Jaipur                           

Thursday, April 1^st, 1926.

We were supposed to start for the Maharaja’s palace at eight o’clock but, as usual, it was much later before we finally got going. Arriving at the palace, we were met by one of the ministers of the Council of State who conducted us through the rooms of the palace. It was very interesting indeed, but became rather tiring after a couple of hours. All these Maharaja’s are similar in a number of ways. The present Maharaja, who is only fifteen, does not live in the palace. From the outside it seems rather small but once within its walls one gets a true idea of how big it really is. One garden leads to another and that to still another. The flowers were beautiful and everywhere there were nice cool fountains. There is also a small lake and we saw three or four crocodiles lying along the edge of it. We did the palace and the grounds very thoroughly. I was so tired when we left I could scarcely stand up. Before going back to the hotel we stopped at some shops. Jaipur is noted for its brass and inlay work. I must say it was quite remarkable. I spent about an hour trying to jew the shopkeeper down and when I saw that he would reduce his price more than 100% I gave up and decided to try again tomorrow. Ed and Douglo bought a few things.

            We had lunch at the hotel after which I again tackled my diary. We had tea at four o’clock and then drove down to the shops once more. During the morning a jeweler had the nerve to come up to Ed and tell him that he knew the Marquis of Clydesdale must be very rich and said that if Ed would encourage him to buy some jewels he would give him 15%. Ed said that at first he felt like hitting the man but then decided that we could have some fun with him. So this afternoon we had a great time pulling his leg. We motored down to his store and he got out his jewels. Ed kept saying, “that necklace is darn nice, Douglo, and it’s only 50,000 rupees.” Then I’d say, “But Douglo, I don’t think it is worth the money,” to which Douglo would reply, “The stones are really much to small. If you haven’t some real jewels I don’t care to waste my time looking at these small, insignificant things.”

            The man became more and more excited. He turned his store upside down and got out all his most expensive things. Finally, he produced a pearl about half the size of a chicken egg. Douglo said, “Well, that’s more like it. Could you make me a whole necklace of stones that size?” The jeweler almost fainted. After cussing out his stones as to their cheapness and smallness we left without spending even a rupee. He begged us to come back tomorrow which we said we’d do. Ed hung around after Douglo and I left. Then he whispered, “don’t forget my 15.” The chap said, “All right – but encourage them, recommend me,” etc.

            After leaving the jeweler’s we drove out to Gulta. Gulta is a pass in the hills to the east of Jaipur. Leading up to it is a rather steep incline which an automobile is unable to climb. But our guide had arranged for one of the state elephants to meet us at the base of the hill and take us up. It was quite an experience – my first elephant ride. I rather like this way of traveling. It is much better than camel riding, being less jiggly. Instead, there is a sort of rocking motion as if one were in a boat. Ed said that it made him seasick so got off when we reached the top of the pass. Gulta is a sort of holy place of the Hindu saints where loads of people go for a pilgrimage. But the actual temples are some distance down on the other side of the top of the pass. It is very rocky near the temples and there are two large pools of water fed by a natural spring. Gulta is also famous for it’s hundreds of langurs (black-faced, long-tailed monkeys.) They are extraordinarily tame and will take food right out of one’s hand. We had a great time playing with them and bought several pounds of grain to feed them. Our elephant seemed quite pleased, too, with the two pounds of sugar we gave him.

            A little after sundown we returned to the car, the elephant doing all the work as far as I was concerned. We were late getting back to the hotel for we had to bathe and shave. Dinner was supposed to be at 8:30 and when we went downstairs at 8:20 we found that there were no carriages and we had dismissed the car. By 8:30 no conveyance had turned up so we set out to walk to the Residency. It was a good mile and the road was a dusty as it could be. We left orders for a carriage to start after us in case one arrived shortly after we left but none caught us and we had to walk the entire distance.

            The Resident, Cater, is a bachelor so there were only four of us at dinner. It was a very quiet evening and soon after dinner was over we went back to the hotel. Cater is a nice chap, very reserved and dignified, but he certainly doesn’t compare with Pears, the Resident at Bangalore, in either personality or ability. A carriage was waiting for us when we left about 11:30 P. M. so we didn’t have to walk back – thank goodness!

Leave Jaipur for Udaipur                            

Friday, April 2^nd, 1926.

About eight o’clock this morning we started for the famous city of Amber, the ancient capital of Jaipur. It is about eight miles from the present city. Like all of the other old palaces, it is enormous in size and very remarkable. It is built inside a fort wall located on top of a steep hill. We motored as far as we could and then got on top of the Maharaja’s own elephant that had been brought down from His Highness’ stable especially for our use. It was all decked out in an elaborate covering of red and gold. It was one of the biggest elephants in the whole of India, being eleven feet high at the shoulder. We rode up the steep incline to the palace on the elephant’s back.

            Amber Palace is a wonderful place – much nicer, I think, than the palace we visited yesterday. If I were the new Maharaja I’d move back up to Amber. The palace not only is larger and more luxurious but it is situated right in the hills and the natural scenery is infinitely more beautiful than in Jaipur itself. It took about two hours to see all the sights of the place and then we returned to the car which was waiting for us. Douglo and Ed stopped to kid the Jeweler along while I looked for some of the inlay brass work for which Jaipur is famous. I wasn’t able to jew the fellow down any more than yesterday so ended up by buying a few things at yesterday’s price.

            We had lunch at the hotel and then I wrote like a demon on my diary.

            About four o’clock we motored down to the station where we caught the train for Ajmer. The ride there was very dusty and we were all glad when it was over. We ate dinner in the restaurant at the station and had quite a good meal. It is amusing the way everyone in India wants letters of recommendation. The other day a chap developed some of my films and when I said they were quite good he asked me to write him out a chit. Tonight when the manager said, “How was the dinner?” I said, “Quite good.” As a result, I had to write a recommendation in a book he had. Someone fooled him, though, for a couple of lines above my writing I read “Very, very poor and dirty.”

            We had hardly finished dinner before the train left. It was quite a dinky affair, but the sad news was that we had to crawl out a Chitor to change for Udaipur. That means getting up about 6 A. M. Udaipur is certainly an out of the way place!

Arrive Udaipur                            

Saturday, April 3^rd, 1926.

We arrived at Chitor this morning at six o’clock and had to get out and change trains for Udaipur. The train to Udaipur was about the worst I have ever seen anywhere. There was only one first-class compartment and it was tiny. One other passenger was already in it when our train arrived. About 6:30 we were off and the old engine just poked along. Of course, Udaipur is way off the main line. After some time, John brought us a couple trays with some miserable breakfast. The porridge was full of bugs and the coffee was wretched.

            It was about twelve noon when we finally reached Udaipur. The country had been as barren as possible, It was mostly flat and uninteresting till within a few miles of Udaipur when we ran into the mountains and wound slowly trough them till we reached an altitude of 2,500 feet. As we stepped off the train we all looked like the tramps of the worst character with a three day’s growth of beard and covered from head to foot with dust. In a kidding manner I said to Douglo, “Well, I don’t see the Maharaja down at the station to meet us.” I had no sooner let these words out of my mouth when a big, tall, well dressed Hindu came up to us and introduced himself as one of the Maharaja’s officials and invited us all to say at His Highness’ guest house. Business was picking up! We grabbed a suitcase apiece and jumped into one of the state cars waiting for us, leaving word with John to look after the rest of the luggage.

            Being invited to stay in Udaipur as guests of the state was certainly a very fortunate thing, and we all felt pretty high hat as we drove up to the guest house. It is quite a large stone building on the edge of a beautiful lake. The view is simply magnificent for across the two miles of water a long range of mountains stretches into obscurity. A large white palace situated at the very summit of these mountains and the one or two little islands in the lake only add to the beauty of the scene.

            At the guest house we found a whole staff of servants waiting. Downstairs is the living room, dining room reception room, porch, etc., while upstairs three large bedrooms located on a balcony overlooking the lake were in order. My, it all certainly looked great after the dreadful train ride! The chap who met us is the manager of the state guest house and he told us that we could have anything we desired wile Udaipur and that one of the state cars had been put at our disposal. There was a note for Douglo from the Resident in Udaipur who evidently had something to do with our being invited as the Maharaja’s guest.

            We all had a hot bath and ate lunch about one o’clock. Then we slept until about four o’clock at which time we motored around to the Residency. There we met the Resident and Mrs. Ogilvie, his wife. They said that they regretted that they were unable to put us up at the Residency but that they were off in a few days for a tour of India and that the Residency was topsy-turvy at present. They invited us to dine with them tomorrow night. After a short chat, we left and the manager of the guest house, who is also acting in the capacity of guide, showed us about Udaipur.

            All that I had heard about Udaipur doesn’t anywhere near adequately express what a fascinating place it is. It really is a priceless spot. There are two big lakes and at one side of the larger one the old and new palace of the Maharaja dominate the entire region. They rise to a great height. Big, massive, white stone buildings! They are simply magnificent! In the larger lake are two white water palaces. It all looks like fairyland. I can now readily believe Clarke when he said that Shah Jaham, while in hiding I one of these water palaces, must have conceived the idea of building the Taj.

            But, aside from the natural beauty of the place itself, that is, aside from the mountains, lake and islands, one can’t help but admire the wonderful gardens, parks on roads. Udaipur is a perfect gem. We motored all around it and through it. The most interesting place that we visited during the afternoon was the high, stone building from which the wild boards were fed. I’m sure since I left home. About five o’clock the wild boards begin to gather at the bottom of this high wall. They are fed with corn and other grain. We must have seen two or three hundred of them milling around. They are very vicious and go for a man if he comes near them. I noticed that they are awful bullies. An enormous old boar would pick on another slightly smaller and the smaller one on another still smaller, etc. They were quite a sight, these wild boars, and we decided to come back Monday at sundown and take a movie of them. The Maharaja often puts on shows between a panther and a board. The latter nearly always wins.

            When we reached the guest house we found the assistant secretary of the Maharaja’s son waiting for us. He is the son of the manager of the guest house. We talked over the plans for tomorrow and the next day.

            About Udaipur’s government, I want to say a word. The present Maharana (they are not called Maharaja in Udaipur) is about seventy-six years of age. His only son, who is about thirty-five, is a cripple having a paralyzed left leg. He is called the Maharaj Kumar. During the last year or so most of the administrative power has been given to the son for the father is quite inefficient. He devotes his entire time to shooting which he is crazy about. He is always out on shikari, the say. Udaipur ranks about third or fourth in the native states. The present dynasty dates back to about 690 A. D., although the Maharana’s family is traced back several hundred years B. C.

            Well, the Maharaj Kumar is at present in Udaipur and said that he would like to meet us. Of course, we were delighted at the prospect of seeing him. An interview has, therefore, been arranged for Monday morning at 9:35 A. M. So tomorrow we are going to spend sightseeing. We had dinner about 8:30 P. M., retiring soon afterwards.

Udaipur                          

Easter Sunday, April 4^th, 1926.

What a great sleep I had last night! The bed was as soft and comfortable as could be. Getting up about eight o’clock, after a delicious breakfast, we hopped into the motor and started our sightseeing. We drove through the native markets and visited one or two Hindu temples before going to the palaces. The street scenes are always interesting because they are so full of color and life. One becomes more and more in love with India the longer he remains here. India life is dirty – the streets are filthy and from a materialistic point of view it is dreadful. Yet there is something above all that. It is so typically eastern – so entirely different from our western civilization. Somehow it is much more fascinating, much more thrilling and romantic. It all blends in with their religion and idea. If they thought as we did they would not be able to bear the life they lead, but life to them is quite another thing.

The palaces were magnificent. I can’t go into details for we saw so many different buildings, courts, gardens, etc., that it would take a volume or two to describe them. We made a thorough tour of all the principal rooms. I got a couple of good pictures of some peacocks dancing, as well as one or two other good photos. Finishing the palaces about twelve o’clock, we drove back to the guest house and got our bathing suits. Then we motored over to a wonderful bathing pool belonging to the Maharana. It was divine!  The pool was enormous, being about a hundred feet square. At the four corners were little tea houses, as it were, made out of black marble while the entire pool was built out of white marble. In the center of the pool was a sort of circular marble construction where one could swim too. The whole of the pool was enclosed by a stone wall forming a court, at one end of which was a beautiful Indian marble building with men’s and women’s quarters. But returning to the pool, it was about six feet deep. All around the edge, about three feet apart were holes in the marble. When the water was turned on, a hundred fountains leapt up into the air. Oh, it was glorious! I thought of Cy and of how much he would have loved it.

We spent about an hour in swimming and then returned to the guest house for lunch. About 2:30, we left for Lake Jai-Samand which is about thirty-two miles from Udaipur, being way back in the mountains. It was quite a lovely drive there as we were in the mountains most the way. The lake is supposed to be the largest in India, its area being about ninety square miles. At the lake we were amazed to see a couple of big white stone palaces on top of the mountains overlooking the lake. Our guide said that the Maharana often came out here to shoot and lived in these palaces.

            We got into a boat and were rowed out a way in the lake. Our oarsmen were Bhils, a wild, native Indian tribe living in this out of the way district. But I must admit they didn’t look very fierce. We had a boy and waiter with us and they made tea on board the boat. I have to laugh when I think of all the service one gets in India. Black men in clean, neat uniforms are always at one’s call. I’m afraid I’m being spoiled. By the time we were ready to start back, a stiff, dead, head wind had sprung up and when I saw that we weren’t making any headway I suggested that we be put down on shore and walk back to the automobile which plan we carried out.

            I brought my rifle along at the guide’s suggestion in case we saw any game. But the only thing that came within sight were some wild board which we decided not to bother about. It was about eight o’clock by the time we got back to the guest house. The Maharaj Kumar’s secretary was waiting to see us. It seems that his Highness sent over a whole basket of fruit to us. There were delicious paw paws and what not. We had to dash away hurriedly though, for we were due at the Residency at the 8:30 and had to shave and dress.

            We arrived just on time and after a cocktail went in to dinner. Beside the Resident and his wife, there was a chap called Major Miller – a darn nice fellow. He is a doctor here and one of the four Englishmen in Udaipur. I sat between him and the Resident at dinner. It seems that Mrs. Oglivie is keen on bridge and as they can hardly ever get four together she was quite anxious to play. I drew her for a partner and after some bickering about rules we started in. She played quite a fair game of bridge but it seems that all women get excited if they started losing, and then play foolishly. She made some absurd bid which was doubled and we went down 300. Fortunately, right afterwards, I had two knockout no trump hands in succession and we won the rubber. About midnight we left the Residency and made our way to the guest house. It certainly is great being a guest of the ruling prince for all our motors, etc., are given to us gratis and everything is done to make us absolutely comfortable. We had some of the Maharaj Kumar’s delicious fruit on our return and then snuffed out.

Udaipur                           

Monday, April 5^th, 1926.

According to previous plans, we had breakfast about 8:30 this morning and then motored down through the city to the lake, where a boat was waiting to take us out to one of the water palaces where we were due at 9:30 A. M. for an interview with the Maharaj Kumar. Arriving at the water palace, we were met by a host of guards, secretaries and general royal house servants. We were conducted up a stairway and through a couple of luxuriously carpeted rooms to His Highness. I noticed along the way that the air was filled wit a strong odor of roses. I think it must have been sprayed with scent before the Maharaj Kumar arrived. As we entered the room in which His Highness was, he rose, with the assistance of a servant, to his feet to greet us while we rushed forward to shake hands with him. He is about thirty-five years old and approximately five feet tall. He wears a rough beard, but looks all but ferocious. His large, protruding eyes almost stare out of his timid, reserved bashful face. One can see instantly that he is kind, gentle, and well educated. He has quite a dark skin which looked rather becoming with the blue silk, sort of bathrobe dress that he wore. Later, I learned that he was decked out in these robes especially for us. On his head he wore a fancy red and gold turban studded with jewels.

He motioned to us to sit down in the three chairs arranged in front of him. Douglo began the conversation. It was rather difficult. We began by thanking him for his most gracious hospitality, for we had heard that he liked to be thanked for the various conveniences he afforded his guest. The next subject was cinemas. He afforded his guests. The next subject was cinemas. He is very keen on them. The result of this topic was that he sent for the electrician and ordered him to show us the moving pictures of Udaipur and the elephant fights whenever we desired to see them. A show was arranged for this evening at 7:30 P.M. The conversation changed to shooting. We liked hunting. Well, if we would stay a few days he would have all the people in his state report the presence of any tigers or leopards and we could go at once to the spot and get them. He certainly was awfully kind but we told him we regretted exceedingly that we would be unable to remain in Udaipur any later than tomorrow as we had an appointment in Deli.

The interview ended after about twenty minutes. When we got up he called in his secretary and said that we were to see all the private rooms of the palace and that if we desired anything at all we should immediately have it. Honestly, I’ve never seen so nice and courteous a man in my life. At present, he is the real administrator of the state for the power has been taken out of his father’s hand and placed in his. He works very hard they say, from 6 A. M. until sundown when he takes a motor drive.

            After leaving the Maharaj Kumar we visited his rooms. They are beautifully painted and one can see at once that he has quite an artistic sense. He likes the small rooms. I suppose that is sort of a psychological desire as he is a cripple and feels better in tiny rooms.

            We next visited the second water palace where Shah Jaham was hidden and where, later, the Europeans fled for shelter during the mutiny of 1857. The Maharana proved his friendship for the English by keeping them in this place of refuge. We went all through the palace and into the very room Shah Jaham was in. I couldn’t help noticing the similarity of the inside of this room with the Taj. Both are circular, both have a dome, are made of white marble, and both have a lot of inlay work on the walls. Everything is left just as it was hundreds of years ago.

            We went from the water palace to the state prison. It was quite a cheery place. There is no death sentence in Udaipur. Consequently, there are many life prisoners who can be recognized by the red hats they wear. The others wear white ones. All of them work. Carpets, rugs, silk cloths, and a hundred other things are manufactured there. The prison is exceptionally clean and neat. Douglo and Ed went to the “slave gardens’,” the place where the Maharaja’s swimming pool is but I went back to the guest house to write. We had lunch about 1:30. I continued my writing until four o’clock at which time, after tea, we drove over to the Victoria Memorial Museum.. After spending a few minutes there we all went to the place where the wild boars were fed. I went down amongst them with my movie camera, while a couple of men with sticks kept them off. Of course, for the first time, my Bell & Howell jammed and I had to go back and fix it. I doubt if the films will be much good for the dust was terrific and the light bad.

            Douglo and Ed went for another swim about six o’clock but as I had a little cold I thought it best to keep out of the water. At 7:30 we motored to the palace where a special sow was held for us. The pictures were very poor. The man who took them certainly didn’t know his business. The elephant fight was rather better than the others. They fought with a five foot stone wall between them and were finally parted with a sort of smoke screen.

            We had dinner at the guest house at nine o’clock. The Maharaj Kumar sent over his autographed photograph to Douglo and said he would send him a silver mongraphed frame for it in two weeks time. I stayed up quite late packing and getting ready to leave tomorrow. Our luggage is supposed to be ready at 7 A.M.

Enroute Udaipur to Delhi                            

Tuesday, April 6^th, 1926.

Our train for Chitor left at 8:30 A. M. and we just made it. The compartment was tiny and dirty as usual but we reconciled ourselves with the thought that, after all, we only had about a five hour trip on this punk little line. Arriving at Chitor at 1:30, we had lunch at the station while waiting for the arrival of the Ajmer train. A Y. M. C. A. secretary from Canton, China and his wife were at our table. He came from Kansas. He immediately introduced himself and spouted away for the rest of the meal. The lunch was rotten. I saved a few bread crusts for a crippled, mangy dog that was lying outside the door and who kept looking pitifully at me all the time I was eating. The train suddenly started and we dashed out to the platform after it, waving goodbye to our Y. M. C. A. friend who was in the midst of one of his stories.

This train was almost as bad as the Udaipur one. The ride to Ajmer was hot, tedious, and uninteresting. Fortunately, I had “Anna Karenina” to read. It is just about number one in novels in my estimation. After what seemed ages and ages, we finally reached Ajmer. The manager of the station restaurant recognized me as the chap who had written a good word about his dinners so hastened to get us some hot food. Boy, it tasted good! I was starved!

After dinner we decided to see Ajmer as we had another hour to wait but discovered that there wasn’t anything to see in Ajmer and, if there was, it was too late as everything would be closed. We hired a carriage and drove about the town for a bit but soon returned to the station and found the train just arriving. The conductor secured us a fairly decent compartment and as soon as John made the berths we went to bed. We are due at Delhi at 10 A. m. – no more changes, thank goodness!

Arrive Delhi                           

Wednesday, April 7^th, 1926.

When I awoke this morning all I could see was one mass of dust. My bed was black with cinders and the suitcases and all our clothes were simply white with an inch of dust. Never have I seen anything so dirty as our compartment was. John brought us tea at 7:30 A. M. when we stopped at a little station.

            We arrived at Delhi at 10 A. M. and went to the Maiden Hotel. We were surprised to find no news of John so after securing rooms Ed telephoned the Agra where they said that there was no one by the name of Pirie registered. We decided to call up again later. Then we went downtown to leave my films and stopped at the Imperial Bank for Douglo’s mail. The Maiden Hotel is much nicer than the Cecil. The rooms are bigger and there is plumbing in the bathrooms. The whole place is much better. After lunch we called up Agra again and this time got John. He and Bob are leaving at 3:15and will be here in time for dinner. John says that he is feeling in fine shape. It sounded nice to hear his voice again.

Douglo and I wrote after lunch while Ed did some shopping. I had a barber come up to cut my hair and he almost ruined it. Before I noticed it he had practically shaved it so I look like the devil. After tea Billie, the guide we had when we were here before, came to see us. He is a nice old fellow. It seems that Friday at 1:30 there is a big Mohammedan festival corresponding to our Christmas and I think it would be well worth seeing.

About seven o’clock, Douglo, Ed and I went down to the station to meet John and Bob but missed them for they sneaked out a third class compartment way in order to save time. We found them at the hotel when we got back. John looks rather thin, but outside of that seems to be all right. It certainly was great having John and Bob back with us. We all had dinner at once and then sat around talking till we went to bed.

            John and Bob went for a shoot in Agra and managed to get a couple of chinkaras. We plan to spend tomorrow and most of Friday here in Delhi, catching the night train up north.

Delhi                            

Thursday, April 8^th, 1926.

We made a fairly early start this morning on a sightseeing trip about Delhi for John and Bob hadn’t seen things here and Douglo had only about half seen them. We went to the Jummas Masjid – the largest Mohammedan mosque in India. Here we learned about the big celebration at 1:30 tomorrow when 100,000 Moslem pilgrims from all over India assemble at the mosque. We are going to take movies from the top of one of the towers if it can be arranged with the high priest and the Chief of Police. Next we visited Delhi fort and then went to the Ivory Palace where we saw some beautiful ivory carvings. After a drive out to New Delhi, John and Bob returned to the hotel and I dashed off to draw some money on my letter of credit.

We all had lunch together at the hotel. Then Bob, John and I went back to the Ivory Palace and bought some things. I got hold of an old issue of “Life” at the Oxford Bookstore. Gosh, it was great! We stopped at the hotel for a minute and then motored out to the Kutab where the great minaret is located. As I had been up once before and as Bob and John weren’t inclined to climb the 379 steps to the top, we all remained on the tomb. It does resemble the Taj a great deal – or, rather, the Taj resembles it. I can see it all quite plainly now.

            We got back to the hotel about 6:30 and found the shikaris waiting. The skins were wretchedly done. There is only one decent head skin in the whole outfit so we chucked the other skins away. I’m saving my four pairs of horns, though, for I can have the largest pair – the first ones I got and brought back with me – set up. The other horns can be made into table legs.

            We had dinner at 7:30 P. M. and then all settled down to an evening’s writing. It seems the riots in Calcutta between the Hindus and the Mohammedans have been growing steadily worse. Tonight’s paper reports that several Europeans have been killed while the hospitals are filled with more than 300 wounded natives. About forty deaths have been reported.

            We obtained permission to movie the 100,000 praying Mohammedans tomorrow. I hope they don’t start a riot in Delhi and pick on four Europeans who will be standing in one of the towers. We wouldn’t have much chance. I’m disgusted with the way they are handling things in Calcutta. The only way to settle these riots is to put them down with force when they are small affairs. Otherwise, they spread rapidly like a plague. I’m all for ruling such things with an iron hand. Well, here’s hoping for the best! I’d hate to have a sneaky Hindu put a cold knife between my shoulder blades. We are going up north tomorrow night to the frontier.

Leave Delhi for Srinagar                            

Friday, April 9^th, 1926.

I spent the entire morning reading, writing and fixing up shauris in and around Delhi. Along about twelve o’clock, the Assistant Commissioner of Police, who is himself a Mohammedan, arrived at the hotel to escort us over to Jumua Masjid, the famous mosque. Today is a big Mohammedan festival and thousands of people from all over India have come especially for it. I must admit I felt a little excited when we pushed our way though thousands of them jammed before the mosque. What a sight it was! We were about the only white people anywhere near the place. The commissioner got half a dozen policemen to make a way for us through the enormous mass of Mohammedans packed before the main entrance. Once inside, we climbed a stair to the top of one of the towers opposite the pulpit. Located at the other end of the court as we were, we were able to get a marvelous view of all the surroundings. Every conceivable corner and nook of the mosque was occupied. All that worried me was that someone might resent our taking movies. You see, we had two Bell & Howells and John’s big Akeley. It was difficult to even get a place to stand on the roof of the building we were on.

            The whole court yard was one living and squirming mass of humanity. I don’t know when I ever saw such a crowd. In the center of the court was a pool of water, the edges of which were lined with people bathing their hands, faces and feet. The inside of the mosque was simply crammed full of people as was the entire court. Only here they were arranged in long lines stretching from one end of the court to the other. About one-third of the court was covered with a white canvas – the rest was open. There was a regular riot of colors, ever shade of the rainbow.

            On the outside of the mosque near the entrances, were the women, for they aren’t allowed within the mosque. All about for blocks the ground was covered with Mohammedans who had arrived too late to get in the mosque, for even before we arrived the inside was packed with 30,000 or 40,000 people, some of whom had waited at the gates since midnight to get a good place in the mosque.

            From where we were, quite high up, the people outside of the mosque below us seemed like a swarming mass of flies. As the time approached for the service, the people outside could be seen forming into long lines. They put their blankets on the ground and then assumed a sort of squatting posture with their legs tucked under them.

            The Commissioner told us that it was about time things were beginning, so we moved up to the edge of the roof. I never will forget what an impressive sight it was. Suddenly, the high priest must have shouted something, for a hundred thousand voices thundered “Salaam” and, as a wind blows over a wheat field, down went row after row of that seething mass of humanity. Bending over till they touched their heads to the ground, they remained motionless for about ten seconds and then, all in unison, they shouted “Salaam” a second time and rose to their feet. The best drilled soldiers in West Point never did better. But it all was so amazing – So tremendously impressive! Here were a hundred thousand Mohammedan worshippers all absolutely certain of their religious convictions bowing to the word of one man, the high priest. The most fascinating service continued for about five minutes, during which time I was trying to get snapshots and movies of the scene. I must confess, I felt a little uneasy taking movies of them praying. And even with the safeguard of the Commissioner I felt none to easy. I couldn’t help thinking how foolish five Europeans and a couple of Mohammedan officials would look to an angry crowd of 100,000 devout worshippers. In fact, several men did complain to the Commissioner but we got out safely without any trouble.

            This combined Mohammedan Christmas and New Year only comes once a year and I certainly am delighted that I had the opportunity of seeing the ceremony. Even if all the pictures I took are failures I shall not be disappointed for I never shall forget what a sight it was.

            Feeling about the size of a peanut, or like a needle in a haystack, we finally got to the car after pushing through a mob of beggars. We invited the Commissioner to lunch with us at the hotel. We found him very nice but it was exceedingly difficult to carry on a conversation with him. He left soon after lunch. I wrote for a while and then Douglo and I went downtown to buy a victrola and some records. We are all dying to hear some music. We found a victrola shop and after trying every machine in the store we purchased one called “Pal” with eight records. I suppose they are old at home but they are new to us. (Cy, they were “Who,’ “Sonya,” “Manhattan,” etc.)

            When we got back to the hotel I packed my black bucks in a big wooden box and left instructions at the hotel to have it shipped to Calcutta. I then had a workout and bath. Dinner was at 7:30, after which we motored down to the station. The train for Rawalpindi left at 9:30 and we had two compartments reserved for us. Ed and I took one while the rest occupied the other. We are due in Rawalpindi at 4 P. M. tomorrow afternoon. From there we have about a 250 mile motor drive through the Himalayas to Srinagar, the capital of Kashmir. Douglo is getting off at 6 A. M. in the morning at Lahore where he is going to visit for a couple of days, joining us in Srinagar.

Enroute Delhi to Srinagar                            

Saturday, April 10^th, 1926.

During the night I was awakened several times by men poking their heads in the compartment, scratching matches, and peering about. Finally, I got fed up and told one to take his darn head out of the window before I cracked him with my shoe. Everything quieted down after that and it wasn’t long before I was asleep. Suddenly, I woke up. There was someone in the compartment. The train was moving quite rapidly. I could hear a man near me although I couldn’t see him for it was pitch dark. I yelled to Ed and woke him up. The fellow kept saying “police” for he didn’t know any other English word. I reached over and switched on the light. He was dressed in a policeman’s uniform but the coat wasn’t buttoned, the trouser leggings weren’t fastened, and it certainly looked as if the fellow were a thief who had swiped a policeman’s uniform as a disguise. I was quite excited about it and we kept the fellow a prisoner until we got to the next stations. Then what started out to be an exciting adventure was reduced to a mere comedy for we found out the chap was really one of the train police who had hopped into our compartment when the train started. After saying “Salaam,” Ed and I got back into our berths and snuffed out.

            When we awoke this morning we found quite a change in the weather. It was raining and was considerable colder. It seemed like an early spring Adirondack day. The trees and all were just coming out. Douglo got out at Lahore where his friend met him at the station. As John and Bob were still in bed, Ed and I started breakfast without them. During the morning we played bridge and read. We had lunch about one o’clock and then the victrola entertained us until we reached Rawalpindi about five o’clock – an hour late. The scenery was certainly a change. From Lahore on, we were going up grade practically all the way. For several hours we went over rough patches a great deal like our Bad Lands only the vegetation wasn’t completely lacking. There was a sparse covering of scrub and yellow, burnt-looking grass.

            When we hopped off the train at Rawalpindi it was pouring rain and cold as the devil. We looked like freaks in our linen suits. A dozen chaps met us with cars. Everyone wanted us to hire his automobile to motor to Srinagar. We jewed them down until we got a reasonable price. One of the first things I did on arrival at the station was to open my suitcase and get out my heavy coat. At first we were going to let Patrick and John bring the luggage in a lorry but then we got one fellow to agree to take all of us and our luggage to Srinagar and back, providing two cars for 320 rupees, so we decided to accept this arrangement.

            We stopped for tea at Flashmans Hotel and also picked up several films as we didn’t know whether we would be able to purchase any in Srinagar. Rawalpindi is a queer place. It is something like Switzerland, I suppose. The people are of ever so much lighter shade than the southern Indians. Some of them were almost as white as Europeans. They are also huskier and much warmer dressed. All of them had brown or dark grey blankets wrapped around them. Still one could not forget they were Indians, after all, with their dirty turbans.

            Srinagar is about 250 miles from Rawalpindi which would be a long day’s motor as it is up hill most of the way so we decided to try to get to Murrees Hotel tonight, which is about fifty miles from Rawalpindi. It was six o’clock when we finally started and the Punjab Motor Company said that we wouldn’t be able to reach Murrees as no one was allowed on the mountain road after 7 P. M. because it was too dangerous and that the trip to Murrees would take two and a half or three hours.

            At first, we motored over flat country to the back of the mountains where we started into the hills. Gosh, the scenery was marvelous! The Himalayas lay directly ahead of us and one could see long ranges of snow capped mountains fifty miles or more away. The rain had stopped to it was very enjoyable for we were quite warm with coats and blankets. Up and up we went, following along the edge of one mountain through a narrow pass. Needless to say, it became colder and colder and the road steeper and steeper. The scenery, too, changed. No longer were the trees green with new leaves but a number were as bare as in winter and only here and there were signs of spring.

            We reached the place where the Punjab Motor people expected us to spend the night but Patrick, John and the luggage were ahead of us so on we went. Murrees was only a matter of another fifteen miles. I must admit I never felt any better in my life. It has been almost a year since I felt any cold weather or saw any snow and after the hot, sultry atmosphere in India it gave me new pep and life to get into such cold, fresh, invigorating air.

            We reached Murrees about 8:15, almost frozen to death. We were about 7,000 to 8,000 feet above sea level. Patrick and John were waiting for us. Poor old Patrick was a scream with his green blanket wrapped around him. Coming from Madras, this sort of weather is pretty hard on him. No rooms at Murrees – full up – was the cheerful news that greeted us. So back in the car we climbed and motored to Chambers Hotel about another 1,000 feet higher up the mountain. Here we were able to get a couple of rooms, and built fires at once to thaw out. It was terrifically cold. In the next room was the wife of a man who had been mauled to death by a tiger about a week ago. It was cold and windy out, and the rain started again. The buildings were like ice. They could only spare a few blankets. No electric lights. It was depressing. We ate a lukewarm dinner at 9:30 and then crawled into bed to keep warm. Kashmir may be beautiful, but, by golly, it certainly isn’t comfortable.

Murrees Hotel to Srinagar,                           

Sunday, April 11^th, 1926.

Oh boy, it was chilly when I woke up this morning, but there was a nice fire going in the dressing room. Poor Patrick and John were so cold last night I said that they might sleep in the dressing room next to the fire to keep it going all night. It was a splendid day out. The rain had stopped, the clouds had disappeared and the sun was beaming down on the dripping trees and shrubbery. It was a little warmer but the air was still crisp.

            After a good hot breakfast we started on our journey. It was about nine o’clock before we finally got under way. It was a glorious ride. Soon after we left the hotel we dropped into the valley on the other side of the pass and the road led down from an altitude of 8,000 feet to the swift river in the valley only about 2,000 feet above sea level. It grew considerably warmer as we went down. The scenery was perfectly marvelous the whole way to Srinagar. The mountains, instead of being snow capped, were snow covered. I have never seen so much snow before. It lay like a regular blanket over the tremendously high ranges in the distance. But we ourselves were right amongst the closer mountains. They towered thousands of feet right above us. The road twisted in and out along the river forming rapids at every bend. Swollen by spring thaws, it was more than angry as it fought its way between the narrow banks.

            I began to realize the truth of Upton’s statement, “One can’t get into Kashmir until April,” when, on rounding a bend, we found ourselves in a regular traffic jam. Bullock carts and all sorts of queer conveyances were crowded up in a regular muddle. As we drew near, we discovered the cause of this scene. There had been a landslide only an hour or so before and it had completely blocked the road. One Bullock cart that had had the misfortune to be in its way was overturned several feet down the mountain side. By the time we arrived, twenty or thirty men had cleared the road so that we were not held up for very long.

            Everything went well for a couple of hours until we found ourselves once more halted by a traffic jam. This time two horses were refusing to pull a cart up a steep grade and there was no room to pass. At least twenty other bullock carts were held up and the drivers of these other wagons were standing around looking on. When we arrived we hopped out of the car and made about ten fellows push. Then we put a couple of horses on to the cart and in five minutes the way was cleared. But if we hadn’t come along they would probably have bickered around for three or four hours.

At the Kashmir border we were held up by the customs people until Ed said that we were going to Srinagar for a shoot with the Maharaja and couldn’t be bothered. We stopped at Ghuri rest house for lunch. It was a very attractive little mountain house. And we had a delicious meal. It is just about half way to Srinagar.

            During the afternoon the scenery became even more rugged and the road was forced through regular rock tunnels. It reminded me a great deal of Glacier Park for the high cliffs and rocks were bare and had a similar coloring. It certainly was a fascinating bit of scenery. At 6:30 we began to pass queer little mountain houses and soon found ourselves in Srinagar. Srinagar is a most unusual city. Nearly all the buildings are constructed of dirty, red bricks and the roofs are covered with grass like the houses in Switzerland. Some have regular gardens on top of them. The streets are narrow and dirty like all other Indian native quarters, but the people are decidedly different. They are much lighter in color. Surrounded on all sides by enormous snow capped mountains, Srinagar is a beautiful place. But when we arrived, it was very cold and the rain was pouring down like a cloudburst. We were all fed up and wondered why we ever came to such a place. There was noting to see and all one could do would be to sit around a fire trying to keep warm. To try to live in a houseboat in this sort of weather, we though, would be committing suicide.

            As soon as we reached the hotel we were simply besieged by shikaris and all sorts of merchants. Evidently we are about the first people up here this year and after going the whole winter without any business they are out for cash. Golly, we had thirty or more around us shouting at the top of their lungs. We were able to get a couple of nice rooms and soon had a real warm grate fire going. We all took baths and the John and I decided to take a little walk. We had only covered the distance to the hotel gate when we were literally attacked by a mob of natives trying to get us to come to their shops. There were at least thirty or forty of them. John had a rhinoceros stick which came in handy. They became such a nuisance and blocked our way so that we couldn’t move. We both had to resort to shooting them out of the road. I thought that this would discourage them, but nothing doing! They merely moved out of range and walked along with us shouting all the time. They called each other liars, thieves, robbers, and what not. Finally, one little boy moved up next to me and kept saying, “I am the Maharaja’s boy, good bunderbust.” (Meaning, “I will arrange everything you need.”) The boy’s father knew that I wouldn’t kick the lad so he told him to come up to me while he stood off at a distance saying,” He is a good boy, nice boy,” etc. 

In spite of the annoyance, it really was very amusing. The whole regiment followed us all the way downtown and back to the hotel like a regular army. The funniest thing of all was a man with a carriage who wanted us to hire him. He kept about twenty feet ahead of us hoping that we would get tired of walking and ride in his cart. When we got back to the hotel we were worn out fighting those crazy people. They acted like a lot of starving wolves after a couple of pieces of raw meat. We decided that it would make a great movie and tomorrow we are going to tell one of them that Ed is looking for some good Kashmir cloth and a houseboat. We were rid of them at the hotel for they aren’t allowed inside the gates. They are certainly a picturesque lot with their blankets wrapped around them up to their necks as if they were frozen to death. We had dinner about 8:30 – awfully good food. Then we went back to our rooms and sat in front of the fire till we turned in.

Srinagar                           

Monday, April 12^th, 1926.

It was a glorious day out when I awoke this morning. The sun was beaming down and the clouds had disappeared. It was a wonderful spring day. One could feel it in the air. After a good breakfast, things seemed even brighter and we all decided that Kashmir wasn’t such a bad place after all. But, as time went on, the snow capped peaks that had been so magnificent early in the morning began to become covered with heavy white clouds that rose out of the valleys.

            Mr. Merriman of the American Express Company recommended to us a Mr. Habib Joo in case we wanted to buy anything in Kashmir. He had heard of our arrival and came around to see us. There seem to be about ten Habib Joos so it was quite difficult finding the real one. These darn merchants and shopkeepers are a terrific nuisance and spoil Kashmir, I think.

