Second Camp on Rupingazi, New Year’s Day

Friday, January 1^st, 1926.                               

Well, 1926 looks pretty fine! After an early breakfast about 4:30 A. M. we started out for the day’s shoot. John and Waller decided to hunt back up the Rupingazi while Makau and I went across the three rivers to the plains to try to get an eland. It was easier going this morning as we had sent the niggers ahead yesterday to fell some trees across the rivers at narrow places. This certainly was a good plan for I got across to the plain side without getting a bit wet. These African rivers are the only place where one finds tropical vegetation, the sort of thing one expects to find all over. But where there is vegetation it is beautiful. The palms and trees are enormous and are covered by masses of vines that are strong enough to pull yourself up on. Some of the places are really perfectly gorgeous and one hates to pass them by in a hurry. Everything in Africa has thorns or stickers. You grab at a leafy branch and find your hand covered with hundreds of painful little thorns. You lose your balance and put your hand on a tree for support and find it pierced by sharp thistles. When you sit down, if you are lucky enough to see the treacherous needles, you are sure to find yourself covered with black and red ants or one mass of ticks. Oh, there are a few unpleasant features to African hunting.

Safely across the darn rivers, we started out looking for eland and, believe me, when I started in I didn’t realize what a walk I was in for. The first thing I saw was a big herd of zebra. They are very deceptive. In one light they look snow white while in another you would bet your last cent they are pitch black, Kongoni stared at us as if they knew we weren’t going to bother with them.

My First shot of the year was at an oribi fully 100 yards off and it was a mighty small target. It was no excuse though for my missing, as the oribi was standing. Then we saw a lot of ostriches and I watched them through the glasses as they fled in the distance. Gosh! They are simple looking things with their long necks stuck up so high. They have a very gunny run too.

After a five mile walk we spotted some eland. They were miles off and there was absolutely no cover of any sort. I knew that we would have the devil of a job getting up to them and so we did. With Makau leading, we crawled and wriggled on our stomachs for three or four hundred yards stopping at two minute intervals to remain as quiet as a mouse while the eland looked in our direction to satisfy themselves that all was safe. After a couple of hundred yards of this work I was fully convinced that I didn’t care whether I got an eland or not if it meant this sort of thing much longer. It was hotter than blazes and the perspiration was running off my forehead in a regular stream. My arms and knees were full of thorns and I left more than one drop of blood on the sand. Once I put my arm on a fuzzy caterpillar and was reminded of the fact for the next three or four days as my whole arm was swollen up from the poisonous sting.

Well, we were getting on and I soon found myself in a position to shoot. We were still fully three hundred yards off but getting closer was an impossibility. I took careful aim, fired, and missed. They were off before I had time for a second shot. I watched them run off in disgust. This was fine shooting to start the year off with, I thought. We followed their spoor for a mile or so and then gave up and sat down under a tree to rest. I had hardly started drinking my tea before Makau pointed out three heads to me under the shade of a tree about half a mile away. I couldn’t understand what he said they were but from his actions realized they were something worth while getting. We left all the porters behind just Makau, my second gunbearer, and I went ahead. We slipped down into a little gully where Makau warned me to be careful as we might run across a lion. By very quiet stalking, we got up within a hundred yards of the tree we had spotted from the distance. Makau said he felt sure that the three animals had gone but I was equally certain they were still there. We made a half circle about the tree and got up to within 75 yards.

After both gunbearers had looked through the glasses they said, “Apano.” I was sure I had caught a glimpse of one so put down my gun which until now I had held ready for action and took the glasses. Hardly had I let go of my gun before three heads darted up simultaneously, let out a grunt, and were off like a flash. Although I fired twice it was useless. What do you think they were? Wild dogs! And the most rare and beautiful color you ever saw. All three were about the size of police dogs and their hair was jet black all over except for a bit of a snow white patch and a circle on their tails. Waller says he has never seen one black before so they must be very exceptional. If only I hadn’t relied on Makau and believed him when he said they weren’t there I never would have let go of my rifle and I’m sure I could have shot one.

I was beginning to think New Year was a miserable affair when I caught a glimpse of the old elands miles away on a little rise. In fact, they were so far away that even with the glasses we couldn’t make certain what they were. Finally we came upon their spoor and got up to within 600 yards of them. There was a big herd of forty or more and we saw two very nice bulls. The wind was wrong so we left all the porters behind and Makau and I started on a five mile hike to get on the lee side. Gosh! It seemed ridiculous when the elands were so close. At last we got down below the wind and started for them. This time we had the cover of a few small bushes and, although some fool Kongoni almost spoiled our chances, we were able to get up within 2 yards of a big bull and cow. I shot and hit the bull’s leg at the joint. A second shot went through his stomach. He was running now with the rest of the herd but I realized that he wouldn’t get far. A third and fourth shot just missed his heart while a fifth finished him. I put a sixth through his neck to make sure he was dead. The third, fourth and fifty shots were within a space on the hide of a 2-1/2 inch square – quite an unusual thing. Just one of those freaks that happen once in a lifetime.

You have no idea how big an eland is until you get up close to one. They are enormous. The one I shot was an old bull with beautiful, white-tipped horns. At the shoulder he stood almost six feet high and looks bigger than a buffalo when down. I was mighty pleased with him, especially as he beats the on John shot by an inch or so. He and Waller kidded Makau and me last night because the shot a larger rhinoceros than I did but so far I am in the lead with larger impala, eland, buffalo and waterbuck, and have the only lion and warthog.

We started right in for camp when the skinners had finished their job, and what a walk we had. We were almost down to the Tana River when we shot the eland so that it was just about dark when we finally got back to camp. John and Waller had shot two nice impala, the larger of which is about the same size as the one I got yesterday Until Waller came on this safari he had seen only four leopards in the daylight during his eighteen years in Africa, while John has seen four in about eighteen days. He saw one on the way back from Embu which he shot at and today he and Waller saw three-way off in the distance. As I arrived, John was just leaving with his gunbearer to sit up in a boma over his rhinoceros kill of yesterday.

Shortly after he left, Stanton showed up on his bicycle. He brought me several letters from Lydia, Anna, Faith and Alicia. I certainly was glad to get them. There was, besides the letters, a cable from Father sending Christmas greetings from the family. I spent the evening reading over my mail and trying to catch up on my diary.

Second Camp on Rupingazi

Saturday, January 2^nd, 1926.

We waited this morning for John to get back from the boma so I had a good sleep. It was five o’clock before Jowasi brought me my tea. Poor John was almost eaten alive by mosquitoes and was covered from head to foot with ticks. All to see a jackal and a few hyenas! He was pretty well fed up when he got into camp and decided to sleep all morning and hunt a bit in the afternoon with Stanton. So Waller and I crossed the Rupingazi and tried the west side of the river. It certainly was poor shooting for all we saw during the whole morning were waterbucks and impala. I could have shot a beautiful waterbuck which was slightly larger than the biggest one I had but, as Waller said, I already had my two and there wasn’t any sense in shooting a third unless he was something every exceptional. We stalked some impala for quite a while and when finally got close enough to shoot I stood up and fired. I hit a fairly good buck right in the neck and he dropped but was up and off again before we could get to him. A second shot missed while the third in the shoulder finished the job. We decided to push on and find a cool spot in which to lie up during the heat of the day. We reached said place at 10:30 A. M. and remained there until two P. M. drinking tea, eating sandwiches and sleeping. I almost ruined myself completely by sitting down on some of Africa’s especially long and strong thorns.

At two o’clock we shoved on and we walked and walked without seeing a blessed thing. When we had reached the place where I killed a rhinoceros about a week before, we cut across to the Rupingazi and had tea at our old camp about seven miles above our present camp. From there we hit out straight down the river and when we finally got into camp, after another twelve hour day, I felt pretty well snuffed. John and Stanton hadn’t had any luck either.

We have decided to push on tomorrow for the Tana. It is a two day trip and as Waller wants to get as much of it done as possible during the cool part of the day the alarm was set for four o’clock.

Leaving for Camp at Tana

Sunday, January 3^rd, 1926.

Although Waller had intended to make an early start, it was 7:45 when we actually left. Stanton hadn’t finished marking the trophies and we had to wait for that. It takes some time to get 100 niggers loaded and started. All the tents have to be packed, chop boxes reloaded, etc. There seems to be an endless number of things to be done. There was no path to start with, but after the safari had gone through the grass, it left a regular road for Stanton and his motorcycle. We kept along the north bank of the combined three rivers, and headed toward a rather high mountain, the name of which I have forgotten. It was fairly tough going, as it was up and down hill, and the country was rough We stopped several times at what were once rushing rivers only to find them stone dry at this season.

We finally arrived at a rest house on top or near the top of the mountain that we had seen in the distance from camp. It was about one o’clock, and all of us were played out. We sat down on the floor and prayed for the porters to show up soon with water. They arrived shortly with the cheerful news that all the streams were dried up, and that the only water was what we had brought along. There was a sort of nigger settlement near the rest house, so we se for the local chief to see if it would be possible to get some eggs or chickens, but he said there were none in the village. After a bit of tea and some sandwiches, the porters brought along our deck chairs and, Man O man! What a wonderful invention! You haven’t any idea how good a deck chair feels after a long walk. I spent the entire afternoon reading Chicago Tribunes and writing on my diary.

We had tea at four and dinner at seven. We didn’t bother to put up our tents, but all slept in the rest house. Waller determined to get an early start in the morning for it is supposed to be a much father walk the second day.

At dinner I entertained with a discussion of the Great Lakes to the Ocean Waterway via the St. Lawrence. Personally, I think it is a crazy plan of no practical or common sense value. The Chicago Tribune has a number of articles about it, with big maps. It makes one mad, for the articles never say or prove a darn thing, and the maps just take up space and make the account look important. I read several of the foolish columns in disgust.

We all turned in about 8:30 P. M.

En Route to Tana Camp

Monday, January 4^th, 1926.

Up this morning at the unheard of hour of three o’clock and I must say I didn’t feel very lively. After a breakfast of coffee and toast, we packed up our stuff and got ready to leave. It was 4:30 before we actually had the porters underway. The moon helped us out a lot, and made it much easier walking. At first we stayed behind the boys, but their pace was so darn slow, and the stench of 100 niggers was a little too much for us.

It was hot, tiresome walking, and the monotony of it was relieved only when we saw a wonderful waterbuck ahead. Waller, John and I with our gunbearers were in the lead so that we were the first to see the waterbuck. I told John to shoot as I already had two waterbucks, and the one he had was only as big as the smaller one I had. He had a fine broadside shot for a few seconds, but was a little too slow in shooting for the buck darted off before he fired. He and his gunbearer went after it. We heard two misses, but the third hit. In a minute or so the animal crossed the path 100 yards in front of us and disappeared in the scrub. Waller sent me after it, and Makau and I were hunting for it when John came up, I retired at once for I didn’t want to take any chances by the two of us hunting the same game. Nellie barked at the wounded buck and, incidentally, chased it some distance for John never got up to it again, and after ten minutes he abandoned the chase.

It was very hard going at times, and we thought more than once of poor Stanton on his motor bicycle. We stopped after two hours; walking for a bit of breakfast, consisting of hot tea and ham sandwiches. Then we trudged on once more. The country is much more dense and mountainous than heretofore. After an hour’s hiking, we found, much to our pleasure, that it was only about three miles to the Tana River from where we were, and we had thought it was at least six. With this cheerful news, we lunged ahead into the brush, and before long were near the river.

The famous swinging bridge, which Waller had described to us, was broken, which meant that we had to ford the Tana. One look at it, and I realized it would be quite a job. As we were watching one of the guides cross, the black ants found us, and Waller yelled “Look out, black ants!” At the very instant I felt one of the pests on my left, and before I could brush him off, he gave me a terrible bite. John got the worst of the deal, for he had to take off nearly all of his clothes to get rid of them. The dogs, too, got their share, and went tearing around as if they were mad. I took some movies of the porters crossing with their loads. The only fellow who stumbled was the boy with our bedding, but one of the guides was fortunately nearby, and he came to the rescue before the stuff got wet. Waller, John and I were carried across by the boys. I couldn’t help feeling that they would let me fall in the middle of the stream, but they’ didn’t Waller was looking straight up to avoid feeling giddy. I took a picture with John’s camera of the two of them in midstream. 

Once over, we left a dozen porters to carry Stanton’s bicycle over while we pushed on to where we were going to camp. The brush down this way is terribly thick, and it looks as though it would be almost impossible to hunt in. Right near where we stopped to camp beside the Tana, we saw all kinds of buffalo spoor, and found the very spot where they had come down to the river to water the night before.

Our new camp on the Tana River is a beautiful spot. There are enormous high trees that cast cools shadows over the tents the whole day. We are within thirty feet of the river, which is much larger than I had imagined. It goes rushing by with that wonderful, soothing sound so inductive to sleep.

The boys soon came up, and by eleven o’clock camp was all made. It certainly was a great idea of Waller’s to make such an early start for we were all able to get a good rest before going out in the afternoon. I felt pretty darn hungry, even if John didn’t, so we had a combined breakfast and lunch, and then a good nap. About four o’clock we all started out in different directions to get meat for camp. One of the guides had located some hippopotamus, but we decided to wait until tomorrow to get them for once they are shot, it is quite a problem to get them out of the river, and there was only a few hours left of daylight.

Makau and I went downstream while John and his gunbearer went up. Waller and Stanton went back into the scrub. Of all the tough going you ever saw! I was simply ripped to pieces, arms legs and face. The thorns are unbelievable. Every little bush has deadly teeth of some sort. We found a big buffalo spoor, and tracked it to a field. Makau probably saved my life by noticing a tree that had been rigged up by the natives to kill buffalo. You walk under it unsuspectingly, and down comes a log weighing about two tons. However, Makau saw it in a trice, and pointed it out to me. This ended our buffalo hunt.

A few minutes later we got right up to a bushbuck cow, but to save my life I couldn’t see her through the bush. We then followed along the river bank back to the camp without seeing anything but guinea fowl, and, of course, the shotgun was back in camp.

John had seen a couple of bushbuck, but hadn’t been able to get a shot at them. Waller hadn’t had any luck either, but Stanton got a waterbuck ram. While we were eating dinner Mimo said there was hippopotamus down the river about a hundred yards, but it was too dark to do any shooting.

Tana Camp                                                                            

Tuesday, January 5^th, 1926.

None of us got up this morning until 6:30 and I can tell you that I for one appreciated the extra sleep. I was dead tired. After breakfast Waller, Stanton, John and I went downstream to a place where the hippopotamus were supposed to be. We tossed to see who should have first shot and John won. About two miles down the river Waller and I settled under some big shady trees while John and Stanton went a few hundred yards further. There we decided was the best place to wait and wait we did, at first I watched the river intently for the little pink ears of the hippopotamus but nothing doing. Hour after hour passed and no hippopotamus appeared. An enormously big crocodile stuck his head about water and looked about. After some time he settled on a mud bank and fell asleep. He offered a nice shot but we had both agreed not to shoot crocodiles for this would scare away the hippopotamus. Just about this time a big snake crawled down to where we were and killing him with sticks was rather exciting. Waller didn’t know what kind he was but Makau and Mump both said that he was very bad. Mumo and I tried fishing through the vines. I didn’t have a line or hook so bent a pin for a hook and ripped off a long stringy vine for a line. Needless to say, we didn’t catch any fish.

Waller and I were eating some bread and ham when old Mr. Hippo first stuck his head out of water. He was way across the river and much too far away to shoot. We waited for him to come closer but although he kept coming up at intervals of five minutes. He never came nearer to us. Then he must caught sight of us for he went under and never came up again. We waited and waited and all we ever saw after that was the rain which came down in torrents and soaked us to the skin. By five o’clock both Waller and I were fed up with hippopotamus shooting. It is a lousy sport just sitting on the bank waiting for the hippopotamus to put his head out of water. When I left our hiding place I really didn’t give a darn whether I shot one or not.

On the way back to camp we saw several places where hippopotamus had been during the day and saw several crocodiles, or rather, wet stones where they had been lying when they heard us coming. As we were walking along we heard John’s gun and reckoned that he had shot a hippopotamus. We went on into camp and had a bath and shave. John and Stanton weren’t long in coming back to camp. John missed the hippopotamus or if he hit it, it wasn’t in a vital spot for this hippopotamus never came up again. He had one beautiful shot about the noontime but Stanton spoiled the works by letting a paper that he was reading slip out of his hands. John and I both think this hippopotamus business is the bunk and we would go on first thing in the morning if it weren’t for the fact that about ten of the boys went back to Embu and we must wait their arrival with poosho before going on. There is entirely too much brush here to have any real shooting.

I have had a headache all day. I hope I’m not getting the fever or something. John is rather amusing at times. He certainly loves to kid people. It is the best sport in the world but, as always is the case with people of his disposition, he hates to have the joke on himself. We had waterbuck for dinner and it wasn’t half bad. So far the eland, buffalo tongue and the little impala that I shot by mistake have been the best eating. We decided to try hippopotamus again in the morning making an early start from camp.

Tana Camp

Wednesday, January 6^th, 1926.

Jowasi brought me tea at 4:30 this morning. It was a dark cloudy morning so we hung around camp until six o’clock when Waller and I went downstream and Stanton and John up the river. We took the shotgun along to get some guinea fowl if any made their appearance as we are short of meat at camp. Wriggling and twisting our way through the many thickets, we pushed along the river bank. There were many indications of hippopotamus having been around the river last night but, for the life of us, we couldn’t see one anywhere. We stopped at one pool with the intention of waiting several hours but gave up in disgust after half an hour. I certainly think hippopotamus shooting is a rotten sport. I still have a headache and was glad to get back to camp. We heard John fire four shots it must have been at a crocodile. Mimo took the shotgun to get some guinea fowl but didn’t see a single one.

Waller and I were having eleven o’clock tea when some of the boys came in carrying an enormous old crocodile that John had shot. I don’t know how long it is, about fifteen feet I guess. Yesterday and today have been a blessing in one respect for I have been able to catch up on my diary which at one time seemed like a hopeless task.

Stanton and John came back into camp about noon and we measured the crocodile. It is fourteen feet, six inches, from the top of the tail to the front of its jaw and it certainly is a mean looking animal. Before lunch was over the porters where packing up their loads as we have decided to push on to a place across the Tana where the lions are numerous. John and I had the boys all leave camp on a certain path and we both took movies of the whole safari. I had to stop twice to wind up the Bell & Howell. Waller led the safari and it certainly looks like some outfit with about 100 people in it. After the porters had all passed I did a cross country to the front of the line dodging through thorn bushes until my arms were ripped to pieces. We saw a bushbuck along the way but it was too quick for us. The dogs put a lot of guinea fowl up a tree and John got three nice ones with the shotgun. A whole troop of monkeys passed right in front of us. John told me to shoot them but I’ll be darned if I wanted too. They seem so human. They chattered at a great rate especially when the dogs barked at them. The path was through thorns and scrub most of the afternoon and when we at last got into the open we breathed a sight of relief. I hate the thickets. You can’t see any game until you are right on top of it.

John shot a bush partridge that flew up in front of us and I knocked a spur fowl down with the Parker. It certainly is a mighty fine little gun. We made camp at a beautiful little spot right next to the Tana. Our trip had only taken about three hours and as it was still early Waller, John and I decided to go out and give the country the once over, leaving Stanton to see that things were put in order. It was my first shot if we saw anything except a waterbuck and the John was to have first crack as I have already got the two I am allowed on my license. Needless, to add, all that we saw was waterbuck. We must have seen a hundred altogether. We stalked up within 200 yards of one and John and Waller went ahead to shoot it. To me, who was sitting behind, it seemed to take them ages to get near it and when John got within fifty or seventy-five yards he easily waited two minutes before he fired. I kept saying, “Why doesn’t he shoot? He can’t get any closer,” and there he was crouched on the ground and everything. Finally he did shoot but it wasn’t until the buck had moved off a little. His first shot went over it and he ran over a little rise after the buck. I heard a second shot and then the smack as it hit. But it wasn’t in a vital place for the buck kept right on. I saw it disappearing over the second rise some 700 or 800 yards off when I caught up to John. It was too bad for it was a beautiful head. John seems to have awful tough luck with waterbucks. It was almost dark by this time so we made for camp.

Before we started out this afternoon we sent one of the guides off to try to find a crossing place on the Tana. Otherwise we will have to go at least twenty miles out of the way. When we got back to camp we heard the cheerful news that a place had been found where the water in the river was only waist deep. Our tents were all up and everything ready when we returned. After a nice hot bath we had a delicious meal of roast chicken, the first we have been able to get and the two birds we shot this afternoon. We gave Mumo one of the guinea fowl but he couldn’t eat it, being a Mohammedan, so we lent him the shotgun to go out and kill one himself. I tried to convince him that the guinea fowl was still alive by shaking it and he let out a couple of squalls, but Makau refused to be convinced. Mumo is a card.

Tana Camp

Thursday, January 7^th, 1926.

Four- thirty is getting to be a habit with us. I never expect to get up a four-thirty every morning for six consecutive weeks again as long as I live. The boys were pulling the tents down before it was daylight and on we went. We reached the Tana crossing about six o’clock and it certainly looked to me as if it would be a real problem to get 100 porters across such a river without a load getting wet. After some minute’s hesitation, the guide went in. It was only as deep as one’s waist most of the way except in one little place where the water came up about as high as one’s shoulders. Besides the depth and current, the Tana is full of crocodiles. The Wakamba boys are strong on this river crossing as all of them can swim like fish. Finally we got them started. We decided to get all the boys across first and then to have all the Wakamba boys come back to carry us over on their shoulders. Each one of us watched his own luggage going across and prayed for the best. The boy with the blankets slipped and all our bedding would have been soaked if it hadn’t been for one of the little guides who was standing nearby and who came to the rescue. Only one load fell in and that was John’s box of clothes. One out of a hundred, and I don’t think John appreciated it a bit although he didn’t say a thing. Being carried across seemed easy but just you try it. I thought the boys would never get me across and my back and legs ached like the devil. I sat on the shoulders of two of them while two other boys in front carried my feet and a fifth was in back holding me from falling over in that direction. Right in midstream they started their native songs. I kept yelling “polley, polley,” (slow) but they continued on, singing, while I gazed anxiously at the water. I just wondered what would have happened to me if someone on the shore had called “mamba’ (crocodile). Waller, John and I all got safely across and then waited to see how Stanton would get along. The boys don’t like him to well and have a habit of dropping people they dislike in midstream. However he got safely across as did his motor bicycle which was strapped upright on poles and carried over the porters’ heads.

We found lion spoor as soon as we landed on the other side of the river. Things are certainly looking up. The trip to our new camp was uneventful. We were all disappointed by the small quantity of game we saw. Of course, this may be due to the great number of lions about. The game will then be found back on the plains. Personally, I don’t care if Inver see another impala, waterbuck or Kongoni if I can only get a nice big lion. We stopped on the way to have a bite to eat and then pushed on.

Camp was reached about noon and it certainly was an ideal spot to make camp. Located right on top of a little rise under a few shady trees, our tents get all the breeze there is. We no sooner arrived than John and I spotted and old Kongoni on top of a hill watching us. We decided to go out and blot the old fool out but the Kongoni wasn’t half as dumb as I thought he was. We had hardly reached for our guns before he seemed to recognize the move and bolted off. We kept on his trail and I got a shot at him about 200 yards off. I could just see his head as his entire body was hidden by the grass. Much to my surprise, I shot high with what I thought was the 100 yard sight. I never got a second shot and I undoubtedly would have missed too for on examining the rifle I discovered that the 300 yard sight was up. I had a shave before lunch and then we all took a snooze.

About three o’clock Waller and I went out together while John and Stanton started in the opposite direction. We soon left the scrub, what little there was of it, and for miles all around us stretched the rolling plains without a sign of a tree. For a long time we didn’t see any game at all and then Waller pointed out some Kongoni. We made for them but a rhinoceros somewhere about was the cause of our changing our course. I shot about four times from 400 yards and hit an old Kongoni but it wasn’t in a vital place as it kept on going till out of sight. We were at sea as to where to go next, when Makau saw what he thought was a buffalo miles away. We stalked it and it turned out to be a rhinoceros cow and her calf. Then we began to see game in all directions – zebra, Kongoni, waterbuck, and what not. We also saw some giraffes this afternoon. They certainly can see about ten miles with their bean pole necks. I could easily have shot one but didn’t think they were worth the extra $15 license. But we left it all alone, for Waller saw a rhinoceros with tremendous horns. The wind was dead wrong but we had to risk the rhinoceros getting our scent for it was almost dark and there was no time to stalk it properly. And get our scent he did, for we never saw him when we gained the top of a little rise after going through a small ditch. On the way back to camp we had another good shot at a Kongoni and I hit it fairly hard. We saw it fall after running 500 yards. Mumo and I went ahead to finish it off. At 75 yards I shot twice more after taking careful sight and went high each time. I was disgusted until I found the darn 300 sight up again. Waller had let the dogs loose in the meantime and they were up to the Kongoni by the time I was ready to shoot again. Obviously, I couldn’t for fear of hitting one of the dogs. I heard a lot of barking and then a sharp yelp. I knew at once that one of the dogs had been too bold. I ran ahead and found Bubbles limping. The Kongoni had caught her between the front legs with one of his horns and had rammed it in about two or three inches. I thought for a minute that she would die but fortunately it hadn’t pierced her lungs or anything vital. We put her in Waller’s coat and carried her into camp where we washed out the wound with hot water and K₂mno₄. (I think that is right although I don’t remember my chemistry any too well.) 

Stanton and John had wounded an old eland bull that they followed until dark. Husein, John’s gunbearer, said it was dead now but I’m not so sure for I don’t think his judgment is any to good.

There was a mess in camp about Stanton and his personal boy, who refuses to do anything more for him. Stanton seems to be greatly disliked by all the boys. Oh, well! The worst news was that the twenty-four boys who had gone to Jordans returned with poosho instead of bringing fourteen loads poosho and ten loads of provisions for us.

Say, talk about ticks! Good heavens! This place is awful. There are all sizes from some as big as a dime to others smaller than a pin point. I had to scrape them off with a knife tonight. They bite like the devil. This is nothing, Waller says, to what we will get at Stony Athi.

Bed felt pretty darn good.

Tana Camp

Friday, January 8^th, 1926.

John went to get his eland this morning while Stanton and I decided to cut back toward the river and see if we couldn’t chase out the old rhinoceros that cleared out last night when we tried to stalk him. At first we climbed along the edge of a mountain in the thick scrub and didn’t see a thing so headed for the river. On the way we saw several little dik-diks but, believe me, you have to be mighty quick to hit them even with a shotgun. I spent half an hour trying to get up within a hundred yards of one but had no luck.

We saw loads of waterbucks but had decided not to shoot any unless there was an exceptionally big head among them. Well, we saw one that looked like a whopper. The spread at the top was enormous and that is usually pretty indicative of the length of the horn. It was a difficult shot of about 250 yards but I had plenty of time and hit him just a little back of the shoulder. He ran about a hundred yards and stood broadside. My second shot was well placed in the neck and he dropped stone dead. The horns only measured 23-1/2 while my largest one is 24-1/2. Still this pair has a wider spread, and the horns are very thick and beautifully symmetrical. I certainly was pleased with them.

After sending the head back to camp, we pushed along the river bank hoping to see or hear a hippopotamus. We found several places where they had been, and stopped at a beautiful spot for breakfast. The Tana undoubtedly is one of the most beautiful rivers that I have ever seen. It is about as wide as the Rogue River at Camp Anna but is rockier and, instead of having gigantic fir and cedar trees along its bank, the vines and palms form a regular jungle that in places reaches out and hangs over the water.

Just as we reached a hippopotamus path, Makau motioned to me to be ready to shoot any minute. He sneaked forward like a cat and, suddenly crouching, pointed to the sand about ten yards ahead of me. There was a long streak as if something had been dragged through it. The next instant I saw a lion track nearby and I didn’t need to see the waterbuck fur to realize that a lion had made a kill and dragged it through the sand to some convenient spot. Makau and I crept forward slowly but soon discovered that the spoor was several days old. I was feeling a little disappointed when one of the gunbearers noticed a crocodile lying on a rock several hundred yards downstream. It is a funny thing, this Africa. One never knows what is ten feet beyond. When I first got here I thought, “why all this precaution – there is nothing. You can see a rhinoceros or buffalo yards off. Everything is afraid of you.” But it doesn’t take one long to acquire a sort of respect for these animals. Just ask John how it feels to have a big eland bull about thirty feet from you – or if he doesn’t think a rhinoceros would make a nice playmate. I nearly always carry my 375 myself and Makau is never far away from me with my 450.

We got up fairly close to the crocodile and I took careful aim and put a 375 just back of his right eye. His head jerked up but, outside of that, he never moved. The bullet hit his brain. I fired twice more to satisfy the boys who were to go in after him that the crocodile was quite dead. He proved to be only a small one about eight feel long and I told the boys not to bother brining him back to camp. Stanton and I had a bit of tea and then moved along downstream to find a real nice place to rest for a couple of hours. As we were walking under the huge trees that line the river bank, we saw a little baby crocodile slip into the water. Its mother undoubtedly was nearby so we looked for her and soon spotted her ugly head peering out of the water.  She had heard the commotion the little one had caused and cautiously slid off her sand bank into the water. Stanton and I both had a shot at her head and both shots hit. The crocodile disappeared and we sat down to eat lunch, waiting for her to come up. One of the boys noticed in the water what he thought was a crocodile’s foot. Stanton asked the boys to go in after it but not one of them dared to go in for fear of other crocodiles and I can’t say that I blame them in the least. Stanton was sort of fed up and decided to go in himself so there was nothing for me to do but go in with him. As we were scrambling down the bank to the river I saw a very convenient limb to grasp but it was three feet from where I could reach. Like a darn fool I thought I had as much strength in my hand as a monkey so leaped out into space grasping for the branch with my right arm. In my left I had my shoes. Needless to say, the tree only served to break my fall for my hand slipped and I fell down about ten feet on some rocks below. I cut my hand in a couple of places and as a result didn’t feel like risking my life in water waist deep. Besides, I could help Stanton much more by sitting on the bank the 375 and plugging any crocodile that might appear. I told him he was a fool to go in after the crocodile but he insisted on it. He finally got up to what was supposed to be the crocodile and it turned out to be only a foot of a dead hippopotamus that the crocodile had doubtlessly been feeding on. In a way this made Stanton’s position worse for the crocodile wasn’t dead – perhaps badly wounded and lying on the bottom. Now, Stanton in the water almost up to his shoulders and bare legs, what chance did he have? I realized this fact and lost no time in getting back to shore.

After lunch we wandered up and down some dry river beds looking for lion spoor with no luck. We ran across all sorts of waterbuck and kongoni but nothing exceptional turned up. We flushed a bunch of bush partridges and I tried to shoot some but everywhere I aimed I saw a nigger so couldn’t shoot. I got disgusted with the mess and told the whole outfit to sit in a bunch and not to move while I walked ahead with the shotgun and flushed a couple in the thick shrub which I shot. Believe me, they are wonderful eating.

It was getting late so we started back to camp. On the way in I wounded a kongoni but Stanton blazed away at it while it was four or five hundred yards off and the kongoni which had been standing, cleared out once and for all. When we got back to camp Waller and John were back and hadn’t had any luck. They trailed the eland all morning but hadn’t been able to get up to it. They were within 100 yards of two lions down at the dry river bed this morning but didn’t see them. A growl and the spoor were the only evidence of the lions’ presence.

Tana Camp

Saturday, January 9^th, 1926.

Stanton and I left Camp just about daybreak, and started out in the direction of Jordans, while John and Waller headed toward the river, the same route as I took yesterday. My main objective today was eland. The walking was most difficult, being through high grass and black cotton soil, in which one sinks several inches every step. It looked hopeless for there wasn’t a tree for miles – just grassy plains.

About fifteen minute out of camp I asked one of the boys if anyone had the glasses. “Oh, certainly,” was the answer, but when I wanted to see whether a distant object was an eland or a kongoni, it was discovered that the glasses had been forgotten.  I sent one of the boys back to camp to get them, and we all sat down to await his return. An hour later he came back, but there were no glasses; they couldn’t be found in camp. So we went on. There were lots of ostriches, and I saw hundreds of zebra and kongoni. There were many easy shot, but I didn’t shoot for fear of scaring any eland that might be just over the next rise.

It was about eight o’clock when I saw two eland about 300 yards off feeding in the grass and unaware of our presence. Makau and I crept forward on hands and knees leaving the rest of the boys crouching in the grass behind us. The wind was just right, and things were looking up. When within 150 yards, I stopped, and, taking careful aim, fired at the larger of the two bulls, a tremendous beast with magnificent horns. I hit him somewhere in the hind quarters, for he kicked up his feet. At once he was off. I shot four times at him on the run and Stanton six, but there were no more hits. We saw him disappear over the ridge, and were right after him, but when we reached the top of the rise there was no sign of him. The rapidity with which these eland can move is amazing, for they don’t appear to be going fast. We looked all over the river bed for several miles, and climbed a number of ridges. It looked hopeless so made a bee line for some cover in the valley, where we decided to have something to eat and then go on to the river to look for crocodile and hippopotamus. I offered two shillings to any boy could find the eland. I had no sooner made this offer than someone found the blood spoor. We started right off trailing it, and the next two or three hours we kept stalking along in the blazing sun, watching every blade of grass. Luckily for us the eland had started for the river himself. Finally he crossed a place where several hundred zebra had been walking, and we lost his spoor. We were close to the river now so gave it up for the time being.

There were loads of signs of hippopotamus so we very carefully approached the river. We found a great place on a sandy shore in the shade of some big trees, so decided to have lunch. I will never be able to describe how fascinating the Tana is.

Joka, one of the guides, who is a bit dippy, certainly is a scream. Stanton and I amused ourselves by kidding him along. Hearing him pronounce English words like Pittsburg, sophisticated, etc. was enough to make anyone die laughing. Even the gunbearers had a good laugh.

Lunch over we went slowly along the river bank looking out between the bushes every hundred yards to see if there were any signs of hippopotamus or crocodiles. Suddenly we saw a little dik-dik ram and doe. I grabbed the 375 and hit the ram while he was still standing and looking at us. The 375 certainly messed him up terribly. Although the neck skin is ruined, he can still be mounted all right for the whole head is in good shape. I could have shot the doe too, but they are such cute little devils, I just couldn’t shoot another. Someway you feel entirely different when you see a blasted old rhinoceros, buffalo, or lion.

