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JOURNEYING ROUND THE WORLD 
 
Journeying Round the World 
 
 A Narrative of Personal experience 
 
 by 
 SYDNEY FORDV 
 
 GRAFTON PUBLISHING COMPANY 
 LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA 
 
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 fiiV 
 
 Copyright 1912 
 by 
 
 HENRIETTA B. FREEMAN 
 
 (Sydney Ford) 
 
 .Los Angeles, Cal. 
 
 TJ. S. A. 
 
 All Rights Reserved 
 
 feXI.A319984 
 
CONTENTS 
 SUBJECT PAGE 
 
 Travelers, and Traveling Togs 9 
 
 Some Seasonable Specifics 22 
 
 Honolulu, the Happy Haven 29 
 
 In Mid-ocean 44 
 
 Land of the 'Riksha 49 
 
 Shanghai, the Paris of the Pacific 66 
 
 Up the Yangtze 70 
 
 Sailing Toward the Equator 75 
 
 Ceylon's Spicy Breezes 82 
 
 The Red Sea 88 
 
 Cairo, City of Mosques, Minarets and 
 
 Mosquitoes 93 
 
 The Pyramids of the Pharoahs 102 
 
 The Port of Palestine 107 
 
 Jerusalem and Jericho 118 
 
 Europe, the World's Playground 123 
 
 Money, the World Around 137 
 
 Tips and Tipping 143 
 
 Foreign Pood 152 
 
 Types of Travelers 159 
 
 Homeward Bound 168 
 
FOREWORD 
 
 I have made no attempt in these pages 
 to give an exhaustive account of a tour 
 around the world, but merely to present 
 some features of the trip, and to offer some 
 suggestions that may be of value to others 
 who are about to embark on a similar 
 "swing around the circle." 
 
 THE AUTHOR 
 
_ 
 
Travelers and Traveling Togs. 
 
 >> 
 
 "Come, go 'round the world with us, 
 urged a voice over the telephone one rainy 
 evening in February. 
 
 " Certainly, " I called back without hesi- 
 tation. "When do we sail — tomorrow 
 morning?" 
 
 I had about as much notion of going as 
 you have of crossing the Pacific in an aero- 
 plane this minute, but such is the versatility 
 of human affairs and the variableness of the 
 average woman's mind that, four weeks 
 from that very night I found myself on 
 board ship, bound on a tour the big world 
 around. 
 
 Of course the intervening weeks had been 
 full of the excitement of preparation. 
 
 " You 're entitled to three hundred pounds 
 of baggage apiece," observed the steamship 
 agent encouragingly. "Take along all the 
 trunks you want." 
 
 "Oh, happy day!" exclaimed Peggy; "no 
 excess baggage — how perfectly glorious." 
 
 Sounds well, doesn't it? But oh, my 
 friends, beware the voice of the tempter, for 
 
10 Journeying Round the World. 
 
 once you get in foreign lands, believe me, 
 there's trouble ahead, and plenty of it, for 
 the unwary traveler who indulges in ward- 
 robe trunks, hat boxes, five-pound illus- 
 trated guide-books, cut-glass-silver-topped 
 out-fitted suit cases, and all the luggage lux- 
 uries that may be safely included in a 300- 
 pound limit. 
 
 Over there baggage has a way of making 
 itself a perfect nuisance. They don't have 
 our American checking system whereby you 
 simply produce a pasteboard slip and claim 
 your baggage, or make it hot for the rail- 
 road officials. On the contrary, you cannot 
 check your trunks at all, but have to pay 
 their fares instead, and watch over them as 
 carefully and tenderly as if they were your 
 precious, helpless children. Indeed, I never 
 in my life beheld such utterly helpless 
 trunks as those I encountered in Europe. 
 You have to see that they are properly 
 weighed and then pay their fares at so much 
 per pound; then you have to see that they 
 are loaded on a truck, and tip the man who 
 does it, and watch that they are put on the 
 same train as yourself, and you have to crane 
 your neck out the car window at interven- 
 ing stations, to see that your trunk does not 
 
Travelers, and Traveling Togs 1 1 
 
 get off, and when you reach your destina- 
 tion, you must see that your trunk disem- 
 barks too. And the more trunks you have, 
 the more you have to watch — and pay fares 
 for. So be a bit chary about baggage. 
 
 I remember that Peggy insisted on taking 
 her trunk up to Cairo from Port Said in- 
 stead of storing it there with the rest of our 
 big baggage while we ran up to look at the 
 Pyramids, the mosques and the minarets for 
 a few days before embarking for Palestine. 
 The railroad fare for that trunk was exactly 
 one-half of Peggy's personal fare. 
 
 Fancy an inanimate trunk costing as 
 much as a human child to transport! But 
 such was the mournful fact, and Peggy dis- 
 puted with the Arab official in vain. Not a 
 single piastre less ! In Germany, Italy and 
 Switzerland you must pay for every pound 
 of baggage you check; in England you are 
 allowed one hundred and fifty pounds, on 
 first class ticket; in France and Spain sixty- 
 six pounds; in Russia thirty-six pounds, and 
 in other European countries fifty-five 
 pounds on through routes. If you wish to 
 stop off, as most tourists do in passing 
 through these countries, then you are al- 
 lowed no extra baggage. 
 
12 Journeying Round the World 
 
 On the contrary you may carry all the 
 hand baggage you like as the allowance in 
 this particular is practically limitless, each 
 railway train being amply provided with 
 huge racks for holding it, and porters can be 
 obtained anywhere and everywhere who will 
 tote bags, suit cases, and sachels for a fee 
 of three cents in U. S. money for each piece 
 of baggage. 
 
 Therefore, do not wax too enthusiastic 
 over the gay and glimmering prospect held 
 out so alluringly by the steamship agent. 
 Rather calculate carefully the garments you 
 must have in order to be comfortable, and 
 then pack compactly in as small a space as 
 possible. The 36-inch steamer trunk is by 
 all means most desirable. It's surprising 
 how much difference a few inches makes. 
 One of our party came to grief early in our 
 preparations and was compelled to purchase 
 a second trunk because a 30-inch trunk was 
 selected in the first place. You'll be aston- 
 ished when you come to pack to find how 
 you miss those extra six inches. 
 
 The advantage of a yard-long trunk is that 
 your skirts and dresses will lie almost at full 
 length which does away with the extra thick- 
 ness of doubling over, and makes a lot of dif- 
 
Travelers, and Traveling Togs 1 3 
 
 ference in the amount you can stow away in 
 the trunk. Peggy had what she called a 
 " dress rehearsal" a day or two before we left 
 home, and actually accomplished the feat of 
 packing away in her 36-inch trunk, eight 
 gowns, her long pongee coat, sweater, shoes 
 and slippers and six shirt waists — not to 
 mention a lot of little things. Jack asked 
 her why she didn't include an aeroplane, 
 electric car and steamer rug. 
 
 Don't commit the error either of getting 
 a trunk too long to fit under the berth in 
 your cabin. I shared a state-room during a 
 part of our journey with such an one and the 
 protruding end of that abominable trunk — it 
 had to be shoved under sideways — was re- 
 sponsible for more bruised shins, lacerated 
 feelings and inarticulate profanity than I 
 would like to record. 
 
 For the month before my departure, every 
 mail brought letters containing timely hints 
 for comfort and convenience on the voyage, 
 and three months after my departure, when 
 I was in Rome, a package of twenty-five let- 
 ters was forwarded to me which had accu- 
 mulated since I left home. All of these, with 
 the exception of two or three personal let- 
 ters, were advertisements from hotels all 
 
14 Journeying Round the World 
 
 over the country, recipes for sea-sick speci- 
 fics, etc. 
 
 "Shan't we send you some face cream and 
 wonder salve, put up in collapsible tubes es- 
 pecially for traveling 1 ?" wrote one enterpris- 
 ing firm. 
 
 "I am forwarding you some tooth paste in 
 tubes" caroled another. 
 
 "You will need a hot water bag," advised 
 a third, "best preventive for seasickness — 
 can't get 'em abroad." 
 
 "Be sure and get one of those nail buffers 
 with a removable top — the kind that has all 
 the manicure tools inside" counseled 
 another. 
 
 Some one told Peggy to take along a big 
 bottle of Worcestershire sauce to ward off 
 seasickness, and the poor child did. That 
 bottle of perfectly good sauce found a 
 watery grave in the bottom of the ocean 
 when we were two days out of San Fran- 
 cisco. Peggy flung it through the port-hole. 
 
 "Be sure and take a stunning evening 
 gown," advised a friend who had made the 
 round-the-world journey ahead of me. 
 "You'll regret it if you don't. Take the one 
 you have on." 
 
 It was at a reception — a fashionable func- 
 
Travelers, and Traveling Togs 1 5 
 
 tion — that this conversation took place just 
 previous to my departure, and I had donned 
 my very best for the occasion. Unfortunate- 
 ly, I followed the advice of my well-meaning 
 friend and took along my French crepe 
 gown, with its train, its silver net trimmings 
 and chiffon sleeves. 
 
 I wore it three times — once at the cap- 
 tain's dinner the night before we reached 
 Japan; once in Yokohama, the night the Im- 
 perial Military Guards band came down 
 from Tokyo and played during dinner at our 
 hotel; and once somewhere down in the In- 
 dian Ocean — I forget just where — but it 
 was at a ball on shipboard, and the tempera- 
 ture was like unto that of the equator which 
 we were fast approaching. 
 
 That gown? Well, you should see it — I 
 preserve it as a picturesque ruin and an aw- 
 ful warning. The salt, sea air, the equato- 
 rial heat and humidity, the Straits Settle- 
 ment atmosphere and the Ceylon sun didn't 
 do a thing but change its color from a pale, 
 shimmering blue, to a pensive gray. It is 
 beautifully flecked all over with spots in a 
 queer shade of pink — souvenirs of the salt, 
 sea spray. The silver lace has turned to a 
 dull, oxidized tint, and the soft crepe and 
 
16 Journeying Round the World 
 
 chiffon is a hopeless mass of wrinkles. In 
 short, it's — oh well, what's the use? 
 
 I want to quote one other awful example, 
 and that is the woman who went to the other 
 extreme and thought her last year's second 
 best tailor gown, a cheap sweater, an old 
 rain-coat, and her year-before-last hat 
 plenty good enough for ship wear. Her tail- 
 ored gown showed the faded cotton thread 
 it was stitched with, her sweater was of the 
 $1.98 type — and it looked it — her rain-coat 
 was miles too big for her and had holes in 
 it when she started, her dinner gown was an 
 old summer silk so frayed and worn that she 
 could scarcely be hooked into it — and her 
 hat! It was a sight, with its faded straw, 
 its rusty black velvet and soiled white wing. 
 She took along an old blanket shawl for a 
 steamer rug, and the lining of her lace 
 blouse was in rags. She was wearing out her 
 old clothes — and everybody knew it, for the 
 pitiless white glare on deck called loud at- 
 tention to each discrepancy. 
 
 No, don't be foolish, but pack away your 
 best evening gowns in tissue paper and leave 
 them at home. Get yourself a little silk or 
 voile gown, simply but smartly made, of a 
 material that will not muss, crush or wrinkle 
 
Travelers, and Traveling Togs 1 7 
 
 easily — the sort that shakes out and bobs 
 back into slickness and smoothness the min- 
 ute you take it out of your suit case or 
 steamer trunk. A woman whom I met on 
 the Atlantic liner on which I made my pas- 
 sage from Liverpool to New York, and who 
 had crossed the ocean many times, told me 
 that the most satisfactory material she had 
 found for a dinner or evening gown in trav- 
 eling was crepe de chine, of a quality of suf- 
 ficient body to shake itself free of wrinkles. 
 
 Then take along one or two pretty silk or 
 net waists, to wear with that black silk skirt 
 that every woman has hanging in her closet. 
 In addition to these, a smart and perfectly 
 fitting tailor-made suit and a trotteur skirt 
 of shantung or brilliantine or some material 
 that sheds the dust. These are all the 
 dresses you need, and with these four and no 
 more, you may journey the world around 
 and arrive in that Paris of the Orient. 
 Shanghai; in Hongkong, in Cairo, in Jerusa- 
 lem, in Rome, in Paris or in London, feeling 
 that you are well clad and equal to any emer- 
 gency — except perhaps a presentation at 
 court, in which case you can patronize the 
 Parisian or London shops — you will anyhow, 
 
18 Journeying Round the World 
 
 for you'll want to replenish your wardrobe 
 a bit by the time you get there. 
 
 As to shirt waists, follow the advice of 
 Lillian Bell and leave your dainty pink-and- 
 blue, made-to-order linen waists at home and 
 take plain pongee or silk waists that do not 
 have to be laundered. You can cover the 
 holes with medallions as fast as they appear. 
 In this way your plain silk blouses will be 
 elaborate evening bodices by the time you 
 get back and you'll have to be a bit careful 
 not to strain them when you reach up to 
 turn on the electric lights. 
 
 Be extravagant in shoes. Take along at 
 least four pairs, for the Oriental, English 
 and French shoes are not made to fit Amer- 
 ican feet, and you must therefore provide 
 yourself with enough to last the journey 
 through. Then you will need a long, rather 
 loose-fitting motor coat — thick and warm — 
 large enough to wear a sweater underneath. 
 Don't smile! You'll need it, for you've no 
 idea how chilly it gets on deck when the sea 
 breezes blow, and the best possible safe- 
 guard against seasickness is to keep warm 
 and comfortable. 
 
 Make yourself the prettiest deck bonnet 
 you can conjure up. Use a chiffon motor 
 
Travelers, and Traveling Togs 19 
 
 veil and shir it softly over a wire frame, 
 hood-fashion — and leave the long scarf ends 
 to float in the breeze. The prettiest deck 
 hood I saw the world around was worn by 
 a San Francisco girl en route to the Philip- 
 pines. It was a pale blue chiffon veil cun- 
 ningly shirred into a charming bonnet, and 
 a wreath of tiny pink rosebuds nestled de- 
 murely under the shallow poke brim. 
 
 Do not burden yourself with stationery or 
 a writing portfolio — all such materials are 
 supplied in abundance by the steamship 
 company in the writing rooms. If possible, 
 pack all the things you will need for the 
 ocean trip in your suit case and traveling 
 bag, and send your steamer trunk down into 
 the hold. It takes up room in your cabin, 
 even if it is shoved under the berth, and be- 
 sides, you need that space for your hand bag- 
 gage. Carry your steamer rug, motor coat, 
 sweater and extra wraps in a hand strap or 
 English " hold-all," and this last is the most 
 practical and accommodating piece of bag- 
 gage I have ever found. It has ample pock- 
 ets inside where you can pack shoes and all 
 the bulky things that take up so much room 
 in a trunk. The hold-all is rightly named, 
 for it has the most surprising capacity for 
 
20 Journeying Round the World 
 
 expansion. Into its capacious maw can go 
 all the innumerable things that bear bang- 
 ing and you can bulge it out to the size of 
 an ordinary steamer trunk. 
 
 Be sure to put inside your steamer rug a 
 little soft, down pillow. You've no idea 
 what a comfort it is to slip behind your head, 
 or tuck under your neck when you lie in your 
 steamer chair on deck. 
 
 Take along some light literature if you 
 like to read, or some fresh and breezy little 
 books of travel. All the steamships have li- 
 braries well stocked with standard fiction, 
 biography and travel books, but not of the 
 latest vintage. Usually the passengers are 
 permitted the free use of the library. Some- 
 times a small fee is required, and you may 
 be asked to put up a deposit as a guaranty 
 of safe return of books. 
 
 When you get down in the Indian Ocean 
 and haven't seen an English newspaper for 
 weeks, and are wondering what on earth 
 may have happened at home, you've no idea 
 how you'll grab Reuter's telegrams when 
 brought on board at Penang or Ceylon. 
 They look like galley proofs and contain tel- 
 egraphic briefs of the latest news. You can 
 buy a bunch for a shilling, covering several 
 
 
 
Travelers, and Traveling Togs 21 
 
 days back, and you'll jump at the chance 
 just to see what's happened since you left 
 land. I distinctly recollect when we 
 reached this point in our journey, and had 
 been sailing for two weeks, that our stock 
 of American news consisted of exactly two 
 items — the death of Mark Twain, which we 
 had read in a Shanghai paper, and the fact 
 that Roosevelt had refused an audience with 
 the Pope, which caught us somewhere in 
 mid-ocean by wireless I believe. 
 
Some Seasonable Specifics. 
 
 Of the three trans-Pacific lines, we chose 
 the southernmost for two reasons: First, 
 because we sailed in mid-March, and we 
 wished to court the soft southern breezes 
 rather than the wilder winds and waves of 
 the north, and, second, because we wanted 
 to catch a glimpse of TJncle Sam's string of 
 islands away out two thousand miles in mid- 
 ocean and pay our respects to Honolulu — 
 the Pearl of the Pacific. 
 
 After events proved the wisdom of our 
 decision, for a party of thirty Los Angeles 
 people who sailed from Seattle a few days 
 later, skirting the Aleutian Islands, encoun- 
 tered rain, hail, snow, blustering winds and 
 mountain billows nearly all the way across, 
 sailing into Yokohama fifteen days later 
 with every inch of canvas spread, an eight- 
 een-inch hole in the bottom of the ship, and 
 half her rudder gone. Most of the passen- 
 gers sang one song all the way over, and that 
 was, "When the Breezes Blow I Go Below." 
 
 The straight across route from San Fran- 
 cisco to Yokohama is the most direct — also 
 
 22 
 
Some Seasonable Specifics 23 
 
 the most void of sight-seeing, if you except 
 porpoises, and an occasional shark, or whale, 
 or other deep-sea monster — a route absolute- 
 ly devoid of thrills — an excellent route for 
 freight steamers. 
 
 Our way lay over sunny seas and through 
 tropical temperature after we had left be- 
 hind the "moaning at the bar" of San Fran- 
 cisco, and our stop at Honolulu of twenty- 
 four hours was one of the most delightful ex- 
 periences of the entire trip. Owing to the 
 fact that we sailed out of San Francisco har- 
 bor with practically empty holds, our pas- 
 sage was less steady than it would have been 
 under ordinary conditions. A tremendous 
 storm that interfered with railroad traffic 
 had held back the cargo of freight destined 
 for our ship, hence, instead of acting as bal- 
 last for us in the yawning depths below 
 decks, it was marooned somewhere up in the 
 Rocky mountains or out on the Mojave 
 desert. 
 
 It therefore happened that, soon after 
 crossing the bar from San Francisco, the 
 decks became suddenly and suspiciously de- 
 serted, and that night at dinner, the dining- 
 saloon, which is the pulse of the passenger 
 list, had far more vacant than occupied 
 
24 Journeying Round the World 
 
 seats. Many of the passengers, for reasons 
 best known to themselves, had sought the 
 seclusion of their cabins, there to remain in- 
 definitely, for a longer or shorter period, ac- 
 cording to their ability as sailors. 
 
 This secluding yourself in your cabin is a 
 mistake, for there is no better antidote for 
 seasickness than a stiff sea breeze. Your 
 best salvation therefore, is to stick to your 
 steamer chair on deck to the last gasp, and 
 avoid the closeness of the cabin as you 
 would a pestilence. However, one appreci- 
 ates the feeling of delicate reserve that ac- 
 tuates most victims for if, in all your experi- 
 ence, there are moments when you wish to 
 be alone, surely one of them is when you 
 are suffering the pangs of seasickness. 
 
 "New things are continually coming up," 
 as one of our party facetiously observed, 
 and that's altogether the wisest plan — let 
 'em come up. 
 
 "Just yap it up, sonny," was the sage ad- 
 vice given by a mother to her offspring as 
 he lay gritting his teeth with a look of grim 
 determination on his yellow cast of coun- 
 tenance. 
 
 If there's any known specific for seasick- 
 ness, I've never found it. A doctor told me 
 
Some Seasonable Specifics 25 
 
 a funny story of a brother physician who 
 wrote him on board an Atlantic liner as she 
 was nearing port on the other side. 
 
 "Old fellow," he wrote; "I've discovered 
 the most wonderful remedy for seasickness 
 you ever saw. Perfectly marvelous — settles 
 the stomach in no time — regulates digestion 
 in the most miraculous manner — it's a posi- 
 tive specific. I have a package with me that 
 I got in New York just before sailing, and if 
 my stomach ever gets settled enough so I 
 can take a dose I know I'll feel better. We 
 are due in Liverpool tomorrow morning, 
 thank God." 
 
 Perhaps it is not until the stewardess 
 ducks her head inside your cabin door and 
 threatens you with a concoction of raw eggs 
 and Worcestershire sauce that you consent 
 in self defense to leave your state room and 
 go on deck. There you lie, very limp, very 
 miserable, and wholly wretched in your 
 steamer chair, your listless eyes fixed on the 
 distant horizon where the boundless sea 
 meets the sky, and your unhappy mind 
 dwelling on the utter impossibility of ever 
 reaching shore alive. 
 
 You wonder, weakly and vaguely, how on 
 earth you were ever persuaded to leave your 
 
26 Journeying Round the World 
 
 happy home and undertake a tour around 
 the world, and when you reflect that nearly 
 all of the journey must be by water, your 
 very soul grows sick and faint with appre- 
 hension. You speculate on the bare possi- 
 bility of reaching Honolulu alive, and shud- 
 der at the thought of being buried at sea. 
 It doesn't seem possible that you can sur- 
 vive many days at this rate. 
 
 Gradually, you begin to take a little no- 
 tice of your fellow passengers, and you feel 
 impatient with the thoughtless girl who can 
 laugh. You are sure you will never smile 
 again. In fact, you have lost your sense 
 of humor completely — and is there a sadder 
 spectacle in all the world than the man or 
 woman who has no sense of humor which, 
 the poet says, "rainbows the tears of the 
 world?" 
 