            We hadn’t forgotten he pictures that we saw at Government House in Calcutta. Lord Lytton said that they were taken by a Miss Hogg of Srinagar so we started right out this morning to find here. She lives in a houseboat on Lake Dal but was out when we arrived. Golly, it is simply marvelous here! Srinagar certainly grows on one. I am mad about it. During the morning we took a motor drive around the city, returning to the hotel for lunch. We got a cart in town and drove to Habib Joo’s store where we saw some wonderful wood carving and silver work. Bob ordered about everything in the store. We were there several hours looking around. I certainly would get a lot of things if I had the money. Instead of taking a poky old carriage back, we all got into a little boat and were rowed upstream. We visited several houseboats and practically decided on one. Most of them are alike, having three bedrooms, dining and living rooms. The kitchen is on a separate little barge with straw roof that is hauled along back of the houseboat.

            One of the most striking things about Srinagar is the picturesqueness of the women and children. The young girls are beautiful and never have I seen so many good looking kids. All of them have brown eyes and black eyelashes about two inches long. Their skin is almost white and they have rosy cheeks. Honestly, they are simply beautiful.

            On the way upstream we saw many quaint sights. The women pound the rice with big poles until it is very fine. It is quite interesting to watch them work but they stop working whenever anyone approaches with a Kodak.

            We had lunch at the hotel and rested there until three o’clock, at which time we went back to the river and fought our way through a mob of guides and shopkeepers. We went by boat to Miss Hogg’s houseboat. I must say, she takes the most magnificent pictures. She showed us one scene that she spent five years studying before she took it, in order to get the right light, reflection, etc. Of course, her pictures are rather expensive but I was so crazy about them that I bought four. She is shipping them insured to Father, but as she is putting them on exhibition here next month they won’t reach the States for some time. I’m sure Dad will be crazy about them. I got two that I know will please him especially.

            Miss Hogg has been in Srinagar for about thirty years and lives aboard her houseboat that she had especially made for her. It is most attractive and is right in Lake Dal which is walled in by tremendous mountains, the tops of which are covered with a blanket of snow. When we left Miss Hogg’s houseboat we went back to Houseboat No. 115 that we had visited this morning. They had tea for us and a nice warm fire, so we decided to take the boat. It is slightly smaller than one other we looked at, but the owner has wonderful letters of recommendation. Although, I must say, the fact that we found fireplaces in each room was quite influential in our final decision.

            At the hotel I changed my clothes and went for a run with Ed. Then, after a hot bath and shave, we had dinner. We plan to get our stuff aboard the houseboat in the morning. I rather dislike leaving the hotel for it is quite comfortable and the meals are excellent. After dinner we talked a bit and played the victrola before going to bed.

Srinagar, On Houseboat “Mascot”,  (115) 

Tuesday, April 13^th, 1926.

When we got up this morning we packed up all our luggage and left instructions with Patrick and John to put everything aboard the houseboat. Then we walked down to the river with Habib Joo’s son and, getting in a boat, floated down the river to Habib Joo’s store. It was another glorious spring day. We arrived at the store at twelve o’clock and spent a couple of hours looking at the various things. Old Habib Joo is quite a character. He has letters from Lansing, Senator Lenroot, and loads of other American people. All of us ordered a number of things but we didn’t pay anything down. The idea is that when we get home if we want we can send for these various articles.

            As Habib Joo invited us all to eat a real Persian meal at his store, we stayed there for lunch. It was a quite an interesting experience. There were about twenty different courses, all served on the same plate. You are only supposed to eat a bite of each one. The curry was the best I have ever eaten. Twenty courses is a small meal, for they never have much during the day, but at night dinner never consists of less than forty courses. Most of the dishes are spiced meats or rice and different sorts of curries. It was a regular Persian lunch and was not half bad, but I don’t think I would care for it every day in the week. We were all eating lunch when who should turn up but Douglo. He had just reached Srinagar this noon and the hotel had directed him to where we were. Habib Joo sent off a boy to have Douglo’s luggage moved on board the houseboat.

            About three o’clock we divided up and getting into two small boats we went up the river to Lake Dal. Today is the Hindu New Year and as there was to be a big festival at the Mishat Bagh Gardens, across Lake Dal, we rowed over there. It took us about an hour to get there but it was well worth it. Going across Lake Dal was perfectly beautiful, and when we reached the gardens there was a most interesting and magnificent sight waiting for us. Hundreds of Hindus had flocked to bathe in these gardens on the first day of the New Year. All the fountains were playing and the flowers and the trees were gorgeous. Shah Jaham, the great Mogul Emperor who built the Taj, is responsible for these lovely gardens. The natives were dressed in their best “Sunday go-to-meeting” clothes. Right in back of the gardens rises a long snow covered range of the Himalayas, while in front is the beautiful Lake Dal. We wandered about for about half an hour enjoying the scenery and then, as it was getting late, we returned turned to our small boats and started back to where our houseboat was to be anchored.

            It grew dark very quickly and by the time we were half way across the lake it had grown very cold. We could see lightning in the distance ahead of us. We had just reached a little island where the Maharaja’s guest house was when a terrific wind started to blow. The peaceful little lake was almost instantly covered with white caps and our frail little craft was forced ashore. It certainly was blowing like hades and the prospects of it soon letting up were small. I didn’t see how we were going to get off the island till morning but there was a shallow channel among the weeds on the leeward side of the island and we pushed along through them until we came directly opposite our houseboat. As it was protected from the wind by a hill rising directly behind it, the water here was calmer and we were able to row across to the houseboat without shipping much water.

            Believe me, we were glad to get before a warm fire. The houseboat ad just reached its place and was scarcely tied up before we arrived. There are two houseboats and a kitchen boat. Ed and Douglo have one of the houseboats while John, Bob and I occupy the second. A good hot dinner tasted delicious and afterwards we sat around the fire playing the victrola for some time. It is still as darn cold as when we first got up here but I think we are getting used to it a bit. The houseboat is quite cozy. The only bad news is that the boy with the blankets didn’t arrive so we have to face the prospects of a night’s sleep with only two covers apiece. I stacked my room full of firewood before going to bed.

            On the way back across the lake, Habib Joo’s son, who is a Mohammedan, said that if the moon was out at 7 P. M. that there would be a holiday tomorrow, for the Mohammedans would end their fast, and consequently, all the banks would be closed. So, when the hour of 7 P. M. arrived and the sky was clouded we were all delighted as we wanted to go to the bank in the morning. Queer customs these people have!

            The most amusing part of it all was that the next day the Mohammedans broke their fast and there was a holiday. When I asked Habib Joo how they worked this, he said that someone in Delhi had seen the moon and had telegraphed up here. Honestly, I ask you!

On Board Houseboat “Mascot”, Lake Dal -Srinagar,                             

Wednesday, April 14^th, 1926.

We decided last night to make today a day of rest and, believe me, it was certainly needed after what went on about 2 or 3 A. M. The two blankets apiece were insufficient covering, at last as far as Bob was concerned, for I was awakened at an unheard of hour by someone jumping up and down in the next room shadow-boxing. I was not quite sure if it were John or Bob until I heard a few “damns’ etc., and recognized Bob’s voice. I told him to come in and make a fire in my room if he wanted to. I was none to warm myself so the two of us set to work. About twenty minutes later, in came John cussing us out for waking him up. Then he and Bob decided that a houseboat in Srinagar was bout the last thing on the face of the earth. So John invited me to lunch with him at the hotel tomorrow. About an hour later after this midnight confab and when we had thawed out somewhat, we all got in bed again.

            This morning when I woke up it was as beautiful as ever. Srinagar certainly is a magnificent place. It is combined Switzerland and Venice with enormous mountains and picturesque lakes and its numerous and winding canals. I just love it. Then, too, the staff on the houseboat is excellent. There is one little boy named “Sultana” who is certainly the best little worker I ever saw. He is only twelve years old and I would give anything to take him home with me but his father and mother think he is too young. He not only does the most work on the boat, never stopping to play the whole day, but he is also one of the best looking kids that I have ever seen.

            I spent the whole day reading, writing and enjoying the scenery. Habib Joo invited us to lunch with him but I regretted, saying I wanted to enjoy a couple of days of complete rest on the boat. And so it was today. I didn’t move off the boat until about four o’clock when John and I took a four or five mile walk. I get more and more in love wit Srinagar every day. By night it gets quite cold, and though John and I try every evening to convince Bob that he ought to be unselfish and let us use his hot water bag once in a while he hasn’t, as yet, exhibited any great signs of generosity.

            (I would like to know what two gentlemen on this boat have rooms with fireplaces.   R. S. P.)

            You see, Bob’s room is the only one without a fireplace. I took a few pictures today and thoroughly enjoyed myself. Lunch and dinner were awfully good. After dinner we sat around a big fire playing the victrola and talking until about 10 P. M. when we turned in. Bob is always messing with Ed or me so we have decided to take turns. Tomorrow is Ed’s day on so I have a rest – thank goodness! I hate having someone jump on my head before I am awake at 6:30 or 7 A. M. 

On Houseboat at Srinagar

Thursday, April 15^th, 1926.

This morning we sat around the boat until lunch time taking it easy. Douglo and Ed went tooting off to get some silk shirts and suits and to have lunch with Habib Joo, but John, Bob and I stayed behind. We had lunch about one o’clock and left immediately afterwards for the bank. I was amazed to find out that they would give me some money on my letter of credit when their name wasn’t on the Illinois Merchants’ letter of indication. Then we all went to Habib Joo’s and left final instructions about the stuff we ordered. I only bought one table which I am having them ship direct to Father at the Conway Building. There ought not to be any duty. Only the freight will have to be paid.

            We all motored from Habib Joo’s back to the boat where we had tea. Then Douglo and I took a long run – about six miles. It was a peach of an afternoon and I enjoyed every minute of it. John and I stopped in at Miss Hogg’s houseboat to pay her for the pictures we bought the other day. When I returned from running, I took a nice hot bath and dressed for dinner. While we were eating we heard a terrific noise outside and we were told that some natives were fighting. Out we all dashed, to settle the argument. It seems that a young boy had been beating his father whose face was covered with blood. An old woman with a child was sitting on the ground shouting and crying at the top of her lungs. The boy had loaned the father some money and when the father didn’t return it he beat him up. Ed was as mad as the devil and when he took off his coat to rip into the son he flew like the wind. The father then explained that it was always the custom to fight with the father like this in India and didn’t seem the least bit annoyed at his son. He was ready to protest when Ed started to go for his son. Of course, all this took place on the road near the boat. It was pitch dark except for the light of a nearby bonfire. When it first started I was rather suspicious when I saw Ed, Douglo, John and Bob all rush off to the fight leaving the boat empty. So, before I joined them, I got hold of John and told him to watch the boat while we were away for it might be a trick to get us out of the boat so someone could loot it. You never know what to expect from these Indians. They are very clever at times. But this was a genuine fight. Finally, when it started again after we left, and old man, who evidently was boss, came down and chased them away shouting “Sur kabacha” at them. It means “Son of a pig” which is the worst thing you can possibly call an Indian.

Peace reigned once more and after discussing the events of the day we went to bed about 11 P. M.

On Houseboat at Srinagar

Friday, April 16^th, 1926.

Today was better than any day since we arrived in Srinagar. It was warmer, and much clearer than usual. We had breakfast about 8:30 and then as it was so nice out we took a number of photographs and movies. At eleven o’clock John, Bob and I motored to the famous Shallabagh Gardens. They are about ten miles from here. Although the fountains weren’t playing, the gardens were very fine. There were all kinds of fruit trees in blossom, while the ground was covered with hundreds of daisies and pansies. I thought of all the poems and songs that had been written about these noted gardens. As we wandered about, I found myself humming “Pale hands, I loved beside the Shallamar,” etc. It really is a very romantic place.

            The drive back was also very beautiful. We saw enormous fields filled with yellow flowers that John said were mustard pants but I am inclined to doubt it. It was one o’clock when we got back to the houseboat so we had lunch at once.

            During the afternoon, Douglo and I were in the sitting room when the boy said that someone had come to see me. It turned out to be the Styvesans’ boy. They are some other people up here on a houseboat. This boy said that our boy, John, owed him five rupees and he wanted to collect it. I told him that it wasn’t up to me to pay John’s debts – that it was his shauri, not mine. I could see the fellow was partly drunk so told him to wait outside until John returned. Douglo and I then went back into the boat. About ten minutes later John himself turned up. I could see right away that John was pretty well under the weather himself. I was amazed because I didn’t think he drank. By this time, John and Bob were also out to see the row. We told both John and the other boy that they were too drunk to talk sense and that we would settle the matter in the morning. John claimed that he had paid the other chap back. Personally, I think John is in the wrong, but I feel darn sorry for him as I think it was the other boy man who started him drinking. He is the real rogue. Patrick was called to the scene. I was amused at him for he didn’t want to give John away. We finally sent them both away until they were sober.

            After tea, Douglo, John, Bob and I took a three of four mile walk. Then we all settled down to writing diaries, letters, etc. We plan to leave in the morning about eight o’clock  and to stop tomorrow night at Murrees. I managed to get in a hot bath before dinner. I’d give anything to take Sultana with me but his parents think he is too young. I wrote out a letter of recommendation for him and promised to send him whatever old clothes I had when I reached Calcutta.

            We had dinner about nine o’clock and then packed up. Habib Joo was down to say goodbye to us. I turned in about eleven o’clock. 

Srinagar to Murrees

Saturday, April 17^th, 1926.

We had breakfast about 8:30 and as soon as it was over we loaded our luggage into the automobiles. It was necessary to take three this time. Although we planned to leave the boat at nine o’clock, it was a quarter of ten before we said “salaam” to all the houseboat staff who were out on the road to see us depart. Little Sultana was there and I wish I might have taken him along. He is the cutest kid I’ve seen in a long time and works like the devil. He was in my room at 6 A. M. this morning making a fire. I gave him an old white shirt of mine so that he would look neat enough to wait on the table. He wears it like a dressing gown and it reaches below his knees. With his little white turban and big brown eyes, he certainly is a cunning little devil.

            John, Douglo and Ed went in one car while Bob and I were in another. We were very cagey to start first so that they got all the dust. When we first left, it was a cold as hades and we almost froze. Then it started to rain and we got even colder but as soon as we reached the beginning of the pass through the mountains it became much warmer, for the hills shut out the cold air.

            Ghuri, where we stopped for lunch, was reached about 1:45 P. M. and a good hot meal tasted wonderful. We left again at 2:30 and finally reached Murrees about six o’clock. We went at once to the Chambers Hotel, where we intended to stop, and warmed ourselves by a nice fire. As Jon and the rest hadn’t arrived yet, Bob and I decided not to wait for them to have tea. They eventually arrived about half an hour after we did, having been delayed by a puncture. It is much colder here at Murrees than down in the valley, for the altitude is about 7,500 feet. It is a charming place, though, with its man pines and beautiful waterfalls.

            I shadow-boxed for a while and then had a good hot bath. The dust was terrific and I was as white as snow when I reached here. We had dinner about 8:30 and it wasn’t much later when we crawled into bed.

Murrees to Peshawar

Sunday, April 18^th, 1926.

It was cold and rainy when I got up about nine o’clock and I was glad that we were moving out of such a disagreeable place. After breakfast, we all climbed into the cars and started down to Rawalpindi in a regular hailstorm. As we descended, it became warmer and warmer so when we eventually reached our destination two hours later, we all discarded our overcoats. The scenery coming down was very beautiful. We passed hundreds of carts and automobiles loaded with goods and people who were fleeing into the mountains to escape the hot weather. One of the most interesting sights was an enormously large camel corps on its way north. Evidently the government is sending a lot of troops up country for we passed many.

            At the Flashmans Hotel in Rawalpindi we engaged a room until time for the train at 4 P. M. We all sat around reading and writing until lunch time and then it wasn’t long before we left for the station. Douglo fired the boy he had engaged at Lahore because he was no darn good. He left a couple of Douglo’s sweaters behind at the hotel today.

            The train for Peshawar left at 4:05 P. M. Bob, Douglo and Ed had tea but John and I weren’t hungry. It was roasting hot at the station but as soon as we left It got terribly cold and we weren’t long in turning off the fan and closing the windows. At seven o’clock we had dinner. Ed, who had been working out, got into the diner just as the train started. He was only half dressed, he dashed into the men’s lavatory and finished putting on his clothes there.

            After dinner we all worked on a cross word puzzle. About 8:45 we reached Peshawar and went at once to Dean’s Hotel where we had wired for rooms. I noticed a sort of military atmosphere as soon as I got off the train for there were a number of guards with rifles It wasn’t difficult to see that we were near the border. Dean’s Hotel is very nice and comfortable. It was quite a pleasant surprise. We sat around for an hour and then went to bed.

            We came up here especially to go through the Khyber Pass. It is the pass between Afghanistan and India. It is only open for traffic on Tuesdays and Fridays. Of course, Europeans are not permitted to enter Afghanistan and one has only to step across the border to be shot. The English maintain a regular guard at their end of the pass and a traveler going into the pass on any day except Tuesday or Friday takes his life in his own hands The Khyber Pass has quite a history, for through this narrow place all the armies of Persia and China that invaded India in the past had to enter.

            Tomorrow we plan to spend seeing Peshawar and getting a pass to go through the Khyber on Tuesday.

Peshawar

Monday, April 19^th, 1926.

We were in no hurry to get up this morning as we had the whole day to spend in Peshawar. Ed, Douglo and Bob disappeared after breakfast so John and I took a short walk about the town. Peshawar, that is, the European part, is quite attractive. It was very comfortable out today but they say that it gets as hot as 127 degrees in the shade here during the summer. It was about eleven o’clock when the others turned up. They had been around to the Commissioner’s to present a letter, but as usual he was out of town. We seem to have the worst luck trying to get hold of people that we have letters of introduction to. One needs a pass to get through the Khyber so we went around to the Political Agent. He was also out of the office but we were told that he would be in at 2 P. M. As the day was still young, we decided to take a drive through the native markets. They are supposed to be among the most famous in India. And I must say, that they are the most picturesque of any that we have seen to date. In the first place, they are as filthy as all the rest. Secondly, they are much more colorful and thirdly, they are larger in every way. One thing that struck me particularly was the fact that in the Peshawar markets there seemed to be an abundance of all kinds of goods. Fruit, grains, flour, beds, canes, rugs, brass work, shawls and blankets were piled high in the shops. In a number of stores there was insufficient room and here the various kinds of merchandise had overflown into the streets.

             In one of these native markets there is so much to see. There is such a conglomeration of stuffs. That it is very difficult to describe what they are like. But, in spite of the fact that one sees scores of different little shops and hand manufacturing places, you will invariably leave an Indian native market with four main or chief impressions. In the first place, it is impossible to forget that the streets are very narrow and are not paved, and that the mud is ankle deep. Secondly, the streets are jammed and crowded with thousands of natives plus all their cows, bullocks, dogs, sheep, goats and cats. Thirdly, there in an ungodly smell that is equaled nowhere else in the world. And, lastly, one is at a complete loss to imagine how three hundred and twenty million people can even exist when they live in such squalor, filth and rottenness.

            We got back to the hotel about one o’clock and had lunch at once. Then Jon, Bob and I took a tonga and rode over to the photographer’s where we left some films to be developed and printed. Douglo, in the meantime, secured the passes to go through the Khyber tomorrow. On arriving back at the hotel I spent an hour or so writing. I had just persuaded John and Bob to accompany me to the post-office when it started to pour. I shadow-boxed a bit and took a bath before dinner. I was just leaving my room when I heard a violent argument going on outside. I recognized Bob’s voice so went over to see what all the rumpus was about.

            It seems that the cat which kept Bob awake all last night suddenly began a serenade outside his window this afternoon. John, Ed, and Bob went out to convince the cat that his presence was no longer desired. As proof the of this, they had, respectively, a stone, a stick and a brick. Now, it appears that the female owner of the cat was in the vicinity and when Bob heaved the brick it went over the roof and almost hit her, so she said. While, as a matter of fact, Bob’s brick never went off the roof. The woman raised a big row and claimed that Bob threw three bricks as well, for when the woman accused Bob of throwing the bricks and Bob denied it, John said, “Yes, he threw them. I saw him.” It was quite a shauri for a while. I didn’t say a word but listened to the whole business. All I can say is that the woman was half fried and a darn fool into the bargain and that she wanted to make a mountain out of a mole hill. But Bob didn’t let her get away with it. When he climbed up on the roof to prove to her that the brick he threw was still there she said, “Don’t hit your head on the electric wire or you’ll go to heave or hell – I mean hell.” To this Bob replied, “I’m not half as worried as you should be after all the swearing you’ve done this afternoon.” Eventually, the whole thing quieted down as quickly as it started. As Ed says, “There is no sense in arguing with a woman, you can’t insult her, and you can’t hit her, so the best thing to do is to shut up.”

            Just before dinner Douglo took a bath and John, Ed, Bob and I had great sport in throwing cold water on him. I guess the hotel people think we are a crazy outfit. After dinner, we all went to the movies to see Charlie Chaplin and Harold Lloyd in some ancient pictures. They weren’t as bad as we expected them to be. It was about midnight when we went to bed.          

Peshawar, Leave for Lucknow

Tuesday, April 20^th, 1926.

Today was one of the most interesting of the whole trip from both a scenic and exciting point of view. After breakfast we got into the two cars waiting for us and started toward the distant foothills and the Khyber Pass. John, Douglo and I drew the little overland while Ed and Bob hopped into a big Hudson or some such automobile. They started off big as life while we followed meekly behind swallowing their dust. Our one consolation was that Douglo held the permit to let us go through the pass and that they would have to wait for us. Didn’t we laugh when we saw them draw up to the side of the road! A puncture! “Go right ahead, don’t stop,” John shouted to our driver, but nevertheless he slowed down about fifty yards past them.

            We were soon off again. It was dark and cloudy out and cold as could be. The country was flat as a pancake, but we were drawing closer and closer all the time to the foothills of what appeared to be a very rough and irregular skyline of mountain ranges. This wall is certainly an effective barrier and not only shuts out from India the cold winds that blow down across Russia from Siberia, but also serves as the greatest natural defense from a military point of view that old Mother Nature ever produced.

            There are several passes through this tremendous chain of mountains but none are as famous or important as the Khyber Pass. The part that it has played in both the development and preservation of India is noteworthy. Every great raid that has been made on India from the time history was first recorded has been made through the Khyber Pass. Darius the Great in 516 B. C., Alexander the Great in 327 B.C., Zenghiz Khan, Timur and finally Baber himself in 1525 A. D., who was the founder for the great Mogul Empire and the grandfather of the famous Akbar, all led their invading armies through this narrow pass. Delhi was looted numerous times and nearly all the outlaws came down into India through the Khyber.

            Today it has almost a greater significance than ever. It is the strongest fortified natural pass in the world and stands like a sentinel on the northern frontier keeping watch over the rich and fertile plains of India. As one gets up into the rough, craggy, barren hills that flank the Khyber and gazed down across miles of waving fields of grain on the warm sunlit plains of India, he can’t help feeling the resentment that the wild hill tribes and Afghans must feel when, on coming down to raid these fertile plains as they have been accustomed to doing from time immemorial, they find themselves face to face with the British tommies.

            But service of the Khyber is not passe in any sense of the word. There isn’t an Alexander the Great to keep out, but there is an even greater menace to India today. The Bolsheviks have begun an active campaign of propaganda in Afghanistan. As in the far east, the reds are trying to stir up the feeling of unrest against all settled and established governments. The Afghanistans are an uneducated, excitable class of people who are all but friendly with the English who alone prevent their coming down to make raids on India. As a result, they forbid Europeans, especially the English, to come into their country except under very extraordinary circumstances. One can well imagine how receptive the Afghans are to anti-European plottings. So the Khyber today is still an important factor in the defense of India. Who knows what a decisive role it may play in the future if the Bolsheviks attempt to extend their sphere of influence.

            Between the border of the Northwest Frontier Province and the beginning of actual Afghanistan territory is a narrow strip of mountain land belonging to the wild independent mountain tribes. This bit if land acts as a sort of buffer state. The inhabitants of this area are paid by the Indian Government to keep them from raiding the native plantations. In return, these men, known as the Pathans, guard the Khyber for the British. They are also employed by the Afghan Government as sentries at the border. IF they weren’t paid, they would be a constant menace to all caravans going through the pass, and perched up in the rocks as snipe shooters, they could kill any number of people.

            Now, every Tuesday and Friday the British Government takes the responsibility of seeing caravans safely through this “no-man’s-land” to the Afghan border. One can go through the pass any day he likes at his own risk, but only  on these two days do the British soldiers accompany the travelers. Long before we reached the end of British soil we passed thousands upon thousands of camels fully loaded with merchandise. They stretched out for miles and miles waiting for today to go through the pass.

            About ten miles or perhaps fifteen from Peshawar, we reached the border. Only the road and a strip about fifty yards on each side of it were now British soil. To wander off the road any distance would be an act of folly for one might find himself being shot at any minute. I was greatly interested and kept my eyes open, you may be sure. Everyone carries a gun. Nearly all of the men with their camel trains carried rifles.

            Jamrud is a fort right near the actual entrance of the Khyber. One can see at a glance that it is well fortified. On all sides are masses of barbed wire and ditches backed up by walls. They certainly seem to be ready for business, these British. Here we had to show our permit in order to be able to proceed any further. The entrance to the pass is very narrow and once through it the valley opens up more. The road twists and turns like a snake as it climbs up the rocky ground devoid of practically all vegetation except a tuft of burnt grass here and there.

            From the top of every hill a mud or stone fort looks down on the road below. There must be a hundred or more of these little outposts. The pass opens out in several places. Here live small groups of mountain people. They are gathered into little villages protected by high mud walls from their enemies, the inhabitants of the next village about 800 yards away. They are very unique, these brown dirt villages. Each is surrounded by similar mud walls and has a sort of lookout tower in the center that is about thirty or more feet high. Now, the pass closes again into a narrow gorge through which the water of the practically dry river bed must rush madly during the monsoon.

            Below the automobile road is a second thoroughfare. This is for slow moving traffic. And what a sight it was today jammed with thousands of camels, goats, sheep and bullocks all heaped with goods for Kabul the capital of Afghanistans. These traders are a picturesque crew each with his long barrel, old-fashioned rifle. They are a tough looking outfit all right.

            The fort at Landi Kotal which is only five miles from the actual Afghan border is a large place. Here a number of British and Indian regiments are stationed. It is sort of the center of all fortifications in the pass. We stopped long enough to get  a political agent to accompany us to the border, otherwise we would have been stopped about a mile from Afghan territory. Before long we were face to face with a large white sign on which was written in black letters “It is absolutely forbidden to cross this border into Afghan territory.” Across the road was a wooden bar and behind it stood two scowling Afridis with rifles. We didn’t dispute their authority, but stopped the car. There was a cheery looking Indian, an officer in the army, who met us. He was darn nice to us and showed us the actual border. We walked along it as it rose over the side of a little hill and then when the guards weren’t looking hopped across the border just to say that we’d been in Afghanistan. But we didn’t linger there very long.

            We asked the officer if it were possible to get some Afghan stamps or money but he thought not. You see, they are very suspicious of the English, and would not be able to figure out why anyone would want a stamp unless there was some underlying motive. We took a number of pictures and movies and then sat down on some rocks near the border and ate a rotten lunch that the hotel had put up for us.

After lunch we started back for Peshawar. It was cold and we heard several loud peals of thunder before the rain descended in torrents. The ride back through the pass was uneventful. As soon as we got down into the plains the sun came out again nice and bright. The rest of the afternoon we spent at the hotel reading, writing, and packing. We had dinner about eight o’clock, being, as usual, the only people in the hotel not dressed in dinner coats. Out train was due to leave at 10:15 P. M. so we left the hotel in ample time. Ed, Douglo and I had one compartment while John and Bob occupied another. The train had hardly left the station before we all undressed and went to bed.

En route Peshawar to Lucknow

Wednesday, April 21^st, 1926.

Today dragged slowly by, I’m getting fed up with trains. We have done nothing but ride in them all over India, it seems. The one redeeming feature of today’s ride was that due to the heavy rains yesterday there was hardly any dust.

            We had breakfast about ten o’clock and I spent the rest of the morning doping out an itinerary through China. I must say, I’ll be glad to see some new country. I detest trains! After lunch John and Bob played Ed and me at bridge. They won the first rubber but we crashed through with the second. Nothing of interest happened all day. I read until dinner time. We darn near missed the train as we didn’t hear the whistle but the conductor fortunately held it for us.

            The dust swept in on us this afternoon as badly as ever. The train stopped every twenty minutes and stayed at each station about twenty minutes. After dinner I read for a while and then went to sleep.

Arrive Lucknow

Thursday, April 22^nd, 1926.

Upon our arrival this morning at the Lucknow station, we were met by one the A. D. C. of the Raja. He informed us that the Raja himself intended meeting us, but that he had been delayed. Outside the station we found two Vauxhals waiting to take us to the Carlton Hotel. We had no sooner reached the hotel than the Raja, with a couple more A. D. C’s. and an Englishman named Captain Watchorn a sort of tutor and companion of the Raja, also drove up. The Raja was all decked out in great style and one could smell the perfume he had on about a mile away. He is certainly a nice little chap though. He is the biggest landowner in the Oudh province and there are over 2,000 villages on his estates. The population is about 2,500,000 while the Raja’s income is about 15 laks of rupees. That Is about $750,000 a year. The Raja is a young fellow about twenty-two years old and has just come into his property, as it were.

            He only stayed a few minutes but said that he would leave one of the Vauxhals for us to use and that he’d be back about eleven o’clock or so, after we had a bath and breakfast. The Carlton Hotel is exceptionally nice and has plumbing, thank heaven! It certainly is a luxury to be able to just turn on the faucet and get hot water at once instead of having to shout for one’s boy. But the greatest news is that there was a whole stack of mail for us. I got more than at any other one time since I left home and was delighted beyond words. There were a couple of letters from Dad, two from Anna, two from Avery, one from Al, one from Alice, and one from Fat. I just reveled in it for a couple of hours, reading and rereading them all a hundred times. It was almost eleven before I even started to bathe and shave. We had breakfast in Douglo’s room and shortly afterward the Raja arrived with Captain Watchorn. The Raja likes to drive himself and goes about fifty miles an hour all the time.

            We took a sort of tour around the city and then visited the great Imambara. It is a quadrangle affair built three centuries ago and is quite typical of ancient Indian architecture, but I wasn’t particularly impressed. It is not a magnificent work by any means. The most attractive part of the Imambara is the garden in the center filled with roses and other flowers

            The art gallery where we saw the portraits of a lot of fat old Maharajas was another place we visited but it, too, was nothing to rave about. The river Gumli and Ganges which is several miles below Lucknow has the habit of causing tremendous floods every so often and in 1923 about all of Lucknow was under water. The high water mark can be seen ten feet or so above the ground on the sides of the buildings.

            But Lucknow’s chief charm or point of interest, as far as I am concerned, is the role which it played in the mutiny of 1857. The garrison at Cawnpore, about fifty miles south of Lucknow, was unable to hold out and surrendered on the condition that they be given safe conduct to Allahabad. The story of the massacre at Cawnpore is well known in India. When half was across the river, the natives opened fire. The men were all shot and the women and children butchered and thrown down wells. Sir Henry Lawrence was in charge of the Residency in Lucknow at the outbreak of the mutiny. He only had a short time to hastily fortify the whole area surrounding the Residency. The siege began on June 30, 1857 and was not finally raised until the arrival of Colin Campbell on the seventeenth of November. Within the Residency there were 130 officers, British and native; 740 British and 700 native troops and 150 civilian volunteers beside 547 women and children and 747 non-combatants – a total of 2,994. This little group of people held the Residency against tens of thousands of Indian natives. It is one of the most remarkable things in history. When Lucknow was relived eighty-six days later, only about 970, including the sick and wounded, were left of the original 2,994. Sir Henry Lawrence himself died, and at his request his body was buried in the little churchyard next to the Residency. He desired the following inscription to be put on his tombstone “Here lies Henry Lawrence who tried to do his duty, May the Lord have mercy on his soul. Born June 28, 1816. Died July 4, 1857.”

            We didn’t stop this morning at the Residency, deciding to come back some other time and see it thoroughly.

            We went to the Raja’s house for lunch and he showed us all his panther and tiger skins. The Raja is coming to the States next August or September so I invited him so visit me if he comes to Chicago and he said the he would be delighted to. After lunch we went back to the Carlton. I wrote until about five o’clock when Major Ralston, who is connected in some way with the Raja, came to call for us. Douglo, Ed and I went to see the Residency and then over to the United Service Club with him and his wife where we had tea. There I pushed his wife and some middle-aged lady around the floor for half an hour to the music of a rotten Indian orchestra. We left the club about 7:30 and rushing back to the hotel changed our clothes for we had to dine at the Raja’s at 8:15. It had been decided that we go up to Nanpara tomorrow night. Dinner was excellent. I sat on the Raja’s right. Afterwards we were entertained by some Indian music. It was really terrible and my eardrums almost broke when the musician let out several extra loud screeches. The party broke up about 1 P. M. and we returned to the Hotel in the Vauxhal which had been placed at our disposal while here in Lucknow. The mosquitoes were bad. Thank heavens for the nets!

Lucknow

Friday, April 23^rd, 1926.

It was fairly late when I got up this morning. I had a nice hot bath, shave and breakfast and then settled down to answering some of my mail. I was making great headway with it until Douglo came in about noon and persuaded me to join Ed, Bob and him for a swim at the club. It was great fun trying to ride the rubber horse but I was the only one who was able to keep my balance on it. It was great and I was darn glad I went. They have a peach of an indoor pool with lots of high dives and water slides.

            Douglo had a friend for lunch, some old Eaton schoolmate. After eating I settled down to some more writing. John and Bob went out to see the Residency but as I had already seen it I decide to remain at the hotel. We had been invited to dine with the Raja but were rather glad when it was called off for we did not have to get into dinner clothes. At the hotel they refused to let us pay our bill, saying that the Raja had already been to the hotel office and said that under no circumstances were we to be allowed to pay a cent. They refused to take our money.

            About nine o’clock we motored down to the station where we had about fifteen minutes to wait for the Raja and his staff and about half an hour for the train. I see that new riots have broken out in Calcutta. That’s what they get for not using force at the outset and crushing the first uprisings with severe punishments. Sir Michael O’Dwyer said that the recent riots are the result of the weakening of the Indian Civil Service by the admittance of too many Indians and I think he is undoubtedly right.

            When the Raja turned up we all got together, as it were, and on arrival of the train were taken to the compartments reserved for us. There is quite a party of us and with the Raja’s staff and all we occupied most of the train. Captain Watchorn, the Raja’s adviser, has also three of his friends, all army officers who have served on the northwest frontier. There is a Captain Thornton, Captain Purvis and captain Youngford. Douglo, Ed and I had one compartment to ourselves, thank goodness! For the rest of the party was quite lively and were doing a bit of drinking. I was tired so wanted to get a good sleep. I woke up a couple of times when the train stopped and could hear John in the next compartment saying, “Now if you want to take still pictures just shove this lens over. It is the best rig I ever saw.” I’ve heard him explain the working of his Akeley to a hundred different people and smiled to myself as I fell asleep. We are due in Nanpara about 6 A. M. The train is a branch line affair and the ride, besides being like a scenic railway, was hot and dusty and the mosquitoes did their share to make the trip uncomfortable.

Arrive Nanpara

Saturday, April 24^th, 1926.

It was about nine o’clock when we arrived in Nanpara this morning, and what a reception there was waiting for us. As the train drew into the station I noticed crowds of people on the platform pointing and gazing inquisitively as we slowly rolled along. Suddenly, there was a jerk and the train stopped. Right in front of our compartment and leading through the station was a red carpet decorated on each side with pots of flowers. The Raja and Douglo went first, the rest of us following in pairs. A couple of officials were waiting to welcome the Raja and the guest of honor- Douglo. At the other end of the long carpet a carriage stood waiting. The Raja was still about ten feet from it when we were all surprised by a terrific sound; a regular fusillade of guns. The echo of this booming noise was mixed with a regular din of salaams as the Raja got into the carriage with Douglo. Then he motioned to me so I hoped in with them and we started for his palace, while the rest followed in automobiles.

            The carriage was a magnificent affair. Drawn by four beautiful horses. It was impressive enough but these Rajas and Maharajas know their stuff. The inside of it was covered with deep velvet on which and Indian shawl design made with gold thread was embroidered. It alone must have cost a fortune. It seemed awful to put one’s feet on such a lovely thing, but the floor like the sides and top was covered with this decoration.

            The drive to the Raja’s palace was quite an event in itself. Both sides of the road were lined with bowing people and the Raja was busy returning their Salaams all the way to his palace. I felt sort of like the King of England myself. Directly back of us on the carriage, four men in smart uniforms were riding – footmen, I guess. Back of them there were four men on horseback dressed in brown uniforms. Each one carried a drawn sword. I just wish Cy or Bill could have seen me sitting up like the Prince of Wales, looking slightly bored and tired of all this formality, while at heart I was as interested as I could be.

            When we reached the palace we all sat down in the main reception room and had Chota Hazari (early tea). Then we were ushered to our rooms. Douglo and Ed, and John and Bob were in two double rooms, while I had a single room to myself. We spent a couple of hours unpacking and having a bath and shave. The rooms are all large, and as the weather is very hot in summer there is a big punkah in each. About eleven o’clock we had a tremendous breakfast with about eight courses. As the Raja is a Mohammedan he didn’t eat breakfast with us but said his prayers after his bath and ate in his private apartments.

It was terrifically hot out today so we didn’t do anything during the heat of the day, but we stayed indoors under the punkahs and read and wrote. We had lunch about two thirty. The Raja didn’t eat with us, but again had his meal served in his room. After lunch we took siestas until about five o’clock. Then I donned my tennis outfit and went out to take on the boys. My racquet, which hasn’t seen much service lately, had become a regular fish net, but that wasn’t an adequate excuse for the wretched tennis I played. Captain Watchorn and Captain Thornton defeated Captain Purvis and me, and then the Raja came out so Thornton and I took on Captain Watchorn and Him. We succeeded in licking them after a struggle. The Raja wouldn’t be a bad little player at all if only he didn’t get so nervous and slam the ball all the time.

            I waited out for a bit and then boxed Ed for a couple of rounds before bathing and changing for dinner. Have you ever been sort of mad when everything seemed to go wrong? Well, I was sort of peeved at myself for playing at myself for playing such lousy tennis. When I got into the blamed old tin bath tub the water was terribly hot and almost scalded me. I swore like a trooper for a bit and then the blasted soap slipped out, down under the tub. So when I gout of my bath I wasn’t in any better humor than when I got in. I hauled out my dinner coat and was astounded to see a big black shiny streak right up the back where some fool clothes presser had used an iron that was too hot. While I was trying to examine by the aid of a rotten little oil lamp, I leaned too far over and the next minute I heard a sizzling sound as I singed my hair. By this time I was thoroughly disgusted so I ordered a nice big whiskey and soda to cool myself off a bit. After that I found things much easier.

            We had dinner at 8:30 after Ed, the Raja and I showed each other a few card tricks. The meal was excellent and lasted until about ten o’clock when the fun began. Talk about entertainment! Believe me, these Indians know how to show you a good time, and they don’t mind spending money. Dinner over we walked out on the veranda and were astounded to see the fence surrounding the driveway one blaze of lights. There must have been thousands of candles all flickering like so many stars. It was an amazing show. Due to the stillness of the night not one of them was blown out. We walked up and down the road a few yards to show our appreciation and then were led around to another part of the grounds. Here we were seated in comfortable chairs and served with coffee and liqueurs, while a fourth of July show was pulled off that made our fire works look sick. There were dozens of pin wheels, whirlers and flaming signs and colored lights, snaky simmering rockets where shot a hundred feet or more in the air, and during the fire works display balloons were sent up at fifteen second intervals. They must have sent up about thirty of the bally things.

