoes shined, and gets no early breakfast in bed. On a ship, the servants will not respect you if you do anything for yourself.... The second passenger to appear on deck was a woman; possibly she had a snorer in her room, too. Much to my surprise, the woman calmly proceeded, after seating herself in a deck chair, to put on her stockings. They say women always sit on the floor when they put on their stockings, but this woman didn’t.... Bare legs are quite common here. The fourteen-year-old messenger boy who showed us about in Sydney wore stockings only a few inches long, and above them his legs were bare to his knees. This is the rule with boys and girls, and their legs are sunburned and cracked, and often covered with pimples.... So far as I know, all the passengers on the “Maheno” are Australians or New Zealanders, except ourselves and Mr. Bond, and we expect him to quit speaking to us because I do not enjoy his snoring. At home I have always had members of my family bluffed because of my nervousness, but here everyone seems to think it perfectly absurd that snoring should disturb me.... I hear the passengers talking about “the bush.” In our country we call it the “short-grass country;” both mean the frontier. I have always been interested in Australia because Abel Magwitch made his money there. Charles Dickens created this man out of his fancy, but no character was ever more real to me. There is something about the old fellow that appeals to me as Falstaff or Macbeth never did, and to my mind “Great Expectations” is the greatest book ever written. Abel Magwitch made his money in Australia in sheep, and at the Sydney hotels you see sheep farmers from “the bush” who are timidly spending their money. Australia is an ideal sheep country, and fortunes are easily made, until there is a drouth. Then there is neither water nor grass for the animals, and they die off in great numbers. The last drouth occurred seven years ago, and thousands of sheep sold at a shilling a head. Many of those who bought sheep at that price, lost them all, and became bankrupt. But sheep are prolific, and in two or three years after the drouth they seemed to be as numerous as ever. It is said the Australians make money easily, and are much like Americans. The New Zealanders are much like the Australians, although the distance from Sydney to Auckland is thirteen hundred miles.... Abel Magwitch was sent to Australia as a convict from England, as Australia was formerly a penal colony, but that was many years ago; Australia is now one of the most prosperous countries in the world, and it has been of great use to mankind because it has tried so many experiments in trying to make the common lot easier. Many of the advanced political notions in the United States came from Australia and New Zealand. The per-capita wealth is higher in those countries than in any other; there is more wealth in other countries, but it is not so evenly distributed among the people as in Australia and New Zealand. The government owns most of the public utilities, and no one can help remarking the fine system of street-railway in Sydney. For short distances the fare is two cents, and the fare increases after passing certain limits. I am told that in some lines of business there is a holiday at Christmas here, lasting two weeks. There is no severely cold weather, and the people are not compelled to spend a great deal for fuel. Wages are not as high as with us, but living is cheaper. I had heard so much of the low cost of beef in Australia that I inquired the price at several markets. The best cuts sold at twenty cents per pound: altogether, meat is cheaper than in the United States, but the difference is not so great as I expected it to be.... Everything indicates that the Australians are good people, and hospitable, enterprising, and intelligent; I have only admiration for them, until they begin to talk. Then their pronunciation is a reproach to me. I have always called it Austraylia; they call it Austrylia. “Well, old chap,” I heard a man say to a friend in Sydney, on parting, “tyke care of yourself!”... There is a woman on this ship with three little children. To look at her, she seems like any other worthy woman: devoted, unselfish, kind, polite, and always busy. But when you hear her talk, it is different from anything you ever heard. There are two little girls on board, and they are very kind to the mother with three children. It is very nice to see them caring for the baby, and running errands for the tired mother, but as soon as they begin to talk they do not seem so much like little girls you have known. “I was a bit groggy meself yesterday,” I heard one of them say to the mother. She meant that she was seasick.... The English themselves do not agree on pronunciations; Cambridge University authorizes one pronunciation of many words, and Oxford another. I can understand how dialects originate with people speaking the same language, and who do not associate much with each other except locally, but the English and American see enough of each other to get together in pronunciation.

[Illustration: Captain Feeding his Pet

Transferring Passengers in a Basket at Sea

The Landing Stage, Beira

The Dock at Pago Pago

Christmas at Sea]

FRIDAY, JANUARY 10.—Last night I laid my case before the chief steward, and he said he would fix me up; that he would take me out of 27, where Mr. Bond devotes the nights to snoring, and put me in No. 7, with Mr. Martin. I went to bed in No. 7, complimenting the chief steward for his disposition to please the passengers, but in ten minutes Mr. Martin began snoring, and I spent the night trying to decide if his snore was not rather more rasping than that of Mr. Bond. At a late hour I dressed and retreated again to a sofa in the music-room. But I have not lost my temper; I am rather disposed, on the contrary, to laugh at myself for spending a large amount of money in an attempt to have a “good time.”... The sea has been smooth today and we are all much more comfortable, although I do not believe anyone is getting his money’s worth. About the only excitement on board is the fact that a flock of albatross are following us. I have always understood that albatross are rather scarce at sea, but certainly twenty are in sight as I write this. They often fly within twenty feet of the ship, and we have opportunity to examine them carefully. They follow the ship for hours without moving a wing; they seem to fly by taking advantage of the wind.... We saw several whales today, and the captain, at whose table we sit, says he once ran into one, and was compelled to back out of it.

