Forty Years On The Pacific

Front matter

FORTY YEARS ON THE PACIFIC

THE LURE OF THE GREAT OCEAN

A BOOK OF REFERENCE FOR THE TRAVELER

Introduction

INTRODUCTION

A GOOD many years ago—more than I like to confess— it dawned on me that I was getting too old for the deck sports that enliven a long sea-voyage; so I decided on a new sport for myself: to pass the time in setting down impressions of ocean travel, the places I visited, and the interesting side-lights on life that came to my attention. The first result was a series of letters to friends, the second, a number of newspaper interviews, and finally the present volume.

My original intention was to confine myself to personal experiences, but the more I studied the conditions of the Pacific, its marvelous panorama of countries and peoples, the more fascinated I became with my subject, and it grew far beyond my initial purpose; I felt compelled to take in a wider range, to include general information and jottings that covered a period of more than forty years.

I have sailed other oceans, but the Pacific is the one I know and love the best. The book I offer you is therefore primarily about my favorite ocean, the Pacific, although I wander now and again in my narrative to other waters for example and comparison.

Some of the subjects held up for consideration may not prove of prime interest to all readers, but at least my guiding principle in selecting them has been the knowledge—I venture to claim—-of what interests most persons. As an old campaigner, meeting all sorts and conditions of people, and mingling with them as one of the eternal human comedy, I have had unusual opportunities of finding out what the average mind responds to. Hence, I have tried to let common understanding direct my pen. •

This work is largely reminiscent, a fact permitting me the widest latitude. As I proceeded to enlarge my scope and marshal all my varied material, it was borne in on me that matters assumed several aspects when viewed from different angles, and thus the importance of accuracy early impressed itself upon me. As a consequence, not only have I consulted maritime men whom I have met at sea for years, but authorities on Pacific subjects—authorities such as Mr. D. C. Jenkins; Mr. Frank Burnett, of Vancouver; Mr. Percy Allen, of Sydney; Mr. Blacklock, for many years in Samoa; Captain Allen, of the Ellice and Phoenix groups of islands; Mr. T. J. McMahon; Eben Low, of Honolulu; Willie Greig, who knows the North Pacific well, and Mr. Will Lawson.

From sources of this sort I have refreshed my memory. In many cases I have received additional valuable details by talking with old friends whose travels have covered the same courses as my own. To these men—naval officers, ships' captains and officers, engineers, island traders and others—I am deeply indebted. Furthermore, the chapters I give on technical topics, such as wireless, have been gone over by experts; and to these gentlemen I also wish to express my appreciation of their kindly assistance. For some of the illustrations I am indebted to the courtesy of various steamship and railroad companies, Messrs. Baker-Williams, the Honolulu Promotion Committee and to the Honolulu Photo Supply Company.

One feature of the book many readers will get at once, and that is, they will find themselves suddenly transported from one scene to another without warning or preparation, but I hope it will not cause them any discomfort. Let them lay it to the habit of mind engendered in the old traveler by his familiarity and indifference to thousands of miles. An old campaigner like myself thinks nothing of an eight-thousand-mile jump.

It is with considerable diffidence that I submit my book to the public, and I do it only at the insistence of many good friends who have read my letters of travel. Also, I have been consoled by the remark of a well-known New York editor who, when I expressed trepidation as to the possible reception of my book, said with great emphasis: "I would not give a d for a book that was not disliked by somebody!"

But, withal, my experience may be akin to that of Mark Twain. Turning from authorship to publishing, he suffered a rude financial jar. Now, I am a publisher venturing to become an author, and the same sort of rude jolt may be awaiting me. Again, another picture comes to mind. Last summer, while strolling with a friend in Central Park, New York, we had to jump quick to get out of the way of a ninety horse-power automobile. My friend turned and said:

"The man in that car is a publisher."

Not long after, a Ford passed us and my companion pointed out the occupant as a book-binder. Then we met a thoughtful-looking man on foot—he was an author.