            But the evening’s entertainment was only beginning. We were then ushered to a large porch covered with mats. At one end couches and large chairs were drawn up. We all made ourselves comfortable and the Raja trotted out his dancing girls. It was some show. There were about twenty of them. Of course, we couldn’t understand a word they were singing, but there is a little song about, “Every little movement has a meaning all its own”. And no interpreter was needed. They weren’t so good looking as the Kashmir lassies, who in my opinion make the debs at home look like washer-women, but they could make Gilda Grey look like an amateur. The closest thing I’ve seen to their dancing is a queer hip motion that Scytha doest at times. They came out in twos and did their stuff. The music was furnished by four musicians with the queerest looking instruments you’ve ever seen. The poor drummer had the worst job for he had to work twice as hard as the others. One chap had a cross between a baby base violin and a banjo, the other two had peculiar looking ukeleles.

            The only tiresome part of it was that there was no variation. I was just going to ask the Raja if there wasn’t another record when the business began to pick up. Several waiters brought out elaborate looking trays filled with glittering stuff. The Raja got up and hung one of these gold, spangling necklaces around the neck of each one of us. They were magnificent things that hung down as far as one’s waist, and the gold thread workmanship was exquisite. On went the show for another fifteen minutes at the end of which time more necklaces were brought out. This time they were wonderful flowers.

            It looked as if the show would last forever. Douglo got fed up after an hour or so and decided to go to bed as did Bob and Ed. John and I however stayed for some time longer wit the raja. When I was talking to Captain Purvis, John plotted with the Raja to have one of the dancing girls sit on my lap. When I saw that this little show looked as if it might be carried off I retired to one of the back seats. It was very late when John and I left the Nautch dancing girls and decided to go to bed. The Raja too had seen enough their dancing so the whole outfit was dismissed. I heard later that the dancing show alone cost him fifteen hundred chips for the evening.

            It was very hot out so I had the punkah kept going all night in my room. It is pulled by a rope that leads through the wall to the porch outside. The boys change off every two hours. Mosquitoes were bad.

Nanpara

Sunday, April 25^th, 1926.

I got little or no rest last night. John had left my mosquito net behind in Delhi, and what a regiment of them turned up. The punkah was the only thing that saved my life.

            According to last night’s plans we had early tea, about 5:15 A.M., and by six o’clock were climbing into the automobiles that were to drive us to the camp in the jungles, about twenty-two miles from Nanpara.

            An hour’s ride over terrifically rough roads found us at our journey’s end. There was a fair sized stone building with three rooms and a couple of bath rooms. Surrounding it were a dozen large tents all fitted out with rugs, beds, tables, chairs, etc. Around the tents were paper banners and flags and at the entrance over the gate was a large sign, “Welcome”. The porch of the house was covered with comfortable chairs. All in all it was as delightful and luxurious a camp as I have seen for a long time. It was surrounded on all sides by jungles, and in the distance on clear days one could see the mountains of Nepal.

            Breakfast was served about an hour after our arrival, during which time we looked around the camp. Douglo, Ed and I were allotted the stone building, the rest occupied various tents. After leaving the dining tent we took our rifles and motored down the river bed a couple of miles away. Here we found eleven big elephants waiting for us. About eight of them had howdahs on top of them, the rest were covered with sort of flat blanket platforms like we used in Jaipur on the elephants. There howdahs are queer affairs though. They are two seated, box-like things. One person sits behind the other and shoots out of the howdah. They are especially designed for tiger shooting and have racks for one’s rifles.

            Bob and I climbed into one together and before long we were off. It was quite exciting and thrilling, this novel way of hunting. The elephants went along in single file for about half a mile, when we came to a large field covered with tick grass about eight or ten feet high. We formed a sort of half circle, and then at a signal, all started through the grass toward the opposite end of the field. The elephants are really marvelous. The grass was for too thick for a man to get through and these noble beasts plodded through it as if it were nothing. Every now and then one could hear a crashing noise as one of elephants pushed over a large scrub oak in his path.  They have tremendous strength and snap off great branches that obstruct their way as one would rip a piece of paper in two. Although I watched the tall grass like a hawk there wasn’t the slightest movement in it, and when the elephants had reached the opposite end we realized that the tigers and panthers in that field were on a vacation.

After a short consultation we went upstream on the elephants to a spot where the heat was to take place. We were stationed along one edge of the dry river bank about fifty yards apart. Due to the lack of a sufficient number of machans Bob and I were put in the same one. It was made of four good sized poles nailed in a square. Over there poles were a heavy and strong net of ropes so that one could stand up if necessary. This platform was swung up against a side of a tree about twelve feet above the ground. Pretty soon the drive began for a time we didn’t see a thing. Then suddenly a couple of peacocks came running through the woods, making a terrific sound as they finally gave up their footwork  and took t the air. Soon all was quite again except for the distant chorus of shouts and cries of the beaters. This din grew louder and more distinct as they drew near. Instead of a muddle of voices one could pick up individual ones. There was another crashing noise and a beautiful sambur buck poked his magnificent antlers through the bushes. Bob and I both raised our rifles at the same time but realized it was no use. The season on samburs closed the fifteenth of April, and the head Shikari who is the Raja’s uncle asked us not to soot any. The sambur didn’t see us and stood absolutely motionless for about two or three minutes during which time Bob and I watched him with great interest. Then suddenly, the beaters, who by this time had come quite close, frightened the beast, and he dashed into the bushes, making a loud noise, and fled right under the machan next to ours. Purvis and Thornton who were in it were so taken by surprise that both blazed away at it and quite naturally killed it on the spot.

            The drive was unsuccessful so we went up stream to another place. The beaters followed along in back of the elephants. There must have been over two hundred of them. About two miles further along our elephants deposited us in other machans. Bob and I drew a lousy one this time for we couldn’t see a thing. It was a very long drive and is seemed as if the beaters would never get to us. There were a number of shots fired on all sides but Bob and I didn’t shoot a thing. All we saw was a chital doe (spotted deer) and a wild pig. I didn’t shoot at the darn pig as I don’t care about getting one. Ed killed a sambur. Why he shot it out of season I don’t know, but no one seemed to mind. John got a nice nylghai or blue bull. The rest of us noting, a number of chitals had been seen but no tigers nor panthers.

            By this time it was terrifically hot, and as it was after one o’clock we started back for camp. This elephant riding is tough work and tiers one out. I was overjoyed when I was once more sitting in a comfortable chair out of the scorching sun, sipping an ice cold lemonade. After lunch I slept like a rock until about six o’clock when Captain Watchorn awakened me to go shooting. While the rest slept he, Purvis, Thornton and I drove out in the woods about five miles in the car but didn’t see a thing. It was quite dark when we returned. Suddenly, Watchorn shouted “Stop!” and blazed away at a couple of dark objects. I think they were sambur does. I thought he had hit one but we couldn’t find any blood spoor, although we burned about a whole box of matches looking for some.

            When we arrived at camp the many fires of the beaters were burning merrily away. There must have been a staff of about fifty servants at the camp besides the two hundred or more beaters. Outside the stone building was a large table on which burned a brilliant kerosine lamp. A dozen or more chairs encircled it . Several of them were already accupied and the victrola was playing cheerily. But the table contained other things than a lamp and the victrola! A dozen glasses were neatly set on a silver tray next to a couple of cut glass bottles of whiskey and gin. In the background a boy in white uniform stood waiting with a case or so of soda.

            I hurried into a hot bath and then joined the others. The Raja hadn’t been here all day so a certain feeling of restrain had been removed, as it were. Purvis, Thornton, and Youngman are all jolly fine lads and we all like them a lot. We had dinner about nine o’clock and then sat around talking and playing the victrola while a beautiful moon appeared over the jungle. As soon as the sun went down it cooled off a lot so that by the time we went to bed it was great outdoors. We turned in a little after eleven.

Nanpara Camp

Monday, April 26^th, 1926.

We left camp about ten o’clock this morning. The Raja, who had arrived late last night, had to go back to Nanpara this morning to settle some of this business for he sails for England the seventh of next month. He decided however, to go with us for one beat. We motored out in the jungle a way until we met the elephants that were waiting for us. Here we stopped long enough to take a few pictures and movies before going to the machans. Bob and I were last and all the places were gone, to the shikari put our elephant in an inconspicuous place at the end of the line of drive and we stayed in the howdah. It was a rotten place but it couldn’t be helped. There was some shooting up the line when the drive was about half over. Suddenly, a blue bull flashed past us. I didn’t have time to get a shot at it. Youngman had wounded it but he never got it. When the drive was over we went back to where the Raja was. He had seen a panther and fired at it but evidently missed as there was no trace of it. The beaters scouted about for half an hour but found nothing.

            The Raja left and the rest of us climbed aboard the elephants and started for some tall grass jungle a short distance away. Here I saw, for the fist time, what dangerous business it is, this tiger shooting off elephants. It isn’t so bad when the elephants advance in line or a semi circle, but when a complete circle is formed around a field and each elephant makes for the center, it is darn risky. You see, on top of every animal is a man with a rifle. He has the gun pointed toward the ground in front of the elephant. Now just supposing a tiger were hiding in the grass and the elephant should suddenly spring back, as he surely would, the man on top might easily discharge the rifle into the air. And who is in front-right ahead of the tiger?- Another elephant and man. I am very cautious and careful with either a gun or rifle, if I do say so myself, and when I saw Douglo, who hasn’t had a great deal of hunting experience, directly in front of me following some movement in the grass with his rifle, and when the rifle was pointed more and more directly at me as the movement in the grass came toward me, I found myself not watching the grass but shouting, “Be careful Douglo”. It turned out to be nothing but a blasted old pig. But the elephants were still closing in. The grass was about ten feet deep and the elephants were all but out of sight. When a pig or some other animal moved about it was impossible to see it unless one was directly over the spot. All you see was a zig-zag moving of the top of the grass as if the wind were rippling over it. Suddenly my elephant halted. Directly below me, a little to one side was a dead pig. I was looking at it when I saw the grass near y move. I followed it as the movement went away from me. Like a flash a spotted dark yellow object few across an open patch about ten feet wide. It was a panther but no one had time to shoot. Watchorn fired off his rifle in the general direction the panther had taken, but it was much too late.

            Personally I was glad when this beating the grass on elephants was over, for I call it darn dangerous. Not that I think the tigers could get at one, but because if the elephants halted it would be the easiest thing in the world for one of us to shoot another accidentally. Some one shot a pig but we didn’t bring it in.

            When this beat was over we went back to the dry river bed bridge for Tiffin (lunch). Robinson, the head waiter, an Eurasian, (half English-half native), had arranged for lunch for us under the shade of the large wooden bridge. The beat was awful and what with the excitement this morning I felt pretty much snuffed out. I was so thirsty I thought I’d simply die. The elephants, too, were glad of a rest and had a great time splashing about and throwing water all over themselves. They are marvelous creatures. Of all the animals in the world they are the most intelligent and clever. I think they have a horse or a dog beat a hundred ways for brains. They understand every word their driver, who sits on their neck directly behind their ears, says. Well, I just think they are great. They are like children very excitable and playful.

            After a cold lunch of chicken and beer we started off once more greatly refreshed. We followed the river bed down stream and then hit into the jungle once more where we proceeded to beat another field of tall grass. It was full of pigs and this shikari gave me several black looks when I let some go by. These darn Indians give me a pain at times. What in the world is the sense of shooting pigs when the skinners, who are Mohammedans, won’t even touch the lousy things. So after killing them you just leave them to rot or be eaten by vultures. The shikari seemed to lack all sporting blood and was just out to kill any thing that appeared whether he wanted it or not. I was fed up. Damn bad sportsmanship I call it! Consequently I didn’t shoot a pig. Every time I saw one I just raised my rifle and let it run away.

            Well, so much for that. We didn’t have any luck and returned to camp about 4:00 P.M. I cleaned my rifle and had a hot bath, and then sat around talking and playing the victrola until dinner time. It was another terrifically hot day but cooled off after sun-down. We are all having a jolly good time even if the shooting isn’t all that its cracked up to be. Purvis is one of the funniest little Scotchmen I’ve ever met and he is always making every one roar. He calls Douglo “The Duke and Ed, “Jack Dempsey”.

Nanpara

Tuesday, April 27^th, 1926.

We left camp about ten o’clock this morning on the elephants. We passed near the same field that we beat yesterday afternoon but did not stop this morning. The jungle behind this field was where the beaters were waiting our arrival. For about the fir first time, so far, I had a machan to myself. Bob was in the one next to mine and I could just see him through the trees. As it would be some time yet before the beaters started I jumped down and went over to Bob’s machan to take a picture of him in it. Getting back into my machan was more difficult than I anticipated.

            I tried sitting down, kneeling, and standing up, and practiced aiming my rifle at various objects. At last I decide that standing up I could cover the most ground n the fastest time. The view from the position of my machan, was not so good as it might have been. Directly in front of me was a very thick mass of vegetation and undergrowth, while the path that led up to the machan was only about four feet wide, and being parallel to the beaters an animal would not run down it but merely flash across it before one had time to fire.

            The drive started with a terrific roar and I watched the jungle in front of me like a tiger. I heard several exciting noises but they were caused by peacocks. Just before the drive ended a lot of wild chickens came dashing out of the bushes, and I caught just a glimpse of a black object running. I only saw a bit of its back but was certain it was a pig. But I watched its movement carefully. Then suddenly it flashed across the four foot path directly beneath my boma and I saw that what I had believed was a pig was a big black bear. before I could shoot he was across the path so I turned around like a streak of lightning and plugged away at him as he disappeared in the undergrowth. The bear let out a terrific roar and I saw him change his course a bit as he swung back across the path. I fired a second shot but missed. He had evidently been hit and turned back to find his enemy. Of course I was safely up in the machan, but the elephants that had been used in the drive, and which by this time came into sight ahead of me, received the fury of the bear’s attack. It was the best show I ever saw. The bear sprang at the elephant but misjudged the distance and fell between the elephants legs all the time he was roaring with rage like a madman. The elephant he jumped at became terrified and raising his trunk trumpeted for all he as worth. In a moment the jungle was in an uproar. The bear had disappeared. No one knew where he was. The beaters were up in trees like a lot of monkeys. And one elephant had started a regular stampede. He crashed through the jungle uprooting trees. You could see him just running wild crashing down whatever was in his way. The boy on his back was beating him over the head with an iron spike for all he was worth. But it had little or no effect. When elephants get frightened there is no stopping them. From all directions came the sound of the elephants trumpeting away, they realized that something was up. But fortunately the bear decided that eleven elephants would be too much of a job and discreetly retired.

            When the shikari came up I explained the whole shauri to him and hopped out of my machan to see if there was any blood spoor. The ground was covered with hair and bits of flesh. Evidently I didn’t hit him in a vital place but just grazed his back and enraged him. The bear had escaped through the beaters and had gone some distance furthur than the line of the drive, for when a second beat over the same ground took place no bear showed up. 

            Getting on the elephants we went back to the field we beat yesterday. I said to Bob, “I’ll bet my hat that wounded bear is in the long grass”. Evidently the shikari had the same idea, for forming a long line we beat it. Bob and I were on the left flank, the opposite from where the bear would naturally head. Needless to say Douglo had that flank. We had hardly gone fifty yards in the tall grass before there was a volley of shots. A wounded bear had charged Douglo’s elephant, while a second dashed away. Between Douglo, Ed, Watchorn, and Purvis the bear was finished. It was hit in tow or three places. The second bear was also hit in the fusillade of shots and I caught a glimpse of it as it broke cover several hundreds yards away. Whose bear was the one killed? Of course, there was no way of knowing who shot it. I think beyond a shadow of a doubt it as the one I wounded for two reasons. First of all, it charged, and only a wounded bear would charge. An unharmed one would run. Secondly the tall grass was only about one fourth of a mile from my machan in the direction the bear was last seen and a wounded animal would be sure to hide in the first good cover. But as every one says, “Shah Jehan built the Taj’, so was the bear shot by his lordship. It was a fine black Malay bear with the usual white semi-circle on its chest.

            Instead of going after the other bear that had obviously been wounded we gossiped for about an hour and then made tracks for the bridge and the dry river bed where lunch was waiting. On the way we tried another beat that was, of course, ridiculous, being too near the place where the first drive took place. Ti fin was most refreshing. After eating, Watchorn had to leave to meet the Raja in Nanpara and as John wasn’t with us today, having stayed behind on account of being sick, the party was considerably smaller.

            I had to laugh at John this morning. He was absolutely convinced, when I came in the tent, that he was a victim of cholera. Poor kid! He was sick all night and couldn’t wake Bob to save his soul. He was pretty fed up this morning. I had the doctor look at him but he said it was nothing serious.

Lunch over I took a few snaps and then we started off once more on another wild goose chase after the wounded bear. Purvis is a scream and made us all roar with his wise cracks about the Raja of Nanpara. This afternoon was unsuccessful and we returned to camp tired and disgusted. John was feeling much better and was up and dressed. I took a hot bath and shaved and then joined the rest for a drink after the sun went down. Dinner was as usual. These evening around camp are awfully nice and jolly. One thing that gets my goat though is to hear some one who is an American admit to an Englishman that we don’t really know or do anything right. On the other hand I don’t like to hear an American brag. There is nothing worse, but I’ll be darned if I can stand hearing the States run down. Personally, I think a U.S. citizenship is the greatest thing in the world and I love the enthusiasm and pep of Americans. Perhaps we don’t know how to live the most comfortable lives. We don’t go to work at 10:00 A.M. and stop at 4:00 P.M. Maybe we don’t have sense enough to take it easy and enjoy life. But I’m darn glad we are like we are. Think of the push and pep of 100,000,000 American. Believe me, I am proud of them, – every one of them! And as for good manners – the majority of Europeans are hogs. The average Englishman’s table manners are atrocious! I don’t like to boast about the U.S.A., I never do, but I won’t stand for having it and its people ridiculed. Well, so much for that. This sounds as if we had an argument- We didn’t but it makes my blood boil at times to hear some Americans admit to English people that all the people in the U.S.A. are fools.

Nanpara Camp

Wednesday, April 28^th, 1926.

Today was an absolute wash-out! It was to be today or never and never it was! The Raja being away everything has more or less gone to the dogs. Instead of doing the usual beats near the camp we motored to a jungle about ten miles away. Here some elephants were waiting for us and we went into the middle of the woods. The machans weren’t finished, so we had a good hour’s wait in the boiling sun until the fool boys were ready. Finally we hiked on foot to the various stations. John and I occupied one machan, and it was rottenly located and only about eight feet above the ground. A tiger or panther could hop into it without half trying. The drive began at last and was a dismal failure. All we saw was a lot of wild chickens. No one even fired a shot. We tramped back to the river and sat under the shade of a tree while another beat was arranged. This turned out to be worse than the first. The Machan John and I had was even put up backwards, and we were gazing out it with out backs toward the direction the beat was to come from until the shikari came along and tipped us off.

            When this farce was over we motored back to camp almost choking to death from the dust. John was quite snuffed and I had to carry his rifle for him most of the morning. We reached camp about 2:30 P.M. and had lunch.

            John and I had sense enough not to go out again in the afternoon although most of the others didn’t know there stuff. John and I read and slept. Bob came  from the hunt about 6:30 P.M. fed up to the teeth and said that the afternoon’s shoot was a lousy one. Nothing else happened. We had dinner and sat around for awhile, after eating, discussing events of the day. Youngman shot a hyena about eight o’clock.

            We plan to leave tomorrow afternoon for Lucknow.

Leaving Nanpara Camp

Thursday, April 29^th, 1926.

John and Bob had brains enough to say behind this morning, but, like the poor fish I was, I decided to go out with some of the others for another hunt before we had to leave camp to catch the train. Our starting was delayed because we had to pack all our belonging. John and Patrick took our kit in a bullock cart to the station about five miles away. We decided to go direct to Lucknow, and not via Nanpara, by automobile.

            After I climbed aboard my elephant everyone started to take pictures and I got madder and madder. It was hotter than hades in the sun. I was just going to decide not to go when old uncle Ali,- the Raja’s uncle, who is the chief shikari, was ready to start. We beat a number of patches of tall grass but saw nothing other than pigs. Douglo had a nice shot a t a sambur buck but missed. It was about high noon when on beating a particularly favorable plot we jumped another sambur. He had very small horns. At first I didn’t shoot for I was sure it was a doe, but when he halted in the thicket two hundred yards in front of me I saw a pair of small horns and let fire. I hit him in the stomach and brought him down, but he was up in a minute and off again. I fired again but missed. Then the crazy shikari insisted that it was a doe when I knew darn well it was a buck. I hadn’t fired at first because I couldn’t see the horns, but when I did blaze away I was certain of it. You see we ought to have followed it right up. But the shikari didn’t want to go and as it was a small head I said I didn’t care whether we went or not, but I thought it was a shame not to kill it as it was wounded. Well, to make a long story short, we went on without it. We drove another patch and then as it as so hot I at once followed the suggestion of uncle Ali that I take a couple of elephants and go look for the wounded sambur wile the rest went on. I knew it was too late then to get the buck, but I had camp strongly in mind. We were unable to find any trace of the sambur, although I must admit, we didn’t bother ourselves very much looking for it. I was glad to get back to camp thus ending my shooting as guest of the Raja of Nanpara. Jack Purvis, John and Bob and I laughed about what a fizzle it all was until lunch time when the others returned empty handed.

            About three o’clock we motored to the station some five miles from camp and there found the train waiting for us. The Raja had been kind enough to engage a special car for us so that we were quite comfortable. Uncle Ali rode with us as far as Nanpara. The train was the slowest one I’ve ever been on. We played the victrola and sat around talking until about 8:00 P.M. when we had dinner. There was no diner, but a couple of the Raja’s servants were on hand with cold chicken, sandwiches, etc. it was my turn in the upper, – worse luck, – and I spent a miserable night. I only slept about two hours. For every fifteen minutes traveling we stayed at some dumpy little station for half an hour where the mosquitoes swarmed in and ate us alive. The distance to Lucknow is only 140 miles and it takes the train 16 hours. How is that for speed? God – what a trip!

Leaving, Cawnpore

Friday, April 30^th, 1926.

I awoke in a bad humor this morning after such a wretched night. Patrick played  his usual trick of awaking us about 6:00 A.M., saying, that Lucknow was the next station. When we stopped ten minutes later Lucknow was still the next station ahead. This occurred repeatedly until about 8:00 o’clock when we finally stopped in the Lucknow station. The Raja had sent one of his cars to meet us so we all piled in and motored to mess half of the ¾ Bombay Grenadiers. You see, Purvis, Thornton, and Youngman are all Captains in that regiment. The mess hall is a regular club with living rooms, etc. and is extraordinarily nice. We had chota hazari there and then went over to the Carlton where the Raja had reserved rooms for us.

            After cleaning up a bit we had breakfast. Then we discussed plans. John and Bob decide to go down to Agra to get some black bucks and chinkaras, while Ed, Douglo, and I thought we’d make tracks for Calcutta. The heat has arrived at last. Lucknow is scorching at over 100º in the shade, while all of India is more or less in the same boat. Douglo was keen on going to Calcutta via Cawnpore, so we decide to take the afternoon train there and get the Punjab mail for Calcutta tomorrow morning at 9:30 A.M.

            I spent the morning at the hotel going over my clothes and sorting out soiled laundry. I expect to sail on the 1^st of July and therefore want to separate all my belongings. I felt pretty low today and when Watchorn turned up and said he’d been under the weather I began to suspect that the food and water at Nanpara must have been bad. I never want to see another drop of soda in all my life. One doesn’t dare trust any other water, though, in India.

            Lunch came and went. We saw Major and Mrs. Ralston for a few minutes. Unfortunately the water in the pool of the United Services Club was being changed. That was a disappointment. Ed was short of cash so I went down to the Imperial Bank to get some money. I promised John I’d get a new topee here but couldn’t find a decent one. I had just time to get back to the hotel and pick up the rest on the way to the station. Our train left for Cawnpore at 4:15. The luggage was late and wouldn’t have arrived in time if Ed hadn’t told the conductor that it was impossible to start until the luggage of his highness the Marquis of Clydesdale arrived. It worked!

            The heat!!! Great heavens alive! It was terrific! I thought of Lydia. I knew she would have enjoyed it.

            Cawnpore was reached at 6:30. The Berkely hotel seemed to be the best bet. We met their guides at the station and as it was still light decided to see a few of the sights. Cawnpore is really an interesting place. Like Lucknow it is famous for it’s part in the mutiny of 1857. Lucknow held out against the Sepoy rebels but Cawnpore had to surrender. First we drove to the site of the old fortification which consisted of nothing but a vacant field dotted with stone posts to show where the various building and four foot mud wall had once stood. Then we motored over to the Memorial church, a beautiful structure. At the time of the mutiny an old church had stood on the present site of the new one. The soldiers had become accustomed to attending the church services on Sunday without carrying their rifles. On a Sunday in the Spring of 1857 the church was suddenly attacked during the service and 200 soldiers were killed. Since that, until this very day, every solider and officer of the 35 regiment carries his rifle to church. It has become sort of a tradition.

            From the church we motored about a mile to a ghat of the Ganges river. You see, when the siege of Cawnpore started after the attack on the church about 950 people gathered together  in the frame building behind the little mud wall surrounding the European quarters. But they didn’t have a chance. When 500 had been killed the English general in charge surrendered on the condition that all the people within the for be allowed to go to the Ganges and float down the river in boats to Allahabad. Of the 450 survivors 330 were men and 120 were women and children. When the boats were pushed off from the ghat fire was suddenly opened upon them by men in ambush. All of the men except five were killed. These five escaped by diving over-board and swimming under water. The 120 women and children in a separate boat were captured and carried off to prison where they were afterwards cut to pieces and thrown into a well in the compound, under orders of the Nana Sahib at the first sound of General Havelock’s guns outside Cawnpore.

            Nearby the ghat is a gruesome old building where the Hindus, the Brahmans, used to burn their dead. It was customary if a man died and his wife was still alive for her to wait in a sort of ante-room where she could watch the body being consumed by the flames herself.

            The old European entrenchment, the Memorial church, the famous ghat, the old cremating building and even the Ganges itself seemed somber, mysterious, and solemn in the dusk of the evening. These Britishers out here during the mutiny must have been real men.

            The Berkeley hotel is quite a nice place, quite spacious and comfortable, but the hottest spot in town. Not a breath of air was stirring. We had some drinks and not long afterwards a fairly decent meal. By 8:30 or so we were crawling into bed. All except Bob had their beds pulled out on the Veranda to get the full benefit of any possible breeze. I certainly felt dead tired tonight.

Leave Cawnpore for Calcutta 

Saturday, May 1^st, 1926.

I had a good sleep last night and felt on top of the world this morning. We got up fairly early and after breakfast shipped our luggage off to the station. Then as we had an hour or so before the departure of our train we motored over to a big shoe and leather factory. It is the biggest one of its kind in the east, the capacity being 3,000 pairs of shoes a day. Besides they make all sorts of leather goods, such as saddles, suitcases, etc. The manager, Mr. Carnegie, was on hand and took us through the plant in American fashion for we didn’t have much time. The hides go through a cleaning and scraping process before being placed in a tannic acid solution where they remain for five or six month. The bark from which the tannic acid is extracted is a local product of Cawnpore. Labor is paid according to piece work. It was interesting to see the manufacture of shoes even if I didn’t get an opportunity to learn a great deal about the shoe business for we more or less just rushed through the plant.

            Before going to the train we stopped at the famous well down which the women and children, who were cut to pieces during the mutiny, were thrown. A memorial in the form of an angel of the resurrection has been placed over the old well. From here we went to the station. John and Bob, as I said previously, are going down to Agra and have to wait until this afternoon. They saw us off at the station. It was hotter than ever today. India is just boiling. The temperature by 10:00 A.M. must have been over 100, while at Allahabad where we arrived about noon-time, it was 107º in the shade of the station. The heat just seems to penetrate right up from the ground through the train floor so that the soles of one’s feet feel hot enough to blister.

            I bought a book called, “The Pit” by Frank Norris, just before leaving the station at Cawnpore and spent the whole day reading it. We had lunch, tea and dinner in the regular diner. The heat was terrific and we spent most of the afternoon drinking iced tea which, thank goodness, we were able to get. After dinner we played the victrola and finally turned in about 9:30. I drew a lower and it was nice and comfortable. I had a good night’s sleep

Arrive Calcutta from Lucknow

Sunday, May 2^nd, 1926.

I certainly was glad to see Calcutta this morning. I don’t want to see another train in India for a long time. We found it very hot and damp on our arrival and at once made tracks for the Great Eastern Hotel where we washed and dressed for breakfast. Today being Sunday all the shops were closed so that is impossible to accomplish much. I had a general house cleaning of my suitcases and threw out a lot of stuff that is totally worn out. Then I sent off my laundry. We had lunch at the hotel and I hung around my room writing and reading until about five o’clock at which time Ed and I hired a taxi and went to call on Flynn. We met his wife for the first time. He is going to get tickets for all of us for the Calcutta sweep. The tickets are only ten rupees apiece. Of course there are about 300,000 or more of them so one hasn’t much chance. The sweep is on the English derby. About thirty horses run. If you get one of the 30 horses you get about 500 pounds. And if you draw the wining horst it nets you about 80,000 pounds, or $400,000. Of course I expect to win it!!!

            Douglo, Ed, and I had dinner about 8:00 P.M. and then went to see Douglas Maclean in some rotten movie, much against my advice. We returned o the hotel about 11:30 P.M. and went to bed. Once more, – the heat is simply terrible. I don’t know how I will ever sleep.

Calcutta

Monday, May 3^rd, 1926.

I got tired of standing in line and bowing to the governor etc. Seems quite natural and after just visiting the Viceroy it seems like nothing. I found myself chatting away to Lord Lytton as follows, “Your Excellency, what in your opinion is the prime motive behind this feeling of unrest in Calcutta?” etc. etc.

            At lunch there was beside; Lord Lytton, only Douglo, Ed and myself and four A.D.C’s. Lord Anthony Nevers, Lytton’s son, who is a good friend of Douglo’s, is sick and was unable to come to lunch. Is Excellency had an appointment at 2:00 P.M. so we didn’t see much of him after lunch. He leaves tomorrow for Simla to see the new Viceroy. I excused myself after Lytton left as I had a lot to do. I went back to the hotel and getting a taxi went down to the British passport office to get new visas. Much to my horror I had to fork up $14.00 for a new one as the old one expires in a few days. I had to leave the passports there until May 6^th.  When I got to Cox and Company’s at 4:00 P.M. it was only to learn that the carpenter couldn’t get there until 10:00 A.M. tomorrow. That is the reason it sakes so darn long to do a job here in Calcutta.

            I have given up the idea of going to Darjeeling. It is a long train ride and I’m fed up on trains, besides I have a million and one things to do in Calcutta. There is a boat Friday the 7^th for Rangoon which stays there three days before going on to Penang. Now three days isn’t sufficient time to go up to Mandalay and every one who has been there says that there isn’t a thing to see and that the trip is a waste of time. Rangoon you can see in a day. There is a boat leaving here Sunday that goes to Rangoon. It makes the connection there with the Friday boat and allows one 24 ours in Rangoon. I booked my passage on the Sunday boat.

            Ed went out to dinner with a friend. Douglo showed up about 8:30 P.M. having just returned from his cousin’s apartments. He seemed to be in the best of spirits or rather, they seemed to be in him. We had dinner together and then went down to see Norma Shearer in a terrible picture called “Pleasure Mad”. When it was over we went back to the hotel and went to bed. I interviewed a boy named Kintu today. He seems quite good. He is sort of Chinese looking, being a Nepal boy. I think I shall engage him tomorrow.

Calcutta

Tuesday, May 4^th, 1926.

This morning I spent in a very busy manner. I had to leave my 375 to be re-sighted, and my tennis racket to be re-strung. At 10:00 o’clock when the American Express opened I engaged Kintu and then went to Cox and Company’s where I supervised the packing of my purchases. (Father please note, I am shipping everything in one box to you at the Conway Building. The invoices or bills are enclosed within the box and I will send you duplicates by mail. I only paid part of the cost of shipment thinking it more certain for the goods to arrive at their destination when sent C.O.D, of course there will be a small duty on some of the things. In all cases the bills are about half the real value of the goods. In case these things arrive before I do please keep them- for most of them are gifts). Then I went over to the customs to see about my 450 rifle. I have to write a letter to them and come back on Friday. So the morning was occupied.

            I got back to the hotel at noon and Douglo, Ed and I went to Government House for a swim. Lord Lytton the A.D.C. in waiting (Captain Count de Salis) went in for a dip with us. The water was great and I enjoyed the swim immensely until I tried to swim the length of the pool under water. This necessitated my diving in three feet of water. As a result I gave my chin a terrific crack on the bottom, ripped the skin off and came out of the pool dripping blood like a stuck pig. However it was nothing serious and will be all right if it doesn’t get infected. I immediately dosed iodine on it. I’m a pretty spectacle now. 

Douglo had lunch with us at the hotel but left shortly afterwards to visit some iron works about 90 miles from here. He won’t be back until Friday morning. I hesitated a long time about going but the heat was so terrific, and as I’m not feeling especially well, I decided to stay here in Calcutta instead.

During the afternoon visited a book store and bought some new paper and ink, etc. Kintu had to be shown a few things and then I re-packed my tin boxes of hunting clothes, etc. I find it necessary to get almost a complete new outfit of clothes. My things seem to be all worn out. I did a considerable amount of writing until 6 o’clock at which time Ed and I decided to have another swim in His Excellency’s pool. Count de Salis joined us again as did Wilkinson and another A.D.C. Count de Salis is an awfully interesting fellow and we had a long talk about the riots and politics in general. He has been in the diplomatic service for a number of years and knows Colonel House, Denby, Warren, and a lot of other well known Americans. He was a member of the British delegation at the League of Nations and met President Wilson there. His stories were most entertaining, but what interested me particularly was his point of view about the Calcutta riots. The information enclosed here is more or less government ideas and I do not care to have them get about much, at least, not for the next couple of months.

            To begin with there are several theories about the riots. Some people think that they do not amount to much, while others are inclined to take them more seriously. I quite agree with Count de Salis when he said that there is more in these riots than meets the eye at first sight. One rather striking thing about the present disturbance is that it has run more or less concurrently with the coal strike and trouble in England. Then too, there is a sign of Russian bolshevist meddling. To me it is all intensely interesting. The riots have clamed down for the present, but I can’t help feeling that the peace is only temporary. There is a great unrest in India,-  a political uneasiness that takes the form or religious differences. Next Sunday a big Hindu parade is to take place. Government is allowing it to show that the trouble is over. It will be, of course, heavily guarder. Whether or not the riots will burst out again then or not is a matter of conjecture. The Mohammedans are weak in Calcutta so I don’t think there will be any disturbance, but I do believe that June 28^th of this year will open up a new outbreak. On that day there is a big Mohammedan festival and a number of cows which are, of course, sacred to the Hindus, are led to the mosques where they are killed and eaten. This year, particularly, it seems that there will be trouble.

            India isn’t as peaceful as it sometimes seems. Personally I think there will be several good shows before long.

            Ed and I had dinner together about 8:30 and then took a walk through the park before going to bed. No news from John yet.

Calcutta

Wednesday, May 5^th, 1926.

Kintu woke me at 8 o’clock this morning. After a bath and shave I joined Ed for breakfast and then beat it over to the American Express where I got some money. At Kodak’s like every other store in Calcutta they never have anything ready for you when they promise to. My films won’t be finished until Saturday afternoon which means another extra trip. When I got back to the hotel I settled down to a long session of diary writing and got caught up once more.

            Ed and I had lunch at the hotel and then I took a siesta as I felt dead tired. I don’t know what it is the heat, or the food, but I felt none too good. About four o’clock I started in once more fixing up shauries. My films came out fine. I was quite pleased with them. Before I could get very much done the stores closed for the day so I had to come back to my room and wait for dinner. I shadow boxed and had a nice hot bath. Ed and I decided to step out tonight so went over to Firpo’s, which is suppose to be the best place in Calcutta. We had a darn good dinner. Firpo’s is quite attractive and the orchestra sounded great. We sat around talking and listening to the music until after eleven, when we hopped into a taxi, came back to the hotel and turned in.

Calcutta

Thursday, May 6^th, 1926.

I got up about eight o’clock this morning and after a shave and bath went in to see Ed. Neither one of us could understand why John and Bob hadn’t wired. I was just going down the hall to breakfast when I heard a shout, and turning around saw Patrick. It seems that the wire John sent never reached us and he and Bob arrived early this morning. They got a black buck apiece, but said that the heat in Agra was terrific. It was 112˚ in the shade the day they left and on the way to Calcutta they were almost smothered by a dust storm. Bob said that the whole train had to stop until it was over.

We all had breakfast together and then talked over plans. John and Bob decided to go with Douglo and me on Sunday and omit Darjeeling. The heat here is so awful, and we are sick of the trains;- besides as there is only about one chance in twenty of seeing Mount Everest it hardly seems worth while. We were all busy during the morning fixing up shauries. The American Express Company here is about as inefficient as any office I know. They won’t ship a thing for you and it is a big job getting an agent like Cox and Company to handle one’s stuff.

            Philip Pelly, Douglo’s cousin, came over for lunch. After eating we wrote and read until about five o’clock at which time Ed, John, Bob and I went over to the hospital to see Lord Knewworth, Lord Lytton’s son. We hard hardly arrived before Captain de Salis and His Excellency arrived. As Lord Lytton is going to Simla tonight, he naturally, wanted to see his son alone, so we decided to come back tomorrow instead. Captain de Salis suggested we all go for a swim at Government House, so we dismissed our taxi and motored back to the Great Eastern Hotel in the Governor’s car. Captain de Salis told us that the Mohammedans had gone around Calcutta this morning throwing pieces of meat into the Hindu houses. Honestly they are like a lot of kids. de Salis says that the Hindus will probably retaliate by killing a pig in some Mosque.

            The water was great and we had a fine swim. Captain de Salis is a peach. He thinks America is top hole, and is always talking about it. He is a great friend of Warren who was U.S. Ambassador to Japan at one time. After our swim we returned to the hotel.

            Dinner we had about eight o’clock and then all went to see the movies at the Grand National. They were quite good but the feature was rotten, so that we left long before the show was over. 

Calcutta

Friday, May 7^th, 1926.

We all had breakfast together about nine o’clock and by ten we were down at the American Express Company waiting for it to open so that we could do some business. Of all the places in the world Calcutta is the worst to do business in. You can’t get anyone to show any signs of intelligence. The customs are bad enough at home so you can imagine what they are like here. Just try to collect a refund on some duty that you have paid. I had to make three separate trips to the custom house during the morning and was so fed up the last time that I got hold of one little official and balled him out. Of course, it wasn’t his fault and he didn’t have anything to do with it but I felt better after having relieved my mind. This shauri took up most of the morning and the worst of it is that I have to go back tomorrow morning to collect the money. I had my 375 re-sighted and thoroughly cleaned and oiled at Manton’s, (a good gunsmith here), so that it is in fine shape for Saigon if I stop off there. I had some extra prints of the Raja’s shoot made and I shipped these off to Purvis, Thornton, Watchorn and Youngman. As I expected, my clothes weren’t ready and I was told to call at 2:00 P.M. for them.

            We had lunch about 1:30 and then I did a few more errands before calling at 2:15 for my suits. I waited an hour before I finally got them! About four o’clock all of us went to the hospital to see Lord Knewworth He is a darn nice fellow and we stayed for about an hour or so with him. He has dysentery and can’t eat for tow weeks.

