A wanderer's trail : being a faithful record of travel in many lands

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CORNELL

UNIVERSITY

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Contents

PARTI

PAGE

INTRODUCTION . . . . .17

Part I

" Much have I seen and known ; cities of men And manners, climates, . . .

Yet all experience is an arch wherethro' Gleams that untravell'd world, whose margin Sides For ever and for ever when I move."

Tennyson.

Introduction

Before bringing my reader to the date of my first departure from England a few words of personal record may not be out of place.

I began my business career at the age of seventeen, in a London insurance company. After some months in this ofBce I had the opportunity to join the well-known Japanese house of Mitsui, in whose service I remained nearly three years. I left that firm to join the house of Arbuthnot Ewart & Co., with which I was connected till my departure from London.

Besides gaining a fair practical insight into general commerce in the service of these two important houses, I gained, further, that which was of even greater value — ^the friendship and interest of some influential business men, whose help and practical kindness to me during my years of travel made possible a task that had been otherwise hopeless.

From my schooldays the desire to wander into the Great Unknown was always very strong in me. I made many efforts to obtain some foreign appointment, but, chiefly owing to my youth and a slight delicacy of constitution, the efforts were unsuccessful. One day, however, whilst in conversation with a merchant I received rather a rude shock. I was enlarging on my eagerness to "go abroad " (that vague phrase so often in the mouths of young EngUshmen at home) when I was disconcerted by the blunt retort : " Then why the devil don't you go ? " With a rather injured air I began to explain my many fruitless efforts to this end. I was cut short, however, by my listener saying : " My boy, if you want to go abroad and see the world — ^go ! — ship in the first tramp you can find, bound anywhere. That is the only way to see the world ! " These words made a deep impression on me ; so much so that within

INTRODUCTION

a month my kit was packed, my farewells said, and I foimd myself travelling down to Barry docks to join a tramp steamer boimd romid the Horn for San Francisco.

Through the kindness of a shipbroker I had been able to arrange a passage on board, paying only the small sum of three shillings per day for mess-money.

I had ten pounds in my pocket and a few letters of introduction, most of them not worth the paper on which they were written. I had then, however, that which was of far greater value. I possessed untiring Energy, unlimited Hope and the unboiuided Enthusiasm of youth. So I was rich in capital, richer than I knew ; for nothing is of real value till it is lost !

i8

Chapter I

THE date was the 13th of February 1907. On a bleak, raw night typical of February I reached Barry docks, which looked as desolate and dirty as they possibly could. Rain was steadily falling, and it might have been doing so for weeks on end, so sloppy and muddy were the roads and wharves.

On leaving the station I inquired as to the whereabouts of the steamer Strathyre, the ship that was to be my home for many weeks to come. I found her at last moored to one of the wharves under the coal-tips, in process of being coaled for her long voyage. Boarding her by means of the rope-ladder hanging over her side I clambered on deck. Everything there was coated with coal dust — ^men included ! Welsh coal may certainly be the best burning coal in the world, but it is also the dirtiest ; its dust seems to have a knack of finding every nook and corner of a vessel, and of lodging there.

The Strathyre was a new steamer — ^the usual type of a modern cargo boat with as much iron about her and as little wood as possible. Her registered tonnage was nearly- three thousand and her carrying capacity some six thousand.

However, that night I obtained but a glimpse of her in her coat of coal dust. Inquiring for the captain, I was told to go down to the saloon, where I foimd him sitting busily writing. In response to my question as to whether he were the captain he rephed : " Yes, I'm the master." The term then struck me as rather strange. Having informed him who I was, I asked, seeing him so busy, if I could not give him a helping hand. He gratefully accepted my offer and told me he was nearly dying for want of sleep, having been up on the bridge for the best part of three nights, while bringing the ship over from the Continent, as fog was with them all the way.

As the writing to be done was all connected with shipping matters with which I was fairly familiar, I was able to relieve him of a great deal of work ; in fact, by one o'clock he was fast asleep in his chair, whilst I was finishing the last letter. He was very grateful for my timely help, as he termed it, and I was only too glad to make myself useful. The captain and I became very friendly during the voyage and I often look back with pleasure to the many enjoyable days I spent in his company.

He was about as unlike the ship's captain my fertile imagination pictured as he coidd possibly be. My idea of a sea captain, founded on the stirring yarns of youth, was a bull-necked, ferocious-looking man, who could not speak without oaths ;

whilst Captain G of the Straihyre was a quiet, refined

Scotsman, who would not have appeared out of place in a pulpit.