At all events, my book will serve the purpose if, even in a small measure, it contributes to the growing interest now apparent in the Pacific and its islands. I have often wondered why more people do not take the trip to the Antipodes and the Orient. Steamship rates are reasonable enough, and the service is high-class. Rich in folklore, in quaint peoples, in the beauty of reef and palm, the islands of the Pacific are certain to charm and enthrall the visitor.

Besides giving an account of my travels, I have included general information relating to the science of navigation, and some hints that I hope will prove useful to the general reader. So many questions have been asked me by prospective travelers about life on board ship, that I feel that these pages will be of practical service to them.

I adopt no pose in the world of letters. What I have written and compiled is largely' a book of my impressions— not a history in any sense. And I have told it in my own way, because that was the natural and unstudied thing to do. Whatever may be the reception of my book, I have already been recompensed in the pleasure I have had in putting it together.

THE AUTHOR.

Navigation On The Pacific

BEFORE the compass was invented the Pacific Islanders were guided by the winds, currents and stars, by means of which they found their way from one group of islands to another. From all accounts, they were fond of visiting one another, and being of one and the same race— Tahitians, Samoans, Kanakas and Maoris—intercourse was not difficult. Exchange of language, ideas and customs was thus effected and development brought about. How fearless and indifferent to tide and wind they were, and still are, was aptly illustrated at Samoa as late as 1918, when a native girl, her lover and sister, fled from the island of Tokelau, which is some three hundred miles north of Savaii, in a fourteenfoot open boat. Without oars they ran before a gale that was half hurricane and reached Savaii safely, later crossing to Apia, where they were made welcome by the Taupu of the tribe. Some idea of the velocity and ferocity of the wind they encountered may be gathered from the fact that the captain of the small mail steamer which plies between Apia and Pago Pago refused to face the elements. Incidentally, the flight on the wings of the hurricane was another triumph for love, one of the girls fleeing from an objectionable suitor who was backed by her father, a chief in Tokelau.

Native navigation on the Pacific, then, may be said to have been guided by Nature's chart of the skies and the compass of wind and tide. European navigation of this most spacious of oceans is usually dated from Magellan who sailed upon it in 1520. Then came Drake seven years later. Quite a number of explorers cruised about the Pacific in the seventeenth century, discovering Australia, New Zealand and minor islands, and a hundred years later, or, to be exact, in 1770, the famous Captain Cook made his memorable journey along the eastern coast of Australia.

The date of the beginning of navigation by trade vessels on the Pacific is hard to place. However, a British fleet of eleven ships under the command of Governor Phillip arrived in Botany Bay on January 19, 1788. La Perouse, commissioned by Louis XVI, entered the same bay with two ships, only a few days later—January 24th. It will be seen, therefore, that Australia came very near being a French possession. The first foreign trader to arrive in Sydney was the Philadelphia, on November 1, 1792, with Captain Patrickson in command.

Of course, all the foregoing vessels were under sail. The first steamer that made the trans-Pacific voyage that I find record of, was the Monumental City, from Panama to Sydney, in the 'fifties. She put into Tonga for provisions and firewood, and the amazed and fearful natives called her a "fiery sailing ship." Their emotions are not to be wondered at when we remember the bewilderment of our own people at the sight of their first steamer, the Savannah (300 tons), that crossed the Atlantic in 1819, traveling from her namesake town to Liverpool in twenty-six days.

The early efforts of government and steamship companies to establish a line between Australia and America are well worth our notice. In 1869 Colonel Woods, mail commissioner of the New Zealand Government, was told to devise the best route for steamers carrying mails across the Pacific. He recommended establishing a service from Sydney via Wellington and Tahiti, to San Francisco, and claimed that a 2,500-ton steamer could accomplish the journey in twenty-five days under ordinary conditions. Colonel Woods was evidently a sanguine fellow, for the larger and better-equipped passenger ships of 1916 took from twenty-eight to thirty days on this same route.

In 1870 the first San Francisco-to-Australia service was begun. Most trying conditions had to be contended with for many years. To Mr. H. H. Hall, the American consul at Sydney, is credit given for an active part in the creation of this service. He inaugurated a monthly service to cost a thousand pounds a month, payable by the New South Wales and the New Zealand governments. Unfortunately, all parties to the enterprise were suspicious of one another, and there were times when the captain of the ship would not land his mail until the subsidy was paid.