            After leaving the hospital we went to the zoo and were amazed to find such a nice one. There were specimens of several species I’d never seen before. There were a couple of one-horned Indian Rhinos. They are about the same size as African Rhinos but have very peculiar plated armor. I felt just like going up and kicking them. I couldn’t help feeling queer when looking them. I haven’t forgotten my experience with one of the blighters in Africa. The zoo had one of the largest tigers I’ve ever seen. I had to laugh at John. He got hold of the horns of a very tame sambur when it poked it’s head through the iron railing and turning to Bob and me said, in that queer, smiling way of his, “Now we’ve got him”. It was so typical of John that Bob and I have laughed about it a dozen times since.

            Douglo returned from the steel works today. I was amazed to hear how big they are. The plants cover an area of three miles. But the wonderful thing about them is the iron deposits. They have surveyed over 400,000,000 tons of iron ore of 65% grade that lies right on the surface. Heaven knows how much there is, if it were mined. This tremendous ore deposit is within ten miles of the plant. As there is plenty of coal in India it seems like a wonderful location for a steel works. It is owned by the Tats – the same people who own the cotton mills in Bombay.

            After leaving the zoo we went back to the Great Eastern and had dinner about 8:30. John and I went to the movies to see Charlie Chaplin and Harold Lloyd, while Ed and Bob went to bed. Douglo went out for dinner.

Calcutta

Saturday, May 8^th, 1926.

Today being Saturday the shops closes at noon, so this morning we were all busy doing last minute jobs. I went over to the customs and, of course, didn’t get any refund. It is to be delivered to me in Rangoon, so they say. About twelve o’clock I got back to the hotel and packed all my stuff. I am lugging several unnecessary bags with me merely because shipping things from Calcutta is a terrific job.

            John, Bob and I had lunch about 1:30 and then all of us took siestas until it was cool enough to go outdoors. Then we hired a cab and, joined by Ed, drove to the Victoria Memorial. It was closed so we couldn’t go inside but then the exterior is the chief thing about it. Costing $25,000,000 which sum was raised by all the people of India, it is a magnificent building. Next we motored to the Jain Temple about five miles from the business part of Calcutta. Personally, I fond the Jain Temple one of the most interesting sights in Calcutta. There is a sort of small garden filled with all kinds of queer statues, and many colored flowers. The walks and buildings about it are decorated with countless mosaics of an infinite variety of colors. At one end is a little pool which reflects the riot of colors from the Palace of Mirrors at the opposite end of the gardens. The palace itself is not a great work of architecture. In fact it is small and rather unassuming. John and Bob called it gaudy and so it was with it’s thousands of mirrors and colored glass, but yet there is something unique – something fascinating – about it. To me it is the most typically oriental thing that I have yet seen and I couldn’t help being in love with it. These far eastern places and things have a mysterious atmosphere about them that is enchanting. We weren’t allowed in the Palace itself, except just within the entrance. The interior was one mass of mirrors and pillars. At one end was an altar with a marble figure about the neck of which were garlands of flowers. In the forehead was an enormous diamond that sparkled brilliantly. I could just imagine hiding behind one of the pillars during high mass. like they do in the movies. Yes, – the Jain Temple was certainly worth seeing.

            We then motored to Flynn’s apartment to say goodbye to him. He is going to send our numbers for the Calcutta sweep on to us at Singapore. Ed and Douglo went out to dinner with Philip Pelley. John and Bob had invited two dames to Firpo’s to dinner. I felt sort of as if I were butting in but John insisted I go. These two girls were nurses at the hospital that John stayed at here in Calcutta. (Bill, for goodness sake, don’t miss this opportunity of kidding John. Just wait until you are both on the green and John has to make an eight foot putt to tie the score.) Well, so little Fritzie went along.

            We had dinner supposedly at 9:00 P.M. but the girls were late and so was the dinner. It was 10:00 P.M. or after before I tasted the hors d’ouvers. One of the girls, Miss. Curtis, was quite nice, a blond, but the other one, Miss Taylor, was wet. Firpo’s have good food and a good orchestra, and a little champagne made both seem better. Miss Taylor wasn’t long in trying to teach me how to dance. I was so mad I could have killed her. I could forgive her stumbling over my feet like an awkward calf but when she seriously thought she would teach me how to dance! The English are lousy dancers!!! Well, so much for that. I enjoyed the evening in spite of Miss. Taylor.

            The orchestra stopped at one o’clock and the party broke up shortly afterwards. John  escorted Miss Curtis to her apartment and Bob took Miss Taylor to hers. I waited in the taxi for five minutes and then drove back to the Great Eastern alone and went to bed. I saw Phillip, Ed and Douglo at Firpo’s. They seemed to be enjoying themselves, especially Phillip who said he’d be down to see us sail at 7:30 A.M. As it was then after 2:00 A.M. and, judging from his condition, I had to smile to myself.

Sail from Calcutta

Sunday, May 9^th, 1926.

When I got back last night from Firpo’s I packed my dinner coat and laid out all my clothes that I was to wear this morning so that when Kintu brought tea at 4:45 A.M. I didn’t have to get up and rummage about. Patrick, John and he took all the luggage down to the dock about 5:30. I was up and dressed by 6:00 o’clock and around getting the others started. I’m sort of like Aunt Frank, I like to be ready ahead of time, especially when one is sailing. I could hardly believe my eyes when I saw Philip in Douglo’s room. He certainly is a sport to get up a to such an unheard of hour to come down to see us off.

            We reached Outram dock about 7:00 A.M. and were soon aboard with all our luggage safely in our cabins. I got hold of the chief officer and saw that my two rifles were on board. I can’t get them until we leave Rangoon. The Arankola is a nice comfortable ship about 4,000 tons and the cabins are all that could be wished for. She only goes as far as Rangoon on Thursday, giving us two days in Burma. We are due in Penang a week from Wednesday.

            The Arankola sailed promptly at 7:30 A.M Calcutta as you know is about 90 miles up the Hooghly River from the Bay of Bengal so we spent most of the day going down the river, flanked on both sides by marshy, low, swampy land known as the Sundarbans. The Hooghly River has a regular delta with hundreds of mouths and the water is a dirty as the Chicago River.

            About nine o’clock we had breakfast. Ed, Douglo, John and Bob all sit at the chief officer’s table. As there is only room for five I was put at one of the other tables. On the whole the people on the boat are quite nice. The first meal I felt rather sorry that none of the other four were thoughtful enough to join me at the public table, as it were, – but after that I didn’t mind it. Wilson, one of the American Express men at Calcutta, has been transferred to Singapore and he is on his way down there. Then I met a very nice Chinaman from Hong Kong who is awfully well educated and has beautiful manners. A colonel Stewart, who was military Secretary to Lord Reading for 2½ years while he was Viceroy, is also one of the passengers for Rangoon.

            I spent most of the day reading and sleeping. I didn’t feel in the mood for writing. I read the whole of Peer Gynt by Ibsen and although it is considered one of his best, I much prefer the “Wild Duck” and some of his other things. During the afternoon I slept. Had tea about 5:00 o’clock by that time we had left Diamond Harbor and the dreaded flats called, “James and Mary”, behind us and were getting out into the Bay of Bengal. We had dinner at 7:00 P.M. Everyone was dressed in dinner clothes except the five of us. These English! They would put on a dinner coat if going to a clam bake. A regular gale blew up when we got into deep water and the old Arankola tossed about like a cork. Bob has been pestering me all day. I felt tired so went to bed about nine o’clock

At Sea

Wednesday, May 10th, 1926.

I was on the windy side last, so there was a slick breeze blowing in my cabin all night. While all the others, being on the opposite side of the boat, found it quite stuffy. It was much calmer out this morning. I had early teat about 6:00 or 6:30 and then after a bath got dressed and went on deck. It was fine out. Breakfast was at 9:00 A.M. after which I spent the rest of the morning reading. I found a brand new 1926 book in the library called “Runaway” by Floyd Dell, so started it.

            Colonel Stewart’s wife’s family are all Chicago people. He is a most interesting man and has invited all of us to dine with him tomorrow night in Rangoon. I played a few games of deck quoits with John, Bob, and Ed before lunch. But it was very hot work. Lunch was at one o’clock and then I took a siesta until four, when I had tea. Up until this noon we covered 385 miles and have about the same distance left to Rangoon, where we are due about 1:00 P.M. tomorrow.

            Dinner was at 7:00 o’clock and tonight everyone followed our example, not wearing dinner clothes, except for three or four old fogies. Wilson played the piano for an hour or so and the rest of us at around listening. It was wonderfully calm out tonight. I read for quite awhile and then turned in about eleven o’clock.

Arrive Rangoon

Tuesday, May 11^th, 1926.

There was no land in sight when I got up this morning about eight o’clock. It was a fine day though, – a slight breeze and a calm sea. Before breakfast I took a few turns around the deck. After eating I settled down to a little writing. The water here is very shallow and as muddy as it can be. We picked up the pilot about ten o’clock and in the distance one could see the low lying shores of Burma. It reminded me a great deal of Florida Bay where one sees innumerable little islands, and the water is of a dirty brown color.

            Rangoon is about 20 miles from the sea connected with the Bay of Bengal by the Rangoon river, a branch of the Irrawaddy, that is navigable for small ships. We were soon making our way up it past little flats and keys covered with grass and scrub. It was, needless to say, terrifically hot and the sun was blazing down as if in spite to try to burn up the ship.

            Burma is about the same size as France and is quite mountainous in the north. It has two big rivers,- the Irrawaddy, and the Selwin. Both rise in the high tablelands and flow south into the Bay of Bengal. The population of Burma is about 13 million. 85% of whom are Buddhists. These people are quite different from the Indians, although of the same brown color. Their heads are broader and their eyes have more of a squinting look. Obviously they have a considerable amount of Chinese blood in them. The chief occupation is agriculture and the main product is rice of which as many as 8,000,000 acres are planted every year.

            Rangoon, the Capitol and principal city of the province, is the third largest port in India. You see, Burma is a sort of province of India, being, like India, under the Viceroy. It was about twelve o’clock before we began to see the out-lying building of the city. The famous Shwe Dagon towering over the other structures like the Washington Monument over our Capitol. Pagodas are everywhere. We saw dozens of them as we approached Rangoon.

            Lunch was at one o’clock just about the time we reached the dock. As it was so hot we decided that it would be foolish to try to see any of the city in the heat, so after eating we sat around on the deck waiting for it to cool off. As Burma is part of India we were unable to get our rifles which are bond in charge of the chief office. The custom authorities are to put them on the S.S. Edavana for us. Until it was time to go ashore I read “Runaway’ by Floyd Dell. It is quite a good novel of its kind. Then I watched them unload some water buffaloes which was quite a job.

            Along about 4:30, after tea, we went ashore. Ed had already gone to make some arrangements at Cooks. The Strand Hotel wasn’t far from the dock. There we found Colonel Stewart who had engaged rooms for us. He had invited all of us to dine with him tonight. The rooms were only fair. The heat was awful. I can’t emphasize it to much. Besides being about 95˚ in the shade it was terribly sticky. After all, it is this damp heat that is really hot.

            We hired a couple of cars and deiced to see the town. The Colonel went with Ed and Douglo in one car, while John, Bob and I followed them in another. We hadn’t gone half a mile before we got in a traffic jam and lost them. Not knowing their plans we decided to motor around and see the sights by ourselves. 

            Rangoon is decidedly different from India. In many respects one can see the differences, and I must say that it was rather a relief. India is darn interesting, but all of us were becoming a little fed up. Now, Rangoon is much more oriental than Calcutta or Bombay. The people are more Chinese looking, they are dressed in more vivid colors, but they seem to be as lazy as the Indians. Pagodas are to be seen everywhere. The buildings, too, are different. We motored through the main streets passing many Chinese,- one doesn’t see so many in India,- and slowly made our way toward the Dalhousie Park. It consists of a beautiful piece of land covered with low rolling hills and picturesque lakes. I noticed the bridges across the little streams were typically Japanese. There seems to be a touch of the Far East all over Rangoon. We passed the Shwe Dagon, but decided to leave it for tomorrow.

            Then our driver took us on a trip into the country surrounding Rangoon, but there was nothing unusual about it, nothing different from India. When we got back to the others hadn’t returned, so we decided to drive over to the Gymkhana Club to see if they were there; but no luck! It was seven o’clock when we again reached the hotel. The driver showed us the meter that read 21 rupees 11 annas. We told him to tell it to Sweeny and didn’t give him a cent. Ed fixed it up the next day with ten rupees.

            Dinner was at 9:30. Of course we had to dress and it was deucedly hot. We motored over to some restaurant with the Colonel. There we met his brother and cousin, who is the Head of Customs for Burma. They dined with us. We had a jolly fine dinner and then went back to the hotel where a dance was going on. A Filipino orchestra was murdering “I want to be Happy”. The people were wet. We watched them for about an hour. A sign on the entrance to the dance floor requested men not to dance together, but in spite of it a couple of fat men, who were slightly under the influence of alcohol, started to do their stuff and were immediately kicked off the floor.

            About twelve o’clock I went to bed but not to sleep. Honestly it was so hot I could scarcely breathe. Under my mosquito net there wasn’t a bit of wind. I took off the top of my pajamas and lay there perspiring. The water ran off in buckets and all the time I could here that wretched band downstairs. I was so mad I could have killed them. Never have I spent such a hot night. It must have been 90˚ or over in my room.

Rangoon

Wednesday, May 12^th, 1926.

Well – today was amusing! I got up in the worst of moods after one of the most uncomfortable nights of my life. But a cold bath and shave made things seem better. We all had breakfast together and then decided to see the Shwe Dagon before it got too hot.

            The Shwe Dagon was built in 588 B.C. It is the most conspicuous object tin Rangoon and is known all over the world, for it is the Buddhist’s Mecca. “It’s golden shaft glinting in the sunlight catches the eye as the steamer comes up the river and it dominates the city from every point of view. It stands upon a double terrace….. the top platform is 166 feet above the grounds. The pagoda is in the center of a great paved area and surrounded on all sides by little pagodas, kiosks, and shrines for images of Buddha. The center structure is like a huge bell, 1355 feet in circumference prolonged into a central shaft covered with gold leaf 370 feet above the pavement – little higher than St Pauls Cathedral.”

            At the top of the shaft are bells studded with 3,604 rubies, 541 emeralds, and 433 diamonds. The whole She Dagon is set up on top of a little hill. To reach it’s base one must get out a little beautifully carved, teakwood temple and walk up several flights of steps through a sort of covered archway. When we arrived at the base of the entrance to the Shwe Dagon we learned that one had to remove his shoes and socks in order to go up the stairs to see the place. Douglo refused to take off his shoes and socks so went back to the hotel in disgust. The rest of us didn’t have sense enough to follow his example. I thought as long as I was over here in Rangoon I might as well see the blooming Shwe Dagon, even if I did have to take off my socks. So up the stone steps started John, Ed, Bob and myself in our bare feet. We found it quite a job missing the puddles of betel—nut juice on the steps. The walk was filthy. After getting to the top of the steps we started around the base of the Shwe Dagon, A rope mat of a rather rough character was stretched around the pagoda. The sun, of course, was glaring down heating the mat and concrete pavement to a terrific temperature. At first it wasn’t so bad but the hot stone burned through the soles of our feet. We walked on the mat for relief and then the ropes cut through our feet. One couldn’t enjoy looking at the place for it was regular torture. Finally, we had to run it was so bad. And all the time we were getting more furious. It was so humiliating to have to take off one’s shoes and socks for a bunch of crazy Buddhists. It wouldn’t have been so bad if the pavement hadn’t just scorched and blistered our feet. Then when we ran all the darn natives started to laugh. The heat, too, was unbearable. Ed was beside himself with rage and ran on ahead. He went down to the car put on his shoes and socks and started up again. I passed him on the way out. My feet were almost burned off. A dozen people were following Ed up the stairs shouting angrily at him. Finally a whole mob collected,- old men and kids – all carrying sticks and stones. Ed went clean to the top to the very base of the Shwe Dagon. It looked as if a young revolution was bout to break out. I couldn’t have helped Ed to save my soul for I could scarcely walk. Our guide had told Ed that there would be a riot if he went into the place with his shoes on and the crowd started to beat the guide over the head. Ed thought better of his actions and came back to the car before any actual fighting began.

            The thing that makes me mad is not the fact that the Buddhists insist on one taking his shoes and socks off. After all, they are ignorant and don’t know any better. But the Governor is the real object of my wrath. It is another case of weak government. Four years ago there wasn’t any such fool rule about the Shwe Dagon, The Buddhists petitioned the governor to pass a law requiring everyone to remove his shoes and socks and the governor in a fit of kindness passed this law. I am convinced that there is no rule among the Indians but an iron one. As soon as you are easy with them they think that they are equal or superior to you. If you are harsh with them they are much more orderly. They think, well, the “Sahib” is really a great person and they respect you more. Whenever you are lenient with them you have riots and trouble. When you treat them like a bunch of dogs they are quiet and peaceful. It is unlike western civilization and methods. Democracy won’t work!!! Just look at the Calcutta riots. The cause?- why the increasing number of Indians who are permitted in the Indian Civil Service. The natives won’t respect men of their own race, but they will bow down to white people.

            Well – so much for that! From the Shwe Dagon we went to the Sacred Fish Pond where we tossed some bread into the water. It disappeared in about two seconds for the pool was just teeming with fish. Next we went to the customs to collect he refund on our rifles. There was another shauri there when bob called someone a bloody fool. Which is much of an insult among the British than if said to an American. There was no actual fight, however. As usual we were told to come back at 3:00 P.M. At a book store I was able to buy a May issue of Vanity Fair and a couple of Literary Digests. Yea bo! They are great. Real American magazines! They suit me!

It was hotter than ever today. We had lunch about one o’clock. Bob and John were rather fed up this morning. They made a date with the Colonel to look over some race course at 8:00 A.M. and he never showed up, although they waited an hour for him. About three o’clock we went back to the customs to collect our refund and after filling out a dozen sheets, signing our names ten times or more, we finally got the refund. John and I then looked in at some shops but didn’t purchase anything. About five o’clock we went to see some elephants employed in the Burma lumber yard to carry heavy timber. It was rather disappointing for we had heard a great deal about them. There were only two measly, undersized elephants there.

            The zoo which we next visited was quite good. Then we went to the S.S. Arankola. There is some shauri about my steamer ticket which Ed gave to someone, but I guess it will turn up all right in the end. We had thought of going aboard the S.S Edavana for the night as the heat is so awful in the hotel but as she is anchored way out in the river we decided it would be easier to go aboard in the morning. Morrison had dinner with us. He is a nice young chap employed by the Burma Oil Co. We met him on the Arankola. He went up country tonight about 9:00 o’clock.

            After dinner we all went to the movies to see Richard Barthlemes in “The Bond Boy” I thought it quite good but Douglo was disgusted with it. There was an argument and of course no one was convinced.

            There was a fairly decent looking girl at the hotel. John picked her out last night but today she appeared on the scene with two little children. John has a habit of always seeing good looking girls before the rest of us do, and then he always starts kidding us about them. But Bob and I are on to him

            When we got back to the hotel the rotten Filipino orchestra was trying to play. They stopped soon though and we all went to bed. There was a little breeze tonight- thank goodness! Our ship sails at 3:00 P.M. tomorrow afternoon. We reach Penang Sunday morning about 6:30. If we can get through with the doctors and customs and cross from the island to the mainland in time to make our train at 7:55 A.M. it will be a great help, for then John, Bob, Ed, and Douglo will be able to make the Australia boat from Singapore. If we miss the 7:55 train we have to hang over a day in Penang and get a dumpy little boat down to Java

Leave Rangoon, At Sea

Thursday, May 13^th, 1926.

We all had breakfast together about nine o’clock after which we looked through a few shops but it was too hot to remain outside for very long. We were soon back in the hotel under a punkah. The luggage left about noon and I tired to write but gave it up as a bad job. We had lunch about one o’clock and left immediately afterward for the dock where a big ferry boat was waiting to take us to the S.S. Edavana which was anchored out in the stream. As we drew up along side of her we were surprised to see an elephant on one of the lower decks. The poor thing seemed to be in a rather nervous state.

            The cabins are double so that I found myself sharing a room with a chap named Zipperling. He is a German but seemed like quite a nice chap. Although the Edavana is 5,000 tons being 1,000 tons heavier than the Arankola she isn’t anywhere near as nice a boat. We found Wilson on board. He came out last night and said that the ship was lousy with ants. They almost ate him alive. I couldn’t help feeling glum over the prospect of two days and three nights aboard this tub.

            We weighted anchor about three o’clock and started down stream. The Arankola was right behind us for a couple of hours, passed us just as we got out into the bay. There was quite a lively breeze blowing and the Edavana isn’t the steadiest of ships. Even in calm water she seems to have an awful throbbing notion. Tea was at four. Bob and I stayed up forward until almost dinner time watching the shores of Burma disappear  in the distance. The boat sure was rolling some. Dinner was a t seven o’clock. We have secured one big table with six places and invited Wilson to join us. As usual everyone was dressed for dinner except us. The meals on this boat are rotten. After dinner we played bridge till about ten O’clock. Before going to bed I went up forward again. The wind was blowing a moderate gale and the waves breaking over the deck sent sheets of spray all over me. Dead ahead was the southern cross. The old ship rolled and plunged through the angry sea. The smell of the salt water was strong, you could even taste it. Over the side of the ship were flashed of fire in the sea. It seemed alive with phosphorus. Oh the sea! It is great! There is something fascinating about it. As Kipling says:-

“With the sunset I must be Hull down on      

the trail of rapture in the wonder of the sea”.

At Sea, Rangoon to Penang

Friday, May 14^th, 1926.

It was so wonderful up on deck last night before I went to bed that I felt suffocated when I got down in my hot, stuffy, little cabin. The breeze is from the southwest and my cabin is on the port side, consequently, there isn’t a breath of wind. I almost died of the heat. It was just about as bad as the Strand Hotel for the iron sides of the boat, which the sun had been heating up all day, were as hot as they could be and didn’t help any to cool the cabin. Then, too, the ants were bad. They bit like the devil.

            I had early tea at 6:30 and after a bath and shave went up on deck. I walked about half a mile and then settled down to read “War and Peace’ by Tolstoi until breakfast at nine o’clock. Breakfast over we played quoits and other games. Reading and writing helped fill in the time At noon we had covered 248 miles with 512 to go. It was fine and calm out today.

            The meals on this boat are bad (news). I spent most of the day playing games and writing letters. In the afternoon we had several hours of bridge. I had to smile, for at dinner tonight about half of the passengers had followed our example of last night by not dressing for dinner. We spent the evening talking and figuring out bridge problems. We all decided to sleep on deck tonight as the cabins are unbearable.

At Sea, Rangoon to Penang

Saturday, May 15^th, 1926.

Sleeping on deck has one drawback. About 5:30 we were awakened, by the native sailors who wanted to wash down the deck. I slunk down to the cabin and Slept until 7:30 when I got up and had a bath and. shave. Before breakfast I walked a mile on deck. It is another darn nice day. Just a slight breeze and calm sea. In the distance one could, see mountainous peaks sticking up out of the sea forming many little and irregular looking islands. They were quite a way off in the distance and had that blue, hazy look. After breakfast I wrote a letter to Anna and then spent the rest of the morning catching up on my diary.

            Lunch was worse than ever. When it was over Ed and. I played a few games of quoits and then John and I took on Ed. and. Bob at bridge. The scenery is quite pretty, There are numerous rocky is1ands covered with scrub. Here and there one can make out long white lines of sandy beach. The deep blue of the water makes it a beautiful sight. After tea I settled down to some more writing.

            I shall be glad, to get off this old tub. It is simply lousy with ants and. believe me, they can bite. Then, too, the food. is rotten. At dinner about two-thirds of the men didn’t dress. This always amuses me for we start the idea of not putting on dinner coats and before the voyage is over usually more than half of the people on the ship follow our example. 

I slept on deck again tonight. It was great for there was a nice breeze. We are quite far down in the Straits of Malacca now so that one never loses sight of the islands, as soon as one disappears another pokes its nose above the horizon.

            During the night I was awakened by the wireless operator who handed me a message that had just been received. It was from the B.I. Company at Penang and read that Lord Clydesdale’s party would not be required to wait on board the Edavana to see the customs officer or doctor and. that a special launch would be waiting at 6:45 to take us to the train. This message was quite a relief for otherwise we would have had the dickens of a time making the train.

It was about three o’clock when I was awakened. I could make out the black shores of the Malay Peninsula. A whole string of light houses wore flashing their signals across the calm dark sea. I stood by the rail for about ten minutes watching the ship slip silently along in the night and then went back to bed before turning in I spread a little of the ant powder all around my mattress to keep the ants out, but I think it had the opposite effect, it prohibited, the ants already in the mattress from getting away so they bit me instead..

En route Penang to Singapore

Sunday, May 16^th, 1926.

One of the deck boys woke me this morning at 5:30. The sun was just coming up and it was a magnificent sight. The dull red color of the livid sky was reflected on the calm water so that it seemed as if the sea, too, were one mass of flame. The Edavana was Slowly,-Very slowly,- moving into the Harbor of Penang. A mass of twinkling lights,- for it was still not very light out,— indicated the City of Penang. Back of the city rose high hills- one might almost say mountains— the tops of which were covered by a grey bank of misty clouds.

            I went down to my cabin where I had tea, shaved and dressed. When I came on deck again about forty minutes later it was considerably lighter. The whole scene had changed. The twinkling lights and. brilliant color of the sky were gone and. we were lying at anchor about a Quarter of a mile from shore. Around, us were many ships of the B.I., Blue Funnel, Bibby and other eastern steamship companies. Three launches drew up along side of the Edavana and. before long we were climbing into one of them. It was a job getting coolies to carry our luggage down into the small boat, for most of them were lined up on deck for medical inspection, it was about 7:30 before we finally left the side of the Edavana and steamed, over to the Island, of Penang. It was necessary to go there in order to get the ferry boat which runs over to the mainland where the train for Singapore was waiting. We had just time enough to unload our luggage before the ferry boat docked. On the way across the bay Bob and. I had an argument which ended, as usual, ma bet. I maintained that the weight of an object,- namely a ship,— is equal to the weight of the water which it displaces. I know I’m right. I’d bet my life on it although Ed, Douglo, John and. Bob all think I’m wrong.

            We found the train waiting for us when we arrived. It is a Queer affair with cars similar to the ones we use in the states only on a smaller scale. We have to ride in day coaches to Kuala Lumpur where we are due to arrive at 6:23 P.M. There we have a two hour wait before the connecting train, with sleepers, leaves for Singapore. The train left just a few minutes after we got aboard. As we hadn’t had anything to eat we all went into the diner where we had a fine breakfast— the first real good food we have had for a long time. The waiters were all chinks. I must say I like them. They never stop smiling and seem like darn good chaps.

            At present the Straits Settlements consists of the Island of Penang, off the west coast, and, the Province of Wellesley, a strip of territory opposite it on the peninsula; the Dindings – a small group of islands, Malacca town, Singapore, the Cocos, Christmas Islands, and Labuan. The rest of the Peninsula is divided into separate states each under it’s own Rajah. In 1896 five of these states got together and formed the Federated Ma1ay States. Today the Federated States as well as the independent states are British advised.

            The chief products of the Malays are tin, rubber, tapioca, sugar, rice, pepper, coffee, copia and areca nuts; while they import dried fish, milk tobacco, Coal, cotton goods, opium and. petroleum. The currency is the Straits dollar which is equal to approxima~1y 56 cents U.S. money. This dollar, like ours, is divided into a hundred parts. There are quarters, dimes, etc.

            I think the Malay States are great To begin with the scenery is simply magnificent. Like Ceylon it is really tropical and not dried up like India and. Burma what I saw of it. Instead there are thick jungles like one imagines are to be found in the tropics. Tall trees and regular mazes of vines and undergrowth. There are millions of palms of all varieties and the striking thing about the vegetation is that everything is green and fresh. The jungles have that damp odor. Oh! It is glorious. I never enjoyed more beautiful scenery on any train ride.

            We passed acres and acres of rubber trees planted in long regular lines. The tops met to form a canopy of leaves while below was perpetual shade. The topography of the country is also similar to Ceylon. First there were long low hills banked with vegetation of every sort, but later these hills become regular mountains, and now and then a perpendicular wall of rock appeared just as if someone below the earth’s crust had shoved it up with his finger. The sides of these peculiar formations are void of any green plants, but the flat tops are covered with a thick undergrowth which looks like a green cap on top of a nigger caddy’s head.

            The native houses are made of wood, and judging by the way they are elevated above the ground by stone pillars I should say the ants must be quite a pest. The train twisted in and out among the rich tropical jungles, through long tunnels in the mountains and out again into the paddy fields and rubber plantations. One thing that I noticed all over were deep holes in the surface; holes that had evidently been dredged out. Besides them were piles of light brown mud and queer lattice-work wooden shafts. Evidently these were tin mines. It seems that the deposits must be surface one. If so the country must be covered with a  layer of tin ore for these queer delicate shafts, looking not unlike the iron ore unloading rigs at a steel plant, were to be seen everywhere. 

Inside the train it was hot and dusty. There were a lot of first class Chinese passengers and a considerable number of Dutch. During the morning when I wasn’t watching the scenery I read “War and Peace” by Tolstoi. We had lunch in the diner about 1:30 P.M. When we reached Iopa, or something like that. We had a delicious meal. The best bread and butter! I thought of father who once said that if he ever ran a restaurant he would have the best bread and butter in the city.

After lunch we spent the afternoon reading and playing bridge. John and I took Bob and Ed into camp. Kuala Lumpur was reached shortly after six o’clock in the evening. We thought of taking a drive about the city but it was raining pretty hard so gave it up. Instead we all had a good wash and watched the lizards on the walls. There were ten or more of them and they were jolly good. You see they eat flies, mosquitoes and all kinds of bugs. They remain as motionless as a statute and then they get him like a shot. I must say they are not only useful but darn quick and clever. The hotel is sort of connected with the station. About seven o’clock we had dinner and a better meal it would be difficult to cook. All of us just stuffed ourselves. 

The train left for Singapore at 8:30 P.M. and is due tomorrow morning at 7:30 A.M. I had a room to myself while John and Bob and Douglo and Ed occupied two state rooms. The bed was quite comfortable. They were permanent beds, that is, they could be made up in the morning. It was a relief to have the train people supply the bedding once more. I’m tied of the Indian method of having to lug all one’s sheets and pillows around with you.

It was quite cool out, and aside from being a little dirty the night rip to Singapore wasn’t half bad. 

Arrive Singapore, Sail for Java 

Monday, May 17^th, 1926.

Kintu brought me tea about 6:30 this morning and by the time I had washed and dressed we had pulled into the station at Singapore. I had hoped to see the bridge from the mainland of the Malay Peninsula across to Singapore Island but I wasn’t awake. Singapore itself is quite a modern place. In 1819 it was first settled, being before that time merely a little fishing village. In 1824 the British Government obtained Singapore Island from the Sultan of Jahore paying $6O,OOO cash for it plus a life annuity of $24,OOO a year thereafter. “Commanding as it does the Straits of Malacca it has secured for the British maritime supremacy, of the Eastern Sea.” Since 1619 it has grown to a city of about 500,000 inhabitants.

            On arriving at the station we were met by a chap from the American Express. We all got into taxies and went to the Raffles Hotel where we secured a large room. While waiting for the luggage to arrive we had breakfast. One hears a lot about the Raffles Hotel, but I was very much disappointed with it. The building is enormous but is sort of ramshackled and disjointed. None of the rooms have baths with running water and the tin tubs are so small that one can’t sit down in them without being double jointed. 

            There was one grand rush this morning. The ship for Java and Australia was supposed to sail at 12 noon. In the meantime we had to get our tickets, send our passports to the Police, get letters of credit cashed and a hundred and one other things. I beat it off to the American Express Company where I learned that all my mail, except a nice long letter from Anna, had been sent to Penang, for the American Express Company failed to get my cable, of a month ago, which instructed them to hold my mail. The manager Mr. Reed was awfully nice and telegraphed for it so that I will get my mail on my return to Singapore in about ten days. While I was there, mapping out boat connections, a boy brought a cable from father about not curtailing my diary and hoping that I wouldn’t miss the others who are going to Australia, so I replied. at once. I got a lot of information that I wanted about steamship services. I am going down to Batavia today on the Tasman of the K.P.M. line. It stops off there on the way to Sidney. I arrive in Batavia on the 19th and. have exactly a week there. Sailing on the 26th I arrive back in Singapore on the 28^th and have three days before my boat leaves for Saigon.

            At the hotel I re-packed my luggage, leaving everything at the hotel except two suitcases. When we finally left Raffles it was 11:45 and the Tasman was supposed to sail at noon. At the last minute Douglo was writing his diary. I was ready an hour before the others. I hate getting places at the last second. We boarded the boat exactly at noon. She is a fine ship. We were all very much pleased with her. Being about 9,000 tons, she is quite comfortable, and throughout, the fittings, furniture, etc. are very modern.

The others decided not to take John and Patrick with them. I heard that taking a servant to Java was quite a job so I decided to let Kintu go too? We paid them all off and said, goodbye. I certainly hate to see them go. I’ve become used, to saying, “Where are my socks Kintu?” and having them immediately put into my hands,

            Before the ship sailed there were a dozen natives in tiny canoes all around the ship. Some of the passengers were throwing five cent pieces into the water and about three or four of them would paddle for the spot where the money hit the water and dive in for it. I got my Bill & Howell out and took a few pictures.

            The Tasman is a Dutch ship and. most of the people on her are Dutch. They jabber away at a great rate. Everything is immaculate on board. I was quite impressed with the look of things. Ed, Douglo, John, and. Bob are on the first deck while I occupy a room on the second deck with two Portuguese soldiers who can’t speak any English, We had lunch about 1:30, the food, being quite good. We managed to get a private table. The Tasman sailed just as lunch started and by the time we finished eating she was well out in the harbor.

            I read for awhile and then we all played bridge, most of the afternoon. The Island of Sumatra is only about a quarter or half a mile off the starboard, and on the port are hundreds of small islands. The water is as calm as glass. It seems just like cruising in Florida among the keys. We had tea at four o’clock. Dinner was at seven and, thank goodness, the Dutch don’t dress for dinner.

            There is a Filipino orchestra on board. Although they do not exactly play Paul Whiteman music they aren’t too bad After Dinner Ed. and I took John and Bob over the rocks at bridge. I’ve held wonderful cards all day. It was about 11:30 when I went to bed. We can’t sleep on

deck,-Darn it! My cabin, though, being on the windward side was quite cool. My Portuguese pals had gone to bed when I turned in.

At Sea, Singapore to Batavia

Tuesday, May 18^th, 1926.

I awoke during the night with a start. I was soaked with water. Evidently the spray of a wave had hit against the port hole that is directly over my head, and drenched me. After trying to make myself dry and comfortable I went to sleep again. I had early tea at 6:30 and took a long time reading and dressing. When I appeared on deck at 9:15 breakfast was over and I was out of luck. I had a cup of coffee and going up to the lounge settled down to some heavy diary writing until lunch time.

            Bob was up on deck watching Ed work out in front of about 30 laughing coolies. When Ed finished shadow boxing he went to the rail and leaned over. One nigger seeing Ed’s back turned grabbed another coolie’s hat and began passing it around. as if taking up a collection for the show. Bob said he almost died laughing. Some of these chaps have a good sense of humor. I suppose they think Ed is crazy.

            After lunch Ed and I took John and. Bob over the rocks at bridge. Then a good siesta was enjoyed by all. Along about five o’clock Ed. and Douglo had another workout. It rained. about four o’clock today the same as yesterday afternoon and. probably will again tomorrow, During the southwest monsoon, so they tell me, it rains regularly every afternoon. All day we have been sailing through a sea full of green and white islands. The water has a sort of greenish color too, only of a lighter shade than that of the moist palms and jungles. The dazzling white lines of the sandy beaches about these little tropical islands are picturesque indeed. The sea is, of course, very calm.

            Dinner was at Seven O’clock and. as soon as it was over we started in on bridge again. Bob is becoming quite a fiend at it while John studies Milton Work’s book of rules to try to find, some little technicality to catch up all the rest of us, such as Dummy’s right to question his partner’s lead; that is, whether it is in his own hand or from the board. Ed doubled an original bid of two spades, and I, being bid partner, thought he wanted to be left in with it. I always play an original bid of one that is doubled, means for the doubler’s partner to name his best suit but that if an original bid of two spades — a major suit — is made and doubled, that the doubler wants to be left in. Anyway the hand was played at two spades, doubled, and John made a grand slam, This meant about 80 points so I settled down to serious playing, doubling where I thought it advisable and bidding on nothing at other times to save a rubber. Ed and Douglo got interested in a couple of the Dutch girls on board and danced with them. As neither of them can speak German and the Dutch lassies can’t talk English there was no sitting out, as it were. John, Bob and I went on playing bridge. I bid a couple of times on Ed’s hand without seeing it. Whenever I lost the bid we had to wait for Ed to return. At 11:30 we finished the third rubber and the scores were cancelled.

            Bob and I talked for a while and then turned in. My Portuguese buddies woke me up when they went to bed about one o’clock. God bless them- I didn’t.

Arrive Batavia

Wednesday, May 19^th, 1926.

Honestly, you would have laughed if you could have seen me this morning trying to talk to one of my Portuguese friends. Absolutely the only word we had in common was “Batavia”. It was about 6:30 that I was sipping tea when looking out of the port hole I had my first glimpse of

Java— a long, low, rolling stretch of land on the horizon rather obscured by a heavy mist. At one end there was a steep abrupt rise of land like a volcano rather than a mountain range.

            I dressed and then went up to John’s cabin. They were all lazying about and I hustled them up, for already the ship was in the harbor and we had to get breakfast aboard. I went up on deck and saw the passport official who had come on board. We all had breakfast together and about nine o’clock went ashore. The customs delayed me only a couple of minutes. Getting two cars we motored to Batavia which is about Six miles inland. It’s port, Tandjong Prick, has a big harbor and modern quays. A railroad runs right to the dock and we can get a tram over to Batavia about every half hour.

            One notices quite a difference in these Javanese people when coming from India, as we have. They all seem to be very short and thin. Their skin is lighter and their faces are fuller and broader, more Chinese looking. The men wear turbans like the Indians but they are much smaller and consist of a piece of batik shaped into a little cocked hat. Both men and women wear skirts of batik. We really only had a glimpse of them on the way to Batavia. The road was fine and smooth. Along one side of it was a canal in back of which were long lines of palms. The people, the streets, the houses and villages all seem exceptionally clean.

            On arriving in Batavia our driver halted. He couldn’t speak English but we figured out there was no Thomas Cook in Java, so we went to a hotel, where we were directed to the Netherlands East Indies Tourist Enquiry office. There we found, an English-speaking Dutchman who was full of information. I dashed off at once to the Rotterdam Lloyd Company to see about a passage back to Singapore a week from today. There was nothing doing either first, second or third class. I got hold of the manager and he said he’d fix me up some way, even if I had to s1eep on deck which he said wasn’t permitted although he insisted that there wasn’t a chance, I told him I had to get back to Singapore. I was unusually polite and courteous about it as I thought it the only way I had a chance of getting him to bother about me. I left him with the plan of telephoning about three o’clock to find out if he’d been able to fix up the shauri in any way at all. Then I went to the bank where I got some money to pay my end of the expenses before leaving the others. They were very efficient and nice to me at the bank. I’m beginning to like the Dutch. When I got back to the Tourist Office Douglo was in a stew about not receiving his mail. Shortly afterwards John, Ed, Bob and I set out for Buitenzorg where the famous botanical gardens are located. Douglo decided to stay behind, so I said goodbye to him as I wasn’t coming back to Batavia tonight.