SATURDAY, JANUARY 11.—A story one always hears on approaching New Zealand: In a strait near the coast is a fish known as “Pilot Jack,” which escorts every ship through, except one. Some years ago a passenger on a certain ship fired at the fish, and wounded it. The fish disappeared for several months, but finally it appeared again, and resumed its old habits of piloting ships through the strait; but it never shows itself when the ship appears from the deck of which it was fired upon. The shooting incident caused the New Zealand Parliament to pass an act protecting “Pilot Jack.” The fish is about twenty feet long, and photographs showing it swimming ahead of ships are common. These photographs, it seems to me, are faked, and made specially to sell to tourists. Seamen do not know why “Pilot Jack” appears whenever a ship invades his territory, but certain it is that he does appear, and swims ahead of the ship several miles. The captain of the “Maheno” says it is possible “Pilot Jack” likes to rub his back on the bottom of ships, and thus get rid of certain annoying parasites. Another theory is that the fish simply plays about the ships, which is not improbable; I have myself seen dolphins play in the waves thrown up by the prow of a ship, and keep it up several minutes at a time.... Last night I sent a wireless message to the Grand Hotel at Auckland, engaging accommodations on my arrival there. I was compelled to pay $2 for the service, and sign an agreement that I would not ask recovery in case the message was not delivered.... No one seems to know much about the albatross which are following us. A sailor told me that if an albatross should light on the water, it couldn’t get up again. Ten minutes later, I saw twenty of them alight on the water, apparently fight over something thrown from the ship, and then get up again. The sailors once caught an albatross, and concluded to take it to the zoölogical garden at Sydney, but it became seasick, and was such a nuisance that they knocked it in the head and threw it overboard. A passenger once jumped from the “Sonoma,” with a view of committing suicide. A number of albatross were following the ship and they picked the man’s eyes out before a boat could reach him. Although very beautiful and graceful, the bird is said to be a disgusting vulture. Where or how it lives no one seems to know; but it is certain that it will follow a ship night and day from Wellington to Cape Horn, a trip of three weeks. It is not seen when land is in sight; it seems to sail about the lonely ocean as easily as a zephyr, and the stronger the head-wind, the easier it sails against it.... There is a peculiar character on board at whom everyone laughs. For awhile I feared he might be a fool American, but he turned out to be a New Zealand school teacher. He wears a tall hat and clerical clothes, and everyone supposed for a time that he was a missionary. One day he went after his music, and began singing in the ladies’ parlor. He cannot sing, and cannot play the piano, although he attempts both. A crowd soon gathered, and vigorously applauded when he concluded “The Lost Chord.” The howling of a dog, accompanied by a child banging on a piano, would not have been worse, and it was so ridiculous that the man was asked to sing again. He readily consented, and attempted a tenor aria from “The Messiah.” The passengers now call the man “the professor,” and two or three times a day he is asked to sing. He always complies promptly. There are half a dozen excellent musicians on board, and when they sing or play, “the professor” is plainly bored. He seems more like a character from a play or book than a real man, and is mild and inoffensive. I talked awhile with him today, and found him an educated man, and apparently quite intelligent, but he is not able to understand that he cannot sing, or play the piano; he cannot realize that all the passengers are making fun of him. I suppose all of us are made fun of when we do not know it, but the case of “the professor” is more than usually glaring. A concert is being arranged for tonight, as this is the last day of the voyage, and “the professor” has been put on the programme, to avoid hurting his feelings. Last night he was the only man on board who dressed for dinner; he put on a swallow-tailed coat much too long for him, and looked odd in other particulars. And after all the trouble he went to, in dressing for dinner, he was compelled to dine at the second sitting. He is a small man, with smooth, white face, and wears his dark hair quite long. The passengers are learning to like him, for he is evidently a gentleman, but none of us can understand why the man so readily consents to make a fool of himself. Perhaps the other passengers make fools of themselves, too, and are as unconscious of it as “the professor.” When not playing or singing, he carries an algebra about, and works problems. He has two pairs of spectacles, and is constantly changing them, and forgetting in which pocket he placed the pair he wishes to use next.... I am very proud of the men on this ship, they are so modest and well-behaved. I hear no swearing, or rude talk, and there is almost no drinking at table or in the smoking-room. The three men I have roomed with are quiet, and genteel, and I should admire them very much did they not snore. I am certain Mr. Martin was annoyed because I was put in with him, but he is so considerate of me that I can almost forgive his bad habit. I think he knows he snores, and when I hear him threshing about in his bed, I almost conclude he is keeping awake in order that he may not annoy me. He is an elderly man, and frequently gets up in the night, but he does it so quietly that I rarely hear him.... A man I supposed to be an Episcopal rector turns out to be a Presbyterian preacher named Thompson. He is an Englishman, but was educated at Yale, and now has a charge in a small town in New Zealand. I walk the decks with him a good deal. He says he has been taking a vacation, and that, during his idleness, he has been thinking a great deal.

“Many times,” he said, “I asked myself the question: ‘In view of modernism, what is the best thing to do for my people?’ and I always came to the conclusion that there is nothing better for any of us than fairness, politeness, temperance, and industry; I could come to no other conclusion than that the oldest and simplest doctrine is the best.”