For the service Mr. Hall chartered the old Australian Steamship Navigation Company's boats, the Rangatiara and the Balclutha, which connected with the Ajax at Honolulu. Later, they were replaced by the City of Melbourne and the Wonga Wonga. The vessels of this line were often forced to burn wood because the Honolulu coal dealers insisted upon cash before they would supply the fuel.

In 1871 an agreement was made to run a line of steamers from San Francisco to Sydney, stopping at Honolulu and New Zealand. Ships of wood, the Nevada, Nebraska and the Dacotah, 2,100 tons each, and the Moses Taylor, 1,350 tons, were put in commission on the route. They undertook to make fifteen knots an hour. A flattering description of them appeared at the time in the San Francisco News of the World, which set forth the proud facts that the Nebraska averaged fifteen knots an hour, and that the staterooms were all double, with doors on either side and ventilators on top. The writer contrasted this magnificence with "the augerholes" (ports) of the Wonga Wonga. The mark of progress and inventive genius was upon them! The Nevada and her sisters were paddle-steamers, and the trimming of the paddles affected the speed. Thus, when they were heavily laden, the floats choked upon leaving the water, bringing the speed down to eleven knots an hour. After many vicissitudes, these four steamers were withdrawn in 1873.

Nothing daunted, the indefatigable Mr. Hall established a temporary service with the Mongol and the Tartar, which were subsequently replaced by the Mikado and the Cyphrenes. Eventually, the City of Melbourne filled the place of the Mongol. It is sad to relate that Mr. Hall, together with another steamship pioneer, Mr. Forbes, were fined ten thousand pounds for relinquishing this contract.

Which brings to mind the fact that the efforts of steamship owners to establish mail and passenger service between Australia, New Zealand and America have never received the recognition, let alone reward, to which their enterprise entitled them. For the most part, the service has been comfortable and safe, and as fast as the remuneration warranted. Speaking from an experience of forty-five years of ocean travel, much of which has been on the Pacific, I am able to say that during my time there has been only one passenger and mail steamer in the trans-equatorial Pacific trade between America and Australia lost by shipwreck, and none by fire. With that one exception, no serious disaster of any kind has occurred in this trade.

Also, I may note in passing, that the rates were reasonable and, most of the time, the seas were smooth—indeed, enjoyably so. It is one of our human weaknesses to remember one stormy voyage longer than a dozen tranquil trips, and we never forget to refer to our trying experience. The longest voyage I made was from San Francisco to Sydney. It took thirty-two days, but we reached port none the worse for a month of salt water. I was going to give the name of the ship making this momentous journey, but the owner modestly censored it.

This record of safety I have touched upon is certainly a high tribute to the captains and officers engaged in the trade. I have known nearly all the captains on the trans-equatorial Pacific since 1878, and I always felt safer in their care at sea than on any train overground or underground. These officers spent their early lives on sailing vessels, which gave them the experience to handle any situation and cope with unforeseen problems. It is singular that their manifold responsibilities are so little appreciated by passengers. For instance, a passenger might protest against a captain putting to sea in wicked weather, not realizing that he must, to satisfy the owner of the ship, who is obligated by the terms of his mail contract.

To return to the one shipwreck mentioned above: It was that of the Maitai at Raratonga, in the Cook group of islands. She drifted on a reef while trying to pick up an anchor. There was no loss of life. Evil rumor seemed to follow the Maitai from San Francisco, for she was reported to have bumped on a rock when leaving. But people smiled and said: "You can't sink her."

The Maitai, or Mioiverc, as she was called when James Huddart owned her, was built in 1892, and until she met her fate at Raratonga had led a charmed career. To use a sailor's expression, she tried to go overland to Honolulu in 1893, and got stuck fast on the rocks, where she remained several weeks. After this adventure she went to England to be overhauled. While there she took a party of excursionists to Norway for a glimpse of the midnight sun. Again, she ran ashore north of Bergen, but later was salved.