I found I was splendidly berthed — ^the captain's spare cabin being placed at my disposal. Down to that time I was not sure whether I might have been ordered to sleep in the f o'c'sle or in a ventilator. I was prepared for anything.

The following morning, the ship not being due to sail till the afternoon, I took a stroll round the town of Barry and its outskirts. In the sunshine the town appeared by no means so dismal as it, had seemed to me the night before, whilst the country round after the recent rain looked quite pretty. It was, besides, my last day in England, so I was not inclined to be critical. Even the grimy docks and wharves appeared when we were slowly steaming away from them more pleasing than they looked on the preceding night.

At four o'clock the pilot came on board; shortly afterwards our lines were cast off, and with the aid of a tug we steamed slowly through the lock gates into the Bristol Channel. It always is a sad sight to see an old tramp starting out on a long voyage with no last farewells, no waving handkerchiefs, no interested eyes to follow her slowly steaming away in the distance. Nobody seems to care ! Her departure is unnoticed ! Only the old dock-hand curses her for going out so slowly.

It was blowing fairly hard when we got into the Channel and a choppy head sea was rimning. Though I felt somewhat squeamish that evening, and on and oft during the next day or so, I was fortunate in gaining my sea legs without having to pay the usual tribute to Father Neptune, despite the prophecies of loving relatives. I learnt that night, however, the wisdom of shutting my port-holes firmly, for, on the steamer suddenly shipping a big sea in the Channel, I found myself and my cabin nearly swamped, one of the ports not having been securely shut.

By noon of the next day we were well in the Atlantic, with the cliff* of England — at Land's End — ^fading away in the distance.

I was surprised to find that all the crew and firemen were Chinese. This I have found to be the case with nearly every freighter in which I have since sailed. It seems a pity !

The officers, however, were all Britishers, the engineers all being Scotsmen from Glasgow. Our cargo was chiefly building material for San Francisco, Portland cement forming the bulk of it. We had further a good supply of wines (which the carpenter and I on more than one occasion sampled) and other luxuries from the Continent.

There were two messes on board —the deck-officers' mess and that of the engineers. My seat was with the former.

The food was plain but wholesome, tinned stuffs and salt pork appearing frequently on the menu owing to the length of the voyage. My appetite then was, however, equal to anji;hing ; and I am quite sure that the owners would not have cared for me as a life-passenger on the three-shillings-a-day basis.

The first few days at sea I spent exploring all the nooks and crannies of my floating home — everywhere from the chain locker to the shaft tunnel. To-day I can vividly recall the keen and absorbing interest I took in all the details of the ship, and in the daily routine of work on board. I spent hours on the bridge, especially if it were blowing hard, feeling the driving wind and rain as refreshing as nectar. The changing of the watches, the ringing of the bells, the taking of the log, the hauling up of the lights— in short, everything that is part and parcel of the regular life on board of a deep-sea tramp — ^was a sotu-ce of absorbing interest to me. At the outset of the voyage the captain and I had struck a bargain. He was very anxious to learn French ; so I undertook to teach him that language as well as my knowledge would permit. He, on the other hand, promised to teach me navigation and as much astronomy as he knew. Hence om- evenings were always well occupied.

Rimning south and west, skirting the Bay of Biscay, we soon came into warmer latitudes, where the weather became finer and the seas calmer. Seven days after leaving England we sighted Madeira, and on the morning of the 28th of February we anchored off St Vincent Island, the chief island of the Cape Verde group.

Shortly after medical inspection the coaling of the ship began. All the coal obtained at this island is Welsh coal, imported by colliers and stocked on the island. Iron barges, towed out, brought it to the ship lying in the bay, being transferred into the steamer's bunkers by means of baskets. Steamers can be coaled here at the rate of some twelve hundred tons per day.

I went ashore after breakfast with the captain, but was not very greatly impressed by the appearance of the first foreign soil on which I put my foot. What chiefly seem to have remained impressed on my memory are the gaudily painted buildings of a glaring green, and the pompous appearance of the Portuguese sentinels who guarded the official buildings. A swarm of beggars greeted our arrival on shore, one and all offering their services as guides. The inhabitants seemed to be a mixed race of Portuguese and negroes.

Having visited the ship's agents, where I had the opportunity of samphng some real Madeira wine and bananas, we strolled round the town to see all that there was to be seen, which was very little. The island for the most part appeared barren and sandy, though in places I noticed tropical fruits growing in abundance. Like the others of the group, the island is of volcanic origin and is both mountainous and rocky. The group is owned by the Portuguese, who discovered and occupied it as early as the middle of the fifteenth century. Apart from the importance of St Vincent Isle as a convenient coaling port for steamers southward boimd, the Cape Verde Islands are but of small value.