            Buitenzorg is about 36 miles inland from Batavia. It is the summer Capitol of the Dutch East Indies and there is a European population of some 25,000 people. The motor from Batavia is perfectly delightful. One gets a real glimpse of Java. It is a fascinating place. The houses on the outskirts of Batavia are mostly white and yellow plaster covered, with vines and flowers. The streets are wide and clean and the trees bordering them meet above in one solid mass of branches and leaves. Everything is green and fresh for it rains every afternoon for an hour or so. The streets are as clean as they can be. The whole place seems like a big garden, like a sort of fairyland. If I were a Dutchman I certainly wouldn’t hang around Amsterdam when I could come to a place like Java.

            Along the way to Buitenzorg were many new sights. The native houses are made of a sort of thatched material like the dark yellow cane chairs we used to have on the porch of the house across the street, only on a larger scale. I think the material used must be dried palm leaves. The yards are clean as are the kids and one doesn’t see the filth for which the Indian native Quarters are famous. The fields are planted in terraces with rice. The water trickles down from one terrace to the next. These and hundreds of other novel things were to be seen. But the scenery itself was marvelous. Soon after leaving Batavia we got into lower, rolling country just banked with rich

tropical vegetation, it was soaking wet and as green as could be.

            Buitenzorg was reached about twelve o’clock and we decided, to see the botanical gardens before lunch as it looked like rain. The gardens are supposed. to be the greatest scientific and practical botanical gardens in the world. There is no road through them so we were obliged to walk. It is a beautiful place being a regular wilderness of trees, flowers, and bushes. We walked all over it for about an hour and a half passing the Palace of the Governor General at one end of the park. It is an imposing, large, white stone building in an ideal setting by a lake filled with lotus. I can’t begin to tell what a lovely place it is with its hills teeming with palms and many colored flowers. Before leaving the park we passed the tomb of Lady Raffles whose husband governed the Island from 1811 to 1816 when the Dutch Colonies were in the hands of the English.

            We had lunch at the Bellevue Hotel about 1:30 and then sat around for awhile and talked. I phoned the Rotterdam people at three o’clock and they said that they would guarantee me some sort of accommodations so I gave Ed 25 guilders to place with them at once as a deposit on my berth.

            John, Bob and Ed left for Batavia about 3:15 P.M. just as it started to rain cats and dogs. I felt a little queer seeing them leave for, after all, here I am way over on the other side of the world and don’t know a soul. When they left I went back to my room. It was all but cheery. It was almost dark the rain was pouring down and everything was cold and damp. I decided on a siesta. About five o’clock I had a work-out and bath and then read until dinner time. John telephoned from Batavia to say it had stopped raining, so I went out and bought a few postal cards in a near by store. After dinner I took an hour’s walk and then, hiring a horse and buggy, drove to the cinema, which they call the “Bioscoop” over here. I was the only white person that turned up so I occupied the entire first class part of the house. I should say “seats” for it was an open air affair. The pictures were rotten and I left before the show was over and went back to the hotel to bed.

Buitenzorg to Garoet

Thursday, May 20^th, 1926.

My train for Garoet left at 7:35 A.M. so I had the boy call me at 6:30. I dressed at once and after a cup of coffee and a sandwich or two went down to the station. The manager of the Bellevue Hotel was on hand to say goodbye. He has been most awfully kind and helpful to me. Arriving at the station considerably before hand I paced. up and down nervously until a shrill whistle announced the arrival of the train. No trains run at night in Java so that the journey from Batavia to Surabaya is made in two days, the night being spent in a hotel in Djokja. Consequently the only ears are day coaches. The train was fairly crowded but I managed to get a seat.

The scenery was so lovely that I scarcely read a line of my book. It was much the same as yesterday. Such vegetation is indescribable. It is so very fresh, green and rich. Judging from the looks of the soil one could raise anything in Java. It is jet black and moist as it can be. Near the open places one sees hundreds of rice terraces ascending the hill like huge water steps. The construction of them represents infinite labor and great engineering skill on the part of the natives. Then, too, there are fields planted in sugar cane and tobacco. Large rubber plantations are also seen and each little native hut has its rows of banana trees surrounding it.

            My compartment was filled with Dutch officials jabbering away at a mile a minute. About twelve o’clock we reached a station the name of which was unpronounceable beginning with “Tji”, but that doesn’t in any way define the town for the name of every village in Java begins with the same three letters T.J.I. One of the Dutchmen saw that I looked perplexed so kindly asked me if he could be of any help. I explained that I was going to Garoet and wanted to get something to eat. He showed me where the through Garoet car was and advised me to move in to it and then go to the diner for lunch. Also he gave me the name of the best hotel in Garoet.

            None of the waiters could speak English but another Dutchman told them to bring me some steak and vegetables. Believe me the food was delicious. The bread and butter, particularly, was splendid. After eating I returned to my car. We had just reached Bandoeng where we stayed a few minutes before leaving for Tjijalenzka which is on the outskirts of the Plain of Bandoeng. On leaving this place the train slowly climbed up through the hills to the pass in the mountains near Nagrek. The tops of the Kaleidong and Haroeman, baby cones as compared with the large adjacent mountains, but nevertheless a thousand, feet high, began to appear in the distance. The train twisted through cuts in solid masses of rock, across awesome gorges, and into the thick jungles. Then burst upon one, suddenly, the Plain of Leles the most magnificent tropical landscape in the world. It was such a dream of beauty that I was speechless. The track clung to one side of the mountain, and there below me stretched this wonderful sight. The finely wrought surface of the plain was a net-work of green dykes and terraces of rice fields that seemed like a mosaic of green and gold. The lighter green of the rice seed-beds, the intense, vivid green of young rice transplanted, the darker green of the more advanced crops, and the rich tone of the stubble, were relieved by clumps and. masses of fine-leaved trees and palms which, like small islands, dotted the plain. Each clump of trees indicating the presence of a toy village.

            Back of the plain rose the two cones of Mts. Kaleidong and Haroeman, which were checkered with rice fields from top to bottom. Between the green patches were black ones where no rice was sown. There were no trees on these mountains which looked like old patch Quilts. 

At Tjibatoe we left the main line and went south about ten miles to Garoet. Garoet is 2400 feet above sea level and is surrounded by five volcanoes that rise like petals of an enormous flower. It was after three o’clock when we pulled into the station. The boy from the Grand Hotel Ngamplang was on hand, so getting into a taxi which he got for me, I motored to the hotel about four miles from the station. The hotel is still another 800 feet higher than the station and located on top of a hill. The view over the whole valley is superb. The Ngamplang is a place where one goes for quiet weekends. It is a sort of sanitorium. The manager came to meet ma and said that he was booked up over the week end, but that if I didn’t intend staying more than two days he could fix me up. I didn’t, so he gave me a room.

            These Dutch hotels are quite different from English ones. In the first place, there is always a little porch off each room and the bath rooms instead of having tubs, have places in the wall made of tile in which you sit. There are sides to these queer things, but the bottom isn’t level so you slide to one end. The beds are enormous, about the size of the one Avery has in Greenwich that came from Rockwood, and are covered with mosquito netting. In each bed there is a long, round, narrow pillow. These things are placed between one’s legs at night. It is supposed to be cooler. They are called Dutch Wives. Then, tea is served differently. The tea pot is covered with a thick padding, like a hat, that is placed over the pot. It keeps it hot for hours.

            As it had started to rain when I arrived, I unpacked my things, had tea, and then took a siesta. On waking up I had a work-out. The rain had stopped by this time so I went up the hill to the main part of the hotel. Here I found a beautiful garden filled with flowers. There was a pool at one end from which a fountain spurted into the air. Truly it would be hard to imagine a choicer spot. The green covered mountains in the distance where just peering though the clouds of mist that had obscured them from view, and the dull red glow of the setting sun sent an enchanting, colorful glare over the whole scene. Everything was so fresh, and the water was still trickling off the leaves. Oh it was glorious! The pool was filled with fish, which I watched for some time.

            I read until dinner time and then, after a delicious meal, took a mile walk before turning in. I went to bed early for I have to make an early start in the morning. I tried sleeping with the Dutch Wife but it couldn’t be done. I kicked it out of bed and soon fell asleep.

Garoet

Friday, May 21^st, 1926.

I had intended to take the trip over to the south coast of Java to a place called Pameungpeuk, but I found out yesterday that it would cost me 76 chips, so at once thought better of it, and decided to spend my time today seeing Kawah Kamodjan. There are a number of trips that one can make from Garoet into the numerous mountains, up craters, etc.

            The boy brought me early coffee at five o’clock. I got up about half past and had breakfast and was ready to leave the hotel by six o’clock. Then, there was about an hour’s ride in the motor to a little village called Tjiparai where one has to leave the car and do the rest of the trip on a horse or by hoofing it. There were no horses to be had so I had to walk. At the hotel they said that this was more or less of a leisure trip, so I expected it would be only a mile or so to the famous Kawah Kamodjan boiling mud pools, geysers and fumeroles. It turned out instead to be a six mile walk each way. The road was a very rough one, rocky and extraordinarily steep as it twisted back and forth in snake-like fashion.

            But the trip is well worth the effort, for not only is the scenery magnificent, but one also gets a splendid idea of what a real Java jungle is like. The road climbed up and up, until reaching the summit of a high ridge it paused, and ran along it’s top for a short distance as if to give the hiker an opportunity of enjoying the rich, gorgeous scene below him. The hundreds of rice terraces, glistening and sparkling as the sun’s rays were reflected on the surface of the water covering them, were a glorious sight. Behind the rice terraces rose high mountains. The smoke from the crater of the Pakandajan hung over the jungle in the form of a big yellowish white cloud. Then, down, plunged the trail on the other side of the ridge into a big ravine, which was one dense mass of foliage. It was as thick as could be, dripping wet and had a very damp, fragrant odor that seemed like a powerful drug.

            Soon we came to a little resting place in the form of a wooden Tea House I say “we”. For I had hired a boy, when leaving the car, to go with me to carry my camera and lunch basket. At this little rest house I had a couple of sandwiches, and then continued on up hill toward our destination. We reached a large grassy plain half an hour later. This seemed not unlike an English park. Passing a small picturesque little village, which seemed dirtier than the native quarters in the cities, we entered a primeval forest. It was very beautiful with large, solemn, impressive trees covered with mosses and orchids. Not long after we reached some mud holes, and finally Kawah Kamodjan itself. Here I got a chap to guide me around. For one who has seen Yellowstone the Kawah Kamodjan is a waste of time. The geysers don’t begin to compare with ours. I had a thorough look around; and while as I say, the place itself was disappointing, the scenery on the way certainly was magnificent enough to make the trip worth while.

            After a short rest we started back, reaching the automobile some two hours later, and getting back to the hotel about 1:30. On arrival I had lunch and then took a well earned siesta. On waking I had tea, and a work-out, then took a walk around the hotel gardens. It was too far to walk to the village, so I read until dinner time. At eight o’clock I dined by my lonesome and then wrote postal cards. It was about eleven o’clock before I went to bed.

            I was rather provoked when the boy who took my laundry yesterday, and promised to have it done by tonight, brought it back soaking wet, and of course, not pressed. His excuse was that it rained this afternoon, when the crazy fool knows, as well as I do, that it rains

here every afternoon. I couldn’t pack the things in my suitcase, so had the boy pack them in a basket, and then, cutting his bill in half, I paid him.

            It is a little lonely, at times, here in Java for there are no English people. At least, I haven’t run across any as yet. The Dutch hotel manager can speak a few words, but it is rather difficult to carry on a conversation with him.

            I have to make an early start in the morning for the train 1eaves at 6:l5 A.M.

Garoet to Djokja

Saturday, May 22^nd, 1926.

            This being called at five o’clock, before the sun gets up, is becoming none too pleasant a habit. I had breakfast at five thirty, or rather coffee and toast, and got down to the station, which is about 3½ miles from the hotel, about 6:10. The train left at 6:15 for Djokja. The trip takes about seven hours, but one doesn’t mind it a great deal for the scenery is so lovely. The cinders and dust, though, are not a pleasure by any means. I had breakfast on the train about nine o’clock. The scenery was much like what I Saw from Buitenzorg to Garoet.

            Arriving at Djokjakarta, or Djokja as the place is usually called, about 1:30 I got into a bus and motored over to the Grand Hotel de Djokja about two blocks away. The hotel is typical of all those one finds in Java. There is one big building that contains a dining room, lounge and reading room, while strung out in two long lines, like wings of a house, are a number of litt1e individual one story houses. Each has a big room with a porch in front. Off the room is a little cement two by four with a tile tub two feet long, wide and deep. This is the bath tub which one breaks his neck trying to get into. The beds are tremendous and a mosquito net hangs from a prolongation of the four bed posts. Yes— the rooms are quite nice on the whole!

            I had lunch at the hotel on arrival and then, as it was scorching hot, decided on a siesta and slept until four o’clock. As usual I had tea, a work—out, bath and shave, and then went out to look over the town. I hired a car and motored through the native quarters. Instead, of being one avenue of dirty houses without a sign of vegetation, one is rather surprised, to see that each house is surrounded by a dozen or more banana trees and palms. These are in turn enclosed by a bamboo network of fences. The houses themselves, are a sort of thatched work made out of dried palms and rattan. The pieces of dried bamboo are woven together in a criss-cross fashion. On the whole these queer houses, shaded by much vegetation, are quite cool and comfortable looking.

            The people, too, are quite unique. Nearly all of them are thin, short, and of a light brown complexion. Dressed in brilliant colored skirts and batik they are very interesting to a new-comer. All the women have a child or two or three with them. The baby is slung in a

piece of batik that, going about the woman’s shoulder, hangs down around the opposite thigh. The child, therefore, supported by this sling, sits astride his mother’s thigh. I have never seen so many kids.

            Djokja is 335 miles west of Batavia and. has a population of about 103,000. In the center of the city is the Kraton, or Palace of the Sultan, but the Dutch Resident – known as the “Elder Brother” — is the real ruler. The Water Castle, which is one of the sights of Djokja, used to be the center of a gay and luxurious life when the Sultan and his court ladies stepped out, but now the place is nothing but ruins. I motored past there, and then drove through the suburbs of Djokja where are many and beautiful and clean looking houses. I know father would love Java, for it is as spick and span as it can be. And everywhere there is wonderful, green, tropical vegetation, plants and cool streams.

            On the way back to the hotel I saw, what I thought was, a bargain in the way of a victrola and feeling a little lonely I decided that it would be a good investment. On arriving at the hotel I looked at an exhibition of Javanese Arts, but didn’t see anything I cared particularly about buying. Dinner was at eight o’clock, after which time I went to bed and not to the movies as I had intended. I felt very tired, these hot days wear a person out. The Dutch do not believe in fans. They think that the draft caused by them is what gives most people fever. Consequently the rooms are very hot and, there is no way of cooling them.

            A word about Java while I have the time. Java is the most important of all the islands of the Dutch East Indies, whose total area is about one quarter the size of the U.S.A., although it isn’t the largest. All the islands have a central mountain region, a coastal plain, and intermediate hill country. The population of Java is 35,000,000, making it the most densely populated country in the world. The unit of value is the guilder or florin, equal to 40 cents U.S. gold.

            Agriculture is the chief industry. The principal crops are coffee, tea, tobacco, quinine, rubber, and spices. Also rice, corn, sugar etc. In spite of the large amount of rice raised, more has to be imported to feed the tremendous population.

            Today is John’s birthday. They sail for Australia today from Surabaya.

Djokja

Sunday, May 23^rd, 1926.

            Up this morning at 6:30. “No rest for the wicked”, they say. But I’d rather see the sights while it is cool and rest during the heat of the day. I had breakfast at 7:30 and by eight o’clock I was climbing into the car to motor out to the world, famous Boroboedoer Temple, which can be spelled about a thousand different ways. It is a little over 30 miles from Djokja, the road leads through many quaint and picturesque little villages. On the way to Boroboedoer we passed the Mendoet Temple, I got out and walked around it taking a few snaps, and then went inside. It was discovered by the Dutch Resident in 1835 and was restored in 1897. It is built in the form of a pyramid, elaborately sculptured and in an inner chamber has three large statues. The middle one is of Buddha, and as it is about ten times life size, is very impressive.

            The gigantic remains of the Boroboedoer Temple, built in the 8th or 9th century under Hindu architects, is about a mile from the Mendoet Temple. The Temple is made up of sculptured galleries built four square around a hill which forms the cone of the stupa. On top are three terraces, the uppermost one having a dagoba in the center. The sustaining walls of the galleries are covered with bas reliefs illustrating various episodes in the life of Buddha. Gargoyles decorate the angles and delicate decorations like flowers, buds and animals line the bas reliefs. It is a wonderful sight -these enormous old ruins, lost for years when they were completely covered. up with dirt, and surrounded by the thickest of jungles. In the 16th century, when Buddhism in Java was over-thrown by Mohammedanism, this temple was buried to preserve it from the hand of the destroyer. While not equal in size, so they say, to Angkorwat in Cambodia, it is one of the greatest of Buddhistic monuments.

            I thoroughly enjoyed my visit to Boroboedoer. The detail carving in the bas reliefs is exceptionally good. I tried a few pictures of it. A guide insisted on following me all over the place, for I saw every bit of the temple, and when I left I didn’t give him a cent, for I told him several times to beat it — that I didn’t want him.

            It was about noon when I got back to the hotel. I did a little diary writing and then had lunch, after which I continued with my diary writing. This was followed by a siesta and the usual tea, work-out, shave and bath. Before dinner I took a long walk about Djokja. The people here are the real Javanese, so I was quite interested to get a good look at them. Dinner I had about eight o’clock, and then getting a “dosado” (carriage), I drove to the club where some movies were being shown. It was quite a good show — Zane Grey’s “Wanderers of the Waste Lands”. I expected it to be terrible, so was pleasantly surprised. When the pictures were over I went back to the hotel to bed. I don’t mind the Dutch Wife so much now and am becoming quite used to her. 

Djokja to Batavia

Monday, May 24^th, 1926.

            The boy called me at 5:30 and I had breakfast at six O’clock. The train for Batavia left at 6:38 A.M. There are through cars, so no changing is necessary. The route back to Batavia was via Cheribon along the sea, so the country was flat, and while the scenery was very beautiful it didn’t compare with that of the line to Garoet. I had breakfast and, lunch on the train. The diners are quite good and one can eat, or order anything you want to eat, at any time of the day. There is no table d’hote or meal hour.

            I spent most of the time reading “War and Peace” and “Beau Geste”. I finished. the first 450 pages of “War and. Peace”, but have to wait until I get to Singapore to get the second volume. “Beau Geste” is a story Miss Piers, the sister of the Resident at Bangalore, gave us to read and it is jolly good. I met several Dutchmen on the train who could speak English, so talked with them for some time. Today, I learned, is a holiday as is every Monday following Whit Sunday, and all the banks, shops, etc. are closed.

            The ride to Batavia was uneventful. We arrived at half past four and I went to the Hotel der Nederlanden. There I got the last available room, which was none too good. I had tea, a work-out, shave and bath and then took a long walk around Batavia. It certainly is a nice town.

It is made up of two districts, Batavia proper and Weltevreden. The old town is made up Of business houses, banks, etc— also the natives live in this part of the city. The residential section for the Dutch and Europeans is called Weltevreden.

            Koningsplein (Kings Square) is a big open, park—like space in the center of the city. Here are wooden seats, fountains, etc. that make it a most attractive spot. It is surrounded by fine residences and government buildings. 

It was quite dark when I returned to the hotel. I sat out in front with the rest of the Dutch and listened to a band concert until about 8:30, when I had dinner. Afterwards I went to a cinema near by and saw a crazy picture that some one told me was wonderful. The proprietor of the place had a rather good idea. Between the reels there was a pause and a dozen waiters rushed out to get orders for drinks or ice cream. Of course it was very hot and, as there was a table between every two seats, one was inclined to order a lemonade to sip during the pictures. The theatre was well arranged, it was an outdoor affair and the moonlight on the trees was very lovely.

            It was after midnight when I went to bed. Batavia is much, much warmer than up country and I don’t like the wet, sticky atmosphere.

Batavia

Tuesday, May 25^th, 1926.

            I turned, up about 9:30 for breakfast, and discovered, to my horror, that the dining room was already closed so I got hold of the steward and had breakfast served in my room. These Dutch do things backwards; one has coffee for chota hazari, and tea for breakfast. The coffee is the queerest kind in the world. It is percolated and boiled down to a regular syrup. This is p1aced in bottles and kept for months. Then, when you want hot coffee, they pour out about two tablespoonfuls of this condensed stuff and add hot milk to it. Personally I don’t care much for it.

            After breakfast I hired a car and motored to the Rotterdam office and obtained my passage. Then I spent some time buying books and doing a little shopping. It was terrifically hot and muggy out. I went back to my room to cool off, but the silly Dutch do not believe in fans, so I was as hot as when outdoors. I had lunch shortly afterwards and then a siesta. When I got up I read until four O’clock at which time I had a work-out, bath and shave. Then I took a long walk about Batavia. It had cooled off a little, but was far from being comfortable.

            The Dutch policy is entirely different from that of the British. First, they mix and intermarry with the Javanese, consequently there is a half caste crowd which varies in shade from a dark brown to an almost fair complexion. The Dutch are mot permitted to buy land in Java. They can merely rent it for a period of 99 years from the government. What the government does not own the natives do. The Dutch believe that this method will be the most peaceful for the natives to own the land and work it, whereas if Europeans were allowed to purchase land the natives would sell their own in no time, and then they would become a restless mob. As it is they are land owners and are quite anxious for peace. It has its good points, of course, but, I must confess, I like the British methods better. I believe in keeping the natives in a subordinate position. “Familiarity breeds contempt”.

            I returned to the hotel in time to hear the band for half an hour before dinner. The Dutch all sit out in a garden in front of the hotel drinking their sun-downers before going in to dinner. They do not dress. Dinner is from 8:00 to 10:00 P.M. After eating I read “Beau Geste” until about 11:00 P.M., and then turned in. Dead tired!

This heat is bad business. I feel like a wet rag.

Sail from Batavia, for Singapore

Wednesday, May 26^th, 1926.

            It was as hot as ever when I awoke this morning, but I saw to it that I was up and dressed in time to have breakfast in the dining room. These Dutch are early risers and no breakfast is served after nine o’clock. I was quite amused when I sat down at the table. The

boy brought me about a dozen different varieties of cold meat, bread and butter. I thereupon called the head waiter and told him to immediately take away all this rubbish, and bring me some fried eggs, toast and coffee. A few minutes later an Englishman came down and sat at a table near mine. He proceeded to do exactly as I had done, and the head waiter, as well as all the Dutchmen, looked at us in astonishment.

            After eating I packed my things and finished reading “Beau Geste”. It is a top hole story. Then I paid my bill and departed for Tandjone Priok, the port of Batavia. The S.S. Kawi of the Rotterdam Lloyd is a lousy ship. In fact it is the oldest, and smallest in the line. I breezed down through crowds of drinking Dutchmen. Each one seemed fatter than the other. The steward told me to go to cabin 10 which I found occupied, and finally discovered that I was in a second class compartment in the stern. There were two other occupants- an Englishman and a Dutchman.

            I went up, on deck and hung around until the ship sailed at twelve o’clock. There were mobs of people going home on leave to Holland and still greater Crowds to see them off. The deck was one mass of baskets of flowers and new steamer chairs. The Kawi goes all the way to Rotterdam, and being only 5,000 tons and a regular tub into the bargain, I can’t say that I exactly envy the people on her.

            The Dutch are queer people. The men all wear their funny white suits, the collars of which button up tight around the neck, and, they look not unlike a minister’s outfit. Both men and women are fat, have rosy cheeks and jabber away a mile a minute. Everywhere one hears “Yah” and. “Nein”. We sailed on time and I looked over the ship thoroughly and confirmed my first impression. It is a rotten old barge. There was little or no sea, to speak of, and yet you would think that we were in a regular gale by the way she pitched and rolled.

            I read until lunch was served at one o’clock. I’ve been reading “The Rising Tide of Colour” by Stoddard, and although rather deep it is quite good. After lunch I met an American gentleman by the name of David Fairchild. He is evidently a well known botanist, and is connected with the National Geographic. He has traveled all over the world and is most interesting. His wife is the daughter of the late Mr. Bell who invented the telephone etc. His son, who is also with them, is about 20 years old, and is quite an entomologist. The whole trio is scientific to the nth degree. It was rather amusing talking to them, for from their conversation and ideas this fact is very evident. I spent the entire afternoon talking to them on all subjects. They have a house in Cocoanut Grove, Florida and know many people that I do. They have been traveling for two years and are on their way home via Europe. Mr. Fairchild. is especially interesting. He lives in Washington, D.C., and. is doing some work for the Department of Agriculture. Mrs. Fairchild is also very nice and reminds me a great deal of Mrs.P.A. The boy, Graham, is quite a different type. He has never been to college, is tall and rather gawky, wears glasses, is extremely nervous and rather eccentric. We gossiped until seven O’clock at which time I went below to clean up a bit. The old Kawi is rocking about to beat the band, and for no apparent reason, for there is only a moderate sea. I’d hate to be aboard in a gale.

            At dinner I met a Dutchman and his wife who have been in Borneo for the past five years in the oil business. They are quite nice people. I moved over to the Fairchilds’ table and am going to eat with them from now on. Dinner over we went up on deck and talked for some time. There was a beautiful moon. I read some of Mr. Stoddard’s book. Mr. Fairchild tells me that he is an “alarmist” and that his book isn’t much good as a lot of his statements are not accurate. “It is not a scientific work”, he says.

            It was very hot out. I got sleepier and. sleepier and finally turned in about eleven o’clock. I had hoped to sleep up on deck, but no one seemed to go to his cabin, so I decided that I was too tired to wait for them. The wind being on the other side, our cabin was extremely hot. My two pals were going to bed as I entered. Jellesma is a Dutchman who is very amusing – extremely humorous. Mr. Gwinnell, the Englishman, is also very nice. We talked until about l:30 the subject being the rubber question. It was rather entertaining. The Dutchman said that we Americans wouldn’t pay enough for rubber. He says that the right price is 60 cents a pound, U.S. money. At present the price is 48 cents. You see, the English have a system of prohibiting the export of rubber from places like Ceylon, when the price is below 1 and 9 pence. In this way they hope to cut down the supply of rubber and thus raise the price. But what do the Dutch do? Do they curtail their production? No! They sell all they can produce at the higher prices and reap the profits. Of course, this infuriates the British. It was most interesting hearing all the points of view. The Dutchman has 133,000 pounds of rubber which he wishes to sell. I had to laugh at him, particularly. He was very funny and said in front of the Englishman that the Dutch, unlike the British, weren’t trying to rob the Americans. He laughed at Mr. Firestone’s plan to grow rubber in Liberia and other places. Before the conversation was over Jellesma had given me about a hundred messages to Mr. Coolidge and Mr. Hoover, Mr. Hoover particularly, is disliked.

            About 1:30 we went to sleep, or rather tried to, for it was unbearably hot and the perspiration ran off me in buckets. It is very interesting, in a  way, traveling alone for you meet all sorts of people that you wouldn’t bother to talk to when you travel in a  party of four or five. But when you are alone you’ve got to pick up and meet people. It is too lonely otherwise. In this way you get many different points of view on life. I think it is quite an experience and is certainly broadening.

Sail from Batavia, for Singapore

Thursday, May 27^th, 1926.

That darn Dutchman was the cause of my getting little or no sleep last night. Not only did he keep Gwinnell and me awake by talking until all hours, but he also woke us up during the night when he went up on deck to try to sleep. I admit it was terrifically hot in the little cabin. The perspiration ran off me in streams, and there was no fan, nothing could be done except try to get to sleep and forget the heat. Then this morning the Dutchman woke us about six o’clock with some tea and an argument. He gave me a lot more messages for “your President”. He certainly is a queer fellow.

            After a bath I got dressed and had breakfast and then made a serious attack on my diary, which was, once more, about a week behind time. This business, and gossiping with the Fairchilds every now and then and a few hands of bridge in between times, took up the whole morning. We had lunch together at one o’clock.

            I am certainly fed up with this old tub of a boat. This afternoon she rocked about until half the passengers were sick, and there was scarcely a breeze. We are going back to Singapore on a course further east, I believe, for we didn’t run along side of chains of islands like we did going down to Java.

            I wrote diary, talked and read all afternoon. It was much too hot to take a siesta, although after tea I decided that what I needed was a good work-out. When I had accomplished this I took a bath and went up on deck to await dinner. Gwinnell is quite a nice chap. He was wounded three times in the late war, and I got him started on his experiences, which were most entertaining. After dinner the Fairchilds, Gwinnell and I sat around talking until a late hour, and Graham Fairchild told me a lot about his grandfather Graham Bell.

            Nothing of particular interest happened today, but I rather enjoyed the many conversations in spite of the fact that I think the Kawi is one of the worst ships I have ever been on. The food is only fair and I felt awfully nervous and restless. Shall be glad to get to Singapore in the morning. There are rumors that we will be there about 3:OO A.M., but aren’t expected to dock until later in the morning.

            It was considerably cooler tonight as the breeze coming from the southwest strikes our port cabin – thank heavens! I’d hate another night like the one I spent last night.

Arrive Singapore from Batavia

Friday, May 28^th, 1926.

By the time I got dressed this morning, we were already in dock. As it was only seven o’clock I decided to have breakfast on the ship and go up to the Raffles Hotel afterwards. Gwinnell and I had breakfast together, the Fairchilds having gone ashore. I then turned over all my luggage to the American express fellow who met the boat and he took it through the Customs and got an automobile for me. As the American express wasn’t open yet I went straight to the Raffles where I got a room and had five pieces of luggage I had stored there, sent to the room in the meantime I had a hair cut and then rushed down to dear old Amexco. There I found three letters from father and. one from Avery. This mail was very old most of it being dated about the middle of March, but as it missed me before, having been sent up to Penang by the American express it was, of course, considerably delayed at this end. I certainly was delighted to get news from home and literally devoured the letters.

            Reed, the manager of the American Express here, is a very nice chap. Also I saw Wilson, the fellow who came down from Calcutta with us on the Arankola and Edavana He has been transferred to this office. I discussed various future plans with them and got busy on my steamer reservations. It is lucky I got the Kawi back to Singapore for had I waited until Saturday’s boat I’d have missed the Porthos for Saigon, as it’s sailing date has been moved ahead.

            I went to the French Consul and got a new visa, which cost me twenty Straits dollars. The Porthos, which is to take me to Saigon, is supposed to sail Sunday afternoon. As she is 18,000 tons she ought to be quite comfortable. I stopped at a book store and looked over some new novels. I was unable to get the second volume of “War and Peace”- darn it!

            During the morning business I hired a rickshaw for a short while and when I went to pay the boy, as he had been a good fast one, I gave him 40 cents instead of 30 (20 cents U.S.) and the wretch had the nerve to hold out his hand and ask indignantly for 50 cents. So I calmly reached in my pocket and then stretching out my hand toward his, that held the four dimes, as if I was going to give him another one, I took a dime away from him leaving him with 30 cents. There was a sputtering but I turned my back on him and went into a store.

            I had, lunch with Wilson at the hotel about one o’clock and then, as it was very hot out and I was tired, I decided on a. siesta. I slept until about 4:30 when I had tea and dressed. Wilson returned from the office about this time and hiring a car we drove out to the Sea View Hotel for a swim. There is a place all fenced off to keep out the sharks, a fine diving platform, and all, only it was low tide and too shallow to go in, so we had to give up the swimming idea. Instead we took a motor drive around Singapore going through the Botanical gardens. Parts of Singapore are certainly as dirty as they can be.

            We didn‘t dress for dinner but ate early, about 7:30, after which we got our swimming suits and drove out to Sea View. I waited until about 9:30 before going in. The water was great – just as warm and nice as could be. But what made the whole thing was a wonderful full moon, and an excellent orchestra. There was a dance going on at the hotel which is right down on the ocean next to the swimming p1ace. The air and water were both the same temperature, so one wasn’t any colder in or out. We spent about an hour splashing around in the silvery water and listening to good music. Gosh! It was divine. It made me feel just a wee bit like taking the next through boat to the good old U.S.A.

            We got back to the hotel a little before midnight and promptly went to bed. The Porthos has been delayed. and. isn’t sailing until 6:00 A.M. Monday morning, instead of Sunday afternoon. The Raffles Hotel isn’t too hot. I think the Europe, where the Fairchilds are staying, is better. I’d move down there if I wasn’t going to be here

for so short a time.

Singapore

Saturday, May 29^th, 1926.

About nine O’clock, after breakfast, I went down to the American Express to see about my tickets, etc. I have decided to return to the States on the C.P. as it only takes 9 days from Yokohama to Vancouver, while the Dollar boats take 16 days. I wanted to stop at Honolula but as the Dollar boats are only there for 12 hours the week’s difference in time hardly justifies it. I bought my steamer passage from Singapore right through to Vancouver.

            The cable I sent to father yesterday got off all right, but just listen to this for dumbness; I sent a cable to Middlebury, Connecticut and when I got to the American Express office this morning the chap there said that the post Office had just sent word back that they couldn’t find any Middlebury, Connecticut so sent the cable to Middlebury, Pennsylvania instead. Can you beat that? Well, I went right over to the Post Office myself, got hold of the superintendent and told him what I thought of his Post Office. I said he might just as well have sent the cable to Middlebury, Mexico or South America. He was most apologetic and blamed it on some clerk. He agreed to send a new cable at once without charge.

            Then I went to the Japanese Consul and got a new visa, as the old one is out of date. This cost 20 Straits. I bought some more books and cinema kodak films because I’m afraid I won’t be able to get any in Saigon. There was quite a bit to do and I was busy the whole morning fixing up one shauri after another. I stopped in to see the Fairchilds but they were all out, gathering new plants and bugs I guess.

            I had lunch at the hotel with Wilson about 1:30, after which he took a siesta while I busied myself checking up my expense account and doing a little writing. The temperature here in Singapore is pretty high averaging around 95˚ or so. The minimum is about 85˚ to 87˚ but the heat doesn’t seem to bother me as much as it did in Batavia.

            About 4:3O I went to the Europe Hotel and called on the Fairchilds and invited them to take a drive with me. We went out to the Sea View and back inland. The suburbs of Singapore are pretty awful and it is only when one gets really out into the country that it is nice. Some of the places, houses, etc. remind me a Great deal of Miami. We had a nice ride getting back to Singapore about seven o’clock.

            I had a work—out and then dressed for dinner which Wilson and I had about 8:3O, after which we went to see “North of 36’. It is quite an old picture for I saw it several years ago. When we got back to the Raffles an American orchestra was playing. It was quite good so we sat down and you can imagine how mortified I was when an American, who was as drunk as he could be, started shouting “Sweet papa, shake your feet,” etc. You could hear him all over the place. Everyone was more or les sober and I could hear remarks about Americans on all sides. I was so mad I could have taken the drunkard out and beat him. It is Americans of that sort, loud, boasty, rah rah boys, that give Americans tourists such a rotten reputation. The orchestra stopped shortly after midnight and I went to bed.

Singapore

Sunday, May 30^th, 1926.

I had breakfast rather late this morning for I was quite tired after last night. The fool room boy awakened me at 6:30 with tea. Why don’t they come around at 4:30 or so? — you’d feel just about as much like tea then as you do at 6:30. Wilson and I had breakfast together and left at once for Sea View for a swim. The tide was still coming in and the water was wonderful. There was quite a Sunday crowd and a band was playing, so it was quite jolly. I met Gwinnell in the water. He is the chap who came up from Batavia with me. I was amazed to see that very few bothered about wearing topies and I sat out for quite a while without one expecting every minute to get a sun stroke. When I first went in I was wondering whether the Lido bathing suit that I purchased at Nice wouldn’t be a little out of place in Singapore, but I discovered that many others had as little on as I did.

            We got back to the hotel about one o’clock. I felt as hungry as a wolf, but had to pack my luggage and shave before having tiffin as the hotel boy wanted to take my things down to the Porthos. Mrs. Fairchild telephoned me to say that they would call for me at 3:30 if I wou1d like to take a motor drive with them; which invitation I accepted.

            The Fairchilds are very charming people and I certainly have enjoyed their company here in Singapore as well as on the Kawi. Mrs. Fairchild has quite a sense of humor and is great fun. I told, them my experiences since I left home. I didn’t want to bore them but they kept asking me to tell them more and more. I thought Mr. Fairchild, would die laughing when, after finishing the Naples experience, I told him about Bill’s wire of “Confine efforts to collecting Spanish desks. Leave jewelry alone.” He simply roared in spite of the fact that he was enraged over the whole affair and put a great deal of blame on Mrs. Grant to whom he said he would send a bill if he were us.

            Mrs. Fairchild is the daughter of the great Alexander Graham Bell, and is a most interesting woman. She reminds me so much of Mrs.P.A. Her manner, conversation and all are so similar.

            We drove around Singapore and then to the hospital where we left “Beau Geste” for friend of Mr. Fairchild’s who is sick. The hospital is enormous and one of the most modern that I have ever seen. Then we drove out into the country. We stooped and bought some magnificent orchids, guess how much they cost? Fifteen cents Straits money, which is about 25 cents U.S., for a dozen can you beat that?

            The Chinese Temple which we visited, is supposed to be the largest outside of China and was exceedingly fascinating. It is the most oriental thing I have seen as yet. On every little corner and rafter there is some sort of decoration. The detail work is certainly unique. Inside the Temple were two enormous idols representing the wind and two representing the rain. They were made of wood and covered with gilt. They were, I should guess, about fifteen feet high and each one was stepping on two little figures supposed to be devils. These idols, as well as great lamps, drums, vases and a collection of all sorts of trinkets, figures and pictures, decorated the sides of the Temple, while in the center was a big laughing Buddha. I most naturally supposed that this was the whole Temple and was surprised to find that it was just a sort of gate to another, even larger, Temple behind it, separated from it by a court which at one time must have been a beautiful sight when filled with flowers but which has been sadly neglected in this day and age. In this second Temple were three marble idols of Buddha plus all that we had seen in the first Temple. Incense and punk were burning everywhere? Behind this temple was still another one and off from it on the sides were four or five more separate temples, all with idols and other interesting things.

            We spent an hour or so looking at the many beautiful articles in the temples, but the place is terribly run down and the many priests that hang around it are just parasites who make their living by begging for money from the visitors. There was a Chinese pig outside the temple that was about as disgusting a sight as I have seen. It was so fat its stomach dragged on the ground.

            On leaving the temple we passed a native rope making institution which I got out to see. Three long pieces of string are stretched in lines about two hundred feet long than a chap sits at one end and by turning a fly wheel twists these separate strings around at a great rate and finally the three are wound into one rope.

            Another interesting thing we saw in Singapore was the street cars. They are regular busses having rubber tires like an automobile and no tracks. Overhead is an electric trolly wire. The bus just toots all over the road. It is quite a sight.

            The native Quarters— especially the Chinese, who seem to make up about 99/100 of the population of Singapore, are very dirty. I should christen Singapore as the city of a million odors or smells. After smelling stench from rotten pineapples outside the pineapple factory, my taste for that fruit has vanished. We motored all around Singapore finally landing at a little Jap restaurant where we had a wretched cup of tea. Reaching the Europe Hotel, where the Fairchilds are staying, about seven o’clock I left them and dashed back to the Raff1es to say goodbye to Wilson. It was a bad plan for at the office I was presented with a bill of $6.OO that had been overlooked when making up the bill that I had paid at noon.