An old Sydney journalist, the late John Haynes, M.P., who was on the News in the 'seventies, described to me the arrival of the first passenger boat from America. He said it reminded him of Noah's Ark. Her entry into the trans Pacific trade aroused jealousy in the breasts of many people, who thought that the new line would interfere with the P. & O. steamship service, and, furthermore, by bringing Australia into closer relationship with the wide-awake United States weaken the ties that bound the Colonies to Great Britain. But it proved quite otherwise. The service to America became popular. It was found, for one thing, that news could be obtained from England via America in three weeks' less time than by the P. & O. boats; and one of the many pleasant results of the new traffic was the introduction into Australia of all sorts of modern American labor-saving devices. After the full value of the line had become recognized it was easy for a Sydney reporter, who was a good oarsman as well, to get a job on a paper, for by rowing to the Heads to meet these Frisco ships, he might get the latest American newspapers.

While on the subject of Pacific navigation, it is pertinent to set down in this place a method of what I may term echoseamanship that greatly interested me on the Pacific coast of the United States and Canada. This unique form of navigation I witnessed in Puget Sound and the Gulf of Georgia, which are noted for the numberless islands in their waters. On the voyage the ship is seldom on the open sea, and the going is smooth. But sometimes in Spring and Autumn Puget Sound, the Gulf of Georgia and the waters between them and Alaska are fog enwrapped. In Summer, too, occasionally, a forest fire will contribute a huge pall of smoke to add to the dangers and difficulties of navigation. Between Victoria, Seattle and Vancouver large ships from Australia and the Orient must plow their way over this route at all hours and seasons. The navigators, nevertheless, have so accustomed themselves to finding their way by echo that neither fog nor smoke-bank can interrupt their course. At certain periods of the year rain, snow and wind increase the hardships.

To beat the elements at their worst the officer on watch must, first of all, know the time the engineer is making. Of course, he must possess excellent hearing and an accurate measurement faculty, together with a qui vive alertness that is attuned to the slightest variation. Not for an instant must he forget that sound travels a mile in four seconds, and his reckoning must be absolute. The whistle is tooted frequently, and the captain must gauge his position by the echo-return just how far he is from rocks. There are some very narrow passages, and all the skill of the captain is called into play. There is a large amount of iron in the rocks contiguous to the shore which demagnetizes the compass, making it unreliable. For that reason, on board some of the ships, the use of the magnetic compass has been discontinued, and the gyroscopic compass is used instead.

Naturally, the aural sense of a pilot in these fog and smoke blanketed waters becomes abnormally acute, which will likely prove of great assistance to him in other regions of the world. This was demonstrated in the experience of Lieutenant-Commander Barney L. Johnston. Johnston acquired his skill in the whistle-echo system through years of work on the British Columbia coast where the fast express ships of the Canadian Pacific Railroad and the Grand Trunk Railroad are navigated in all seasons, no matter what the condition of the weather, and they must reach their destination without loss of time. At one time he was skipper of the Grand Trunk Railroad steamship Prince Rupert out of Vancouver, and at a later period he was one of the Vancouver pilots. In 1915 he took one of the Canadian-built submarines from Montreal across the Atlantic. Leaving the Canadian service, he was given a lieutenant's commission in the Royal Naval Reserve, in command of the British submarine H-8. When in the North Sea, he struck a mine which blew off the forward end of his craft. Luckily, the bulkhead held, and after resting on the bottom, to effect repairs, he managed to grope his way back to the English coast; where, caught in a fog, he navigated into port by the method of whistle-echo from the cliffs on shore. As a result of this exploit, he was made lieutenant-commander of his new ship, the "D. S."

So much for the whistle-echo and its effect on at least one man's destiny.