 All this is a very solemn experience, but 
 cheer up mate, it's not at all alarming. You 
 are merely getting your sea legs, in the lan- 
 guage of the old salt. In three or four days 
 at the outside, you have literally buried your 
 seasickness, and are promenading the deck 
 with the regulation steamer stride. This 
 particular gait by the way, is in a distinct 
 class by itself. As you have lain in your 
 
Some Seasonable Specifics 27 
 
 steamer chair during the days of your con- 
 valescence and lazily watched the passing 
 promenade rs you have wondered why on 
 earth every one goes galloping along, head 
 pitched well forward, as if breasting a head 
 wind, and walking as though they were rac- 
 ing to make a train. When you try it your- 
 self you understand. It's merely balancing 
 the body against the motion of the steamer 
 — getting your sea legs. You fill your lungs 
 with the good, salt sea air; you take an ac- 
 tive interest in the deck games, and join the 
 tournament in the egg or potato race for 
 honors. Your appetite returns ten-fold, and 
 you feel quite equal to the numerous meals 
 served on ship-board, beginning with coffee 
 and fruit in 3^our cabin at 7, breakfast at 8, 
 hot broth and biscuits on deck at 11, lunch 
 at 12:30, tea, sandwiches and cake at 4, din- 
 ner at 7 :30 and a light lunch for a night-cap 
 at 10:30. 
 
 As you sail toward the Hawaiian Islands 
 you will notice how intensely blue the ocean 
 is. You first observe this when you are a 
 day or two out from the islands and, as you 
 sail nearer and nearer, the waters turn 
 bluer and bluer till they are about the same 
 indigo tint as those of the famous Blue Grot- 
 
28 Journeying Round the World 
 
 to on the island of Capri, which you will 
 visit during your stay in Naples later on 
 in your journey. 
 
Honolulu, the Happy Haven. 
 
 "Looks just like Catalina," we Calif or- 
 nians chorused as the Hawaiian Heights 
 loomed up out of the sea. It was 10 o 'clock 
 in the morning on our seventh day out from 
 San Francisco, and at the first cry of "land," 
 the big ship became a human bee-hive. Spy 
 glasses were brought into play and, as the 
 rugged heights of Oahu were magnified, and 
 trees and tropical growth assumed shape 
 and form, standing room at the rail of the 
 promenade decks was at a premium. 
 
 After the first excitement, passengers be- 
 gan disappearing into their state rooms and, 
 after a brief period, reappeared in so resur- 
 rected a form that it required two squints 
 through the spy glasses to recognize some of 
 our fellow passengers with whom we had 
 been hobnobbing for the past week. Like 
 gay birds of Paradise, they fluttered out in 
 raiment so stunning, in hats so large, 
 in gowns so white and ribbons so 
 bright that it was a regular transforma- 
 tion scene. Duck and pongee suits pre- 
 vailed among the sterner sex, and umbrellas 
 
 29 
 
30 Journeying Round the World 
 
 to shelter flower hats and chiffon shades 
 from the celebrated sun-showers of Hono- 
 lulu were much in evidence. 
 
 The ship plowed through the waters, past 
 Diamond Head, and swept toward the har- 
 bor of Honolulu, a mile or so away. We all 
 made ready to disembark with all possible 
 speed for it looked as if we would shortly 
 step foot on shore. 
 
 But right here we received our first les- 
 son in patience. A missionary on board, on 
 her return voyage to Japan, had told me that 
 the most vulgar thing one can do in the 
 Orient is to show haste. It was at Honolulu 
 that we had our first check to our perfectly 
 natural, inborn American haste. 
 
 Reminds one of the story of a distin- 
 guished party of Japanese who were visiting 
 New York and were transferred from one 
 subway train to another, when both were 
 going in the same direction. 
 
 "Why did we do that?" one of the guests 
 inquired of an American friend. 
 
 "Why," explained the American eagerly, 
 "we gained two minutes by the transfer." 
 
 "Yes, yes," replied the Japanese, "we 
 gained two minutes, but what for?" 
 
 However, if you think for a minute that 
 
 _ 
 
Honolulu, the Happy Haven 31 
 
 a big ocean liner can run up alongside the 
 wharf at any port she happens to come to 
 and discharge her passengers and freight 
 with as little ceremony as any lake or river 
 steamer, there 's where you are woefully mis- 
 taken. There 's a deal of form about it, I as- 
 sure you, and yards and yards of red tape to 
 unwind. After we were gloved and hatted, 
 and had firmly grasped our umbrellas to 
 combat the "liquid sunshine" we had heard 
 so much about, we suddenly observed that 
 our ship had slowed down and was leisurely 
 treading water as if waiting for something. 
 
 A little shallop shot out from shore and 
 came rocking over the waves toward us. She 
 danced like an egg-shell on the rippling blue, 
 curvetting gracefully around the stern of 
 our ship and brought up on the port side. 
 A thin, wiry, gray-haired man, with keen 
 blue eyes and wearing government uniform, 
 came on board. 
 
 "Inspection officer," some one murmured. 
 Then the big gong sounded, summoning all 
 the passengers to the dining saloon and we 
 marched down like a flock of sheep and 
 ranged ourselves in rows on either side the 
 long tables. We sat there is hushed and 
 solemn silence, until the wait seemed inter- 
 
32 Journeying Round the World 
 
 minable and some one ventured a joke at the 
 expense of Uncle Sam. That relieved the 
 strained tension and we chatted and chaffed 
 while the inspection officer was going 
 through his work in the steerage and sec- 
 ond cabin. 
 
 Peggy had grown a trifle nervous with all 
 this serious ceremony and tedious waiting, 
 and she turned pale and grasped the table 
 for support when our official jollier gravely 
 told her that each passenger would be called 
 out separately by name, and would be com- 
 pelled to go forward and stand under an im- 
 mense headlight which would be stationed 
 at the main stairway before the open en- 
 trance to the dining saloon, where she must 
 display her tongue for inspection to the 
 health officer, and permit her pulse to be 
 counted before she would be given a clean 
 bill of health and allowed to land. 
 
 This is what really happened. The 
 inspector simply walked rapidly down 
 the line, giving each passenger a keen, 
 penetrating glance as he passed. There 
 was a howl of glee went up when 
 he paused before a young college athlete, 
 who, in taking a high dive a few days 
 before, had struck the bottom of the bathing 
 
Honolulu, the Happy Haven 33 
 
 pool which had been rigged up on deck, and 
 whose face bore the marks of his reckless 
 plunge. His explanation, and the surgeon's 
 affidavit that the picturesque map on his 
 countenance, done in bright scarlet, was the 
 result of a too harsh contact with the can- 
 vas bottom of the bathing pool satisfied the 
 officer that he would be running no risk of 
 admitting a measles or scarlet fever patient 
 on shore. After his first round, the inspect- 
 ing officer made a second, counting us all, to 
 see if the number corresponded with that of 
 the passenger list. 
 
 After that we had to wait for another 
 steamer to pull out from the wharf and then 
 our pilot boat had to dash after her with our 
 mail destined for San Francisco, so that al- 
 together, it was fully two o'clock before we 
 finally came up alongside the wharf. 
 
 Our guide, philosopher and friend at Hon- 
 olulu was a California girl who was spend- 
 ing a year in this Paradise of the Pacific, and 
 she proved herself past mistress in the art 
 of showing the beauties of the place. She 
 had engaged a seven-passenger touring car 
 for us and, without a moment's delay, we 
 bundled into it and away we sped. 
 
 Out over the smoothly macadamized roads 
 
34 Journeying Round the World 
 
 we whirled to Hawaii's historic peak, Pali, 
 the auto climbing curve after curve till we 
 landed on the heights, two thousand feet 
 above the level of the sea whence we had 
 come. At our feet lay the harbor of Hono- 
 lulu, and between a panoramic view of tropi- 
 cal splendor, tempered and softened by the 
 mist-like showers of " liquid sunshine," and 
 the shadows of the clouds which seem to for- 
 ever hover over Honolulu — so thin and 
 transparent that the blue of the sky, and the 
 shine of the sun is always breaking through. 
 
 On our return down this splendid moun- 
 tain road we halted for a few minutes at the 
 Country Club situated on a mesa command- 
 ing a view of the harbor and the sea. Be- 
 fore it stretches the smooth, velvet lawn of 
 the golf links, its bunkers marked by hedges 
 of brilliant begonias. 
 
 It is this riotous, tropical growth of Hon- 
 olulu that most impresses you. The sweet, 
 moist smell of spring is everywhere, and na- 
 ture is forever having her face washed — 
 sometimes a mere mist of a sprinkle, and 
 again a smart shower as if a big bucket of 
 water had suddenly been thrown out of 
 Celestial windows just as one might toss a 
 pail of water out the back door. 
 
Honolulu, the Happy Haven 35 
 
 It rained every seven minutes and a half 
 by my watch while we were there — not 
 heavy soaking showers, but a soft-falling 
 mist shot through with sunbeams. 
 
 " Seems as if the soul of the sky was laugh- 
 ing and it brings tears to its eyes," quoted 
 Peggy in her soft, southern accents. 
 
 The lawn mowers in Honolulu, you will 
 observe, are run by horse power. You see 
 a big mower, built on the same plan as our 
 hand-run affairs, hitched to a horse that is 
 patiently plodding over the lawn, driven by 
 a native. 
 
 " Grass gets long enough to braid and tie 
 up with ribbons in a week here if you don't 
 give it a hair-cut," observed the chauffeur as 
 we shot past a lovely hybiscus hedge over 
 which tall oleander trees, heavy with their 
 beauteous bloom of pink or white, nodded to 
 us in friendly fashion. Most brilliant of all 
 are the bourganvilleas which cover whole 
 arbors and climb roof-high. Some of these 
 are the same deep magenta of our Califor- 
 nia bourganvilleas and others are a bril- 
 liant flame-color. One of the prettiest sights 
 I saw in Honolulu was a lovely girl, gowned 
 in white, reaching up for a spray of bloom 
 from an arbor literally smothered in these 
 
36 Journeying Round the World 
 
 gay, red flowers. Her white dress against 
 the vivid scarlet background, her uncon- 
 sciously graceful pose was a challenge for an 
 artist's eye. 
 
 And speaking of girls, Honolulu is the 
 Paradise of the summer girl for she has 
 twelve brilliant moons in the year in which 
 to do business. Next to the "liquid sun- 
 shine/' the misty moonlight of Honolulu is 
 most famous. Its silvery rays fall on the 
 just and the unjust, the romantic and pro- 
 saic. Naturally then, an architectural fea- 
 ture of every pretentious home in Honolulu 
 is the balcony — from which to view the 
 moon of course. 
 
 Our hostess told us that there had been a 
 complaint among the American girls there, 
 however, that there was too much balcony 
 and too little Romeo in Honolulu, which 
 seems a shame when the stage settings are 
 so perfect, and is a direct challenge for some 
 of Uncle Sam's Romeos to wend their way 
 hitherward. 
 
 The summer girl, like the moon, is an all- 
 the-year-round product in Honolulu, too. 
 
 "We wear white dresses and summer 
 gowns the year through," said our girlish 
 
Honolulu, the Happy Haven 37 
 
 guide. "I haven't paid out but $15 for 
 clothes since I came here last June. ' ' 
 
 This remark created a distinct sensation 
 among the feminine portion of our party, 
 and paterfamilias pricked up his ears and 
 said: 
 
 " Won't you please say that again?" 
 
 No furs, or velvets, or silks or satins for 
 Honolulu girls. Just filmy mull&, and white 
 linen or duck, and a sailor hat — and there 
 you are — summer and winter the twelve 
 months around. 
 
 In Honolulu there is no north, no south, 
 no east, no west. Direction is determined 
 rather by localities. "Out Waikiki way," 
 means toward the beach of that name and 
 Diamond Head; "Makai," is toward the sea; 
 "up Mauka way," indicates toward the 
 mountains, and "over Ewa way," means in 
 the direction of the famous Ewa plantation. 
 It sounds odd to hear your guide say, "Drive 
 Ewa on King Street," or "Go Makai to the 
 wharf." 
 
 We went out to Pearl Harbor where the 
 government is creating a great naval sta- 
 tion and spending millions in developing this 
 Gibraltar of the mid-Pacific ; we climbed Pa- 
 cific Heights, which is the Nob Hill of Hon- 
 
38 Journeying Round the World 
 
 olulu, where wealthy residents have built 
 themselves beautiful villas set in tropical 
 gardens overlooking the sea. 
 
 "Here's the home of a man who, with his 
 wife, started forty-five years ago to make a 
 tour of the world," observed our hostess, as 
 we passed an elegant home. "He stopped 
 in Honolulu, and he never got any farther. ' ' 
 
 The birds of Honolulu you will notice, do 
 not sing as ours do. They chirp instead— a 
 soft, subdued, long-drawn note, that is 
 weirdly beautiful and chimes in exactly with 
 the surroundings. It is in perfect harmony 
 with the golden mist that sifts softly from 
 the sky, with the tropical indolence of the 
 climate that invites to dreamy repose — this 
 soft, sweet carol of the birds that we hear 
 only at twilight when our golden-throated 
 California songsters say good-night to their 
 mates before they tuck their heads under 
 their wings to go to sleep. 
 
 Of course we had heard about the wonder- 
 ful aquarium at Honolulu, but we were whol- 
 ly unprepared for the malvelous specimens 
 of sea life that we found darting about in the 
 tanks at Waikiki Beach. They seemed more 
 like floating flowers, or brilliant plumaged 
 tropical birds, than just fish. 
 
Honolulu, the Happ)) Haven 
 
 39 
 
 "Who painted the fish*?" is a frequent in- 
 quiry of tourists as they gaze on the gor- 
 geous rainbow tinted fellows. Scientists say 
 it is due to the color of the coral reefs in 
 which they are hatched. Some are a deli- 
 cate canary color, some are as gorgeous as 
 peacocks, some are mottled, some are 
 striped, some are spotted, and some are done 
 in conventional patterns, but all wear coats 
 of many and strikingly vivid colors. 
 
 One gay young sport proudly waved after 
 him a long, tail-like appendage fully eight 
 inches in length, which curved about with 
 splendid grace as he swam gaily along. Oc- 
 casionally you will behold what seems to be 
 a fragment of the rocks inside the tank, 
 suddenly detach itself and swim calmly 
 away from its perch and you discover that 
 what you had thought to be a stone, is a fish 
 marked and colored precisely after the same 
 pattern as the rock itself. 
 
 As we swept up before the entrance of the 
 Moana Hotel at Waikiki for dinner, Peggy 
 observed with a happy sigh : 
 
 "I'm actually suffering from scenic indi- 
 gestion. ' ' 
 
 The hotel dining room is built out over 
 the blue, shining bay and the native Ha- 
 
40 Journeying Round the World 
 
 waiian waiters, clad in immaculate white 
 linen, slip noiselessly about bringing you the 
 most delicious food, and fruits in abundance 
 — the papaia, a golden melon-like fruit, 
 grapes, fresh from the vines, pineapples, and 
 all the luscious products of tree and vine 
 that grow in this Eden island. 
 
 It was in Honolulu as a matter of fact, that 
 we discovered the pineapple. Not the dry, 
 green and unripe pines that we Americans 
 eat and call good, after chipping them off 
 and saturating over-night with sugar to 
 draw the juice out. Oh, my, no! Never- 
 more, after once tasting the Hawaiian pine- 
 apple on its native heath — yellow as gold, 
 mellow as an orange, juicy as a watermelon, 
 sweet as honey. 
 
 Dr. Robert J. Burdette, the famous 
 preacher-humorist, who, with his wife, 
 was spending the winter in Honolulu, de- 
 scribed thus to us the proper way to eat a 
 Hawaiian pineapple. " First," he said, 
 "get your pineapple; then go into the bath- 
 room, pin a bath towel around your neck, 
 stand over the bathtub and cut that pine- 
 apple into quarter sections. Then eat it 
 just as you would a section of watermelon. 
 The only difficulty is, as the old darky said 
 
Honolulu, the Happy Haven 41 
 
 about eating melons, "It musses up yoh 
 eahs so'." 
 
 After dinner we lingered for a time in the 
 open court which stretches between the 
 hotel and the lapping waters of the bay. 
 Electric bulbs in red, white and blue, 
 twinkled in the trees, coffee and cigars were 
 served at small tables on the piazzas, or 
 under the trees, and the strains of the weird, 
 sweet Hawaiian music stole over our senses 
 till we dreamed we were in fairyland. 
 
 On our return to the city we passed the 
 Colonial home of Ex-Queen Liliuokalani 
 near the Royal Hawaiian Hotel, and up the 
 avenue of stately Royal palms to Oahu Col- 
 lege surrounded by its wonderful fence of 
 coral a mile long and covered with night 
 blooming cactus, thousands of them in 
 bloom, their petals unfolding in beauty and 
 fragrance under the silver radiance of the 
 moon. 
 
 Next morning at 10 o 'clock our ship sailed 
 away and set her course toward Japan. 
 Hawaiians understand perfectly the grace 
 of hospitality. They know how to speed 
 the parting as well as welcome the coming 
 guest. It seems as if practically the whole 
 
42 Journeying Round the World 
 
 town turns out to see you off, and brings 
 along the band. 
 
 This municipal band, by the way, is the 
 pride of Honolulu. It is maintained by the 
 city, the same as the police force or any other 
 municipal organization, and its services are 
 in demand for all sorts of public functions, 
 but never to be had for private occasions. 
 It is composed of native Hawaiians and, for 
 an hour before we left, this band played 
 splendid music. The plaintive strains of 
 Hawaii's national song, " Aloha Oe" (Love 
 to You) entranced our ears and there were 
 patriotic airs, and Southern melodies and, 
 just as our ship slowly slipped away from 
 the wharf, the music lapsed into the majestic 
 measures of Lohengrin's "Wedding March." 
 Wherefore I do not know unless in compli- 
 ment to the gay young widow who was going 
 out to Manila to meet her fiance, or to the 
 pretty Southern girl whose lover was wait- 
 ing for her in Shanghai. In a twinkling, 
 the music swung into the familiar "Colum- 
 bia, the Gem of the Ocean" and, amidst 
 great tossing of leis, clapping of hands and 
 waving of handkerchiefs, we floated out 
 over the still waters of Honolulu harbor, the 
 last, sweet strains to reach our ears being 
 
Honolulu, the Happy Haven 43 
 
 of that land of the free and home of the 
 brave from which we were now taking our 
 leave for a period of months to come. 
 
 The native boys, diving for nickels and 
 dimes, followed our ship for a mile or more, 
 sporting in the water like huge, brown- 
 skinned human porpoises. 
 
In Mid- ocean, 
 
 Twelve days in mid-ocean — sailing, sail- 
 ing, sailing ' ' out into the West where the 
 sun goes down" to the point where the West 
 meets the East. We cross the 180th merid- 
 ian, and leave behind us the West — also a 
 day which drops incidentally from our cal- 
 endar. We fell asleep on Good Friday night, 
 and awakened next morning to the East — 
 and Easter Sunday. 
 
 Thenceforth we are at the beginning of 
 things. We are starting now from the ex- 
 treme boundary of the round world — where 
 the sun first gets up — away out in the mid- 
 dle of the Pacific — and we are sailing toward 
 the dawn of the Orient, the high noon of the 
 equator, the afternoon of Western seas, and 
 the sunset of the Occident. 
 
 Glorious days were those! The great 
 ocean calm as a summer lake — scarcely a 
 ripple on its shining blue surface, turquoise 
 skies, sunny days, soft breezes, opalescent 
 sunsets and mellow moonlight nights. Not 
 a sail in sight; not a companion vessel on 
 the great ocean highway — absolutely alone. 
 
 44 
 
In Mid-ocean 45 
 
 It was as if we — this boat-load of a few hun- 
 dred souls — were the sole occupants of the 
 universe. Even the wireless lost connec- 
 tion with us, and we missed the little daily 
 paper printed on board giving us the tele- 
 graphic briefs of the world which seems 
 now so distant — so entirely out of our ken. 
 
 You wake in the night sometimes and 
 listen to the hourly call " All's well" as the 
 ship's bell strikes the passing hours. You 
 realize as never before how utterly solitary 
 and alone you are — absolutely cut off from 
 communication with the world at large — ■ 
 and yet — you never think of fear. You feel 
 as safe and secure as when lying in your 
 bed at home. The days pass in such quick 
 succession and with such a degree of same- 
 ness that there is nothing to distinguish 
 Monday from Wednesday, or Thursday 
 from Tuesday — except on Sunday — that is 
 different from any other day in the week. 
 First, there is the regular weekly inspection 
 of the crew by the ship's officers. On one 
 side of the promenade deck, the Japanese 
 stewards and crew line up, and on the other 
 the Chinese. All are clad in spotless white 
 and as the captain and chief officers go down 
 the line, every hand is raised in salute. 
 
46 Journeying Round the World 
 
 At 11 o'clock the ship's bell summons 
 passengers to the dining saloon for church 
 service. If no clergyman is on board, then 
 the captain leads in the impressive ritual- 
 istic service of the Episcopalian, or English 
 church. Never will the Psalm of the Sea 
 appeal to you as now — ' ' They that go down 
 to the sea in ships. . .These see the works 
 of the Lord, and His wonders in the deep 
 ... so He bringeth them to their desired 
 haven." 
 
 Wonderfully impressive, too, are the 
 hjnnns — the voices rising in that familiar 
 tune "There's a wideness in God's mercy, 
 like the wideness of the sea," or the 
 "Pilot" hymn. 
 
 Our last night on shipboard before reach- 
 ing Yokohama was made memorable by the 
 captain's dinner — a function that always 
 marks the final festivities on Pacific liners. 
 The big ship had been our home so long — 
 almost three weeks — that there was a feel- 
 ing of universal regret at leaving her hos- 
 pitable state rooms and spacious decks. We 
 had formed delightful acquaintances, too, 
 and, while eagerly looking forward to our 
 arrival in Japan there was nevertheless a 
 
In Mid-ocean 47 
 
 lingering regret at thought of leaving our 
 floating home. 
 
 The big dining-room was made gorgeous 
 for this last banquet with hundreds of flags, 
 representing the nations of the earth, flut- 
 tering from the ceiling, while gay pennants 
 and Japanese lanterns lent further color to 
 the brilliant effect. A dinner party with 
 the host absent seems a rather strange pro- 
 ceeding, but that is what happened on this 
 occasion for the captain stood at his post on 
 the bridge all that afternoon and all through 
 the night, for the approach to Yokohama 
 is so perilous that it requires careful and 
 expert seamanship. So, faithful to his 
 trust, the captain guided the big ship while 
 we, his guests, made merry below. 
 