            I went back to the Europe about eight o’clock and Graham and I had an excellent dinner. Mr. and Mrs. Fairchilds were tired out so didn’t come down to the dining room. When we finished, eating we intended going to a cinema but there was nothing worth seeing so abandoned that plan. We went up to Mrs. Fairchild’s room and there found Mrs. Fairchild busy sorting out a number of stamps. She had heard me say that my nephew was saving stamps and as she had a lot of duplicates was going to give them to me. I spent the whole evening there sorting stamps. Mr. Fairchild sat around kidding us. He is a scream and reminds me a lot of Bill. I got to laughing so hard I couldn’t do a thing. All the Fairchilds are peaches. I hate to leave them. I promised Mr. F. that I’d send him a few tiger hairs to prove my future stories. I left them about eleven o’clock and drove down to the dock where the Porthos was waiting. She seems like a wonderful ship, and my cabin is an outside one, large and in the center of the ship, — top deck. Couldn’t ask for anything better. Good night.

Sail from Singapore for Saigon

Monday, May 31^st, 1926.

To continue where I left off last night the Porthos is great! It is a real ship — 18,000 tons or so. My cabin is fine. I turned in last night soon after getting on board. It seemed too good to be true— and so it was. I had just fallen asleep when I was awakened by a jabbering Frenchman who said I was in the wrong cabin “Then followed a series of four or five interrupted sleeps, until finally I became angry and threw out the whole outfit, stewards, passengers, and room boys that had collected in my cabin, locked the door and turned out the light. That ended it. I wasn’t annoyed any more – had the large two berth cabin to myself and I slept soundly until seven O’clock this morning.

            We were just leaving Singapore when I woke up. I got up about 8:30, had breakfast and then looked over the ship. She is a peach, and much to my surprise, being a French liner- very clean and nice. Golly! A good big ship is certainly wonderful after the little 3,000 and 4,000 ton boats we have been traveling on lately. About ten’ o’clock I went up to the lounge where I got out my diary and settled down to some writing.

            I was greatly surprised when lunch was announced at 11:30. But I suppose these French people have queer ways of doing things. I am at a table for three with two Dutchmen who are bound for Hong Kong. The food was quite good. I hope it keeps up.

            After lunch I read Milton Works’ new book on bridge and studied the new 1926 laws. Then I took a siesta for a couple of hours followed by more reading and diary writing. At six o’clock I went down to my cabin and had a work-out and bath.

            It was a real pleasure to be on the Porthos. She is a fine big ship and does not roll and pitch at every little wave. The sea is very calm and we are steaming slowly, very slowly, but surely toward Saigon where we are due the day after tomorrow.

            I was late for dinner and almost died of the heat having put on a dinner coat. Another man has been put at our table. No one spoke during the entire meal and it was a very boring affair I take back all I said about the good food this noon. Dinner was lousy. They never serve any fresh vegetables and the bread consists of rotten rolls made about three weeks ago. After dinner some chap put on a movie show. He only had one picture showing the silk industry in Japan. A few of the people danced to victrola music. I took a mile walk around the deck, then read until eleven o’clock when I turned in. There was a beautiful moon and the sea was as calm and nice as one could wish for.

At Sea, Singapore to Saigon

Tuesday, June 1^st, 1926.

            Well, today is Scytha’s birthday. I got up about eight o’clock and had a miserable petit dejeuner. Why the French don’t serve a real breakfast is more than I can find out, and, they don’t even give you before you chota hazari before you get up. No one else was in the dining room so I ate breakfast alone.

            On deck I met one of the Dutchmen who sits at my table, and had a long conversation with him. He seems quite a nice chap – interested in tobacco. He is on his way to Holland via U.S.A. He owns a large tobacco plantation in Sumatra. I also met the other Dutchman. He is a great big fellow about six feet three inches tall and is in the Produce business. He lives in Shanghai and exports beans, etc. The fourth member of the party at our table is an American which in fact I didn’t discover until lunch time. I had taken him for a big sore head of a Swede. As a matter of fact, he is from Minnesota. When I found out that he lived in the States I asked him which state he came from and he said, “the one furthest north”. It seems that a little piece of Minnesota runs up into Canada. He said that he presumed. I was an Englishman and seemed quite surprised to find out that I was from the U.S.A. He is, or has been, connected with the Consular Service and is in the Army Air Service. He is the type of man I don’t care for.  I found out that he has also been hunting in Kenya Colony and from the way he talks you would think he was the only man who ever went to Africa. He is loud, sulky and boastful. He knows, as he says, such people as Mr.Louis Swift, J.O. Armour, knows all about hunting, sugar business, Wall Street, Florida and what not. In fact he is a regular 2nd edition of the encyclopedia. I intend to find out more about him before the trip is over. He told me at lunch, with a great show of authority, that all Dollar Line ships stopped at Honolulu for two and a half days. I maintained they were only there for twelve hours. In my cabin I had a folder stating that the stop in Honolulu was only a twelve hour one, and I intend proving my point at tea time.

            This morning until 11:30 A.M. I spent talking to one of the Dutchmen and after tiffin talked to this American. Then I read for awhile and took a siesta until tea time. The Porthos goes along faster than I thought she did. We covered 348 miles yesterday and are due in Saigon tomorrow noon.

            I had my regular work-out bath and. shave but did not dress for dinner. Mr.Van Houts, the Dutchman, proved to be most interesting and treated me to a bottle of champagne. The other man, whom I thought was a Dutchman, turned out to be a Dane. The American – Colonel Rice — entertained all of us with his stories. He seems to have a personal acquaintance with all the Presidents from Roosevelt down. Oh yes- he and Roosevelt were buddies! And President Coolidge; well, the last time he went on a week end trip with him aboard the Mayflower,- Colonel Rice is that sort of a man. He may be a well known person in the States but I never heard of him before and all I can say is that he doesn’t mind telling you who or what he is. He certainly seems to know what he is talking about or else is a very clever bluffer. I tried to catch him up several times but couldn’t. He is one of the most extraordinary men, if he isn’t the biggest liar that I’ve ever met. He almost ate me alive after dinner when, discussing airplane motors, I said that I believed the Rolls Royce airplane motor had done about as well as any during the war. According to him even the Rolls Royce automobile is a farce. Well, I didn’t argue with him.

The Dane spied a couple of French girls he wanted to meet but didn’t have the nerve to introduce himself. He said this in front of Colonel Rice. Believe me Colonel Rice wasn’t bashful. He stepped right up and walked off with one under each arm, while the Dutchman, the Dane and myself looked at one another with surprise, envy and amusement.

            There was a dance on board but I didn’t participate. It was a lovely moonlight night. The sea was very calm. Being near Saigon we are surrounded by little islands which serve as breakwaters.

            It was quite late- about two o’clock—when I went to bed. The trip from Singapore to Saigon has been very nice. The sea has been calm and the Porthos is a fine ship. They say these French liners roll like the devil in rough water but this one certainly seems steady to me.

Arrive Saigon

Wednesday, June 2^nd, 1926. 

            When I awoke this morning and looked out of the port hole I saw that the Porthos was anchored. Evidently this little muddy stream, only about 100 yards wide, was the Saigon river, and we had come 40 miles upstream during the night. Saigon, the Capitol of Cochin-China and Indo-China, is, as you know, not on the sea but on the Saigon River. 

            I dressed hurriedly, and after le petit dejeuner I went ashore to inquire about the hunting, leaving all my luggage aboard until I was able to get the right dope and decide whether to remain in Saigon or not. Although it couldn’t’ have been more than seven o’clock when I went ashore practically everyone had left the Porthos, which remains here for three days before proceeding to Hong Kong.

            One glimpse of Saigon and the natives convinced me that here was an absolutely new country as different from India as Java is from Ceylon. I got a rickshaw and went direct to the American Consul. In Saigon the stucco houses are painted in bright colors and the roads are macadamized, but the thing that struck me was the trees. They lined the streets, were very green, enormous, and met at a great distance above the ground. They had a cool, soothing effect that made the whole place seem like a park. Wherever the French are, one sees signs of “Coffier pour Dames et Monsiers” etc. I don’t think anyone would ever mistake a French town. From the coolies to the women who hang around the hotel- all have a typical French manner.

            I found the American Consul still in bed. However, he put on a bath robe and came down to see me. He seems like a rather nice chap. My first impression of him was that while he is congenial enough I don’t imagine he has a great deal of ability. He didn’t know much about hunting as he has only been out here for two months, but suggested I see Mr. White at the Continental Hotel. He is out here for the Museum of Natural History of New York. 

            At the hotel I found Mr. White still in bed. But likewise he asked me to come in. He is a perfectly enormous man, a regular giant being six feet eight. I felt like a peanut. From him I got the dope- which is; Des Fosses is down in Borneo on some reptile hunting expedition that Mr. Fairchild told me about, and he won’t be back here until September. White says, though, that Des Fosses is a wonder and the best hunter out here. Francois Millet, the head of the forest, isn’t so well liked. White said that he would charge me like the devil and that for two weeks it wouldn’t be worth while as they have recently passed new hunting laws about licenses etc. that make hunting much more expensive. Those are the only two possibilities that White knew of. He has been out here for about six years and hunts both for the Field Museum and the Museum of Natural History. He has just returned from up country where he spent a couple of weeks hunting, and brought back three tigers with him. Also he brought back a case of malaria. He was intending to on a long expedition but what forced to give it up when he came down with the fever. 

            I told him exactly how much time I had and what I wanted to do. He was a perfect peach and told me all the dope about hunting here. I spent over an hour talking to him. He told me all about his experiences hunting in Abyssinia, etc. Finally he said he would go up country with me in a minute to shoot if he didn’t have such a bad case of fever. It was evident that he was a sick man. The perspiration ran off him as if he were in a shower bath. He said that malaria was bad up in the hills and that I would as likely get it as a not; that tiger showing alone wasn’t much fun, etc. But he assured me that I if wanted to go alone, in spite of all he said, I’d get some good hunting, that there were a lot of tigers and that he’d help me all he could. 

            Now, I am very keen on getting a tiger so at once decided to make the trip. White said that there was no one who could speak English, but that he could get me a car with a driver who spoke French. The place where I am going to shoot is called Djiring east of Saigon, in the hills 3,000 feet above sea level I think.

            While White was dressing I went to the police and tried to get a permit for my rifles, which I found I was unable to get until this afternoon. However, I went down to the Porthos and got my luggage and tipped my room steward, etc. The customs didn’t bother me much as I didn’t have any opium. I went up to the Continental Hotel, which, although the best in Saigon, is a filthy hole. There I obtained a room and shower bath on the top floor. It was hotter that the devil both inside and outside the hotel. 

            I met White at eleven o’clock and we talked things over. He said that there was a place in Djiring where I could sleep and get food, and with the automobile could motor out to the kills I put out for the tigers. You see, you kill a sambur, called “connay” in Indo-China, and put it in the jungle, staking it down etc. All this White carefully explained to me in great detail, about how to stake down a kill etc. Then about fifteen yards away you build a boma similar to the ones we used in Africa. Every morning you visit these kills. If a tiger has been at any one of them you spend the day in the boma waiting for him to return. After eating, a tiger only goes about 200 yards and then waits for several hours before returning. He does not feed at any particular time, so when you see he has been at a kill you much be patient and sit down and wait for him to return. White told me a million and one things about paying coolies, building bomas, tying down the kill, shooting bait at night, etc., all of which would be uninteresting to one who isn’t particularly enthusiastic about hunting. I shall not forget what I have learned in the hunting business. White said that there would be a lot to do and that I wouldn’t be able to start before Friday. Once more he warned me about he shooting being tough work. Malaria, tigers, etc, but I am determined to have a go at it. 

            I forgot to mention the fact that I found a lot of mail at the hotel waiting for me. Three letters from father, two from Faith and one from Avery. I was delighted. Also there was a cable from father which I answered.

            I lunched with White and a friend of his who works here for the Standard Oil company of New York. He is a nice Hebrew (I think) gentlemen from Boston named Keefe. After lunch

White drew maps of the country for me, gave me more advice, lent me a lot of his kit, and, told me what I needed to purchase. Then he went to bed for his fever had come back and I set out to get some of the many shauries fixed up. I got my permit for my rifles, and spent an hour at the bank trying to get a few Straits dollars changed into Indo-China dollars which have practically the same value — 56 cents gold.

            I finally arrived, back at the hotel about four o’clock and had some tea. At five I met White again and also Van Houts whom I invited to dine with me at seven o’clock. Then I had a work-out, bath and shave and by seven was eating dinner. The Dutchman and. I went to the movies afterward. It was Mary Pickford in something, but was rotten. We left before it was over. Van Houts met a couple of French girls whom he started to kid along. I was too tired to listen to him so said. I thought I’d chase along to bed and would see him tomorrow. It was quite hot out, but there are punkahs in Indo-China-thank heaven. 

Saigon

Thursday, June 3^rd, 1926. 

Cy’s Birthday

            Dear old Cy, twenty six years old. How time f1ies!

Well, I got up early this morning and started in fixing up shauries. There was a lot to be done, suit cases repacked, cable bought for tying down the kills, letters of credit cashed, and a hundred and one other things. I didn’t get a chance to rim around sight seeing, was too busy getting ready to go up country. One thing that is a nuisance is that the Moi natives won’t take paper money, so one has to pack about $3O.OO worth of silver money with him which is quite a burden.

            I had tiffin at 11:30 with White and Keefe and spent the afternoon buying films, and getting some of White’s old kit patched up. I intended to go over to the zoo but didn’t have time. The chauffeur came around and I interviewed him through White. He seems like a good enough sort of fellow, but doesn’t speak a word of English. I’m going to have a sweet time of it I can see. White advised me to make an early start in the morning so I told the chauffeur that I

would leave at 3:00 A.M.

            At four o’clock I had tea with White and. Van Houts. Then I sent off a couple of cables, paid my hotel bill and wrote letters. Before dinner I had. a work-out, shave and bath and. then ate by my lonesome. After dinner I sat around listening to a rotten orchestra for some time. Then I turned n about eleven o’clock, but couldn’t get to sleep to save my life. It was terrifically hot. I guess I was too excited about the hunting.

Saigon to Djiring

Friday, June 4^th, 1926. 

            The boy called me at 2:30 A.M. this morning. He really didn’t have to call me for I hadn’t as yet gotten to sleep. Not once did I even doze off. I took a cold shower and as I had arranged everything last night, before going to bed. I was ready to start at 3:00 A.M.

The chauffeur was on’ time and after packing my two suitcases and the rest of my kit into the car we started. off. Besides the chauffeur there was a little kid who went with us to put water in the auto, etc. The chauffeur is quite well to do owning three cars. He is an Annamite. The car that I had was a Delage.

            During the early part of the morning it was too dark to see much of the scenery, and by the time dawn started to break we had left Saigon many kilometers back of us. The road was excellent and we dashed along about 40 miles an hour. We passed some wonderful rubber plantations. The trees seem larger than any I saw in Ceylon and. the estates are very well kept up. The trees are planted in flawless rows for miles it seems, and. all the weeds are cut out below them. It was a nice sight to see such splendid order. Soon we had left all the European plantations behind and were traveling through wild jungles. Dozens of different kinds of palms and. vines made a regular hammock that lined both sides of the road..

            It was about six o’clock by this time and. I found myself dozing off for a few seconds only to be awakened by the razzing and altogether too loud., bellowing of the motor horn. I would wake up with a start. It seems that all the natives have a love for anything that works by electricity and would much prefer an electric horn to a regular boche one. But the annoying part is that they blow it out of habit whether there is anything in the road. or not.

            At nine o’clock we reached Phantiet which is about 200 kilometers from Saigon. I stopped at a dirty little Inn, or Road House for breakfast. I must say I was dead tired by this time and proceeded to fall asleep in the chair while the boy was cooking some eggs. The chauffeur went away to change some paper money into silver for me, and to fill up with, “essence”,- which is what they call gasoline over here. After eating some eggs and drinking some terrible coffee I again fell asleep until the chauffeur returned about an hour later. Oh boy!- was it hot.

            By ten o’clock we were on the way once more. After leaving Phantiet we soon were in the hills and. the ride to Djtring was mostly an uphill one. The scenery was really magnificent. The hills reminded me a great deal of the ones around Gold Beach. They are about the same height. Only instead, of being covered with enormous firs, they are snug under a blanket of green jungle and tall grass. As we climbed up and up we got a better view. Way off in the distance one could see the hazy water of the South China Sea, while straight ahead was a waving field of green hills behind which towered a dark line of higher mountains. Truly it was a beautiful sigh. 

            We passed through several little Moi villages. The natives are quite primitive and neither men nor women wear any clothes above the waist. The children, of course, don’t wear anything. The average Moi while having about the same color skin as the Javanese, is much taller and stronger looking except for the natives in Saigon itself. There they are measly looking specimens and wonders how they have strength to pull the rickshaws. 

            Phantiet is full of people from Annam and I ought not to pass by without a word, about them. All are dressed in black shiny cloth which covers the entire body. Both men and women wear baggy trousers. On their heads they wear big, cone shaped hats made of interwoven palm leaves or thatched material. These queer hats have a diameter of two feet at the base and are enormous. It is amazing to see how many of the people are dressed identically the same. Along the roads just outside the city one passes many of them carrying their goods to market. Everything is carried by means of a five or six foot pole which is balanced on one shoulder. At each end are baskets suspended by several strings, and. in these baskets are loaded. the various material that the native carries. These baskets only clear the ground by about six inches and. are just far enough forward and. back of the carrier’s feet so that they do not interfere with his walking.

            Another interesting thing I saw was a funeral procession. The casket was covered, with flowers, bits of colored cloth, beads and what not. Before it was carried. an altar-like table which contains bananas, mangosteens and other varieties of fruit. All about the casket people were carrying flags, and, banners with dragons and other weird designs on them. Candles were burning and. incense was smoking away at great rate. Last, but not least by any means, one was aware of a general hub-bub. Two or three drummers were beating away at big drums for all they were worth. I’ve never heard such a racket. I’ve heard that a funeral is a big celebration over here, and. for the family it means just one less mouth to feed.

            Well, on we went. The road after leaving the Province of Cochin-China, wasn’t so good., although it wasn’t bad by any means. French Indo-China is divided into five states. There is the Colony of Cochin—China and the protectorates of the Annam, Tonkin, Laos, Cambodia and. the leased territory of Kwanchow. Laos is very difficult to get into – like Nepal in India one needs special permits. The total population is about 20 million,- half that of France; and in area. French Indo-China is a little larger then France itself. Indo-China is an agricultural country and, ranks second only to Burma as the greatest rice exporting country in the world. Siam is third. There is quite a supply of tin, zinc and other ores that are being opened up, while the teak forests, in the north, are important assets to the national wealth. On the whole French Indo-China is in it’s infancy so far as cultivation of it’s rich lands and. opening up of it’s extensive mineral wealth, are concerned.

            Finally we reached Djiring about noon time. Djiring consists of a French Army Post maintained by a couple of dozen native troops, a telegraph office, a bungalow and a few other houses, besides the Moi village.

            Lien is the name of the man I am to stay with. He is an Annamite who has built a comfortable, two story building the upper floor of which contains two well furnished bedrooms and a dining room. As Djiring is on the main road to Dalat he plans to make this place a little Inn for travelers not wishing to make the long trip from Saigon to Dalat in one day.

            Djiring is a pretty little place in the hills about 3,000 feet above sea level and on the inland side of a 6,000 foot range of mountains that we had to cross in order to get to Djiring. I went at once to Lien’s and unloaded my stuff. On the whole, I was quite satisfied with the place. There is a good bed and a mosquito net, and as there is no one else at Lien’s I have the whole place to myself.

            I had lunch about one o’clock. They didn’t have things ready as they hadn’t expected…me until tomorrow. There was only one big disappointment in store for me. The food was awful. They have a big enough variety of things but you have no idea how dirty it was. Hairs were stuck allover the bottoms of the rolls and. the omelet was full of little black specks, which the boy tried to tell me was pepper; but it was broad daylight and I could, easily make out ants.

I. was hungry but I just couldn’t eat such filth. Every course was just as bad.

            Lunch over I unpacked my stuff and getting into my old clothes went out to look over White’s old bomas and decide how many new ones I’d have to build.. All of them needed new green branches, of course, because the old ones had died and turned brown; but outside of this,- with the exception of No 2 kill- which would have to be moved on account of the birds having discovered it, there wasn’t much to be done.

            When I got back to Lien’s I followed White’s advice and bought one of Lien’s cows, for which I paid $40.00 Indo-China money, about $24 U.S. gold. I then got a couple of coolies and. took la vache over to No I kill. Tying her neck firmly with wire to the tree, I got her in exactly the position I wanted her to be staked down for the tiger. White warned me that I ‘d have to put a shot right through the brain, otherwise the cow would break loose and. might run a hundred yards before dying and I’d never be able to drag her back through the jungle. So when all was ready I got about twenty feet from the cow in back of her out of range of her feet. Then I sank

a 375 soft-nosed bullet right in the back of her brain behind the ears. She sank right down without a quiver and never moved again. Then I cut through the hock of her legs and drove stakes through her legs about three or four feet in the ground leaving about a foot of stake above the ground. I pinned each leg down separately and then tied them to the stakes and. to each other with wire cable. About the neck I fastened a huge cable to the tree that made it impossible for the tiger to break. I placed the carcass with the forefeet toward the boma and. slightly twisted so as to bring the hind quarters well into view, for the tiger always starts to feed. this end. (Pardon these details, but I might as well record them).

            After putting new branches in the boma, so that it looked like all the rest of the jungle, I gave everything the last inspection and then left it. Three things are important in this sort of shooting. The path to the boma must be without a stick or blade of grass so that one can approach the boma for a hundred yards without a sound. This is most essential because the tiger might be feeding on the kill when you come up to it. Also it is necessary to have a sort of prolongation of the front wall of the boma so as to make a screen for the approaching hunter. In this screen, as in the boma itself, a hole should be made about four inches square so that one can see the kill and shoot without entering the boma if the tiger is at the kill. Secondly, the boma should be at least 15 yards from the kill, not closer as in Africa where the bait is often not more than 10 or 12 feet away. Thirdly, the boma must be so thick one can’t see through it, but it is not necessary to build it strong with thorn bushes for a tiger will never attack it.

            After everything was finished I went back to Lien’s and got myself settled. White gave me a lot of records- all the new ones like , “Who” and “Brown eyes why are you

blue”, etc. Golly! They were great! I had dinner about seven o’clock. It was worse, if possible, than lunch and in spite of my appetite I’ll be darned if I could eat the stuff. Need1ess to say it rained very hard this afternoon.

            About nine o’clock I got out White’s carbide lamp and went out to shoot some Connay. Now I’ve never done any of this shooting game at night by a light as it is against the law at home. Consequently this fact probably accounts for my failure, for I didn’t see a single pair of eyes. I followed out White’s instructions to the letter, but although I spent three hours at it didn’t’ see a blessed thing to shoot at. Therefore, when I returned at midnight soaked to the skin for it had rained for several fifteen minute spells, I was pretty disgusted with night shooting. It is not considered good sport and I’d never even attempt to do it if I didn’t need Connay for bait. By the way a Connay is that in Indian is called a sambur. It is a member of the deer family only is about four or five times the size of our Virginia deer. Its horns aren’t as large in comparison but the body is almost as big as a good sized cow. 

            When I got back at midnight I turned in at once. Of course there are only oil lamps at Djiring. I felt pretty snuffed. It has been a long day- 21 hours, when you consider I didn’t sleep at all last night, it makes 41 hours without sleep. There is no doubt hunting is hard work. 

Djiring

Saturday, June 5^th, 1926. 

Le petit Lien called me at 5:3O A. M. this morning, and after a hasty breakfast of eggs and the worst coffee I ever tasted, I climbed into the car and we drove over to the first kill. I got out of the automobile and approached the boma as cautiously and quietly as a mouse, but when I peered through the little hole in the wall I saw that the kill hadn’t been touched. I went up and examined it closely. No, nothing had been up to it. The birds and flies had picked out it’s eyes, but otherwise it was the same as when I left it yesterday.

            I returned to the car and we drove around the route but didn’t see a thing, so went cut the Dalat road. About 10 kilometers from Djiring I got out and scouted about in the jungle for game but I soon realized that this sort, of hunting was foolish, for the jungle was too thick and any game there was, was certain to see you before you saw them. So I climbed aboard once more end we went further along the road. Soon we passed a bunch of Mois working on the road. They said that a tiger crossed their path at 5:30 A. M., and that all of them had climbed the nearest trees. Of course, one can’t look for tigers in tall grass in the day time on foot. The only thing to do was to try to get a connay or two. It was getting pretty late by this time but I decided to have another scout about the hills. The country was much more open here. I made several turns about the   nearby hills and carefully looked over several ridges, but as I feared, it was too late. The game usually goes back into the forest by eight o’clock, and it was now nearly nine A. M. It was foolish to waste any more energy stalking around. The hunting at this time of the year is going to be extremely difficult that is certain, for the grass is about five or six feet high end one can only see game on the opposite ridges. On the way back to the car I got a glimpse of a connay fawn several hundred yards away but it was out of sight before I had raised my rifle to myshoulder.

            On reaching the automobile we went back to Liens where we arrived about 10:00 A.M. I straightened my things around and started to write a bit in my diary, but wasn’t in the mood, for it so read. “Odtaa” by John Masefield. It is his latest novel and starts out quite well. At 11:30

I had tiffin. I was so hungry I swallowed bugs and all and whenever some dish seemed particularly unclean I closed my eyes while I ate it. You would think with all the cows and nice green grass that one, at least would be able to get fresh milk., But nothing doing. Except for a

few green peas all the food was canned stuff.

            After lunch I took a good long siesta and didn’t wake up until four o’clock. I had to oil my boots and guns, and as it was pouring rain I decided to wait until it let up a bit. At five o’clock we, once more, started out the route Dalat in search of game. But the hunt was as unsuccessful as the one this morning. I was beginning to get fed up. This long grass is the devil to try to hunt in. I’m beginning to think I’ll be lucky to even get a connay, let alone a tiger.

            It was seven o’clock when I got back to Liens soaked to the skin. I didn’t change my clothes but ate dinner at once. I was starved. I can eat more at night, for as the light is bad one doesn’t notice the cooked ants in the omelet. But I do think the food is getting better. Either that or I’m getting used to this wretched stuff. I can’t go the horse hairs in the bread though, and always examine that carefully before eating it. Horses hairs always stick in my throat, while ants go down with the food. You know, they say, some of the natives eat ants. They make a sort of paste out of them and spread it on their bread. Whether this is true or not I can’t say as I have never seen it myself and one hears such a variety of stories.

After dinner we got out all the lamps, flashlights, and what nots. I was determined to get a connay or two if there were any to be had. But look and search as I would, I couldn’t see a blessed thing. Of course, it was sort of foggy and drizzling out, which made it difficult to see. We made a circle tour of the route, but if there were any connay there we didn’t see them. Suddenly, I saw a tiny red flash in the trees about two hundred yards away. I kept the light right on that spot and. getting out of the car walked slowly toward. the forest. If you once flash the light away the eyes will disappear. It was raining fairly hard by this time and I had to go through a field of grass five feet high to get to the tree. I thought of chancing a shot at the eyes, but realized that I’d have to be a much better shot than I am to hit so small a target at so long a range. The eyes shining from a tree and. being red meant only one thing, – a leopard. So I went cautiously forward. I left the chauffeur and the rest in the road. As long as I saw the eyes I wasn’t worried, but after going about 75 yards through the high grass, the eyes suddenly disappeared. I thought of going ahead and then realized what a foolish position I might put myself into. Here was a leopard within 150 yards and I no longer knew where he was as I had lost the gleam

of his eyes which I was unable to pick up again. It was raining and here I was in grass five feet high. Then, too, it was pitch dark, except for the feeble light on my hat. I was told afterwards that I had nothing to fear, for If the leopard should have attacked me I’d have been able to see his eyes first. Nevertheless, I know how fast leopards can move, and the position at the time was uncomfortable. I thought the wisest course was to return to the car as I did.

The rain had by this time, dampened all my enthusiasm, and I decided, after a short time to go back to Liens. It was after eleven when we finally got there. I went to bed tout de suite.

Djiring

Sunday, June 6^th, 1926. 

            I made a good early start from camp this morning and went at once to kill No I. I was rather disappointed to see that nothing had touched it. But ye gods! The smell. The carcass was covered with a blanket of flies and swarms of maggots. Never have I seen or smelled anything as bad, and yet they say that a tiger loves meat as rotten as this old vache is.

            After leaving the kill we went out the route Kinda about 24 kilometers and learned from the natives that there were a great many connay about. So I started off with my coolie to find some. Although I spent a couple of hours looking for them I didn’t have any luck and. returned. to the road about nine o’clock. The native Mois had a great story about having seen some comin and wanted to know if I’d give them a dollar if they showed me some, which, of course, I would be delighted to do. They told me to return about three o’clock as the place was quite a ways from here. So we went back to Lien’s where I had. a nice hot bath, in my little canvas tub, and. a shave. I cleaned my rifles, wrote in my diary and read until tiffin. Then I slept until 2:30, when I climbed into the car and we started off for the Moi hut on the route Kinda. This country is very beautiful indeed, with its green fields and even if the grass is so darn high, that the hunting is almost impossible.

            We reached our destination about 3:30 and picked up two Moi native guides. Our road, which was a continuation of the route Kinda, was blocked’ off as being too bad to travel over, but we soon tore down the fence and went ahead. It was rough, narrow and steep for the country was more mountainous, but fortunately the rain this afternoon was no more than a shower, so while the road was slippery, it wasn’t so bad that we couldn’t get over it. On we went for another 15 kilometers. We stopped by a little native hut next to a small creek, and I was told the rest of the trip had to be made on foot.

            With my two Moi ‘guides I started up the side of a high ridge. It took us some half hour to gain the top, and then I looked down on another little valley on the opposite side of which towered another ridge similar and parallel to the one we were then on. Down in this little valley I saw several huts grouped together. Here, I thought, was a real Moi village where the people are, undoubtedly, very primitive. And then I cussed myself for not bringing my kodak. As we descended toward the village I became more and more amazed at what I saw. Above the huts were a dozen very high bamboo poles. They looked exactly like the steel poles that are used at home for wireless aerials, except that wires are lacking, and at the top of these poles waved, sort of, flags made of dried palm leaves. We beaded right for the village. As we came closer I saw that all the huts were decorated with these bleached palm leaves. Tassels, fans and. all sorts of things had been made out of them and the doors and little porches were covered, with these ornaments. It was one of the most novel things I’ve ever seen, and I made up my mind, to return, before I left Djiring, and take pictures of this little isolated native village. Heaven knows it is certainly in an out of the way place, which, I suppose, accounts for its being so unique. As usual neither men nor women wore any clothes except Adam and Eve costumes. I guess I was quite an unusual sight for everyone came out to look at me. A man, who I presume was the Chief, offered me a chicken with it’s feet tied. I guess I was supposed to accept this gift, but as we were going back into the hills I didn’t want to be bothered with a squawking chicken. I pointed to my rifle as if it were heavy. As I say, I didn’t spend much time here as I intended to come back and take many pictures. It was only a week or so later, when I left Djiring, that I realized the truth of “Opportunity knocks but once”, for I never had another chance to visit this unique village, because the rains set in in earnest and the road was impassable.

            After leaving the village we set out for the opposite ridge. There was a good path and we had no difficulty in climbing it. We wound through a sort of pass and then, suddenly, burst upon us a magnificent sight. We were right on the summit of a high chain of ridges and. before us stretched out a tremendous valley or plain, full of many peaks and rolling hills. Here and there were dirty brown lines of swollen rivers. But from the altitude that we were at it was possible to look down upon this vast endless country of forests, jungles and plains. I couldn’t help feeling thrilled at such a sight. We all sat down and looked for game. It was very difficult for me because none of these chaps could even speak a word of French and it was hard. to make them understand. It seems that it was from this ridge yesterday that the comin had been seen, but although we waited some time they failed to appear. As we watched we saw the connay come out of the forest one by one and start feeding. After some time one of the natives motioned. to me to follow him, so we slunk slowly and noisely through the thickets down the side of the ridge. We came right up on a beautiful connay buck. He had a fine pair of horns and. I was tempted to shoot him but thought I’d. be a fool to take a crack at him and thus ruin any chance that I might have for a comm. But the conmin had departed. and I was just going to down the buck when old stick-in-the-mud, reached out and grabbed me by the arm. He gave me such a pull that I lost my

balance and put one foot in the mud hole making such a loud splashing sound that old friend. connay soon disappeared in a thicket without giving me another shot. I was so disgusted with the guide I felt like shooting him and he spoiled this nice shot merely to point out a herd of connay about a mile away down the valley.

            By this time it was getting dark. I knew we didn’t have time to get down to the connay and as it was a long way back to the car decided to give it up for today and come back tomorrow or during the next few days. Here, at any rate, one would. be able to get plenty of bait for kills.

But, as I said before, I never saw either the village or this country again. The rains made it impossible. Even as we started back it began to rain, and. when I reached the car I was soaking wet. I didn’t stop at the village on the way back as I wanted to get over the steep roads before they were washed out. I knew every minute it would be worse. We started at once, and. fortunately got up the steep hill after slipping and sliding all over the road. The rain continued to pour down all the way to Lien’s. On the road we, suddenly, came upon two does. At this point the road ran through a sort of cut in the hillside and. the bank was too high for the does to get up, so all they could do was run down the road in front of the car, -and, how they flew! The chauffeur started after them and. I stood up and tried to kill one. Of course the car was jumping all over the road, so I had to trust to luck as far as shooting was concerned. I fired and. hit one in the left hind leg, but she went right on. Before I had a chance to fire again they ducked out of the road. into the jungle, for by this time we were through the cut. I got the carbide light and. went in after the wounded doe I could hear her crashing around, but I was unable to get up to her. The jungle was terribly thick and. I tripped and. fell dozens of times. Twenty minutes later I realized that it was hopeless and went back to the oar. It was simply a cloud-burst and this part of the route Kinda, which is usually pretty good, was terribly dangerous.

When we arrived at Lien’s about 8:30, I was wet to the skin, exhausted, disgusted and had a fever. I realized night shooting would be ridiculous in the pouring rain, so after cleaning my rifle, went to bed.

            This is the wrong season of the year for shooting in this part of the country. The rains are terrible and the grass is so very high. Shooting game like connay is certainly a job in this tall grass. I imagine, though, in February, March and April after the grass has been burnt off, the hunting must be marvelous.

Djiring

Monday, June 7^th, 1926. 

I had a good long sleep last night and it was 6:30 this morning before I crawled out of bed. I dressed at once, and after a bite to eat drove over to the first kill. Nothing had been there during the night, and except for a swarm of flies twice the number there yesterday and an increased odor that was nauseating, the carcass of “Ia vache” was the same’ as ever. One look at it was about all I took before returning to the car. We motored out about five or six kilometers along the route Bobea, and getting out of the par at a likely spot I made a tour on foot of the surrounding hills, but didn’t see a sign of any game.

            I heard a terrific roaring sound, high I guessed was a waterfall, and was delighted when, rounding a bend in the path, I came upon magnificent falls of over a hundred feet. There was a good volume of water dashing over the edge into a dirty, pool at its base. Banked all about the falls was a regular riot of vegetation of all sorts: big trees, vines, flowers, Jungles —— all

that one finds in a tropical country. I paused awhile to admire it, and then continued with my unsuccessful hunt.

            There was nothing along the route Circular. We stopped at the place where I had seen the connay doe yesterday, but she was wise today and did not show herself. Along the route Kinda, I suddenly saw a hog deer standing a few feet in the forest, but he saw me at the same time and started off. ‘I grabbed the chauffeur to stop the car so that I could try a running shot, but he had seen another hog deer on the other side of the road about three hundred yards ahead of us, and instead of stopping he thought I meant to speed up. The result of the misunderstanding was, no deer. I didn’t even get a shot at either one.

            About 9:30 I returned to Liens disgusted with Indo-China. It certainly doesn’t compare with Kenya. There may be game here; but it is practically impossible to hunt, at least at this season of the year, the rainy one, for the grass is as thick as can be, and is about four to eight’ feet high. When a connay is feeding, you can’t see him at all. It is only when he pricks up his ears that you get a glimpse of him, and then you have to imagine where his body is.

            I felt pretty much under the weather when I got back to camp, so spent an hour or so in bed reading “Odtaa”by John Masefield. At twelve o’clock I had a spot of tiffin and then lazed about until two o’clock; at which time we started for the place we were yesterday, some 45 kilometers out from Djiring along the route Kinda. I was praying that it wouldn’t rain, and the weather looked quite promising when we started. I realized that, with a good heavy rain, we wouldn’t be able to get further than the little. Moi settlement; that to reach the mountainous country beyond it would be an impossibility because the road, being of red clay, would be impassable. We had no sooner reached the two little straw huts of some Moi natives than it started to rain, and believe me the water came down in torrents. It rained and it rained, and then it rained again twice as much as before. Of course, to go ahead was impossible. I doubted if we would even be able to get back to Djiring. As it was only three o’clock there was nothing to do but wait here for a couple of hours until the: rain stopped, and then scout about the country to see if there were any connay in that locality. In the meantime the chauffeur and I had a great time conversing. He said if I could stay here a couple of months, I would be able to speak French fluently, and I almost think he is right. The chauffeur speaks French very well, but none of the natives understand a word of it, so I have to talk to the chauffeur in French, and he translates it into Annam; consequently, when I ask if it is going to rain any more, I get some answer like this: “Yes, we have no bananas today.” I certainly would hate to have anyone who speaks French well hear me. I have to stop in the middle of some difficult sentence to laugh at myself. The chauffeur doesn’t know a single word of English. He doesn’t even understand what “Good morning” means. If I ever get back to America, I believe I’ll talk everyone to death. I haven’t spoken a word of English for days, and I’m fed up with “C’est tres bon” and “Comprenez – vous?” etc. I can understand French much better than I can speak, and I can write French better than either, but the chauffeur can’t read a word of French, consequently that route is barred. He told me his life history. It seems that he has traveled all over the world except in North and South America. He says I would be foolish to miss Ankor Wat, and I think he is right. From Saigon to there and return would take about six days. That gives one three days there, which I think will be ample time.

            By this time it was five o’clock and the rain had stopped. I set out with my regular coolie and two native Mois. But the weather was only fooling us. We had scarcely covered a half mile before the rain came down again in a regular torrent. There being no shelter, we got drenched. The country, I must say, is lovely. It seems so vast, green, and fresh. In the distance there was a dark background of mountains and high plateaus, while the intermediate country was one continuation of graceful, rolling hills covered with light green fields and darker green forests. Here and there a little river or creek trickled along through this blanket of vegetation.