Evidently the shooting made the hippo anxious, for about a half mile further on we heard a bellowing. I recognized the sound at once, and we made off for the spot. One has to be very careful with hippo, for they have a wonderful sense of hearing, and it is best to remain absolutely motionless while his head is above water. We crept down the river bank and had hardly waited five minutes before we heard more bellowing. Then one stuck his head out of water. It appeared very slowly. At first only the end of his nostrils came out of water, then his ears, and finally his eyes. I aimed at him between the eyes and ears with the heavy gun. Before I realized what had happened, the gun went off and I went over backwards, and getting up found my nose bleeding like the devil. I never saw the shot hit the hippo, but Makau said it hit him a hard smack right behind the eye, and that there was no question about his being dead. When hippopotamus are shot through the brain, or in a very vital place, they sink at once and do not rise to the surface for several hours. So we sat down to wait quietly when up came a second hippo to see what all the shooting was for. I plunked him in the same place as I did the first one, and down he went. Another bloody nose was the result of the second shot. Stanton said, as it was late we didn’t have a show of getting the hippo out today, but would have to wait until tomorrow. To tell the truth, I never thought I would see either of them again, so when Joka said he knew where there was a whole crowd of hippo, I went down to have a look at them. Standing on top of the bank, I saw a tremendous old hippo. When his head appeared, I fired, but whether I missed because I was gun shy after two bloody noses, or on account of the high bank, I don’t know, but miss I did. A big spray of water went up behind his head, and we never saw any of them again.

We decided to call it a day, and headed back for camp.

On the way in we shot a kongoni for the porters, but suddenly ran across the eland blood spoor. We followed it for over an hour. I guess the old fellow wasn’t so badly hit, even if he did lose an awful lot of blood.

By the time we reached camp it was pitch dark, and I was dead tired. The last three miles through cotton soil in grass knee deep almost finished me. It if hadn’t been for Makau, and the amusing conversation with him, I know I would have been played out long before. Talking about eclipses, Makau said they are due to the fact that a big snake swallows the part of the moon. Lightning is a black man who comes down from the sky, etc. You never heard suck bunk. He refused to believe my theories, so I said that on January 14, in five days, I would prove that the white men knew all about the eclipses, for between seven and nine A.M., the sun would be partly darkened by an eclipse. I know there is an eclipse of the sun on that date in Africa, but in what part I don’t know. I only hope it will be visible here, for if it isn’t my name will be Mud.

John was feeling great when I got to camp, for he had shot an enormous hippopotamus, and wounded a big impala. Into the bargain he shot a dik-dik doe. I guess he thought I wouldn’t get much. When he said he had a hippo, I said I shot two, and when he said he had a dik-dik doe, I said I shot a ram, so all in all, he thinks I am the devil of a guy. He says whenever he gets one of something, I get two. But I tell you right now, from what the boys say, his hippo will take some beating, for it is tremendous. Personally, I sort of feel that “A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.” We are all out of 375 cartridges, so Stanton is going to walk to Jordans in the morning and go from there to Nairobi on his motor bicycle.

Tana Camp

Sunday, January 10^th, 1926.

Yesterday we saw several places where the lions and leopards had been in the dry river bed over toward Jordans so, in spite of its being a long way over there, Makau thought that it would be an excellent idea to get there about daylight. We planned to sort of walk down the river bed and chase out a lion or two. The alarm clock was set for three-thirty and I was up promptly and through breakfast before Stanton showed up. Then he found a lot to do in the way of packing for he was to go right on from the river bed to Jordans and then to Nairobi. As a result, it was almost daylight when we left camp. We passed hundreds of zebra but didn’t shoot any for fear of disturbing the lions. The walk to the river bed took about two hours and then as nothing showed up Stanton decided to go on to Jordaus and left Makau and I with the porters to do a little hunting and then go down to the Tana to meet the other crowd of boys which we had sent there to look for the two hippopotamus. As we were walking along, we saw a bunch of waterbuck and I decided to shoot one as it seemed like a perfect place for a boma. I killed a doe and we put her in a convenient place for the lions and pushed on. I sent a boy back to Waller with a note telling of the boma suggestion and asking him if he thought it advisable to send boys to build a boma.

There was no game between where we shot the waterbuck and the river so we went downstream. We soon heard the shouting and singing of porters so we headed toward the noise. They had located one dead hippopotamus and were dragging him on by ropes when we arrived. Landing a hippopotamus is a real big job for they are enormous – about the size of a rhinoceros. One of the guides swam out to the carcass floating in the river, tied a rope on it and then the boys pulled it in. Sometimes it is necessary to float the hippopotamus down the river a mile or two before a good place to land it can be found. I took some movies of the whole business and then sat down on the bank and wrote on my diary while the boys skinned it and cut off the feet. I only want the four feet and the teeth – the rest is no good. The head is an ugly thing and not worth mounting. Joka was there eating the raw hippopotamus meat. Honestly, some of these boys are certainly like animals. There he sat cutting of hunks of the white flesh and chewing away at it like a hyena. I told Makau that some of the boys were to drag part of the hippopotamus back to the waterbuck kill while others were to take the teeth and feet into camp. A third bunch I took along with me in case we should get a crocodile. The second hippopotamus the boys said had probably floated several miles down the river during the night so we gave up looking for it. I didn’t realize what a whopping big hippopotamus John had shot until I saw how small the teeth of mine were. I thought they were kidding me when they showed me my hippopotamus teeth – it looked as if someone had sawed them off in half, Well, I was satisfied nevertheless and started off to get a crocodile.

About half a mile down the river we saw the hulk of a hippopotamus caught fast in the rocks. There was my second hippopotamus and I sat down and waited for the Wambey boys to come up and fetch him out. Of course, the hippopotamus was lodged between rocks on the other side of the river and in a bad place. I did a little shooting to scare off any crocodiles that might be nearby. Crocodiles usually come around dead hippopotamus so none of the boys were overly anxious about going in after it. When they had started and I saw that eventually they would get it out, I suggested to Makau that he and I ease back to camp. It was hotter than the devil and a seven mile walk through the blasted cotton soil. On the way we saw a little stein buck. I fired at it twice with John’s 256 with his peep sight and missed it by so far that the little buck never even noticed that I had been shooting at it. So I dropped the darn gun and, getting my 375, pasted on at it. I hit it with the first shot and ran up to see if I had hit it badly. As luck would have it the 375 bullet completely shattered the lower jaw and neck skin. I hit it in exactly the same place as I did my other steinbuck and neither head can be mounted. Besides, one of the horns was all out of shape. It certainly was a mess and I thought to myself, “This is Sunday luck.”

When we got back to camp I found John and Waller had been in for some time. There weren’t enough boys to build the boma so Waller hadn’t bothered with it. Most of them were down at the river getting my hippopotamus out while Stanton had taken some and another lot had been out with John and Waller. John wounded a dik-dik but didn’t get it. He found the impala that he wounded yesterday but the hyenas had absolutely eaten the whole thing. There wasn’t a bit of flesh, skin, or bones left – just blood soaked ground and the horns. Even the skull was gone. It just shows the hyenas can do to a kill in one night.

It was about 4:30 P. M. when we got into camp. We decided to push on to Jordans on Tuesday. It is a three day trek to the Stony Athy and then we will have only four days’ shooting there, in which time we are to get our wildebeests, tommy and grants. We had a marvelous dinner of bush partridge and peas. After dinner we all snuffed out at once.

Tana Camp    

Monday, January 11^th, 1926.

Well, today was the day of days! It was my turn to hunt with Waller so the two of us left camp at an early hour before it was light in order to get out to the waterbuck kill before it was too late for there was a chance that a lion or a leopard might be hanging about. It seems that I rather underestimated the seven miles to the dry river bed for it took us over two hours to get there. And a miserable two hours’ hike it was, through black cotton soil and weeds with lots of game hundreds of yards off. Even the kongoni and zebra seemed unusually wild this morning. We did see some lesser bustards which are wonderful to eat. I fired at a couple with a shotgun when they were miles out of range. Then when I did get a close shot at one and brought him down, I only broke his wing. They can run about as fast as you can in tall grass so I did not get him for some time. On we went through the darn grass for another hour’s walk. I saw a kongoni separated from others and had a crack at him. I couldn’t imagine where I had shot him until I noticed that one of his horns was gone. Of all the crazy things! I couldn’t shoot the horn off another kongoni if I lived to be a hundred years but I didn’t tell one of Clayton’s stories that I had aimed for the horn or something like that. Cy and I will never forget Clayt’s luck in hitting that little, tiny buck in Oregon through the neck. He didn’t want to spoil the skin he said.

At last we reached the river bed and spotted a magnificent waterbuck that was a large as the one I had shot, if not larger. We decided to carry out our original plan of following down the river bed in hopes of seeing a lion. If we had no luck, we decided to return up the bank and look for the waterbuck. We sneaked along in silence watching each bank and looking in each thicket. We came up within twenty yards of a small waterbuck drinking out of a ten foot pool in the sand. Several cows were also quite close. On reaching the kill of the day before, we were surprised to see that it hadn’t been touched, not even by a hyena. We were stopping to talk things over when Mumo came up with the suggestion that we go down to the Tana and see if anything had come up to the hippopotamus meat. The Wambey guide, named Mitagetia, was sure there would be lots of crocodiles about. Waller thought it wise to have a look for the big waterbuck first and we had hardly walked 100 feet upstream before one of the boys whistled and pointed to the opposite bank. There, about 700 yards off, was the best waterbuck I have ever seen. His horns were simply magnificent, being at least three inches longer than the largest I had. He certainly was a prize worth working for. We cut across upstream as the wind was bad and stalked up carefully to where he was last seen. But he was wiser than we were for he was nowhere in sight. I presume that he had got wind of us and cleared. Waller kidded Mumo who had done most of the stalking, saying that the waterbuck had him stone cold. We figured that he must have gone right-handed toward the Tana so crept along slowly. We sighted him again 700 yards off but he saw us first and was running. Then we found his spoor and tracked him. About fifteen minutes later one of the boys saw him in the distance. This time he hadn’t seen us and was peacefully grazing. At last, I thought, we’ll get him now for sure and was already thinking what John would say when I brought him into camp. But the position was difficult and the wind, while not dead wrong, was certainly not favorable. Waller, Mumo, Makau and I crept up to a little ten foot scrub tree where we crouched in its shade watching the waterbuck. The porters were ten or fifteen yards back of us kneeling in the tall grass. Being on the side of a slight rise, we could see the waterbuck about three hundred yards off at the bottom of the valley but just beyond a sort of cover of scrub and bushes. It looked like ideal stalking. I could easily creep up to the scrub and he would only be fifty yards off on the other side. Why, we had him stone cold. Then Waller noticed a cow waterbuck lying down just in the scrub which I was going to make for. This complicated matters. I couldn’t stalk the buck that way for I would alarm the cow and the two of them would be off in a minute. I would have tried a 250 yards shot but the waterbuck was partly hidden and I would have to shoot through brush. My only chance was to crawl on my stomach through the grass to another little bush about fifty yards away and nearer. From this bush I could probably get a better shot. (I’m not leaving out any of the details – not that I am ever likely to forget this experience – but in hopes that it will make this account clearer and more interesting.)

Waller sent Mumo with me and as a last word of advice said, “While you are crawling to the bush you won’t be able to see the buck on account of the grass, so look around at me every few feet. If he moves I’ll motion to you with my hand what direction he has gone.” Mumo took my 375 and the two of us started our fifty yard crawl. I looked around a couple of times but Waller wasn’t looking at me so kept on. When I was bout five feet from the bush, I turned to look at Waller and saw him waving at me and pointing his gun down toward the river. I thought, “Good heaven! The waterbuck must be clearing out and obviously Waller wants me to have a crack at him now.” I was still lying down so instantly got on my knees, grabbed my 375 and peered over the top of the grass. I shall never forget my surprise. I was expecting to see a waterbuck running off. Instead, I saw a tremendous grey animal rushing right head on toward me. I saw in a flash that it was a rhinoceros but I didn’t think it could actually be charging. We hadn’t fired a shot nor annoyed it in any way. I knew that I shot a rhinoceros it meant an extra ten quid and its horns were good but nothing exceptional. All this ran through my head in a second. Then I saw what was actually happening. The rhinoceros’ head was down and his tail was straight up. There wasn’t any of this trotting around in circles, sniffing and tossing his head from one to the other as I often seen him do, but he was coming dead ahead, straight as a bullet. At first he didn’t seem to move fast but as he ran he gathered speed. He was coming like a race horse and was headed straight at me. His enormous long horn stuck straight out toward me. I yelled at Waller “Shall I shoot?” Somehow I couldn’t imagine that he wouldn’t veer to one side, but there was no fooling with this beast. He was all set and out to get me. When he was exactly fourteen yards – fourteen steps off- I fired. Fortunately, for me, there wasn’t a misfire, and I luckily I didn’t miss for I never would have time for a second shot before he would have been of top of us. Mumo had no gun and there were only two of us. Waller couldn’t shoot for fear of hitting me. But my shot did the trick. A soft nosed 375 is hardly the thing for a rhinoceros but it hit his head and ripped off his left ear. In a way that shot probably saved my life for it caused him to alter his course. He swerved to the right and headed toward Waller. When nine paces from him Waller’s 470 put a shot through this backbone and he dropped to the ground. I finished him off with a shot from my 450 through his neck.

It is impossible to describe how quickly the whole thing happened. Just to give you an idea, I will tell you of a few incidentals. When Waller first saw the rhinoceros 120 yards off, he gave Makau my 450 to take to Mumo and me. It was fifty yards and Makau started at a run. He was just half way when I shot with my 375. As soon as Waller saw the rhinoceros 120 yards away he, after telling Makau to give me my 450 had just time enough to take out a soft nosed bullet and put in a hard before he shot which was when the rhinoceros was nine yards off. That will give you some idea of how fast they can travel.

The thing that amazed me so was why the rhinoceros charged us. We didn’t know he was within miles and when I went to stalk the waterbuck I never dreamed a rhinoceros was this side of Embu. And here the thing just getting out wind charged us with all the ferociousness of a wounded bull. I never had much respect for a rhinoceros. Roosevelt says of a rhinoceros that “he was lost in prehistoric thought.” Believe me, this one wasn’t. If it hadn’t been for my looking around at Waller and his warning me to do so, I don’t know what would have happened I wouldn’t have looked up until I got to the bush five feet away and then the rhinoceros would have been right on top of me; or if Mumo and I had been out shooting alone. I never heard a single snort and although he was coming at us with the speed of an express train I never heard a sound.

I said in my diary several days ago that one never knows what to expect in Africa. Today’s experience certainly impressed said fact on my mind so that I’ll never forget it. After the rhinoceros was safely asleep we measured his front horn which was eighteen inches. He is a couple inches bigger than either of the other two I have. Of course, you don’t have to pay any ten quid if the rhinoceros charges you and you have to shoot him in self defense but in that case you have to hand in the trophy. What I am going to do is to hand in the first rhinoceros I got, the smallest of the lot, as the one that charged. This rhinoceros had a very nice horn and although I missed getting the waterbuck I had an experience I shall never forget. Every time I see him when mounted and hung up on the wall somewhere I will always think what a nasty old fellow he was.

Waller and I had a little tea and then went down to the river. I should like to boma the rhinoceros kill as rhinoceros meat is a lion’s favorite dish. But we have only allowed ourselves four days at the Stony Athy as it is. However, I realized John was keen on getting a lion and we could split the kill and make two bomas. It was too late to build them for tonight so decided to leave a boy on the kill until dark to keep off the vultures and then talk matters over with John this evening.

At the Tana we saw one crocodile but he was in deep water. We looked along the banks where the guide said there would be hundreds but didn’t find another one.

After lunch we took a snooze and then started back for camp. It certainly was tough walking through the cotton soil and I was glad to stop and take a crack at some kongoni. There must have been a couple of hundred of them mixed with the same number of zebra. Waller and I opened rapid fire at 400 yards but didn’t get a single one. A little way on we got up fairly close to some and I shot one, as the boys haven’t any meat in camp. The kongoni had the worst horns you ever saw so didn’t keep them. A lot of zebras were standing around looking at us but Waller said not to bother with them as we would probably move in the morning and a kongoni was enough meat.

We got into camp before John and were talking over plans for moving when it occurred to me that we would have a far better chance getting our grants, tommy and wildebeests by motoring down the Stony Athy from Nairobi. It is only twenty-four miles and Waller says that we could get in one day what it would take us three days on foot. In the end it will be less expensive for our safari will end almost a week sooner. It is a three day trek from Jordans down to the Stony Athy before we even start to shoot. Besides, this plan will give us a couple of days longer up here where lions are more plentiful. We will boma the rhinoceros tomorrow night and the next night and go on to Jordans on Thursday. John seemed to think quite favorably of this plan so we decided to carry it out. Poor John had tough luck! He saw a lot of waterbuck but no good heads. He wounded a warthog, crocodile and zebra but didn’t get any of them. Stanton was supposed to be back this evening but didn’t turn up.

Tana Camp

Tuesday, January 12^th, 1926.

Oh, boy! Maybe a sleep until 6:30 didn’t seem good! We decided not to shoot early this morning for the simple reason that John and I only have a few 375 cartridges left and Stanton hasn’t returned from Nairobi as yet with a new lot. After breakfast we sent off a crowd of boys across my game reserve, as Waller calls it, for he hates the black cotton soil as much as I do. I spent several hours writing on my diary and getting cleaned up when all the boys returned with the news that no bomas had been built because there was not a bit of rhinoceros left. I couldn’t believe it for a rhinoceros is a tremendous animal and it didn’t seem possible that a bunch of hyenas could eat all the meat, bones, etc. in one night. The porters had arrived at the rhinoceros kill about eight o’clock and found a lot of vultures feeding on the few bits left by the hyenas. They brought a couple of the ribs and a tiny bit of the skull. This, they said, was all that they could find. John and I stood around in amazement. We had planned to boma tonight and there was no kill. I suggested to Waller that the boys build a boma near camp and that both John and I would sit up in it. If we could get a kill this afternoon somewhere near camp, the boys could drag it to the boma. In case we didn’t have any luck the boma would be ready for tomorrow night. This plan was adopted and a crowd of the boys went off to build a boma just as we sat down to lunch.

About three o’clock John, Waller and I all set out in a bunch with about fifteen boys. Not a kongoni was in sight and we walked an hour before we saw a thing. Isn’t that the way? When you want to kill a kongoni they are as scarce as lions but when you wouldn’t shoot them for fear of chasing out other game the silly things stand around with their long fasces and stare stupidly at you. At last someone spotted a waterbuck cow and we stalked up. She was standing looking at us through the scrub and it had been agreed that I should shoot first as I had a 375 while John only had a 256. Of course, I missed and John opened fire on about half a dozen all running. The result of the whole “shauri” was no meat. So on we went cursing the luck for some distance before we saw a couple more waterbucks. This time it was John’s turn but he didn’t have any better luck than I had. It was beginning to look hopeless when Makau saw a herd of kongoni way off in the distance. The trouble was that it was getting late and if we didn’t get something pretty soon we would have to abandon the boma idea for tonight as we had to get back to camp, get dinner, and change our clothes. Well John, Husein and I stalked up as close as we could get but we were still 250 or 300 yards away. John said to stand up and shoot for I couldn’t see them at all from a crouching position. The instant I stood up the whole crowd were off. I fired into the mess, as did John, but of course got nothing. We all walked ahead together and with the kongoni trotting off in the distance it looked as if we might as well go back to camp. I noticed several of the old fools standing off to one side so I just thought I’d try to stalk them myself. I left the others and cut down in back of a ridge. What happened in the next fifteen minutes must have been amusing to anyone who was looking for I fired about eight or nine shots without any luck. Everytime I would get in range and start to fire off would go the whole mob. Waller, John and all the rest stood on a little hill about 800 yards off and watched the whole “shauri.” If I hadn’t shot anything the laugh would most certainly have been on me for I must have looked like an idiot running, creeping, and crawling after a herd of running kongoni. But I did get a good shot finally and brought down an old cow standing about 200 yards distant. The crowd of niggers on the hill looked like mere specks but John was watching through the glasses and saw me wave. I had only one shell left and the kongoni, while down, was still alive. But, believe me, I have learned to always keep at least one shell for an emergency. Even out in the plains one might find a rhinoceros and yesterday’s experience has made me doubly cautious. John and Waller had a great time kidding me about the kongoni and said, “That’s what you get by persevering, etc.,” but whether the joke was on me or not we had bait for the boma.

On reaching camp, we found Mumo superintending having our blankets packed, etc. We washed, changed our clothes, and had a hasty but good dinner. Makau asked to be allowed to sit up in the boma with us tonight and as he hasn’t had a night in one on the safari we agreed although Mumo is the real boma expert.

It was just about dark when we set out for the boma about half an hour’s walk from camp. I must say I get a thrill every time I go out to spend a night in a boma. There is something thrilling about waiting behind a thorn wall for a lion to walk up within eight or teen feet of you, and you can always see them coming toward you out of your little window. The boma, while excellently located, was not very well built, having three windows on a sort of circular wall so that we didn’t all look out at the kill in the same line, as it were. This was bad for it meant the two end windows weren’t as good as the other and Makau had to sit in the middle with the flashlight. But it was much too late to make any real alterations. We shifted the kongoni much closer and then, pulling in a big thorn bust to close up the entrance or exit, as the case may be, we put down our blankets and tried to sleep while Makau squatted motionless at his window.

In the first place it was awfully hot, and in the second the mosquitoes were terrific. You couldn’t move around as it is absolutely essential not to make a sound. It was really agony for some time. Between fighting the mosquitoes and trying to scratch off the hundreds of ticks it rather got on one’s nerves. In the midst of all this, John leaned over and whispered in my ear, “Where is the thirteenth hole at Old Elm?” I thought he must have gone crazy or something. This morning he said the mosquitoes had annoyed him so much that he decided the only way to get his mind off them was to run over, trying to remember, all the holes of all the gold courses he ever played.

I didn’t sleep a wink until about one or two o’clock. We heard the familiar sound of lions the whole night but they were very far off. It seems the kongoni kill was almost odorless for not even the kongonis found it and the night passed without anything at all coming up to the kill. John counted thirty-one successive growls from one lion. Believe me, hearing them wakes one up out of a sound sleep. I dozed off about two o’clock I guess and when I woke up about five, Makau was still crouching motionless at the window.

Tana Camp

Wednesday, January 13^th, 1926.

As soon as it was daylight and we were sure that further waiting in the boma was useless we started for camp. Waller was there to greet us with his usual smile as if to say, “What a pair of darn fools you are to sleep out in a boma.” To this he added the remark that he himself had been troubled during the night by a mosquito that got under his net. When I thought of the millions that had buzzed around my head I felt like shooting him on the spot.

Both John and I want to have one last chance at lions so decided to sit up again tonight only in two different bomas. The program for the day was mapped out accordingly – Waller and Mumo were to leave camp about eight o’clock, select a good place for a second boma, and while the boys were building it try and shoot a second kill somewhere nearby. In the meantime John and I were to take a nap and rest during the morning and in the afternoon, if Waller had not been able to get anything in the way of a zebra or a kongoni, we decided to all go out together.

Boma sitting up is quite an art. You see, if you get too rested and are feeling too wide awake you haven’t a prayer in the world of ever getting to sleep for the ticks and mosquitoes will prevent that. On the other hand, if you get in the boma at sundown simply dead tired you are sure to fall asleep, and although pest may feed on you it won’t bother you. And with a good reliable boy watching the kill you are much better off.

I was sitting outside my tent shaving about 11:30 when one of the boys came up and pointed a herd of zebra about 900 yards away right on top of a rise overlooking camp. John and I looked at them through the glasses and discussed the idea of stalking them. They were on the trot when we first saw them but stopped and gazed downward toward the camp. Realizing that a zebra is a lion’s favorite dish I thought we might as well have a crack at them so John, Husein, and I sneaked down in the brush and started in their general direction. Not more than 500 yards from camp Husein suddenly noticed two or three zebras and a number of kongoni watching us from behind a little gully. They were all within rifle range. I was very anxious to get a zebra for bait and, as we had not frightened them, I took a careful rest on a little scrub tree and fired at one that offered a beautiful broadside shot. He went crashing down with a bullet through the shoulder. John started to fire at several more until I suggested that one zebra was more that enough bait for lions, especially if Waller had shot anything. I saved the skin and tail as well as the head. I don’t know whether I want a zebra mounted or not, they look so much like a horse. Still they certainly are beautiful creatures. They have rather wicked teeth and Husein warned us that if the zebra was still alive when we got up to it not to get too close. When we got back to camp there was Waller who thought we were crazy to tire ourselves when he said he would shoot us a kill. Then he told John to go out to the skinner that he had a surprise for him. Poor John has had tough luck with waterbucks and has been very anxious to get a second one. Well, Waller went out this morning and killed two beauties with the twenty-four inch horns We all had a good laugh. Waller is a most amusing fellow.

After lunch we sat around taking pictures, writing on our diaries and going over the trophies. Stanton hasn’t returned yet. We plan to move on very early tomorrow morning to Jordans. Waller says when we get back from the bomas everything will be packed up and ready.

Mumo wanted to sit in the new boma so he and I decided to sit up together while John and Husein went back to try their luck in the old boma. Leaving camp before dark, we slunk off to our respective places. The new boma was built about a mile further from camp than the old one and on higher ground which meant fewer mosquitoes. I rather suspected that Mumo had taken this fact into consideration when he selected the new boma for himself but I was sure of the supposition when he said, “Apand doodoos ecu’ (no mosquitoes here). I was simply dead tired after last night’s boma work and finished practicing with the light before I went sound asleep. Undoubtedly, I slept more than any other night in a boma. I only woke up once or twice and then after a most careful turning over on the other side, dozed off again. Needless to add, we had no luck at all. Not even a jackal or a hyena showed up.

At Jordans – On way to Thika River

Thursday, January 14^th, 1926.

When I awoke this morning about five o’clock it was getting light, and realizing that Waller was all for making an early start Mumo and I set right out for camp. John was in ahead of me half the porters were already on the way. I gobbled down some fried eggs and drank a cup of coffee and then joined Waller and John who were waiting for me to finish breakfast before starting.

The path to Jordans was very rough, being across my game reserve, as Waller calls it. There are miles of black cotton soil and grass knee high with not a sign of a tree anywhere. The game is a wild as Scytha and you can find it only when you look through the field glasses. We had only gone a short distance when I remembered that today was January 14, the day of the eclipse. It was about 6:40 A. M. and the eclipse was due between seven and nine. I looked up at the sun and to my great delight noticed that the very upper edge was missing. I thought, “By golly, I’m saved,” for I had promised Makau that there would be an eclipse on January 14 when I was not sure if it would be visible in Kenya Colony. It pointed it out to Waller and John. I tried to smoke the crystal of John’s watch but it wouldn’t work. Incidentally I sort of marred the glass permanently. John had been kidding me about it ever since. It reminded me of the maid at college last year who wanted to see the eclipse very much. She put her celluloid glasses in the fire to smoke them.

The whole safari was about a mile ahead and I cursed myself for not having remembered to take my colored glasses out of my kit. The eclipse looked as though it might be a good one and as it was improving every second I started across country and ran to the porters. John and Waller thought I was crazy but I caught up with them and got the glasses. They were a great help. The eclipse was infinitely better than I ever hoped for and was about nine-tenths total. Mount Kenya in the distance was on the line of total eclipse and we could see it excellently. It was so nearly total where we were that the shadows of people were almost gone.  I have been rather fortunate in seeing eclipses of the sun for last year at New Haven I was on the center of the line of total eclipse.

We trudged on through the mushy soil and finally arrived at Jordans about eleven o’clock. There, much to our surprise, was Stanton. He had been there for two days waiting for us instead of coming to camp. Well, some people are just naturally dumb!

The Jordans were away but we went up to their house and looked at their place. It certainly is an attractive home, built of concrete and finished with wood. It is decorated in the most impressive way. The floors and walls are covered with many lion, leopard, and cheetah skins. The thing that struck my fancy was an eland head. It was the most magnificent thing that I have ever seen. We had some tea, which the boy made, and sat down for a rest before pushing on to the Thika River. Stanton had some cables and mail for John and a letter for me from Clarence. John and I were both surprised and delighted to hear that Bob is to join us at Bombay on February 12, it certainly is great.

The plan was for Stanton to go on his bicycle to Thika and get a Ford lorry. Then we were to load on our kit gunbearers and beat it for Nairobi. This would save us several days. The only difficulty was that there might not be a car available at Thika and Stanton couldn’t be depended on. Therefore, Waller suggested that we push on to the Thika River tonight and make an early start in the morning for the Thika bridge about eighteen miles from the river. There Stanton is to meet us about noon and by tomorrow night we will be in Nairobi.

The two or three mile walk to the Thika River was covered at mid-day and consequently it was a very hot and tiresome trip. At the river the porters carried us across and after leaving us and their loads on the opposite bank they all splashed around in the water like a bunch of kids. I took a few feet of film as it was a most amusing sight. We camped right on the other side of the river. We were all feeling pretty tired so spent the afternoon resting. A twelve or fourteen mile walk after a safari is equivalent to about a thirty mile hike after game when out hunting. I had a whole pile of Chicago Tribunes which I read from one end to the other. When I had finished I gave the joke papers to some of the porters and they roared with laughter at the pictures of the Gumps, etc.

It was our last dinner on safari, as it were, and was rather a gloomy affair. It all has been so much fun I hate to think that it is so nearly finished. Of course we still have a lot of shooting, but the safari and all is so much fun in itself.

Thika – Nairobi,                          

Friday, January 15^th, 1926.

Waller had us all on the move by four o’clock. Tents were down, breakfast over and porters all loaded before it was light. We realized that we had a hard day’s trek ahead of usand were determined to get the biggest part of it over with before it got too hot. It was tough walking as there was no path and our route was through the Ithanga hills. We walked and walked and walked and then walked some more. Finally we saw the coffee plantation in the distance where Stanton was to meet us with the lorry which he went into Thika to get on his motor bicycle last night. It was all we could do to get to the top of the hill where the plantation was. Then we flopped down under the shade of a big tree and sent off a boy to the bridge still three miles away where Stanton had to cross. But Stanton didn’t follow instructions. He crossed the bridge. The boys missed him and we saw him tearing along in a lorry miles away on an entirely different road toward Jordans. To make a long story short, Stanton delayed our leaving the coffee plantation by four hours which incidentally made it impossible to reach Nairobi tonight and costs us about 3£ more than it should have.

After a bite to eat we walked down to the river and met Stanton returning from his wild goose chase. It was decided to motor to Thika and spend the night at the Blue Post Inn.

When we got there we were delightfully surprised to find a neat, clean little place instead of rooms there are separate little huts. But, to our great sorrow, learned that a dance was scheduled for that evening. The result of this event was no sleep for Waller, John or myself. The English people seem to lose a lot of their dignity after a few drinks. I had to smile when I woke up about midnight and heard the orchestra playing “Turkey in the Straw” to the accompaniment of foot stamping. This was followed by a long list of Civil War songs “Marching through Georgia,” etc. I guess these tunes have just gotten over here – the latest thing, I presume.

Nairobi                          

Saturday, January 16^th, 1926.

Nairobi and Anna’s birthday.

The Indian driver was supposed to be at the Blue Post at five A. M. to drive us to Nairobi. He didn’t appear until about six-fifteen when he turned up with the lame excuse that he had overslept. It only took us a little over an hour to get to Nairobi and we went right to the New Stanley where we had breakfast in our hunting outfits. We looked like the devil but were too hungry to dress first. At Safariland we watched our trophies being unloaded and had a session with Colonel Wetham and told him what a rotten white hunter Stanton was. There was some mail for both John and myself. I got a letter from Father, Mr. Pirie, Phyllis and Faith. It certainly was good to get news from home. To date everyone has written me at least one letter except Scytha, Clayton and Cy. I have been away almost six months and have written these three at least twice apiece. Clayton and Cy, I know, are busy but Scytha who, when I saw her last promised to write weekly letters, seems to have slipped up.

We were only able to get a poor room at the New Stanley but the clerk promised us something better real soon. After a bath and a shave we had lunch and read our mail. The Chicago Tribunes I enjoyed very much and Waller takes a big delight reading all about “Red Grange on the Grid,” as he says.

We had tea at Waller’s house and made arrangements with a fellow named Fowell to take us out in his lorry to Ngong and the Stony Athi where we are going to get our colobus monkeys, grants, tommies and wildebeests.

We were both rather tired so turned in early. There was a lot to do in Nairobi today, such as getting haircuts, leaving films to be developed, etc., so that by dinner time we were snuffed.

Uplands                       

Sunday, January 17^th, 1926.

Uplands and Phyl’s birthday.

Uplands is about forty miles from Nairobi so we decided last night to make an early start. We were at Waller’s house at four o’clock for tea. Fowell was supposed to be there at 4:15 A.M. but didn’t turn up until about 5:30. I was rather fed up after waiting so long. He, too, overslept like the Indian did yesterday.

The drive to Uplands which is up on the escarpment at an altitude of 9000 feet was perfectly great. The scenery was magnificent. The grass was as green as could be. There were lovely long rolling hills and forests. Deep dongas, dense woods and beautiful estates and plantations were on all sides.

We had scarcely reached our destination, which was the middle of a large forest, before we heard the chattering of monkeys. However, we stopped for a bit of breakfast before starting out to hunt them. There were plenty of monkeys about and it isn’t so difficult to keep up with them on the level but the forests are full of ditches and steep ravines. The monkeys swinging along slowly overhead in the dense mass of foliage and vines but on foot it is a job to scramble up and down steep inclines covered with nets of thorns and prickly vines.

After a half hour we caught up to a little band. I heard John shoot and a minute later I saw one crawl along a branch He was looking straight at me. I fired and he sank down on the branch. I shot again and he never moved. Of course, I thought he was mine but later Mumo said that John wounded him seriously so of course the monkey was John’s. For monkey shooting we used 22 browning automatics – a Belgium gun. They seemed like air rifles after shooting with a 375 or 450. We were just discussing whose monkey was whose when we heard a lot more of them. I got three within twenty minutes and John got tow more so when we rested thirty minutes later we had three monkeys apiece. I thought I would dislike shooting monkeys but discovered that quite on the contrary it is real good sport. They are hard as the devil to hit for they hide in the branches and seldom show more than their heads which are pretty small targets fifty feet up in the air. When once you hit one he falls and the crash which he makes when he hit the ground is amazing for it sounds like a ton of bricks. Two things I learned incidentally are not to hunt monkeys if you have a stiff neck, and that a sun helmet is about as much use in the thickets as a football.

Out of our six monkeys there was only one that was real good so Waller advised us to take more time and pick out bigger monkeys. We each had three more apiece to shoot as one’s license allows one six a year.