 It was midnight before festivities were 
 over — the dinner, and after that, the pre- 
 sentation of trophies won in the various 
 deck games and tournaments which had 
 whiled away the time of our voyage, and 
 then the concert in the music room. It was 
 scarcely dawn next morning when we were 
 awakened by the vigorous beating of the 
 big gong announcing that we were anchored 
 just outside the harbor of Yokohama. Dap- 
 per little Japanese surgeons from the quar- 
 
48 Journeying Round the World 
 
 antine station were already on board and 
 anxious to begin their work of inspection. 
 We hustled into our clothes and answered 
 the summons to the dining saloon where we 
 were subjected to the quick, keen scrutiny 
 of the health officers who politely and 
 promptly pronounced us all good subjects 
 for the Land of the Rising Sun. 
 
 Outside the rain was falling in torrents. 
 Umbrellas and raincoats were in demand, 
 and we were taken off in relays in little 
 launches which landed us on the wharf be- 
 fore the custom house. 
 
 In nearly all ports in the Far East you 
 will notice that the big ocean liner rarely 
 docks but puts her passengers ashore in 
 launches. Some Japanese officials, after a 
 merely nominal examination of our baggage, 
 slapped on the stickers and passed us 
 through the custom house. 
 
The Land of the 'Riksha. 
 
 Some one has said that Japan is the child 
 of the world's old age and it certainly does 
 give one the impression of an empire of 
 animated dolls when you first set eyes on 
 the diminutive little brown men, the pretty, 
 pink-cheeked maidens teetering along on 
 their clicking sandals, and the jinrikshas 
 like overgrown baby cabs, mounted on two 
 rubber- tired wheels and built after the fash- 
 ion of the English baby coach. All this com- 
 bines to make an American feel very big, 
 very awkward, and very ungainly. Indeed, 
 one of the amusing sights of Japan is that 
 of a 200-pound American crowded into a 
 jinriksha, his feet half hanging out for want 
 of space, hauled about the streets by a lively 
 little Jap who sprints along at a jog trot. 
 
 Harold Bolce says that one ride in a rail- 
 way train in the Land of the Rising Sun 
 does much to disillusion the American who 
 has fondly believed that Uncle Sam is the 
 godfather of Japan. Take a train at Yoko- 
 hama and ride to Tokyo and, but for the 
 character of your fellow passengers, you 
 
 49 
 
50 Journeying Round the World 
 
 might readily believe you were traveling 
 from Liverpool to London. The whole sys- 
 tem is thoroughly British. You find painted 
 over the ticket booth at the station "Book- 
 ing Office, ' ' and you never ' ' check your bag- 
 gage" in Japan — you "forward your lug- 
 gage. ' ' Whether you find it at your destin- 
 ation is another thing. It fills your soul 
 with doubt to behold posted up in the bag- 
 gage room of the railway station "Luggage 
 forwarded in all directions," and you won- 
 der uneasily in which direction vours will go. 
 
 You notice too that there are girls in most 
 of the ticket offices. You almost always 
 buy your railway ticket of a girl in Japan. 
 In fact, the women of Japan, under the new 
 regime, are coming into a much larger life 
 than hitherto. In a single bank in Tokyo 
 I was told that fifty young women are em- 
 ployed. At Osaka, the great industrial cen- 
 ter — the Manchester of Japan — over 40,000 
 women and children are employed in the 
 big silk and cotton factories, and in the tele- 
 phone offices are 700 more. 
 
 But the thing that most impresses you 
 in all Japan, is its swarming human life. 
 KScareety a woman on the crowded streets, 
 or a child of sufficient size to bear the bur- 
 
The Land of the 'Rifysha. 51 
 
 den, but has on her back a baby. Carried 
 pappoose fashion, inside the loose kimono, 
 that little black head is always in evidence, 
 bobbing over the shoulders. Another thing 
 that impresses you is the fact that you al- 
 most never hear a baby cry in Japan al- 
 though they are swarming all around you. 
 Stolid little bunches of humanity, they re- 
 gard life philosophically and soberly — for 
 you rarely see a baby smile either. 
 
 A missionary to Japan, who has served 
 many years at Nagoya, told me that no place 
 in the empire containing a population of 
 less than 100,000 is considered a city. The 
 rest are all villages. When one stops to re- 
 flect that Japan has a population of 50,- 
 000,000 — almost one-half that of the entire 
 United States — and is increasing at the enor- 
 mous rate of 700,000 annually, and yet has 
 but 18,000 square miles of tillable land, one 
 can understand her congested ^population 
 and how eagerly she has taken possession of 
 her Korean territory. Fancy crowding 50,- 
 000,000 people into a little empire whose 
 area is slightly more than that of Montana! 
 
 The United States Department of Agri- 
 culture makes the statement that the cul- 
 tivated area of Japan comprises a district 
 
52 Journeying Round the World 
 
 equal to about one-third the size of the State 
 of Illinois. In fact, only fifteen per cent, of 
 the territory of the empire is adapted to the 
 cultivation of their annual crops, and yet 
 these little brown men have conducted their 
 farming with such industry and scientific 
 skill that this insignificant area has sup- 
 ported 50,000,000 people. 
 
 Kamakura is an hour's ride from Yoko- 
 hama by steam car, situated on the seashore 
 and it is one of the beauty spots of Japan 
 and a favorite watering place. It is here 
 that you see the famous Daibutsu statue of 
 Buddha. As the train passes out into the 
 open from Yokohama, you get your first 
 glimpse of the country with its gardens and 
 rice fields, its bamboo forests and intensely 
 cultivated fields. 
 
 As soon as we disembarked at the railway 
 station at Kamakura we were surrounded 
 by 'riksha men, jabbering and gesticulating 
 to secure our attention and our patronage. 
 An official who spoke very good English 
 came to our rescue and we were soon 
 mounted in the funny, two- wheeled cabs. 
 
 Our human horses on this occasion were 
 somewhat handicapped. One was a little, 
 weazened old man about as big as a minute, 
 
The Land of the 'Riksha 53 
 
 and another had but one eye. The little 
 old man was assigned to Peggy. Now 
 Peggy is no lightweight and she rebelled at 
 the prospect. 
 
 "You no can haul me," she protested in 
 voluble Jap-English, " I too much heavy — 
 you too much old — sabe?" 
 
 For reply, the little old man puckered his 
 toothless jaws into a cheerful grin, spit on 
 his hands, grabbed the thills of the 'riksha 
 and trotted gaily off leading the procession, 
 but he vanished at the first stopping place 
 and was seen no more, his place being taken 
 by a younger and stronger man. 
 
 If you do not visit Nikko you do not see 
 Japan, is the opinion, not only of the Jap- 
 anese themselves, but of all tourists who 
 have made a pilgrimage to this charming 
 spot away up in the mountains, two thousand 
 feet above Tokyo, from which city it is dis- 
 tant five hours by rail and reached by ex- 
 press trains which give excellent service. The 
 first-class compartments, by which all for- 
 eigners travel as the second-class are simply 
 impossible in the Orient for Americans, are 
 very comfortable indeed, the seats running 
 lengthwise and well upholstered. Japanese 
 of the upper class also patronize these com- 
 
54 Journeying Round the World 
 
 partments and you are interested in watch- 
 ing them as they enter the car, slip their 
 shoes off and draw their immaculate white- 
 stockinged feet under them, sitting Turk 
 fashion. 
 
 As we approach Mkko the train climbs 
 higher and higher, winding through the most 
 beautiful section of country where grow 
 monumental forest trees. For miles the way 
 parallels the famous avenue lined on either 
 side with giant cryptomeria trees of three 
 centuries growth. This avenue is twenty-five 
 miles long and is one of the sights of Japan. 
 When the train finally puffs into the station, 
 you are met with the usual flock of 'riksha 
 men who have the Niagara Falls " barkers" 
 beaten to a finish; you mount the queer little 
 vehicle and away you go, up the straight, 
 steep street — so steep that it requires the 
 united effort of two men to run the 'riksha 
 — one to pull and one to push. You pro- 
 ceed in this fashion for a full mile through 
 the principal street and then make an abrupt 
 turn to Hotel Kanaya which is perched on 
 a terrace high above the street and over- 
 hanging the rushing river spanned by the 
 famous Sacred Bridge across which no one 
 
The Land of the 'Riksha 55 
 
 is permitted to pass except the Emperor and 
 members of the Imperial family. 
 
 As we faced the steep incline leading up 
 to the hotel, Peggy shrieked in alarm and 
 begged to get down and walk, but without 
 the slightest halt, the little brown men 
 whisked our procession of 'rikshas around 
 the curve while a third man darted out from 
 the flock of dogs that obstruct the streets, 
 to help push. Altogether, we made quite 
 an imposing procession, our five 'rikshas 
 propelled by fifteen men. I felt like the 
 Queen of Sheba approaching with her court, 
 and this sensation was augmented when, as 
 we landed at the hotel entrance, we were 
 met by the proprietor and a retinue of at- 
 tendants, all bowing and kowtowing as they 
 welcomed us to their humble abode — which 
 happened to be a magnificent, modern hotel, 
 with rooms arranged in charming suites and 
 pretty Japanese maidens to dance attend- 
 ance and bring braziers of coals to our rooms 
 in the frosty, early morning. 
 
 Mkko has a double glory — that of nature 
 and of art. There are the mountains, cas- 
 cades and monumental forest trees, and 
 there are the temples and pagodas — eight 
 hundred of them — scattered through the for- 
 
56 Journeying Round the World 
 
 ests, the most perfect assemblage of shrines 
 in all the world. Surely the ancient worship- 
 pers had a just appreciation of nature's 
 loveliness when they reared there, among 
 the majestic mountains and the leaping cas- 
 cades, the mausoleum of the illustrious 
 Shogun dynasty. 
 
 If you can plan to be at Mkko the 1st of 
 June you will witness the great annual fes- 
 tival of the temples. The Imperial house- 
 hold has a palace at Mkko which is usually 
 occupied by some members of the family 
 during the summer months when the place 
 is crowded with visitors and pilgrims who 
 come to worship at its shrines. 
 
 There are innumerable shops at Nikko, 
 filled with exquisitely carved wood, and for 
 a few sen you can pick up trays and sou- 
 venirs of the most beautiful workmanship. 
 Nikko is also the fur market of Japan and 
 you may purchase lovely white fur slippers 
 or ' ' sneaks ' ' for half a dollar — such as would 
 cost you four times that sum in the Oriental 
 shops at home. There are beautiful collars 
 and neck pieces, too, to be had for a mere 
 trifle compared with our prices. But then, 
 there is always the duty to reckon with. 
 
 Shopping in Japan, by the way, is a fas- 
 
The Land of the 'Riksha 57 
 
 cinating business. You are beset by shop- 
 keepers everywhere, who send represent- 
 atives to your hotel to ask your patronage. 
 You find cards galore, and envelopes filled 
 with the most artistic and tempting adver- 
 tising matter stuck under the door of your 
 room. The best hotels no longer permit 
 merchants to bring goods to the private 
 rooms of guests, but you find them lurking 
 in corridors and halls and in hotel parlors 
 eager to display their bargains. When you 
 go to the shops you are met by bowing and 
 salaaming clerks and proprietors who fairly 
 confuse you with the multitude of lovely 
 things to tempt the yen from your purse — 
 mandarin coats, kimonos, exquisitely em- 
 broidered crepes, carved ivory and an end- 
 less array of artistic and beautiful articles. 
 
 In some of the select shops to which your 
 guide conducts you, tea and rice cakes are 
 passed about on lacquered trays by little 
 Japanese girls and you are treated quite as 
 if you were an invited guest instead of just 
 a shopper. I suspect that many a visitor 
 is hypnotized into purchasing by this charm- 
 ing and polite custom of these shrewd little 
 merchants of the Orient. One must learn 
 how to shop in Japan, however, for prices 
 
58 Journeying Round the World 
 
 vary in different stores in the most astonish- 
 ing manner. Your guide always has his 
 particular round of certain shops which al- 
 low him a percentage on purchases. If you 
 chance to suggest a shop of which you have 
 heard, and his face suddenly becomes a 
 blank, and he protests that he never heard 
 of such a place, you may set it down as a 
 certainty that he has no arrangement with 
 that special shop, and likely it will be to 
 your financial interest to look it up inde- 
 pendently. 
 
 "We don't have to live in the United 
 States to be popular," said Peggy as we 
 trailed through the streets of Tokyo leading 
 to the great Asakusa Temple, followed by a 
 throng of curious native men, women and 
 children who gazed at us as if we were es- 
 caped lunatics. 
 
 "This is the Coney Island of Tokyo," ob- 
 served our guide as we wedged our way 
 along the crowded thoroughfares. As he 
 was educated in one of our American uni- 
 versities and served an apprenticeship in 
 New York, he ought to know what he is 
 talking about in the way of comparisons. 
 It did resemble Coney Island — this wide 
 street lined with shops and bazaars, wax- 
 
The Land of the 'Riksha 59 
 
 work shows, cineomatagraphs, and scream- 
 ing phonographs, and crowded with people. 
 No vehicles of any kind are permitted here 
 and we had to leave our 'rikshas at the en- 
 trance while we joined the throng of pedes- 
 trians. All were headed one way — toward 
 the temple — one of the largest in all Japan, 
 where the people, rich and poor, and mostly 
 poor and very poor at that, come to worship. 
 We ascended the flight of stone steps, always 
 followed by a curious throng which so in- 
 creased as we went that by the time we 
 reached the entrance to the wide, open 
 porch of the temple we could hardly make 
 any progress at all. They were orderly and 
 perfectly polite, but were evidently con- 
 sumed with curiosity and amazement at our 
 appearance. The women half timidly 
 touched our clothes, fingered our hats gin- 
 gerly, pointed at Peggy's blonde locks, and 
 then chattered and laughed among them- 
 selves apparently in great glee. It became 
 fairly embarassing. 
 
 "Do you suppose it is our motor veils?" 
 whispered Peggy, for riding in a 'riksha is 
 about as fatal to the slant of your hat as fac- 
 ing a head wind in an automobile, hence the 
 veils. 
 
60 Journeying Round the World 
 
 "No," said the guide, "it's just because 
 you are foreigners and appear strange to 
 them. They're talking about your hair 
 now," he observed; "they never see any one 
 but foreigners with light hair you know." 
 
 Kneeling before the shrine of the temple 
 in the wide portico were men, women and 
 children, murmuring prayers to Buddha and 
 tossing coins into a great hopper, closing 
 their devotions by solemnly clapping the 
 hands together three times. 
 
 "The daily contributions here amount to 
 about 300 yen ($150)," said the guide. 
 
 Muttering all around were doves, the 
 sacred birds of Japan, and chickens were 
 running about among the worshippers. One 
 old rooster was perched on a round of the 
 hopper in front of the shrine and occasion- 
 ally a stray coin would hit him, but this in- 
 cident did not ruffle his feathers or his dig- 
 nity in the least. 
 
 There are some 20,000 temples in Japan, 
 the Sixth Shogun Temple in Shiba Park 
 being one of the finest. This is where the 
 Japanese nobility go to worship the memory 
 of their ancestors and the amount of gold 
 lacquer and exquisite carving in this one 
 temple would, if turned into coin of com- 
 
The Land of the 'Rif^sha 61 
 
 mensurate value, go far toward liquidating 
 the national debt of Japan. 
 
 We sailed from Yokohama on the Korea 
 and took advantage of our all-day stop at 
 Kobe to run up to Kyoto, fifty miles away. 
 The train climbed slowly and arrived so 
 much behind schedule time that we had but 
 one short hour to spend in this lovely city 
 which is considered by travelers the "park 
 of the world, ' ' with its more than nine hun- 
 dred Buddhist temples and Shinto shrines, 
 its exquisite pottery and porcelain and 
 cloisonne productions. 
 
 At Kobe we entered the Inland Sea of 
 Japan, which is one of the world's beauty 
 spots. All day long the big ocean liner 
 threaded her way in and out among the love- 
 ly islands that stud the blue waters of this 
 land-locked sea. A special pilot is taken 
 on board at Kobe, for no sea captain will 
 trust his individual knowledge to the chang- 
 ing tides, the narrow channels and tortuous 
 ways of this winding course. Every island, 
 no matter how small, is inhabited and culti- 
 vated from the water's edge to the highest 
 peak, the fields of green maize climbing to 
 the summit. Small villages and settlements 
 populate the larger islands and this Inland 
 
62 Journeying Round the World 
 
 Sea is a favorite summer resort for the Eng- 
 lish, German and foreign residents of Shang- 
 hai and other cities on the coast of China. 
 
 The largest vessels in the world anchor 
 in the spacious harbor of Nagasaki which 
 guards the western entrance to the Inland 
 Sea and it was here that we saw our huge 
 liner coaled for the run across the Yellow 
 Sea to Shanghai. As soon as we came to 
 anchor a small fleet of barges swarmed about 
 us, manned by hundreds of Japanese — men 
 and women — and all day long baskets of 
 coal, not large enough to hold more than 
 a small hodfull, were passed rapidly from 
 hand to hand until dumped into the bunkers 
 of the ship. Some of the women had babies 
 strapped to their backs, and some of them 
 were mere children not more than twelve 
 years old. The rapidity with which coal is 
 thus loaded by hand is astonishing. I was 
 told that the record amount to date was 
 1150 tons in eleven hours. Imagine how 
 many pairs of hands worked continuously 
 for eleven hours in order to load by this 
 slow process as many hundred tons. 
 
 Progressive as the Japanese are in many 
 things, they seem slow in grasping the pos- 
 sibilities of machine over hand labor. They 
 
The Land of the 'Riksha 63 
 
 make human horses, and human engines, 
 and human levers of themselves, and one 
 wonders at the amount of vigor and strength 
 stored up in those little brown bodies. 
 
 It is something heartrending — the way the 
 women work in Japan, sometimes hauling 
 loads through the streets, always carrying 
 children on their backs, and as you watch 
 it all you think of the poor old woman in 
 Frances Little's "The Lady of the Decor- 
 ation" who asked the missionary: 
 
 "If I paid your God with offerings and 
 prayers, do you think He would make my 
 work easier? I am so tired," and of that 
 other scene so graphically pictured when the 
 mothers of the little kindergartners sat be- 
 wildered before the magic lantern show 
 given for their entertainment, until there 
 was flashed upon the sheet the picture of 
 Christ toiling up the mountain under the 
 burden of the cross, when a sudden interest 
 swept over the room and every silent, stolid 
 woman woke to instant life. The story was 
 new and strange, but the fact was as old as 
 life itself. It touched their lives and brought 
 quick tears of sympathy to their eyes. 
 
 At Kyoto we saw, in one of the temples, 
 great coils of rope made from hair sent by 
 
64 Journeying Round the World 
 
 the women of Japan, to bind the timbers to- 
 gether, as no nails are used in the construc- 
 tion of the temple. 
 
 "I believe it shall be given to the women 
 of Japan to teach us the real meaning of 
 self-sacrifice and loyalty," said a missionary. 
 "The mystical East can teach the practical 
 West many things." 
 
 A missionary went to see a certain Japan- 
 ese woman in Yokohama whose husband and 
 two sons had been killed in the war be- 
 tween Japan and Russia. She expected to 
 find her overwhelmed with grief but instead, 
 this thrice afflicted woman of Japan looked 
 at her with calm eyes and said: 
 
 "I have been giving thanks to God that 
 He has permitted me to give my all for my 
 country." 
 
 When the Crown Prince of Russia visited 
 Japan a few years ago an attempt was made 
 to assassinate him. Next morning, at the 
 gate of the Royal Palace where he was stay- 
 ing, there was found the dead body of a 
 young Japanese girl and on it a note saying 
 that she had felt so keenly the disgrace of 
 an attempt to kill a guest of the Empire, 
 that it seemed to her the only way to ex- 
 piate the crime was to offer her life as a 
 
The Land of the 'Rifysha 65 
 
 sacrifice. 
 
 A young Japanese scholar, a graduate of 
 the University at Tokyo, told me the secret, 
 I believe, of the Japanese victory over the 
 Russians. He said: 
 
 "We count our country first in all things. 
 To lose one's life for her is the highest 
 honor," and it is this principle that the Jap- 
 anese mother impresses on her sons — first, 
 last and all the time. 
 
Shanghai, the Paris of the Pacific. 
 
 It is a 36-hour run across the Yellow Sea 
 from Nagasaki to Shanghai and we found 
 the waters smooth as oil — scarcely a wrinkle- 
 on the surface of this sea of molten gold. 
 It was just at dawn of a perfect April morn- 
 ing that we dropped anchor in the port of 
 this great Chinese city, and found a trim 
 little launch ready to take us fifteen miles 
 up the wide mouth of the Yangtze to the 
 city itself. We greatly enjoyed the run up 
 the river in the fresh, morning breeze. 
 
 I have been asked many times what place 
 in all my travels I liked best and I have 
 astonished many people by putting Shang- 
 hai in the front row and very near the top. 
 It is a wonderfully interesting city. Frank 
 Carpenter says of it: 
 
 "The growth of Shanghai beats that of 
 the gourd of Jonah, which sprang up in a 
 night. It is now a modern European city. 
 It has business blocks which might be 
 dropped down in New York or London and 
 not be out of place, and residences which 
 would be fine in Washington or Paris. Along 
 
 66 
 
Shanghai, Paris of the Pacific 67 
 
 the Bund, the wide road which faces the 
 river, are a dozen or more banks whose cap- 
 ital runs into the tens of millions and whose 
 managers are so trusted that they can dip 
 into the pockets of the nations and draw 
 out at pleasure. On the same street are 
 club houses, some of which have cost hun- 
 dreds of thousands of dollars to build. There 
 are big hotels where you can live as well as 
 at home, and shops, with plate-glass win- 
 dows, containing European goods of every 
 description. Shanghai is the Paris of the 
 Far East. It is one of the richest cities in 
 Asia, and it takes the best of all that is 
 going." 
 
 Out Bubbling Well Road, which is the 
 fashionable residential thoroughfare, there 
 is a regular " millionaire's row" of magnifi- 
 cent homes, and the English, French and 
 German sections where the ambassadors live 
 make you rub your eyes and wonder if you 
 are on Riverside Drive in New York, or in 
 the Back Bay section of Boston. 
 