Coaling was finished late in the afternoon, and shortly after sundown we weighed anchor and steamed away. It was full moon on the night of our departure ; and I can recall how very picturesque the islands looked in the moonlight. As we slowly steamed out we passed a large jagged rock which stood out like some giant sentinel guarding the entrance of the island. Looking back, one saw the twinkling lights of the little town, almost paled by the moon's rays, die out one by one, tiU only the high peaks of the islands remained above the horizon.

The weather, as we steamed south-west, continued delightful, hot and sunny. When crossing the line we got into the south-east trade winds, having lost those from the north-east a day or two after leaving the islands. The chief officer had by now enlisted me as one of his painters, or sailors (there is mighty little difference to-day), and I usually spent my mornings in painting stanchions and making myself generally useful. It kept me busy and prevented time from hanging heavily on my hands. The nights, however, in these southern tropics were, if I may say so, the best part of the day, Simny days, ended by lovely sunsets, were followed by perfect starry nights. Nothing but the rhythmical sotmd of the throbbing engines, as the ship made her way through the phosphorescent seas, broke the peaceful calm of these tropical nights. Now and then a squall would strike the ship with midsummer fury ; torrential rains would descend from the black canopy above ; vivid flashes of lightning would for a moment turn night into day, but within the hour all would be peaceful again with the passing of Nature's angry mood.

It was generally late before I turned in, for I spent hours walking to and fro the deck, dreaming such dreams, building such castles in the air as only a young man of twenty-one can when he has all the world before him.

A favourite nook of mine in the cool of the afternoon was the ship's bows, where I waited for the sim to set. I would follow the graceful flight of the flying-fish, watch the gambols of a school of porpoises diving to and fro under the ship, and gaze fascinated into the smooth depths of the fathomless waters through which the steamer sped. My firfet impression of the peaceful calm of those days and nights in tropical seas is indelibly imprinted on my mind, and stands out to-day perhaps more prominently than anything else in that first voyage of mine.

Leaving the tropics, still steering south-west, we felt the change in the temperature and the weather became less settled and colder. We then met some rough days with heavy winds and seas from the south. Our progress became slower, our usual run of some two hundred and twenty miles dropping to under two hundred, and big seas every now and then swept the forward part of the ship. We passed many whales in these southerly waters, though never near enough to allow me to obtain a good view of them.

On the 23rd of March, thirty-eight days out, we sighted Cape Virgin, a low white cliff ; and shortly afterwards we made Dungeness, where we reported ourselves at Lloyd's station. We anchored at midday in Possession Bay to wait for the turn of the tide. As we lay at anchor in the entrance of the Straits of Magellan we had a full view of the inhospitable shores of Patagonia and of the island of Tierra-del-Fuego.

Special caution is necessary in approaching and navigating these straits, as the currents and tides off the coast are very strong ; the force of the current through the Narrows is sometimes as much as five to seven knots an hour. Cape Virgin is but a very low cUff, and, the distance off shore not being easy to estimate, negotiation of the eastward entrance to the straits needs extreme care. Sailing ships, of course, never attempt the passage, but sail round the Horn.

On the turn of the tide we weighed anchor and entered the straits with a strong south-west wind against us . For about one hundred miles from Cape Virgin the land was low, grassy and treeless. The low-lying ground then gave place to rugged country of rough-outlined hills and towering mountains, which, dark and gloomy, with blue glaciers interlodged, reared their snow-capped peaks over the waters at their foot. Their solemn grandeur was very impressive. The still silence that reigned added to the desolation of the scene.

Darwin, in his work on the voyage of the Beagle, describes the scenery of the Straits of Magellan in picturesque words : " It would be difficult to imagine a scene where Man seemed to have fewer claims or less authority. The inanimate works of Nature — ^rock, ice, snow, wind and water, all warring with each other, yet, combined against Man, reigned in absolute sovereignty ! "

The town of Punta Arenas, bom since Darwin's time, is, however, the symbol of Man's assertion of his rights ; though the glittering blaze of lights seemed but to intensify the loneliness and wildness of the surrounding country.

The passage through the straits, a distance of three hundred and ten miles, took us thirty-seven hours ; we passed several homeward-bound steamers, to which we dipped our ensign. Fortimately the weather kept clear, for dirty weather in these straits greatly increases the risk of navigation, as there are but few anchorages which afford any shelter to the ship that is " standing by " till the weather mends.

As it was getting dark we passed Cape Pillar, a bold cliff with high moimtains to the southward, and entered the Pacific, meeting a high head sea which repeatedly broke over the ship. Steaming north, we soon sighted the coast of Chile ; and on the 29th we anchored in Coronel Bay, off the town of that name.