The next few hours were spent trying to get up close to some other herds. I shot one peach during this time, a great big male. It was the best one that either of us shot all day and had a wonderfully long tail. We had a little lunch at the road and continued our hunt in the afternoon. John got his three before long and I shot another. We all started a search for one more monkey to make my sixth. We finally located a herd and I got another nice skin, so that by three o’clock we each had our six colobus.

We picked out a nice shady spot and made some tea and had a few ham sandwiches. After this repast we started off for Nairobi. We had more tea at Waller’s house and fooled around there until dinner time.

Nairobi –Stony Athi                           

Monday, January 18^th, 1926.

We planned to get away for the Stony Athi by 9:30 but found there was a lot to do. It was just one shauri after another all morning. Colobus skins had to be handed in to Safariland, trophies looked over, etc., so Waller suggested that we wait until the afternoon. We thought our pictures which we left over a month ago would certainly be finished but when we called to get them the photographer had only printed about half of them. It is no wonder these English don’t get anywhere. I took my 256 back and made Heir give me a 256 long barrel in exchange.

Waller and his wife joined us for lunch at the New Stanley and we were calmly discussing our plans when John said, “There is Ed,” and looking around I saw him sitting at the very next table. Of course, he didn’t expect us back from safari yet and we didn’t know that he was anywhere within miles of Nairobi. It was quite a surprise. Ed is back a few days early in order to fight Harris and in great shape. He has been down in Tanganyika for a couple of weeks and had a slick time hunting. He got a lioness and a couple of leopards. Waller says the fight with Harris will never come off for Harris is certain to back out of it.

Well, after lunch we started for the Stony Athi in Fowell’s car. The road was terrible and it is supposed to be the main road to Mombasa. Purposely, it is kept in a terrible state so that no motor lorries can compete with the Uganda Railroad which rakes in enormous amounts of money. They made a 400,000 profit last year and for a single rail affair it isn’t bad. Fowell calls it the Uganda python and from the way it winds and twists about I should say he had it doped out right.

The Stony Athy is about twenty-four miles down the line from Nairobi and we had scarcely gotten a hundred yards from the last house in Nairobi before began to see game by the hundreds. Of course, all we saw was in the game reserve. In order that there will always be sufficient game in Kenya Colony the government has set aside big game reserves. One of the largest of these is just south of the railroad line from Nairobi down to the coast. In fact, the railroad line itself is the dividing line. The amazing thing is the fact that the animals seem to realize that they are safe in the reserve and you can drive along and see hundreds of wildebeests and tommies not fifty yards from the railroad line grazing away and not paying the least bit of attention to you. But the minute you cross the railroad one runs like the wind when he sees you half a mile away.

We saw two tommies at least 700 yards off and just to see how well the new 256 long barrel shot I put up the 500 yard sight and let fire. Obviously, I went short but I discovered that the 256 certainly is a slick little gun. A 375 is really too big for the small bucks as it rips them all to pieces. We pushed on and finally arrived at the Stony Athi. It consists of a dry river bed except for small pools of salty water. The river bed is one mass of boulders. On all sides stretch miles of slightly rolling prairie with short grass. There are no trees except for a few scrubs along the banks of the Stony Athi. We started right out over the veld in Fowell’s car. There was no road of any sort and although the grass was short it was not too easy going. But talk about game being wild! You never saw anything to beat it. Why you couldn’t within 700 or 800 of anything. And run! Well, you haven’t seen anything run until you’ve seen a tommy. He only stands about two feet high and when once he starts off there is no catching him in any sort of a machine.

It was an hour before John or I got close enough for a shot. A that it was a running shot at about 300 yards. I began to think that the chances of my getting even one wildebeest, let alone grants or a tommy, were absurd. I was figuring out what king of a machine gun would be most practical when we for the first time got up within 350 yards of any game. There were about eight wildebeests at about 325 yards who were just walking away. I took careful aim, for it was my shot, and missed as I expected to. Immediately the whole crowd was off. Waller said, “Go ahead, take a shot at the bunch.” It seemed ridiculous but John aimed at the bunch and fired. Down came a wildebeest, much to the surprise of all of us. We rushed up and found that John had hit an old bull with a magnificent pair of horns. This was certainly great and my spirits were much higher. After skinning him it was getting along, so we decided to start back to the road. We saw lots of game but couldn’t get anywhere within range. On reaching the road we started back toward Nairobi. Half way in, when it was just sort of twilight, Waller noticed a jackal about a hundred yards from the road feeding on the carcass of a zebra. John hopped out and shot but missed. The jackal didn’t budge. A second shot hit him square in the shoulder and he dropped at once. Fortunately, he had an awfully nice skin – not a bit mangy like most of them.

By the time we got to the New Stanley it was about eight o’clock but a bath was essential for the ticks at the Stony Athi are famous. After dinner we went right to bed.

Nairobi – Stony Athi,                           

Tuesday, January 19^th, 1926.

It was impossible to make an early start as we had to turn in the wildebeest and jackal skins to Safariland which firm doesn’t open until nine A.M. There were a few other shauris to fix up so that it was eleven o’clock before we once more were on our way to the Stony Athi.

At first it seemed hopeless but we tore along over the veld. The old Studebaker lorry of Fowell’s jumped and bumped around. Finally we got up to some wildebeests. I shot one and wounded him but it was not very serious for, although we followed him for a mile across the plains, we never got him. John killed a kongoni and we stopped for a bite to eat. We were soon on the way again when we saw some more wildebeests. We managed to get up within 300 yards of them so I shot at another. I hit him as I did the first butt off he dashed. While we were following him we got up within 400 yards of some grants. They had stopped to look at us and John resting his gun across the top of the car fired, but missed. Off they dashed but only for about fifty yards. It was my turn so I braced myself against the side of the car and shot. Luckily I hit one and down he came. There was one buck and about eight does. Waller pointed to the buck to me so I kept him spotted. Gee! I certainly felt happy for I never thought I would get a grant. The does stood about 350 yards off waiting for the buck who was down. John missed a couple of shots and then we went over to see the buck. He was still alive and sitting up. Having been shot through the back part of the spine. John took a snap and then we cut his throat. He had a magnificent pair of horns and I was tickled to death.

When Mumo and Makau had finished skinning we started off to find more grants as my second wildebeest had run as far away as the first one I wounded and by this time was undoubtedly back in the reserve. We saw quite a few does but all about 500 yards away. Finally we got up fairly close to another buck and John hit him in the hind leg. He was off like a shot but he stopped soon and after another short chase he was down. He too, had a nice pair of horns, being only about half an inch shorter than mine but having a nice forward twist to them

We started out with wildebeests as the main objective when we ran across another herd of grants. There were two nice big bucks. It was my shot. I fired and missed. John tried a running shot and missed. I noticed them turn up on a ridge and run along the top in a line perpendicular to the way the car was facing. They were right on the horizon about 350 or 400 yards off and running like the devil. I then tried something I never tried before. If you aim at a running buck you will never hit him. Like shooting ducks, you must aim and fire about eight or ten feet ahead, depending, of course, upon the distance. Well, I braced myself against the car, got the elevation right and just waited. When the grant was about twelve feet behind the spot at where I was aiming, I fired. I could hardly believe my eyes when I saw him drop. I don’t claim it was good shooting – it was just the biggest fluke in the world. Waller almost died laughing and kidded John and me about being sharpshooters, for the shot John made at his wildebeest was just as good.  Once more I was lucky for the buck had a beautiful pair of horns. They were only a fraction of an inch smaller than the first pair I got but a little more symmetrical.

John and Waller walked in the direction the second buck had gone while the gunbearers were skinning the grants but although John fired twice he didn’t get a real close shot. By this time it was getting dark so we started back toward the road to Nairobi. Fowell had tough luck with his car and we had a couple of punctures but eventually we arrived in Nairobi. Stanton came for dinner all dressed in a tux. Neither John, Waller nor I had on ours and being too lazy too change, I took him down to the bar and told the steward how to make an American whiskey sour. Two drinks were enough to make Stanton forget his tux and he was pleasantly happy all during dinner. John and I were in bed when Stanton knocked at our door. It seemed that he wasn’t quite sure how his English bicycle worked.

Nairobi – Stony Athi                           

Wednesday, January 20^th, 1926.

Today being Waller’s birthday, he having reached the age of forty-four, Mrs. Waller was invited to accompany us on our trip to the Stony Athi. When everything was loaded aboard Fowell’s we started off four our day’s hunt. We bumped along over the veld for over an hour trying our best to get up close enough to some tummies, but they seemed to be too well educated. It was just beginning to look hopeless when I hit a tommy doe. She certainly was a plucky little devil and I had to plaster her with a half a dozen bullets before she finally came down. Her horns were short and not very good and the skin was, of course, worthless being all shot to pieces.

Just about this time Waller saw a lone wildebeest about 800 yards off. He was standing looking at the car so Waller and I crept toward him. When about 400 yards off I put up the 400 yard sight and fire. I thought, at first, that I had missed for he lashed his tail around and started off. But he slowed down right away, wobbled and sank down. I shot him again at 100 yards and he got on his feet and started toward us as if to charge. But he overestimated his strength for before he went ten yards he shivered and wobbled again and down he went. I put another shot through his neck to put him out of his misery. He had a great pair of horns, just about as big as the pair John got. The day certainly seemed to be turning out well for me.

One of the tires had gone flat – the second puncture today – so we decided to eat lunch on the spot. Mrs. Waller had fixed up a mighty nice birthday lunch for the old bwana. We had meat pies, chocolate cake, etc. After lunch we started out to find some tommies or grants. It took us most of the afternoon to get close to some tommies but we finally did and John shot a grant doe. We then pushed on toward the road when suddenly we saw something peculiar under a bush. Fowell stopped the car and John shot and hit the object. It turned out to be a big spotted hyena and John had made a beautiful shot right through the head. More tire trouble! Soon after we saw a herd of zebra and John and I opened rapid fire but had no luck. It was a tough job getting back to the road but get there we did after a couple of stops during which time John shot at tommies fully 800 yards off.

It was 7:30 by the time we reached Nairobi. John and I gave a dinner at the New Stanley for Waller and his wife sat around the hotel until 10:30pm when we retired.

During the last few days Ed has been hunting on and off with some friends of his here in Nairobi. I might as well mention here a few facts about the fight which was to have taken place between Ed and Harris. Harris, as I said before, is supposed to be the heavyweight champion of South Africa but peculiarly enough every time someone who knows anything about boxing comes to Nairobi Harris finds something wrong with his arm, leg, or shoulder. The people in Nairobi are becoming very fed up with him.

When Ed arrived in Nairobi it was just two days after he left the malaria hospital at El Doret and, of course, was in no sort of condition having lost twenty-five pounds. Harris, knowing of this, wanted Ed to box and even went to the trouble of inviting Ed out to his house for dinner in order to get Ed to fight. Harris, I guess, though this would be a good opportunity to remove some of the slurs cast upon his name. When Ed said that he was in no sort of shape Harris said, “Oh, we’ll just spar around and won’t hit each other hard.” Ed said, “Look here, Harris, I’ve boxed too many years not to know that if we get into the ring together you will hit me as hard as you can and I’ll crack you with all the strength I’ve got.” Then Ed said that he was going down to T—for a few weeks of shooting and that he would try to get in some sort of shape and would fight him when he came back. Well, to make a long story short, Ed got back a few days early from his shoot in fairly good shape and ready for a fight. In the meantime, Harris evidently had decided that a fight with Ed would do him no good for he said that he wouldn’t fight because he didn’t like the promoters. So the fight is off! Believe me, the people in Nairobi are peeved. For years they have been looking for someone to take the conceit out of Harris and now that Ed, a real fighter, turn up Harris. Won’t fight. The newspapers certainly tore into Harris. Everyone in Nairobi would give a sovereign to see Ed lick Harris. While on the subject of Ed, I might put down a few of his experiences. He certainly had his share of tough luck. After we left him at Mongella, it was discovered that half the canned tins on the Zafir were blown and that Ed and Wilkinson both had ptomaine poison. Why all of us didn’t get it I don’t know. Poor Wilk almost died of it in Mongella but eventually recovered and has since returned to Khartoum. Ed didn’t have it so badly and after a few days in bed was able to get up and do a little hunting. He managed to get a chap who was going back to Nairobi via the road from Mongella to take him along. Governor Brock had told us at Mongella that the road was not open but Ed and his friend managed to get as far as El Doret. Here Ed had a bad attack of malaria fever and was forced to go to bed in the malaria hospital where he remained about ten days, during which time his fever ranged between 100 and 104. By the time he reached Nairobi John and I had, of course, been out on safari for some time so Ed, who knew Martin Johnston and a number of other people in Nairobi, had a few days of visiting and recuperation before he and another chap decided to go down to T—for a two weeks’ shoot. Ed was very lucky hunting and managed to get a lioness and a couple of leopards as well as a number of small bucks.

Nairobi – Ngong Hills                           

Thursday, January 21^st, 1926.

The Ngong hills where we went today are about an hour and a half’s drive from Nairobi so we decided last night to get under way before daylight. The best time to hunt bushbucks is the very early in the day or just about sundown. Like most of the other African animals, they come out to feed at these times while during the middle of the day they lie down in the dense scrub and thickets where it is impossible to get up to them.

We had teas at Waller’s about four o’clock and started for Ngong about a quarter to five. The drive, like the one to Uplands, was beautiful. The scenery was magnificent and the road was extraordinarily good. When we neared the vicinity of the Ngong hills. We slowed down and kept our eyes open for game. Two little red duikers were too quick for us and escaped into the bush before we were able to get a crack at them. On arriving at the spot where we were to leave the car and start our hiking we all had a bit of hot tea and some sandwiches while Makau and Mumo went out scouting in the surrounding country to pick up a few “totoes” to carry our food water and camera. They were lucky enough to find two young boys who proved to be a great help.

The country in which we found ourselves hunting was very hilly and covered with a thick, but not high, growth of thickets and scrub. It was not long before we saw several bushbuck does and reedbuck does, two of which the dogs chased out of the brush. But no bucks were to be found anywhere. After several hours of useless searching we were looking for a good place to rest until evening when Waller saw a rhinoceros laying down in the thickets in a sort of valley below us. On closer investigation we saw that there were two or three of them all lying down. We were unable to see what sort of horns they had and were all rather curious to see what they were like. Not having much love for rhinoceros, I was among those willing to give them a good scare. Our position on top of a hill was quite safe. There were no trees to climb in case of a charge but we were below wind and it would be very unlikely that they would charge up the hill without first scenting us. John and I both had all the rhinoceros that we wanted and ten quid is allot to pay for another. Waller took out a whistle and blew several sharp blasts. At once the rhinoceros stirred, got up and sniffed about in confusion. It was not until then that we saw their horns, and one had a tremendous pair. The first horn must have been 27 or 28 inches, while the second was almost as long. If only I had seen the horns before we roused them I would have gladly have given twenty quid for them. I told Waller at once that the big rhinoceros was certainly worth eighteen quid to me. But they were now turning around and around blustering about trying to get wind of us. I sat down and tried to get a careful sight. When I thought I had a fine beed I fired but the rhinoceros moved at the same time. I shot a second time when the three were in full flight. Whether I hit the big rhinoceros or not, I never knew. Makau said the second shot hit while Mumo held that first did. But, personally, I think they were both wrong for I’m sure both shots went high. In any event the first two rhinoceros tore madly off while the third started up the hill, hesitated and disappeared in the bush below us. All of us at once turned and ran as hard as we could to get into the open in case the third rhinoceros was coming up the hill. Being in the open was much safer for we would then be able to see him before he was on top of us. It was an unnecessary precaution, however, for he never came. In fact, we never saw him again. The other two we watched for some time. Reaching the top of the hill opposite us, they plunged into the thick growth. To follow them was of course absurd. I missed getting a whopping big rhinoceros of which fact I was rather disappointed but my missing saved me ten pounds which will undoubtedly come in handy before I get back to the States again.

After the rhinoceros episode we searched about till we found a nice shady tree where we all flopped down on the ground. At noon we ate some sandwiches, drank some beer and then lay down to snooze. But it was not long before one of the totoes saw a couple of pigs and John went tearing after them. While stalking the pig he scared up a bushbuck doe which he wounded but which managed to escape us. He and Fowell went after a reedbuck doe while Waller and I wisely sneaked back to our tree. It was very hot out and when John and Fowell came buck twenty minutes later empty handed I realized the logic of our retreat to the shade.

About four o’clock after another short hike, we decided it was still too hot to walk so rested under a second tree where Waller and Fowell were soon sound asleep. John amused himself and me by sticking pieces of grass into Waller’s ears. He, of course, thought that they were flies, and being half asleep, would make all sorts of attempts to rid himself of the pests. Thirty minutes of this diversion and we were once more on the way. We soon spotted a nice buck but before I could get my rifle to my shoulder he was off. The brush contained several wise old buffalo who, getting our wind, quietly cleared out. We would have never known that they were there if we had not caught sight of them on top of the hills hundreds of yards away. Suddenly we came across a young bushbuck buck. It was my shot so I went forward with Waller. The buck was standing at the edge of a thicket two hundred yards away and down hill. I fired three shots in rapid succession, missing all three. I certainly was fed up. I was shooting over the top of some bushes and, for the life of me, I couldn’t steady my rifle. It jumped about like a wild steer. Of course, the buck disappeared into the thicket. Well, we trudged on over the next rise. There, in the distance a half mile away, was another bushbuck. It was hard stalking as we had to go down the side of a hill, cross a stream and climb the next rise. John, Waller and I all threw ourselves flat on the ground and squirmed our way through the brush. Half an hour later we were climbing the rise when we almost walked straight on top of a reedbuck who, catching sigh of us first, bolted off out of sight. John got up within about thirty yards of the bushbuck.  I was behind with Waller. I heard two shots in rapid succession and ran up to John in time to see the bushbuck darting into the thicket. I fired a hasty shot after it and, of course, missed. John said that he had wounded the buck with the second shot but no hitting it in a vital place there was not much hope of getting it. There was no blood spoor and following it in the scrub which was like a mass of nets was useless, especially as it was getting dark. So we shoved on, John feeling keenly disappointed.

Some while later we passed a native maize field which the buffalo had simply ruined. Half the maize was trampled down. They come down during the night and make raids on the fields, taking little or no notice of the boys perched on top of little platforms who shout and yell to keep the prey out.

It was after sundown by this time and darkness was creeping on. We were slowly making our way back to the car when Waller saw a couple of hyenas on the next hill – just out for the night’s feed. I decided to shoot one if I got a shot. We were walking carefully along when Waller grabbed my arm and pointed ahead. There, in a little opening on the next hill about 200 yards away was an old bushbuck buck. Mumo jumped before me telling me to rest my gun on his shoulder. I put up the 300 yard sight and was just going to shoot when Waller said, “No, use the 100 yard sight and take a full sight.” I changed at once and did as he directed. All this, of course, took place in a couple of seconds. My gun, this time resting over Mumo’s shoulder, was as steady as a rock. I fired and down went the buck right where he stood. Believe me, I was happy! I had a nice pair of horns and its skin was much prettier than I thought it would be. Mumo skinned it at once while John and Waller looked around to see if, by any chance, there was any more bushbuck around. It was fairly dark by this time and when we reached the car it was after seven. Hardly had we gone 100 yards before the headlights showed a red duiker right ahead of the car. It stood in the center of the road gazing at the car. John hopped out and tried a shot at it and missed, and off fled the little duiker.

When we got to Nairobi it was going on nine o’clock. We took a bath and had a late dinner after which we soon went to bed.

Nairobi – Ngong                           

Friday, January 22^nd, 1926.

Mother’s birthday.

There was a lot to do this morning at Safariland. Trophies were looked over, shauris fixed up and new skins turned in to King. Epstein had to be paid as did Shaw and Hunter while we all went to the banks and drew out money.

It was about four o’clock before we got started for Ngong. John was very anxious to get a bushbuck while I wanted a reedbuck. On reaching Ngong we found our totoes of yesterday waiting for us. We soon saw a buck at which John took a shot but it was too long a shot. A little later we spotted another bushbuck at twitch John shot but missed. It disappeared into the bush and as Waller expected it would come out again before long we sat down to wait for it. We all had tea and then Fowell and I decided to leave John and Waller and see if we couldn’t find a reedbuck. We pushed off in the opposite direction and on climbing a little rise saw a doe feeding. I didn’t want to shoot her so got out the glasses to have a look for the buck. With them I soon picked out a small reedbuck. But it was only a youngster and its horns weren’t worth its shooting. Then, about 350 yards away, I saw a bushbuck. Just at this time I heard John shooting so decided to have a crack at the bushbuck. I took careful aim but went high. At once everything cleared.

A mile further on I saw, by aid of the glasses, a big reedbuck but Fowell, who had my rifle, much to my disgust, had sauntered on ahead about fifteen yards. I whistled to him to return but before he could get back to me the buck was gone. It was getting dark and we had to get back to the car so there was no time to look for it. When we reached the car we were disappointed to hear that John had shot at another bushbuck but that he hadn’t had any luck.

On the way into Nairobi we passed a car which was perched on top of a hill. Waller’s suggestion that it was a game warden who, having heard a shot after sundown last night, had sneaked out to catch the law breakers, was undoubtedly right for the car followed us at some distance all the way into Nairobi.

The night before last Fowell received a note from his next door neighbors something like this, “Dear Gentlemen or Sirs: Please keep your dogs at home.” Last night on returning to his house, Fowell heard from his nigger that one of the dogs had taken the whole seat out of the trousers of the “Gentlemen or sirs: who sent the note,” so that tonight he said he was afraid to go home as probably the police were waiting for him.

Nairobi,                          

Saturday, January 23^rd, 1926.

This morning I was reminded of the fact that it was my birthday by Mrs. Waller who, on seeing me, offered me her congratulations and invited John, Ed, and I to dinner at the Trocadera, the new restaurant that Waller’s brother has just opened. The morning was spent in checking over the trophies and in settling up with Wetham. After the bill was gone over John, was quite peeved about the whole matter, tore into Safariland and Wetham. John told Wetham that we had more or less done Safariland a good turn by going on their safari for that we had in no way made any arrangements with them and that if Lucey had arranged with Safariland to take us that the whole thing was either Lucey’s or Safariland’s shauri and not ours. Of course, this was a good point and applied when we first got to Nairobi but Wetham was right when he said that it was neither here nor there whether we were obliged to take the safari that Safariland had outfitted for us. The fact of the matter was that we did go, we did accept his terms. In this Wetham was, of course, in the right. I sat meekly in the corner while John and Wetham fumed around saying that this or that was an insult, etc. In the end the whole shauri was patched up and they shook hands.

Eleven o’clock tea we had at Waller’s and there was a Mr. Bromhead who owns some 500 acres of farm land about ten miles from Nairobi. He has been troubled with lions who have been stealing his cattle and was quite anxious that we go out to his place for a couple of nights and build a boma to sit up in. It seemed like a good suggestion, especially as both John and I would like to get a lion, so we decided to have a go at it.

After lunch, accompanied by Mrs. Waller, we went out to see an old chap by the name of Bowker who makes a business of shooting kongoni and zebra which he sells to the niggers. He seemed like an awfully nice fellow – the kind you would picture as one of the old pioneers of British East Africa. He presented both John and me with a nice pair of tommy horns and I was as yet had not shot one myself so was glad to get a pair of horns. From him we bought a half a zebra for lion bait for tomorrow night. Then we decided to go out to Watson’s farm to see if we couldn’t get a tommy buck or two. As stated before, the tommies out along the edge of the reserve are as wild as they can be. The first shot at them was John’s. The tommies were about 300 or more yards away. After the crack of the rifle they were off like a shot. We followed the. There was one buck and about six does. They soon stopped again, all but the buck who, being last, moved up to the front. I hopped out of the car and rested my rifle on my knee. The buck stopped and I took careful aim. I could scarcely see it over the end of the 300 yard sight. I took the sight just a bit broad and fired. Imagine my surprise when the tommy dropped right where he was standing. I thought, “This is a pretty good start for my twenty-second year,” as it was my first shot of the day. We paced it off – 325 yards and right through the neck. The bullet had gone in sort of diagonally entering in the neck on the right side and coming out of the head on the left side somewhere around the ear. Of course, the whole thing was pure luck but it made me feel very happy.

John had tough luck. We spent the whole rest of the afternoon trying to get a tommy for him. There were plenty about and he had a dozen or more shots. He wounded two quite badly, a buck and a doe. I saw the buck wobble as if to go down and then dash off as alive as ever. We chased and chased it in the car but couldn’t get up to it again. It certainly was bad luck and poor John always seems to be hitting animals but wounding them only slightly while I have had remarkably good luck in this respect losing only one wounded animal that I can remember, an eland. We passed a herd of zebra but Waller said not to shoot any as it was too late to skin one. We made back for Nairobi where we had tea at Waller’s house before going to the hotel to dress for dinner.

Dinner was at 8:30 and John and I had just time to make it. We forgot all about Ed until we got over to the Trocadera and we both exclaimed at once, “Where is Ed?” the rest of us sat down to wait the news. It seems that Ed had fallen asleep and John said that he wanted us to go ahead with dinner which we proceeded to do. There were Waller and his wife, Waller’s brother, Fowell, John, Ed and myself. We certainly had a delicious meal. John, who always has something to kid me about or else to tell about me to other people, discovered on reaching Nairobi about December eleventh that he had, after five months, quite run out of material. Consequents, being hard up, he had a job digging up some old ones. He hit on Gold Beach and Dorothy Lamson. This served as a splendid foundation for all sorts of stories for Waller and his wife. I am adding these details to help explain the menu which we had at dinner which I am sure would otherwise be rather puzzling. Mrs. Waller certainly did a good job of it and I was so amused myself that I didn’t mind being the goat.

Epstein had invited us all out to his dance afterwards but it was eleven o’clock by the time we finished dinner. Ed went out but John and I decided to call it a day and go back to bed at the hotel as we have to sit up in a boma tomorrow night and probably the next.

Nairobi – Bromhead’s                    

Sunday, January 24^th, 1926.

We got up fairly late this morning and after a bath and breakfast decided to get a little of our packing done as there is bound to be a lot to do the last minute. It seems that we had accumulated more stuff than ever and our efforts to lighten our baggage is getting to be quite a joke. We had hardly started before we figured out that it was an ideal time to grease the guns we were going to ship directly home. So we went over to Waller’s and set to work thoroughly cleaning them and then putting a heavy coating of grease over them. I am going to send home my 30-30, shotgun, and 256. It was about lunch time before we finished. The early part of the afternoon we spent in packing and rearranging our things.

Along about four o’clock we had tea at Waller’s after putting on our boma clothes. Mumo and Makau were ready and waiting so we were soon on our way to Bromhead’s place. Waller and Fowell had gone out there during the morning and had taken the zebra with them. On reaching the beginning of Bromhead’s place we found the dead half zebra and tied it on to the back of the by means of a long rope. We towed it about for quite a while and then made our way up to the cattle boma. It certainly was a mighty slim boma, one that most people would call a moral boma for it certainly wouldn’t be any protection against a lion if he really wanted to get you. He could easily have cleared it with one leap. Besides, we found several holes where he could walk right through without even having to jump. As a consequence we gave up the boma ideas and decided to all get inside a little mud house which had severed to protect the cattle when it rained and which was itself part of the cattle boma. In it we made two sets of shooting holes at opposite sides and after having our dinner went inside to arrange our bedding. The fleas we imagined would be dreadful and were greatly delighted to find that, if any at all, there were certainly very few. Mrs. Waller and Fowell left us and we settled down for the night. Makau, Waller and I were at one window while Mumo and John were at the other.

I couldn’t get to sleep for some time and was just dozing off when Waller touched my arm. From where I was lying I could see right out of my window. There on top of the bait was a huge hyena. I thought at first it was a lioness it seemed so large. I could almost have leaned out of the window and touched it with my hand. Evidently it heard some sound for it dashed off directly. A few minutes later it came up to John’s bait. Then another came, and another, and another. They stood off howling and squeaking. We didn’t want them to eat all the bait for then there would be none left for the lions if they came up. Two or three would come up to feed at the same time. At first, to touch the side of the wall or else to scratch one’s hand in the grass was enough to scare off the whole mob but later we had to resort to other methods. They grew bolder and bolder. Finally we had to flash light in their faces, throw bits of rocks at them, and growl to keep them away from the meat. This lasted for about four hours at the end of which time I was exhausted. I was tempted several times to shoot at one but realized that this would certainly frighten off any lions that might possibly be lurking around.

One hyena was bolder than the others. While he was less than ten feet from where I sat he came right up to the kill, cut the rope in two that held the zebra to the stake and then lifted it off the piece of wood. I flashed the light on him but he merely backed off with the zebra in his mouth. When fifty feet from the boma the other dozen or fifteen hyenas made a scramble for the zebra. There followed a chorus of squeaking, howling, belching, yelping, crying and snorting for a hyena can make about twenty different noises. In less than a minute the hubbub ceased and I knew that the zebra was finished. Well, that ended my chances so off to sleep so off to sleep I went. The hyenas made a nice try for John’s bait but Mumo had tied it more securely. No lions came up to the boma during the night.

Nairobi – Bromhead’s                           

Monday, January 25^th, 1926.

The following morning, tired and sleepy, we dragged ourselves out of the boma. We had scarcely come out from behind the thorn bushes before we saw four zebra only about 100 yards off. John hadn’t shot a zebra yet, so, taking good aim, he pooped one off. It only ran about 200 yards before it was down. This was great for not only did John get the zebra skin that he wanted but here was bait for a second night in the boma. After the skinning was over we left a boy to watch over the carcass to keep the vultures away and then started for Nairobi.

The road runs right along the edge of the game reserve and we caught some tummies napping, as it were. They were just over the line so Fowell stopped the car and John hopped out and got his tommy buck. Two new species for John this morning.

On arriving at the hotel we were surprised to meet Roth, Bic and Nut who are just back from the northern frontier district. They have had good luck in getting two lions and two leopards but failed to get any kudu. It certainly was great to see them. They are pushing off in the morning for the Tanganyika border via the Masi reserve.

During the morning we were occupied getting reimportation certificates and one thing or another. We had lunch with Roth, Bic and Nut. John has developed a rather bad headache and doesn’t know whether to attempt another night in the boma. I advised him not to and said that I wouldn’t go either if he would stay at the hotel but he decided at the last minute to make one last attempt at getting a lion. We are going to have a big day tomorrow, what with leaving Nairobi and all, and I felt that John ought to take it easy today. But at the last minute he decided to go so we dressed and appeared at Waller’s house about four o’clock. Here we had tea and then started off for Bromhead’s place. Arriving there we found all in order and the nigger we had left to watch the kill still on the job. We had our supper of sandwiches and tea and made a few last preparations before retiring. I was greatly amused at Makau who evidently was fed up with last night’s performance. He cut a long pole which would reach all the way to the bait. I guess he planned to give the hyenas a good poke in the ribs if they became too greedy. Besides this weapon he took precaution to tie a rope to the half zebra, one end of which he brought into the boma itself. Taking my place, I was soon dozing off to sleep when the first hyena came up to John’s bait. In a few minutes there were half a dozen there fighting and chewing away at the zebra. Peculiarly enough, none came up to my kill so I crept over to John’s place. John had a hyena but I hadn’t shot one as yet so it was agreed that I was to take a shot at the first one that came up. John didn’t want another anyway. So I poked my rifle through his window and waited for a broadside shot to make certain for I couldn’t see the sights of the rifle. After two or three minutes I fired. Immediately off dashed the whole crowd – all except one which sank down next to the bait. Waller, Makau and I went out and hauled him in. I hit him right back of the ears and he died instantly. Not fazed by this, the hyenas were soon up to the bait again repeating what occurred last night except that they didn’t steal the bait. But no lions came and I was soon asleep.

Leaving Nairobi                         

Tuesday, January 26^th, 1926.

When I awoke this morning just after daylight I crawled out of the boma to get a breath of fresh air. The dead hyena lying near the entrance didn’t add any pleasant odors to the already stuffy air in the boma. There were two hyenas still standing about 100 yards off looking at the bait. I was just going to knock one over when Fowell stopped me, pointing to a jackal in the distance. I decided to let the hyena go in hopes of getting the jackal. As it was fully 300 yards off it was a difficult shot. Naturally, I missed and the whole outfit was gone in a flash.

The hyena skinned, we were off for Nairobi. On the way in, right off the road, we were surprised to see another jackal. Fowell stopped the car and like a darn fool whistled. Off dashed the jackal, much to my disgust. I waited and it stopped about 150 yards away. I missed again, much to my dismay. I’m sure if Fowell had only kept his mouth shut I could have had a fifty instead of 150 yard shot.

After a bath, shave, and breakfast, John and I spent a couple of hours of real work. We decided to give King a Dunhill pipe as a sort of gift to show our appreciation for all that he has done for us and the splendid way that he has looked after our trophies. He gave John and I each a very nice rhinoceros kaboka which we decided to ship home with our guns. There were a few shauris to fix up. Makau wanted a letter of recommendation which I was only too glad to give him, and I presented him with some old socks and puttees which he was very pleased to get.

After saying goodbye to Wetham, King, and the whole Safariland outfit I went back to the hotel to get our luggage down to the station. Ed had an invitation from the new Governor of Kenya to lunch at the government house so he said he would meet us at the station. John, Mrs. Waller and I went down to the train where we put our stuff aboard and had dinner in the railroad station. Thompson, of whom I have said little so far, met us for lunch. He is an American engineer who has traveled all over the world and evidently acquired a fortune. His hobby is record heads of which he has one of the best collections in Nairobi. He is a bachelor and more like a big kid than anything else. He has been awfully nice to Ed who has had several days’ shooting at his place. Thompson gave us letters to loads of people in India, Australia and the Philippines. 

My little Peter Pan, that has until now gone through the trip most successfully, I left with Waller. He was very fond of it and the records, of which “Don’t Bring Lulu” was his favorite. He has done so much for John and me and has given us both several presents so that I felt it was only right that I should give him something. The train was due to leave at 1:55 P. M. by which time we were all assembled with our twenty-one pieces of luggage. At the station was Waller and Mrs. Waller, Waller’s brother, Thompson, Epstein and  chap named Gil Philan, A Yale graduate of the class of 1916 S. He owns the Buick agency here and is doing business hand over fist. Last month they sold a car a day and their tire business amounted to $40,000. Not bad for a place like Nairobi, is it?

I certainly hated to say goodbye to all of them. I never have had a more enjoyable time in my life and Nairobi is beyond doubt the best place we have been since we left the States. Everyone has been so very kind and nice to us and it has been a great pleasure to have met these people. Mrs. Waller and Waller, “the old Comrade” as he calls himself, are two of the nicest people that I have ever met. It was not without a sort of homesick feeling that we waved goodbye to the little group on the station platform. But on a trip of this sort one can’t linger too long in any one place. The six weeks we spent in Nairobi passed like six days and I am sure that they were among the very happiest of not only this trip but my life.