 It is only the Far East that can offer 
 such luxury of living at small cost. Domes- 
 tic service commands a mere pittance. The 
 wife of a missionary stationed at Wuhu, 
 who was a passenger on board our steam- 
 
68 Journeying Round the World 
 
 ship going across the Pacific, told me in the 
 most matter-of-fact way that she always 
 kept four servants — and the combined wages 
 of the quartette totaled exactly six dollars 
 a month in our money. One reason why so 
 many servants are required is because the 
 work is distinctly classified. Your cook 
 would no more think of performing any 
 other labor beside cooking than a dress- 
 maker in this country would think of doing 
 millinery. "To each one, his work" seems 
 to be the slogan. The cook, cooks; the sec- 
 ond boy sweeps and waits on table ; the ayah, 
 takes care of the baby; the laundryman 
 washes. There's no " general housemaid" 
 idea in China. 
 
 You discover immediately that the 'rik- 
 shas in China are far more comfortable than 
 in Japan. They are more roomy, and they 
 are hung lower, and they roll smoothly and 
 noiselessly along on pneumatic tires drawn 
 by swift-footed Chinamen, clad in blue 
 denim uniforms — for China is the Land of 
 the Blue Gown. 
 
 One of the features of Shanghai life which 
 is bound to challenge your immediate at- 
 tention is the picturesque East Indian po- 
 licemen — six feet tall and straight as a wil- 
 
Shanghai, Paris of the Pacific 69 
 
 low, their dark features like carved mahog- 
 any and gay red, blue, green or yellow tur- 
 bans wound artistically around their heads. 
 They stand at every corner and crossing, 
 their long, black beards tucked inside their 
 uniforms and their great height giving them 
 a most imposing appearance. 
 
 If you have but ten days in China, as did 
 we, about the best itinerary you can plan 
 is to take a trip up the Yangtze River to 
 Hankow, six hundred miles into the heart of 
 China. The trip occupies six days — three 
 going up and the same number coming back. 
 If you have two or three weeks before you 
 must return to Shanghai to catch your 
 steamer, then plan by all means to visit 
 Peking. You can go up the river to Han- 
 kow, as I mention, and then, instead of re- 
 turning to Shanghai by the same route, take 
 train at Hankow and go directly to Peking 
 — a ride of some thirty hours I believe. 
 Then you can visit the Great Wall of China 
 and return by way of Tientsin and down the 
 coast by steamer to Shanghai. 
 
 As our time was limited, we had to cut 
 Peking out of our itinerarv and content our- 
 selves with this sail up the Yang-tze .stop- 
 ping at Nanking on our return trip and com- 
 ing thence by rail back to Shanghai. 
 
Up the Yangtze. 
 
 You know the name Yangtze-Kiang sig- 
 nifies ' ' River of Fragrant Flowers . " It was 
 spring in China, and I wish I could make 
 you see the placid beauty of it all as we 
 floated up that mighty waterway between 
 shores green as emerald on a river of molten 
 gold — for the waters of the Yangtze are 
 literally golden. Some one less poetic might 
 say they were simply " roily" or muddy, but 
 I defy anyone with a spark of sentiment in 
 his nature as he watches the white foam 
 burst its bubbles from the trail of the 
 steamer on the yellow surface of the river 
 under the sunshine of a spring day to be 
 so prosaic. 
 
 In some places the river widens to a dis- 
 tance of twenty miles, and again it narrows 
 to a slender stream and you sit in your com- 
 fortable steamer chair under the wide deck 
 awnings and watch the panorama on shore 
 — the green fields growing right down to the 
 water's edge, the trees and the wild flowers 
 just bursting into bloom — pink and white, 
 and yellow and pale lilac — a perfect kaleido- 
 
 70 
 
Up the Yangtze 71 
 
 scope of delicate colors, wafting a wealth of 
 sweet perfume. From lofty mountain peaks 
 against the skyline in the distance you see 
 tall pagodas rise — shrines where worship- 
 ping hundreds climb the steep sides to bow 
 to Buddha. All along shore are fishermen's 
 huts of straw, and sampans heavily laden 
 with freight and passengers are towed along- 
 side, a single coolie being the motive power, 
 walking in a path and pulling the boat, after 
 the fashion of mules on a canal. 
 
 Every August the river overflows its 
 banks, at some points rising as high as the 
 trees along shore. It is then that we read 
 in our home papers of the awful destruction 
 of life and of crops. This annual summer 
 overflow is caused by snow melting in the 
 mountains above the source of the river. 
 Many people plan to go back inland each 
 summer and so arrange their crops that 
 they can be harvested before floodtime. 
 
 The steamers operated on the river are 
 comfortable to the point of luxury. They 
 accommodate about twenty-five first-class 
 passengers and the state rooms are far more 
 commodious than on the great ocean liners. 
 There are no upper berths and you enjoy 
 all the delights of a model houseboat. Our 
 
72 Journeying Round the World 
 
 steamer was a perfect little gem of a craft 
 — painted snow white with soft green silken 
 hangings in her saloons, and growing palms 
 giving an artistic touch. 
 
 In my American egotism, I had expected 
 something rather crude in the shape of a 
 tug that would convey us into the heart of 
 heathen China, and I was so amazed at the 
 wholly modern and strictly down-to-date ar- 
 rangements of this trim river steamer that 
 I remarked to the skipper: 
 
 "I suppose this is a new line, is it not?" 
 "It has been in operation forty years, 
 Madame," was his reply; and I was sudden- 
 ly shocked into a very real realization of 
 how young, and immature and ignorant I 
 was. This impression of the youth and te- 
 merity of our young republic deepens as you 
 sail on up the Yangtze past fertile fields and 
 realize that for thousands of years this same 
 agricultural activity has been going on, year 
 after year, generation after generation — 
 long before America was even on the map. 
 We recall too that a school of languages 
 flourished in China nearly four thousand 
 years ago, and that the oldest newspaper 
 in the world, published in Peking, appeared 
 regularly before many Western peoples had 
 devised an alphabet. 
 
Up the Yangtze 73 
 
 The steamer touches at various cities and 
 towns — at Chinkiang, Kiukiang, Wuhu, and 
 at Nanking — where on our return trip we 
 stop over for a day to visit the famous Ming 
 Tombs and to explore this beautiful old 
 city with its willow-shaded roads, its great 
 wall, and its splendid mission schools. 
 
 Early in the morning of our fourth day 
 from Shanghai our steamer moors at the 
 wharf at Hankow. It is here that the great 
 Russian tea houses are located and a visit to 
 one of them is worth while. You will see 
 how the tea leaves are handled, from the 
 best grade to the lowest, and not an atom 
 wasted. The dust of the leaves is made into 
 bricks to be used for the exiles in Siberia. 
 These bricks are as black as coal and as 
 hard as the ordinary brick of commerce. 
 You can flake off enough to dissolve in a 
 cup of hot water and it makes a fairly decent 
 cup of tea. For six weeks in the year — 
 from May till the middle of June — the tea 
 taster is the grand Mogul in Hankow. It is 
 his business to taste and test all the various 
 brands and on his judgment rests its market 
 value. It is said that he never swallows his 
 sample sip, and even then the nervous strain 
 is so great that no tea-taster can endure his 
 
74 Journeying Round the World 
 
 exacting duty longer than ten or twelve 
 years. 
 
 It was in Hankow that we saw an illustra- 
 tion of the Chinese method of punishing 
 criminals. We were passing the police sta- 
 tion and noticed across the street several 
 Chinamen standing in a row, the head of 
 each thrust through a hole in an immense 
 square board on which was written in huge 
 Chinese characters the nature of the crime 
 he had committed which in this case was 
 thieving. The chief of police, who was an 
 Englishman, told us that these men were 
 condemned to stand thus all day long for 
 thirty days in the public streets as punish- 
 ment. 
 
Sailing Toward the Equator. 
 
 We sailed from Shanghai on the Delta 
 and nowhere in all our travels did we see 
 such glorious sunsets as in those tropic skies 
 that bend above the blue waters of the China 
 Sea. The wondrous cloud effects of gold 
 and crimson, of purpling lights and shadows 
 in which the twilight lingered were enchant- 
 ing. The second morning after leaving 
 Shanghai we found ourselves in the tropics 
 and heavy clothing was quickly exchanged 
 for summer garb, while electric fans began 
 whirling in cabins and dining saloon. 
 
 We spent thirty hours at Hongkong, 
 sailing south at noon on the last day of 
 April. The scene presented by this won- 
 derful city at night is one never to be for- 
 gotten. As we sat on deck we faced a literal 
 fairyland of flashing lights. On every craft 
 afloat in the bay — and there were hundreds 
 of them — and from the windows of every 
 building on shore, which stretch from the 
 water front to the summit of the loftiest 
 peaks, flashed and twinkled the flame of an 
 electric bulb, or a brilliant arc light, until it 
 
 75 
 
76 Journeying Round the World 
 
 seemed that the stars of heaven itself had 
 come down to rest upon this enchanted bay 
 and wondrous city builded on the heights 
 which rise abruptly on the little island that 
 lies like a jewel at the mouth of the river 
 which here mingles its waters with those of 
 the sea. 
 
 And right here I want to give my readers 
 a tip that Hongkong is a splendid place to 
 shop. Never mind the heat, even though the 
 perspiration bathes your brow and drips off 
 your nose — you just shop — and if you are 
 too lazy to leave the ship, shop right there, 
 for the merchants fairly swarm on board 
 bringing their goods. You may order a 
 pongee or linen suit made for yourself, your 
 husband or your daughter and it will be de- 
 livered on board next morning. The drawn 
 work, grass cloth and laces make you fairly 
 hold your breath. You can buy a waist pat- 
 tern, done in beautiful Canton drawn work 
 for $1.25 in gold, and strips of this exquisite, 
 lace-like handwork may be purchased for 
 as little as fifteen cents a yard. 
 
 Then there's the bamboo and rattan 
 chairs. On this English line of steamers, 
 unlike the Pacific Mail and Atlantic liners, 
 we could not rent a steamer chair for the 
 
Sailing Toward the Equator 77 
 
 voyage. But that's no hardship or extra ex- 
 pense, for you can buy one in Hongkong 
 for about the same money you pay for the 
 use of one across the Pacific or the Atlantic. 
 It fairly rends your soul that you cannot 
 carry your prize through Europe and on 
 home with you, but such a proceeding would 
 cost more than a dozen chairs. You no 
 sooner come to anchor in the bay of Hong- 
 kong than Chinese merchants swarm the 
 decks offering these chairs for sale. If you 
 talk long enough, and act indifferent enough, 
 you'll secure a splendid rattan steamer chair, 
 with sufficient extension to allow you to 
 lounge at full length, for the modest sum 
 of $1.25. 
 
 One of the sights of Hongkong is its fa- 
 mous Flower Street. It is one of those steep 
 streets in which that city abounds. You 
 have to climb cement stairs as you ascend — 
 leading right up the slope from Queen 
 Street, and when you come to it you will 
 utter an involuntary cry of delight. Stretch- 
 ing up the incline for a block or more is a 
 continuous bazaar of the loveliest cut 
 flowers. Great clusters of Easter lilies were 
 thrust in our faces — a dozen or more bios- 
 
78 Journeying Round the World 
 
 soms in the bunch — for the modest price of 
 fifteen cents. 
 
 Then you must make the ascent to the 
 Peak by the electric tram. In seven min- 
 utes from the time you leave the sea level 
 you are three thousand feet above it with a 
 marvelous panoramic view of the bay, the 
 city and the sea stretched out before you. 
 On your way down, get off at Bowen Road 
 and walk through the winding roads past 
 gardens of flowers and ferns, of banyan and 
 bamboo trees, in the midst of which are set 
 beautiful homes. You will come out in 
 Queen's Road in the heart of the shopping 
 district. 
 
 Thirty hours from Hongkong and you are 
 at Singapore — the halfway house in your 
 great swing around the circle. You are now 
 about eighty miles from the equator and 
 naturally expect to find it hot and humid. A 
 rip-roaring thunder storm heralded our 
 arrival there and cooled the atmosphere in 
 the most agreeable manner. I have suffered 
 more from heat and humidity on a summer 
 day in New York than I did during the 
 twenty-hours we were in Singapore under 
 the very shine of the equator. 
 
 A young native, clad in spotless white 
 
Sailing Toward the Equator 79 
 
 duck, who came aboard directly our ship lay 
 at anchor, surveyed our party carefully and 
 promptly claimed us for his own. He dis- 
 played a letter of recommendation from the 
 American Consul, calmly attached himself 
 to us with an air of proprietorship, politely 
 but firmly ignored all efforts to shake him 
 off, escorted us ashore, placed us in a tram 
 car, disembarked us when we reached the 
 city, bundled us into a gharry — we had 
 ceased to resist by this time — and proceeded 
 to show us the city, and the surroundings 
 thereof, including Johore, distant an hour 
 by steam car. Truth to tell, he did it rather 
 well, too. He took us first to the museum 
 where we saw a regular canned menagerie — 
 enough tigers, and lions, and beasts and 
 birds and reptiles to haunt your dreams 
 forever. 
 
 The island of Singapore, it must be remem- 
 bered, is known as the Lion Island, owing to 
 the many lions that stalk through its jungles. 
 Tigers too abound, and the first thing that 
 greeted us as we entered the museum was 
 a huge stuffed tiger killed by the Sultan of 
 Johore, and presented by him to the mu- 
 seum. This Malay monster reclined in such 
 a lifelike position in his glass cage and had 
 
80 Journeying Round the World 
 
 such a sardonic grin on his classic features 
 that Peggy began softly chanting her favor- 
 ite limerick: 
 
 "There was a young lady of Niger, 
 Who sat on the back of a tiger, ' ' etc. 
 
 We went to the Botanical Gardens — all 
 these Oriental cities have botanical gardens 
 — they don't call them parks over there. 
 The soil of Singapore is such a brilliant brick 
 color that the roads literally run red be- 
 tween the close-cut turf of green and the 
 rich, rank growth of vines and hedges. We 
 tasted the delicious fruits of the tropics — 
 mangosteens, the queer, little dwarfed ba- 
 nanas, and other luscious products known 
 only to equatorial regions. 
 
 The roads in and about Singapore might 
 be held up as models to the nations of the 
 earth — so smooth and hard, so beautifully 
 laid out, curving past pineapple plantations, 
 groves of rubber trees and sago palms and 
 tapioca fields. There are hundreds of auto- 
 mobiles in Singapore and the familiar honk- 
 honk was good to our American ears after 
 our sojourn in the land of the 'riksha and 
 sedan chair, the hard-working coolie and the 
 human horses of China and Japan. Singa- 
 pore swings like a pendant from the south- 
 
Sailing Toward the Equator 81 
 
 era tip of the Malay Peninsula, and is only 
 separated by a narrow strait less than a 
 mile wide, from the mainland ol Asia. The 
 island is egg-shaped, and is twenty-eight 
 miles long by fourteen miles wide. 
 
 The next port is Penang, about twenty- 
 four hours' sail from Singapore, and one of 
 the most charming places at which your 
 ship touches. Be sure to go ashore at 
 Penang. 
 
Ceylon's Spicy Breezes. 
 
 "May I put in the wind chute, Madame?" 
 were the first words that greeted my sleepy 
 ears as the flush of dawn swept the rosy 
 sky above the broad expanse of the Indian 
 Ocean. 
 
 My soul grew sick with fear and I stam- 
 mered, "Is — is — it getting rough?" while 
 visions of the mal de mer I had buried in the 
 China Sea, now leagues behind, flashed 
 through my mental vision. 
 
 "No, Madame, no — smoother," was the 
 reassuring reply of the steward, "and 
 warmer. This chute will send a current of 
 air through your cabin," and he proceeded 
 to fix in place a section of metal pipe which 
 projected out beyond the port-hole. 
 
 Instantly a miniature cyclone of salt, sea 
 air shot through the pipe almost blowing 
 me out of my berth. That blessed "shoot" 
 caught every wandering breeze on the In- 
 dian Ocean, and a few from the Arabian 
 Sea to the north of us, I suspect, and swept 
 them through our cabin. 
 
 Peggy stirred sleepily on her upper shelf 
 
 82 
 
Ceylon's Spicy Breezes 83 
 
 and murmured something about the spicy 
 breezes that blow soft o'er Ceylon's isle. 
 
 The entrance to the harbor of Colombo is 
 said to be the narrowest in the world en- 
 tered by big ships. A breakwater encloses 
 it, and just outside, our pilot came aboard as 
 the Delta lazily sailed along toward the en- 
 trance at nine o'clock on a glorious starlight 
 night. It seemed as if the sides of the great 
 ship almost grazed the bulkheads from 
 which glared two immense headlights — one 
 red and the other green — each marking the 
 edge of the seawall and showing the width 
 of the entrance. 
 
 An Englishman stood at my side as we 
 leaned over the bow watching the careful 
 and accurate piloting of our ship through 
 the narrow way. 
 
 "Some of these pilots make a thousand 
 pounds a year," he remarked, "guiding ves- 
 sels into the harbor. You see our passage 
 occupies about ten minutes and the man at 
 the wheel gets three or four pounds for the 
 service." 
 
 Another instance of the value of "know- 
 ing how. ' ' 
 
 Peggy and I did Colombo by tram, riding 
 in the second class compartment with the 
 
84 Journeying Round the World 
 
 hoi polloi, so to speak. The first class com- 
 partment consisted of the front seat only, 
 which could be shared with the motorman. 
 He was big and brown and greasy looking, 
 and as it cost as much again to ride out 
 there, J*eggj and I decided to economize 
 and at the same time get the local color of 
 the place by fraternizing with the natives. 
 We recklessly embarked on the first tram we 
 met and when the conductor came for fares, 
 we politely opened our purses and let him 
 extract the needful coin. In this way we 
 rode twelve miles over two different lines 
 for as many cents. Seeing that we were 
 orphans and alone, and foreigners at that, 
 the Singhalese conductor, who spoke fairly 
 good English, constituted himself our guide, 
 philosopher and friend, pointing out the 
 places of interest as we passed. 
 
 On our return from this sight-seeing trip 
 we drank delicious Ceylon tea in a pictur- 
 esque pagoda-like tea house, and prowled 
 about the shops, for here as elsewhere in the 
 Orient, shopping is a very fascinating busi- 
 ness. Really, though, the best place to shop 
 at Ceylon is on shipboard. The shops come 
 to you in the shape of swarthy merchants 
 carrying big bundles of laces, exquisitely 
 
Ceylon s Spicy Breezes 85 
 
 wrought grass-cloth dress and waist pat- 
 terns, and trays of jewels which they spread 
 out before you as you sit lazily in your 
 steamer chair and barter, bargain and buy 
 to your heart 's content. 
 
 And such a sliding scale of prices makes 
 your arithmetic fairly dizzjl Asking the 
 price of a thing is merely opening the con- 
 versation, as someone has said. These 
 shrewd and wily merchants of the Far East 
 are guided in their dealings solely by the 
 rule of greed which extracts every fraction 
 of a rupee that you will pay. The best time 
 to buy is just before the ship sails — imme- 
 diately after the natives are warned off deck 
 by the ship's officers. This is the crucial 
 moment — it is a case of now or never, and 
 prices fall like magic. 
 
 You are amazed to find that the handful 
 of stones — shining sapphires, red rubies, 
 milky moonstones, opals, turquoise and glit- 
 tering gems of all sorts — precious and semi- 
 precious — no one knows but an expert — 
 may be had now for thirty shillings, where- 
 as the original asking price was seven 
 pounds sterling. The lovely Maltese lace 
 handkerchief likewise has shrunk in value 
 to a mere shilling, and your soul fairly 
 
86 Journeying Round the World 
 
 shouts with glee as you shell out the shil- 
 lings, rupees and pence to possess yourself 
 of these jewels and laces of Ceylon. 
 
 You will observe that the costumes of 
 these people down here near the equator 
 are noted chiefly for their simplicity and 
 brevity. The children wear, for the most 
 part, only their shining black skins and a 
 bright smile — and they look like little 
 ebony gods. The men wear their hair long 
 and twisted into a tight knot at the nape of 
 the neck, drawn back from the forehead by 
 a huge tortoise-shell comb, like the circle 
 comb of our grandmother's childish days, 
 and which sets up like a halo. 
 
 The fashionable costume for the women 
 consists of a couple of yards of bright, plaid 
 gingham, pinned around the waist, its scant 
 folds falling to just below the knee. The 
 waist is of white cotton cloth elaborately 
 trimmed with coarse lace through the 
 meshes of which the dark skin shows, em- 
 phasizing the pattern of the lace. 
 
 The popular native conveyance in Colom- 
 bo is a two-wheeled cart drawn by a pair of 
 small water buffaloes, funny little animals 
 that look like diminutive cows with humps 
 back of their necks. There are street 
 
Ceylon's Spicy Breezes 87 
 
 pumps everywhere and the natives take 
 their baths under them, splashing the water 
 over their half clad bodies, and drinking 
 from cocoanut shells. 
 
The Red Sea. 
 
 We approached the Red Sea with con- 
 siderable trepidation, not knowing just 
 what to expect in the way of climate from 
 the conflicting reports we had heard — dire 
 tales of death, disease, and even insanity. 
 
 "Of course you intend to sleep on deck 
 in your steamer chair when we're in the Red 
 Sea" ventured a nervous woman whose hus- 
 band's aunt's neighbor had made the trip 
 ten years ago. 
 
 Another solemnly informed us that fre- 
 quently the ship is compelled to turn 
 around and go in the opposite direction for 
 half an hour or so at a time, in order to 
 catch the breeze from the southeast and 
 give passengers a chance to gasp a few times 
 and renew the supply of oxygen in their 
 lungs. 
 
 A dyspeptic looking man groaned feebly 
 and remarked in a funereal tone that he had 
 heard that passengers sometimes went 
 quite insane from the awful heat and had to 
 be guarded to prevent them from jumping 
 overboard. 
 
The Red Sea 89 
 
 Another fellow passenger laughed to 
 scorn all these gloomy predictions and ad- 
 vised us to get out our steamer rugs. He 
 said that he had actually suffered from cold 
 on previous trips when passing through 
 this body of water which flows between two 
 deserts. 
 
 So you can see for yourself that we were 
 uncertain as to what new terrors awaited 
 us in this sea through which the hosts of 
 Pharaoh passed. We reached Aden in the 
 early morning and our ship lay there several 
 hours awaiting the arrival of the mail 
 steamer from Bombay. 
 