Generally speaking, the conditions on the Pacific coast have many advantages for those who follow the sea. Navigation here is not so hazardous as in numerous places in the same latitude along the Atlantic coast. Owing to small rise of the tide on the Pacific coast and freedom from ice, passengers and cargo can be handled at all ports night and day throughout the year. As a contrast, take the Bay of Fundy, on the Atlantic side of the continent, which is enwrapped in fog throughout the greater part of the year, and where the tides rise and fall in such extraordinary fashion. At St. John, N. B., the tide has a variation of twenty-seven feet, and the reader can easily figure out the difficulties of loading ship in these eccentric waters. The Bay of Fundy separates Nova Scotia from New Brunswick, where at Moncton, at the head of the bay, the inflow of the spring tide is called "the bore," and rushes in at a height of five feet and travels eight miles an hour. Near this point is situated Cape Blomedin, which derives its name from "blow me down," as the wind sweeps around there at a terrific rate. Incidentally, I have picked up amethysts at this cape. At the head of this tempestuous bay is Minas Basin, where, at the point of Noel Bay, the tide rises fifty feet. In passing, I might mention that there are three other world-famous places where the tide rises to this height: At Broome, on the west coast of Australia, at Honan, 1,100 miles up the Yangzekiang River, in China, and at Chepstow, on the Wye, England.

Crossing the peninsula of Nova Scotia, fifty miles due east of Minas Basin, at Halifax, on the Atlantic, the tide rises and falls only five feet, but to the north of Nova Scotia, in the Gulf of St. Lawrence, fogs and icebergs make navigation both dangerous and difficult.

Before we leave these waters and get back to our proper environment, the Pacific, permit me to record the romance in the early life of Captain Kughan, of the Oceanic steamer, Sierra, in the Pacific trade. With his parents, when a child,

he was wrecked on the brig Maggie, in the Straits of Canso, where the tide runs at fifteen knots. He was rescued from a cake of ice and rolled in a blanket. Like all Prince Edward Islanders, he was a sturdy youth. Having reached the age of fourteen, he, together with other ambitious and daring boys, repaired and launched the Maggie and turned her into a floating cold-storage plant. She was loaded with frozen turkeys, geese, ducks and other poultry, and with that delectable cargo the Maggie was headed for St. John, Newfoundland, where the entire load of fowl was sold over the ship's side to the residents of the town, at a good profit.

I have told of some of the difficulties of salt water navigation, but these troubles are by no means confined to the seas. In 1872, on the Ohio River, between Pittsburgh and Cincinnati, when I w.as working as a newspaper compositor, I traveled on steamboats when the water was so low in the Summer-time that these flat-bottomed boats could travel only early in the morning at the time the heavy dew was on the bed of the river! This is related at the risk of giving readers the impression that I have been perusing the "Arabian Nights."

However this may be, let us get back to our marvelous Pacific from which we have wandered far too long.

Notes

Voyages Across the Pacific

Vancouver to Auckland

IN keeping notes of my many voyages across the Pacific I have been able to collect odds and ends of information that are quaint, amusing and more or less valuable. It is interesting to contrast, for instance, the present luxuries of travel with the primitive simplicities of my first voyage on this ocean in 1878, which I made at the instance of Mr. J. W. Lyon. Then I was berthed on the old three-thousand ton Zealandia, from San Francisco, on which whale oil was burned in the lamps, and these extinguished at eleven o'clock. Now, we have electric light, first-class provisions in cold storage, large canvas tanks on deck for swimming, electric fans throughout the ship, cabins de luxe with private baths and laundry—in short, everything has improved for tropical traveling, including the temperature, which ranges from 77 to 85 degrees in the tropics of the Pacific.

I select some of the jottings from my note-books on a trip from Vancouver to Auckland in the Makura in November, 1913.

We left under the command of Captain Sid Phillips, and steamed through the outward passage to Victoria. The island scenery through Puget Sound is rery beautiful, with unexpected nooks tucked away amid forests of luxuriant growth. After a stop of three hours at Victoria we continued our voyage to Honolulu. With the exception of one day, when head-winds emptied the saloon of sea-sick passengers, the sea was untroubled.

The nine hours' stop at Honolulu is the pleasantest kind of break in the trans-Pacific journey. Indeed, that delightful spot is the pearl of the Pacific, the place to which good Americans ought to wish to go when they die. They would if they had any idea of its colorful charm.