I can’t say enough for Kenya. It is a real paradise and I feel that it has great prospects. It is still in a sort of pioneer condition and it a splendid place for one to start a career. There seem to be endless opportunities.

Turning my attention to the train, I found three little books that Mrs. Waller had given us at the last minute. In each was a little card saying “Bon voyage and au revoir, Kathleen Waller.” The books were called, “John Boyes, “King of the Wa-kikuas.”

In the compartment with us was another chap, the Magistrate of Nairobi, so Waller had told me before the train left. He is on his way down the line to hold court. We soon started a conversation with him. He is a most interesting fellow and it wasn’t long before we were all playing bridge.

Suddenly the train jerked badly several times as the brakes were applied and looking out of the window we saw a big giraffe standing in the middle of the track. He seemed quite unconcerned but, luckily for us as well as himself, he moved off beside the track before we reached him and standing not fifty yards from the train watched us speed by.

We stopped for tea and dinner, at a place where our friend Mr. Waller left us. John and I were dead tired so decided to turn in. Of course, there were no sleepers and we had the oldest car of the Uganda Railroad. But we were too tired to be annoyed and, undoing our blanket roll. Pulled the seats out and made two beds.

Everyone had warned us of the terrific red dust but it was worse than we ever dreamed of. The worst was yet to come but when we crawled into bed we were covered from head to foot and our luggage had a layer of dust half an inch thick.

Kilindini Station – Mombasa

Wednesday, January 27^th, 1926.

Well, last night was an experience I never want to go through again. The train hopped, bumped and jerked all night so that sleep was almost impossible and the dust came in by the bucket full. But that wasn’t the worst of it. I had a dreadful nightmare of lions and rhinoceros rushing the boma I was in. Then the boma itself went around in mad circles. I woke up to find myself clutching wildly at John. I must have fallen out of the upper berth which was about 5-1/2 feet above the floor for when I woke up I was sprawled among the suitcases hanging on to John.

When I opened my eyes about seven o’clock it looked as if someone had painted the whole inside of our compartment, luggage, bedding and all with red paint. We had just the time enough to shake our clothes and get dressed before we drew into the Kilindini station which is two miles from Mombasa and which is the port from which we sail. Waller had told me to yell for a boy named “Jula’ which I proceeded to do.  A big nigger came up and I handed him all the luggage with the instructions to see that it was all put aboard. This was according to Waller’s advice. John, Ed and I road on to Mombasa where we hired a cab and went to the Manor Hotel.

Mombasa is just like Florida. The minute I got out of the train I noticed the damp salt air, the white limestone roads, the hundreds of palms and, above all, the sticky, lazy atmosphere. What I saw of the surrounding country was indeed very attractive. Hills, cliffs and rivers or little inlets from the sea, tropical trees and vines literally covered the whole place.

At the Manor Hotel we took baths and had breakfast and learned to our surprise that the Khandalla was due to sail at 10:30 A. M. and not 4 P. M. as per schedule. Consequently we left for the pier right after breakfast stopping at the Smith Mackenzie, the agent’s, on the way to send a few cables. I sent one to Father while John also sent one home.

                        Cable to Father: Wonderful shoot twenty different species 

                        Including lion buffalo rhino thanks cables mail Bombay fourth

                        Love unsigned

John’s Cable: Fine hunt no lions wait Bob Bombay all well 

John

Arriving at the dock I found Jula’s assistant had hired a launch to take us out to the Khandalla which was lying out in the bay. Aboard was all our luggage and we only had to step into the boat before we were off. Just as we were about to shove off a boy appeared with a telegram. It read as follow:

            “Bon voyage and all good wishes from your old comrade.”

It certainly was mighty thoughtful of Waller.

The Khandalla is 425 feet long, has a beam of 55 feet and it about 7,100 tons. While she is not particularly big she is the newest ship of the B.I. fleet and is very comfortable. John and I have a nice big cabin and it is as clean as a whistle. Ed is bunking with a fellow from Nairobi that he met some time ago. We had hardly gotten in our cabin before John sank into his bunk saying that he was exhausted. I thought at first that it was just the excitement of leaving, a rotten night in the train and the two hard and tiresome nights in a boma. But he had a fever and I realized that he felt petty low. As soon as we sailed, which was about an hour and a half later 12:30 P. M., I sent some of our luggage to the hold and went to find the ship’s doctor. John had a temperature of 101 so went right to bed. The doctor gave him some medicine but isn’t sure what is wrong with John as yet. It might be malaria or the sun. When he was as comfortable as he could be made, Ed and I went down to lunch. We were seated at the chief officer’s table who, by the way, is a peach. Our other companion is a Mrs. — about fifty years of age, and from the first I realized that we were all in for it. She started right in telling us all about her son and what he eats and how she likes chicken cooked, etc. The chief is a scream. He makes sort of rude remarks which she thinks are very funny and goes off into fits of laughter.

I spent the whole afternoon reading to John and we almost finished the book Mrs. Waller gave us. It is most interesting. Poor John’s fever seems to be worse and I am very worried about him although the doctor assures me that he will be all right. By dinner time it was 103. He doesn’t seem to mind the fever so much but he has a terrific headache with it. The doctor is going to make a blood test in the morning. He seems to think it is tick or malaria fever.

We are making for the Seychelles Islands, English possessions, which are almost due east of Mombasa being just slightly further south. The sea is none too smooth. The breeze is out of the northeast – the regular northeast monsoon, the chief says, but a wee bit strong. The Khandalla plunges about a bit and several of the passengers have lost their appetites and incidentally their lunches but Ed, John and I, after our Alicante Oran experience, think that it is nice calm weather.

John was feeling sleepy so I went to bed soon after dinner. These fool English always dress for dinner and I was the only one with an ordinary suit. But I can’t say I felt embarrassed – first night out no one dresses said I, an old sea dog.

On Board the Khandalla                           

Thursday, January 28^th, 1926.

John was better this morning. His fever had subsided somewhat being only about 100 but he still have a very bad headache. I spent the morning reading to John and writing letters. My, it seems good to get a rest again. Eight o’clock breakfast seems very late.

The Khandalla has been plunging around all day. The sea isn’t exactly rough but I’ve seen it a lot calmer. The chief calls it “a moderate swell.” Yesterday we made 308 knots. The doctor took a blood test and announced this afternoon that John didn’t have tick fever. Personally, I think he has malaria with a touch of the sun.

This afternoon John’s fever was worse and he feels very miserable. He doesn’t want anything to eat. I read to him a while and then when he dozed off Ed and I played a game of deck tennis and quoits. Before dinner I boxed a few rounds.

Mrs. – is getting on my nerves dreadfully. She is the kind of woman who is always talking about her son and daughter-in-law. The chief, too, I know is rather fed up. The skipper and chief have learned that Ed is quite a boxer and certainly have been awfully nice to us. They have had his boxing things mended, provided new punching bag, etc. I must say that the officers are certainly a splendid crowd and the passenger on the whole are very nice, all expert the pestering old Mrs. – at our table.

After dinner I turned in at once as John didn’t feel like being read to and I felt rather tired myself.

On Board the Khandalla                      

Friday, January 29^th, 1926.

Today the doctor took another blood test and announced that John had malaria and a touch of the sun to boot. John’s fever was 102 most of the day. He continues to complain of his headache. I put cold compresses on his head until the doctor sent up an ice bag. This has helped a lot. The doctor says John’s malaria is the two day sort, that is, the fever returns every two days. John won’t eat a thing and his head hurts so badly at times that he doesn’t even want to be read to. I must confess that I feel worried about him. There doesn’t seem to be any point in sending a radio to Mr. Pirie for it would only alarm him and we are seeing that all that can be done to make John any easier is being done.

The sea continues to be moderately heavy and we roll about quite a bit at times. At noon we had covered 313 knots. The chief says that we will arrive at the Seychelles about noon tomorrow. From there we will swing around to the northeast and have a regular head wind all the way to Bombay. It is just a seven day run from the Seychelles to Bombay.

John and I have started a new book of Jack London’s called “The Sea Wolf.” I’ve read it before but thought John would enjoy it. He was feeling a little better tonight and as his fever had gone down somewhat I read to him for a little while. The doctor has started giving John quinine injections. He gives him fifteen grains a day with the needle while John takes about fifteen grains in tablet form. I don’t believe in all this medicine but the doctor seems to think it the best cure.

I wrote a bit today and played a few games of deck tennis, otherwise I didn’t do much in the way of exercise.

Seychelles Islands – Fort Victoria                

Saturday, January 30^th, 1926.

The Seychelles Islands are a group of 85 or 90 islands lying about 2,000 miles to the south of Bombay and slightly to the west. The total area of these islands is 156 square miles and their chief products for export are cocoanuts and spices. Lying only five degrees south of the equator the climate is rather warm while the islands are supposed to number among the most healthy places of the world. Last year they had the lowest death rate recorded in the English Statesmen Year Book. The island of Mahe is the chief island of the group and the one for which we are sailing.

John was better today. He still won’t eat in spite of his temperature being almost normal but I don’t believe in trying to force him to eat against his will.

By ten o’clock we were able to get an excellent view of the Seychelles. Rocky peaks jutted out of the sea in all directions and the Khandalla leaping though the azure sea toward them was certainly a beautiful sight. To me the Seychelles seem like the gems of the Indian Ocean. As we approached Mahe, the largest of the group, it was easy to make out the long white line of sandy beach. The water was as clear as that in Florida and had the same deep blue as the Gulf Stream. A number of reefs and sand bars, treacherous in themselves, only added to the picturesqueness of the scene by the patches of shallow green water that floated over them. A brisk breeze was blowing and the white caps seemed unusually bright with the rays of the tropical sun shining down on them.

We dropped anchor in the little bay at Victoria the port of the Seychelles. It was as pretty a spot as I have ever seen, being almost completely encircled by low lying islands covered with hundreds of palms and cocoanut trees. The shores of sandy beaches. The town or settlement of Victoria, located on the island of Mahe, was a beautiful sight. Rising sheer out of the sea was a high mountain, its top hidden from view by a big cloud while perched at its base and ascending some distance up its sides were a number of houses which make up the village of Victoria. Somehow the scene gave me quite a thrill. I can’t describe how magnificent it all was. The deep blue of the sea, the white caps, the coral reefs – encircled by a ring of enchanting islands rising into the clouds – and the gloriously warm sun and salt breeze.

It was 1:45 before we had actually dropped anchor. I managed to get a few movies of the islands as we approached. Unfortunately it seemed that we were going to sail at 3 P. M. so that none of us would be able to go ashore but at lunch the chief that that it would be four o’clock before we would start so that if we wanted to we would be able to slip ashore for half an hour or so. John was quite contented and peaceful so Ed, another chap, and I hired one of the native boats around the Khandalla and sailed toward the shore.

The islands were originally French so that while they have belonged to England since 174- the French Language still predominates. The natives themselves have a ling called Creole which is a mixture of most every tongue with French the main foundation. Landing at the little doc, we walked up the main street toward the post office. The population of 22,000 is like the language, a confusion of all breed. Portuguese, nigger and French are the main blood involved, I should say. From what I saw and gathered, the whole outfit is about as degenerate as it could be. While the Seychelles are supposed to be healthy islands they are not without their cripples, invalids, etc., which seemed to fill the streets.

As the boats only call once every two months it was a big day for the islanders. The half-breeds were down in their finest clothing waiting for the passengers to come ashore. As Ed, Roberts and I were the only three who ventured ashore they must have been very disappointed. The women wore large hats and old fashioned dresses which I place about 1890 style. Although we were the only three who made a visit to Fort Victoria, we were certainly the object of all eyes and I must confess I had a certain feeling of self-consciousness. Roberts who is a stamp collector, had as his chief errand to get samples of all the Seychelles stamps. Realizing that Kim is interested in stamps I thought that I wouldn’t let the opportunity slip by of getting some rare ones so purchased a set as well. Stamps, I understand, are more valuable if they have the seal of the post office on them so I prevailed on the Postmaster to stamp my set. I had just time to get a fleeting glimpse of the tumbled down and dirty looking stores before it was time to go back to the Khandalla.

We sailed at four P. M. the sea was much smoother and we were soon slipping nicely along directly into the northeast wind. I read to John for a while and then after dinner turned in.

On Board the Khandalla                     

Sunday, January 31^st, 1926.

John was feeling worse than ever today. He had a fever again and his headache was bad. Ice bags helped somewhat but on the whole he felt pretty miserable. He didn’t care to be read to so I spent most of the morning writing while he dozed off from time to time. He, of course, does not want anything to eat. I can understand his not wanting anything to eat but I am afraid that he will get dreadfully weak if he doesn’t have some nourishment.

By noon today we had covered 232 knots from the Seychelles and are due to cross the equator about dinner time. It is delightfully calm out and one forgets entirely that he is aboard a boat.

Later in the afternoon I read the Sea Wolf to John and just before dinner I jumped rope and boxed Ed in order to get a little exercise. It has been a slick day. The sea besides being calm is perfectly beautiful. It isn’t the dark blue of the Gulf Stream but rather to be of a lighter hue, as if huge electric lights were shining up from the floor of the sea. The air is as warm and nice as it can be.

Several of the ship’s officers were in to see John as well as the Captain who said to give any orders in the food line that John would like. Toward night John felt a little better and after watching the full moon rise I decided to call it a day.

On Board the Khandalla                        

Monday, February 1^st, 1926.

We finished the “Sea Wolf” today. John’s temperature was somewhat lower but he feels very sick. His head aches and he seems so depressed. I think he has had altogether too much quinine so today he decided to cut out the liquid quinine and just take the daily inoculation.

It was another magnificent day at sea, as smooth as one could wish for. There is a strong westward current and at noon we were fifty-nine miles off our course. We only made 273 knots yesterday. John and I spent the whole afternoon going over the pictures that we had taken writing titles, as it were, on the backs of them. It was a much bigger job than I thought and when it came around to tea time we had only finished about one-third of them. Before dinner I read a few short stories for John. I’m getting awfully worried about him for he says that never before in his life has he felt so sick and I can’t get him to eat a thing. I got thinking it over and at dinner I just decided he must eat whether he wanted to or not so sent up some soup to him. The Captain, F. J. Downing, came up after dinner with me to see John and then invited us up to his quarters on the bridge. John was very weak, of course, but I thought some good fresh air and a little exercise walking up there might make him sleep better. When we got him up there the Captain had a cot ready with blankets, pillows and all. It certainly was a nice change with plenty of fresh air. The skipper was anxious for John to spend the night and told me I could have a bed sent up too but John thought he would sleep better down in his own cabin. I got a chair and read several short stories to him. About ten o’clock we went down and as John was feeling sleepy we went right to bed. The Captain certainly is a prince and told us just to come up to his quarters on the bridge whenever we felt like it.

On Board the Khandalla 

Tuesday, February 2^nd, 1926.

I was delighted when I awoke this morning to find that John was greatly improved. His fever was entirely gone and also his headache and when he asked how the oatmeal was I knew that he was much better. He slept last night from twelve to six without waking once. He had some cereal for breakfast. Personally, I think his recovery is due to his stopping the quinine. I don’t I am much as an advertisement for doctors. It seems to me the less you fill your stomach up with a lot of medicine the better off you are. I haven’t taken a grain of aspirin of quinine since last September, in fact, not a bit of medicine of any sort, and I am the only one who hasn’t been sick. They say you should take quinine every day in Africa, should wear cholera belts at night, spine pads in the day, etc. Bosh! I say, the whole business! I haven’t done any of it. I think if you are bitten by malaria mosquitoes you will get malaria no matter what you do. I know it sounds foolish but the best medicine in the world is, I believe, ordinary good water and hot coffee. Well, that is that! Anyway, John is much better and I’m tickled to death,

Another glorious day at sea. We made 282 knots yesterday. John had his quinine inoculation at eleven A. M. and we read until lunch time. When I was through with dinner John had some nice chicken broth which I asked the Chief Steward to make for him. John is hard to please in respect to food for he has such a keen taste and hates food that isn’t cooked just right. He also had some stewed prunes. In the afternoon we went up to the bridge. I read a few stories to John out of “Limehouse Nights’” and when we came down about four o’clock we started a new book “Almayer’s Folly” by Joseph Conrad which looked as though it might be good. I read until dinner time and then took a bath and had a shave. After dinner we went up to the bridge again and read a couple of short stories.

It is a little breezier tonight but not a bit rough. We are sliding westward at quite a rate so the ship has been speeded up one knot. 

On Board the Khandalla                          

Wednesday, February 3^rd, 1926.

John is ever so much better today and I can’t help but feel that he is well on the road to recovery. The captain, who was in fact last night telling us of his experiences with the Australian troops during the war, dropped in again this morning to see John. He has taken quite a fancy to my steel suitcases and made all sorts of inquires about them. After John’s fifth and last quinine inoculation we finished the remaining two-thirds of the pictures that we were marking the other day.

After breakfast this morning the chief officer gave me a lesson in using the sextant and finding the longitude and latitude. It was most interesting. The sea is as calm as ever and we made 307 knots yesterday. John had some oatmeal and orange juice for breakfast as well as a scrambled egg I induced him to try. For lunch he had pea sup and grape nuts which he fancied. If only his appetite keeps up he will gain back some of his strength. I spent the afternoon writing while Ed read to John up on the bridge. John certainly is much better and took a stroll around the deck while we had dinner. Afterwards Ashley, Ed, John and I played a few rubbers of bridge. It is the first time we have played cards, except on the train to Mombasa, for quite some time. Then we turned in .

On Board the Khandalla                           

Thursday, February 4^th, 1926.

Another slick day at sea. We made 309 knots yesterday. Getting up about nine o’clock for breakfast, I heard sort of a commotion outside on deck and rushing out saw the remains of a wreck of a sixty foot trading ship. Only the hull was left. We made a turn about her but there were no signs of life. It looked like rather an old wreck so we were soon under way again at full speed. I showed our African pictures to the chief and by the time I finished John decided to get up and dress. We took a short walk on deck and then I busied myself with getting the account up to date. John came down to the saloon for lunch. In the afternoon I spent all my time trying to get caught up in my correspondence which has gotten hopelessly stacked up.

Ed broke all his previous records by punching 565 times in three minutes or more than three punches a second. He then skipped rope 1,000 times in seven minutes. He is in splendid shape now and will undoubtedly fix up a couple of fights in Bombay. I certainly am sorry Harris wouldn’t fight Ed.

Tea, dinner, etc., filled up the rest of the day. I spent the evening at the pleasant task of diary writing.

On Board the Khandalla, Harbor of Marmagao

Friday, February 5^th, 1926.

When I awoke this morning we were just coming into the harbor of Marmagao, It was my first view of India and what I saw was a long line of brown cliffs about which the sea whipped making long, white lines of foam. Marmagao belongs to Portugal. It is only a small piece of territory several hundred miles south of Bombay on the west coast. I never realized before that all the land in India wasn’t British. There are, besides Marmagao, a couple of other strips on the east coast that belong to France.

Going out on deck I watched the usual collection of small boats and barges that played around Khandalla. In a way it was one of the first touches of the Far East that I have ever seen. The old scows were covered with bamboo poles as you always see in pictures of oriental river boats. The natives, the Goanese who poled them, were dressed only in loin cloths and their skin was a regular chocolate brown. The paddles of some of the tubs were also peculiar, being made out of long poles with round tin pans on the end.

On the shore, on top of the nearest cliff was an old grey, gruesome looking fort of the fourteenth century. Before it was erected a tall cross. Outside of this structure and a few building at the foot of the cliff, coaling stations and docks, there wasn’t another house in sight. All the houses are built back inland. The harbor itself was a very pretty place. We only stayed for a couple of hours – merely dropping our second and third class passengers.

After breakfast I started in on my diary again. We sailed at 10 A.M. our route is right along the coast which we keep in sight all the way to Bombay. We are due there about seven or eight o’clock tomorrow morning. John, Ed and I played quoits at odd intervals but I spent most of the day writing letters or in this book.

Tea and dinner came and went in regular order. Nothing of interest occurred. We invited the chief to dinner tomorrow night at the Taj Mahal. John sold him his glasses for five quid. After dinner I continued my writing until bed time.

Arrival at Bombay                           

Saturday, February 6^th, 1926.

We were just sailing into Bombay harbor when I awoke this morning. Peering out of my porthole I was amazed to see so many ships. It looked like New York harbor instead of Bombay. I dressed hurriedly and was rushing out on deck when the steward informed me that he health official was in the smoking room and that I had to appear for inspection. All he asked me was if I had any jiggers and I promptly replied “No.” Jiggers are a sort of worm that gets under one’s nails. There are quite a few in British East Africa and I suppose they want to keep them from spreading into India.

The Rajputana which Clydesdale came on was at anchor only a short distance from the dock where we were to land. While eating breakfast we docked and a few minutes late Douglas came on board. He had breakfast with us and then we gathered all our luggage and went ashore. The only difficult thing to get through customs were the rifles. The Indian government makes you pay a 33% duty to import rifles but refunds you seven-eighths of this duty when you leave India so it isn’t so bad. We had quite a job getting away from the coolies who wanted tips but managed it at last. The guns we left at the customs and said we would be back Monday morning. This being Saturday we were anxious to get as much done before noon as possible as all the shops close at one P.M. and everyone goes out to the races.

Leaving the dock we went straight to the Taj Mahal Hotel where we learned that our telegrams had not arrived and that there were no rooms available. Douglas saw the manager and after some discussion we were told that we could have a double room about three o’clock this afternoon. We checked our luggage into Clydesdale’s room and went dashing down to the American Express and Cook’s to get our mail and to post mail to catch the English mail boat. There was a cable from Father for me but no mail. I expect Bob is brining the latest news. There was a million things to do but as the store closed at noon we were obliged to put off most of our errands until Monday. We stopped, however, to purchase some sun helmets. Douglas had already seen to getting all of us tickets to the Member’s stand at the races.

We had lunch at the Taj in the regular dining room and decided at once to take our meals in the future in the grill room. Then we drove out to the races.

Bombay is quite a place. I fell in love with it at once. There are several big squares surrounded by enormous palm trees and the buildings are rather massive and impressive looking. There is a touch of the East everywhere. The natives in many colored skirts and shawls lend a certain touch to the scene. But on of the most lovely things about Bombay is the gardens. They are magnificent.

The city itself contains about two million inhabitants and is located on a long island a short distance from the mainland and connected to it at one end by a bridge. The climate at present, the cool season, is very much like a warm summer day in Chicago, the sort of day you would like to Motor out to Lake Forest about two in the afternoon and have a nice swim in good old Lake Michigan. If this is cool it must be awful in the hot season. May and October are the two worst months. After the rains break in June there is a steady downpour every day until October. This disagreeable weather but it is cooler than in May. It stops raining in October but the sun just burns down with terrific heat and the ground being so thoroughly moist makes the atmosphere muggy and sticky. November is better and by December the best weather has again started. January and February are the two best months. It is supposed to being to warm up in March. After the middle of March it is better to be off to other places than Bombay or Calcutta. Another note about Bombay in the hot season. It is the worst place in the whole of India for malaria, so they say. But I must say I’ve noticed very few mosquitoes so far.

Well, getting back to the races. We motored out to the new race course about five miles from the Taj. It is a magnificent course and has just been completed this year. Having Members’ tickets we were admitted to the Members’ stand or enclosure. The West India Turf Club, the place is called. Two races had already been run by the time we arrived and we soon found ourselves scouting around for tips on the third race. All the betting is done by pari-mutual machinery. Tickets of the two prices are sold – ten and a hundred rupee. A ten rupee ticket is worth about $3.80 America money. You read over the list of horses and pick out your winner. Then you purchase a ten rupee ticket for Number Four – or whatever number he happens to be. You can be to win or to place In America there are three ways to bet – to win, to place, or to show. But over here when you say to place it means to show as well so if your horse comes in first, second or third you win. The pari-mutual machines are really fairer than bookies for all the money that is bet, less 10% to run the machines, goes back to the public.

It was sort of useless for us to bet as we didn’t know a thing about the horses. However, we tried and I was lucky enough to win on four horses in seven races that I bet on. Still, I lost about six rupees for the day as the horses I picked were backed well so that the dividends were small. In one race I backed three horses – thirty rupees. One of them won and I got 26-8 back. In spite of winning the race I lost three rupees eight annas. This I thought was poor business so gave it up.

The Members’ stand and the course itself is better than any I have seen in the States. Grouped around the stand are several little tea houses. There are five or six in all. These are miniature representatives of various clubs in Bombay. After the fifth race or so everyone goes to his respective club for tea. We went to the Bombay Club as the gentlemen who gave us tickets for the races was from the Bombay Club. The other clubs represented were: The Biculla Club, The Governor’s Club, The Yacht Club, The Turf Club, The Willingdon Club, etc. There are only two clubs in Bombay that are mixed clubs, that is, for both Europeans and Indians. They are the Willingdon Club and the Turf Club.

H. H. Aga Kahn, of whom I will write more later, won the gold club with a hose called “Quincy” while the Maharaja of Kolhapur also won several races. It was 6:30 or 7 before we left that races and hustled back to the hotel to get ready for dinner.

Chief Officer Flynn of the Khandalla came for dinner at the Taj and then we went to see the Devonshone dancers. Here in Bombay people think they are great. They put on some sort of Indian show which I thought was rotten. On leaving the theatre I noticed under the advertisement “Direct from Aeolian Hall, New York.” That was enough to satisfy me. 

Bombay                       

Sunday, February 7^th, 1926.

It was late when we got back last night as all the shows, on account of 8:30 dinners, don’t even begin their program until 9:45. We slept quite late and after breakfast John and I decided to get our hair cut.

We all had been invited to Government House for lunch with His Excellency, the Governor, and Lady Wilson. We arrived there about 1:30 and were ushered in with great formality. Before I begin a description of lunch I want to put down a few remarks about the Government House. It is simple magnificent and its furnishings are perfectly beautiful. There are all sorts of carved wooden screens and big palm trees are all over the house. Flowers are everywhere and there ware wonderfully soft and deep couches. Well, it is just perfect. When we arrived we were met by the Secretary and a Captain Pickard. They showed us diagrams of where we were to sit, etc. The other people at lunch besides us four were Governor and Lady Wilson and the Maharaja of Kolhapur.

John had the worst seat of all, right next to the Maharaja. He is the simplest ass I ever saw. Although he is only twenty-seven years old he is the fattest man I ever saw, weighing at least 350 pounds. He looks as though he were over fifty years old instead of twenty-seven. He was dressed in white robes with a big golden colored head-dress. His skin was about the color of a Cuban. He giggled like a ten year old child, could hardly speak English, and doesn’t even know how many people live on his estate. He has just finished learning the names of his horses. Gosh! What a dumbbell! And to think that everyone, including the Governor himself, addressed this simple fool as “Your Highness.”

Well, on our arrival we sat down to wait for the other guests before the Governor and Lady Wilson arrived. Then we all went in to lunch. When it was over we sat around talking for a while. Then the Governor said goodbye and left and the luncheon party proceeded to break up.

Ed, Douglas, John and I took a short motor trip around the city – sort of a general sight-seeing tour and then went back to the Taj. We had heard that there was a wonderful swimming at Juhu beach, about a thirty minute motor ride from Bombay so decided to go out and see for ourselves. It certainly was all we expected and more. I have never seen such enormous trees in my life. They are at least sixty or a hundred feet high and are as thick as they can be. There was a wonderful white sandy beach and the water was about eighty degrees. Oh, it was slick! Ed and Douglas boxed a bit and then we went in – all expect John who has just gotten over malaria and didn’t want to take any risks.

After our swim we motored back to the Taj and had dinner. It was about 9:30 when we got up from the table, so went to bed as we were dead tired.

Douglas being the Marquis of Douglas and Clydesdale rates all the gravey, as it were, and Ed, John and I ring in. There seems to be no end of invitations arriving for us all at the Taj. The Governor’s secretary had a long session with Douglas today and mapped out a trip through India, and gave him all the dope about India. Two places we all want to go, if possible, are Kashmir and Afghanistan. The latter is about the most difficult place in the world

N O T E

Diary of February 7, 1926 incomplete.

Diary of February 8, 1926 (and with it probably the rest of February 7) not received.

Bombay – Elephanta Caves                          

Tuesday, February 9^th, 1926.

The first thing on our program for today was a trip to the Elephanta Caves. They are supposed to be quite famous, being built about 180 B. C. and rank as one of the few interesting things from a sightseeing point of view around Bombay. Eight o’clock found all four of us climbing into Cook’s launch for the hour’s ride across the harbor. There were two other passengers – a young girl of twenty-two or so and her mother, both Americans. I wondered who was going to break the ice first. It turned out to be the mother but she didn’t speak to us until we had crossed the bay.

The caves of Elephanta while unique in their way were certainly disappointing. They were small and there was little to see outside of a few stone carved figures which have since their construction been badly mutilated by hostile tribes, etc., coming into Bombay.

The girl was evidently as bored as we were and the guide who spoke with a typical Cook’s accent sounded like a rotten victrola record. Mary Cater was the girl’s name and she knew a lot of people from New Haven that I know. She lives in New York and is one of Marguerite Taylor’s best friends. She and her mother are on a trip around the world too but are going the other way.

After a drink of lemonade we took the launch back to Bombay. It was time for lunch when we reached the Taj. The afternoon was spent in shopping around the city, going over our planes, etc., while I made a desperate effort to recover about $60.00 that the custom people charged me on some of my personal clothes. It is outrageous and I went down to the custom collectors’ office and put in a written complaint stating my case.

Douglas, Ed, John and I all went over to the Gymkhana Club about five o’clock. Ed and Douglas were to put on a sort of sparring show. Ed suggested I box a few rounds too and I was on the point of deciding to when I thought, “Oh, well, I guess I won’t.” I was never so glad of any decision in my life as that one when I walked into the boxing room a few minutes later and saw at least 200 people crowded around a ring. There were a couple of ringside seats reserved for John and me so that we were able to see the whole show. Douglas fought two rounds apiece with two different men whom he made look sick. He landed a hard liver punch and the man he was boxing just doubled up.

Ed fought the nigger professional of the club – a fellow called “Kid Charlie” from San Francisco. At first the nigger started to rough it and Ed sailed in to him and knocked him all around the ring. A terrific left hook to the jaw dropped Kid Charlie but Ed quickly hauled him back on his feet. After the first round the nigger knew better and the next three rounds were much less ferocious, but when the exhibition was over there was no doubt in anyone’s mind as to who was the better boxer of the two.

After the boxing, our hosts, a Mr. Percy and a chap named Wallace, invited us all to have a drink at the club before going to dinner at their apartment. They have a nice little flat about three blocks from the Taj where four of them live. Dinner was awfully good and when it was over Percy and one of the others gave us quite an entertainment. One plays the piano very well while the other is good on the banjo. I know that anyone at home would have laughed if they could have heard the latest music they had. Let’s see, there was “Yearning,” “Rose Marie,” etc., but to me it was great for they had all the music that just came out when I left last summer. Gosh, it was wonderful! I thoroughly enjoyed the evening and it was after midnight by the time we left for the Taj.

Bombay

Wednesday, February 10^th, 1926.

Although it was late when we got home last night we made a fairly early start this morning to fix a few shauris with Cook’s and the American Express. It is amazing how much there is to do and how little one gets done in a morning’s trotting around. John and I had to get bedding, blanket rolls, and one thing and another for Bob and Douglas. As yet, we had not engaged any servants and at least a dozen have called at our room to offer their services. Each time one comes we tell him we haven’t decided yet but to come back at twelve o’clock today and we would see. Consequently, when we went up to our rooms at the Taj after the morning’s shopping the whole second floor was filled with servants. We decided that that the best way was to interview them one at a time for if they all started in once there would be a terrific uproar. The second man we saw was a fellow named Patrick. He was sent over to the hotel by the American Express who said that he was the best man they had. He is an older boy than the others being about thirty-five or forty and speaks excellent English. His letters of recommendation were excellent, being from the best people in England and all of them said that he was the most capable and honest boy in India. So we decided on him. Douglas and Ed took the Carter’s boy, a fellow named “Chenoo.” Patrick is much better I think. We were told that we needed a servant apiece but Patrick says that he can easily take care of three of us so we decided to follow his suggestion and told the other boys to beat it. That makes two servants between five of us.

John, Mary and I had lunch together. I asked Mary yesterday if she would go swimming with us today and she said she would if she could get a bathing suit. At lunch today she said she had finally fond a green one which, while not too hot, would do. That reminded me that my Lido suit would hardly be the thing to wear in Bombay so decided I’d have to get a more conservative one.

After lunch I went down to Asquith and Lord’s to try on my new suits and buy a bathing suit. It took me hours to find a woolen one but I finally purchased a decent one and hurried back to the hotel to meet Mary. John wasn’t feeling very well so decided that he wouldn’t go but Ed and Douglas went with us. I was wondering all the way out to Juhu how Mary was going to undress as all the tents at the beach are private and the little tin sheds are miserable affairs. However, on our arrival, Ed bribed the woman to give us a tent and a couple of chairs. We all waited outside while Mary undressed and vice versa. It was low tide so we had to walk out about a mile to get up to our shoulders but, Oh, Golly! The water was great. It was as warm as toast and there was nice surf. We all had a marvelous swim. It was just about sundown when we decided to go in to dress and I’ve never seen a prettier sight. Juhu beach is perfect. There isn’t a rock of any sort and the sand is as white and clean as one could wish for. The palm trees are the largest I have ever seen and tower a hundred feet into the sky. There is a regular forest of them and when one stood out in the sea and gazed back at the shoreline with the ripple of white foam of the breakers surging along over the sand it was too heavenly for words. And to add to its magnificence was the dull red glow of the setting sun that made the scene absolutely perfect. Mary says that it is ever so much more wonderful than Honolulu and I think she must be right. Mary is a peach I think and I like her a lot although I don’t think John thinks she is too hot.

While Mary dressed, Ed, Douglas and I went for a run on the beach and then all of us returned to Bombay by motor. There was sort of a shauri about tonight. Mary and Mary Rhodes, a friend of Mary’s, were going to dine with a chap named Baxter, the ex-Governor of Maine, but due to some mistake the whole thing was cancelled. Now Douglas had asked Percy to dinner and I didn’t see how I was going to get out of going to dinner with them to take Mary. You see, tonight is a big night, as it were. There are a couple of professional dancers called Nina and Jack who are to perform. Well, I told Mary that I would come and get her the minute dinner was over. As was to be expected, Percy was late and then everyone sat around drinking. By ten o’clock we had just gotten to dessert so I excused myself and went out to find Mary. She and Rhodes were waiting so it meant that I had to go back and get Ed. Finally we got a table in the main dining room where the show was and we all sat together. I never will forget the trick Wallace played on me. I was going to dance with Rhodes when he brought up some big fat mess and introduced her to me. I had to be polite and dance with her. The whole shauri wouldn’t have been so bad if after the dance he had come back but instead he left me with this awful woman and I had to sit at her table until the next dance about half an hour later. I certainly was fed up. I only had one dance apiece with Mary and Rhodes when the dance broke up at midnight. The rest went to bed while Mary and I sat down on the roof garden and talked for a while. I’ve decided she is quite a sensible girl and hasn’t any crazy ideas like other girls I know.