 The most prominent feature of the land- 
 scape at Aden is the town-clock which 
 towers above the huddle of red-roofed build- 
 ings, clinging like swallows' nests to the 
 steep, rocky sides of the frowning cliffs 
 which rise from the shore. Not a spear of 
 grass or vegetation anywhere. A few 
 sickly trees of straggling growth speak pa- 
 thetically of effort to create artificial shade 
 from the pitiless glare of the sun which 
 scorches the grim rocks and the fortress- 
 guarded port which forms the gateway to 
 the Red Sea. 
 
 Evidently there is a wag at Aden for we 
 
90 Journeying Round the World 
 
 beheld such signs as "Keep Off: the Grass" 
 and "Do Not Pick the Mowers" posted up 
 here and there in the public square which 
 faces the water front. Camels solemnly 
 parade the single street hauling two- 
 wheeled carts, and Aden possesses several 
 auto-omnibuses which convey tourists to 
 the famous water tanks discovered some 
 sixty years ago, excavated out of solid rock, 
 no one knows how many centuries gone. 
 Some say in King Solomon's time. The pur- 
 pose of these huge reservoirs, it is supposed, 
 was to store water to supply the inhabitants 
 of Aden and a pessimist on board remarked 
 that, according to report handed down from 
 generation to generation, it has never 
 rained in Aden since Solomon's reign. 
 
 An Australian editor however, who went 
 out to inspect the tanks, told me that he had 
 heard it rumored that actual records show it 
 does rain in Aden once in seven years, and 
 some of the oldest inhabitants declare that 
 on one occasion the lapse between drouth 
 and rain was but five years. 
 
 'At six o'clock we sailed away with over 
 two hundred enormous sacks of Indian mail 
 stored away in our hold, transferred from 
 the Bombay steamer. India must keep up 
 
The Red Sea 91 
 
 quite a lively correspondence with England. 
 
 If it hadn't been for that "following 
 wind" our passage of the Red Sea would 
 have been most comfortable. But that 
 breeze pursued us — it never faced us — and 
 not a breath of it did we get. However, this 
 zephyr from the parched Arabian desert fol- 
 lowed us but one day out of the three which 
 the trip consumed, and with this exception 
 we were as cool and comfortable as when 
 sailing in the Indian Ocean. 
 
 We entered the Suez Canal late in the 
 afternoon and at sunset passed the former 
 residence of De Lesseps, the great French 
 engineer to whose genius this waterway con- 
 necting Europe with the Orient is due. The 
 once handsome home is quite deserted now. 
 It stands on a height overlooking the canal 
 and commanding a superb view. 
 
 Every steamer that passes through the 
 canal must pay high into the thousands for 
 the privilege. There is a toll of two dollars 
 per capita for every man, woman and child 
 on board, beside the tonnage tax which, at 
 a rate not less than $1.50 per ton, runs up 
 into the tidy sum of $15,000 for a 10,000-ton 
 ship. That the Suez Canal has paid almost 
 from the start goes without saying. Frank 
 
92 Journeying Round the World 
 
 G. Carpenter, the well-known traveler and 
 newspaper correspondent, says: 
 
 "The last time I traversed the canal the 
 steamer took eighteen hours and the charge 
 for the ship was just about $500 per hour. 
 The stock is as high as anything sold in Wall 
 street. The bulk of it is owned by Great 
 Britain, and although the French nominalty 
 control the canal its real direction comes 
 from John Bull. As it is now, no large block 
 of the common stock appears to be owned by 
 any individual or corporation or other 
 government. John Bull is said to have a 
 large majority of the whole, and the next 
 shareholder in point of ownership is a 
 Frenchman who has only a little more than 
 1500 shares out of the whole 400,000. As I 
 remember it the British government bought 
 176,000 shares of the old Khedive, Ismail 
 Pasha, getting the same through a loan of 
 $20,000,000, which was made by the Roths- 
 childs originally, and finally turned over to 
 the British government. That investment 
 of $20,000,000 was one of the best John Bull 
 has ever made. The stock which he has 
 bought is now worth more than $150,000,000, 
 and it has paid $60,000,000 or $70,000,000 in 
 dividends." 
 
Cairo, City of Mosques, Min- 
 arets and Mosquitos. 
 
 As your train speeds away from Port Said 
 out into the desert toward Cairo the clear, 
 dry air comes as the breath of life to your 
 nostrils after the sticky, humid heat of the 
 Red Sea and the equatorial regions. After 
 passing Ismalia on the Suez Canal, you leave 
 the dry desert and your way lies through 
 fields of golden grain, fertile meadows and 
 growing gardens. Rows of stately eucalyp- 
 tus trees, hedges of scarlet geraniums, ole- 
 ander trees and moonflowers clambering 
 riotously over palings surrounding the little 
 railway stations bear striking resemblance 
 to the vegetation of our own Southern Cali- 
 fornia. 
 
 It is a four hours' ride from Port Said to 
 Cairo — city of mosques and minarets, mum- 
 mies and museums, camels and cafes, of the 
 red fez and the mellow skies. The nights 
 were cool and comfortable when we were 
 there in late May, but at mid-day the ther- 
 mometer climbed to eighty-seven degrees, 
 and from that hour until three o'clock busi- 
 
 93 
 
94 Journeying Round the World 
 
 ness is practically suspended. Stores and 
 offices close and apparently all Cairo sleeps ; 
 the camels doze in the shade and the Arab 
 shop-keepers frequently lie, stretched at 
 full length, in the doorways of their bazaars. 
 
 Carlo is afflicted with swarms of flies and 
 mosquitoes, and no effort seems to be made 
 to exclude them from buildings by means of 
 screens. They wander in and out at their 
 own sweet will. The beds in the hotels are 
 provided with mosquito bars of fine netting 
 which fall in ample folds about your couch, 
 affording effectual protection while you 
 sleep, providing you can dodge under when 
 the mosquito isn't looking — otherwise he 
 will accompany you and in the morning you 
 will discover that he has been there from the 
 print of his teeth in sundry and numerous 
 places on your anatomy. Unlike the Jersey 
 mosquito, the Cairo variety does not buzz: 
 he is small; his bite is mild and modest, but 
 nevertheless irritating. 
 
 There is a strange incongruous mingling 
 of the modern and the ancient in this quaint 
 old city of some 700,000 souls. You dream 
 of the old Bible pictures you used to studv 
 on Sunday afternoons when you were a child, 
 as you watch the water-carriers going about 
 
Cairo, City of Mosques 95 
 
 the streets with jugs poised on their heads, 
 or carrying a sheepskin filled with the water 
 of the Nile. You notice mysteriously veiled 
 Egyptian women slipping silently through 
 the streets, and you see donkeys, their necks 
 decorated with strings of gay beads, driven 
 about attached to queer carts with huge 
 wheels. There are bread sellers with big 
 trays of the flat, round loaves resting on 
 their heads; camels laden with freshly cut 
 clover stride through the streets, and every- 
 where, as twilight falls, are outdoor cafes, 
 with tables spread on the pavements and 
 surrounded with Arabs, Bedouins, Copts — a 
 medley of Oriental nationalities — each clad 
 in his native costume. Practically all Cairo 
 dines in the open. At Shepheard's Hotel we 
 took all our meals in a half-enclosed porch, 
 and some dined outside under the trees. 
 You are served by picturesque Arab waiters, 
 clad in white Turkish trousers, with gay 
 scarlet jackets, Oriental sashes, a red fez on 
 the head, and pointed Morocco sandals on the 
 feet. 
 
 As you gaze at the ancient scenes in the 
 streets of Cairo, suddenly a big motor car 
 whizzes by, or a bicycle shoots past, or a 
 modern victoria drawn by a splendid pair of 
 
96 Journeying Round the World 
 
 Arabian horses dashes along, and you? 
 dreams of ancient times are rudely dispelled 
 and you are suddenly brought down to date, 
 as it were. 
 
 Among the fascinations of Cairo, especial- 
 ly to feminine tourists, are the Turkish ba- 
 zaars, where your soul revels in rich tapes- 
 tries, glittering scarfs, scarabs, jewels and 
 gorgeous Egyptian embroideries. The ba- 
 zaar district, or "Mousky," extends for 
 blocks along narrow streets with a mere 
 ledge of a sidewalk. You are jostled by 
 throngs of Arabs, Egyptians, veiled ladies, 
 street peddlers, water carriers, donkeys, 
 carriages, carts, goats and pedestrians of all 
 classes and conditions of men and beasts. 
 
 The bazaars and shops present a tawdry 
 front — like the cheap department stores at 
 home — and you wonder if any good can 
 possibly come out of this part of Egypt, but 
 if you push your way past the rolls of carpet, 
 the piles of rugs, and the hanging draperies 
 into the shadowy depths of the interior, you 
 come at last to the choicest goods — folded 
 away on shelves behind the counters or shut 
 up in boxes, drawers and cases. You sit on 
 a divan and the display begins. Lovely 
 scarfs, like silvery snakes, beautifully em- 
 
Cairo, City of Mosques 97 
 
 broidered fabrics crusted with glittering 
 scales are held up for your admiration. All 
 the shop-keepers either speak English them- 
 selves or employ clerks who do. You know 
 it was the Cairo merchant who placed over 
 his door a sign reading: "I can speak English 
 and understand American." 
 
 The best bazaars maintain a fixed price, 
 and no amount of bantering moves the mer- 
 chant. "Not one piastre less" is his slogan, 
 and no sort of argument, persuasion or 
 threat can move him to alter that fixed price. 
 
 "I'll give you one pound for these," said 
 Peggy, as she piled up a beaded Egyptian 
 scarf and a couple of embroidered pillow 
 tops. 
 
 "One pound, sixpence," politely cor- 
 rected the merchant. 
 
 "No — just one pound even — five dollars 
 American money" persisted Peggy with true 
 Yankee thrift — "that's only throwing off 
 twelve cents." 
 
 But the merchant was obdurate. "Not a 
 single half piastre less. It is our fixed price" 
 he reiterated. Peggy was as independent as 
 he was determined and so the bargain fell 
 through — for that day. Next morning 
 Peggy sent an ambassador to buy the goods, 
 
98 Journeying Round the World 
 
 thereby maintaining her dignity and secur- 
 ing the coveted merchandise. 
 
 The zoological gardens at Cairo have a per- 
 fect menagerie in captivity — a regular Bar- 
 num-Ringling-Forepaugh show combined. 
 No trouble to keep up an animal exhibit in 
 Africa. Just go out in the jungles and catch 
 snakes or lasso lions, giraffes, tigers, ele- 
 phants — any sort of animals you want. 
 
 In the great museum you will see more 
 mummies, relics and prehistoric wonders 
 than you ever dreamed of. Preserved Phar- 
 oahs abound and you will feel younger than 
 you ever did before in your life — positively 
 childish — as you gaze on their ancient, mum- 
 mified features. You are doubly impressed 
 too with the fact that "there's nothing new 
 under the sun" when you notice the leather- 
 tired wheels of an old chariot, dating back 
 almost B. C. — same style as our modern rub- 
 ber tires. 
 
 "Well just look at that log cabin patch- 
 work, will you?" exclaimed Peggy as she 
 pointed to an exhibit a thousand or two years 
 old in a glass case. Sure enough ! There it 
 was — same pattern our grandmothers ori- 
 ginated ( ?) half a century ago. 
 
 You will want to spend one day visiting 
 
Cairo, City of Mosques 99 
 
 the citadel, the mosque of Sultan Hassam 
 and of Mohammed Pasha. Almost every 
 guide has a different story to tell, and in 
 most instances sacred and profane history 
 are strangely mixed with myths and fairy 
 tales, but each account is entertaining if not 
 strictly authentic. 
 
 "This, ladies and gentlemen," rattled on 
 Mohammed Ahmed, our guide, "is the 
 mosque built by Sultan Hassam over five 
 hundred years ago from granite taken from 
 the pyramids. It cost him five hundred 
 sovereigns each and every day during the 
 three years of its construction, and when it 
 was completed he caused the hands of the 
 architects to be cut off so that the mosque 
 could never be duplicated." 
 
 The principal object in life among these 
 Egyptian ancients appears to have been the 
 rearing of mosques and monuments to per- 
 petuate their memory after death, and a real 
 rivalry existed as to which could do the most 
 original and unusual thing. 
 
 We came to another — a magnificent mos- 
 que which crowns a height overlooking the 
 entire city, and built of solid alabaster. 
 
 "This," said Mohammed, "is the famous 
 
100 Journeying Round the World 
 
 mosque built by Mohammed Pasha, the first 
 Khedive who ruled over Egypt." 
 
 The interior is grand and beautiful be- 
 yond description. The huge dome-like roof 
 rises over an unpillared and apparently 
 unsupported oval auditorium of tremendous 
 size and absolutely devoid of any furnish- 
 ings save the rich, crimson Persian velvet 
 Carpets on the floor and the splendid chande- 
 liers glittering with hundreds of prisms 
 which catch and reflect the light of row upon 
 row of great electric arc lights which en- 
 circle the interior. 
 
 Only once a year, when the present Khe- 
 dive comes to worship, is this mosque illumi- 
 nated and thrown open to the general public 
 — otherwise you must visit it in the daytime 
 and let your imagination supply the magni- 
 ficent vision of lights which flood the whole 
 with a brilliant glory. 
 
 In a room at one side is the splendid 
 marble sarcophagus of Mohammed Pasha 
 which we gaze at through the carved aper- 
 tures of the partition which separates it from 
 the main rotunda of the mosque. 
 
 Egypt is the land of the fez. All the men 
 wear the red fez with its black tassel, and 
 the fierce Cairo sun beats upon their 
 
 
Cairo, City of Mosques 101 
 
 swarthy faces, unprotected by hat brim, till 
 you wonder how they endure it, Neverthe- 
 less, they look picturesque in their cardinal 
 caps and full Turkish trousers. 
 
Passing the Pyramids. 
 
 You approach the Pyramids from Cairo 
 by trolley — which sort of knocks the poetry 
 out of the proposition at the first stroke and 
 reduces it to prose. It seems almost uncanny 
 to journey to these ancient piles by so 
 modern a method and you wonder, rather 
 uneasily, what the Pharaohs would say. 
 
 You spin along for seven or eight miles 
 through an avenue luxuriantly lined with 
 graceful lubek trees, which resemble our 
 American locusts. When about half way out 
 you catch your first glimpse of the grim, 
 gaunt monuments rising from the rim of the 
 desert. 
 
 Like most celebrated objects, the pyra- 
 mids are disappointing at first glance — per- 
 haps because you expect so much — but as 
 you draw nearer you are more and more im- 
 pressed with their magnitude, and in the end 
 you are thoroughly thrilled. 
 
 The moment you step from the car you 
 are surrounded by a throng of dragomen 
 and donkey-boys, all clamoring for " back- 
 sheesh" and patronage. Our guide vigor- 
 
 102 
 
Passing the Pyramids 1 03 
 
 ously plied his stick right and left, as if he 
 were fighting a swarm of bees, and quickly 
 negotiated for camels, for we were deter- 
 mined to do the proper stunt and ride the 
 hurricane deck of these ships of the desert. 
 
 My particular beast rejoiced in the kingly 
 name of Rameses I. He had a three-cor- 
 nered patch — exactly the shape of a pyra- 
 mid — on the tattered and seamy skin of his 
 long neck. However, it had been neatly 
 darned and felled down so it did not inter- 
 fere seriously with the majestic and dignified 
 appearance of Rameses. I observed also 
 that he had that same half-querulous, half- 
 sardonic smile which someone has mentioned 
 as invariably curling the upper lip of the 
 camel — a sort of scornful curve that makes 
 you feel as if he were laughing at you. 
 
 "Is — is — he — gentle?" I cautiously asked 
 the Arab in charge. 
 
 "Oh yes, Madame, dis dromedary, he be- 
 long to de Sheik of de pyramids" was the re- 
 assuring reply as he made a hissing sound to 
 indicate to Rameses that he was expected to 
 come down to earth. He tapped him gently 
 at .the same time on the nose, and Rameses 
 began to undouble. 
 
 He folded up like a patent jackknif e. First 
 
104 Journeying Round the World 
 
 he took his front legs down in sections, 
 groaning dismally all the time, and then, by 
 a series of gradual evolutions, his forward 
 mast, so to speak, came within hailing dis- 
 tance. After that he arranged his rear by 
 a similar performance till his whole hurri- 
 cane deck was within climbing reach. 
 
 The Arab seized me about the waist and 
 gently hoisted me to Barneses' hump. With 
 chattering teeth, and chills chasing up and 
 down my spinal column, I settled myself in 
 the saddle, desperately grasping both its 
 horns while the Arab placed my foot in the 
 stirrup. 
 
 "Don't let him get up yet" I begged as I 
 breathed a prayer to Allah, "Hold onto him 
 — I 'm not ready. ' ' 
 
 "Lean forward" was the stern command, 
 and I convulsively clutched Rameses' 
 scarred and seamed neck, shut my eyes 
 tight, and prepared for the worst. I heard 
 that mysterious hissing sound, and simul- 
 taneously I began to rise in the world. I 
 recollect a dim, shuddering sense of sweep- 
 ing through the air at an angle of forty-five 
 degrees, of hearing a voice say, "Now lean 
 forward," of being tossed higher yet and in 
 a distinctly opposite direction as Barneses 
 
Passing the Pyramids 1 05 
 
 unfolded his hind legs and stood upright. I 
 felt myself moving through space with a 
 gentle, rocking motion, and when I had 
 courage to open my eyes I beheld below me 
 the landscape and the diminutive figures of 
 Arabs and countless donkey boys yelling at 
 and pelting Rameses in the endeavor to 
 induce him to move faster, but he continued 
 to plod majestically along with me perched 
 on his hump. 
 
 The other members of my party had suc- 
 cessfully mounted the relatives of Rameses 
 and we made a rather imposing procession 
 as we swung chaotically past the pyramids 
 and out beyond the sphinx. 
 
 "What happened to her nose?" asked 
 Peggy, indicating the olfactory organ of this 
 stone lady as we gazed at her lofty features. 
 
 "Emporer Napoleon, he knock it off," was 
 the solemn response of the dragoman. "He 
 very bad man. He use mosques for stables. ' ' 
 
 In defense of this libelous slander of the 
 great French general it is but justice to ob- 
 serve that the elements are quite likely re- 
 sponsible for the snubbed nose of the sphinx, 
 for wind and weather affect first the most 
 prominent features of these stone monu- 
 
106 Journeying Round the World 
 
 ments. The various interpretations given 
 by different dragomen are interesting and 
 diversifying. 
 
The Port of Palestine. 
 
 We sailed from Port Said at 4 o'clock one 
 afternoon across a corner of the Mediter- 
 ranean to Jaffa — the ancient Joppa — which 
 is the southern port of Palestine, arriving 
 there at dawn next morning. 
 
 Nowhere in all our travels, did we meet 
 with such a public reception as at Jaffa. It 
 was barely sunrise when our ship dropped 
 anchor before the rocky and threatening en- 
 trance to the Holy Land, and in no time the 
 decks of the little steamer were literally 
 swarming with a motley multitude of Arabs, 
 Syrians, Philistines, Turks, Moabites, Ju- 
 deans, Cook's guides and every Oriental 
 nation, all jabbering and gesticulating and 
 crowding about, eager to secure our patron- 
 age in the landing boats. 
 
 Many of the passengers were not yet out 
 of their cabins, but the curious collection of 
 yelling, struggling humanity crowded the 
 passages and assembled in front of closed 
 cabin doors ready to seize the victim when 
 he should appear. They persisted in their 
 attentions, and although we told them in 
 
 107 
 
108 Journeying Round the World 
 
 every language we could command, and also 
 by pantomime, that we were not yet ready to 
 go ashore, that we had not breakfasted, that 
 as the steamer would lie there all day and 
 the train for Jerusalem did not leave till 
 afternoon there was no possible reason for 
 such unseemly haste — it was all in vain. 
 
 They talked some more, and then they ges- 
 ticulated a lot, and then, when we remained 
 obdurate, they sat down on the floor, or 
 leaned against the deck railing, or pasted 
 themselves against the walls— and waited, 
 persistently, patiently, and steadfastly. We 
 ignored their very presence — and were re- 
 minded of it by an occasional touch on the 
 arm, or pull of the dress when they would 
 point insinuatingly to the row boats lined up 
 against the steamer's side. 
 
 We had read and heard of the perils of 
 landing at Jaffa before we left home. We 
 had been told about the swaying rope ladders 
 down which we would have to descend from 
 the steamer to the rocking egg-shells below 
 manned by brawny Arabs. We had been in- 
 formed about the old lady who had died from 
 seasickness while the steamer tossed there 
 for three days waiting for the waves to still 
 
The Port of Palestine 1 09 
 
 sufficiently to permit passengers to embark 
 in the landing boats. 
 
 Therefore we were prepared for the worst. 
 I had left my precious aluminum typewriter 
 safely stored in the custom house at Port 
 Said, fearing the effects of a salt water bath 
 on its mechanism. We had arrayed our- 
 selves in rain coats, and we wore rubbers. 
 
 It happened however, that we were like 
 a very small man with a very large breath 
 trying to blow out a candle that wasn't 
 lighted — for we met with no adventures. We 
 quietly walked down the steamer stairs, 
 stepped into a big rowboat, and were 
 swiftly pulled ashore over a sea so smooth 
 that scarcely a ripple wrinkled its surface. 
 Nothing more thrilling happened than the 
 dropping overboard of Peggy's parasol, 
 which slipped out of her hand, 
 
 Nevertheless, from the well authenticated 
 tales of other travelers, I have reason to be- 
 lieve that we were especially favored by 
 Providence. The big, grim, seaweed-covered 
 rocks which rise menacingly from the water, 
 giving but a single narrow gateway for the 
 boats to pass through, indicate how perilous 
 the passage would be in rough weather. 
 Speaking from the standpoint of an Amer- 
 
1 1 Journeying Round the World 
 
 ican, I wonder why the government over 
 there does not put down some dynamite and 
 blow up those rocks and thus form a safe 
 harbor. 
 
 Jaffa is picturesquely situated on ground 
 that rises abruptly from the shore and over- 
 looks the sparkling waters of the Mediter- 
 ranean. It is full of Bible associations — as 
 are all places in Palestine. The best possible 
 guide to the Holy Land is your Bible. If 
 you do not know it well, you miss the sacred 
 sentiment of the journey as well as its au- 
 thoritative history. It is here at Jaffa you 
 recall that a thousand years before the birth 
 of Christ, Hiram, King of Tyre, shipped to 
 this ancient port of Joppa the cedar wood 
 from Lebanon to build Solomon's temple at 
 Jerusalem. You stand upon the flat roof of 
 the house located on the spot where Simon 
 the tanner lived when Peter had his famous 
 vision; you visit the tomb of Dorcas en- 
 circled by orange orchards. 
 