The seaport of Coronel owes what prosperity it possesses to the somewhat inferior coal that is mined in its vicinity, chiefly at Lota. To the sightseer Coronel produced nothing of much interest. I visited the market and watched the inhabitants at their marketing, which chieily consisted in gossiping, idling and smoking.

The Chilians, during our short stay, fully lived up to their national reputation for procrastination : Manana (to-morrow) is their watchword ! It was Easter-time when we arrived, and the people, being Roman Catholics, were celebrating that season in a most festive way, to the total disregard of business obligations and ordinary work. To the many requests and protests of the steamers lying in the bay and waiting for coal Manana was the only response. As we were the latest arrival we soon saw it was hopeless to think of getting supplies for some time to come ; consequently, as we had enough left in our bunkers to take us up to 'Frisco, we replenished our stock of fresh water and provisions, weighed anchor and steamed away.

Other ships were, however, not so fortunate. One French cargo boat had been lying in the bay for two weeks waiting for coal, but, notwithstanding the promise of double wages to those who would work, the steamer could not obtain so much as a ton. Her captain informed us that the ship was due in one month at Baltimore to take up a fresh charter and had then only just sufficient time to reach that port. But the urgency of immediate coaling did not in any way worry the pleasure-loving, procrastinating people, and the prospect of that steamer being ready to leave for another two weeks was very remote. The French captain was a philosophic man, however, and hs beaux yeua; of the Chihan girls seemed fully to compensate him for the delay of his ship, which, though he had done his best to avoid it, was after all not his trouble so much as that of his owners. Doubtless the opening of the Panama Canal will affect considerably the importance of Coronel as a coaling port ; though, on the other hand, it may lead to the development of some of the industries at present in their infancy. Petroleum was reported to be present in the vicinity, though whether in profitable quantities I could not learn. It was in the streets of Coronel that I first saw oxen in yokes vised as beasts of bm-den ; and I felt so sorry for the poor animals patiently standing in the full blaze of the sun, compelled by their yoke to move in unison. The town was very hot and the glare from the coloured-plaster houses trjring to the eyes ; so I was not at all sorry to be once again at sea.

Resuming our voyage, we re-entered the tropics and on nearing the equator we experienced some extremely hot weather. The sea was hke a sheet of glass ; not a ripple disturbed its surface. One immediately thought of some poor sailing ship lying becalmed in these waters — ^the dreaded Doldrums ; of the deadly monotony of life for those on board, who see day after day the same unrulBed sheet of water, the same pitiless sun bleaching the sails as they cling lazily to the mast. It was stifiingly hot on board our steamer, making as we were a nine-knot breeze. The pitch bubbled in the bridge-deck and the iron decks were too hot for the bare foot of any white man. Here and there in the glassy seas I caught sight of the fin of a shark stealthily gliding along.

Nearly two weeks after leaving Coronel we sighted the Galapagos Isles, noted for their turtles. The following day we recrossed the equator, that day being the hottest of our voyage.

Day after day we steamed steadily north till the coast of Lower California appeared on the horizon, and off the coast we sighted the first sail since leaving Chile — ^f or over twenty days we might have been the only craft afloat ! The weather daily grew cooler, as we were now in the north-east trades, and our voyage was drawing to an end.

At four o'clock in the morning of the 24th April we picked up the American pilot off the coast of San Francisco. I was on the bridge at the time with the captain when the pilot boarded us, and from him we learnt the latest news. So full of interest to me at all times was the manoeuvring of a deep-sea steamer that it mattered little at what hour of the night or day we entered or left a port — I would be up on the bridge the whole time. During the years I travelled perhaps no subject has been of more continual interest to me than that of navigation or anything to do with the handling of a ship; hence the freshness and strangeness of everything was specially absorbing.

We entered the Golden Gate at sunrise, and anchored shortly afterwards in the bay of San Francisco, one of the most beautiful harbours in the world. It was the 24th day of April. Our voyage had taken us sixty-nine days. To all on board save myself it had been imeventf ul enough, nothing untoward having occurred during the trip. To me, however, the journey from the first day to the last had been full. I had learnt much of a hfe of which before I had been totally ignorant ; I had gained knowledge of the laws that govern the coming and going of the ocean tramp and of the life and daily routine of those on board. The impressions of life in general that I obtained on that first voyage are still very clear in my mind.