Bombay

Thursday, February 11^th, 1926.

Well, today was a full one besides being a most enjoyable one. We started it off with a trip to the Parsis Temple of Silence. The Parsis are a group Indians of Persian or Anglo-Indian decent. While being in the minority as compared with the Hindus, they are by far the cleverest of the Indians and most all of the clerks and cashiers in Bombay are Parsis. The Parsis are very weak in the north of India and the great majority of them are in Bombay itself or one or two other large cities. While the Parsis are therefore not an influential nor important power in either a religious or political way they are one of the most interesting groups in the whole of India.

We drove up to the Parsis Temple of Silence and in spite of not having a pass we were admitted to the main grounds after tipping one of the guides two rupees. He then began to explain to us the workings of the Temple of Silence. I shall try to write down what I learned of this very unique place.

The Temples of Silence are the burial grounds for all Parsis. Several acres of rocky land are enclosed by high stone walls. This land, so our guide said, is the highest place on the whole of the island of Bombay. Inside this tone wall is a long row of steps leading to the top of the rocky hill where a yellow plaster building is located. Surrounding this building is a garden full of ferns and flowers which seem to be quite well kept up. From this yellow plaster building – the house of ceremony – we could see five white circular walls about twenty feet high. These white walls serve to hide from view the mysterious courts in the center.

The Parsis believe that there are three sacred things, fire, water and land. To bury a body in the ground would pollute a sacred thing. Likewise it would be wrong to cremate or throw a dead person into the sea. Therefore, they have adopted the system of having the dead bodies devoured by vultures. The five white towers that we could see were the places where the deceased were placed. Around each wall on top were hundreds of big, fat vultures. Our guides then told us that three bodies have been put inside the walls this very morning. It usually takes about two hours for the birds to strip the body of all its flesh. Only the bones are left and these, after lying in the hot sun for a week, are brushed down into a pit in the center of the floor of the tower. Here the the bones remain until the monsoon comes and washes them down a long pipe, where they disintegrate into ashes. Inside the white, circular wall are three tiers, as it were. The upper one is for males, the second for females, and the lowest one for children. From each trough a drain for the blood runs into the center pit. The body is placed in the trough with only the underwear on. No one is allowed inside the walls except two or three men, all very high priests in the Parsis religion. The public in general and even other Parsis are not permitted to look into the falls, and as they are about twenty or thirty feet high and built on the highest place in Bombay, no one can see over them. I believe someone flew over them in an aeroplane, and a big row resulted.

During the procedure of the vultures devouring the body the relatives of the deceased enter the yellow plaster ceremonial house and burn sandal wood and pray. At the end of the two hours the body has been eaten and the praying ceases. One is constantly reminded of this horrible business by the hundreds of vultures that fly around you all the time. The Parsis say, “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,” etc.

The whole thing was most interesting, and I was awfully glad that I had seen it. The bodies, usually about four a day, are carried up to the towers between the hours of nine and ten A.M. and four and five P.M. There are five towers, as I said before. One of them is for people who have suffered unnatural deaths, such as hanging, suicide, etc.; a second tower is for Parsis who, after death have been touched by someone who isn’t a Parsis, This is supposed to pollute the body. The remaining three towers are for general use.

N O T E

Diary for February 11, 1926 may not be complete.

February 12 to 16 inclusive – Diaries have not been received

Guntakal – Bangalore 

Wednesday, February 17^th, 1926.

When I awoke this morning we were somewhere between Bombay and Guntakal – it really didn’t matter just where for the scenery was the same all day. I must say the country is about as dried up and unfertile looking as I have seen for a long time. The fields are lined with century plants for miles and miles and everywhere one sees cactus. The land itself looked a great deal like Spain, being mostly desert and red dirt. The native villages were made of closely jammed up mud houses and the streets were full of hundreds of dirty, howling, Indians. And maybe it wasn’t hot! The train was just like an oven. There is no passage through the cars so that at each stop Patrick would come rushing up to see if there was anything we wanted.

We had breakfast in a little diner that seated about a dozen people. During the morning we read and played bridge. The time passed slowly as the country was so interesting and the heat so terrific. Lunch and tea came and went without anything of interest turning up. At one stop there was a living skeleton of a dog. I got some crackers to feed it and the poor thing was so weak it could hardly chew.

We arrived at Guntakal about seven o’clock and had dinner at the station. Patrick saw to changing all our luggage to the other train. It certainly is a relief to have the baggage looked after by someone else. The train from Guntakal to Bangalore is meter gauge. We expected the cars to be awful and were delighted to find them quite as nice as the ones on the broad gauge. Before leaving Bombay, Douglas had a telegram from the British Resident in Bangalore inviting three of us to stop at the Residency while we were in Bangalore. You see, Mysore is a native state where the Maharaja is the king. The British do not run it at all but just have an official located there to watch developements. He is just like a governor only he is called the Resident instead. Obviously, Douglas had to be one of the three. It was decided that he, Ed and Bob should live at the Residency while John and I stopped at the West End Hotel which, according to reports, is very nice and comfortable.

Shortly after leaving Guntakal we all went to bed.

Bangalore 

Thursday, February 18^th, 1926.

When we arrived in Bangalore this morning we were met by the Resident’s Secretary, and Ed, Douglas and Bob piled their stuff into one of the Resident’s cars while John and I climbed into a second. However, we got off at the West End Hotel while the rest went on up to the Residency. Patrick and Chenoo took care of the luggage, bringing it up in ox carts. At the West End they said all the rooms were taken but that we could have one by dinner time. After some bickering we had them arrange to clear out the ladies’ dressing room and we deposited our luggage there and both of had a hot bath and shave. Of course, there was no plumbing, and the hot water for our baths was brought in big pitchers and dumped into a large zinc basin that was just big enough to sit in. However, it was nice to get the dust of the train off and we quite forgot the inconveniences of the hotel when we had a delicious breakfast.

About ten o’clock the Resident’s Secretary, Ed, Douglas and Bob all came over to the hotel and picked us up before starting on a sightseeing tour. Bangalore is a city of about 85,000 people but as far as I could discover the shopping district isn’t any larger than Highwood. The city is spread out all over the country for miles. The houses and all reminded me of some old pre-Civil War southern places, only there wasn’t a living green thing. The sun had just simply scorched everything.

We went to visit some silkworm factories which were very disappointing, being mere toys of industry. I won’t describe the silkworm process here for we saw a real silk factory several days later and I have already written a detailed account of it. Then we went to a silk spinning factory that was closed and after stopping at the Imperial Bank of India we ended our sightseeing.

The Resident had invited John and I to lunch so, after cleaning up at the hotel and putting on some linen suit, we drove up to the Residency.

Lunch was delicious. After it was over John and I looked around the Residency and the secretary showed us a couple of baby leopards that were awfully cute. One is named “Gin” and the other “Bitters.” “Gin and Bitters.” (Not bad, what?) John and I went back to the West End for a siesta and incidentally did a little writing. Ed, Douglo, Captain Fletcher and Bob dropped in about five o’clock and after a bit of tea we all went down to a Scotch Regiment’s gym where Ed and Douglo worked out. Fletcher is arranging a charity boxing show for Monday night. There was a whopping big fellow named Bendy at the gym. He weighed 203 pounds and had as pretty a build as I have ever seen. Although he weighed two stone more than Ed, when they started to spar a bit there was no question as to which was the better boxer. Ed made him look sick. Douglo didn’t box on account of the cut over his eye that he received in the Bombay show. Bob boxed a couple rounds with Ed, and John and I warned Bob not to sail in too hard at Ed for we didn’t want him to take too much of a beating before Monday night so Bob said that he wouldn’t mix it up too much.

When this affair was over John and I beat it back to the West End to change our clothes for dinner. The Resident had invited us to dine with him. We arrived at the Residency right on the dot and after a cocktail or so went in to dinner. I sat next to Miss Pears and Captain Fletcher. I noticed several unique things at the Residency that I will jot down here. When we sat down to dinner at the table a huge light was turned on below the table. Its purpose was to keep the mosquitoes from biting one’s ankles and I must say it was most effective. Miss Pears leaned over to me and said that she would much rather have people see the holes in her stocking than have her ankles bitten to pieces. Then, instead of the butler’s brining around whiskey in a bottle and filling your glass, everyone had a little individual cut glass bottle. I asked Miss Pears if this was not a method of keeping tack of how much one’s neighbor drank. I need not add that the dinner was perfect. The Resident is a peach. He is one of that frontier type of people – a great hunter, sportsman and fighter. He has been stationed up on the Afghanistan border for twenty years.

After dinner some played billiards and some played Mah Jong but I chose bridge. Bob, Fletcher, Ed and I played together and at the end of the evening I was five rupees to the good. I never had such miserable hands though. The party broke up about 12:30 at which time John and I went back to the West End.

Bangalore to Mysore 

Friday, February 19^th, 1926.

This morning Ed, Douglo, John, Bob and I all motored to Mysore City where we planned to spend a few days sightseeing. Mysore City is the capitol of Mysore State and the home of the Maharaja. Unfortunately, he is, at present, up in the north of India wading around in the Ganges. We had a pretty crowded ride to Mysore as the five of us were jammed into a little Oakland and one of us had to sit on a wooden box. We sent Patrick and Chenoo on the train with the luggage. It was some eighty-six miles to Mysore and the country was not particularly interesting. It was a hot, dirty and tiresome trip. We reached the Metropole Hotel about Two o’clock and had lunch. We were able to get only two rooms so John, Bob and I took one and Douglo and Ed the other. The hotel itself isn’t so bad. Needless to say, there is no plumbing but we are getting used to these inconveniences now.

Douglo went around to see the secretary of the Maharaja who mapped out a couple of days sightseeing for us. While Mysore City is only about half as big as Bangalore, one would swear it was three times as large. I liked Mysore from the first minute I saw it. There is a water famine so that everything is burnt to death but the beautiful palaces and well laid out buildings certainly are a welcome sight after the general mess of architecture that one finds in Bangalore.

Our first stop was at the Chamarjendra Technical Institute. Like most of the industries, it is owned by the Mysore State. The institute was chiefly a collection of various things that had been carved out of sandalwood. Personally, I thought the workmanship was pretty crude and not anywhere near as good as what we saw in Spain. From the institute we went to see Van Ingen, the local taxidermist, who is supposed to arrange tiger shoots. We found him at this little shop. He told us that we couldn’t shoot anywhere near the city of Mysore without the Maharaja’s consent but that he could put us in touch with some Indian shikarees at Bhadravati – about one hundred and fifty miles form Mysore so we sent off a couple of wires asking for rates, etc. Van Ingen’s studio was most interesting. He had, among other things, a leopard about a year old that was as tame as it could be. We saw hundreds of tiger skins and loads of Sambar and spotted deer heads, both of which he says we will be able to get at Bhadravati.

Next we went to the Zoological Gardens which were indeed a great surprise being one of the finest I have ever seen. The animals, especially the tigers and lions, are kept in cages opening out on big lawns. At first one wonders how they are kept from breaking loose but on closer inspection one sees that there are deep, wide pits similar to the ones at the Carl Hagenbach’s Zoological Gardens in Hamburg. The zoo is fairly new and has wonderful accommodations for an unlimited number of animals. We spent a good hour nosing about.

It was just about sunset when we left the gardens so motored up to the top of the big hill overlooking Mysore City. There was an excellent road leading to the summit from which we got a marvelous view of the city with its thousands of tiny, twinkling lights. Our driver took us to a large Hindu temple where, after taking off our shoes, we were admitted to the inside. The priests called up to the great Hindu god Siva who was supposed to appear on the wall. We saw a lot of smoke and fire but I, at least, failed to see any god although the priest, hoping to get an extra rupee or so, brought us some flowers that Siva had sent to us. As we left the temple there was an army of Indian beggars crying for alms but we paid no attention to them.

We arrived at the Metropole just about time for dinner. In our room there were three beds – a good one with springs, a bum one with a hard board, and an army cot. John and I decide at once that Bob should have the cot. As Bill would say, you have to be big hearted about such things. But Bob objected so we said we would toss. Odd man was to get the best bed. John and Bob were tails and I was head. There was a general uproar at the result but I got the best bed. Then Bob and John tossed and John won so Bob had to crawl in to the army cot. 

Mysore City

Saturday, February 20^th, 1926.

Patrick brought us our tea at seven o’clock and the first sound I heard from Bob was a deep groan as he turned over in his cot. He said he never spent a more uncomfortable night in his life in the old army cot with no mattress. I tried to make him feel better by telling him that my mattress wasn’t awfully good and the springs were rather hard but he didn’t seem to think it was at all funny. John’s first remark was that we flip for beds again tonight.

We had breakfast about eight o’clock and started our sightseeing tour at once. A clerk of one of the secretaries acted as our guide. Our first stop was at a sandalwood factory. It was most interesting. There are supposed to be only two places in the world where sandalwood oil is made – in Mysore and Australia. Briefly, the process is like this: The sandalwood is brought into the factory in the shape of big logs which are ground up again until they are no more than sawdust. Then the dust is put into a steam oven which drives out all the oil from the wood. The oil vaporizes into steam and passes out through a tube as a gas. This passing of steam over the sandalwood is carried on for some time until all the oil is driven out of the wood. The seam is then condensed and the oil being much lighter rises to the surfaces and the water is drained off from below. The wood out of which the oil has been taken is used as fuel to make steam.

The plant produces about 500 pounds of oil a day which sells at the rate of 22 rupees a pound – about $9.00. Its chief use is for venereal diseases and perfume. Out of every 25 pounds of sandalwood it is possible to get one pound of sandal oil. The sandalwood grows in the jungles of Mysore and the factory is the property of Mysore State.

From the sandal oil factory we went to silk filature. This was even more interesting than the oil plant. The process of making silk is quite complicated one but I will do my best to explain it briefly and clearly.

Silk, as everyone knows, comes from cocoons spun by silk worms. Therefore, in a silk factory it is essential to raise silk worms to make the cocoons. This operation, while quite a separate business from the actual spinning is run in connection with it.

We first went into a building where the silk worms were raised. The eggs are laid on a piece of paper by the female moth who is put inside a little iron ring quite similar to a napkin ring. Although she has wings, she is unable to fly out the ring so she lays several hundred eggs inside of it. Several days later when the eggs hatch and out come the little worm. They are very tiny – much smaller than a pin. They require very delicate car or else they die. Their feeding is very regular and they are kept in the dark almost entirely. At the end of thirty-two days the worms have grown to full size and are about as long as one’s little finger and half as thick. Just before they reach their full size they stop eating. The next step is the spinning of the cocoon. Previous to this, all the worms had been kept on a large flat tray filled with rose leaves and greens, whereas now each worm is placed in a separate little partition of a tray to spin its cocoon. Five days, I believe, are required for the spinning of the cocoon. At the end of this time the worm begins eating his way out of the cocoon thus spoiling all the silk thread. Therefore, most of the cocoons after five days are placed in a big steam room. In this way the worms are killed inside the cocoon and prevented from spoiling the silk.

But some worms are needed for breeding purposes so a certain number are allowed to eat their way to liberty. Instead of a worm coming out, of the cocoon, a moth emerges. The male is smaller than the female and, although they both have wings, neither of them can fly. At this stage the breeding takes place and the female is once more placed in the iron ring to lay her eggs, and the whole process begins over again. After laying her eggs the female dies.

Now the cocoons that are put in the steam room are the ones used to make silk. Here the factory process begins. There are a couple of outside layers of silk that are rather coarse. These are stripped off and then the thread of the cocoon is drawn out. The cocoon unravels just like a spool of thread. Several of the threads are run together to make a heavier piece and then this is wound around a spindle.

The Mysore State maintains this silk filature as a model in hopes that people will come to Mysore and build similar factories. The labor system and rates of pay were all carefully explained to us but it would take too long to write down here. The main feature is that there is a system of rewards and fines – the rewards for good work being paid out of the fines. Japan ranks first in the production of silk for she produces between one-half and two-thirds of all the silk while China is second with a little less than one-fourth. Europe and the Levant make up the rest of the production – India’s production being almost negligible. In point of consumption, the United States is first for she uses over two-thirds of the total world production. France is second.

The Maharaja’s Palace was our next stop. But a word about Mysore State before I describe the palace. Mysore is one of the three or four largest native states. That is, Mysore is run by the Maharaja and is independent of the British except for the Resident who lives at Bangalore. It is supposed to be one of the best run of the native states and the Maharaja is its king. The population of the state is about six millions.

From the outside the palace is a most imposing building. It is larger than a good many of the continental palaces and certainly is more magnificent than the majority of them. It wasn’t long before I found myself comparing this part of it or that part of it with Potsdam.

We were all requested to take off our shoes but on looking at the beautiful, polished marble floors one didn’t mind in the least. Bob remarked that the only thing he didn’t like about it was that someone might see that his shoes came from Carson Pirie’s and the temptation to swipe them would be too great. Once inside we were led into magnificent rooms of all descriptions. Some of the doors were of solid silver while others were covered with gold leaf. There were countless ivory inlaid doors made out of rosewood and one guide pointed out two that won the gold prize for first place at the Chicago Fair. Believe me, the Maharaja has some place. He is quite keen on guns and has a whole room full of hundreds of swords and rifles of all descriptions as well as all sorts of trophies. There are numberless stone courts and gardens that are certainly absolutely gorgeous.

We were allowed to go upstairs into a large living room where there is an electric organ. This was called the music room and in it were the gifts from royal families all over the world. There was a Japanese screen that was undoubtedly the most beautiful thing of its kind I have ever seen. I can’t begin to describe the hundred of other things but you can be sure there were an unlimited number of amazingly wonderful gifts. All of us regretted that the Maharaja himself wasn’t in Mysore instead of wading around in the Ganges on a pilgrimage, as Douglo had several letters of introduction to him. These Maharajas have limitless wealth. One of them last week showed the Viceroy his jewelry collection which alone is worth fifteen million pounds.

After leaving the Palace we went to the Royal Stables. Here we saw many horses and carriages but none that compared in any way with those of the King of Italy who, as far as I know, has the finest stables in the world. Then we went back to the Metropole Hotel for lunch and after a short rest went down to see Van Ingen about the hunt. The chap who is going to take us out for a ten days’ shoot, about 160 miles northwest of here, was in Mysore so we all decided it was best to talk over plans, prices, etc., before Van Ingen, Van Ingen is a taxidermist and knows more about tiger shooting than most anyone around here. Ed finally jewed the chap down from 2,000 to 1,500 rupees. The fellow who is taking us out is called Sab John and we are to hunt at a place called Bhadravati. Ten days is about all we can afford to spend on a shoot.

Van Ingen had his leopard about and I took some movies of it playing with a great dane that he owns. He also has a young jackal and a small gazelle doe. When everything was all settled we got in the cars and started out for Krishnarajasagara dam. It is about an eleven mile drive my Mysore City. The dam itself is supposed to be the second longest in the world, being one and one-fourth miles long. Part of it is finished but some of it is still under construction. There really wasn’t a great deal to see so we were soon on our way again back to the hotel. I spent the rest of the afternoon writing on my diary. Dinner we had at the Metropole Hotel and as we were all dead tired we decided to turn in. John, Bob, and I were all sleeping in the same room and the question once more arose as to who was to have the best bed. I thought the matter was settled last night once and for all but it seemed fairer to toss again. John and Bob were determined that I wasn’t to get the best bed again and I almost died laughing when I won it a second time.

About half an hour after I crept into bed Patrick came in and woke me up. I couldn’t imagine what was wrong. He said that the secretary to the Maharaja was outside and wanted to see Douglo. So I got up and woke Douglo and the two of us went out in our pajamas to see what all the excitement was. The secretary said that a telegram had just arrived from the Maharaja at Calcutta which stated that the Marquis and his friends were to be his guests as long as we remained in Mysore State. His Highness said that we were to live at the Royal Guest House, that two cars were to be put at our disposal, and that everything should be done for us. The secretary was all excited about it and I must admit that I didn’t feel exactly calm myself. He said that it was too late to move over to the guest house tonight but that the cars would be over at six in the morning to move us and all our luggage. Now, we had planned to go back to Bangalore in the morning but the opportunity of being the guests of the Maharaja was too good to miss so we decided to postpone our leaving Mysore for a day and to accept His Highness’ hospitality. Douglo said he didn’t see how we could refuse as the Maharaja’s invitation is supposed to be like the King of England’s invitation – a royal command. The secretary stayed about half an hour and then we went back to bed. It seems that the Maharaja had just received word that Douglo had reached Mysore.

Mysore City 

Sunday, February 21^st, 1926.

I heard the cars of the Maharaja arrive at the Metropole Hotel about 6 A.M. and, looking out of the window, saw a big Rolls Royce and a Sunbeam waiting for us. Two bullock carts were also there to take our luggage. I had a cup of tea that Patrick brought and after we all had dressed we piled into the automobiles and started for the guest house. The chauffeurs were all dolled up in uniforms and as Bob and I sat in the back seat of the Sunbeam looking out at the maharaja’s gardens and realizing that we were State guests, believe me, we felt pretty high hat.

The Park House which we occupied was a most attractive place. Butlers and servants were lined up at the front door as we motored up the driveway. The house has a big dining room, sitting room, den, office and several porches downstairs, while upstairs there were five large bedrooms, each with a private dressing room, sitting room and bath. The house throughout was very well furnished with comfortable chairs and couches. It certainly looked good to us. We picked out our rooms and had early shaves. Breakfast was at nine o’clock, and what a meal it was! Golly, it was good food! This being the guest of the State suits me. The secretary told us that while we were the guest of the Maharaja, we could have anything we wanted and said that if any of us drank the entire wine cellar was open to us. Any champagne or spirits of any sort would be brought to us at a minute’s notice. Patrick and Chenoo, of course, were with us but we really didn’t need them as the house was full of servants.

After breakfast the cars drove us with a guide to take us to the Seringapatam. Briefly, it is this: Tippu Sultan’s father, Haidar Ali, was a great Mohammedan and captured a large quantity of land and built up a big native state. He was quite a warrior. When he died he left the state to his son, Tippu Sultan. The British made war on the Mohammedan state and the big battle was at Seringapatam. Tippu and his men were entrenched in a big brick fort and while Tippu wasn’t a great general he had many wise men on his staff. The fort at Seringapatam held out from April 5 to May 4, 1799. ON the latter date the British guns made a breach in the walls and the fort fell. Tippu himself was killed and the British restored the country to the Hindus setting up as Maharaja the grandfather of the present Maharaja.

Seringapatam is about ten miles from Mysore. The first thing we saw on our arrival there was the De Havilland arch made entirely of bricks and having a span of 112 feet. If one stands up in the center and jumps up and down the whole bridge vibrates in a most elastic way. From here we went to the various parts of the old fort. We saw the ancient water gate near where Tippu fell and the dungeons and one thing and another. The Grand Mosque built by Tippu is still there and we climbed up the narrow passage.

Mysore to Bangalore 

Monday, February 22^nd, 1926.

According to our plans we were to leave Park House at 8:30 A. M. but by that time we were just sitting down to breakfast. Then the Maharaja’s secretary came over and talked for what seemed hours and hours. When we finally got into our little Oakland it was 9:45 A. M. Patrick and Chenoo are to take the afternoon train to Bangalore with all our luggage.

The ride to Bangalore was hectic. In the first place it was terrifically hot and dusty and the wooden box on which we each took turns sitting was all but comfortable. We figured out that we ought to reach Bangalore about 12:45 and we covered the first thirty miles of our trip in good time but the rest of the way was tough going. Part of the gasoline feed got gummed up in some manner so that the driver had to stop every mile or so and force air through the vacuum feed in order to get petrol into the cylinders. At first the car would go five miles before the pipe needed another cleaning out. This wasn’t so bad but when we had to stop every mile it began to become annoying. The hours dragged by. Every time we stopped the Indians flocked around the car by the hundreds.

We finally reached the West End Hotel at 2 P. M. and John and I hopped out while Ed, Douglo and Bob went on to the Residency. Fortunately the dining room was still open so that we were able to get a good lunch. Then we both decided that a siesta would be an excellent plan. After sleeping about an hour I got up and wrote a bit on my diary and arranged with the hotel man about a car for the ten days’ hunt at Bhadravati. He finally came down from 50 rupees a day to 37½ so I engaged him for the trip. John, Bob and I are to motor up there in the morning with Patrick while Ed and Douglo are going to rest tomorrow and take the night train which will land them in Bhadravati on Wednesday morning.

Ed came down to the hotel about five o’clock while John and I were having tea. He said that the resident had invited us up to his house for dinner and that we had to wear tails. The situation was intense, as Isabel would say, for Patrick with all our luggage wasn’t due to reach Bangalore until 7:30 and we were supposed to be dressed and at the Residency at 8:15 P. M. Heaven knows out tails certainly would need pressing before we could wear them. So John and I decided that the thing to do would be to dash down about 7:15 and meet Patrick at the train. In the meantime we decided to shoot a little pool and John eventually beat me thought at one time I had seven balls and only needed one more to win. But have you ever played on one of these English tables? They are about three times as large as ours and the balls and pockets are much smaller. I had a hard time to keep from scratching. There are about three different length cues and bridges in order to stand at one end and make a shot at the opposite side.

About 7:15 we went down to the depot. Fortunately the train was on time and we piled most of the luggage in the bullock cart and sent it up to the hotel. In a second wagon we sent Chenoo with Ed’s and Douglo’s thing while John and I grabbed our own bags and motored up to the West End. Our clothes were a mess but the presser had gone home so there was nothing left to do but wear them as they were. We reached the Residency promptly at 8:15, thanks to our speedy arrangement. All was well except John had on Bob’s tails which were too small for him. He dropped off at the side entrance while I drove around to the front. The Resident and his wife were down and Major Gordon was also there. After a cocktail we went in to dine. I sat next to the Resident – on his right- and I never in my life had such an interesting dinner conversation. As I wrote before, he has been stationed up on the Afghanistan border, the northern frontiers, for twenty years and it is due to his capable handling of the natives that there wasn’t serious trouble in India during the World War. A short time ago the English government wanted to make the Resident – Pears – ambassador to Afghanistan but the natives objected, not because they disliked Pears but because they said he knew too much about them. During the dinner he told me some very interesting things which I am going to take the trouble to jot down here as a matter of record so that I won’t forget

In the first place the people of Afghanistan are a wild, war-like lot, brave and daring. For years they have regarded this rich land of India stretching out below them as their land, their property. Whenever they ran out of food they made organized raids down into India. When the British came along and took India the people of Afghanistan found that their raids were met with opposition and that the British fought back. From that day to this there has been constant fighting back and forth across the frontier. Pears likened it to a never ending poker game. One was kept constantly bluffing and had to be on the watch every minute. During the war he said reports were spread all over India that the British maintained a force of 70,000 troops in India while actually there were less than 10,000 who were scattered about to give the impression that there were many more. Meeting with opposition from the British, the Afghanistans resorted to gang raids where from five to seventy men would swoop down on a little village and clean it out. These little towns are located in narrow deep valleys and are just meat for raiding parties.

As Pears said, he realized that while there was fighting in India and Africa during the world war he also realized that the war would be won or lost in Europe. Now the people in Afghanistan were unable to get reliable reports as to how the war was coming out. They thought it was a wonderful chance to get back at the British and were contemplating a regular offensive warfare on the border. Pears said he got wind of this so he invited the various chiefs of Afghanistan for a conference. They came and he told them in a very clever way what they ought to do. He said, “Now, look here. We British are at war with Germany and this war is going to be won or lost in France. You know as well as I do that you are just waiting to see how things are going to turn out before you come down from your mountains and cut us to pieces. But I want to give you a little advice. So far, we have held our own in France and lately we have driven the Germans back. If you make war on us now and we defeat the Germans we will come up into Afghanistan and blot you all out. If we lose in France then you will have a chance to come down and clean us out, and if we start to lose you will probably see me taking the train for Bombay. But just you wait until you are sure how things are going to come out in Europe.”

This trick did work. They asked for two days to think it over and then replied that they guessed Pears was right and that they would wait until they saw how things were coming out in France before they would make war on the British. The Afghanistans’ chief grievance against the English is that the Indians were their cattle and that the British refused to let them kill their own cattle. Pears answered this by saying that the Indians were no longer the Cattle of the Afghanistans but were now English cattle and that they were ready to fight for their cattle.

Another interesting thing Pears told me was about the Germans during the war. It seems than any machine gun in the world will jam after fifteen or twenty minutes of steady firing and then it takes a couple of minutes to put it into commission again. The Germans realized this and when the Americans joined the fight they decided on a new method of attack when the machine guns would start to jam. They sent regiment after regiment of Germans over fifty-five years of age to meet this first fifteen minutes of firing. They were just moved down, and when the machine guns started to jam out came the young German troops. Have you ever heard of anything more cold blooded? Pears himself is a great believer of discipline but he says the fundamental idea behind all discipline is that the superior officer in commanding his men is supposed to be more able to safeguard them than they are to safeguard themselves. In other words, discipline is supposed to be for the good of the men involved. Now, when the Germans ordered thousands of men over fifty-five to be shot down in cold blood they were deliberately deceiving these men whose welfare they were supposed to have at heart. This is one the reasons, he says, for the failure of the German discipline system – the men got wise to the business.

The dinner itself was an excellent one – about ten courses. When it was over we all went over to the skating rink where the boxing show was being held. All of us sat in the Resident’s box and as we filled into seats marked for His Honor, The Resident, everyone was watching us. I sat between the Resident and Miss Pears his sister. She is a perfect peach and I was glad I was next to her. She certainly isn’t much to look at but she is as nice as she can be.

The boxing show was quite similar to the one in Bombay. There were eight bouts of four round each. Some of the fighting was excellent. Ed and Douglo fought in the last two shows. Although their boxing was only exhibition, it was most disappointing as they only tapped each other. Ed made Bendy, the chap he fought, look sick and hit him with such a wallop in the first five seconds that he had to go very easy the rest of the four rounds to keep from knocking him out. Douglo, likewise, made his opponent look like a greenhorn. At then end a rotten Auctioneer got up and auctioned off the gloves. He certainly didn’t know his job. It ended by the Resident buying both of the pairs which he presented to two of the fighters. Then the Resident made a speech of thanking everyone and ended up the show by giving little souvenirs to all the contestants.

What made me red hot was that some little blasted Indian selling program sold me two and I gave him ten rupees. He didn’t have any change so went to get some, taking the ten rupee note. He never came back and I couldn’t very well dash out after him when I was sitting next to the Resident! So, as a result, the two programs which were worth about 25 cents cost me approximately $3.50. If I ever see that blinking Indian again I’ll kill him. It isn’t so much the idea of losing $3.50 as it is the feeling that I have been gyped. I never will trust another out of my sight, I’m sure of that.

I was going to look for this Indian when the show was over, but the Resident invited us all to his house for a bit to eat before going to bed. Major Gordon went home but John and I went back to the Residency and had some sandwiches before going on to the West End Hotel. It was 12:30 or one o’clock before we finally got to bed.

Note

Diaries not received for February 23, 24, and 25.

Bhadravati 

Friday, February 26^th, 1926.

Sab John was supposed to be here at the bungalow at nine o’clock but he failed to show up until after eleven. This hunt is getting to be a joke and I think the sooner we pull out of here the better. The morning started off with a general rough house, the participants being John, Bob and myself. After breakfast we cleaned our guns and wrote on our diaries. Bob, John and I tried to catch some bullocks but were unsuccessful. When Sab John finally did show up he had no news except that there had been no kills and he suggested that we go out about 3:30 in the afternoon to try our luck at spotted deer. After lunch we all took a siesta and along about three o’clock we had tea. The motor ride over to where we were to shoo was much further than any of us expected to that is was 4:50 before we even started to hunt. There were five native guides so each of us had one to himself. We all started in different directions.

The hunt, as far as I was concerned, was a farce. I saw only three spotted deer – two does and a buck. They were all together and when I caught a glimpse of them 200 yards away they were running as fast as they could. What is more, they were out of sight before I could get my rifle to my shoulder to try a running shot. Never have I seen such dry forests. When you step on a leaf it sounds like a shotgun going off. It is no wonder we didn’t see any game. The Indian jungles, however, are alive with birds. I must say that their colors are gorgeous – brilliant red and green.

After a couple of hours’ tramp my guide and I returned to the automobile just about the time Ed, Douglo and Bob turned up. We all had heard a couple of shots about ten minutes before which must have come from John’s rifle. He showed up a few minutes later and said that he had shot a couple of times at two panther cubs but had missed.

We got back to camp about eight o’clock and had dinner at once. It was another wonderful moonlight night but we were all too sleepy to sit up. At least if we aren’t doing much hunting we are all getting a good rest.

Bhadravati to Bangalore

Saturday, February 27^th, 1926.

We got up about eight o’clock this morning and had breakfast. Ed and Douglo went out at six o’clock with Sab John to look at the kills, so John, Bob and I had breakfast by ourselves. Then the sport began. Bob shot a crow and immediately crows flocked to the bungalow from all directions. Bob let loose at the whole outfits and crows, kites and vultures were falling in all directions. It was really laughable. The nigger boys ran around collecting them and putting them all in a big pile. Suddenly, from amongst the dead, one which had only been knocked dizzy suddenly got up and flew away. Then the monkeys came. We fed them nuts and crackers and one of the boys succeeded in capturing a little one. We put a rope around it and tied it up. Gosh, you should have seen how mad the other monkeys got. They growled and barked at us for an hour. And an old one – the father of the tribe – was so enraged that he actually started ferociously at us. Ed and Douglo turned up about nine o’clock and said that there had been no kills.

We were all getting fed up with hanging around camp doing nothing and it looked as if we were wasting time to stay any longer. Consequently we held a council of war and decided to go back to Bangalore. All of us agreed that this would be a good plan. Sab John didn’t think too much of it but Ed explained that we were on a trip around the world and couldn’t spend ten days out in the Indian jungles doing nothing at all. There was quite a bit of bickering about what Sab John should receive in a financial way. Ed, however, didn’t let him get away with anything.

Douglo was all for going back to Bangalore by train so he and Ed decided to take the night train while John, Bob and I thought we’d like to motor back. We immediately set to work packing and by noon had everything ready. After lunch we said goodbye to Ed and Douglo and taking Chenoo with us – Ed and Douglo wanted Patrick to help them – we started off. The ride to Bangalore took about seven hours and it was as windy and dusty as could be. Nothing of interest happened except that we almost hit a couple of bullocks which, at our approach, became excited and bolted across the rod. 