 The train from Jaffa to Jerusalem runs 
 at a speed of a mile every five minutes so you 
 have ample time to view the scenery. You 
 cross the plain of Sharon, its fields gay with 
 wild flowers, and you recall that it was in 
 this valley that the flower of chivalry, the 
 
The Port of Palestine 1 1 1 
 
 gallant Crusaders, fought. Yonder, your 
 guide points out Timnath, where Samson set 
 lire to the Philistines' corn, and a little 
 farther on is the cave where he hid after De- 
 lilah the first woman barber that history re- 
 cords — cut his hair. 
 
 Passing the fertile plains, the train climbs 
 higher into the heart of the hills, winding 
 through picturesque gorges and crossing 
 the boundaries of the land of the Philistines 
 into Judea. You note the stony character 
 of the soil. Such a crop of rocks and stones 
 you never beheld. The whole landscape for 
 miles and miles, looks like the rocky bed of 
 a river with no sign of vegetation anywhere, 
 save here and there a little patch of soil 
 where grain is growing. In the country all 
 roundabout Jerusalem you observe this and 
 you understand how apt was the illustration 
 of the Great Teacher when He spoke of seed 
 falling among stones and withering away. 
 Indeed, as you travel through Palestine you 
 are more and more impressed with the sim- 
 plicity of His teachings, and realize how He 
 drew His most powerful parables and illus- 
 trations from the familiar scenes which His 
 disciples beheld every day. There are more 
 blind people in Jerusalem than in any other 
 
1 1 2 Journeying Round the World 
 
 place I have seen and the miracle of healing 
 this affliction was therefore only another in- 
 stance of the practical teachings of the 
 Savior of mankind. The glaring light fall- 
 ing on the barren ground and stony soil of 
 rock and limestone, the constant clouds of 
 dust filling the air, and the crowded and 
 filthy conditions of living all tend toward 
 eye disease. 
 
 On our way up the steep hills just outside 
 the walls of Jerusalem are fields of thistles, 
 and not far away, orchards of fig trees. 
 How very natural for Jesus, as He walked 
 that way with His disciples, to comment on 
 the fact — "Can men grow figs of thistles'?" 
 and also to call attention to the barren fig 
 trees about. 
 
 In the walls round about Jerusalem are 
 numerous narrow doors known as the 
 "needle's eye" where, in ancient times of- 
 ficials were admitted at night after the gates 
 were closed. You at once see how hard it 
 would be for a camel to enter one of these 
 gates — though not wholly impossible, if he 
 meet two conditions — he must drop his load 
 and bend the knees in order to enter in. You 
 at once see the parallel of conditions laid by 
 
The Port of Palestine 1 1 3 
 
 Christ upon the entrance to the kingdom of 
 Heaven. 
 
 You find, a new and modern Jerusalem 
 built up outside the walls of the ancient city 
 and you are perhaps surprised to find here 
 the most comfortable and home-like hotel 
 accommodations you have struck since leav- 
 ing America. A German and his half dozen 
 strong sons and daughters have kept this 
 hostelry for years. The American Consul 
 sits at a table near your own and you find 
 the hotel thronged with American tourists. 
 The fare is excellent and the price moderate. 
 
 Nearly all the sacred spots connected with 
 the birth, life and death of our Savior are 
 covered with memorial churches. The sup- 
 posed site of Calvary (which, by the way, is 
 a disputed point, many Biblical scholars be- 
 lieving that the Gordon Tomb and Golgotha 
 hill near by is the actual spot where Chirst 
 was crucified and buried, and which was dis- 
 covered a few years ago by General Gordon) 
 and the tomb are within the walls of the 
 Church of the Holy Sepulchre, which belongs 
 to various sects — Mohammedans, Armen- 
 ians and Roman Catholics — each of which 
 has its particular spot in which to worship 
 and so antagonistic is the ecclesiastical feel- 
 
1 1 4 Journeying Round the World 
 
 ing that armed guards are stationed here 
 and there, notably in the church at Bethle- 
 hem which marks the spot where Christ was 
 born. 
 
 Every doorway in the Church of the Holy 
 Sepulchre, leading to a sacred site, is cut so 
 low in the stone wall that everyone, be he 
 Jew, Gentile, Christian or heretic, is forced 
 to bend the knee and bow the head in order 
 to enter. You climb the steep stone steps to 
 the site of Calvary, above which is suspended 
 a life-sized painting of Christ on the cross. 
 You put your eye to a small aperture and 
 see, through a glass, a bit of granite which 
 you are told is the top of Calvary. 
 
 You bow your head and bend your knee to 
 enter the enclosure of His tomb, covered 
 with alabaster, where you find devout pil- 
 grims kneeling and pressing their lips to the 
 anointing stone which symbolizes the spot 
 where His body was anointed for burial. 
 
 Without the church, in the square, open 
 court, squatted on the stone floor, are bead- 
 sellers, with candles and rosaries, and 
 natives sit smoking their curious pipes — 
 "nargillas," they are called — the pipe being 
 connected by a long rubber tube with a long- 
 necked bottle half filled with water. The 
 
The Port of Palestine 1 1 5 
 
 nicotine passes through the water which 
 renders it less harmful, our guide explained. 
 The picturesque smokers sit, Turk fashion, 
 drawing tranquilly on these curious pipes 
 and watching the water bubble in the bottle 
 into which, with a curious artistic sense, 
 they have placed a few flowers — carnations 
 or roses. 
 
 The most superb view of Jerusalem is 
 from the Mount of Olives, whither we went 
 one afternoon by donkey back, going outside 
 the city walls and climbing by a circuitous 
 route to the heights of Olivet, from the other 
 side of which burst upon our vision a view 
 extending over miles and miles of Palestine 
 and including the Dead Sea and the River 
 Jordan — more than twenty miles away — and 
 the Moabite mountains beyond in all their 
 lovely blue lights and shadows. Turning 
 toward the city you behold Jerusalem, and 
 like a flash there comes to your mind Christ's 
 words of sorrow as He gazed over the proud, 
 beautiful city and said: "Oh, Jerusalem, 
 Jerusalem, how often would I have gathered 
 thy children together, as a hen doth gather 
 her -brood under her wings, and ye would 
 not." 
 
 Going down from Olivet, you may return 
 
1 1 6 Journeying Round the World 
 
 to Jerusalem by way of the Garden of Geth- 
 semane and thence climb the steep hill to the 
 Jews' Wailing Place where every Friday 
 afternoon Jews and Rabbis congregate to 
 wail over the loss of Jerusalem. It is a pa- 
 thetic scene — the mournful cries of old men, 
 middle-aged men, and even little boys 
 brought there by their fathers to take part 
 in the dismal ceremony, wailing and knock- 
 ing their heads against the wall as they pray 
 for the restoration of Jerusalem. 
 
 A writer in the Travel Handbook says: 
 " People talk of the noise, dirt, and squalor 
 of Jerusalem, and it may be true enough as 
 applied to the lanes and bazaars of the Mos- 
 lem quarter, which are as filthy and malo- 
 dorous as those of Tangier or Constantin- 
 ople. But there are parts of it which sug- 
 gest the purlieus of an old cathedral or uni- 
 versity town. Cool, paved lanes, running 
 past quiet convent gardens, a yellow wall, 
 with its crumbling tower and over-branching 
 palm, silhouetted against the intense blue of 
 the sky, stretches of lonely waste, overgrown 
 cactus and prickly pear, and surrounded by 
 high-walled buildings with quaint, fretted 
 wooden lattices, glimpses of cloisters with 
 faded Byzantine pictures on the walls, — all 
 
The Port of Palestine 1 1 7 
 
 these details go to make up the wistful 
 charm which, scarcely felt perhaps at first, 
 grows on one more and more as one surren- 
 ders to its influence." 
 
 The most beautiful building in all Jerusa- 
 lem is the Mosque of Omar with its dome of 
 exquisite blue tiles, where you will be 
 escorted by a representative of your own 
 government and a Turkish officer. 
 
Jerusalem to Jericho. 
 
 If you do not believe that Jericho is a hard 
 road to travel, just you try it — as we did, on 
 a day when the thermometer at Jericho 
 registered 124 degrees in the shade — and 
 there wasn't much shade either, except un- 
 der the boughs of the great oleander tree 
 that grows in the courtyard of the hotel. 
 
 The whole twenty miles from Jerusalem 
 to Jericho lies over the stoniest, rockiest 
 road imaginable, much of it cut through 
 solid limestone. It winds over steep hills 
 and down declivities into deep valleys that 
 intervene in the wilderness between the two 
 cities. You make a drop of half a mile all 
 told before you reach the shore of the Dead 
 Sea — that stagnant body of bitter water that 
 lies in the lowest rift of the earth's crust 
 lighted by the sun. Its waters are so im- 
 pregnated with salt that if you evaporate 
 four bottles of it you will get one bottle of 
 salt. Under the rays of the hot Assyrian sun 
 it is estimated that 10,000,000 tons of water 
 go up by evaporation every twenty-four 
 hours. 
 
 118 
 
Jerusalem to Jericho 1 1 9 
 
 The morning sun was just touching the 
 towers and domes of Jerusalem as our car- 
 riage, drawn by three horses, drove away 
 from the hotel and skirted the walls of the 
 city, turning off near the Tomb of Absalom 
 and so across the slope of Mount Olivet to 
 Bethany where our guide pointed out the 
 site of the home of Mary and Martha and 
 Lazarus. We corkscrewed down the steep 
 descent past the Apostles ' Spring, so named 
 because it is the spot where Jesus and His 
 apostles used to stop on the weary journey 
 from Jerusalem to Jericho — the last spring 
 of pure water in the wilderness that 
 stretches between. 
 
 The trip to Jericho occupies five hours, 
 and although somewhat tedious, is full of 
 keenest interest. Here and there, hidden 
 away in the cleft of the hills, or in the deep 
 canyons that gash the wilderness, are lonely 
 monasteries, their dome-like towers rising 
 like solitary temples in the waste of solitude. 
 The wayside inn, on the site where the Good 
 Samaritan rescued "that certain man who 
 went down from Jerusalem to Jericho and 
 fell among thieves" is the half-way resting 
 place for modern pilgrims crossing the 
 wilderness. 
 
120 Journeying Round the World 
 
 You meet bands of Russian pilgrims going 
 up to Jerusalem — men, women and children 
 — riding donkeys and on foot, and you pass 
 groups of armed Arabs and Bedouins driving 
 herds of camels or donkeys. Occasionally 
 you come to a small oasis in the desert of the 
 wilderness, where a typical Bible harvest 
 scene is spread before your eyes — men and 
 women cutting the grain with sickles and 
 binding it into sheaves. 
 
 The road at last plunges precipitously 
 down a steep incline into Jericho and your 
 carriage rolls over a modern cement bridge 
 crossing the bed of a stream. You are glad 
 to stop for rest and refreshment at a Jericho 
 hotel before pressing on to the Dead Sea and 
 River Jordan some six miles farther. You 
 are taken to that spot on the banks of the 
 Jordan where Jesus was baptized by John 
 and you go to the site of the ancient city of 
 Jericho, a couple of miles or so beyond the 
 modern city, and see fragments of the walls 
 around which Joshua and his hosts marched. 
 
 We spent the night in Jericho — a prac- 
 tically sleepless one on account of the great 
 heat and a high wind which arose about mid- 
 night and blew with great violence. We 
 arose at two a. m., breakfasted, and started 
 
Jerusalem to Jericho 121 
 
 on the return trip to Jerusalem at three 
 o'clock in order to accomplish the hardest 
 part of the journey before the sun rose. 
 
 One afternoon we drove from Jerusalem 
 to Bethlehem — about an hour's ride — pass- 
 ing the site of the tomb of Rachel where 
 "she was buried in the way to Ephrath, 
 which is Bethlehem." It is said that there 
 is no doubt whatever that this site, which is 
 revered by Christians and Moslems, as well 
 as by Jews, is the scene of the touching death 
 of Rachel. We remember too, that it was 
 in the surrounding fields that Ruth gleaned 
 after the reapers, and it was through them 
 that the sorrow-stricken Naomi returned. It 
 was upon one of these hills that David kept 
 his father's sheep, and it was among the 
 glens and valleys that first rang out those 
 glorious Psalms which have echoed down 
 through the centuries. It was here, on these 
 hills, that the shepherds, while watching 
 their flocks by night, received the " tidings 
 of great joy," and it was here that took 
 place the supreme event which made Beth- 
 lehem a household word. It may be that 
 over this same road you are traveling, the 
 three wise men journeyed, following the 
 star in the east that should show the birth- 
 place of the Savior of the world. 
 
122 Journeying Round the World 
 
 The site of the inn and the cave where 
 Christ was born is covered by the Church of 
 the Nativity. We were given lighted tapers 
 and conducted down the stone steps leading 
 to the Chapel of the Nativity. A silver star 
 marks the spot where the Savior was born, 
 above which sixteen silver lamps are per- 
 petually burning. A little beyond, and at 
 one side, is the supposed site of the manger 
 where He was laid. You find armed soldiers 
 constantly on guard to prevent open war- 
 fare between different religious factions. A 
 service was going on in the church when we 
 were there and a procession of singers 
 entered the chapel, kneeling and burning in- 
 cense before the sacred shrines. 
 
Europe, the World's Playground 
 
 Back to Port Said from Palestine and a 
 swift three-day trip across the Mediter- 
 ranean to Brindisi in the heel of Italy's boot 
 brought us into Europe. 
 
 "No wonder St. Paul sent for his over- 
 coat," observed Peggy, as she shivered and 
 snuggled into her steamer rug as we swept 
 past the Island of Crete in a stiff gale that 
 churned the blue waters of the Mediter- 
 ranean into a rolling sea. We were on board 
 the fast mail ship " Osiris," and she sped 
 over the waves like a great white bird. 
 
 It is a full day's ride by rail from Brindisi 
 to Naples and the road follows the line of the 
 ancient Appian "Way over which Horace fol- 
 lowed in the famous journey so graphically 
 described in one of his satires. In those days 
 Brindisi was an important place, for it was 
 the Roman point of departure for Greece 
 and the Far East. 
 
 After the stony, bare and treeless plains 
 of Palestine, the fertile fields and vineyards, 
 the orchards and gardens of sunny Italy 
 
 123 
 
124 Journeying Round the World 
 
 seemed like a modern Eden. Wild poppies 
 stained the meadows blood-red. Lilacs, 
 Cherokee roses and lovely wild flowers car- 
 peted the landscape and it was literally fres- 
 coed with grape vines festooned from tree to 
 tree. Every foot of land is intensively cul- 
 tivated. Vineyards and olive orchards climb 
 precipitous hillsides, reach down into can- 
 yons and stretch over miles and miles of level 
 land. You see orange orchards with grape 
 vines trellised from tree to tree, and pota- 
 toes, corn and beans — regular succotash 
 gardens — growing between. 
 
 The railway has a splendid roadbed, and 
 the express train keeps up a rattling rate of 
 speed, darting through tunnels as you near 
 Naples and coming out to lovelier vistas and 
 more charming views each time. The chief 
 glory of Naples is its bay which dents the 
 Italian shore in a deep horseshoe with lovely 
 Sorrento perched on the steep cliffs at one 
 end of the curve, and the Island of Capri 
 and its famous Blue Grotto lying just with- 
 in the outstretched arms of land. You visit 
 Pompeii — that wonderful dead city which 
 has been designated as the most amazing 
 spectacle in all Italy. As we wandered 
 through the silent streets between stark, 
 
Europe, World's Playground 125 
 
 staring walls on a bright June day, one could 
 never dream that the fair Vesuvius looming 
 against the blue sky with never a cloud or 
 vapor veiling its face smiling in the summer 
 sun could belch forth such fire and flood of 
 lava streams and work such awful destruc- 
 tion. 
 
 In Rome you are simply saturated with 
 museums and mosaics, pictures and paint- 
 ings, churches, cathedrals, cloisters and cata- 
 combs, frescoes and facades and friezes, 
 shrines, basilicas and tombs — in short with 
 the art, antiquity and architecture of this 
 fascinating city. You get to feeling posi- 
 tively moldy, and musty, and cobwebby, for 
 most things date from the fifteenth century 
 and run back from that to the days of Nero. 
 
 You can go to a different church in Rome 
 every one of the 365 days in a year, and then 
 there will be fifteen that you have not seen. 
 Of these 380 churches, all but five are Roman 
 Catholic. Just the fountains of Rome are 
 worthy of a chapter to themselves. They 
 play on every square and corner. All Rome 
 is not an antique ruin however. Not far 
 from a fragment of the wall built by Marcus 
 Aurelius in the year 70 A. D. is the most 
 modern and down-to-date tiled street tunnel, 
 
126 Journeying Round the World 
 
 through which double-decked trolley cars 
 spin beneath its vaulted ceiling set solidly 
 with white porcelain tiles. 
 
 Florence, sitting like a fair queen on the 
 banks of the Arno, with picturesque hills ris- 
 ing on all sides, is truly the Mower City of 
 Italy. She holds you captive by her many- 
 sided charms — her wealth of literary associa- 
 tions, her great art galleries, her fascinating 
 gardens and delightful villas. 
 
 Venice, with its wonderful sea lanes, its 
 gondolas gliding like great black swans un- 
 der the picturesque bridges; its palaces of 
 curious architecture; its festa days and gala 
 nights, is the dream city of all Europe. 
 
 Milan, with its marvelous cathedrals and 
 its famous fresco of The Last Supper, lies in 
 your pathway from Venice to the Italian 
 lakes which lie like scattered turquoises 
 among the enchanting mountains of North- 
 ern Italy, and through them is the gateway 
 into Switzerland — the Garden of the gods. 
 
 When you visit Lucerne do not fail to go to 
 the cathedral and hear the great organ 
 played by a musician who is the greatest 
 genius of his kind. Every afternoon at six 
 o'clock an organ recital is given, and every 
 tourist in Lucerne makes it a point to attend 
 
Europe, World's Playground 127 
 
 at least once and always to remain quite to 
 the end of the hour allotted, for the final 
 number is "The Storm." By the wonderful 
 harmonies you are literally carried on its 
 wings. First the birds carol, then the wind 
 rises, gradually growing into a tempest that 
 shrieks and howls and whistles till you posi- 
 tively shiver in your pew. Then the rain be- 
 gins to fall, first a gentle patter, which in- 
 creases to a perfect deluge and beats 
 against the windows and pounds the roof. 
 The thunder mutters and grows louder till 
 it comes, crash after crash in deafening 
 tones, and the quick, staccato flashes of light- 
 ning play between the peals. Bye and bye 
 the storm begins to die away, the rain grad- 
 ually ceases, the rolls of thunder become less 
 frequent, the wind sobs itself to sleep, the 
 birds commence to chirp, and then to softly 
 sing — and you awake from your musical 
 trance to wonder at the genius which in- 
 voked this mystic melody from the keys of 
 an organ. 
 
 Probably the aeroplane will eventually 
 solve the problem of scaling the Alps, but in 
 the meantime aerial navigators have not 
 been asleep, and the latest device to date is 
 that of swinging a huge basket that holds 
 
128 Journeying Round the World 
 
 twenty people over the Grindelwald glacier, 
 on a wire suspended from the Wetterhorn. 
 
 From rolling in a 'riksha in Japan, teeter- 
 ing in a sedan chair in Hong Kong, swaying 
 on the back of a camel in Cairo, jolting 
 donkey-back through the stony streets of 
 Jerusalem, climbing the Alps by tram, by 
 funicular, by cog-wheel, by rack-and-pinion 
 railways, or floating in a gondola through 
 the water-ways of Venice, this swinging out 
 into space in a basket suspended on a wire 
 cobweb rather beats them all for thrills. 
 
 In Switzerland, mountain railways liter- 
 ally gridiron the Alps. At night, from Lu- 
 cerne, from Interlaken, or from any one of 
 the dozens of resorts on these lovely Swiss 
 lakes, you can see twinkling from the 
 heights of the mountains around the lights 
 of scores of hotels, topping some of the lofti- 
 est peaks. 
 
 The Swiss railways issue tickets good for 
 fifteen or thirty days at greatly reduced 
 rates, whereby the purchaser may travel 
 continuously over any line of railway or 
 steamers during that period. One may lit- 
 erally live en route if he chooses, for there 
 is no limit to the number of trips. The pho- 
 tograph of the purchaser is pasted inside the 
 
Europe, World's Playground 129 
 
 book-ticket as a means of identification, and 
 the conductor or captain merely glances at 
 it to make sure that the proper person is 
 traveling on it. 
 
 "This ticket cost me just nine dollars in 
 our money," I heard an American remark 
 on a steamer on Lake Brienz. "My wife 
 has one like it and for fifteen days we have 
 been traveling all over Switzerland." 
 
 The Swiss people understand how to make 
 their scenic attractions pay. Every gorge 
 and waterfall has its price. It costs you half 
 a franc to see the Trummelbach Falls at 
 Lauterbrunnen, and a similar admission fee 
 to gaze on the glories of the GKxrge of the 
 Lutschine at Grindelwald. Our American 
 Consul stated in a speech delivered at a ban- 
 quet in Lucerne while we were there, that 
 the greatest imports in Switzerland are 
 Americans with their pockets full of money, 
 and the greatest exports from the republic 
 are these same Americans with empty 
 purses. 
 
 However, Americans are glad to pay the 
 price, for it is well worth while to look upon 
 these stupendous glories of nature. We 
 entered Switzerland by way of the Italian 
 Lakes, coming from Lake Como across to 
 
130 Journeying Round the World 
 
 Lake Lugano on a funny little tram whose 
 engine puffed and panted over the steep 
 road that wound in and out among the moun- 
 tains, giving us glimpses of the most charm- 
 ing views. At Lugano we boarded the 
 through express train for Lucerne, via the 
 St. Gothard tunnel nine miles long, which 
 we entered in sunshine and made our exit 
 at the other end in a pouring rain — a condi- 
 tion which the Swiss people told me always 
 prevails — if the rain falls on one side of the 
 tunnel, the sun is pretty sure to be shining 
 on the other side. 
 