            It was extremely difficult to spot game in such thick grass, but I suddenly saw two connay does about half a mile away. They seemed like two tiny brown specks, and I wasn’t sure they weren’t dead bushes until I saw one move. I pointed them out to one of the natives. He indicated another direction, and started off; thinking he meant that there was game closer at hand, or else that it was impossible to stalk them from where I had seen them, I followed him. Twenty minutes later I saw that he didn’t know what he was doing, and that he didn’t know a thing about hunting. Finally, due to his maneuvers in the forest, we lost sight of the connay. I insisted on waiting on the side of a hill until I was able to pick them out again. It was rather difficult as I did not have any glasses. About fifteen minutes later I saw them again near the edge of the forest. They seemed terribly far away, but I had to get a connay for bait, so leaving the natives and my coolie behind, I started toward the connay, ‘keeping well out of sight in the grass. After covering about two hundred yards, I stood up, and saw another connay much nearer, only about three hundred yards below me, feeding in the grass. All I could see was a brown spot moving, as the grass was very high. I sat down on the edge of the hill, rested my gun on my knee, and fired. I thought I had hit it, but it started off in the grass. All I could see was the top of the grass waving. Then it turned down hill and I got a glimpse of it. It stopped, I fired again; it went a few feet further, and I had another shot. It didn’t move, so I went ahead. I believed that I had shot a little pig for the brown spot I had seen was tiny. When I got up to the connay, it was stone dead, and to my surprise had three bullet holes in its hide. The first shot thru the shoulder did , the real damage; the rest were stomach shots. It was a small doe. I sent two of the boys back to the car with it, and taking the other one with me went over the ridge. The hunting was practically ridiculous, as the grass was impossible. One could only see things on the opposite hill. Suddenly I caught sight of two ears about three hundred yards away. The grass made a terrific noise, and realizing that I had already been spotted and was being watched,

I decided to chance a shot. The target of two ears was not big enough for as poor a shot as I am. Needless to say I shot too high. I had time for a second crack at the ears but missed again. I kept on thru the grass for another half hour or so, and then gave it up as a bad job. Returning to the road, I found the car waiting. We tied the connay on the trunk rack and started back to Liens, where we arrived about eight o’clock. I felt dead tired, almost too worn out to eat. My head ached, and my legs felt as sore as they could be. I decided that hunting again tonight by lamp would be foolish when I felt so rotten, so decided to call it a day. I was too weary to even pick the bugs and ants out of my food, but closed my eyes and swallowed. There must have been too few to flavor the food, for I didn’t taste them. I fell into bed about nine o’clock or before, after cleaning my rifle.

Djiring

Tuesday, June 8^th, 1926. 

            “Le petit Lien” called me this morning at 4:30 A. M. It was still dark out, but I was determined to be ready to hunt when the first rays of dawn appeared. I had the usual breakfast of eggs plats and miserable coffee, and then putting my outfit into the car started off. Although

I searched the hills with my eyes for a long time we didn’t come across a single connay or hog deer. About 6:30 we visited the kill. Nothing had touched it. The smell was almost unbearable and the carcass was one mass of black flies. Never have I seen so many together! Going back to

Liens we put yesterday’s connay in the car and drove out to a place about two kilometers from Djiring. It seemed like a good spot for another kill. There was an old boma there but it was black with ants so I decided to build a new one. This was a bigger job than I anticipated. From the village I got a couple of coolies and with the help of the chauffeur started work.

            I followed White’s boma as a pattern. I drove posts eight feet high into the ground so as to form a little enclosure about six feet square. Then I constructed cross bars to hold these in place. I had the coolies cut a great number of branches which I interlaced so that the boma when completed looked like a big thick shrub, and. it was impossible to see into it. At the rear end room was left for an entrance. A roof made of branches and a small window completed the boma except for an extension of the front wall which forming a sort of screen enabled one to approach the boma without being seen.

            This sounds easy and I expected the making of the boma would only take about an hour. Instead it took about three. Then, too, the bait which is indeed tres petite had to be staked down about fifteen yards from the boma and the path leading from the road to the boma cleared. The worst part of it all is that I felt so darn sick I didn’t much care whether I ever saw a tiger or not. My head ached like the devil and I was forced to return to the car every fifteen minutes for a rest. My legs seemed as weak as feathers. I certainly felt punk. Personally I think it is the food. My system can’t get used to digesting ants and flies. I don’t think the tigers are much of a danger, nor do I fear Malaria, but if neither of these get me, I’m sure the food will. It is the worst I have ever eaten.

            About ten o’clock I returned to Liens pretty snuffed and was starting to lie down when I remembered how much diary I had to make up, so worked at that until lunch time at 11:30. Then coolies had to be paid and the chauffeur returned with the sad news that there was no other cow to be had and I’m hanged if I’ll give Lien $60 for his old bull which is half dead! The chauffeur suggested trying to buy a horse for bait but one thing I won’t do is shoot a horse. So that is that. We decided to leave about four o’clock and motor out the Kinda route once more. After lunch, I started in on my diary once more. Then I took a short siesta. About four o’clock I had .some hot coffee, jam and sardines and upon finishing left for the route Kinda. We arrived at our destination about five o’clock. As usual it had poured all afternoon so the grass was very wet. I got a couple of Moi natives to accompany me end we set out in quest of connay. After walking slowly thru the forest for about a mile we suddenly came right upon four does feeding at the edge of some scrub. They were only about 75 yards away and fortunately we saw them before they did us. They were nearly hidden by the thick grass but I picked out the one that looked the largest and blazed away. I had aimed carefully at the shoulder and was amazed to see all four set off at top speed. I was sure I had hit the big doe but as she seemed so lively, I fired away twice more at her while she was on the run. She went out of sight in the woods so I fired at the petit connay which was tearing off at a great rate. I picked. up the track of the doe and found it covered with blood which literally made a red trail in the grass. Fifty yards away I found her stone dead. with a bullet right thru the heart. She certainly was plucky. A second shot had gone thru the rump

and the third had missed. The doe was tremendous and seemed more like a cow. The two Mois couldn’t lift it so I sent my coolie in to fetch a couple more natives. Even then I guess it was no easy job. I went out in a different direction but didn’t see any more connay except two about a mile or so away that I wouldn’t be able to reach before dark. By this time it was getting late and. finding my way thru the forest was a difficult job. I was just beginning to get worried and. feared I was lost when I suddenly came upon the road. There was the car about 50 yards away and the chauffeur with the aid of half a dozen naked natives was hoisting the connay into the automobile.

            The return to Liens was uneventful. We arrived about eight o’clock and after superintending the unloading of the connay I had supper. It is important not to remove the entrails of an animal that you intend to use for tiger bait. The carcass should not be cut in any way and the fewer bullet holes the better.

Djiring

Wednesday, June 9^th, 1926. 

Clayton’s Birthday

            The boy was supposed to call me at 5:30, but he overslept, and consequently so did  I, so that it was nearly seven o’clock before I left to inspect the kills. No.1 kill, the cow, was a terrible spectacle. The buzzards now have it and. very little was left of it. There were no traces of tigers, so we went to kill No.2, the petit connay. I approached, it very carefully and. when I peered through the small hole in my boma wall I was amazed to see no connay left.

            Without examining the spot I returned at once to the oar and fetched the connay that I had killed yesterday, and a half dozen coolies. Then I arrived, back at the boma I saw that during the night a tiger had. made off with the whole connay, except for the head which had been securely chained to the tree. The reason I was so surprised, was because I was certain I had staked. it down well yesterday. It seems that the tiger had lifted the bait right off the stakes which, with the exception of one, were still in the ground. I set to work at once and. staked down the big connay.

It is certainly more than one meal for a tiger, although, I can well imagine his making off with a fawn. I made the new kill doubly secure with four hard wood poles that I drove four feet into the ground. Then I interlaced the legs with wire cable,- only regret now that I didn’t use the real heavy stuff instead of the fine.

            After seeing that everything was ship shape we went to another place about two kilometers away that White told me was a likely place. The buzzards had found this spot, so I had the coolies build a new boma where the old kill had been, and then had them clear a path further into the forest. I haven’t any bait to put there at present but will put a connay there tomorrow, if I have any luck this afternoon.

            While the coolies were busy I scouted about the hills in search of game, but didn’t see a thing. I returned to Lien’s place about ten o’clock, leaving the chauffeur to superintend the boma building, and had a, much needed hot bath. I have a cold. as a result of the wet clothes that I have been wearing the last few days, but otherwise feel better than I did yesterday.

            I spent the morning cleaning up. At twelve o’clock I bad lunch and then took a siesta until 2:30, at which time I started writing in my diary. At four o’clock I had hot coffee and. jam and then departed for the route Kinda to kill a couple of connays.

            The native Mol that went with me yesterday was sick so I got a couple of others who, incidentally, didn’t know the least thing about hunting. They went blustering through the woods at a five mile an hour rate. After going about two miles and. not seeing a thing, except the rain which fell in torrents, they said, something in Annam that sounded. like “Retournez”. I said. “Retournez hell”, for I was good and well fed, up with them, and started off by myself. They followed, about fifty yards behind me not daring to come closer for I looked pretty mad. I went down the valley and over a ridge keeping the wind in front of me. There I paused for about five minutes, to see if there was anything stirring in the valley below. I was just about ready to give it up as a bad job, when I saw two connay does feeding in the high grass. I motioned. to the Moi guides to lie down in the grass and stay put, while I stalked. the game. I crept forward through the grass like a snake for about 200 yards to a bit of scrub where I stood up and looked. at the connay. It was getting fairly dark so I could just make out that they were does and. not bucks. They were still about 250 yards off but I was afraid to try to get any closer for fear they, would hear me. Therefore, I rested. my rifle on the side of a tree and fired. The first shot was high and both does raised their heads, but didn’t move otherwise. On the second shot I got one through the backbone and down she went. Still the other looked. about as if she didn’t know which way to go. My next shot got her through the shoulder. She ran about fifty yards and then went down. In spite of getting them both I was frightfully disappointed, for the grass had fooled me. I thought they were full grown does and neither one could be called anything but a fawn. Besides feeling like a murderer I realized that they would be little use as bait. However, they will be better than nothing.

            It was quite dark by this time so we made our way back to the road where the car was waiting. It started to rain pitch forks and. our ride back to Lien’s was a damp one. On arriving I was surprised to find three other white people at Lien’s. There was a man and. his wife, a Mr. and Mrs. Worsenip and a Mr. Oleson. All three were missionaries and their oar had. broken down four kilometers from here some coolies had, hauled it in to Djiring for them. Two of them were English and. one was American. It seemed nice to be able to talk to someone in English again.

            Mr. Worsenip asked me if I knew anything about oars to which I replied, “a little”, so, after dinner, I went down to look at the engine. I just wish you could have seen the generator aria the magnito. They were held together by wire, the screws having been lost long ago. I’ve never seen such a wreck. The brushes were shot and heaven knows what not. Mr. Worsenip said. “Never again will I buy anything second hand” and I thought “Aren’t you right brother”. Well, we took out the generator and magnito which he is going to take to Dalat tomorrow to have repaired.

I talked to them awhile before going to bed. Mr. and Mrs. Worsenip have lived in southern China for eleven years and are on a vacation. They said they had just received a wire saying that their house and everything in it had been burned by rioters. They were pretty blue about it for they had been collecting furniture and things for so long. They say the Bolsheviks are the people who are behind all these uprisings in China which have as an object the throwing out of the foreigner. 

About 10:30 I tuned in as I was pretty well snuffed.

Djiring

Thursday, June 10^th, 1926. 

            I got up at five o’clock this morning, had breakfast at 5:30, and went out to see the kills. At number two kill, where I had placed the connay yesterday, I found that within the last twenty hours a tiger had been at the kill and had eaten the entire rear end of the connay, so that only the fore—legs, shoulders, neck and head were left. Now by all the laws of tiger hunting, the tiger ought to have been within about 200 yards of the kill. In a case like this the thing to do is to sit in the boma and wait for him to come back to eat the rest of the connay. If two people go up to the kill and only one leaves, the tiger wont come back for he knows that one is still there, but beyond four or five he can’t count. Realizing this, I returned to the car and got the chauffeur and two coolies. We all went up together, and I remained in the boma whi1e they departed a few minutes later, talking and laughing.

            It was then about six o’clock. The boma was small, so that while sitting on the wooden seat I had the coolee build out of small branches, I was unable to straighten up to full height without hitting my head against the leaves which 6overed the boma. Making a noise of this sort was, of course, very undesirable. Well, I waited and I waited; then I waited some more. I twisted and I turned; I stood up bending over; I kneeled down straightening up; I sat sideways, forwards, backwards, and in every other possibly conceivable position. Of course, each time I changed my posture, I did it with the greatest caution so as to not make a sound. After a couple of hours my body ached. But this wasn’t the half of it. From six to eight the mosquitoes were almost unbearable. How I longed to slap them off my face instead of meekly putting up my hand slowly so as not to make a noise. I They bit me hundreds of times on my hands. At eight o’clock the gnats had their fun, and I was in misery for a couple of hours. Then the ants started an attack.

They got in under my shirt someway or down my neck for they held several Marathon races over my back.

            About nine o’clock it poured, and I was soaked to the skin. Then the sun came out, and I was just beginning to feel dry again when down came torrents of water a second time. I had To1stoy’s “Sebastopol” with me, and when it let up raining for a few minutes I read. But I was so uncomfortable that I really couldn’t enjoy the story. At eleven o’clock le petit Lien brought me some food. I left the boma and went out to the car to eat. Then we repeated this morning’s procedure of all coming up to the boma together and then the rest going away talking.

            I sat in that darn boma from six A.M. to eleven A.M. and from 11:15 A.M. until seven P.M. The second stretch besides being the longer was by far the worst. It was pitch dark when I left, and I hadn’t had as much as a glimpse of a tiger. Believe me! If I do say so, this boma work takes the patience of a saint. I was absolutely exhausted when I got into the car. I had been thoroughly soaked and dried out at least six or eight times. I was almost frozen, and my head ached like the devil. I know I had a fever, for when I put my hands to my cheeks they felt very hot.

            During the day several crows came to the kill, but it wasn’t ripe enough yet for them. A couple of stray dogs crept cautiously up and sniffed at the carcass and beat a hasty retreat. I think they caught a whiff of the tiger. The flies though were afraid of nothing; they covered the entire body like a black blanket.

            I certainly was discouraged and disgusted by seven P.M. for I had sat as quiet as a mouse, and had endured the punishment of the mosquitoes all for nothing. As I stopped at the kill the first thing this morning, I told the chauffeur to see that the two little connay does were put at the third boma, and told him to be sure that they were well staked down. I had to leave this part to him.

            When I got back to the house tonight, I hauled out the little canvas tub, and although one has to sit in it doubled up, I had a good, hot bath, which I believe I enjoyed more than any I have ever had. Gosh! Did It feel great! The three missionaries had shoved on, so I was alone again. I had dinner, if you could call it such, about eight P.M., and then cleaned my gun, which was as wet as I had been. After laying my clothes out to dry, I went to bed. It felt mighty nice to lie on a good soft bed with a mosquito net about me.

Djiring

Friday, June 11^th, 1926. 

            I hated to get up when the boy called me this morning at five o’clock, but nevertheless I crawled out of bed. My fever was gone and. on the whole I felt better. After three fried eggs and. some coffee I went out to inspect the kills. Number two was the same as when I left it last night.

The tiger has departed for good. I believe. I thought this at first and. then figured out that having fed two days in succession he might have laid off yesterday and. decided to return today. However, we went to the second kill. There is a little saying, “If you want things done right you must do them yourself “. Both connay were gone with the exception of one of the heads and fore-feet which had been chewed off. This certainly was tough luck. I hadn’t been able to see the work done myself as I was in that darn boma all day yesterday. Now there was nothing to do. It was, of course, useless to remain there with no kill.

            We went back to Lien’s and. there one of the Moi said. He had seen four comin yesterday and. fired at one and. missed. I didn’t believe him but having nothing better to do put him in the oar and drove out the route Kinda to the place where he had seen them. We left the car and. walked about three miles over hills and. through fields of high grass and forests. Finally, be showed me where he had seen them. There was comin spoor all right, but no comm. They evidently had moved on. We looked for them but they were gone so I returned. to the ear.

            Returning to No.2 kill I decided. to put. the rest of the morning and. early afternoon waiting there for the tiger to return. It was tough work. It rained practically all the time and. I was soaked. to the. skin and. felt quite cold. My fever came back and. my head. ached.. Nothing came up to the kill except a few stray animals and. some crows. I was so fed. up at noon that I gave it up and. went back to Lien’s where I had. lunch. I rested. for awhile and. then left about three o’clock for the Moi hut on the route Kinda. It poured. so that the oar would scarcely stay on the road.. You can imagine how much water comes down in this rainy season.

            Along about 4:30 I got a couple of Moi guides and started. out to look for connay, but the rain.simply wouldn’t let up, and. although it made stalking easier there wasn’t anything to stalk. The connay just won’t come out of the forests in the rain. It began to get dark fast. Suddenly

I got a glimpse of a small buck at the edge of the forest and. succeeded in hitting him with the first shot. He dropped right in his tracks. But what a disappointment! He was hardly any bigger than the two fawns I shot a couple of days ago and. not worth bringing in. No matter how much you stake down a small connay a tiger seems to be able to get away with him. Your only chance is a big connay, So I left the little buck. His horns weren’t worth keeping. 

            On the way back I spotted a doe. We were right on the edge of a hill and she was feeding on the plain below us. I left the rest behind and. carefully stalked. her on my hands and., knees. After about twenty minutes I arrived at the spot I had been working towards. It was very dark so I stood up and. looked. in the direction I had last seen her. She was gone. I was so disgusted. that I began to walk away when suddenly up she hopped. not fifty yards away. I had just time to see she was pretty small before she disappeared. in grass eight feet high. Not even time for a shot. This ended the day’s shoot. No buck, and. my fever was worse than ever. Believe me, it was a cold ride back to Lien’s.

            I felt too sick to go out to do any night shooting besides the rain hadn’t let up and. I knew that the chances of seeing eyes in such a down pour would be very small. So I crawled under my mosquito net after cleaning my rifle and eating a hot but rather unappetizing meal.

Djiring to Dalat

Saturday, June 12^th, 1926. 

            I slept fairly late this morning as I wasn’t feeling too hot. I left Lien’s about 7:00 A.M., after drinking some awful coffee and, eating some eggs plats. First I went to see the kills. No.2 kill had. been untouched and I’m mighty glad. I didn’t hang around all yesterday afternoon.

The tiger hadn’t returned since he ate half of the big connay that I staked. there. At No.3 kill I found that a tiger had come back since yesterday and. taken the skull of the second connay. It was there yesterday and. as it was the only thing left I thought it would. be ridiculous, to sit there all day watching so small a thing as a skull, but evidently the tiger had come back to look around. If only I had another kill to put there.

            Well, the problem was what to do next. As usual it was raining. I had intended to leave Djiring Sunday so as to have time to go to Ankor before sailing on next Saturday. If I stayed here a few days more it meant no Ankor. On the other hand there are loads of tigers here. There is no question about that. The only trouble is getting bait for the kills. In ordinary weather getting kills is easy, but it has rained so much during the last 24 hours that the road. is in dreadful condition and I doubt if we could get out the route Kinda. If I hand around. today hoping to get something tonight I might very easily be disappointed and. without a kill there is no chance to get a tiger. I thought for a long time. The rain and high grass make the killing of bait almost impossible. The chances are that I’d spend two or three days without getting any connay and. as I am in pretty poor physical shape with fever etc., I finally decided. to call it enough and go back to Saigon for a rest or go up to Ankor. I’m convinced that there is lots of game here, especially tigers, but I just will have to be content without one this trip. I’ve had darn tough luck, for ‘by all laws the tiger should have returned to No.2 kill after he ate half the bait. And. he never came back. But in my opinion the real difficulty and. cause of my unsuccessful hunt is the rain. It is obviously the wrong season and I defy anyone to shoot much game in grass 5 to 8 feet high.

            I went back to Lien’s and packed. and took a few snaps in spite of the rain. By this time it was fairly late and. I knew that it would be impossible to get back to Saigon tonight so I decided to go up to Dalat which is only about 100 kilometers from here and. spend the night there. Tomorrow I will make a very early start and go all the way to Saigon. Lunch I had. at Lien’s and after paying my bill, etc. started for Dalat at 1:30 P.M. The trip took about three hours and was mostly up hill, for Dalat is about 6,000 feet above sea level. It was a beautiful ride through fine rolling hills covered with trees. La we got higher up the tropical vegetation dwindled, out and, nice pine trees appeared. It was a welcome change of scenery and. atmosphere you can be sure, of course, it rained most of the way but nevertheless I enjoyed the ride. Dalat is perched up on the edge of a 1arge, high plateau. The surrounding level fields are magnificent and. as green as they can be. The whole place struck me as being a wonderful natural golf course. The great variety of flowers, the freshness, and the tall stately trees made the country seem like an enormous English park. The air was quite crisp after the hot breeze of the lowlands.

There was a choice of two, hotels. The Grand was the best. I went there and was surprised to see so large a hotel. Evidently this isn’t the season for there were very few people there. The room I was shown to was very nice with bath, etc. I immediately ordered tea. Talk shout poor service, I never saw anything like this. I. had to wait an hour for them to make tea. I rang the bell regularly every ten minutes. At last I became enraged and went down to the manager and told him, in French of course, that although I had been in his hotel an hour the tea hadn’t arrived nor had. my luggage been brought up and that if I didn’t have both in five minutes time I would clear out. I really felt quite homesick at the Grand for inside the hotel there is that same pine smell that I know so well and. that always reminds me of Bay Pond and the Adirondacks. Then, too, I felt quite alone here. No one speaks English. It was very cold. and. raining. I got out the victrola and. shadow boxed for awhile and than had a hot bath in a real bath tub. Gosh! It was wonderful. You people at home don’t realize what luxuries you have. Hot water is a God-send, but a real tub is almost too good to be true, and yet I used, to take a hot bath at home without even thinking’ twice about it. Oh well!— live and learn they say.

After dressing I went for a motor drive through the route Circular. It was a beautiful trip. Hunting is prohibited at Dalat, consequently the game is very tame. We saw loads of connay and other bucks. We ran right up next to a bunch of forked-horn deer, better known as “Eld Deer”.

They are fine specimens and are very rare, being found no where else in the world. ‘They seem to realize that they are safe up here in Dalat, for they never go down to the lowlands. We stopped the car about thirty feet from a couple of fine bucks, who didn’t seem to be the least bit annoyed at us and. hardly bothered to look at us.

I can well imagine what a marvelous place Dalat must be in dry, clear weather. We drove over to the Moi Section where there were a number of dirty huts and. people huddled together with filthy blankets wrapped around them. They all carry sort of straw mats which they protect themselves with during the rain. The Moi are the true aborigines of Indo-China, and. as a race are still very primitive in their habits and customs.

            It was about Seven o’clock when I got back to the hotel. I intended to see Willett, who is head of the forests here, but it was Saturday afternoon and he was out. I spent about an hour downstairs reading French magazines. I intended. writing in my diary, but. it was too cold.. I had dinner by myself and. then after a short walk went to bed. The Grand Hotel is certainly enormous and. located. as it is right next to a small pond, which they call a lake, is very attractive. The bed was wonderfully soft. I finished. “Sebastopol” and started “The Cossacks” by Tolstoy. It was about eleven when I went to sleep. I left a call for 5:30 A.M.

Dalat to Saigon

Sunday, June 13^th, 1926. 

            The boy awakened me at 5:30 this morning and. after dressing and. drinking a hot cup of coffee we started for Saigon. It was pouring out, as usual, and quite chilly for you see Dalat is about 6,000 feet above sea level. As we descended, though, it grew steadily warmer, and. soon

I had discarded both my coat and sweater. Though one gets dreadfully fed up with the rain you can’t help but realize that if it wasn’t for this great excess of water you wouldn’t see such magnificent green, fresh-looking jungles. These dense masses of vegetation are certainly a wonderful sight as are the many rolling hills and mountains just covered with one blanket of green. The ride to Djiring was most delightful in the fresh morning air, and in spite of the rain, I thoroughly enjoyed it.

            We arrived at Djiring about 8:30 and ran into a regular down pour. It never seems to stop raining. Anyone who hasn’t seen how it can rain here in Indo—China could not possibly imagine what it is like. It doesn’t seem as if there is as much water in the world. as pours down during one day. We stopped at the bungalow for some breakfast and I got White’s wire saying to put out another connay and remain as long as possible. I didn’t know what to do. It was impossible to shoot any game in this sort of weather. The connay won’t come out of the forests during the rain, to feed and one can’t shoot at night when it rains. The roads out Kinda way are practically impassable now. They are all but washed away. And the grass which is now about five feet high makes hunting almost out of the question. Then, too, the tigers in this vicinity seem to have become educated since White killed so many. They do their feeding at night and unlike a lion one can’t sit up for them at night, for with the flash of light they are off. I took all these things into consideration as well as paying$60 for Lien’s bull, and in the end concluded that as getting more bait was extremely difficult and uncertain, that I might as well go back to Saigon. Besides my fever seems to conic back regularly every afternoon about three o’clock, and living up here where I am soaked to the skin all the time doesn’t help it any. It is obviously the wrong time of the year to shoot here. One should hunt in February, March and April after the grass has been burned off and before the rains start in. In January the grass is burned off and. by June the new grass is, as it is now, five feet high. One can almost watch it grow. By October it is twelve feet high in places. So after breakfast in the pouring rain we started back for Saigon.

            Reaching Phantiet at one o’clock we stopped for lunch at the little cottage there. I can’t call it a hotel, though there are three rooms where one can spend the night if he has to. After a rotten meal we continued on our way. From Dalat to Saigon is about 400 kilometers. It rained off and, on the whole way. I won’t repeat again how nice the scenery was, the rubber plantations etc. for we came back over the same road that we took going up to Djiring ten days ago.

            It was about five o’clock when we drew up in front of the Continental Hotel.. I found a letter from Dad. (No.32) waiting for me. I certainly was happy to get it as I hadn’t expected any more mail here in Saigon. I made the clerk give me a better room than I had last time I was here and then went over to look up White and Keefe who were both out of town over the week end.. So I went back to my room and had a work-out, shave and. bath, then dressed for dinner which

I ate by my lonesome. Foolishly I decided. to go to the cinema although it wasn’t an American picture. Needless to say it was awful. After half am hour I left in disgust and went back to the hotel to bed.. It was terribly hot and muggy and. Oh boyl The mosquitoes! I rather plan on going up to Ankor Vat on Tuesday, real early in the morning. But first I want to talk to White about it and see if he thinks it worth while’ I’d have liked to stay in Djiring and. had another go at the tigers, but think that to do so in consideration of the weather, long grass and, my fever it would have been foolish.

Saigon

Monday, June 14^th, 1926. 

            I was rather lazy in getting up this morning so that it was 8:30 before I had my petit dejuner, after which I got into a rickshaw and went down the street to fix up some shauries. I got my films of Java, and then went to the Bank of Indo—China to get some money on my letter of credit. As usual this took about an hour. These French are the slowest people in the world, and think you have as much time to waste as they have. After leaving the bank, I went to the office of the Messageries Maritimes to see about getting a cabin on the Andrea Lebon, but nothing can be done until the ship arrives here.

            When I got back to the hotel I found White, and we spent several hours talking things over. He was awfully sorry, to hear about my tough luck at Djiring, but it really couldn’t be helped. The rains, which have seriously set in now, make the hunting hopeless in this part of Indo-China. White says that he and Captain Tuttle just rang in on the last end of the good weather.

            White himself is much better. He hasn’t had any fever for five days now, and thinks he had better leave Saigon while the leaving is good. Consequently he has decided to go up to Peking with me. He, Keefe and I had lunch together at twelve o’clock. At one Pham Van Hai, the chauffeur, turned up. He presented me with a picture of himself and his family. Then we discussed the Ankor Wat proposition. He wants $200 plus gasoline expenses, which would make it about $180 gold. It is 600 meters each way, and I would be dreadfully rushed for time, as I’d have to be back here Friday night. I thought about it a great deal, and talked to White, Keefe, and the American Consul, and finally decided it would be foolish to spend that amount of money for so short a visit. Therefore I definitely decided not to go to Ankor.

            I spent several hours unpacking all my luggage, and going over my clothes. About four o’clock I took my guns to the gun maker’s to be cleaned, oiled, and packed for shipment. Then I met White, and we went to the Zoo, to look at the animals. It is quite a nice zoo, but doesn’t compare with some of the big ones we saw in India and Europe. We had tea at the Circus Sportif, a club to which White belongs, and then I came back to the hotel and had a workout, shave and bath. Both White and Keefe went out to dinner. I met the American Consul. We dined together and then sat out on the terrace until eleven o’clock, talking. We had a good laugh over Colonel Rice. The American Consul said he was nothing but a big bluffer, and that so far as he had gone in his directories, etc. he hadnt been able to find a Colonel Rice in any branch of United States Government service. I was glad to find out that someone agreed with me about him. The American Consul, Royne Y. Gram, is quite a nice chap. I liked him better tonight than I. did before. He has been stationed at Rangoon, and is Just down here replacing the Consul, who has gone home on leave.

            Before going to bed, I took a long walk, and it was after midnight when I. tamed in. Saigon is very hot at night, and the mosquitoes are awful. I undressed in about half a minute and got into bed before I was eaten alive. The mosquitoes don’t seem to take any time to do their stuff; the minute they land on you they bite.

Saigon

Tuesday, June 15^th, 1926.

            This morning I ordered “des oeufs plats” and, the boy brought me some eggs stewed in cheese. Evidently my French isn’t what it ought to be. By the way, I noticed something quite unusual over here. A Frenchman never says “garcon” when calling a boy, but has adopted the English expression of “boy”. Even in advertisements for wines they read like this, “Boy apportez un” etc. That reminds me I wanted to send some laundry this morning and, as I didn’t know what “laundry list” was in French I got out my little book entitled “French Self-taught,” I spent about half an hour looking for laundry in French. These fool books aren’t any good for they never have what you want. They gave every article of laundry from a handkerchief to a washable neck tie, but the most obviously needed word “laundry” wasn’t included.

            The chauffeur arrived at nine o’clock and I went out for a motor drive around the city of Saigon to see the sights. It really was disappointing. There is nothing that compares with the native, life or color one sees in India. The temples which were the most interesting thing we visited were different to be sure, but, on the whole, they were inferior. Being made out of wood they were unimpressive; and covered with gaudy colored paints made them cheap looking. I went through several of them and was struck by one main idea,— the love of the Eastern mind, for detail. Everything is detailed, the carving on the temples and the tremendous number of trinkets inside the temples, illustrate the point. That it is not merely a physical thing, this love of detail, is shown by the fact that in their religious worship they have the most, complicated dogmas and forms. Before praying they slap pieces of wood together. Then they go through a long preliminary daily dozen like the Mohammedans do. This is followed by the shaking of a lot of sticks in a round wooden bowl. Then they light punk and incense papers and heaven knows what not. I’ve never seen such a performance.

            The junk in the temples, for truly that is all that it is, is a most conglomerated collection of everything. There are rudely carved and painted wooden boxes, queer oriental fans, vases, artificial flowers, and all sorts of gilded wooden figures of kings, devils, angels and. dragons.

Cups, boxes of all designs and shapes, pots of beads, and hundreds of other things make up the interior decorations of these temples. Last, but not least, one notices the great amount of punk that is burned. It is twisted in large round circular spirals like the coils of a home—brew outfit and these are hung from the wooden rafters.

On the whole these temples, while they are interesting from a certain point of view, are nothing extraordinary. Unlike the Taj and Fatehpur Sikri in India they do not show any great superior artistic ability. They give one the impression that these Oriental people, with their queer, fantastic, childlike love of ritual and. their cheap gaudy temples, are really an inferior people.

            As for the rest of Saigon –the native quarter—there is little to see. I went to an Annamite cemetery, but it wasn’t any different from ours except that it was poorly kept up. The people are much more Chinese looking (and of course, many of them are pure Chinese) —than the Indians.

They are a sort of half caste it seems.

            The European part of Saigon is quite nice. There are lovely, broad, straight, shady streets. The Cathedral towers over the whole city, and although large it isn’t very impressive, being constructed out of common brown stone. Government House is quite attractive surrounded by it’s lovely parks and gardens. Then there is an enormous wireless station which is one of the most powerful in the world..

            It was about eleven o’clock when I got back to the hotel. I had lunch at twelve with White and Keefe and, then went up to my room to write diary. It was quite clear and bright out this morning, but at noon it started to pour and, there was a regular cloud burst. I spent the early part of the afternoon writing and reading lately I’ve been reading “The Cossacks” and some of Tolstoy’s shorter stories. The American Consul sent me a book entitled. “A Century of American Diplomacy” by John W. Foster. I’ve read a couple of chapters and. find, it most interesting. I’m sure Father would enjoy it. About five o’clock I went over to the zoo, for the rain had let up a bit. I spent about an hour there looking at the animals and then went to the barber shop and had a hair cut and shave. Returning to the hotel at seven o’clock I had. a work-out and. bath and. had. dinner at eight o’clock by my lonesome. Keefe and White were out to dinner. They play a lot of bridge over here, but not auction. They play “Contract” which everyone says is much more fun. The actual play is the same only the bidding and scoring are different.

            After dinner I sat on the terrace for awhile and then bought some postal cards and did some writing. Before going to bed I took a short walk.

Saigon

Wednesday, June 16^th, 1926. 

            I was up and through breakfast by nine o’clock this morning and. then took a rickshaw down to the dock. The Andre Lebon, the ship on which I sail Saturday, was in. She is a nice big one, about 19,000 tons I think. Yesterday I received notice from the police to see about my passport, so went over there and got a sort of permit which enables me to sail on Saturday. Then I came back to the hotel and. wrote diary until twelve o’clock at which time I had lunch with White and. Keefe. I asked. White if he knew Colonel Rice, and he at once exploded, and said he was the biggest bluffer that ever lived. Rice told him the same line that he told. the American Consul and myself. Honestly, I think the man must be crazy.

            After lunch I again wrote diary until three o’clock, when White and I went down to the Messageries Maritimes to see about getting a cabin together to Hong Kong. I didn’t write much on my diary when up in Djiring so have a lot of work to make up. We got a couple of nice large cabins. White has quite a drag, having been on the Andre Lebon fourteen different times. She is practically empty this time of year. Returning to the hotel I had tea and then read some of “A Century of American Diplomacy!” It certainly is a darn interesting book. As it rained all afternoon one couldn’t do much except read and. write. Saigon is a rather uninteresting place as there are no museums etc.

            At 6:30 I had a work—out, shave and bath and met the American Consul at 7:30. I had invited him to dine with me and had, a special little dinner arranged.. He is quite a nice chap. The mail being in the hotel was crowded with people and all the French gals were out in full force. I’m fed up with Saigon and can hardly wait for Saturday to come when we get out of this durnp.

            After dinner we went to the movies. I’ve on1y seen one that could compare with it. Ask Scytha if she remembers “Not one to Spare”. Well, this picture was infinitely worse.

Honestly, it was absolutely rotten. Needless to say it was a French production. The American Consul and. I couldn’t stand any more than the first half and, then retired to the cafe on the street in front of the hotel, like the ones in Paris, where we drank beer until midnight. Reed, the American Express Manager from Singapore, arrived today and dropped, in to see me this afternoon. I went to bed about 12:30 or so. Sorry there is nothing more interesting to write

about.

Saigon

Thursday, June 17^th, 1926. 

            After dressing and having le petit dejeuner I went over to the American Consul’s office where I dug up a lot of old New York Times. The latest one was March 30^th, but they contained much news I missed and I spent a couple of hours reading all the dope.

            At Twelve o’clock I went back to the hotel for lunch. Babe White and Keefe had already eaten so I had lunch by myself. Then I sent off a couple of cables and. some mail and went up to my room and had a general house cleaning before packing my stuff. I scratched off a few letters

and then wrote diary until four o’clock. By the way, I’d advise anyone corning to Saigon to bring mosquito boots. I use the pair I had in Africa all the time for the mosquitoes eat you alive in the daytirne as well as at night.

            About five o’clock I went back to the American Consul’s and looked at more old editions of the Times. A certain Mrs. Poullet, .a sister of the Manager of the Standard Oil Company of New York here, turned up. She is quite a famous character here and is called. “Nellie” by everyone, and from all I hear she must be a terror. The American Consul told her I was from Chicago and she immediately wanted to know if Iknew the Carter Harrisons. When the Consul told her that we lived right near them in Chicago at one time, she almost had fits and urged him to introduce her to me so that she might ask me to dinner. It seems that she knows the Carter Harrisons and anyone who knows them must be “right in there”. The American Consul was going out to dinner so “Nellie” and I didn’t meet. According to everyone in Saigon, I won out.

            I went back to the hotel about 6:30 and., after a work-out, shave, and. bath, had dinner with Keefe. He is starting in taking French lessons and says the little French lady makes the lessons most enjoyable. Well, I had to entertain myself for the evening so went to a movie. It wasn’t half bad when I think of the “Lion of the Moghuls” that I saw last night. After the movie I went back to the hotel and turned in. As usual the day was marked by three main things —heat, mosquitoes, and rain.

Saigon

Friday, June 18^th, 1926. 

Rising about nine o’clock I had breakfast and then went down to fix up a few shauries such as, getting my rifles, films etc. There were a number of things to be done at the last minute. At 11:30 White, Keefe and. I had lunch together and then took a siesta for a couple of hours as

I didn’t feel too hot.

My laundry was supposed to be ready at noon, and, of course it wasn’t and I had to wait for it in order to pack. Babe and I are sending all our luggage, except a suitcase apiece, down to the ship tonight at 5:00 P.M. Well, I waited and waited. I got the boy, concierge, and finally the hotel manager himself, but no laundry arrived. About four o’clock the dobbie turned up and said that my clothes were still soaking wet. He hadn’t paid the slightest attention to the “Vendudi midi” I had written on the laundry slip. I told him to get the stuff back by seven o’clock tonight or I’d murder him. I sent off the luggage at 5:00 P.M.

            A note from Gram, the Consul, arrived about 4:00P.M. It was an invitation for 5:30 this evening so I trotted up to the Consulate at said hour. There is sort of a special goodbye dinner to Babe this evening to which I was invited yesterday, and all assembled at the Amerioan Consul’s about six o’clock. Here we had champagne and other drinks. Among the eight or nine men there was Poullet of the Standard Oil, Mr. Rich, Mr. David., Keefe, Babe White, Johnny Mapian, and Mr. Schofield of the Admiral Oriental Line.

            I had a long talk with Poullet who is a Yale graduate of the class of 1897. It was lots of fun talking about old Yale. About eight o’clock we went down to the hotel where we were joined by several others. There was a special dinner a la terrace which was very nice indeed. I sat between Poullet and. Mr. Schofield and. during the conversation with the latter I asked him where he came from anti when he said “Chicago”, I said, “so do I”. Then he said “you aren’t connected in any way with Mark Manufacturing Company at Evanston, are you”? Well, that started us off right. This chap, Sohofield, lived in Evanston for a number of years and, at one time was connected with the Northern Pacific R.R. He was quite well to do but lost a great deal of his money, I understand.. He knew Mr. Pirie I think, personally. Well, we had. a great time. He certainly is a nice old fellow and. kept apologizing to me for the rather lively crowd.. He said out east that the one tragedy is that of saying “goodbye” to friends.

            After dinner we all went down to the ship. The Andre Lebon is larger than the Porthos, and is about 22,000 tons. She is a peach of a boat,— very comfortable. On the ship there was more champagne. Then we went back to Johnny Mapian’s house where we sat around talking and playing the piano until 1:30 A.M. when the party broke up. Everyone was American. There is quite a community of them here and we had a jolly fine evening. Some of them were so darn nice I rather hated the thought of leaving Saigon and having to say goodbye to them.’ Keefe particularly is a darn good scout. I finally got to bed at 2:00 A.M. and left a call for 5:30 P.M.

The ship sails at 7:00 A.M. Thank heavens my laundry was here when I got back to the room tonight.

Leave Saigon, At Sea

Saturday, June 19^th, 1926. 