When we dove up to the West End Hotel about 8:15 we were tired and hungry. After a hot bath we had dinner. There were two letters for me. One from father dated January 16 and another from the American Express Company in Bombay. John, Bob and I sat around for a while talking and then went to bed.

Leaving Bangalore for Madras

Sunday, February 28^th, 1926.

Ed and Douglo arrived early this morning so that Patrick was up at the West End Hotel in time to bring us our early morning tea. I had a lot to do, what with writing on my diary and making out some accounts, so that I spent the whole morning at the hotel as did both Bob and John. Ed and Douglo went up to the Residency to say goodbye to everyone there and incidentally stayed there for lunch.

We had tea about 4:30 and then Bob and I took a short walk. This morning I gave a pair of my shoes to a chap who said he would resole them. He brought them around about six o’clock and they certainly were a mess. You could pull the heels off if you half tried. I had agreed to pay him ten rupees but the job was so bad Patrick said I shouldn’t give him more than five. At first the man wouldn’t accept less than ten rupees, the agreed price. John came to the rescue and picking up the shoes said that he would take them to the hotel manager and see what he said about it. The threat was quite enough and the fellow took the five rupees.

Patrick took the luggage down to the station at 7:30 at which time all five of us had dinner. The train wasn’t due to leave until 8:50 so we sat around and talked for a bit. It certainly is a relief not to have to bother with the luggage. Patrick is a very capable boy. We reached the station about five minutes before the train left and found everything in fine shape, beds all made, etc. The compartments are exceptionally nice – brand new and very large. In some ways they are even better than our sleepers. John, Bob and I occupied one compartment while Ed and Douglo had the one next to us.

We thought we were all set until at the next stop fifteen minutes from the main station a man and his wife came up and claimed the compartment Ed and Douglo were in. As a matter of fact, they were in the right as outside the door was a card saying that the compartment was reserved for them. The place John, Bob and I were in had Ed’s and Douglo’s names on the outside and way down the line in some dumpy, poorly lighted car was a card with John’s, Bob’s and my name. Ed and Douglo just moved down and we stayed where we were. There was quite a shauri at first and when the man seemed aggravated at Ed for having been in the compartment Ed told him to shut up and mind his own business. I guess one look at Ed was all the man needed for he didn’t say another word. Of course, the whole thing was Patrick’s and Chenoo’s fault although Patrick insisted that the official at the other station said Lord Clydesdale’s party could have both rooms.

As soon as we started, John, Bob and I all turned in.

Note

Diary not received for February 29, 1926. 

Madras                           

Monday, March 1^st, 1926.

Patrick called us this morning about six o’clock, half an hour before we arrived at the Madras station. There we were met by a Mr. Rao Bahodur P. N. Jambulingan Mudaliar B. A. whose firm had heard that Douglo was coming to Madras for a day’s visit and had sent this chap down from about eighty miles up the country to show him around. He had the customary gold rope on which were tied flowers. This he proceeded to fling around Douglo’s neck. It is an Indian custom that one sees every day at arrival or departure of trains and boats. Douglo backed away at first like a shy horse but then he realized what it was all about. The worst part of this thing is that it is an insult not to accept it and once you have it you must wear it all day draped around your neck. If it wasn’t so conspicuous it wouldn’t be so bad but it is an enormous long twisted rope that, put over your head, hangs down to your waist and the red and green flowers tied to it do not in any way hide or make it less apparent.

When this business was over we motored to the Spencer Hotel where we secured a couple of rooms for the day. We then decided to eat breakfast at once and get cleaned up afterwards before starting our sightseeing tour. Mr. Mudaliar came to breakfast with us and, contrary to his religion which forbids his eating at the same table with people of another caste, we prevailed on him to at least take a cup of coffee with us.

When breakfast was over we started on our sightseeing program. Mr. Mudaliar first took us to the Theosophical Society, which is a movement to unite all religions. Personally, it seems like a lot of bunk to me. The pamphlet describing its objects and aims is nothing but a list of high ideals and purposes which are to be found in the bible. They had, however, a very interesting collection of old books and ancient manuscripts. After leaving the museum we motored around to a huge banyan tree. It was a peculiar sort of thing. The branches that grow out and down finally enter the earth and form the trunk of another tree from which more branches grow. So that one single tree may cover an acre of ground. We then motored around the city stopping at the bathing beach, fort, Parliament House and a number of other places none of which were especially unusual. The aquarium was rather good being modeled on the lines of the one in Miami only much inferior to in size and in variety of fish. Driving through the city itself we saw many native markets and temples so that when we returned to the hotel about noon we had seen about all there was to see in Madras. I noticed that it was pretty hot so asked Mr. Mudaliar about the weather in Madras. He replied that there are two seasons – the warm season and the warmer season and that this was just the beginning of the warmer season.

We were snuffed out after lunch so took siestas until it cooled off a bit. Along about four o’clock Bob, John and I went to buy some tennis rackets so that we could have some sport in Ceylon but found that most of the rackets were poorly strung so decided to wait until we got to Colombo. Then we took a drive around the part of the city that we hadn’t visited this morning returning to the hotel about six o’clock. Ed and Douglo were fed up with Chenoo so decided to let him go. He is a well meaning little fellow, tries very hard, and is thoroughly honest but he is rather inefficient and never does anything unless he is told to, whereas Patrick always looks ahead and if forever getting doing things that you never even think of. So, in Chenoo’s place they got a Hindu boy named John who seems quite good.

We left the hotel about seven deciding to eat on the train. At the station we found Patrick with all the luggage and with our compartments reserved. The train left soon after we arrived and we had dinner on its departure. Being very tired, we all turned in early. The cars were quite different and the compartments more like ours in America, being built for two people. Bob slept with some Captain while John and I occupied one room and Ed and Douglo another.

En Route Madras to Ceylon                           

Tuesday, March 2^nd, 1926.

Last night was a wretched one. We stopped at a station during the night where we remained about two hours and the natives on the platform insisted on shrieking at the top of their lungs. We had early tea about seven and when we went into the diner for breakfast along about 8:30 it was evident that we were in for a hot day – the sun seemed to scorch its way right through our shirts. We finished breakfast before long and then discovered that we couldn’t get back to our car for forty minutes or more as there wasn’t as stop until then and there was no passageway from one car into the next. Ed finally hopped off as we were running along slowly and caught hold of our car as it passed. We were all intending to follow suit but the train began to speed up so we had to wait for the station.

The morning was spent playing bridge and reading. The afternoon was one continual rough house. For the most part, Bob and I struggled together but occasionally John would mix in for a few minutes. The scenery was boring and uninteresting – hot, dried up fields and scrub were all there was to see except for every now and then when the plains were covered with massive rocks and swirled into rough hills by the sea which evidently covered southern India at one time.

Reaching Ramnad about three o’clock, we started on to a long peninsula reaching out towards Ceylon. At once the scenery became worth while. Things began to grow greener and there were evidences of recent rain. The trip to Dhanushkodi pier, the terminus of the South Indian railroad, was delightful. It was quite similar to the trip over the keys in Florida for the railroad ran across one trestle on to an island and then over another bridge, etc. The ocean looked great after seeing so much dried up country and the white sandy beaches and clear blue water made Bob and I long for a swim.

Arriving at the pier about 4:30, we climbed aboard the ferry for Ceylon. It certainly wasn’t much of a boat and Douglo swore he had never been on such a stinking old tub before in his life. But I haven’t forgotten our Alicante – Oran trip yet. We managed to get a few deck chairs and I persuaded one of the boys on the ship to get us some tea. I didn’t mind the trip across to Ceylon for the water was smooth and the crossing only took about three hours or so.

We docked at Talaimannar pier about seven o’clock where, thanks to Douglo, we were allowed to right ashore without even getting our passports or going through the customs. I reserved seats in the diner and we went aboard the train which was waiting right at the pier. The sleepers were miserable affairs, poorly lighted and having no running water except at a little two by four washroom at one end of the car. We had heard that the Ceylon trains were luxurious affairs and instead we found the sleepers worse than any we had traveled on in India.

After a wretched dinner it was too dark to read so we all turned in. There was a glorious full moon and I never will forget how beautiful it was. It made a magnificent sheet of shimmering silver as it shown over the bays and inlets along the peninsula leading to the mainland and the tall, stately, royal palms and cocoanut trees, although they often hid the moon from sight, were fascinating in themselves.

Colombo                          

Wednesday, March 3^rd, 1926.

When I awoke this morning about six o’clock after a wretched night in a dirty, dusty, bumpy, poorly lighted car, I lifted the shutter and had my first daylight view of Ceylon.. To say I was surprised would be putting it mildly – I was amazed. I had expected to find the same dry, sandy, scrubby, and uninteresting country that we had seen so much of in India. But there was no sand, no parched fields, no withered up vegetation. Everything everywhere was alive with color. The leaves on the trees were green, the grass was like our grass in the States – fresh and healthy looking. The low hills were covered with a dewy haze and the water dripped off the thousands of palm trees. The sun just coming up cast a deep red color over the whole picture. It was too glorious for words. Here, surely, I thought, must be the promised land!

By the time I had somewhat recovered from my burst of enthusiasm and joy at seeing such a beautiful place, Patrick brought me some tea. I had no more than swallowed it before Ed came in and announced that we would be in Colombo in fifteen minutes so I jumped into my clothes. When we arrived we motored at once to the Galle Face Hotel to secure rooms. We looked like a bunch of tramps with a two or three days’ growth of beard and our white suits and shirts were as black as they could be. John and I were making our plans on the way up to the hotel. A good bath, shave, haircut and breakfast and we’d be ready for business.

At the hotel we learned that not only was every room taken at the Galle Face Hotel but that every room in every hotel in Colombo was occupied. This news was all but encouraging. We presented Douglo’s card to the manager who assured us that there wasn’t a room of any sort left but he said that if anyone left we could have the vacant room before any of the people on the waiting list.

All of us had heard of Mount Lavinia Hotel about eight miles out of Colombo so inquired about it and the manager called up and said that they had a couple of rooms out there that we might have. So we got into a taxi and motored out to Mount Lavinia. Everyone is out to gyp you. The taxi fellow wanted fifteen rupees for the eight miles. When he named his price we laughed at him and handed him seven. I guess we look like all the other American tourists but, believe me, we are wise – all of us- to these grafters. When a rickshaw boy asks me for half a rupee I give him four annas, just half what he asks, for I know that is a fair rate.

Thank heaven we didn’t stay, or rather, couldn’t stay at the Galle Face Hotel! It is nice, of course, but Mount Lavinia is divine. It is just eight miles down the coast and the hotel is right on the ocean. One can almost dive across the beach into the water from the dining room. There, there is none of the dirt, confusion, and smoke of the city, but instead the clean yellow sand, the shady palm trees and a wonderful ocean breeze. I fell in love with it at first sight. They had two double rooms which Ed, Douglo, John and Bob occupied while I stayed in the single.

To have breakfast at once seemed the wisest plan. They had delicious paw paw and I at last fell victim to its power. John hated it as badly as I did at first but then he got to like it. I held out for a time but the one this morning was the best I ever ate. So now we are both fiends for paw paw. Between the five of us we eat about three a meal. When the waiter brought half a one this morning Douglo called the steward over and told him we wanted just five times as much as he had brought.

After a fine breakfast we looked around the place. There is a great beach where the swimming must be perfect. And there is a tennis court that John and I have been looking for so long. Besides, there are billiard tables and what not. All of us decided to remain here indefinitely. Douglo, Ed and I went for a swim. It was divine, the water being between 85 and 90 and as clear as it could be. We splashed around for about an hour and then came in and dressed for lunch. John, Bob and I played a little billiards I won at that but was hopelessly outclassed at pool. A shikari showed up and guaranteed us an elephant in two days but it seems to me the license fee of 345 rupees is pretty stiff. Speaking of stiff reminds me of Ed’s remark the other day when we were playing bridge. Bob said, “Now Ed. If you can only take one more trick we can make it,” To which Ed replied, “Say Bob, ‘if stands stiff in the corner.”

What an appetite I had for lunch. And when we called for half a dozen paw paws John remarked that every hotel we stop at must lose money on us. Bob added to this by saying that not only did the hotels lose money but all the waiters did as well for we never tip them anything to speak of. In fact, we would certainly be out of luck if we ever had to return to any of the hotels we stopped at before for we wouldn’t get a thing to eat. As it was, the last few days we were at the Taj in Bombay it used to take us two hours to eat a meal for none of the waiters would even look at us. Bob says if we had stayed any longer we would all have starved to death.

After lunch I wrote a note to Dad and then we all went in to Colombo. John and I bought a couple of tennis rackets and some balls. We had quite a few shauris to fix up so we spent several hours in Colombo. We went to see a man called Louis Seidle about getting some star sapphires for Peg Pirie. He was a most amusing fellow who became so interested telling us about Ceylon that he forgot all about trying to sell us any stones. He has been here fifty four years and told us what we ought to see and all about Ceylon. When we said we didn’t care much for star sapphires he said, “To tell you the truth, I don’t either – I wouldn’t buy any.”

We hired a couple of rickshaws and when the boys asked for fifty cents for a ten minute drive we told them to take us a few blocks further and then gave them thirty cents  and left them haggling over the money. I’ve never seen a town worse than Colombo for having people try to do you. We motored back to the Galle Face Hotel where Ed and Douglo who had been busy fixing up a boxing show were to meet us.

Colombo has a population of about 211,000 and is the capital and chief seaport and city of Ceylon. It is one of the main ports of call between Europe and the Far East. Being in a locality where it receives rain during both the northeast and southwest monsoons there is a great variety of vegetation. Everything in Colombo is green and fresh and if the rest of Ceylon is as beautiful as the country around Colombo it certainly is a great place. There is a salty, moist atmosphere just like Florida. I simply adore it here.

Returning to the Mount Lavinia Hotel John and I played two hot sets of tennis. He won both sets 8-6 and 6-4. We were wringing wet when we finished so decided to go for a swim. The sun was just setting and it was perfectly glorious. The water, about 85 degrees, was too good to be true. We splashed about in it for over an hour watching the red in the west fade into darkness and slowly the cocoanut palms reaching over the sandy beach became less and less distinct. It was growing dark rapidly when we went in to dress and everyone else had gone up to the hotel. I took a short run a long the beach and then a cold fresh water shower.

We had dinner about 8:15 and after my day’s exercise I felt very tired so slunk off to bed. I can’t begin to tell you how wild I am about Ceylon. Anyone who omits it on a trip around the world is certainly a fool or else just doesn’t know any better.

Colombo                          

Thursday, March 4^th, 1926.

Gosh! It is glorious here! I feel as though I could spend a year here in Ceylon without getting tired of it. John and I had tea at seven o’clock and by 7:30 we were out on the tennis courts battling away. He beat me two more sets this morning 6-4 and 6-3, I believe. After the tennis we both went for a dip in the ocean and I ran about half a mile or so along the beach. Breakfast tasted wonderful after all our exercising. Ed, Douglo, Bob and John were anxious to go to Colombo but I had a little writing I wanted to do so told them to send the car back for me. We have hired one for the day.

Leaving the hotel about 11:30 I stopped off on the way to Colombo to pick up Ed and Douglo where they were calling on a Dr. De Saram whose son was on the boxing team at Oxford. Dr. De Saram introduced me to Mr. Donald Obeyesekere who had invited all of us for a hunt on his cocoanut plantation tomorrow morning. ON reaching Colombo I had a haircut at the Galle Face Hotel and mailed my letters. By this time the rest were ready to return to Mount Lavinia so we motored back to the hotel.

After Lunch we all the siestas. About 4:30 John and I went down to get in some more tennis. I rather like playing tennis here fore there are three or four boys who chase the balls and it is quite a relief when you knock one over the backstop to realize that you don’t have to chase it. We played three sets and I managed to win the first two, 6-3 and 6-0. John won the third 8-6. We followed this exercise with another glorious swim. The water was so good I just couldn’t leave it so splashed around until after dark. I met a young chap from the President Garfield who has been to sea for five years. He is only a young fellow about twenty-seven and like everyone else have met who has chosen this sort of life is fed up with the sea. We talked for a bit and then he had to go back to Colombo. I dressed and joined the rest for dinner.

At Ed’s and my suggestion we persuaded Bob and John to go to the movies. Douglo had more sense and stayed home. Needless to say, it was one of the worst movies I’ve ever seen. The only good part of the whole show was a ten second scene of Yale defeating N. C. or some team. (Come on, Bill. It’s about time for you to say I might have omitted the “some team” judging from the season’s results.) After the movies we returned to the hotel and went to bed. It was about 12:30 when we finally called it a day.

Ed has arranged for a boxing show for next Monday night. Guess who else is going to fight? Bob! John and I about died laughing when we heard it. We’ve decide to act as Bob’s seconds and throw in the sponge after the first round.

Colombo                           

Friday, March 5^th, 1926.

It seemed like the middle of the night when Patrick called me at six o’clock. I had morning tea and, dressing hurriedly, I rushed down to find the others all ready and waiting. We motored into Colombo and there met Mr. Donald Obeyesekere, the gentleman who had invited us for a day’s shoot on his cocoanut plantation. Ed and Douglo went with him in his car while John, Bob and I stayed in the car we had hired from the hotel. Mr. Obeyesekere is, of course, a native, an Indian. His family has lived in Ceylon for ages and ages and is one of the most wealthy residents on the island. Mr. Donald Obeyesekere himself is quite an authority on the history of Ceylon agriculture an law, and presented each of us with a small book on the history of Ceylon of which he is the author.

The twenty-five mile drive out to the Obeyesekere plantation was most enjoyable. The tropical scenery including rice fields, tea and banana groves was fascinating. The motor trip merely confirmed my opinion that Ceylon is one of the most magnificent places in the world.

Arriving at our destination we entered a long, winding road leading up to the main house. On both sides of the road were rows and rows of cocoanut trees and with the early morning sunlight flickering through the palm trees it was a glorious sight. The house itself is quite a substantial one, very roomy and most comfortably and luxuriously furnished. We were met at the door by Mr. James Obeyesekere, Donald’s brother, who I should say is about ten years younger, being about thirty-five. After washing we went into the dining room and had breakfast. A couple of boys fanned us with punkas so that it was quite cool.

Breakfast over, we prepared for our hunt. It was decided to drive to a jungle about three miles from the house. We all motored to the edge of it and there were met by fifty or sixty boys who were to act as beaters. John, Bob and I were on one side of the jungle posted about two hundred yards apart while Ed and Douglo were located on the opposite side. The beaters came down through the middle of the jungle driving the game out on either side.

About ten minutes after I took up my post the cries of the beaters started and I prepared to fire, watching the bushes like a hawk. Suddenly there were two shots from behind me – either John or Bob I thought. The next instant eight spotted deer jumped out of the jungle about 150 yards ahead of me. Before I had a chance to raise my rifle they had disappeared in the tall grass about twenty yards away from the jungle. There were a couple of beautiful bucks but I’m sure I never would have shot one even if I had fired for all of them were running like the wind. I head a rustling noise quite close and out jumped another buck – the woods seemed to be alive with them. He was running, of course, when I shot but that was no excuse for my missing. He had a magnificent pair of horns. I was cussing myself for having missed when a big doe slipped out. I could have shot her easily as she wasn’t twenty yards off. I didn’t want a doe so watched her hop away at top speed as she caught sight of me. By this time the beaters were opposite me and looking back I saw John and Bob moving up so walked ahead along the edge of the jungle keeping parallel with the beaters. Another rustling of leaves and out sprang a nice buck. I fired and hit him in the hind quarters. He went down in the deep grass. I dashed in after him only to pull out a young spike buck. I was unable to find my wounded buck although I searched for twenty minutes. It is probably that he managed to get back into the jungle behind us. As I was plowing through grass chest deep I scared out a couple of fawns. One was most amusing. She took a big leap to cover a stone fence and, missing by a fraction of an inch, tumbled head over heels backwards. I ran into two more does both of which I could have killed with a rock for they were so tame but the bucks seemed to know better than the show themselves.

The beaters were way ahead of me so I circled around the base of the jungle on lower ground. Here I bumped into Ed and Douglo who were standing ready to fire at some deer who was obviously coming toward them judging from the crackling of twigs and leaves. I stopped and waited. Out dashed three more does going, as Clayton would say, “Hell bent for election.” Then a most peculiar thing happened. There was a deep pit in the jungle about six feet square – evidently it was an old well. The foliage had grown all around it almost obscuring it from sight. In the excitement of trying to escape from us one of the does failed to see the pit and went crashing down into it. I think it must have broken its legs in the fall. To put it out of its misery, Ed and I leaned over the edge of the thirty foot drop into the well and finished the poor thing with a couple of shots. Soon afterwards we met Bob and John. John had shot a doe by mistake thinking it was a buck.

It was eleven o’clock by this time so, after drinking some cocoanut milk and taking a few pictures, we went back toward the house. On the way there we passed another jungle and decided to have a go at it. There were supposed to be a lot of wild boars in it. Once more we all took up separate posts. I was located behind a big cocoanut tree. Hardly had the drive began when three does scampering out of the jungle made right for my tree. I didn’t move a muscle but waited to see how close they would come. They weren’t ten feet away when the leader on seeing me cut off to the right and disappeared back into the jungle.

Just as the beaters were about through the drive I saw a buck for just an instant as it slipped past the boys going back into the heart of the jungle so I told my boy to send the beaters back to drive him out. Just as they were doing this who walks calmly away from his post but John, thinking the drive was over. I motioned to hi to go back to his post but he failed to understand me and instead stopped where he was about a hundred yards from the spot where he had been posted. John fired three shots but the deer was running and none of them hit. This ended the hunt and we went back to the house where I took a cold bath and washed for lunch.

Lunch is hardly the word – banquet would be more appropriate. Never have I had such a meal. To begin with, the table was a beautiful sight, being artistically decorated with a variety of tropical plants and flowers, and the cool breeze from the punkas overhead made the room a most delightful place. The luncheon itself was a twelve course one. First, there were hors d’oeuvres, then soup, fish, sort of a meat pie, broiled snipe, mutton chops and new peas, chicken and ham with potatoes and egg plant, rice and curry, some sort of pudding, cocoanut ice cream and cake, six different kinds of fruit, and lastly coffee, candies, etc. Can you beat that? We were all so stuffed at the end we could hardly get up from the table. But a word about the fruit. There were many kinds I had never tasted before. Rambutans, sort of grape-like things enclosed by a beautiful red, spiked husk, quite flexible, which were delicious; then there were jack fruit, custard apples, and durians, which have a terrific smell; but best of all were the mangosteens. I think they have it over all other fruit I have ever eaten, barring none.

After lunch Mr. Obeyesekere had four of his elephants brought around to perform for us. Unlike the African elephants, which can never be trained nor made to do any work, the Indian elephant is a great asset to any plantation, and is used for hauling heavy loads, etc. They did a variety of tricks, such as pulling down a large cocoanut tree thirty or feet high, walking on their knees, playing dead, and walking on three legs. I was amazed to see one, when given a raw cocoanut, put it down, step on it to break the husk and then pick out all the cocoanut and eat it. Another one ate a whole pineapple. They really were extraordinarily good, and to see them wash themselves by taking water in their trunks and then squirting it all over their bodies was amusing to say the least.

Evidently Mr. Obeyesekere had put himself out a lot for us. He had ordered several bamboo shacks to be constructed on his front lawn for our benefit, and in each on was illustrated some native industry. In one we saw some people making pottery, in another some girls weaving lace, in a third some men cutting cinnamon bark, and in a fourth were grouped all the by-products of a cocoanut tree. By cutting the flower of a cocoanut tree and draining off the sap, it is possible to make a wonderful beverage, not unlike champagne. It takes only 24 ours to ferment. All of this was exceedingly interesting. Then we saw a boy climb up a straight cocoanut tree about fifty feet high. They tie a sort of handkerchief from one ankle to the other and go up like a monkey.

When we had finished seeing the various displays, Mr. Obeyesekere said, “Let’s go in and have tea.” I was so full I didn’t see how I was going to eat another thing for a week. Nevertheless, we all went indoors and sipped Ceylon tea.

I must say a word about the Obeyesekere plantation and the scenery around it. There are about 600 acres in the plantation we visited, about eighty trees to every acre, so that in all there are some 48,000 cocoanut trees. The fruit is gathered every two months. Most of it is allowed to dry, and is then sold for the production of oil, cocoanut oil. The husks are used only as fertilizer and one sees piles of them under the trees. They contain potash which is one of the most essential things for cocoanut trees.

The scenery is simply enchanting. The country is quite mountainous, Adams Peak in the distance rising seven thousand feet into the sky. But what makes everything so lovely and green is the rainfall of which there is an abundance all through the year. The palms – and vegetation in general – are jungle thick and as green and fresh as can be.

After tea we started back to Colombo where we arrived about 6:30. We left the spotted deer skins at a taxidermist’s and then motored out to the Mount Lavinia Hotel. I took a bath and shaved and had dinner. Ed and Douglo were so full they said that they couldn’t possibly eat.

Dinner over, I didn’t lose much time in getting to bed. All in all it has been one of the most interesting and delightful days of the whole trip.

Colombo to Kandy                            

Saturday, March 6^th, 1926.

We have all been doing so much lately that last night the thought of a good sleep was welcomed by all, so when I suggested we abandon the plan of taking the seven o’clock train to Kandy in favor of the afternoon train, there were no objections.

I had morning tea about 7:30, and then John and I went down to do our stuff on the tennis court. It was a darn close set, both of us having set point several times. I just managed to win in the end, 8-6. We decided that one set was enough, as we were both very stiff. Changing into our swimming suits, we took a dip in the ocean. It was divine and gave us wonderful appetites for breakfast. Patrick was to take our luggage to the Kandy train, so we had to pack after breakfast, and I had to clean my gun.

Ed and Douglo were having a drink of soda when a little boy by the name of Robert came up (age 3½) and Ed offered him a drink of soda. As he picked up the glass, he said, “Cherry-Oh, Happy days.” This amused us all for some time.

At 11:30 we started for Colombo, as Douglo had a twelve o’clock appointment with someone. While he was busy, the rest of us sat around the Galle Face Hotel writing post cards, and watching a snake charmer do a lot of tricks. He was darn good. The hardest thing he did was to take a mango seed, and by the aid of a little water and soil make a tree two feet high grow out of it in about two minutes.

We had lunch at the hotel and the motored to the stations, where Patrick was waiting with all our luggage, and everything aboard. We had two nice connecting apartments.

Bob and I had one continuous rough house for about two or three hours. John sat in one corner watching us, and whenever one of us got in a tight place, instead of helping the one underneath, he would jump on top. Gosh, what a mess! I was dirty as I could be. Finally we hauled down the upper berth, and Bob and I took a siesta.

The scenery was very beautiful indeed. The railroad wound in and out among the hills, through tunnels and across trestles. All the time we were climbing. The country is quite mountainous most of the way, the sides of the mountains being extensively planted with tea, rice and cocoanuts, and occasionally one passed a rubber plantation. The 75 miles to Kandy took about three and a half hours, so that it was almost six o’clock when we reached our destination.

Kandy is certainly a fascinating place from a scenic point of view. The town itself is in a sort of pocket, and the jungle-like vegetation covers the hills overlooking the city. The population is about 85,000, and the Queen’s Hotel where we are stopping is most excellent. It is situated right on the edge of Kandy Lake, a sort of reservoir, the circumference of the hotel is approximately two miles. We went right to the hotel where we secured fine rooms. Ed, Douglo, and Bob worked out wile John and I looked on. Then we all had baths, and dined about eight o’clock. I expected it to be quite cool at Kandy for its elevation is about 2,000 feet. However, on going to bed, 5 found it quite stuffy, and the electric fan was a great comfort. Gosh! The beds were nice and soft.

Kandy                     

Sunday, March 7^th, 1926.

Breakfast wasn’t served until nine o’clock, so it was rather late before we were able to start on our sight-seeing expedition.

We had been advised to go to the famous Peradeniya Royal Botanical Garden, so decided to make that our first stop. I am unable to describe it, for I have never before seen anything like it. Personally I believe it is the finest garden in the whole world, for it contains specimens of all the Ceylon flora as well as cinchona, cocoa, and the Para rubber tree from the Amazon Valley. It is a sort of experimental station, where native and foreign plants are tried out. But the garden from a scenic point of view is unrivaled. It is simply magnificent.

As we were walking about the garden, we noticed thousands upon thousands of enormous bats clinging to the tops of some of the trees. One of the men in charge of the garden had a shot gun and was finishing off some of the bats; as soon as he fired, the whole crowd started flying in circle, all except six, which tumbled to the ground dead. I have never seen such an amazing number of bats in the air at once. Truly, the sky was black with them. They are called flying fox bats. Unlike our tiny ones, these measure three feet from wing tip to wing tip. We stopped to take some pictures of them, and then finished seeing the garden, which, as I said before, was the most gorgeous sight I have ever seen.

Then we took several of the automobile drives around the lake and up the surrounding hills, returning to the hotel about twelve o’clock.

Mr. Pieris, one of the best known Sinhalese in Kandy, and a very intelligent fellow, a graduate of Cambridge, invited us to his house for tea at 4:30. We had lunch at one, and then followed a session of siestas and diary writing. Bob was to lazy to get up at 4:30, but John, Douglo, Ed and I motored down to Mr. Pieris’ house on top of a hill overlooking Kandy. Mr. Pieris is a delightful cap, as also is his son. The son, too, is a graduate of Cambridge. From Mr. Pieris’ house on can get a priceless view of Kandy and the mountains back of it.

During tea I got into a most interesting conversation with a friend of Mr. Pieris, who is an agricultural expert, his line being chiefly rubber. He explained to me all about the rubber, rice, cocoanut and tea of Ceylon. It seems that the chief exports are cocoanuts, tea and rubber. Rubber is the newest experiment of the lot. In 1900 there wasn’t an acre of rubber in Ceylon. Since then the acreage of rubber has grown to large proportions. Rice is one of the chief products, but so much is used by the natives that, on the whole, Ceylon has to import rice.

The rubber story was very interesting. Several years ago raw rubber sold for about 70 cents a pound (That is about 25 cents our money). It rose until several months ago it sold as high as two rupees — 20 cents — or 80 cents a pound our money. During the last few months until now it sells for one rupee — 10 cents — (60 cents) a pound. Still it is very profitable, for even if the price falls all the way down to 70 cents (26 cents), one is still able to make more money on rubber at that price than on cocoanuts. This chap explained to me how the British tighten the rubber market. For example. Say this man has 1,000 acres of rubber, and is annual average production is so much. From these figures he has to obtain export tickets. The Government issues export tickets for only a certain percentage of his crop, say 15 percent. Although he may desire to export 85 percent of his crop, he is unable to sip more than 15 percent out of the county. In this way prices all over the world are sent up, and all the rubber planter in Ceylon can do is store away his surplus rubber. But this scheme failed, due to the fact that the British were unable to draw the Dutch into any such arrangement.

A rubber tree does not yield until it is about four and one-half years old, and a cocoanut tree is from six to eight years old before it produces. “Give a Sinhalese a quarter of an acre of rice field and a few cocoanut trees, and he can live and raise a family,” so this chap said. To him the cocoanut tree is the greatest tree of all, for he says it gives a man sugar, a fermented drink, a liquor, milk, food, and from the husk he can make a variety of things, while he builds his house with its leaves.

Mr. Pieris then sowed us his ancient Sinhalese weapons, which indicate a very high type of workmanship. He also showed us pictures of his ancestors. He is certainly a most interesting chap.

After a short motor drive, we returned to the hotel about six o’clock and sat around and talked until seven, when we went to see the famous Temple of the Tooth. This shrine dates from the 14^th century, and contains a tooth said to have been rescued from Gautama Buddha’s funeral pyre. History records that, after many vicissitudes, this was burned by the Portuguese in 1560, but the Kin of Kandy substituted a piece of ivory for the sacred relic. This is now shown to pilgrims with elaborate ceremony, and even though it is only a piece of discolored ivory about three inches long, the kneeling worshipers, with teat-stained faces, stretch out their hands toward it in adoration.

We went to the temple and, thanks to Mr. Pieris, who seems to be quite a big bug in Kandy, we were not only able to get in, but went up into the shrine, where we were obliged to remove our shoes. The Buddhists bring sacrifices every day, which consist of flowers and food. At seven o’clock the main service is held and they were just preparing for it as we arrived. There were buckets full of wonderfully sweet-smelling flowers. The inside shrine is a sort of bell-shaped affair over which are draped chain upon chain of precious stones. There are six of these bells, one inside of the other to the last one in which is stored the sacred tooth of Buddha. Six high priests of Ceylon, each holding a key to open a bell, so that all six must be present in order that one may see the tooth, which is displayed only once a year, I believe. As we left the shrine, there was a weird beating of drums, and ghostly lamps flickered about the temple. There certainly was a strange, mysterious, oriental atmosphere about the place, and I must say it sent the creeps up and down my back. There were half-naked priests. Praying men and women, and scores of beggar gliding here and there. The excitement and the mysteriousness of it all were fascinating.

We then visited a side temple where there was a large plaster statue of Buddha lying down.

Mr. Pieris stayed to dine with us, and after dinner we sat around talking until about 10 p.m., when Mr. Pieris went home, and we went to bed. We engaged a car to motor to Nuwara Eliya tomorrow. We expect to spent the night there and go back to Colombo on Thursday.

Good Night!

Kandy to Nuwara Eliya                          

Monday, March 8^th, 1926.

Tea at eight o’clock. Breakfast at nine, and ten o’clock found us climbing into the car we had hired. It was a brand new seven passenger Chandler and looked most comfortable. Patrick and John, the second servant, took the luggage on the train. It is forty-eight miles from Kandy to Nuwara Eliya but as there is a four thousand foot climb the driver said that it would take at least three hours to make the trip. We soon put the top down in order to see the scenery and started off.

I have already described the scenery in Ceylon so much and so inadequately that I will limit myself to a few remarks this time. It really would take a poet to do it justice. The scenery is so magnificent I feel at an utter loss for words. The road was like a snake as it wound and twisted itself into a thousand curves. The country grew more mountainous every mile and it wasn’t hard to imagine that one was in the Rockies, especially as we neared Nuwara Eliya where, due to the high altitude and consequent cold climate, the palms disappeared and pines and temperate climate trees took their place. The sides of the mountains were covered with tea plants for miles and miles. We climbed up and up till we passed through Ramboda Pass which is about 6,700 feet high.