 One is constantly tempted to deal in super- 
 latives in speaking of the scenery along 
 these picturesque routes through the heart 
 of the Alps, or in crossing the Appennines 
 from Florence to Venice where the railway 
 passes through half a hundred tunnels in un- 
 interrupted succession from the valley of the 
 Arno to the fertile Tuscany plains. You 
 swing from galleries, viaducts and bridges, 
 and skirt embankments and precipices con- 
 tinually. The railways of Italy and Switzer- 
 land have a habit of burrowing underground, 
 even when not piercing mountains, you will 
 notice. The railway which enters Lucerne 
 passes almost completely under the city and 
 
Europe, World's Playground 131 
 
 around the head of the lake coming up to 
 the surface on the other side. This is done 
 to preserve the lovely lake front with its 
 quay and wide promenade overhung with 
 great horse chestnut trees. Here is a hint 
 for American cities, many of which are made 
 smoky and ugly by a network of railroad 
 tracks across what might otherwise be a 
 beauty spot. In foreign cities where natural 
 beauty is appreciated, the railroads have 
 the subway habit. 
 
 When you visit Germany do not pass by 
 Oberammergau, whether it be the year of 
 the great Passion Play or not. Every sum- 
 mer these wonderful peasant artists enact 
 some sort of religious play, and the associa- 
 tions and placid beauty of this village hidden 
 away in the Bavarian Alps is well worth a 
 visit. You will want to drive out to the 
 castle at Linderhof where lived the mad 
 King Ludwig, whose strange, sad history is 
 so interwoven with these peasant people who 
 idolized him. 
 
 Nuremberg will fascinate you with its de- 
 lightful, many-windowed roofs, its beautiful 
 bridges, and fountains, and picturesque 
 towers. Be sure and patronize the famous 
 Bratwurst Grlocklein and eat weiners hot 
 
1 32 Journeying Round the World 
 
 from the coals and real German sauer kraut, 
 and imagine that Durer, and Visscher and 
 their artist confreres of centuries ago whose 
 portraits smile down upon you, are sitting 
 there beside you at the queer little tables, 
 as they did in the long ago. 
 
 After you have traversed the length and 
 breadth of Germany, have sailed down the 
 castled Rhine and wandered through Hol- 
 land and Belgium and through France and 
 into gay Paris and have visited all the other 
 European places your itinerary calls for, 
 and you at length land on English soil, I 
 venture to say that never in all the world be- 
 fore has the mother tongue sounded so good 
 to your American ears, in place of all this 
 foreign chatter. It will seem good — un- 
 speakably good — to be able to make your- 
 self at once understood when you give di- 
 rections about your baggage without the ef- 
 fort of gesticulation, pantomime perform- 
 ances and grappling with French, German, 
 Italian and other unknown languages. 
 
 My first impression of London as the train 
 from Dover entered the suburbs was 
 — chimneys. They seemed to protrude 
 everywhere. Every house in London, large 
 or small, has at least half a dozen chimneys 
 
Europe, World's Playground 133 
 
 — tile-like affairs set in rows along the big, 
 brick chimney that dominates the roof. 
 
 I met an English woman in Paris who was 
 kind enough to coach me a little in regard to 
 her native city. 
 
 " You'll have no difficulty in getting about 
 in London" she assured me, "just ask the 
 policemen. They always know everything 
 and you'll find them very obliging and po- 
 lite.'' 
 
 She was quite right. The London police- 
 man may not always be a scholar in the 
 broad sense of the word, but he is invariably 
 a gentleman, and his knowledge concerning 
 the greatest city on earth is practically 
 limitless. You usually find him standing on 
 the stone oasis in the middle of the street 
 crossing. He is a perfect autocrat when it 
 comes to controlling street traffic. His up- 
 lifted hand has power to bring to an abrupt 
 halt an omnibus, a carriage, an automobile, 
 a tram car, a pedestrian, an alderman, the 
 Lord-Mayor, or the King's guard itself. 
 There are only about 20,000 of these guard- 
 ians of the public peace in London, and they 
 manage to keep its 7,500,000 inhabitants in 
 a tolerable state of safety. They guard a 
 
1 34 Journeying Round the World 
 
 territory of some seven hundred square 
 miles. 
 
 It's rather appalling when you start out 
 on your first tour of London to be told by 
 your guide that it covers twenty miles from 
 north to south, and seventeen miles from 
 east to west, and that there is not a person 
 living who can say that he has seen all of 
 London, for no human being has yet accom- 
 plished the job. There are as many people 
 living in London as there are in all the Do- 
 minion of Canada. Just the water mains of 
 the city if stretched in a straight line end to 
 end, would reach from there to New York 
 and back again to Liverpool. If we could 
 put all the water Londoners consume in a 
 year into a canal two hundred feet wide and 
 twenty feet deep, it would reach six hun- 
 dred miles — as far as from Shanghai to 
 Hankow, or from New York to Cleveland, 
 or from San Diego to San Francisco. 
 
 You will notice at once that London is 
 left-handed. Posted up in the middle of all 
 the principal streets in conspicuous places 
 you will see signs reading "Keep to the 
 left." All vehicles observe this rule and all 
 passing pedestrians. The omnibuses halt on 
 the left-hand corner also. 
 
Europe, World's Playground 135 
 
 The parks are the lungs of London and 
 there are more than a hundred of these 
 breathing spots. You motor through Rich- 
 mond Park when you go out to Hampton 
 Court, following winding roads beneath the 
 shade of great oaks a century old under 
 which herds of deer are feeding. Beverly 
 Brook flows through this splendid princi- 
 pality of 22,000 acres which belongs to the 
 crown and is the royal hunting ground. 
 
 In Paris one is impressed with the me- 
 morials to Napoleon Bonaparte, with his 
 magnificent tomb under the golden dome of 
 Des Invalides, and the numerous memorial 
 monuments and arches placed in his honor 
 along the parks and boulevards. In London 
 you are continually reminded of great lit- 
 erary lights — of Dickens and Thackeray, of 
 George Eliot and Charles Reade, of Dr. 
 Johnson and hosts of others. 
 
 There's Piccadilly and Mayfair and Saf- 
 fron Hill with its memories of Oliver Twist ; 
 there's Disraeli's birthplace and Garrick's 
 home, and Washington Irving 's "Little 
 Britain"; there are the homes of Reynolds 
 and Sir Isaac Newton; there are recollections 
 of Nell Gwynne, of Swan Walk and Mr. 
 Pepys of Vanity Fair, and there's the Old 
 
136 Journeying Round the World 
 
 Curiosity Shop standing on a corner — now 
 a picture shop where you go to prowl about. 
 The old names of London streets are a 
 study in themselves. Milton was born in 
 Bread street, and Sir Thomas Moore close 
 by in Milk street. There's Pudding Lane 
 and Poultry street which opens into Duck- 
 foot Lane. There's Leather street too, and 
 this quaint old custom harks back to the 
 time when it was the habit to name streets 
 according to the business carried on in them. 
 One knew exactly where the bakers and 
 butchers and shoemakers were by the name 
 of the street or lane. 
 
Money the World Around. 
 
 Talk about the mysteries of the stock ex- 
 change. They are as nothing compared with 
 the reduction of our American dollars and 
 dimes into yen, sen, rin and heaven knows 
 what other denominations. 
 
 There is always a rate of exchange ex- 
 acted, and in the course of a journey 
 through the Orient or through Europe 
 where the money changes in every country 
 you are surprised to see how much is eaten 
 up in the mere exchange from one currency 
 into another. The tale is told of a traveler 
 who left Singapore with $100 Mexican as a 
 surplus in his pocket and by the time he 
 reached Peking the whole amount was re- 
 duced to four dollars just by the mere 
 matter of transition from the coin of one 
 realm into that of another. 
 
 Really one needs to be a fairly good 
 arithmetician to travel the world around 
 and keep accurate track of this conversion 
 of dollars and cents into yen and sen, rupees 
 and piastres, lira and francs, marks and 
 pf ennige, shillings and pence. 
 
 137 
 
1 38 Journeying Round the World 
 
 When you reach Japan yon feel rather 
 rich to find that one dollar of your money 
 is worth two of theirs, and the same condi- 
 tion prevails in China where the Mexican 
 dollar is the standard. Down in Ceylon you 
 reach the land of the rupee and you discover 
 that it takes three of these silver coins about 
 the size of our fifty-cent piece to make a dol- 
 lar in our money. Your hotel bills in Cairo 
 will be made out with the piastre — its value 
 is five cents in our money — as a basis. At 
 first glance you are rather appalled to see 
 the total summed up in three figures, but re- 
 assured when you realize that it is in 
 nickels and not dollars. 
 
 In the Orient, prices at the best hotels 
 average about $3.50 per day, United States 
 money, while at excellent European pen- 
 sions and some of the most comfortable 
 hotels you may find good accommodations 
 at from $1.50 to $2 per day. In Jerusalem 
 we found a delightful hotel at $2.50 per 
 day. In the best hotels in Shanghai there 
 is a uniform price for laundry — five sen 
 (two and one-half cents) per article, be it a 
 handkerchief, an embroidered petticoat, or 
 a pleated shirt waist — and it is beautifully 
 done. On the contrary, I paid in Cairo 
 
Money, the World Around 139 
 
 twenty-four piastres ($1.20) for the laun- 
 dering of a shirt waist — and it was very 
 indifferently done, limp and quite guiltless 
 of starch, and from its general appearance 
 of lassitude and frailty I suspected that the 
 washboard used was the bed of stones on 
 the borders of the Nile. 
 
 In China you never know from one day 
 to the next exactly what your good Amer- 
 ican dollar is worth, for the rate of ex- 
 change varies from day to day. Every 
 morning there is posted up in a conspic- 
 uous place in your hotel a bulletin stating 
 the rate of exchange for that day. It is 
 well, before you start out on a shopping 
 trip in the Orient, to go to a bank, steam- 
 ship company or reliable tourist agency 
 and get your bills of large denomination 
 changed into small coins to avoid the nec- 
 essity of accepting much change in the 
 shops, otherwise you run a risk of getting 
 a lot of counterfeit money. 
 
 And this matter of counterfeit money is 
 one that you must watch the world around. 
 When we reached Naples, Italy was strug- 
 gling with a mass of counterfeit coins in 
 the shape of the 20-centime piece (equal 
 to four cents United States money) and 
 
140 Journeying Round the World 
 
 which corresponds in their ratio to the 
 American nickel. The Italian government 
 had issued a quantity of these coins to the 
 value of 10,000,000 francs some years 
 before, and it had been discovered that be- 
 tween 30,000,000 and 40,000,000 francs 
 were then in circulation in the shape of 
 these coins — all the overplus being coun- 
 terfeit. An edict was issued recalling all 
 these coins and published in the Italian 
 papers, but tourists not familiar with that 
 language or the coins were naturally the 
 sufferers, as the natives " unloaded" those 
 20-centime pieces without mercy on the 
 strangers within their gates. I had some- 
 thing like three dozen of them on hand 
 when we awoke to the game, but I managed 
 to get rid of them by judicious shopping, 
 tendering two or three of the suspicious 
 coins for each bill of goods and utterly re- 
 fusing to accept the goods at all unless the 
 coins were recognized at their full value as 
 part payment. Since the government 
 would be forced to eventually accept them, 
 no merchant with whom I dealt in Sorrento 
 or Naples could quite bring himself to sac- 
 rifice a sale which perhaps totaled several 
 lire for the sake of discarding a few of the 
 
Money, the World Around 141 
 
 centime pieces. In this way I turned to 
 account my whole stock of 20-centime 
 pieces and accepted no more unless they 
 were of the bright, new coinage fresh from 
 the mint that was busy turning out good 
 coins to take the place of the old ones. 
 
 In Italy, Switzerland, Belgium and 
 France you reckon with the lire or franc 
 — each worth twenty cents in United States 
 money — as a basis; in Germany, Denmark, 
 Norway and Sweden, it is the mark or 
 crown, value about twenty-five cents; in 
 Egypt and Turkey, the piastre, value five 
 cents, is your standard of valuation; in 
 Spain the peseta, value twenty cents; in 
 Holland the florin, value forty cents. When 
 you reach England, bear in mind that, 
 whereas your American dollar was worth 
 two in the native cash of the Far East, the 
 reverse is true here concerning your shil- 
 lings and pence. Otherwise you may over- 
 estimate the purchasing power of your 
 money and be somewhat surprised when the 
 clerk in the London shop returns your 
 change and you realize that the English 
 shilling means the American quarter. 
 
 Letters of credit through your home 
 bank, or travelers' checks in denomina- 
 
142 Journeying Round the World 
 
 tions of $50 or $25, issued by banks, inter- 
 national express companies, tourist agen- 
 cies or steamship lines are always available 
 and are safe and convenient ways of carry- 
 ing funds. 
 
Tips and Tipping. 
 
 If you ask the average traveler what are 
 the most prolific sources of annoyance en 
 tour, I venture to say that nine out of 
 every ten will reply, "Baggage and tips." 
 
 The term "Tip," I understand, origin- 
 ated from a custom of English waiters in 
 cafes and restaurants who placed boxes at 
 the entrance labeled "To Insure Prompt- 
 ness," into which coins were dropped by 
 patrons who wished to secure prompt at- 
 tention — and were willing to pay extra for 
 it. The initial letters of thi& significant 
 phrase form the magic word. 
 
 The protests that have arisen, long, loud 
 and emphatic, from American tourists 
 against the custom of tipping have resulted 
 in the doing away with the custom entirely 
 in at least one London hotel and I believe 
 in several Parisian hostelries. Neverthe- 
 less, this custom, introduced, it must be 
 remembered, and fostered by the Amer- 
 icans themselves, bids fair to die hard. At 
 Shepheard's Hotel in Cairo the raft of at- 
 tendants who always line up to speed the 
 
 143 
 
144 Journeying Round the World 
 
 parting guest have been dubbed the "Shep- 
 heard's flock" by a humorous tourist. The 
 morning we left, after a week's stay at 
 this famous hostelry, we passed through a 
 double lin e of expectant Arabs and Be- 
 douins ranged on the piazza. Some of 
 them we had never seen, and most of them 
 had not rendered us the slightest service, 
 but there they stood with eager, expectant 
 faces, as relentless and stolid as the Pyra- 
 mids themselves. 
 
 In Jerusalem the problem of tips was 
 solved in this wise: Posted on the door of 
 your room was a printed notice to the effect 
 that no tips were allowed in that hotel, as 
 all the employees received fixed salaries 
 and any one of them detected in the act of 
 accepting a tip would be summarily dis- 
 charged. Our spirits rose. Ah! Here in 
 the Holy Land it seemed the tourist met 
 with Christian consideration. The nui- 
 sance of distributing piastres and pence 
 right and left was done away with. 
 
 But hold on! Read the notice a little 
 farther: "Ten per cent of your hotel bill 
 will be added to your account in lieu of 
 tips." This was an ingenious way of keep- 
 ing the fees in the hands of the proprietor. 
 
Tips and Tipping 145 
 
 He wasn't a Yankee either, but a thrifty 
 German. On our way down the Rhine to 
 Cologne we stopped over night at a hotel 
 in Mainz. We left by the first steamer next 
 morning. I paused at the desk and asked 
 the concierge for my bill. With a flourish 
 he replied, "Your account is being made 
 out this instant." 
 
 One would have thought from the cere- 
 mony that the bill of a few marks for a 
 night's lodging and breakfast would be an 
 itemized account involving expert book- 
 keeping. After waiting so long that I 
 feared I would miss the boat the concierge 
 announced, "Your bill is ready, Madame," 
 indicating with a wave of the hand some 
 personage in my rear. I turned and beheld 
 a dapper young fellow, gotten up in togs 
 fit for a courtier. He held in his hand a 
 big billhead, which he presented to me with 
 a flourish. Stamped conspicuously in one 
 corner, in large purple type, was the re- 
 minder, "Tips are not included in this bill" 
 — and the young man stood there with out- 
 stretched hands. 
 
 Outside was the porter standing guard 
 over my suitcase; the head waiter held my 
 umbrella which I had momentarily set 
 
146 Journeying Round the World 
 
 down by the desk; the two "boots" were 
 fighting for the possession of my type- 
 writer case, and the "lift" boy was trying 
 to relieve me of my hand bag, while the 
 smiling concierge stood waiting to bid me 
 a fond farewell. 
 
 "I took a lady to the theatre," relates 
 one tourist, ' ' and my tipping bill was some- 
 thing like this — eleven tips in all, I believe. 
 I tipped the boy who sprang to open the 
 cab door, tipped cabby, tipped the head 
 usher, gave two tips in the dressing rooms, 
 tipped the girl usher who brought a foot- 
 stool for the lady, tipped the boy who 
 handed us programmes, tipped the waiter 
 in the cafe after the theater and the boy 
 who took our wraps, twice tipped the cabby 
 who brought us home — once at the lady's 
 hotel, and once at my own. All told, my 
 tips exactly doubled the total cost of cab 
 hire, theater tickets and supper. 
 
 "At another hotel, where I had been a 
 guest two weeks, I asked for my bill on my 
 departure. The cashier smilingly informed 
 me that it would be ready in half an hour, 
 at the end of which time it was presented 
 by a chap in livery, who handed me the 
 
Tips and Tipping 147 
 
 document with a cordial 'And how do you 
 do this morning'?' 
 
 "I looked the fellow over, whom I had 
 never laid eyes on before, and said, 'Who 
 the deuce are you?' 
 
 " 'I have charge of your floor, sir,' he 
 replied expectantly and suavely. 
 
 "I grasped his outstretched hand and 
 shook it heartily. 'I'm delighted to meet 
 you, sir,' I said; 'I've been in this hotel two 
 weeks and this is the first time I've seen 
 you.' That was all he got out of me." 
 
 At a little Italian town on Lake Como 
 where we staid over Sunda}^ I happened 
 to find on the register of the hotel the 
 names of some acquaintances and asked 
 the concierge if they were still guests of 
 the house. 
 
 "No'm, they left yesterday," he replied, 
 and added mournfully, "They said nothing 
 — they left nothing," and I observed a 
 cross opposite the names on the register, 
 placed there I suppose as a warning and a 
 reminder, in case those particular travelers 
 ever again registered at that particular 
 hotel, that no douceurs might be expected. 
 
 A lady in London told me that she had 
 refused invitations to private English 
 
148 Journeying Round the World 
 
 country houses because she could not 
 afford the expense involved in the tips 
 expected by the servants. To such an ex- 
 tent has this nuisance grown that in some 
 private houses where large house parties 
 are entertained, the host posts notices beg- 
 ging his guests not to tip the servants, as 
 it is a reflection on his hospitality. Never- 
 theless, the haughty English servant 
 makes a visitor feel so uncomfortable un- 
 less the expected tip is forthcoming for 
 the slightest service, that the guest does 
 not feel at liberty to ignore it, and the tips 
 usually involve pounds, instead of shillings 
 and sixpences, in these houses, too, the but- 
 ler and coachman regarding anything less 
 than a sovereign beneath their notice. 
 
 A table steward on one of the big ocean 
 liners did not hesitate to inform a clergy- 
 man who tendered him a tip of five dollars 
 for himself, wife and young son on a short 
 voyage, that they were accustomed to receive 
 more than that, and his air of hauteur was 
 chilling enough to freeze the marrow in your 
 bones. The deck steward on this same 
 ship confided to a passenger that he usually 
 got $175 in tips on a passage. Since this 
 particular ship makes two trips per month, 
 
Tips and Tipping 149 
 
 this steward receives a fairly decent sal- 
 ary of $350 per month in tips alone. It is 
 said that in the large European hotels the 
 concierge pays the proprietor a handsome 
 sum for the privilege of his position, receiv- 
 ing no salary whatever from the manage- 
 ment, and depending solely on his tips for 
 his maintenance. 
 
 A guide for a certain tourist agency told 
 me that he had purchased a country home 
 for himself, and was in sufficiently affluent 
 circumstances to retire if he chose, and yet 
 his salary was but £2 10s a week, and he 
 had never received more than that, and 
 usually less, and had a family consisting of 
 a wife and three children to support. 
 "Just fawncy" acquiring independence 
 and affluence on a salary of $12.50 per 
 week! Yet this man had accomplished it, 
 and in a surprisingly short time. Doubt- 
 less the tips were responsible for that 
 country place. 
 
 However, be not discouraged, prospec- 
 tive traveler, for it is but justice to record 
 that tips in foreign countries mean usually 
 coins of small denominations. For a few 
 centimes, amounting to three cents in 
 United States money, willing porters will 
 
150 Journeying Round the World 
 
 carry your suitcase from train to omnibus; 
 "boots" and the "lift" boy do not expect 
 big tips, and carriage hire, as compared 
 with American charges, is a mere bagatelle. 
 In Rome our party of five secured an excel- 
 lent guide for twelve francs per day, and a 
 carriage cost us eighteen francs per day, 
 which made our per capita expenditure but 
 $1.20 per day, including guide, carriage and 
 tips. We were driven all about Rome, visit- 
 ing its famous places, out the Appian Way 
 to the Catacombs, and our guide was an in- 
 telligent, educated and refined young man 
 who spoke English fluently — and five other 
 languages. He knew his Rome perfectly and 
 drilled us on dates, early and late Roman 
 history, art and artists, like a professor of 
 ancient and modern literature. 
 
 It was in Japan — and only Japan — that 
 we experienced the curious sensation of 
 having our tips refused. It was on a rail- 
 way train going up to Mkko from Tokyo. 
 Just before arrival, the railway official who 
 had acted as conductor entered our com- 
 partment, whisk broom in hand, and pro- 
 ceeded to "polish us off" after the manner 
 of the American porter. When the oper- 
 ation was over and we tendered a tip, what 
 
Tips and Tipping 151 
 
 was our amazement to see a look of dire 
 distress on the face of the polite official 
 who vigorously refused to accept the coins. 
 
Foreign Food. 
 