Chapter II

MY arrival in San Francisco was just twelve months after the great earthquake and fire that demolished and devastated so large a part of that city. A section of the town was stiU almost in ruins. Though to a certain extent the full effects of the great catastrophe were no longer apparent, the results were still obvious in nearly every street one crossed. Gaping holes, twisted girders, broken masonry and tons of wreckage met the eye on all sides.

To make matters worse, the town was also in the throes of a labour war. Every effort of the capitaUsts to rebuild the city was thwarted by the policy of the labour unions, whose demands struck one as being as childish as they were outrageous. Seven sections of laboiir were then on strike ! The unprecedented wage of five dollars gold a day was being paid for ordinary unskilled labour — ^for knocking mortar off bricks. The carpenters had struck for seven dollars a day, and when their demands were granted the boilermakers followed suit ; and so it went on. One felt as much admiration for the inhabitants of the wrecked city in their determination that a still more splendid town should arise from the ruins as one felt contempt for the unpatriotic actions and demands of the labour imions, whose one aim seemed to be to take advantage of the city's plight. However, the last straw was the car strike. When the carmen ceased work and demanded increased wages the capitalists put their foot down. Strike-breakers were brought into the city by train loads from all parts of America and the strike failed, though not before many attempts had been made to wreck the cars by dynamite. A signal defeat for the unions resulted, and I believe

I am correct in saying that the cars in San Francisco are to-day run by non-union men.

That it is an ill wind that blows nobody any good was very clearly illustrated by the increase of business in Oakland across the bay, though a great deal of 'Frisco's business went up to Seattle after the fire, and incidentally much of the vice went with it.

Before leaving the Strathyre and securing permission to enter the States I had to imdergo an examination by the immigration officials. I was asked : " Have you any work to do ? " I had not ; but I was wrestling in my mind as to whether it would be pohtic to confess that fact. However, I rephed in the negative. I was then informed I could enter the coxmtry, after having satisfied the officials that I had fifty dollars in my possession and that I was neither an anarchist, a polygamist nor an ex-criminal. I learnt afterwards that, had I said that I had some work to go to, I should not have been permitted to enter, owing to the regulations in force against indentured labour. To tell the truth in America is the best policy — ^sometimes !

One of the instances when it is the best policy not to tell the truth is over the question of ahen or head tax. This tax — four doUars, I believe, I paid in 'Frisco — ^is charged on all persons entering the United States. Those exempt, besides American citizens, are Canadians or those who reside in Canada ; but — ^and here's the point — ^the person entering from that territory, whether he is Canadian born or not, is compelled to show a clear year's residence in that country. The absurdity of this stipulation is apparent in the following instance : — ^A Canadian-born enters the States ; he enters free, showing, say, twenty-five years' residence in Canada. He stays, we will suppose, in the United States for a few months and then returns to his home. Now, after a stay in his own country of perhaps a couple of months, he decides to return again to America. He does so ; but on this occasion, according to the regulations, he has to pay ahen tax because he cannot show a clear year's residence in Canada ! The absurdity of this precious piece of American legislation is apparent.^ The obvious course to adopt is not to tell the truth ; and then everyone is satisfied !

Having left the ship, and beihg now free to enter the States, I tasted my first cocktail and learnt then the meaning of the price " two bits." As this is the hallmark of your knowledge of the West I impart the valuable information. It is twenty-five cents. I further learnt, this first day in 'Frisco, the phrase " up against it." This expression was in the mouth of every San Franciscan when he was discussing the one and only topic of conversation with visitors — ^the fire of 1906 ; they never talk there of the 'quake ! It was certainly a very expressive phrase, and one that aptly described the condition of the inhabitants of 'Frisco during their troubles, whether from fire, 'quake or labour unions.

As fifty dollars represented all my worldly wealth, I had devised some wonderful schemes for economising. I had an opportunity of putting into practice my resolution to economise this first day of mine in America. As it was very hot work tramping through the dusty streets, I went into a saloon and asked for a glass of beer (" steam beer," I think they call it — one generally gets more steam than beer unless the bar-keeper knows his job well) and I put down a nickel (five cents). I was curtly informed: "All drinks fifteen cents each, two for ' two bits.'" I tried lemonade. No good ! I was told that with a " free lunch " coimter they could not afford to sell anything at five cents a glass. Not having then the " gall " to walk out I paid my fifteen cents, but despite the fact that I had just had lunch I made terrific inroads into the " free lunch " counter. I am quite sure that the saloon made nothing out of the deal. I left feeling proud that I had put my new scheme of economy into practice, though I must confess to feeling very sluggish for the rest of the afternoon. My next visit was to a cigar store to buy some Virginia cigarettes. The " wise guy " (I beMeve that is the correct term) in the store said that he did not stock them ; in fact, he half