It was considerably colder and I began wondering what warm clothes I had in my suitcase. From the pass we dropped down about 500 feet into the town of Nuwara Eliya. It was a most beautiful drive and took about three hours. We went straight to the Grand Hotel but it didn’t look to hot and as there were no bathrooms decided to try the St. Andrews. This second hotel was smaller and in a way less luxurious, but as it was cheaper and had a rather attractive mountainous atmosphere, as one imagines the hotels in Switzerland must have, we decided to stop there. We were all hungry as could be so had lunch at once. It was decidedly cold and we were just thinking of playing gold when it started to rain so decided to take a siesta instead. It was so cold that I crawled under the blankets to keep warm.

About five o’clock I cam downstairs and found Ed talking to some Indian girl and chewing betel nut. Just wait till I tell John and Bob! I had tea and then Douglo and I went for a walk. The place reminds me a great deal of the Adirondacks – there is the same pine smell about it. We met Patrick coming up wit our luggage he seemed rather disappointed that we had come to this hotel instead of the Grand. When we finished our walk I decided to catch up a little on my diary while the rest boxed.

We all had dinner together about eight o’clock and then John and Ed beat Bob and me at pool. The rest turned in wile I came up to my room and sitting near the grate fire wrote on my diary till very late.

Nuwara Eliya to Colombo via Watamala

Tuesday, March 9^th, 1926.

When I got dressed this morning I found that Douglo and John were out walking an no one had gone into breakfast. I was just wondering whether to being or not when Bob showed up and the two of us decided to go for a stroll before eating. Gosh, it was great out! There was almost a crispness in the air and the clear blue sky and smell of pines brought back to me the many happy days I have spent in the Adirondacks.

Bob and I walked through the village main street and then into the city garden where we saw our first labyrinth made out of thick hedges eight or ten feet high. It was quite a fair sized one and upon entering we soon lost our way in an attempt to reach the center of it. It is really quite an interesting thing – sort of a puzzle, that instead of being played on top of a table one actually moves himself about as he would a paper ball. We ran into many blank walls and once inside there were numerous different paths. After about half an hour we reached a sort of opening where there were four stakes. I presume this was the center. Seeing a hole in the bottom of one of the hedges. Bob crawled through it and before long we were once more outside of it. Then Bob climbed a tree to get a picture of it and judging from the way the camera shook as he snapped the picture I should say that if it comes out it will be a miracle.

When we reached the St. Andrews Hotel all the rest were through breakfast and were ready to start so Bob and I swallowed some cereal and a couple of eggs and hopped into the car. It was about ten o’clock when we started. We had hardly gone a mile before we passed the train twisting around a hill above us like a snake. Out of the  window was Patrick waving a newspaper at us.

Instead of motoring back to Colombo via Kandy we followed a route further south via Watawala where the new hydro-electric works were being built. The whole distance is about 150 miles. Although Watawala is only about fifty miles from Nuwara Eliya, it took us the best part of three hours. Honestly, I have never seen such roads. They were not badly built but were as crooked as could be and twisted and turned at every angle imaginable. The scenery, of course, was magnificent and the road led from one valley to another where mountain towered above mountain to form a glorious picture.

At Watawala we left the main road and motored back into the hills about ten miles where the hydroelectric plant is being built. Douglo had a letter of introduction to the manager who showed us about and explained to us the project. Briefly it is this: There are two deep valleys lying parallel to one another. In one of these is a river of fairly good proportions but the drop in that particular valley is not very great. Therefore, a small dam is being constructed in this valley and a pipe line, diameter nine feet, is being tunneled 8000 feet through the side of a mountain to the next valley where there is a drop of 1700 feet. In this second valley a  power plant is being built. This single project will supply enough power for the whole of Ceylon. In case of further demand for electricity there is a scheme to build a second and even a third dam if necessary, further up the valley. The first dam that is now being constructed is more of a reserve than a dam, for the power plant only plans to use the minimum flow of the river. The rainfall in this particular district is 230 inches a year and the catchment area of the dam is about sixty-four square miles. It will take about two years to complete the project and its cost will be about 700,000£

The manager told us that last night they had quite a riot among the 3000 employees and that as a result a good number were arrested and placed in jail. We saw quite a large number handcuffed.

When we had finished seeing the dam we started at once for Colombo eating our lunch, which consisted of a few sandwiches, on the road. The rest of the afternoon was taken up with motoring to Colombo. We passed large rubber plantations but most of all one is struck with the enormous quantities of tea. The sides of the mountains are just dotted with tea bushes or trees, whichever you prefer. The scenery along this route was the best we have seen yet and although we were all greatly wearied when we eventually reached Colombo it was not because of the scenery. The road was quite good but it was fairly dusty and jamming on the brakes every ten seconds to avoid killing a cow or an Indian is not a very peaceful way to motor.

We arrived at the Mount Lavinia Hotel about six o’clock and all of us decided tat nothing could be better than a swim. After dinner we retired early as we were rather tired from the long drive.

Colombo                           

Wednesday, March 10^th, 1926.

I slept until eight o’clock this morning and after tea John and I went to the beach for a swim. The water was as wonderful as ever and we had a great time until I did a very foolish thing which might have ended much more seriously than it did. At one end of the beach there is a big pile of rocks over which the sea breaks at high tide. On top of the rocks a diving board has been built. Well, last night Ed and I had a lot of fun letting the big waves carry us up on the rocks and then hanging on while the waves slipped back. I fooled around this morning for about half an hour riding up on the waves and then letting myself be carried backwards. One big wave took me way up on the rocks and skinned my arm quite a bit. When it retreated it left me high and dry. I thought to myself, “When another big wave comes up I’ll slide back on it into the sea.” Well, another big wave did come up at once – only it was much bigger than I expected it to be. Instead of my hanging to the rocks and floating back on it, it tore my hands looses and hurled me over the top of them and dropped me into the sea on the other side. My head just missed a big iron cross bar. I hit my shoulder against it and it cut it right through to the bone. I found myself being driven toward the bottom by the force of the water. When I appeared on the surface a few seconds later there was John and Bob standing on the diving board ready to rescue me. They thought the iron bar might have knocked me unconscious. When I got out of the water I examined myself and found out that nothing was wrong except that the skin on both my legs was more or less bruised and I had several cuts. But I learned a lesson, not to play around rocks in a heavy surf.

We had breakfast about ten o’clock after which all the rest went to Colombo. I stayed at the hotel in order to make up some back work on my diary. In the afternoon John and I went to town to see about the spotted deer skins which we are having tanned and sent to Calcutta. We returned about six o’clock and after a dip in the ocean had an early dinner. By nine o’clock we were all on the way to the boxing show at the Y.M.C.A. There we met Mr. Obeyesekere, Dr. De Saram, Mr. Wishhard, the head of the Y.M.C.A, and several other people.

Ed fought a chap named Lockhart who was punk. Ed had all he could do to keep the fellow from falling down. It was pitiful. Bob fought Dr. De Saram’s nephew. Although Bob lost the decision he boxed exceptionally well seeing that it was his first appearance in the ring. If he hadn’t been quite so cautious and more aggressive I believe he would have won. But Douglo’s fight was the best of the evening. He fought the champion of Ceylon and made the poor fellow look foolish. Douglo battered him all around the ring and several times had him so dazed that half a blow would have finished him. There were five other bouts and then the show was over. Ed, Bob and Douglo, as well as the other chaps, received medals in memory of the show and then, after a flashlight picture, we all returned to the Mount Lavinia Hotel. 

Colombo                           

Thursday, March 11^th, 1926.

Last night Mr. Obeyesekere invited us all to his house in Colombo for lunch today. We all got up rather late and after a swim and breakfast we started out for Obeyesekere’s about 11:30. When we arrived at this home we met Mrs. Obeyesekere who is certainly a very intelligent and interesting lady. We took a walk about his estate where we saw a number of peacocks and other beautiful wild birds of Ceylon as well as a lot of enormous pigs that were about four feet high at the shoulder. There were many other things of minor importance such as the sensitive plant that folds and drops down the instant one touches it.

Then Mr. Obeyesekere shows us about thirty acres that he had planted in rubber as an experiment and explained all about rubber to us. The trees are tapped once a day, usually between six and eight A. M. when the rubber runs best, except for a period of two weeks during the year when the trees shed their leaves. At this time they are given a rest. A cut that runs about half way around the tree is made in the bark in a downward direction. At the bottom of this cut is placed a cup made out of an old cocoanut shell. The white sap called “latex” begins to ooze out at once and in about half an hour’s time the tree has furnished all the latex that it will give out for the day. Some of the large trees yield a pound a day. This latex is a thick, white sap looking a great deal like ordinary plaster that they put on houses. Now, when all the latex is gathered together it is put in large pails where two parts of latex are mixed with one part of acetic acid. Then it is poured out into large flat pans. It looks a lot like thick cream. The acetic acid is added in order to harden the rubber which takes about three hours, at the end of which time it is firm enough so that you can pick up the rubber sheet. The water is pressed out of it and then a machine makes a sort of pattern on it. Each sheet weighs about one pound. The next process consists in smoking the rubber to dry it. The white rubber sheets are placed in a smoke room where they remain about a week, I believe. At the end of this time they are a smoky brown color, are thoroughly dry and ready for export.

When this show as over we returned to the house for lunch. Besides Mr. and Mrs. Obeyesekere there was Paul Pieris, a nephew of Obeyesekere’s and Mr. Obeyesekere’s son. The lunch was again a twelve course one quite similar to the one we had before at Mr. Obeyesekere’s. This time we all went easier, taking only a bite or two of each different course.

Lunch over, we took another stroll about the estate seeing Durian, Mangosteen and Jack fruit trees, returning half an hour later to see some cock fights which Mr. Obeyesekere had arranged. Cock fights, like in America, are prohibited in Ceylon but no one seems to regard the law and it isn’t very strictly enforced. It was the first cock fight I had ever seen and I must say I wasn’t greatly impressed nor did it seem like very good sport to me. In America, so John and Bob said, artificial spurs are put on the cock’s legs but the ones we saw today fought with their natural spurs. The instant the cocks were set free they flew at one another endeavoring to pierce the neck or head of their opponent with the spurs. The birds were very evenly matched and as time went on they became less active until both were so winded they could scarcely stand up. Then a halt was called and the cocks were given a drink of water and washed off – just like two prize fighters – and were once more placed before each other. They again flew at one another and the whole show started over again. John, Bob and I all took movies of the fight and then sat around in chairs. At the end of half an hour neither bird had finished the other so it was called a draw and two more were pitted against each other. The second fight was somewhat more lively but after forty-five minutes it, too, ended in a draw.

Before we said goodbye to Mrs. Obeyesekere, her husband presented each of us with a big piece of rubber. What in the world he expects us to do with it is more than I know but we took it in order not to offend him. Then we all motored over to Mr. Obeyesekere’s mother’s house. It was perfectly magnificent being exquisitely furnished. The ground about the house with gardens, and all were beautifully laid out. And Mrs. Obeyesekere, in spite of her age, was certainly a very interesting and intelligent woman. I had expected to find her a very old and decrepid woman, judging from Obeyesekere’s age, but she seemed as young as her son and as fresh looking as a daisy. We had tea with her and with Jim Obeyesekere’s wife after which we visited the Colombo race course.

            By this time it was late so we said our goodbyes and started back for Mount Lavinia where we arrived about 6:30. Douglo had invited some chap for dinner at eight and as there was sufficient time we all went for a swim. Although it was dark, the water was a warm as toast. We had dinner and then decided to go to the movies. John and Bob went to bed but the rest of us motored into Colombo. The picture was terrible and even Ben Turpin in “Uncle Tom Without His Cabin” failed to amuse us. We dropped Douglo’s friend at the dock and then drove back to Mount Lavinia. It was going on one when we finally got to bed.

Colombo                           

Friday, March 12^th, 1926.

As usual we all went swimming before breakfast and then motored in to Colombo to fix up several shauris. I had to purchase a number of things and John and Bob looked at star sapphires for Peg. There has been more or less of a discussion for the last few days as to how we should start our sightseeing in India. I was all for taking the train last night to Bombay and making a regular tour around to Calcutta where we embark for Rangoon, but Douglo wants to wait here several days and then take a boat to Calcutta and go by rail almost back to Bombay and then return to Calcutta. Besides retracing our steps this way, it delays us six days for had we left last night we would have reached Bombay on the fifteenth whereas by boat we won’t get to Calcutta until the twenty-first. However, Douglo was quite keen to go on the boat and as it didn’t matter to me so very much I agreed to by way of the sea even though, on the face of it, the plan is rather foolish.

We got back to the hotel about 1:30 and after lunch we all took siestas. About four o’clock Douglo and I played a couple set of tennis. It was the first time Douglo had played for some time and he wasn’t up to his regular form. Just as we finished, an Englishman and two women came up and asked if either one of us would make a fourth for ten minutes or so. Neither Douglo nor I wanted to play, but I finally agreed to carry on with them until the other man arrived. After one set I thought, “Well, surely that is enough” but as the man hadn’t arrived yet, we started a second. I certainly was glad to get it over with. I hate to play doubles with women worse than anything in the world.

I took a long run along the beach and had a fine swim. After dinner Douglo and I took a walk and then returned and went to bed. I can’t tell you how much this open air, out door rest appeals to me. I was thoroughly fed up with sightseeing and Colombo is just the sort of place I hoped it would be. Our boat sails Sunday, taking about a week to reach Calcutta.

Colombo                           

Saturday, March 13^th, 1926.

As was to be expected, John and Bob came in my room as usual about eight o’clock and pestered the life out of me until I got up and went in swimming. I’ll certainly hate to leave Colombo and the ocean bathing. It is perfectly marvelous.

After breakfast we all started for Colombo where we mailed letters, sent cables, bought books to read on the boat and incidentally got hold of a New York Times of January 31, Believe me, it was great! I read just about every word in it. Douglo bought about a dozen stones. John amuses me. He can’t understand why anyone would buy a stone that isn’t A Number 1 in quality. Douglo on the other hand, says that the value of a stone depends on its utility and scarcity. He contends that as long as a stone is beautiful to look at he desires it whether it is scarce or not. Just two different points of view but it is amusing.

Arriving back at the hotel about two o’clock we had lunch and then took siestas until four when John, Douglo and I motored into Colombo. Douglo bought more stones, I got a haircut and Jon went to see a doctor. The other day a fellow tried to sell Ed a star sapphire. At first he said that I was worth 200 rupees but that he would give it to Ed for 100. Ed offered him two rupees for it and the sale was made. Later Ed had the stone valued by an expert and he said it was worth 1½ rupees. That just shows you how people try to gyp you.

When we got back to the hotel it was about six o’clock. Bob and I went for a swim. Dinner was scheduled for 8:30 and we had as guests Mr. Obeyesekere and Dr. De Saram. The dinner was especially ordered – twelve courses – and was perfectly delicious. Everything was served in perfect style and it all came off much better than I ever expected it to. Dinner was over about 10:30 and we sat around for an hour when they left and we all went to bed.

Leaving Colombo                            

Sunday, March 14, 1926.

Bob and I went swimming this morning before breakfast and as usual the water was marvelous. After eating we packed our luggage as Patrick wanted to leave the hotel by 11 A. M. in order to have sufficient time to visit the health department and get all our things aboard. When the bags were sent off I wrote on my diary for a couple of hours in an attempt to bring it up to date. Douglo bought half a dozen more stones – jewing the fellow down from 300 rupees to 40. Even at that I think he got stung. About one o’clock Douglo suggested a swim. None of the others cared about it except Douglo and me so we rushed down for a short dip. The water was glorious. It was high tide and the waves breaking over the rocks made great surf bathing. It was the best swim so far.

We had lunch about 1:30 and it wasn’t much after two when we left the hotel for the dock amidst the usual outcry of hotel porters, waiters, etc., who wanted bigger tips. Arriving at the dock at three o’clock – we were supposed to sail at four – we discovered that, due to some delay, the ship Montola wasn’t going to sail until 10 P. M. We all decided to go out in the harbor to the boat and tooted out to the Montola. She is about 9,000 tons and not a bad boat at all. She is really a freighter but carries a number of passengers as well. The cabins, etc., are not quite as nice as those on the Khandalla although the smoking room and dining room are considerably larger.

We returned shortly to the dock where we decided to motor back to the Mount Lavinia Hotel for a swim and then go to the movies for Douglas Fairbanks was on the program. The swim was great and by six o’clock we were back in town entering the Empire Theatre. Although the picture, “His Majesty the American,” was very old it was pretty fair. When the show ended we all went to the Galle Face Hotel for dinner, all except Ed who went back to the customs to collect a 3£ refund on our rifles. We met him at the customs when we came down to the dock about 9:30 and getting a launch we all went out to the Montola. There were still tons and tons of freight to unload, mostly tar and cement. In their hurry to sail, the cargo was just dumped into barges in any old fashion. Half the cement barrels broke open, throwing cement all over the place. About eleven o’clock, when it was apparent we wouldn’t sail for hours, I turned in. The cabins are quite comfortable.

On Board the Montola                            

Monday, March 15^th, 1926.

I was greatly annoyed when the cabin boy woke me at 6:30 A. M. with tea then said that breakfast wasn’t served until nine o’clock. Believe me, the Montola doesn’t break any speed records. I don’t believe she makes over ten or twelve knots but then such slow traveling has its advantages. There is practically no vibration at all and the ship is very steady. We are steering almost due east at present but expect we shall wing around into the north before long. All of us have been seated at the doctor’s table. He seems like a nice old chap.

After breakfast I read for a time and then wrote letters. I have read practically all of Ibsen’s plays since I left home and brought several along with me from Colombo. I’ve started “The White Monkey” by Galsworthy and am half way through “Kidnapped.” I also have read three or four of Shaw’s plays as well as some books on India. It is nice to really have some time for reading and writing once more. When lunch was over we all took siestas until tea time at four when Ed, Douglo and Bob boxed while all the passengers looked on. Not for me! I read instead, as did John. I hate to perform before people. Dinner was at seven and then John and I had a long talk before turning in. Sea.smooth. Distance traveled to twelve, noon ninety miles

On Board the Montola                            

Tuesday, March 16^th, 1926.

Today the sea was almost without a ripple. The weather was clear and we steered a course almost due north toward Madras. The water seems to be alive with porpoises and we pass schools of them chasing fish which leapt out of the ocean every second or two in order to escape their enemies. I took a few feet of film when several came up along side of the boat.

I spent the morning reading and writing as did Ed, Douglo, Jon and Bob. After lunch we all took siestas and then I decided that in spite of the audience I would work out with the rest so skipped rope for a while and boxed a round with Douglo. We work out in the forward part of the ship in a most conspicuous place but there is much more room there than anywhere else on the ship. After boxing I had a bath and dressed for dinner. When dinner was over Ed and I took on John and Bob at bridge. They got a terrific lead but Ed and I came back and ended the evening 300 points to the good which pleased me greatly. John and I got into an argument about the stars. I held that anywhere north of the equator the Big Dipper is visible longer than Orion’s Belt which is at a greater distance from the north polar axis than the Big Dipper. There really is no argument about it. I’m right and I’d bet my life on it. If any latitude north of the equator the north star is visible all the time and it stands to reason that the closer a star is to the north star the longer it will be visible in the northern latitudes while one that is 90 degrees from the north polar axis on the celestial meridian will be visible only half the time. But convince John? Never! After all, it is foolish to argue. When out little discussion was over I read Ibsen for an hour and then turned in about one o’clock. We are due in Madras at 8 A. M. tomorrow morning.

Arrived Madras on S.S Montola                           

Wednesday, March 17^th, 1926.

When I awoke this morning we were just sailing into the harbor at Madras so I dressed quickly and went on deck to see the numerous ships collected in that ten million dollar harbor. There were English, French, German, Danish and even an old American Merchant Marine tub. One didn’t have to look for the American flag to find out which ship it was – the way the paint was half chipped off and the rust over one side were clues enough. I’m afraid our merchant marine isn’t much to boast of for the American freighter was the worst looking barge in the whole harbor.

We had breakfast about nine and then began a terrific din as they started to unload the ship with donkey engines. What was even worse was the news that it would take two full days to unload the boat so that we wouldn’t get away until about Friday evening. This was certainly disappointing news, especially as we had seen Madras quite thoroughly and were fed up with it. Ed and Douglo had wired Milton Kubes, the boxing champion of India who is putting on a show in Calcutta, that they would probably arrive Monday. Now, with this delay it seems improbable that we will reach Calcutta until Tuesday morning. As a result after a conference, it was discovered we were all of one mind, namely; to take the night train to Calcutta. If we carried out this plan we would reach Calcutta just about the same time the boat would leave Madras. Obviously, I favored this plan for I felt from the very first that we should have taken the train from Colombo, thereby saving about a week’s time but it took the others until today to see my way of it.

Of course, all this was decided after Patrick had gone ashore with the laundry. Ed and Douglo followed him in order to get the train tickets and one ting and another wile, John, Bob and I remained on board to write and read. Douglo showed up for lunch. Siestas were out of the question on account of the terrific noise outside. We had tea about four o’clock and packed up our belonging. Ed turned up about six and we all went ashore with our luggage to get it through the customs before it closed. Then we sent Patrick and John to the train while we went back to the Montola and had dinner. I don’t think Patrick and John are very keen about going up to Calcutta by train for both of them looked very black when we sprung the change of plans on them.

When dinner was over we taxied to the station where our compartments were reserved and waiting our arrival. The train left at eight o’clock and as we had eaten before leaving we sat around talked until 10 P. M. before going to bed.

Elihu Yale was at one time, prior to his coming to the United States and founding Yale College, the governor of Madras. While Ed was ashore today he went around to a monument that has been erected in his memory and from it got all the dope on old Elihu – who he married, and all about his family. If I had known that Ed was going to look all this up I would have gone ashore with him

En route Madras to Calcutta                            

Thursday, March 18^th, 1926.

Last night was a wretched one – the seats were about as uncomfortable as could be and what with the numerous stops and jerking of the train I didn’t get much sleep. The trip from Madras to Calcutta is a matter of about 800 miles and is over the broad guage track so isn’t as bad as it might be. The Madras and South Maharatta Railroad, however, is in no particular hurry so that about forty hours are taken to cover the distance.

The country most of the way was flat and uninteresting being, like the rest of India, parched and very hot. In the distance one could see long ranges of mountains so far away that they were surrounded by a blue haze. We passed hundreds of dirty Indian villages with their mud and straw huts. Rice fields seemed to be everywhere. Oxen and cattle, especially water buffalo, were also important features in the car window scene.

For my part I spent most of the day reading “Kidnapped” and a few of Ibsen’s plays. My reading was only interrupted by breakfast, lunch and dinner and an occasional rough house with Bob. Nothing of particular interest happened. It was just a long hot day’s ride so that when night came I was glad for I realized that tomorrow would find us in Calcutta. Bob got out at one stop and made friends with the engineer who permitted him to ride in the engine to the next stop. Bob said it was the roughest trip he ever had. As in the Kenya Colony, the railroad uses steel ties instead of wooden ones.

Arrive Calcutta                           

Friday, March 19^th, 1926.

Although we all got up about nine o’clock this morning some fellow came into our compartment about eight o’clock. As it was a compartment for four, and as there was only three of us in it, we really could not raise much of a kick. After breakfast we packed out stuff and read until we reached Calcutta about 12:30 P. M.

There was quite a change of scenery this morning. We left the dried up, desert like country with its rim of blue mountains behind us during the night. So when I awoke this morning it was to find the train rolling along over flat, swampy country. The mountains had completely disappeared. Palms were much more numerous and there was a great increase of tropical and lowland vegetation. The houses we passed were typically Indian – square in appearance which brought out all that is indigenous to Indian architecture.

At the Calcutta station we were met by Milton Kubes, the boxing champion of India and the chap who is promoting Saturdays night’s show, and Peely, a cousin of Douglo’s. We all went to the Great Eastern Hotel at once where we secured a nice suite of rooms. It was only intended for two people but by putting in extra beds, etc., we had fixed it up for five. Then Ed jewed the fellow down 25 rupees a day so we took the rooms. All of us were as black as we could be, being covered from head to foot with dust. I hadn’t shaved for three days so was a sight. While waiting for the luggage to arrive I went down to the barber shop and had a shave and shampoo. By the time we had all had baths it was about three o’clock

John, Bob and I made a bee line for the American Express where we got piles of mail. I was so tickled to get mine that I sat right down and read all of it. Besides several letters from Dad, there was one form Avery and a lot of newspaper clippings. We ran into Mr. Beard, the American Express General Manager, who was just leaving for Bombay. John talked with him about another shoot while I went around to Cook’s and got a whole lot of mail there. It was mail that had reached Nairobi after we left and that Epstein had sent on here. I checked over Dad’s letters and found that I had received all to date, the last one being number 23. There were a lot of Chicago Tribunes too.

I was rather pleased to find a refund of 110 rupees waiting for me, being the duty I had paid on a suitcase of mine that I shipped direct from Cairo to Bombay. They have some rule about having to pay a duty on all your personal clothes if they arrive two months before you do. When in Bombay I saw the Assistant Collector of Customs. I knew the letter had to go through the Assistant Collector’s hands so put in a phrase or two like this, “Due to the very helpful and courteous advice of the Assistant Collector, etc.” Of course, The Assistant Collector immediately gave my letter the O. K. so that the refund was here in Calcutta waiting for me. One can really do or get anything in India with a little flattery or a few chips.

When we all had assembled back at the hotel we went out for a drive around Calcutta. It is really a very beautiful place, much more so than Bombay, I think. The buildings are magnificent and there are wonderful parks and gardens. We stopped at Peely’s apartment after the drive and then went over to the “Saturday Club” a sort of tennis club.

The boxing show in on for tomorrow night. We were amazed to hear that they are charging thirteen chips a seat or just about 1£ which seems extraordinarily high.

Arriving back at the hotel about seven o’clock I exercised for a while and boxed a couple of rounds with Bob. Douglo went out to dinner while Ed, John, Bob and I ate at the hotel and then went to the movies where we saw Charlie Chaplin in “The Gold Rush.” It was a darn good show and the first good movie I have seen since I left home. It was about midnight when we turned in.

Calcutta                           

Saturday, March 20^th, 1926.

After breakfast this morning we split up to do different errands. I went over to the American Express and got my new letter of credit that was waiting there for me. Then, taking a chap from the American Express, I went to see the famous black hole of Calcutta. I expected to see a deep pit of some sort and was rather disappointed to find nothing but a big black slab of stone about fourteen feet wide and twenty-one feet long. Next to this was the rear end of a tall stone building on which was fastened a plate bearing a short history of the black hole. It was about seventy-five or eighty feet deep, twenty-one feet long and fourteen feet wide. During the revolt of 1857 in India about one hundred fifty-four English soldiers were put into the hole one night and the following morning only twenty-three were alive. The plate bearing the inscription was placed there in 1901, I believe, by Lord Curzon.

Bob and I decided to look up the Chief, Flynn. He is supposed to be in Calcutta now, having been transferred here, so we went around to the B. I. office. By this time it was 10:10 A.M. I went from one counter to another and no one would pay the slightest attention to me. I got madder and madder and finally getting hold of some native, I said: “What in the world is the matter with this place?” You can imagine how surprised I was when he said that the office wasn’t open yet and wouldn’t be until 10:30 A.M. Can you beat that? – and they close at 12, noon. Well, I went back to the American Express too disgusted for words. There I met a chap named Fenn who gave me a lot of tips for the races this afternoon and we doped out a few railroad and boat services. He gave me a chit to one of the men in the B. I. Co. so that I could get some information about Flynn.

The wild goose chase started. At the B. I. Co. they sent me down to the S.S. Ellora in the Hooghly River. Flynn was supposed to be living aboard her. I hired a dirty old barge which was burning tar and smoked like a steam engine. Finally, I got aboard the Ellora to find out that the Chief Officer had only seen Flynn once since he had been living aboard and he said I’d better try the shipping office over there and discovered that no one knew what he was doing himself far less what anyone else was doing. I was thoroughly fed up. Finally, when the shipping master said he didn’t know where Flynn was, or where or when I could get hold of him, I gave him a piece of my mind, which didn’t help me find Flynn. I left a chit for him saying that we were stopping at the Great Eastern Hotel and then went to buy a new baby Vic., but all that I found were too large and too expensive so gave up that idea.

Getting back to the hotel I changed my clothes and went out to lunch with the rest at Peely’s house. He lives with four other caps – all of them darn nice fellows. We had a slick lunch and then John, Bob and I dashed off to the races. We missed the first two races but got there for the third. We were standing watching the third race when who walked up to us but Flynn. I told him what a devil of a time I had trying to find him. He didn’t have any tips so we had to dope out the races ourselves. As a matter of fact we were extraordinarily lucky winning three out of the next four races; that is, we bet to place, but when the whole show was over I was only about 8 annas to the good (about 20 cents) while John was a few rupees to the bad, Bob being the big winner with 2½ rupees profit.

We took Flynn to the British India Club and then went back to the Great Eastern Hotel. Calcutta is certainly a jolly fine place and we all like it much better than Bombay, I am afraid I am at getting even worse at describing things I see for I am becoming used to the peculiar customs of India. For examples, cows and goats lying asleep on the sidewalks or on people’s doorsteps is quite a common sight. All the natives sleep on the sidewalks at night so when you come back from a late show you find yourself stumbling over them. Often you see natives sound asleep right next to a cow. And talk about dumb! These Calcutta natives take first prize. They can’t speak English half as well as the Bombay natives and it is an awful job making a taxi driver understand where you want him to go.

The Great Eastern Hotel is supposed to be the nicest hotel in India and I certainly believe it. In any event, it has it all over the Taj.

It was after seven when we got back from the races, so after exercising a bit, I got dressed and we all had dinner about eight; that is, all of us that weren’t boxing – namely, John, Bob and myself. About nine o’clock we went to the Madam theatre were the boxing show was to be put on. The ring itself was on the stage as were a number of ringside seats. Flynn was there in the first row. The place was packed full. We sat on the top row of the ringside seats. On the whole it was a good show, all except for the referee, who was lousy. Besides being slightly fried, he didn’t seem to know a thing about boxing. The crowd became quite impatient and before the show was over, and after a few rank decisions catcalls and, “take him out” could be heard. It sounded for a while like Madison Square Garden. At English boxing shows there usually isn’t any shouting at all.

Ed fought Milton Kubes and simply battered him all over the ring. Ed could have dropped him in the first round if he had wanted to. He certainly made Kubes look like a beginner and the crowd was delighted. Douglo fought an army corporal who was supposed to have gone 20 rounds with Tommy Milligan, Champion of Europe. There wasn’t any fight to it! Douglo slammed him a few hard ones and the corporal fought for all he was worth. He pulled the old professional line by screwing up his face as if he had been hit low, and once when he hit Douglo as hard as he possibly could, exclaimed: “Oh, a bit hard!” To which Douglo replied: “Don’t be absurd.” In the third round Douglo stretched out his left as if to measure the distance and swung a terrific right. Down the corporal went to his knee and Douglo hauled him back onto his feet. In the fourth round Douglo just played around with him.

When the show was over the Governor gave out the cups and made a short speech. one third of the gate receipts are to go to a hospital fund of his. Ed, Douglo, John, Bob and I went over to the United Services Club with Peely and his friends where we had a drink and then went to Peely’s apartment. As we were all tired we decided to call it a day and went back to the hotel before long.

Douglo saw the Governor for a short time at the sow. He invited us all to lunch on Monday, and said that if we would postpone our trip to Darjeeling until after Thursday, when he is going up, that he’d like to have us as his guests up there, so we are going to postpone our trip to Darjeeling until we come back to Calcutta and go on to Delhi Monday night.

Calcutta                           

Sunday, March 21^st, 1926.

We all slept until late this morning getting up about 9:30. After breakfast we discussed the plans for the day and decided to do a little sightseeing. We hired a car and drove around to the Victoria Memorial which is a magnificent white stone building located at one end of a beautiful park. We didn’t go inside but merely drove around it and then went out to the Botanical Gardens to see the famous banyan tree. All of us thought that it would be just a short drive. We crossed to the west bank of the Hooghly and after motoring about ten miles the silly native driver took us down a cow path that was obviously off the main road. Bob was so mad he kicked the fellow in the back. Honestly, you haven’t any idea how dumb and how aggravating most of them are. The other day one spent ten minutes trying to figure out how to undo a strap on one of the suitcases. We all stood around and roared at him.

Finally, we arrived at the Botanical Gardens. They are somewhat like those we saw in Kandy only not nearly as well kept up. The crazy driver didn’t have any idea where the banyan tree was so we motored about the gardens. Eventually we found it. From a distance it looks like a whole forest. It was planted 154 years ago and its base, up until a year ago, measured 44 feet around the main trunk. This portion, I guess has rotted recently and been cut away. It is supposed to be the largest tree in the world, having 601 aerial roots and the crown has an area of 6,000 feet in circumference. We got out and took some pictures and then motored back to the hotel. The dumb driver couldn’t find his way out of the gardens so Bob administered to him a good crack over the head after which things became clearer to him and he puzzled the way out.

Ed and Douglo went out to lunch while John, Bob and I ate at the hotel. After lunch we took siestas until four o’clock and then putting on our tennis clothes Douglo, Bob and I went over to the Saturday Club where we met Peely and Arthur and Gordon Parker, three awfully nice chaps. Peely and I took on Douglo and Bob for a set and then Gordon and I beat Bob and Arthur and Bob and Peely. It was jolly good fun and the courts were splendid. They were very fast in spite of being grass courts. It was pretty hot at first but after the sun went down it was delightful.

We got back to the hotel about 6:30. I exercised a bit and boxed a couple of rounds with Douglo. After a hot bath and shave we all went over to Peely’s apartment where we had dinner. Finishing about 9:30 we decided to go to the movies. Larry Semon was rotten and I could hardly keep myself awake. We got back to the Great Eastern about midnight and I snuffed out at once.

Leaving Calcutta for Delhi                            

Monday, March 22^nd, 1926.

There was a general pow wow this morning after breakfast as to what we were to do. John went to a doctor yesterday who assured him that the quinine inoculations that he had taken when he had malaria where forming sort of abscesses as his system was not able to absorb all the quinine. These would have to be lanced and the doctor thought John ought to go to the hospital for three or four days. He said that this would be the quickest safest way in the long run. Then came the question who wanted to say in Calcutta with John and who wanted to go ahead to Delhi. Douglo was quite anxious to get up to Delhi before the Viceroy left as he wanted to get letters to the Maharaja of Udaipur and others. Bob said definitely that he was going to stay with John no matter what the rest of us decided to do. As long as Douglo and Ed were going on to Delhi and as my time in India is rather limited I thought it best to go on with them. John will start for Delhi on Thursday with Bob and meet us there. The Darjeeling trip has been postponed until the governor goes up for then we shall go as his guests which will be infinitely nicer.