 One of the penalties of the privilege of 
 travel is the strange food you encounter, 
 especially in the Orient. You will be cau- 
 tioned by experienced globe trotters, before 
 you leave, not to indulge in salads or any 
 uncooked vegetables that grow above- 
 ground in the Far East, as the methods of 
 irrigation and soil cultivation over there are 
 not strictly sanitary from the American 
 viewpoint 
 
 Although in practically every great Ori- 
 ental city that we visited we found splendid 
 hotels where the food was excellent, yet the 
 foreigner must exercise certain precautions. 
 In Nanking about the only palatable food 
 offered us was the rice. You are always sure 
 of rice in China — and well-cooked rice, too 
 — for the Chinaman knows how to prepare 
 his standard dish much better than the 
 American chef. Every kernel of rice stands 
 up for itself individually — fluffy and distinct 
 as a kernel of popped corn. If you can eat 
 curry, so much the better, for rice and curry 
 is the national dish of China. 
 
 152 
 
Foreign Food 153 
 
 Then there are eggs ! I never saw so many 
 eggs as in Japan and China. At every river 
 station where our steamer stopped on the 
 Yangtze, quantities of eggs — in boxes, buc- 
 kets, pails and bales — were brought on 
 board. You will find chicken, or "poulet," 
 — which is the same thing — on practically 
 every menu card from San Francisco to New 
 York. Bamboo sprouts are Oriental deli- 
 cacies, and "capon a la financiere" was a 
 dish with a significant name offered on the 
 menu card of a Yokohama hotel. 
 
 You will of necessity, acquire the tea- 
 drinking habit in the Far East, because it 
 is safer than cold water with its lurking 
 possibility of germs. If you are a coffee 
 connoisseur, then prepare to abolish the cof- 
 fee-drinking habit from the time you touch 
 Oriental soil till you land in Switzerland, 
 Germany or France. It's astonishing how 
 quickly one can break away from a life-long 
 habit under certain circumstances. Hither- 
 to, I had been dependent on my cup of cof- 
 fee for breakfast as a morning appetizer, but 
 after struggling in vain to swallow the slop- 
 py mess offered under that name in foreign 
 countries, I abandoned the attempt and for 
 three months never tasted my accustomed 
 
154 Journeying Round the World 
 
 morning beverage, substituting tea or cocoa. 
 Whereas I had thought it a sure forerunner 
 of headache to be deprived of my favorite 
 drink at home, I found that no disagreeable 
 results followed my abstemiousness abroad. 
 All of which furnishes an excellent argu- 
 ment for the advocates of temperance from 
 all stimulants. 
 
 In Cairo you will find butter and cheese, 
 "fromage et beurre" as it appears on the 
 menu card, relegated to dessert, and be not 
 alarmed, neither seek too literal a transla- 
 tion, if you see "Poulet grille a la Diable," 
 in the list of eatables with a French name 
 placed before you. 
 
 In Europe you get the ''Continental 
 breakfast" — which means coffee or cocoa, 
 rolls and fruit — nothing more — unless you 
 pay extra for it, but you may always order 
 eggs, omelettes or other dishes if desired, 
 aside from that offered as the regular break- 
 fast. If you are fond of unsalted butter, 
 then the European article offered for your 
 consumption will meet your approval — 
 otherwise you may relieve its freshness with 
 a dextrous flirt of the salt shaker. Dr. Bur- 
 dette says that if one has mastered the 
 continental breakfast and fresh butter he 
 
Foreign Food 155 
 
 will pass for a finished European traveler. 
 Milk chocolate is the great American food 
 on the European continent. Every tourist 
 has an ample supply in his pocket. I actu- 
 ally believe that tons of chocolate are con- 
 sumed every year by American travelers. 
 The annual production of a single Swiss 
 manufacturer is 250,000,000 tablets. The 
 chocolate shops, and there is one in every 
 block of every city, village, hamlet or way 
 station, do a tremendous business. I count- 
 ed no less than twenty brands of chocolate 
 at a single shop in a little Swiss village, and 
 the proprietor told me that she sold pounds 
 of it every day. The chocolate habit in 
 Europe is more prevalent than the gum 
 chewing crime in America. Pure milk 
 chocolate is surely an ideal food for travel- 
 ers. It requires no preparation, and one 
 can comfortably subsist on it longer than 
 upon any other food as easily and cheaply 
 obtained. I met a couple traveling with 
 their two-year-old son, and the mother told 
 me that the child's sole subsistence was milk 
 chocolate, and he thrived wonderfully on the 
 diet. "I simply give him all he wants at 
 regular intervals/' she said, "and he never 
 tires of it." 
 
156 Journeying Round the World 
 
 The little French patisseries or tea rooms 
 with which Paris abounds are a constant 
 temptation to your appetite, with the dainty 
 cakes and pastries and cups of delicious 
 chocolate or coffee. The automat is the 
 European idea of the American cafeteria. 
 I met it first in Munich and afterward in 
 Nuremburg, and I was told that the automat 
 is very popular all through Germany. The 
 food is ranged on counters in glass-covered 
 receptacles. If you want a sandwich, a piece 
 of cake or pie, you slip a coin representing 
 the price, which is posted above each dish, 
 into the slot, and immediately that plate of 
 sandwiches, pies or cake, begins to slowly 
 revolve and your particular portion slides 
 automatically through the opening onto the 
 plate waiting to receive it. After you have 
 secured what you desire in solid foods, you 
 approach the " beverage fountain," put the 
 price in the slot, and your cup under the 
 faucet and the tea, coffee or cocoa — which- 
 ever faucet you choose — begins to flow. As 
 the liquid nears the top of your cup you 
 fairly hold your breath for fear it will over- 
 flow, but no, it always stops automatically 
 just half an inch from the brim of the cup. 
 
Foreign Food 157 
 
 It it very interesting to watch the automat 
 work. 
 
 You will be genuinely convinced that you 
 have never tasted real weiners until you 
 have patronized the famous Bratwurst 
 Glocklein in Nuremberg. It is today pre- 
 cisely as it was a century or more ago — a 
 little " lean-to" against the side of a fam- 
 ous church. Not more than twenty-five or 
 thirty people can crowd around the three 
 tables within the little building, in one end 
 of which is the huge range where, on the bed 
 of glowing coals, you can see the weiners 
 cooked to order. Notwithstanding the 
 cramped quarters, it often happens that a 
 thousand people dine here in a day. In 
 pleasant weather tables are spread outside 
 the building for the accommodation of the 
 overflow. 
 
 "What else can you give us?" I heard a 
 Boston man inquire as he drained his third 
 glass of German beer and devoured the last 
 crumb of his hot sausages, "Nothing but 
 wurst and kraut, eh 1 ?" 
 
 "Yes, sir, we can give you some more 
 kraut and wurst," replied the waiter, and 
 the order was promptly duplicated by the 
 hungry Bostonian. 
 
1 58 Journeying Round the World 
 
 In Grindelwald, we were entertained at 
 a delightful old Swiss chalet half a century 
 old, and drank our cocoa, and ate honey 
 fresh from the hives in the garden below, 
 from a breakfast table spread on the upper 
 balcony of the chalet, overlooking the valley 
 of the Jungfrau. 
 
 We reached Lucerne on the Fourth of 
 July and the dinner card at our hotel an- 
 nounced for dessert, ' ' gateau de Taf t. ' ' The 
 dining room was filled with American guests 
 and when this " piece de resistance" ap- 
 peared a shout of applause went up. The 
 Presidential cake was decorated with an 
 imitation of a log cabin, very successfully 
 done in candy logs, and topped by a tiny 
 American flag, all of which accentuated the 
 fact that the common idea of Europeans is 
 that our presidents must of necessity -be 
 born in log cabins. 
 
Types of Travelers. 
 
 After all, though you travel the wide 
 world over, there is no more interesting 
 study than human nature itself — the same 
 old human nature that prevails everywhere 
 among the sons and daughters of Adam, be 
 they black or white, English, Japanese, Chi- 
 nese, German, French or any other nation- 
 ality. You meet people who show such an 
 utter lack of appreciation that you wonder 
 why they travel. In the great art galleries 
 of Europe you hear expressions showing 
 such hopeless ignorance that your rapture 
 over the world's masterpieces is momentar- 
 ily eclipsed by the absurdity and ludicrous- 
 ness of the comments. 
 
 " Just look at them Cupids!" exclaimed a 
 woman as she pointed at the exquisite 
 cherubs chiseled from marble in St. Peter's 
 at Rome. 
 
 "That there statue has lost its head," 
 observed another art critic leveling a finger 
 at the "Winged Victory." 
 
 "Yes, an' here's another got its arms 
 broke off," responded her companion as she 
 
 159 
 
1 60 Journeying Round the World 
 
 paused beside the Venus de Milo. "They 
 must have awful careless janitors over 
 here." 
 
 "This is a copy of 'The Holy Family,' " 
 explained the guide, as he halted before a 
 masterpiece. 
 
 "He says that's a picture of ; The Whole 
 Family,' " murmured a man to his compan- 
 ion. "Whose family does he mean, I won- 
 guide fairly gasped and then recovered him- 
 Family' ever since we've been in Rome. 
 I'm gong to ask him. Guide, what do you 
 mean by 'The Whole Family"?" he called 
 out. "Whose family is it anyhow?" 
 
 There was an awful pause in the group of 
 tourists and Peggy actually giggled. The 
 guide fairly gasped and then recovered him- 
 self sufficiently to explain, "Why, sir, the 
 Holy Family — Joseph and Mary and the 
 child Jesus." 
 
 After a minute the idea percolated 
 through the gray matter of the tourist's 
 brain and he remarked sotto voce to his com- 
 panion, "Oh, I see! He says 'The Holy 
 Family' — 'H-o-l-l-y,' you know." 
 
 This was almost as bad as the man who 
 asked why it was that the Madonna was 
 always represented with a child in her arms. 
 
Types of Travelers 161 
 
 We were listening with awe and delight 
 to the wonderful musical door in one of the 
 cathedrals. As the soft, aeolian tones made 
 sweetest melody while the monk in charge 
 solemnly swung the door back and forth and 
 the guide was explaining to us the mys- 
 terious mechanism of the door, I overheard 
 a tourist who had just come up, remark in 
 annoyed tones: 
 
 "If I only had a can of oil, I could stop 
 the squeaking of that confounded door. 
 Why don't they keep things up better over 
 here, anyway?" 
 
 The throngs of copyists in the picture gal- 
 leries of Rome and Florence and other Euro- 
 pean art centers are a study in themselves 
 — old, bent, white-haired men, attractive or 
 plain-featured young women, wild-bearded 
 artists and pale-faced geniuses sit or stand 
 before their easels copying the work of the 
 great masters. In the Pitti gallery in Flor- 
 ence there seemed to be a perfect craze for 
 copying on a single large canvas — not one 
 picture but the complete salon, or as much 
 of it as can be seen from a given point — a 
 corner and the two walls leading from it, 
 including the frescoed ceiling. In one of the 
 salons where this view gave some of the 
 
162 Journeying Round the World 
 
 most famous paintings, I paused before the 
 easel of a young man who was just putting 
 the finishing touches to such a picture. It 
 was a magnificent piece of work, the colors 
 true, and the reproduction, which included 
 a splendid piece of sculpture by a master 
 hand, almost perfectly done. I admired the 
 painting and asked the price. He was an 
 Italian artist and spoke no English but sum- 
 moned an American fellow worker who 
 acted as interpreter and who said the price 
 was 500 lire ($100). He had been three 
 months constantly at work on the canvas. 
 At this rate his daily wage would amount 
 to less than that of the humblest day laborer 
 with pick and shovel in America. 
 
 It was a Chicago man who, when told that 
 six centuries were consumed in the building 
 of the great cathedral at Cologne, ex- 
 claimed, "Is it possible? We could build it 
 in Chicago in six months." 
 
 "There's only a few pictures that 
 daughter and I care to see, anyhow," said 
 a Missouri woman in the Pitti gallery. "I've 
 come to the conclusion that most of the art 
 galleries in Yurrup are alike. You've seen 
 one and you've seen 'em all. The only dif- 
 ference is that some of 'em have the Old 
 
Types of Travelers 163 
 
 Masters' paintings in 'em and others have 
 just copies and the first are the best. I want 
 to see Titian's 'Baby Stuart' here. That's 
 what I come to this gallery for. Daughter 
 and I both paint — I in oils and she in pastel 
 — and the walls of our home in Missouri are 
 just covered with our pictures, and I must 
 say I'd give more for 'em than for all there 
 is here" — with a sweeping gesture that in- 
 cluded Raphael's "Madonna," Andrea del 
 Sarto's "Saint John the Baptist" and about 
 a dozen other masterpieces, before which 
 artists of all the ages since have knelt in 
 wonder and admiration. 
 
 Americans cannot fail to be impressed 
 with the air of leisurely dignity which is 
 characteristic of the natives of the Far East 
 which makes our American scramble seem 
 most undignified, unbecoming, and even 
 rude. This unseemly haste pervades our 
 very speech. When in Germany we had 
 reached a town where quite unexpectedly 
 we were required to change cars, and I 
 sought some one who understood English in 
 order to get the necessary information. I 
 was directed to a young man who was said 
 to speak English, and I approached him and 
 fluently made my wants and wishes known, 
 
164 Journeying Round the World 
 
 speaking at a rather rapid rate. He regard- 
 ed me curiously, listened attentively to my 
 flow of eloquence, while gradually a puzzled 
 expression stole over his features, and 
 finally he said in his slow, German way: 
 
 " Pardon me, Madame, but could you 
 speak English'? I do not understand your 
 language. " 
 
 It was too rapid to be recognized. 
 
 A young German girl who was slowly 
 acquiring the English language listened 
 with awe and admiration to the gay con- 
 versation of a party of young Americans, 
 one of whom remarked concerning her com- 
 panion, u Qh, she's not the only pebble on 
 the beach." 
 
 The German girl pondered over this 
 phrase — for the American slang caught her 
 admiration and this was quite the latest she 
 had heard of this strange and fascinating 
 dialect. Then she announced to her startled 
 mother: 
 
 "I've got it — this delightful American 
 slang. Here's the latest: 'She's not the 
 only peoples on the bench'," and the two 
 shrieked with laughter and delight. 
 
 In Palestine I met an old lady more than 
 seventy years of age who was traveling with 
 
Types of Travelers 165 
 
 a personally conducted party, and she in- 
 formed me in a burst of confidence that she 
 had brought along an extra set of false teeth 
 for fear she might break the ones she wore. 
 On the other hand she had forgotten her 
 watch. 
 
 One of the happiest, most cheerful people 
 I saw in all my journey round was a para- 
 lyzed Englishman who couldn't walk a step 
 and was carried down to the dining saloon 
 for each meal by his valet and one of the 
 stewards. He and his chum, an English 
 earl, cracked jokes and dispensed fun all day 
 long until their particular corner of the deck 
 became famous for its good cheer and the 
 hearty peals of laughter that continually 
 emanated from it. 
 
 Then there was the Grumbler — a man 
 worth a million, but so stingy that he was 
 in a constant state of perturbation lest he 
 be fleeced. He antagonized every hotel 
 keeper from Shanghai to London from the 
 minute he entered the hostelry and began 
 to jew down the rates; he called everything 
 " graft" from the tiny tip he grudgingly 
 gaVe his steward to the hard-earned yen he 
 grumblingly paid his guide, and the few sen 
 he doled out to his 'riksha man who had 
 
1 66 Journeying Around the World 
 
 toted him all over Tokyo for hours. He ban- 
 tered and dickered for everything and was 
 an object of ridicule and contempt the world 
 around on account of his parsimony. 
 
 In London I met a tourist from Detroit 
 who gravely assured me that he was not 
 attempting to do anything in the way of 
 sightseeing in this greatest city on earth 
 except by way of the underground railways. 
 I gazed at him in amazement and inquired 
 if he were particularly interested in subway 
 construction and was on a tour of investiga- 
 tion, or if he had visited London so often 
 that he was perfectly familiar with it. 
 
 ' ' No — neither, ' ' he replied soberly. ' ' This 
 is my first visit to London and I am merely 
 on a sightseeing trip, but it's so big and sort 
 of confusing that I've decided to leave the 
 surface till next time and do the under- 
 ground thoroughly — going from the bottom 
 up, as it were," and he proceeded to show 
 me a map of the tube railways of the city. 
 "You see, I have become quite expert in 
 finding my way about in these subways, ' ' he 
 confided with an air of modest pride as he 
 pointed out the stations and different lines 
 of underground roads. "It is far less nerve- 
 racking than to keep above ground," he 
 
Types of Travelers 167 
 
 went on. "Oh, yes, I occasionally come up 
 to the surface at some interesting point. 
 I visited Westminster Abbey yesterday. I 
 simply went underground at Russell Square 
 you see, changed cars twice in the subway 
 and emerged at the Parliament Building 
 right opposite the Abbey; escaped the con- 
 fusion of these left-handed omnibuses, 
 motors and trams, and arrived at my des- 
 tination quite simply as it were. Another 
 advantage in underground travel," he con- 
 tinued, "is that you escape the annoyance 
 of rain. Now we had a sudden shower yes- 
 terday, and many pedestrians on the sur- 
 face were caught unawares without umbrel- 
 las. I was underground, safe and snug, and 
 knew nothing of the storm till I came to the 
 surface and found the streets soaking." 
 
Homeward Bound. 
 
 Homeward bound at last, after months of 
 travel in foreign lands, and as your ship 
 slips her anchor and swings away from the 
 wharf, heading out to sea toward "the home 
 of the brave and the land of the free," your 
 heart sings in rapture. Glad to come home % 
 Why, half the joy of this journey round the 
 world is in the getting home again. You 
 observe that practically all the passengers 
 are in a state of mental review of their for- 
 eign experiences. It's the first opportunity 
 they've had to sit quietly down and sum up 
 the trip. Whereas all conversation on your 
 outward-bound trip was in the future tense, 
 now it is in the past. Notes are compared, 
 and everyone has time to mentally digest 
 and assimilate the incidents of travel. 
 
 About the fourth day out from Liverpool, 
 the peaceful mental meditations of passen- 
 gers are somewhat disturbed and brought 
 abruptly to a focus by the sudden realiza- 
 tion that there is yet another strange expe- 
 rience to be reckoned with. You find in 
 your cabin, in a conspicuous place, a 
 
 168 
 
Homeward Bound 169 
 
 declaration blank on which you are 
 requested to file a list of your purchases 
 abroad. A quiver of suppressed excitement 
 runs like an electric thrill among the pas- 
 sengers, especially the female contingent. 
 Cabin doors that had hitherto swung open 
 in frank and unconcealed candor, suddenly 
 become exclusively closed. There are whis- 
 pered conferences among women, myste- 
 rious nods and interrogative queries. After 
 a little you observe that all the desks in the 
 writing room are appropriated and long lists 
 of goods and chattels acquired abroad are 
 being checked up by anxious-faced women. 
 The declaration is a straight up-and-down 
 document. Uncle Sam asks you to defin- 
 itely declare what goods you have acquired 
 abroad, whether by purchase or gift, 
 whether in your baggage, on your person, 
 used or unused, and you are warned that 
 you will be required to swear before a no- 
 tary on your arrival that you have made an 
 honest and truthful declaration, and you are 
 further admonished in a foot-note that, in 
 case you are detected in untruthful state- 
 ments, you will be liable to arrest and im- 
 prisonment. In short, you are reduced to 
 the extremity of telling the exact truth, 
 
1 70 Journeying Around the World 
 
 "the whole truth, and nothing but the 
 truth/' or its opposite, and thereby brand- 
 ing yourself as a liar and laying up a heap 
 of trouble. 
 
 The girl who had planned to land in New 
 York wearing two Paris silk petticoats, a 
 new London suit, a pair of long white kid 
 gloves, a sweeping ostrich plume pinned on 
 her United States hat, a Florentine mosaic 
 bracelet on her arm, a string of Roman 
 pearls with a Jerusalem mother-of-pearl 
 pendant and a dog-collar of Naples corals 
 around her neck, suddenly abandoned the 
 idea. "What's the use?" she said, "if I've 
 got to declare everything I have on I might 
 as well pack 'em. ' ' 
 
 Wise lady! I warn you, don't try to cheat 
 Uncle Sam. If you do there 's trouble ahead. 
 Pack all your foreign purchases as far as 
 possible in the tray of your trunk. On the 
 declaration blank, do not attempt to make 
 out an itemized list of every article, but sum 
 up under a heading "Personal Effects" the 
 amount you have expended for such things 
 as wearing apparel. Under "Souvenirs" 
 place the amount represented by these pur- 
 chases; under "Books and Pictures" that 
 spent for these, etc. It is well, however, to 
 
Homeward Bound 1 7 1 
 
 make out on a separate slip for your per- 
 sonal use, and to submit to the customs offi- 
 cer if requested, an itemized list, together 
 with the price you paid for each article. 
 You are entitled to one hundred dollars' 
 worth, duty free. After you have filled in 
 your declaration blank, return it to the 
 steward who will tear off the coupon with 
 corresponding number and return to you. 
 When you land, present the coupon at the 
 inspector's window, who will, by comparing 
 the number, find your declaration blank 
 which has been turned over to him by the 
 ship's purser, and you will take oath that 
 the signature is yours. He will detail an offi- 
 cer to examine your baggage and he will 
 accompany you to the place where your 
 effects have been placed. If you've been 
 perfectly frank and honest in your declara- 
 tion, you have nothing to fear and will find 
 the officer courteous and obliging — at least, 
 I did. 
 
 It was just at the close of a perfect 
 autumn day that our good ship Arabic 
 passed into New York harbor, her decks 
 crowded with eager faces scanning the fa- 
 miliar shores, the sky-scrapers looming up 
 in the distance like huge honeycombs set on 
 
1 72 Journeying Around the World 
 
 end. As our ship passed the Statue of Lib- 
 erty, burnished with the last rays of the 
 setting sun, there broke from the lips of the 
 passengers that glorious song of life and lib- 
 erty, "The Star Spangled Banner," and 
 tears sprang to happy eyes which looked 
 for the first time in many months upon their 
 native land. 
 
 Japan has her pretty, pink-cheeked maid- 
 ens, Hongkong her lovely flowers, Singa- 
 pore her luxuriant growth of tropic trees 
 and vegetation, Egypt her fertile fields of 
 the Nile, Palestine her orange and olive 
 groves, Italy her sunny skies and smiling 
 vineyards, Switzerland her lofty mountain 
 peaks, Germany her castled Rhine, Paris 
 her wide boulevards and fascinating shops, 
 England her enchanting reaches of country 
 side — but mine own, my native land, thou 
 hast them all — and more. 
 
SEP 27 1912 
 
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 HP 
 
 
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 BH 
 
 Hn 
 
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