            The boy called me at 5:00A.M. and I felt like the wraith of something. I got up, packed my things, took a cold shower and drank some lukewarm coffee. Then I paid my bill and joined White who was waiting for me. We got a couple of rickshaws and went down to the Andre Lebon which sailed promptly at 7:00 A.M. We have very nice cabins. The ship is almost empty. There aren’t over a dozen first class passengers. Coming out to Saigon from Marseilles there were only twenty three. Just think of the tremendous loss the Messageries Maritimes must have made. I understand the line is subsidized by the French Government. The Andre Lebon, as I said before, is about 22,000 tons and. is most comfortable. There are five decks, lift etc. You can imagine how few a dozen first class passengers are on a ship this size.

            Babe and I had breakfast at 7:30 and spent most of the morning talking together. We have many friends in common. He was all American tackle from Syracuse for a couple of years and after college went into the hunting game. He, of course, knows Clark, Akeley and the others. He showed me a lot of pictures he had taken in Abyssinia last year. We had a most interesting conversation.

            The trip down the Saigon River took five hours. The scenery near by was flat and uninteresting, but way off in the distance one could make out the ranges of mountains. When we got to Cape St Jaques there was a good breeze blowing. It was quite a relief for it was rather warm.

            We had lunch at 12:00 noon. The food certainly tasted. great after the stuff I have been eating at the Continental Hotel Lunch over we decided on a siesta. I’ve made up my mind, to get a good rest on this ship. It was too hot to rest in Saigon and I still have a little fever which I think the sea air will take care of.

            Outside St Jaques we ran into a little rain squall that didn’t last 1ong. We had a fine dinner at seven and. then sat up on deck until 11:00 P.M. discussing many things. There was a half moon and it was a lovely night’ In the distance across the sparkling water were somber, dark hills and the many islands, and here and there a lighthouse flashed it’s warning signals of red and white. It was one of those nights when it seems too nice to go to bed.

At Sea, Saigon to Hong Kong

Sunday, June 20^th, 1926. 

            Although I woke up and had petit dejeuner at 8:30 I went back to sleep again and didn’t appear on deck until eleven o’clock. Then I had just time enough for a little stroll and chat with White before lunch. Poor Babe had another attack of fever last night and didn’t sleep a wink.

Lunch was at twelve after which we had a session with the victrola. Then I took a siesta until 4:30 when I began diary writing.

            It is a nice warm day at sea. Just as calm as anyone could wish for. At noon today we had covered 309 miles and have 574 to go to Hong Kong. We are due there Tuesday morning I believe.

            Before dinner I took a mile walk around the deck for some exercise and then White and I talked until dinner time. There is absolutely nothing to do on board ship. We weren’t even able to find a fourth for bridge, so after dinner sat out on deck and played the victrola and. talked until 1:00 A.M. White certainly is an interesting fellow and told me all about his many experiences in Africa and Indo—China. He is a peach and. I like him a lot.

            It was terrifically hot, so we hauled out our mattresses on deck and slept until 5:00 A.M. when we had to go inside for the sailors wash clown the deck at that hour.

At Sea, Saigon to Hong Kong

Monday, June 21^st, 1926. 

When I came into my cabin at five o’clock the heat was terrific, but I was so tired that I went to sleep in spite of it. I woke up about 8:30 A.M. and had a bath and then ate le petit dejeuner in my room; after which I shaved. and came up on deck. I soon settled down to writing

diary. It is hotter than hades today.

            It is perfectly amazing what few people there are on board. — the smallest passenger list they have ever had. Since the ship left Marseilles the greatest number of first class passengers on her at any one time was 48 and. there were 60 stewards to look after them.

            With only about 15 first class passengers we don’t have a very gay time. There isn’t even a fourth for bridge.

            Lunch, as usual, was at 12:00 o’clock after which I took a siesta for a couple of hours. Then the victrola entertained us till tea time. I’ve met a Mr. and- Mrs. Roland Moore from New York. They have been on the Andre Lebon ever since she left Marseilles on May 21st. They are taking a trip around the world.. Just imagine how ridiculous it is; all they have seen of the world outside of Europe is Colombo, Singapore, each for 12 hours. Saigon for three days and. Hong Kong for 12 hours. From Europe to Shanghai and only stopped at these three or four ports. Oh yes! They have seen the world.,- been all around. it. They know the J.J. Mitchels quite well and live part of the year at Santa Barbara, I understand.. They know Roth Sheriff and several other people I know. We had lots of fun talking together.

            I changed my clothes before dinner at seven, and then White and I spent the evening talking on deck. It was midnight when we went to bed.

Hong Kong

Tuesday, June 22^nd, 1926. 

When I woke this morning we were gust coming into the harbor of Hong Kong. One look through the port hole was enough to convince me that it was a sight that shouldn’t be missed., so I hastily dressed and went up on deck. In the meantime we had anchored at quarantine. I don’t know of any words or expressions that could adequately describe Hong Kong. They say the harbor at Naples is supposed to be one of the most beautiful in the world., but to my mind. it doesn’t begin to compare with Hong Kong.

            The island of Hong Kong lies some distance off the coast of China,- about a night’s ride from Canton, by boat. As you know, it belongs to the British and is a free port there being no customs. Hong Kong used to be the third largest shipping port in the world but it’s day is over.

For over a year there has been a British boycott. The Chinese refuse to use any British goods and it is impossible to get any coolies to load or unload. British ships. Consequently Hong Kong is a dead port. This peaceful method of protest is certainly an effective one and the Chinese are pretty wise in employing it. The British can gain no victory as they surely would if actual war should break out. Instead they have to sit by and watch their great Hong Kong die by degrees. It seems that Hong Kong will never become the shipping center it once was, for now—a—days it is too expensive a proposition. You see, all southern Chinese goods,— imports and. exports, were in the past trans—shipped at Hong Kong so that the cost of things was considerably more than it needed. to be. The river up to Canton could. be made perfectly navigable with very little work. Therefore, the Chinese, as well as most people, are saying “Why Hong Kong”?

            But in spite of the fact that Hong Kong being only an island where goods in the past have needlessly been transshipped there is no doubt that as a harbor it ranks very high. Some people say that Rio is prettier, but believe me it has a long way to go. Hong Kong appears to be a mountain range that has been pushed. up out of the sea. There isn’t only one big harbor, but a regular chain of them. One seems to see large bays everywhere. And., as I say, the island. and. it’s peninsula of Kowloon are covered with steep mountains. They rise about 1500 to 2000 feet above the sea and are beautifully green. On a clear day I imagine it is an even more marvelous sight than it was this morning when a heavy fog hid the top of the peaks perched on the mountain side is the city of Hong Kong,- a series of what looked like modern grey stone buildings-clustered thickly together near the water, and dwindling out as one followed them up the mountain side, until finally, one could see only one here and there on little crags near the surnmit where the occupants had obviously built their little homes to get away from the heat.

            I wish I could do justice to Hong Kong, for it is a marvelous place. About nine o’clock we steamed further up the harbor passing many ships from all over the world. The two largest ships in the harbor, besides the Andre Lebon, were the Ankor of the Messageries Maritimes and the Empress of Asia of the C.P. The water was dotted with hundreds of tugs, barges and. those little Chinese “junks” as they call, them. They are queer tiny little boats where whole families are born, live and die.

            We’ turned and backed several times and finally anchored off Blake Pier. Although there seemed to be a number of ships-in the harbor, White said. that it was nothing like what it used. to be. He was in Hong Kong on board. this very ship- the Andre Lebon- during the worst typhoon in history in 1923 (?). You see, there are typhoon shelters for the smaller boats, but when a typhoon comes along all the large ships put out to sea. The China Sea is the special place where typhoons are formed., clue to the peculiar atmospheric depressions. They nearly all start in the vicinity of the Phillipines or Paracel Islands and. travel north. They only move about 200 miles a clay so it is fairly easy to follow them. At Hong Kong there are four regular typhoon signals which are sounded when a typhoon is in the vicinity.

            Well, in August 1923, White says the typhoon signals were put up. The Captain of the Andre Lebon and. Empress of Australia decided. to put to sea. But before they could get out of the harbor the typhoon arrived.. They were in mid-stream, White says, just, previous to the arrival of the typhoon there was a characteristic lull and. the barometer dropped. to almost nothing. Then, he said, one saw grey clouds and. heard a regular roar. The Andre Lebon was tied to two buoys, had out two anchors and. was going full speed ahead. at the rate of 18 knots right into the typhoon and. yet she was slipping backwards at the rate of 10 knots. The Empress of’ Australia was behind the Andre Lebon. She held her ground and the Andre Lebon slipping clown stream missed her by about ten feet. Sixty seven ships in the harbor were sunk. Fourteen thousand people were killed and. Hong Kong was four feet under water, and. White says, the whole thing didn’t last more than fifteen minutes.

            It was quite interesting to have him point out all these things to me from the ship. Speaking of White, he had another 914 injection for malaria so decided he had better not go ashore. I just wish you could. have seen the Andre Lebon this morning. Everything was done in regular French style. Although we arrived. in the harbor at 8:00 A.M. it was 11:30 A.M. before we finally got ashore. From 9 until 11 I rushed around the ship trying to find. Someone with a little dope on themselves. I couldn’t find any of the ship’s officers. The Purser wasn’t anywhere on board and. none of the stewards knew a thing. The gangway to a couple of small boats was loaded with coolies, as were the collection of small launches. Well, I waited. and. waited getting more nervous all the time. At last I saw an American Express man and. he told. me that I’d. have to wait another half hour for a company launch before I could. get ashore.

            Mr. and. Mrs. Moore and. I, as well as a few others, got on one of the little boats at 11:30 and were put ashore. I have to laugh at Mr. Moore, he has a Bell & Howell which be uses continually. He only takes about 6 inches on a foot of film at one scene, consequently his pictures will flash past before anyone has a chance to see them. Five feet, I understand, is the minimum one should- take for a scene.

            As soon as I landed. I went to the American Express office about two blocks from Blake Pier. Hong Kong streets and. buildings are very modern and. much more western looking than the Indian Cities. On all sides I saw familiar signs, “Vacuum Oil Company, American Tobacco Company”, etc. The coolies at the dock didn’t seem any different from the ones I had. seen in Singapore and- Indo-China.

            At the American Express I discovered, that one of the runners had- taken my mail with him, so there was nothing to do but wait till the runner returned-. In the meantime I decided to take a walk down Queens Street, which is supposed to be the shopping district. Golly – I never saw so many beautiful things. I’m nutty on Chinese stuff. I don’t think the Indian work or designs compare with the Chinese in spite of the fact that many people prefer the former.

I felt as if I wanted. to buy the whole city, but I have heard that Shanghai and Peking are better places to make purchases. I went into one shop and kidded a Chinaman. He tried- to sell me something for $l9 and I argued with him until I got him down to $7. Then I said I’d think about it

and would return later, having no intention on doing so. He knew it as well as I did-, but was a funny, good-natured little fellow.

            When I got back to the American Express I got my wonderful mail. There was a letter from father and. Anna and John Pine and a couple of cables. I sat right down and read all of it. Then I discussed Hong Kong with the American Express man. While it is possible to get up to Canton, with a great deal of difficulty, it seems inadvisable. Things are shut down there as they are in Hong Kong on account of the British Boycott. Hong Kong, as I said., is an island about

11 miles long and five wide. It is just like a modern European City and unless one intends to make purchases there, or go up to Canton, there isn’t much point in stopping there. Not that Hong Kong isn’t beautiful, for it is divine, but one can motor around. The island and. in a few hours see all the magnificent scenery and views. That is exactly what I did. After fixing up all my shauries I hired a car and. drove over the hills to the Repulse Bay Hotel which is the best hotel I’ve been at since I left Europe. The road winds over the mountains and. around. ledges. Everywhere one sees beautiful bays and. coves. It is one of the most picturesque rides I ever took, somewhat like the drives around. Naples out Amalfi and Capri way. The only thing that was unfortunate was the rain and fog that more or less spoiled the distant views. I spent a little time at the Repulse Bay Hotel and then returned. to Hong Kong via the Peak which is 1800 feet high, but the fog was so thick you couldn’t see 10 feet. I had a bite to eat and bought some books when I got back to the city. Was very happy to get volumes 2 and 3 of War and. Peace. There were notices up saying .the Andre Lebon wouldn’t sail until 6:00 P.M. At the dock I met the Moores and. we all came back to the ship in one of the company’s launches.

            Of course, the Andre Lebon didn’t sail at six. We had dinner at 7:00 P.M. White was up but wasn’t feeling too hot. After dinner we went up on deck and I learned the reason for the delay. The police had found 14. Browning machine guns on board and. three of the waiters, who had been implicated., had. been taken ashore to be interviewed.. I presume they expected to land them here and. sell them to the Chinese. We sailed about nine o’clock and.. I was rather glad- we had been delayed for it made it possible for us to see one of the most beautiful sights in the world. Hong Kong harbor at night is gorgeous. The fog had lifted so it was quite clear. The city was one blaze of lights which -viewed- from the ship in the harbor made it possible for one to see their twinkling, dancing reflection in the bay. The little individual lights of the street lamps along the road winding up to the Peak, although dimmer than the city lights, were just as beautiful. The whole mountain side seemed- alive with fire as did the water. And. a beautiful moon beamed down on it all. If Rio is better than this it certainly is worth seeing.

            We went out a different way than we came in, and Mr. and Mrs. Moore, White and I sat on deck for hours watching Hong Kong disappear. A good breeze sprang up when we got out to sea which delighted all of us. About eleven o’clock I went to sleep. As it was warm in my cabin, which was on the lee side of the ship, I pulled my mattress out on deck and slept there.

About my itinerary it seems advisable not to make plans too far ahead as events and conditions in China are constantly changing. The Philippines at this time of the year are terrifically hot for it is typhoon season. I am not in the best of health and am afraid if I went back to a hot place my fever would come back. Then, too, I am rather pressed for time and. think northern China and- Peking much more worth while seeing than Manila and- I haven’t time to see both. I expect at present to take either the President Jefferson or the President Grant home, arriving the 22nd- of July or the 3rd- of August. Both ships are of the Admiral Oriental Line which, White assures me, is much superior to the C.P. and- as he has been on both lines a dozen times he ought to know. Gosh this is a long day!

At Sea, Hong Kong to Shanghai

Wednesday, June 23^rd, 1926. 

            Of course, we had to move at 4:30 A.M. when the decks were washed down, but I didn’t lose any time in getting to sleep when I got back to my cabin. I awoke again about nine

o’clock and. had breakfast in my cabin. Then after a shave and bath I went up on deck. We were out of sight of land. It was calm enough, but dull, grey and rainy. I wrote diary until lunch, at noon, after which time I sat on deck with Mr. Moore until the steward told me le grand homme wanted me. I went down to the cabin and found White having terrible chills. Another attack of malaria. Poor fellow! He was burning up. I gave him 10 grains of aspirin and he went to bed covered up with many blankets. He still continued to shake and. shiver, but said that it wouldn’t last more than a few hours. I guess he felt pretty sick. I thought he’d rather be quiet so didn’t bother him when I saw that I couldn’t do anything more for him.

            I had tea at four and. then wrote diary for several hours. We covered. 197 miles up till noon today and. have 628 to go to Shanghai, where we are due Friday afternoon.

            Before dressing for dinner I took a long walk on deck and then had a hot bath. I had a very amusing time at dinner. Our Italian friend has moved and Babe was sick in bed, so that there was only the Dutch lady and. myself. Well, she started in telling me all her troubles. It seems that her husband is a pilot for ships going up the Whangpoo River to Shanghai. She has never been out of Holland. before. She believes implicitly anything that anyone tells her. Her husband said not to drink any water after going through the Red Sea. Someone else told her not to eat any vegetables– another person said “Don’t touch meat or ice cream.” She complains of being sick every night. I really felt darn sorry for her because, although dumb, she is quite pathetic. Tonight she said that she was starved., but that everyone told her not to eat this or that, so all she had eaten all day was a piece of toast. She is absolutely scared to death and is so excited about reaching Shanghai that she says she doesn’t care if she dies the next day.

            After dinner I went up to see Babe and. talked. to him for some time. His fever had broken and he was feeling a little better. About 10:30 I went up on deck. It was a nice clear night. Today we saw schools of porpoise and a number of sharks. All along near the shore were enormous brown patches on top of the water that looked. like oil, only of a much lighter shade. For miles and miles we saw this stuff which the steward said was fish eggs. The shore of

China appeared on the horizon most of the day. We lost it at times in the haze. The sea was nice and calm, but there was a very slight ground swell due, I guess, to some bad weather they have had up in the inland sea.

            I chatted awhile with the Moores and then went to bed. It was considerably cooler out and there is a big change in the weather. One feels that he has left the tropics behind and it certainly peps you up—this colder air. 

            Eleven months ago today I left home. 

At Sea, Hong Kong to Shanghai

Thursday, June 24^th, 1926. 

            Once more I was lazy, having petit dejuener in my cabin and did not go up on deck until eleven o’clock. Bale was up and feeling slightly better. he tool: a walk on deck and bad lunch at twelve. We coverod 321 miles yesterday, Today there is more of a ground swell, but the weather is still calm and nice. The air is much more bracing and makes one feel peppy. Being near the shore we see lots of Little Chinese junks with their queer out of date sails. One can well imagine that they aren’t much different from the ships they used 300 or more years ago. At times today we passed acres of these tuner fish eggs, and sharks seem to be common off this coast.

            During the afternoon I read and wrote diary when I wasn’t playing the victrola or talking to the Moores. At dinner I started kidding the Dutch lady. I told her that she wasn’t very consistent, for she wouldn’t drink a drop of water and yet she put huge pieces of ice in her wine. She almost dad of thirst last night, for she woke up at midnight and felt it was too late to wake up the steward to bring her soda, so instead of drinking a little cater that was in the thermos bottle, she preferred to go through the thirst agony until this morning. She said she looks at me gulping down water and feels envious. Then I said, “Well now I wouldn’t take any soup if I were you–that’s what probably makes you sick”, But Babe told her I was just kidding her.

            Dinner was hardly finished before Babe felt the fever coming back. He can always tell about half an hour before it comes. I sat up on deck until its arrival. First he has chills for an hour or so, then the fever sets In and goes as high as 103 or 104. After a couple of hours it breaks and he perspires like the deuce. I sat down in his cabin till about 10:30 talking to him and then want up on deck for a stroll before going to bed.

            I expect we will reach Shanghai about noon tomorrow.

Arrive Shanghai

Friday, June 25^th, 1926. 

Then I woke up this morning we were already on our way up the famous Yangtse River. We seemed in sort of a big harbor, the surrounding land being very low and the water muddy and calm. I had breakfast and went up on deck to see the sights. It was very warm and sunny out. The river was alive with hundreds of old fashioned Chinese junks. It was a most unusual sight, so I went down to my cabin and got my Bell & Howell into action. About 11:30 we turned out of the Yangtse into the Whangpoo River.

Shanghai is situated on the Whangpoo River about 13 miles inland. from it’s junction with the Yangtse. I caught a glimpse of the Dutch lady and. her husband.. one was all smiles and. certainly seemed pepped up. He is a pilot and I guess, got aboard. very early this morning. I was amazed as we steamed upstream. On both sites of the river were factories, trains, and. barges. Here and there were tall smoke stacks belching forth tense, black, clouds of smoke. Why the place seemed just like one of our big industrial cities. I felt as though I were landing in the States—so much so that I got very excited about getting into dock. The further we went upstream the more thickly settled the city became, and huge signs of the Standard Oil Company of New York and the other American Corporations appeared on both sides of the river.

The river was crowded with ships from all over the world. Here was a French ship, there was a Chinese, there a British, Italian, etc. I picked out the worst looking boat I could find. Yes, she was a lop-sided, paint all off, rigging shot to pieces—and as usual she was flying the Stars and Stripes. Our merchant marine is certainly is a disgrace to us.

            Babe was feeling pretty low today. He was so weak he could hardly stand up. At eleven o’clock we all had a bite to eat. The Dutchman and his wife sat at the same table with us and looked like a pair of turtle doves. After lunch I was presented with my bill for drinks at the bar. Guess what it was? I had, altogether, five glasses of beer, two lime squashes, three lemonades, and two dry martinis. Well, the bill was 17 francs or about 47 cents gold. Can you beat that? A bottle of Gordon Rouge, the best champagne you can buy, is only 50 francs or $1.50 gold. The best white wines are about 25 cents a quart. But don’t worry, other things like your passage are not in the same proportion. I never would have had to pay a thing from Hong Kong to Shanghai if I hadn’t called the purser’s attention to the fact that I hadn’t paid. You see, being an honest guy!

            When we drew up to the dock the Moores were over-come. You see, they have a big store in New York and sell Oriental Art. They came to China with the intention of looking at a few rare antiques. Well, at the dock, to meet them, were five of the most prominent Chinese Art dealers in the world, according to Mr. Moore. Three of them are the biggest dealers in London, Paris, and New York. 

            We docked quite a way down the river. You see, years ago the first traders were not allowed to have shops, etc. in Shanghai itself, but were given separate concessions outside the city. These concessions have grown to such enormous size that they are really Shanghai, while the native city, further upstream, is of minor importance. At one time there was an American Concession, the British Concession, and the French. The Americans and British got together and elected one municipal council for the two Concessions and made the whole thing International. The French, however, stuck by themselves so that today there is the International Concession, the French Concession, and the Native City. 

The Moores, as I said, were met by these Chinese merchants and the Dyers came down to meet Babe. He is going to stay with them. I got hold of the Astor House man ant got my

luggage taken off the ship. The customs didn’t bother me other than to make me leave my guns in bond until I was ready to leave China. I hopped into the hotel bus. It was very hot,

94 in the shade and although everyone seemed half dead, I didn’t notice the heat particularly, but I guess they aren’t used to Saigon weather up here.

Shanghai impressed me from the first as being very up-to-date and Western. The trams, buildings and everything are certainly not a bit oriental or Eastern looking, of course,

I am speaking of the International Concession. The Astor House is a very modern and comfortable hotel. I secured a nice room with a real bath tub. Yea Bo! Running hot water too! The room wasn’t made up so I went down to the lobby and devoured several New York Times, until my room was put in order. Then I changed my clothes, had a bath and went down to the American Express. I can’t get over Shanghai. The buildings are a dozen or more stories high and the city looks not unlike Chicago or Boston. 

            At the American Express Company I was told that passage to Tientsin is almost impossible—that hundreds of people are being turned down, but that because I had wired ahead for passage, and by a great piece of luck, they had berths for Babe and me for July 1^st. The next possible passage was July 17^th. You see, there are no trains running at all and the only way to get to Peking is by boat to Tientsin and motor to Peking. Although I wasn’t sure if babe would be well enough to go July 1^st. I decided to take the tickets as I’d be able to turn them in easily enough if we didn’t want them. 

There was a cable from dad about Camp Anna being vacant, which will certainly please Babe. From the American Express I went back to the hotel in a rickshaw. Right across from the hotel is the Russian Consulate, then the German, then the American and then the Japanese. It looks funny to see the ret flag of the Bolsheviks flying almost site by site with the Stars ant Stripes. The Bolshevik Consulate is a tremendous building and is headquarters for all the Red plotting and intrigue in Asia and the far East. You see, the Chinese Government has recognized the Soviet Government and their influence is enormous. They control Canton and South China almost absolutely and there are 8,000 or more of them here in Shanghai.

I had tea when I got back to the hotel and met the Moores who are stopping here. The best hotel in town is the Majestic, but the rooms are terrifically expensive, so very few people stay there. I read more papers and wrote a letter to Dad before dinner, which I ate at the hotel by myself. The Astor House is quite a large hotel, about the size of the Sherman House in Chicago, and very modern. The food at dinner was great. Afterwards I took a short walk along the bund, but it started to rain so came back to the hotel and went to bed. 

Shanghai

Sunday, June 26^th, 1926. 

            I got up fairly early this morning and went down to the American Express and bought tickets to Peking. I talked to Babe about it last night over the phone, but the doctor hasn’t said yet whether he’d be able to leave by the first. In any case I can turn the tickets in if I decide not to use them. Then I went over the Admiral Line and arranged about going home on the President Grant. I already had my cabin, but told them about Babe. I visited one or two shops but didn’t buy anything. I think it is better just to look around for a bit. At the hotel I had to send off laundry, have suits pressed and cleaned etc. 

            Shanghai is certainly a great place. I am in love with it. It is, of course, very modern—at least the International Settlement is. Except for the rickshaws and Chinese coolies and clerks you might think you were in a large city of the U.S. All the Chinese bank clerks wear long silk robes. They are made of beautiful material. The predominating color seems to be light blue. But they have discarded their native hats or caps, or whatever they used to call them, for now they all wear straw hats. Even some of the coolies who pull the rickshaws have old and worn-out straw hats. 

            Speaking of rickshaws—they are a wonderful invention. They are the handiest and cheapest things in the world. There are hundreds of them and you can always find one ready to hop into. The coolies who pull them run all the time, so you really make quite good speed. You can hire one for an hour for forty or fifty cents Mex—about 20 cents gold. I am told that rickshaws were originally introduced in China and Japan forty or fifty years ago by an American who lived out here. His wife was a cripple, so he devised a sort of rickshaw and had a coolie pull it about. 

            One thing that struck me as funny was the Russian Consulate—a tremendous building right across from the hotel. It seems queer to see the red flag of the Bolshevik Government flying right next to the Stars and Stripes over the American Consulate two doors away. 

            I had tiffin at the Astor House and then as the stores were closed, and as it was raining like the deuce out, I decided to take a siesta. About four o’clock I went down to the Dyers where I had tea. The Dyers live at No. 2 French Bund. Mr. Dyer is the head of the Shanghai Tug and Light Company. He is an awfully nice man. During the war he was a Colonel in the British Army and received from the French Government the decoration of the Legion of Honor. The Dyers have a flat just inside the French Concession. The International Concession is about twenty feet from their house. Mr. Dyer has been out here 38 years and has been a member of the French Municipal Council for 14 years.

            The doctor came to see Babe, so I had him look me over as I’ve been feeling pretty rotten the last few weeks. He took a blood test and said he’d let me know the results tomorrow. Babe, he said, would have to have ten treatments for malaria. That means that we won’t be able to go up to Peking on the first.

            I had a delicious diner at the Dyers about eight o’clock. We planned to go out afterwards, but as it was raining very hard we decided to give it up. Mr. Dyer showed me part of his Chinese brass collection, which is supposed to be one of the finest in the East. I had a very nice evening and thoroughly enjoyed myself. It was about midnight by the time I got back to the Astor House, and I went to bed. 

Shanghai

Sunday, June 27^th, 1926. 

            I slept fairly late this morning, but in spite of the good long rest I didn’t feel any too hot. I don’t know what Is wrong with me. It seems to be about everything combined, Babe called up about eleven o’clock to say that the doctor reported that the blood culture hadn’t shown any

malaria germs, but that my blood was run down and that all the symptoms of malaria were there. Therefore, he wrote out a couple of prescriptions for some tonics.

            I met the Moores after breakfast and they introduced me to Mr. Chow and Mr. Levan Ching. They are two of the most expert authorities on. Chinese antiques that are alive today.

It was certainly very interacting talking to them. Mr. Chow, I guess is the better of the two. He is, according to Mr. Moore, the biggest dealer in Chinese Art in London. It seems that Mr. Chow is giving a big banquet for Mr. and Mrs. Moore tonight at the Majestic Hotel. He was kind enough to invite me to Join them and I accepted with great pleasure.

After talking to them for some time I went down to the Dyers to see Babe, and bad tiff in there. I came back to the hotel after lunch and took a siesta until four o’clock, when the Dyers called for me in their car. He took a short drive around the city and Mr. Dyer pointed out all the things of interest in Shanghai. There is a street that divides the International Settlement from the French Concessions Policemen in one district can’t cross over to the other; consequently if you are speeding all you would have to do is duck over to the other side of the road. Pub like all places that I have seen outside of the U.S. they haven’t any pests , called motor—cycle policemen.

            We visited a couple of the numerous Shanghai clubs, but mute could compare with the Cercle Sportif Francois. It is the most magnificent club that you could imagine. There are about 1800 members of whom only one quarter are French, although it is a French Club, in the French Concession. It is a new building containing wonderful mah jong, billiard, bridge and other rooms. The ballroom is tremendous and the wooden floor is on springs so that one never tires of dancing. You can’t imagine how enormous this club is. There are 60 tennis courts all around the Club House and the grounds are beautiful. Everywhere there are lovely porches and verandas.

Put the best is yet to come. You ought to see the swimming pool. It is 185 feet long and sixty feet wide, It is the largest indoor cool that I can remember ever having seen. The whole thing is tile and is a perfect dream.

            We had tea at the club and sat around talking till about 7:30, when the Dyers dropped me at the Astor House and I had a bath and put on evening clothes. I met the Moores in the lobby about 8:30 and we motored out to the Majestic. The Majestic is the finest hotel in Shanghai, but as it used to be a private residence of an immensely wealthy Chinese man, the rooms are limited. I believe there are only fifty altogether and it costs one a fortune to live there. However it is the nicest place in Shanghai to give parties and is very popular. It corresponds with the Blackstone, or the Ritz in New York. The ballroom is perfectly magnificent as are all the other rooms. The cocktail room is quite unique, having one end opening on a garden where there are masses of ferns, fountains and twinkling lights. It is all just line fairyland or a wonderful dream.

            On arrival we were met by Mr. Chow and Mr. Levan Ching and escorted into a private sitting room where the furniture and decorations would put even the Drake Hotel to shame.

There we were introduced to the guests there were about 40 at the banquet and all were Chinese except Mr. and Mrs. Moore and myself. But talk about Chinese! They were great honestly, I never had a better tine. Before dinner we had cocktails and thee were shown into a gorgeous private dining room. There was one long table. The place cards were all in Chinene, I was having an awful job finding my seat until someone helped me out. I sat on the right of the hostess, who didn’t speak a word of English and you know my Chinese isn’t too good. All we could do was smile at each other, but she wasn’t hard to smile at. Say what you like about the Chinese women, hut I think they are fine. They were dressed in the most beautiful gowns I have ever seen, of course, the dress was Chinese, but the silk was beautiful. The Chinese women are small and slim and some of them are very attractive. Most of the men and ladies at dinner were married but there were one or two young girls. One especially nice one. She has just returned from six years at a boarding school in New York. She speaks beautiful English, dances the Charleston and all the latest steps, and has seen all the latest shows in New York. Besides that she is awfully good

looking and is our of the best dancers that have ever danced with. I quite fell for her’ Her most attractive quality was that she was feminine, But all Chinese women are that they are so much more graceful, sweet and feminine than the modern U.S. tomboy type,~- the young flapper.

            I had one peach of a time. The lady on my right was the mother of the very attractive girl so we had a great time talking together. Needless to say the food was perfectly delicious only I felt somewhat at sea when the waiter put an enormous turtle down in front of me. It was whole, with the head, feet and shell, end I was wondering how in heavens name I was going to begin, when be suddenly lifted the top of it off and I discovered that it contained soup. I breathed a sigh of relief. The wine and. champagne flowed freely. In between courses we danced. Most of the Chinese ladies were quite good dancers and the floor was fine, The orchestra is one of the best and would stand up well against any in New Jerk. In fact they are going to make Victor Records in a month or two, I understand.

            After dinner we went out into the ballroom, where we had a big table. We danced until three o clock. Some of these Chinese girls are marvelous dancers and are as light as feathers. I thought of some of the heavy-weights that I have pushed around the Onwentsia floor. The very attractive one did the Charleston absolutely adorably and perfectly. Yes, the Chinese are an right. Of course, these people at dinner were of the 400, as it were, — the best in Shanghai and China. Talk about Jade! I’ve never seen so much or such beautiful quality. The women had other jewels too, but the jade was by far the most popular and magnificent.

            I hated to leave, but like all good times, there had to be an end to this. We went hone about three o’clock. It was a most enjoyable evening– the best I have bad for a long time.

Shanghai

Monday, June 28^th, 1926. 

Up bright and early this morning in spite of the late night. Gosh! What a good time I had! After a shave, bath, and breakfast I went down to the Dyers. There I picked. Up Babe and Mrs . Dyer, who a speaks Chinese fluently, and who promised to accompany me and do my bargaining. We decided just to have a “look see”, as the Chinese say, and do the actual shopping several days hence. Nevertheless, we picked a few nice little things. On our morning’s tour we stopped at the American Express and the Admiral Oriental Line, and Babe and I bought new straw hats. My old topic I bid goodbye to for a long time, I left it with the Dyers in case

I ever return this way.

            We stopped at the Dyers about twelve o’clock where we were joined by Mr. Dyer and. Mr. Firth, his partner. Then we all hiked over to the Shanghai Club, just half a block away.

The Shanghai Club is the Club in Shanghai, just as the Chicago Club is the Club in Chicago. It is vary conveniently located right on the bund and is most attractive inside and out. One

of the chief features is the bar, which is supposed to be the longest one in the world, and I quite believe it. There must be fifty bar tenders,–all Chinese boys, and from one end to the other is a real walk. I told Dyer that if you started at one end and had a drink with all your friends down the line that when you arrived at the other end you would have to be carried home. Mr. Dyer showed me all about the club and then put me on as a visiting member which entitles me to all the privileges of the club for two weeks. I can sign chits, etc. Mr. Dyer is certainly a peach. There isn’t a nicer person anywhere.

            We hung around the club until after one o’clock and then I got into a rickshaw and went back to the Astor House for tiffin, Lunch over I had a siesta until three o’clock when I joined the 

Moores in the lobby and we all went shopping together. The Moores, of course, had several experts with them, as well as Mr. Chow, and I went along more to watch than anything else. It was darn interesting seeing all the beautiful things that were unpacked especially for them. Ordinarily if a stranger goes into a Chinese Art store he only sees the worst things as all the valuables are put away or locked up in a safe, so that today I had an opportunity of seeing the very best, and I, must say, I was duly impressed. The green and white jade vases, candy bowls, etc. were exquisite, though beyond my limit. We went around to several shops seeing antiques as well as modern things. The Moores bought thousands of dollars worth of things. Mr. Moore is particularly interested in snuff bottles, and at one store, after going through a large collection, he brought one to show me, saying that he had never seen a finer one anywhere and that it was really a collector’s piece that would grace anyone’s collection. I was admiring it when the Chinese owner asked me if I like it, and upon my saying it was a beauty he said; “All right you keep it; I make you a present of it.”

            At another shop the owner presented me with a cute little piece of white jade. I suppose that because I was with the Moores, who were buying so much they thought they ought to do something for me. I bought a couple of little knick-knacks at different places. The shopping took us all afternoon, so that it was after seven when we returned to the hotel. 

            I dined with the Moores at the Astor House and then we met a Mr. Bahr, an Eurasian, but a perfect peach. He gave me the address of a couple of Chinese places and we hired a car and went out to see the sights. First we visited “The New World” which is a big stone building. There are about half a dozen different entertainments going on at once, and we were the only Europeans in the place. The most interesting thing we saw was a Chinese play. The actors were all dressed up in weird old costumes with masks. The orchestra which consisted of three or four unusual and high pitched string instruments, were, like the actors themselves, on the stage, only grouped together on one corner. They played the craziest music I ever hear and didn’t pay the least attention to the actors. One chap beat a sort of drum. He has a rhythm all his own. The actors hopped about half singing and half talking, but actually there was little or no action. After about ten minutes they went out one door and a couple of new characters came in through another, dressed in even more fantastic and unique clothes. It really was darn interesting, and a novel sight.

            The Chinese have a very peculiar custom. At a theatre or on the train they always bring you steaming hot towels about every ten minutes with which you are supposed to wipe your face and hands. It certainly is refreshing. They were right on the job tonight with their towels. We were also served with tea—all the while the performance was going on. The tea was green, of course—served hot in cups without any handles, so naturally you always burned your fingers. 

            We watched the show for a bit and then explored the rest of “The New World” which is sort of a bazaar affair. “The Old World” across the street is the same sort of place. From there we went to the Carlton. The roof was closed as it was a bad night, but we saw a cabaret show down in the main ballroom. It was only fair. We danced until about two o’clock when the place closed up. We were on the way home when we heard another orchestra and going through a couple of doors found ourselves in the Palais de Danse. This is another cabaret place, only a cheaper one. Here were loads of Russian girls. You could dance with them for 50 Mex a dance. You bought tickets which you presented to the girls when the dance was finished. You could choose anyone you wanted for each dance. At the end of the dance, the girl would always ask if she might have a drink. If you said “Yes” she would ask the waiter for a bottle of champagne and, you always tell the waiter that a glass of beer will do just as well.

            I don’t think that Mrs. Moore was awfully keen on Mr. Moore dancing with the Russian girls, but it didn’t stop him. As a result I danced the whole evening with Mrs. Moore. We stayed until after four o’clock, before returning to the Astor and going to bed. 

Shanghai

Tuesday, June 29^th, 1926. 

            Two late nights in succession were rather tiring, so I slept this morning until lunch time when I got up had a bath, shave, and tiffin. Then I telephoned Babe and went downtown to do some shopping. I ordered a couple of things that I wanted to have made up. When I returned to the Astor House it was about 4:30 and I had accepted an invitation for tea with Mr. Bahr. The Moores were there also and we had a delicious tea and danced until seven o’clock. I had just time to go upstairs and put on my dinner clothes, before going out to dinner at the Majestic with Mr. Chow, Mr. Bahr and the Moores. There were only a few people there tonight, but it was just as attractive as ever. The orchestra was marvelous and the dance hall was certainly wonderfully attractive. What is more we had a delicious dinner. We stayed until about midnight and then went home. 

            All the Chinese speak “Pidgin Englihs” which grew up in Macao and Canton during the era when tea clippers were many and language teachers few. It is a language developed by common consent and is a mixture of everything, but it is essential for one to learn it if he intends to remain long in China, for the boys understand it and if you talk ordinary English they don’t know what you mean. I will jot down a few words here as some of them are rather amusing. 

            “Maskee” is one of the most important and means “nothing going on” or “I should worry”—“Nothing stirring” (as Clarence would say).

            “Bottom side”—below or downstairs.

            “Top side”—Vice versa.

            “Can do”—Yes.

            “No can do”—No.

            “Squeeze”—Chinese form of commission.

            “Chow”—Food.

            “Cumshaw”—Tip.

            “Man man”—Stop.

            “Missy”—a foreign woman.

            “How fashion”—What is the matter.

            “Chop chop”—Hurry up.

            “Catch” or “Catchee”—to bring or take.

            “Chin chin”—“so long”

These are only a few of the several hundred expressions. I had to laugh when the tailor came around this afternoon and said; “Can catchee $2.75 for two pieces suits;” which I took to mean, he wanted $2.75 for cleaning a couple of suits.

Shanghai

Wednesday, June 30^th, 1926

Father’s Birthday

            I slept late again this morning. These late nights rather kill the mornings. I had breakfast in my room and after a shave and bath walked down to the Shanghai Club, where I met Babe and Mr. Dyer, who introduced me to half a dozen other people. I’m getting to feel right at home at the Shanghai Club for I know so many people there. 

            I went back to the hotel for lunch and in the afternoon went shopping. Later I stopped at the Dyers and Babe, Mrs. Dyer and I went out in their car for a sight-seeing tour around Shanghai. We ended up at the Cercle Sportif where we listened to some beautiful music until rather late in the evening. Then we all went back to the Dyers to a wonderful dinner. Mrs. Dyer certainly is a great housekeeper for the meals that I have had there are luscious. It is about the first time I have had real home cooking in a year’s time. We had some shad row tonight that was certainly fine. They call it by another name over here but it is the same thing.

            After dinner Mr. Dyer showed me more of his brass collection. There is one particularly fine piece—a pagoda that is eight feet high. We had a nice quiet evening together and I went back to the hotel about a quarter of eleven and had a much needed, good, night’s sleep.