It is usual for strangers approaching Honolulu to express dread of the heat ashore. No greater misapprehension could exist, for the climate is ideal, the thermometer registering from 55 to 85 degrees throughout the year. After these fearful passengers have spent a day in Honolulu and its environs it is a pleasure to listen to their enthusiastic comments on their return to the vessel at night. They fairly bubble with delight at the details of the picture that has been revealed to them during the day.

I find that nearly all travelers who are about to experience the tropics for the first time have a dread of the expected hot weather they are to suffer. But the tropical heat in MidPacific is not severe. On this voyage of the Makura it has been only 84 degrees so far. .1 have seen it as low as 77 and 79 degrees on different occasions. Trade winds afford blessed relief and often continue while one is in the tropics. Besides, aboardship, it must be remembered that the motion of sailing will create a breeze which could not be obtained on shore.

Most of the passengers on English ships dress for dinner, and in consequence money spent on a couple of white duck mess (Eton) jackets and white vests will guarantee a lot of comfort on a trip through the tropics. Travelers from the United States and Canada should provide themselves with three different weights of clothing, as they will undergo many varying temperatures.

Speaking of dressing for dinner reminds me that an English company trading between London and Yokohama and Australia almost insists upon saloon passengers donning the conventional garb for the chief meal of the day. I know of a case where a chap joined us at Fremantle, West Australia, and appeared at dinner in an ordinary tweed suit. Thereupon the captain sent a steward to him with his compliments and requested that he appear in "gentlemanly attire." On one voyage between Yokohama and Ceylon the captain sent a request to two saloon passengers, who were dining in ordinary everyday attire, to be good enough to retire to'their staterooms and finish dinner there. It may be pointed out, however, that a man can travel round the world with a tweed and a dress suit.

Before embarking on a sea voyage, ladies should arrange their wardrobe so as to have quick access to their most ravishing costumes, because the rivalry and criticism on board are keen, and the taste displayed equal to that met with in the biggest drawing-rooms and hotels.

There is plenty of time, while the ship plows smoothly through the Tropics, for dressing, eating, dancing and flirting. Many world travelers are met on the Pacific, and wide range of fashions compete for supremacy.

Up-to-date and down-to-limit dresses are noticeable, some with little more than shoe strings across the shoulders. In fact, a tendency appears toward rivaling the raiment worn by the Dusky Island Maidens.

Bulletins were posted daily on board the Makura, giving news received by wireless from both San Francisco and Honolulu stations. We were always eager to learn the latest event, for the daily-paper habit is one that stays with you to the most remote places. Wireless meets the need in mid-ocean.

To make time pass swiftly at sea all sorts of amusements are devised by individuals and committees. One of the best on this voyage was a fancy-dress ball. It brought plenty of excitement and merriment.

Three of our passengers were members of the Circumnavigator's Club—Mr. Paterson, of Melbourne, Pete Friend, of Vancouver, and myself. The qualification for joining this club is that the candidate must have circumnavigated the globe, and be nominated by three members. The idea of such a club originated with Mr. J. H. Birch, of New Jersey.

When crossing the equator at the 180th meridian of longitude, the three members of the club aboard the Makura gave a dinner to four new candidates for membership: Mr. C Holdsworth, general manager of the Union Steamship Company, of New Zealand, Mr. Fred Johnson, U. S. A., Mr. E. Hollingdale, electrician, of Sydney, and Mr. W. R. Davis, of Auckland, New Zealand. Flowers were scarce, but the tables were decorated with the flags of Australia, New Zealand, Canada and the United States; and the dinner supplied by Chief Steward Waller would have done credit to the caterer of Epicurus.

As we drop a day out of our lives when traveling west across the 180th meridian, we had to date our invitations for the 13th-14th October. Incidentally, our Chief Engineer Peterson lost a birthday because of dropping the day, and thus he gained a year, figuratively speaking. Had we been going east we would have had a week of eight days, duplicating the day we crossed the 180th meridian.