During the morning I chased around Calcutta fixing up some shauris, buying a new suit of clothes, leaving films, etc. I got back to the hotel about twelve o’clock and took a bath and shave in preparation for lunch with the governor. All of us had sent our suits out to be pressed. Lunch was supposed to be at one o’clock and when it got around 12:50 and the boy with the suits hadn’t shown up yet we began to feel rather uneasy. He arrived with them exactly at 12:55 and we lost no time hopping into them. As the Government House is only two blocks from the hotel we were soon there.

Government House is a tremendously big building of white stone. The grounds cover a full square block and this enormous house is situated right in the middle of the block. There are four drives leading up to it. The question was which one were we to take. Obviously, we guessed wrong, but didn’t discover our error until too late. We had to climb up about a hundred steps – just like out national capitol building in Washington – before we reached the top where we bumped into about ten waiters all in white uniforms. Right before us was the dining room and we had to pass through it and wander about for some time in the ballroom, living room and a number of reception rooms before we found one of the A. D. C’s. We were introduced to two other A. D. C’s. and a lady whom the Governor had invited to lunch. We were all talking together when the A. D. C. on duty for the day entered followed by His Excellency, the Right Honorable Earl of Lytton, Governor of Bengal. We were all introduced to him and then went in to lunch. I sat between two of the A. D. C’s. while Douglo sat on the Governor’s left and the lady on his right.

Lytton is certainly a most interesting man. His father made quite a name for himself years ago out here in India. The present Governor of Bengal was the acting Viceroy for several months last year while Reading was away. He is a man of medium height, quite thin, with rather grey hair. There is a certain expression about his face of sympathy and tenderness. I was quite struck with the contrast between Sir Leslie Wilson, Governor of Bombay, and Lytton. Energy, perseverance, power, diplomacy and politics seem to beam out all over Wilson’s face. One is struck by his amazing force of character. Lytton, on the other hand, is almost the opposite. He has about to him a quiet, contented, easy going, pleasant-to-talk-to personality. Obviously, he is from one of the best English families with centuries of titles and traditions behind him while Sir Leslie Wilson is democratic to the “nth” degree. He is continually telling his A. D. C’s. not to post native guards dressed in white robes and brilliant red sashes behind him every time he sits down. Lytton takes all this as if he had had it inborn into him, as it were.

Lunch was delicious, and I must say, either I am becoming more used to eating with celebrities or else Lytton has a way of putting everyone at his ease for I didn’t feel the least bit nervous or uneasy as I did when I lunched with the Governor of Bombay. Lynch over, the Governor led the way into a large sitting room where coffee was served. I was talking with a couple of the A. D. C’s when Captain Wilkinson came up to Ed and me and ushered us over to the Governor saying that His Excellency desired to talk to us. So we sat next to the Governor gossiping for half an hour or so. He showed us some marvelous photographs that some lady artist up in Kashmir had taken. Beyond any doubt they were the best photographs that I have ever seen. I’d give anything to get hold of some like them.

As soon as the Governor said goodbye and left us we all got our topeees and started back to the hotel. I read and wrote and packed most of the afternoon. Peely came up about tea time and Ashby, a chap we met on the boat from Mombasa to Bombay who is stopping at the Great Eastern, dropped in for a while.

We had an early dinner about seven o’clock, Peely staying to dine with us. Then we started for the station. Jon and Bob went down with us. The Howkah station is on the west bank of the Hooghly river about twenty minutes from the hotel. There I discovered that Calcutta time is twenty-four minutes ahead of railroad time. We found our compartment on the Punjab Mail and John and Bob bid us goodbye as we had half an hour or more to wait. Ed telegraphed to the Maiden Hotel that we would arrive about midnight tomorrow. I thought the trip to Delhi would only take twenty ours and was disappointed to find out that it was about a thirty hour trip. As soon as the train started we all turned in.

En Route Calcutta for Delhi                            

Tuesday, March 23^rd, 1926.

I hardly slept at all last night. The upper berth was uncomfortable and as Douglo turned the fan off during the night the mosquitoes made a meal of me. Besides, it became quite cool before morning and I caught a slight cold.

We had early tea about eight o’clock and breakfast about nine. I spent all morning reading “Anna Karenina’ by Tolstoi. I think it is one of the best novels I have ever read.

The scenery was very uninteresting, being quite similar to southern India. The grass was burned up as was what little other vegetation we saw. The soil looked very sandy and clay like. Most of the land seemed like desert waste. The amazing thing about India is that while the population is something like 325,000,000 it is most difficult to imagine where all the people live. Seldom does one see crowded districts, that is, places where people are jammed on top of each other because there is no room elsewhere for them. The country in particular seems to be uninhabited except for occasional mud villages. I was reminded today of the Bad Lands of Montana. Part of the trip was through country quite similar to it. There were deep gulches in stony clay banks that were not fertile enough to support any sort of vegetation.

About the most beautiful sight of the whole trip were forests of low scrub covered with a sort of deep orange colored blossom of some kind. It was really a magnificent sight and I’ve been trying all day to learn the name of this species of tree.

We had lunch about two o’clock and then I took a siesta until I was awakened by the train suddenly stopping. We had arrived at Cawnpore. The town where the famous Cawnpore massacre took place in the revolt of 1857. Several hundred Europeans held out inside a fort from a besieging party of Indians for several months and only surrendered when the Indian leader guaranteed them a safe passage to Allahabad. As the Europeans were crossing the Ganges, the Indian opened fire on them and slaughtered the whole outfit. The bodies were thrown down a well. Although I gazed out of one of the windows hoping to see something that looked like a fort or a river I saw neither.

We had dinner at 7:30 and reached Tundala where you change for Agra at 8 P. M. The diner was taken off here so we went back to our compartment where, after reading for a few minutes, we all fell asleep. John, the servant, came in about 12:30 and woke us up. I was so sleepy when we reached Delhi at 1 A. M. that I could scarcely keep my eyes open. The man from the Maiden Hotel met us with the cheerful news that the hotel was full. We were relieved, to hear, however, that he had reserved rooms for us at the Cecil Hotel instead. So we motored there. John arrived a few minutes later with our luggage and we went to bed at once.

Delhi                           

Wednesday, March 24^th, 1926.

We had early tea this morning at eight o’clock and breakfast at nine. Douglo had several letters of introduction that he wish to present so said that he thought he would be busy most of the morning. Ed and I decided to do a little sightseeing. As we were leaving the Cecil Hotel, which is quite a nice and comfortable place, a guide came up and offered is services. He was a most amusing fellow and said his regular salary was five rupees a day but that as he liked our looks he would go with us for three, so we offered him one rupee and he accepted. Some of these natives are priceless! We dropped Douglo at the Imperial Bank of India and then went to Cook’s to see about a shikari to go black buck shooting. The manager was very snippy and didn’t know anything so we didn’t waste time talking to him.

Delhi from an historical point of view is exceedingly interesting. It has been stormed and raided perhaps more than any other city in the world. Everyone knows the important part it played in the mutiny of 1857, it is a fascinating story and I would recommend it to anyone. I’ve been told that the best, concise account of the siege of Delhi is in Holmes’ Indian Mutiny (Macmillan 1904).  It would be impossible to relate here all that I was told about this mutiny and the fort which we visited so I will only very briefly jot down a few facts. Delhi is surrounded by a city wall some seven miles long. Inside this wall is the old magazine, the fort, Palace, and several other important buildings. The fort is a tremendous and practically impenetrable defense. In May of 1857 the fort was held by native soldiers of the British army, all the English soldiers being stationed at Meerut about forty miles north of Delhi. When the revolt broke out the fort and the whole city was in the hands of the mutineers and the story of its capture by the British is the tale of the siege of Delhi.

There are several gates to the city wall, among them is the Kashmir Gate where a great deal of fighting in 1857 took place, the Kabul Gate and the Lashore Gate. We visited these and then drove to St. James Church. The old dome-cross perforated with bullet holes is still on exhibition.

Next we went to the fort, the inside of which is quite large and filled with a number of old palaces and gardens as well as quarters for the troops. To this day, since the mutiny of 1857, no native soldier is allowed inside the fort and I noticed that the big aerials of the wireless tower are all within the walls of the fort. The fort, as I mentioned above, contains magnificent palace buildings constructed by the four great Mogul Kings; Akbar, the greatest of them all, Jehangir, Shah Jaham, the man who built the Taj Mahal, and Aurangzeb, who put his father Shah Jaham in prison in 1658, killed his two older brothers and usurped the throne. The first of these four great men was called the law giver, the second the great drinker, the third the builder, and the fourth the destroyer.

It would be foolish to attempt a description of the palaces other than to say that they are the mere skeletons of what they must have been in the past. Delhi, sacked nine times since then, has lost all its precious workmanship and semi-precious stones. In their place are red wax and other artificial things. But one can still see the style of architecture which is quite similar to the Moorish buildings like the Alhambra that we saw in Granada.

It is said that the reason Aurangzeb put his father in prison was that Shah Jaham (who built the Taj in memory of his wife who died giving birth to his thirteenth child) intended to build another building the exact duplicate of the Taj only in black stone instead of white on the opposite bank of a river that flows past the Taj. Aurangzeb feared that if this terrific expenditure was made there would be no money left in the treasure. Therefore, by usurping the throne, he prevented the construction of this second Taj Mahal.

After leaving the fort we went to the great mosque built by Shah Jaham. It is supposed to be one of the seven wonders of India and I must say it is certainly one of the most impressive buildings I have ever seen. But outside of its architecture there isn’t much to see. The interior, like all mosques, is practically bare. When we started to leave by putting on our shoes, about ten beggars came up saying they were priests. Ed gave one of them tree annas. He looked very disappointed and grumbling held out his hand with the three annas. As he hadn’t really done a thing and didn’t deserve a tip Ed reached out and instead of giving him more, took the three annas back. That is the only way with these people. They are the most ungrateful souls in the world. The worse you treat them the more they respect you and the more they will do for you.

At the Ivory Palace we saw all sorts of displays and I priced a number of the things which were really very beautiful. I expect to make a few purchases before I leave India. We had lunch at the hotel and then I took a siesta. The A. D. C. to the Viceroy invited Douglo to come over to Viceregal Lodge for a couple of days. He said he would have asked all of us except that Lord Reading, who is leaving India in a few days, is very busy and that things are more or less upset. Douglo was hesitating about goings but I urged him to accept the invitation. The Commander-in-chief of the British armies in India left this A. M. for a day’s pig sticking contest. If we had reached Delhi a day earlier we all would have been invited to go. Isn’t that the limit?

I took a walk with Douglo and then all of us went for a motor drive around the government buildings and Viceregal Lodge. When we got back to the hotel a shikari offered to take us black buck shooting tomorrow under the following conditions: if we get a buck we are to pay him 40 rupees, if not, he doesn’t get a cent. We are to leave the hotel at 5 A. M. I bought some cartridges after a lot of trouble. The chap at the store wouldn’t sell me any until I produced my license. That is one of the laws here in India so I had to go way back to the hotel to get it.

Ed, Douglo and I had dinner at the Cecil Hotel and spent the evening looking at jewelry, Some fellow head that Douglo was here and brought around all is stock of stones. I must say I have never seen such beautiful things. He had some pearl emerald necklaces that were magnificent. Among them was one worn by the wife of Shah Jaham with an emerald about an inch and a half square. Its price was 35,000 rupees or around $12,000 or $15,000. The jeweler seemed to think it quite peculiar that we didn’t buy it at once for this cheap price. Douglo and I had a great time kidding him along and then went to bed without getting a single thing.

We arranged to have a car tomorrow morning at 5 A. M. We turned in about eleven o’clock. No news from John or Bob yet. 

Delhi                            

Thursday, March 25^th, 1926.

About 4:30 this morning I heard a half-hearted knock at my door. When I shouted in a rather angry tone, “Yes, who is it?” I guess the boy was to afraid to come in for he meekly replied that was 4:30 A. M., the time at which I wish to be awakened. It was cold and dark but I crawled out of bed and got dressed. I had laid out all my clothes last night so that all I had to do this morning was to ease into them. By the time I was ready the car, guide, shikari, Ed and food were all ready to leave. At the last minute I decided that a blanket might come in handy before the sun rose, and so it did. We almost froze as it was.

Our destination was a native field about thirty miles out of Delhi and desiring to reach the hunting ground by daylight, it was necessary to make this early start. Ed and I huddled together in the back seat with the blanket pulled up around our necks. It was beastly cold and I did my share of shivering. In spite of the cold, though, there was something rather invigorating and refreshing about this change of climate. It was a fine morning. All the trees and grass were covered with dew, the birds were singing and the snappy, cold air made you feel peppy and wide awake.

As we left the city of Delhi behind us and got out into the country it became lighter which enabled us to see the scenery. I was amazed at the great number of ruins. The vicinity around Delhi looks like Rome in a way. There are old tumbled down forts, mosques and city walls. I was also impressed with a number of dome like monuments. Our guide told me that all great statesmen and warriors during the Mogul regime were buried under these big domes. There seemed to be a great many of them. The foundations of one old fort are said to be 5,000 years old. It sort of makes our national history, such as the landing of the Pilgrims in 1620, etc., seem like yesterday.

A little after sunrise we arrived at a piece of bad road where we saw a bullock cart and a half a dozen men standing around waiting for us. There was a fire going so we warmed ourselves and ate a hard boiled egg a piece. Suddenly, one of the men spied some black buck in a field about 600 yards away. There was a nice big ram so we forgot breakfast and started out at once. Ed and I split, each of us approaching from a different angle. One of the shikaris walked up in front of me carrying a large bundle of hay that he held up before him. Camouflaged in this manner, we stalked up within about 200 yards of the buck, at which distance I dropped down on the ground and taking careful aim fired. I hit the buck in the hind quarters but in a very poor place and low don. He dashed off as if he had never been touched. Then I heard the report of Ed’s gun. He fired three times, all of which shots were wide, as I saw the dust rise when the shots hit the ground. It was foolish to shoot as the buck was running like the wind and the more one shot the more frightened became the animal. They weren’t long in disappearing from sight. One of the shikaris wanted to go back to a village and get coolies and dogs to get the wounded buck. I knew that it would be nothing but a wild goose chase so told him that we would go after the black buck ourselves. There was no sense in Ed and I sticking together so he took one shikari and went one way while I took the other and went in the direction of my wounded animal.

It wasn’t long before we caught sight of some bucks again. To my great joy, I saw that two bucks were fighting. Both had their heads down and were butting one another. Now is my chance, I thought and leaving the shikari and guide behind I stalked up carefully, keeping the bushes and trees in front of me. In this manner I was able to get up to within 100 yards of the two warriors and taking a rest on the tree plugged away at the bigger one. I hit him in the shoulder where I had aimed but a little to high to go through the heart. Both dashed off with amazing rapidity but the wounded one dropped after running 200 yards while the other stopped and looked back. Like a fool, I went after the live one thinking the wounded one done for. My try for the second one was unsuccessful and I was walking toward the place where the first one had dropped when suddenly, to my great surprise, it jumped to its feet and trotted off. I blazed away at it but didn’t hit it. The buck was too weak to run fast but kept well ahead of us. We were slowly gaining on it when it ran near some cows. The watch dogs caught it and had it down when we came up. I called for a knife to cut its throat but, of course, neither of the boys had one so had to wait till they went back to the bullock cart to get one. But before they came I saw a tremendous herd of black bucks in the distance. There must have been over a hundred, most of which were does. Leaving my buck I went ahead in hopes of getting another but they were watching me and scampered off as I approached. I tried a running shot at one buck missed, and brought down a doe that was running behind it. I finished her off and returned to the buck. He has exceptionally nice horns and by the way they are scarred and chipped he must have been an old warrior which delighted me beyond words. We put both of them in the bullock cart and started out to find some more. I got a couple of good shots after this but didn’t have any luck. It was beginning to get hot and as I had my buck, decided to go back to the car which was about four miles away. I wanted to send a note to Ed by one of the boys but didn’t have anything to write with until I discovered that the lead point of a cartridge would write after a fashion.

Reaching the car about half an hour later, I ate some “ti fin’” (lunch) and drank a bottle of beer. I then read “Anna Karenina” for a couple of hours and ended by taking a siesta. Ed finally arrived about1:30. He had shot a buck and wounded it badly. Some boys were sent after it to track it down and bring it in. Ed had lunch and we were deciding what to do when one of the shikaris came up and wanted baksheesh. Both Ed and I were mad. I gave the four chaps that were with me eight annas apiece. They didn’t seem to think it was enough. By this time Ed was peeved. We had agreed to pay them 40 rupees for the day’s shoot and now they were demanding tips, so Ed said here are ten rupees more, (we had already given them twenty rupees advance) and said that they wouldn’t get the other ten rupees until they caught the wounded buck, skinned it and brought it to the hotel. To this he added that we were through with them. Ed was right. These people try to swindle you at every turn of the road. When we showed that we were on to them and knew how to treat them, they were more submissive and even apologetic, but we had decided to teach them a lesson so left at once for Delhi.

Arriving back at the hotel about 3:30 we found Douglo just packing up to leave for the Viceroy’s. Two letters were waiting for me. One was an invitation to lunch tomorrow from Field Marshal Sir William Birdwood who is Commander-in-Chief of all the British troops in India. The second letter was an invitation to dine tomorrow night with the Viceroy of India. At the bottom of the invitation is written “Evening clothes with decorations.” Guess I’ll have to go out and buy a few medals of some sort. I’m rather nervous about going, for you have to treat the Viceroy just as you would the king – bowing and all that business. I know I’ll make a faux pas. I must admit, though, I am rather thrilled at the prospect of having dinner with the Viceroy. In India there is no higher authority – even the Prince of Wales is of lower rank. In one way the Viceroy is the most important man in the world for who else rules 325,000,000 people? So I got out my tails and had them pressed. The Commander of the British troops corresponds to and is about the same rank as the Governor of Bombay or Calcutta.

Douglo had tea with us before he left for the Viceregal Lodge. I spent the rest of the afternoon writing and cleaning up. I interviewed one boy who seems quite good but as he hasn’t traveled in Burma or Java I’m not so keen about engaging him. As there is only Ed and myself now at the hotel we gave up one room and I moved my stuff into Ed’s room.

We didn’t dress for dinner as we were both very tired. Charles Ray in “A Tailor-made Man’” was at the movies so we decided to take it in. We took a motor ride first through the bazaars. They are quite a sight at night. The streets are full of smoke, cattle, people and all the junk in the world. Girls in queer Eastern dress and Mohammedan women wearing Ku Klux Klan costumes with only their eyes showing out of their white hoods crowded every balcony. All the shops were open. Here was a fruit stall, there a tailor sop and there a medicine man with his store full of bottles. Odors of burning oil, sandalwood and other incense filled the air. The bullocks lying on the narrow sidewalks took up all the walking space so that the people had to use the road. It was quite a sight and for the first time in India I began to understand the 300,000,000 people live.

The movies were good. When we got back to the hotel at midnight the shikari was waiting for us with two black buck heads that he said Ed had shot. I don’t believe for a minute that they are Ed’s. The chap wanted his other ten rupees and knew that he wouldn’t get it without bringing some bucks in. We arranged with a fellow to clean and salt the skins and then turned in.

Delhi                           

Friday, March 26^th, 1926.

I spent the entire morning writing up the events of the last few days, so that it was after twelve when I first went out of doors. Everyone says that the weather is exceptionally cool for this time of the year. It is always clear and bright, and the temperature is almost the same as a summer day at home.

Douglo came over to the hotel about 12:30. It seems that everything here in Delhi is very formal. One has to appear at the Viceroy’s wearing black necktie, dark suit, etc.

Last night Douglo saw the Viceroy’s farewell to his body guards. It was a most impressive sight. He said, as all the soldiers were over six feet two inches in height, being the pick of all the troops in India. They are from Punjab. All had black beards, were very ferocious looking, and were dressed in red and gold.

As I mentioned in my diary yesterday, Douglo, Ed, and I were invited to luncheon with Field Marshall General, Sir William R. Birdwood. Douglo and Ed had dark suits, which they wore. I had a light grey suit, and I was rather nervous about wearing it, but as it turned out, I was quite properly dressed. Lunch was at 1:15, at which time we motored to the house of the Commander-in-Chief, Sir Birdwood. I might add here, he is the second biggest man in India, being of higher rank than any of the Governors, and in time of war is on a par with the Viceroy himself. At present he is Commander-in-Chief of all British and native troops in India. Arriving at this house, we were met by one of the aids-de-camp, a very nice chap, who possessed that rare quality of putting people at their ease. In the drawing room we were introduced to Lady Birdwood, a perfectly delightful woman, her daughter, Mrs. Craig, and her husband (an Australian), Miss Acland, and a couple of other aids-de-camp

The Commander-in-Chief was at a Governor’s Staff meeting, and we had to wait fifteen minutes or so before he arrived. Then we went in to luncheon. I sat on the right of the Commander-in-Chief, while Douglo and Ed sat one each side of Lady Birdwood. I can’t say enough about the General. He is absolutely one of the finest men I have ever known, and I had an exceedingly interesting conversation with him during luncheon. I was so anxious to hear all he said that I ate scarcely a thing. I want to jot down here a few of the things he told me, as I don’t want to forget them. 

At present there are 120,00 troops in India, a reduction of 30,000 men having just been completed. About three fourth of the present troops are posted on the northern frontier. I asked the Chief what chance there was of coming to a definite agreement of peace with the Afghanistans, and he said there was not the slightest hope of making any arrangement with them. According to what he said, the Bolshevists have spread their propaganda into Afghanistan and are continually doing all they can to incite the fanatical minds of these northern frontier people. Another danger is the fact that these Afghanistans are well supplied with arms, made by themselves by hand on a simple lathe, which the Chief says is very ingenious.

We talked about the mutiny of 1857, and he suggested two good books on it; one by a Mrs. Steel, “On the Face of It,” or something like that, and the other is by Robinson, entitled “Forty-one years in India,” in which there are several good chapters on the mutiny. The General said that one never knows what to expect in India. At present everything is peaceful, and there are no signs of any trouble, but he pointed out that, before the mutiny in ’57 there wasn’t the slightest bit of agitation. The revolt was a complete surprise, and had it been as well organized as it was kept secret, the Chief said the British wouldn’t have had a chance. The trouble with the mutiny, he said, was the fact the Indians had no leader.

General Birdwood was in command of one of the five British sections on the western front during the war and told me a number of interesting experiences. He has a great record and about 500 medals and decorations. But in spite of it all, he is as unassuming and modest a man as I have ever met. Somehow it seems that people who are really great, who done big tings in the world, are like that.

After luncheon we walked about the gardens for a half hour, and then the Chief’s son-in-law, with whom I was talking, had to leave, as he was going pig sticking.

The General took us down to inspect the Guard before we left. He said he was very sorry he was leaving Delhi tomorrow, as otherwise he would have taken us all around the city, showed us the military fortifications, and let us inspect some regiments. He certainly is a charming man, and I can readily how all of his men worship him. Craig, who is an Australian, asked me to look him up when we came back to Delhi, as he wanted to tell me all about Australia.

Douglo, Ed and I walked to the Maiden Hotel and then over to the Cecil (where we were stopping) and as it was quite warm out I took the opportunity of doing a little writing on my diary, spending most the afternoon in the hotel. I interviewed a couple of bearers, but didn’t decide whether or not I would engage one for I am not sure when I shall have to leave the rest of the party.

About 7:45 Ed and I were both decked out in dress suits and after combing my hair and arranging my tie for the one hundredth time we started for Viceregal Lodge. I had no idea what was in store for me. As it turned out, it was one of the greatest experiences of my life. I had no conception of the formality of attending one of these dinners.

Arriving at the Viceregal Lodge, which is situated on a sort of rise about two miles from the hotel, we were met by MacLean, one of the aids-de-camp, and Douglo, who informed us that Her Excellency had postponed dinner until 8:30, so we had a half hour to wait. Douglo wasn’t dressed for dinner so we went to his apartments. They were magnificent, and the rooms were filled with roses. The aid-de-camp handed me a program of the table seating, and from Douglo I learned all the little formalities connected with meeting the Viceroy, going into dinner, etc. When Douglo was dressed we went into a large reception room which was more or less filled with people. There we were all introduced to one another. Let’s see, there was his Excellency, the Governor of the Central Provinces, and his wife; Miss Butler, their daughter; Miss Acland; Colonel Morgan; and a whole lot of others.

I paid particular attention to Sister Meikle, a companion of Her Excellency, and Miss Acland, for I had to sit between them at dinner. All of the women were dressed in black and wore black gloves, while the men, who were all government officials, Captains, Majors, and Colonels, of course, wore uniforms.

I was chatting with several young ladies when an aid-de-camp warned us that the Viceroy was about to be announced. We all stood in a sort of semicircle, with the guest in a line about a foot in front of the regular staff. All conversation ceased, and two big doors were thrown open. In walked three aids-de-camp, followed by Their Excellencies. The Viceroy bowed to three members of his staff on my right, and then walked up to me. I was the first guest in line. He shook hands with me, and I made a deep bow. Then Her Excellency, who was next, shook hands with me, and I bowed again. This procedure   lasted until Their Excellencies had greeted all the guests. Then we went in to diner, His Excellency and Lady Butler going in first, and the rest of the people following according to their rank. I offered my arm to Sister Meikle, as Douglo had told me to, and in we went.

I shall never forget the first impression the sight of the dining room made on me. It was enormous in size, and the oblong table was sort of horizontal to the entrance. The walls, which were paneled, were covered with portraits of all the Viceroys. But what was so impressive was the table itself, banked with flowers and decorations, and the magnificently dressed waiters. There were about twenty or twenty-five places, and behind each chair stood an enormous Punjab with black beard, dressed in a flaming red uniform with gold buttons and sash. On his head was wound a white and gold turban. As we walked in, an orchestra played softly “God Save the King.”

The shivers just ran up and down my back. I realize my description is wretched, but I don’t believe anyone could describe the something about it that was so wonderful. One could shout with joy, or burst into tears.

We all took our places and dinner began. Miss Acland and Sister Meikle were both very easy to talk to, and I must say I thoroughly enjoyed the dinner. Every now and then one could hear above the others the loud voice of the Governor of the Central Provinces in his attempts to make Her Excellency, who is deaf, hear him. As for the meal itself, it was delicious. Of course, there was every sort of wine and champagne. Every time I took a sip of champagne the waiter behind me filled my glass, so I haven’t any idea how much I drank, for I never did get to the champagne in the bottom of the glass. Besides the twenty or more waiters in red uniforms, there were several head waiters dressed in different uniforms, who watched to see that you didn’t need a spoon or fork. During the entire dinner you were just conscious of a soft distant music. The lighting system was indirect except of the candles on the table. Oh, it was just perfect!

Suddenly Miss Acland, who had grown quite friendly but this time, whispered something to me. I had just time to catch about half what she said when the orchestra began to play “God Save the King;” everyone stood up, and His Excellency lifted his champagne glass over his head and said “King-Emperor.” Everyone followed suit, mumbling “King-Emperor.” Then we all sat down again.

When dinner was over His Excellency stood up. Immediately everyone else rose to his feet, and all the chairs were drawn away by the red costumed waiters. Her Excellency walked around the table to the door, where she turned towards His Excellency, who was now standing with his back to the table, and made a low curtsy. His Excellency bowed in return. All the ladies followed the example of Her Excellency in order of their position. When this was over, one of the aids-de-camp came up and ushered me to a seat at the opposite side of the table next to Colonel Morgan. We had coffee and talked for about fifteen minutes. He was a very interesting chap and told me a lot about India during these few minutes. His Excellency got up, finally, and went out, each of the men following in turn of office.

Douglo had told one of the aids-de-camp that I played bridge very well, so before I had time to inform him of the truth, I was ushered into a private room where there was a bridge table and four chairs. Here I found Her Excellency, Lady Butler, wife of the Governor of the Central Provinces, Major Patterson, and Colonel Morgan. I was to play with Colonel Morgan. After explaining that I wasn’t used to English bridge, such as three spades beating four clubs in the bidding, and that Chiquaine was something unheard of in America, we began. We played for over two hours before we finished on rubber, which Colonel Morgan and I eventually won. At first they made rash bids, and Colonel Morgan didn’t play very well. I don’t know whether it was part of the program to let them win or not, but when I saw that we were losing, I waited for them to bid rather high, and then I doubled. In a couple of hands we won back about four or five hundred points, and finally won the rubber.

It was long after midnight when we finished bridge. Sandwiches and one thing and another were served. No one seemed to say goodbye to anyone else. Their Excellencies had gone to bed, and we departed with the rest of the guests about 1:30. I was dead tired when I got back to the hotel, but it had a been a wonderful evening, and one I never shall forget.

Delhi                            

Saturday, March 27, 1926.

It was about 10:30 before I got up this morning, after spending such a strenuous day yesterday. After breakfast Douglo showed up.

The Raja of Nanpara was at the hotel and sent his secretary down to see if he could have an interview with us. Of course, we were all delighted at the opportunity of meeting thee Raja and went up at once to his private apartments. His secretary then introduced us to S. M. Saadat Ali Khan, the Raja of Nanpara. He was a rather nice young fellow of twenty-two and we had quite an interesting talk with him and his two secretaries. He ended up by inviting all of us for a week’s tiger shoot on his estate which is right next to Nepal, the best place in India for tiger shooting. He said that he would get permission from the Nepal government to shoot on the state land. He has over 300 elephants and we are to shoot from them. Of course, we were all thrilled to death and thanked him profusely for his very kind invitation. We are to arrive at Lucknow about April 21 and go up to his place then. If I were to go on to Burma as I intended, I would miss the chance of a lifetime so I have decided to say on with the rest and go tiger shooting. In a way, all this fits in with our plans. John wired that he wouldn’t be able to meet us in Agra until Tuesday night. So we plan to go from there to Udaipur, Jaipur, and then up to the northern frontier, arriving back in Delhi about April 20. From there we will go to Lucknow and on this tiger shoot and then proceed to Calcutta.

The Raja had to leave Delhi at noon but his secretary invited us all to dinner. Douglo said he could not get away from Viceregal Lodge very well but Ed and I accepted the invitation. It was about noon by this time. Ed and I had lunch at the hotel. Just as I was leaving the dining room, the shikari that took us shooting the other day turned up. He said that he and his brother had gone back and searched for the three black bucks that I wounded and teat they had found two of them by tracking the blood spoor. I told him that I would like them and I would pay him for this extra trouble when I returned to Delhi, In the meantime I told him to take the head skins to the taxidermist to be salted.

I then went up to my room where I read and wrote until 3:30 P. M., at which time Douglo arrived. We hired a car and motored to New Delhi where a young architect named Wilson was waiting to show us around. You see, the capital of India was moved from Calcutta to Delhi in 1911. Since then the government has been in more or less temporary quarters while a new outfit of enormous permanent buildings were being constructed. At present the whole government moves to Simala, a city directly north of Delhi in the mountains, during the hot weather. When this new city is completed the plan is to keep the government at Delhi the whole year round.

The buildings are about two-thirds finished and are very impressive looking, being gigantic in size. This feature, according to Wilson, is one of the most important for the English  always attempt to impress the natives as much as possible. It is the best way to keep peace. And these new buildings are certainly stupendous. A long drive leads up to two massive blocks of buildings beyond which is the new Viceregal Lodge. Off to one side is a circular construction of tremendous circumference. This is to be the Parliament or Assembly Building. We went all through its different chambers. I was interested in a new type of tile imported form America which is supposed to have the property of absorbing noise so as to prevent an echo.

We did all the buildings in a very thorough manner, even going all over the roofs. One can’t help thinking that, after all is said and one, this modern architecture doesn’t compare so very badly with the ancient masterpieces. Of course, these new buildings aren’t of any particular type. There is some Indian, some Moorish, and even some Roman touches. But the mixture is certainly not unpleasant to the eye. Wilson is the first chap I’ve even known who says, after all, the Taj isn’t so wonderful. For the present I’m reserving my opinion until I see the Taj for myself, tomorrow.

After leaving Delhi, we motored out to Humayun’s tomb which is supposed to be the model on which the Taj was built. It certainly is a magnificent thing. My only criticism is the main steps leading up to the top of the platform. They were too steep and somehow they were slap-bang in front of you. Otherwise the construction is very massive and beautifully proportioned. It is of red sandstone. We then motored through a district where we could see the old mausoleums of all the pre-Mogul emperors. But we didn’t stop for it was getting late and we wanted to see the Kutab where the famous minaret is located. It is supposed to be one of the seven wonders of India and the highest minaret in the world. I certainly wasn’t disappointed. It is perfectly fascinating. It towers about 300 feet above the old ruined mosques near it’s base. The minaret is made of red sandstone and, like a lighthouse, the circumference at the top is considerably smaller than at the base. Ed, Douglo and I climbed up the 379 steps. Ye Gods! What a Walk! I’d never do it again if it wasn’t for the perfect view of the surrounding country. All the old sites of Delhi are visible and one can see the ancient ruins of all the old forts, castles and tombs.

We arrived back at the hotel about 7:30 and Douglo rushed off to Viceregal Lodge while Ed and I dressed for dinner which we had at 8:30. The Raja’s secretary is a nice chap named Kunwas Tek B. Shah. He gave us quite a nice dinner with champagne, etc. After dinner he and Ed went to the movies. I excused myself as I was dead tired and had to pack all my clothes and clean my gun before I went to bed as we are leaving early tomorrow morning.

Delhi to Agra                           

Sunday, March 28^th, 1926.

I packed everything last night before I went to bed so all I had to do this morning was hop into my clothes. The train was supposed to leave at 9:30. At nine o’clock the room was a terrible mess. Both Ed and Douglo were shouting at John. Handing him this and that, while clothes were strewn all over the room. I sat in the car waiting. I didn’t see how we would ever to the station in time to get the train. We finally dashed madly there and arrived three minutes ahead of time. We never could have bought tickets, secured our compartments and got the luggage aboard if the train hadn’t been late.

The ride to Agra took about four hours. It was uneventful except for meeting the secretary of the Maharaja of Kapurthala. He hopped into our compartment when the train started, not having time to get up to the Maharaja’s private car near the front of the train. He was an awfully nice chap – very intelligent – and has traveled all over the world. At present he is accompanying His Highness on a trip to Gwalior where he has been invited by the Maharaja for a tiger shoot. We ate lunch on the train. About two o’clock we arrived at Agra. The Cecil Hotel, where we intended to stop, is only open until Tuesday but we decided to go there anyway and shift to another hotel if we remained in Agra longer.

There were no taxis so we drove to the hotel in a carriage. The Cecil hotel is quite a comfortable place. At present, though, it is just about empty and only a few rooms are open for the whole staff moves up to Simla during the hot weather. The proprietor said that he hadn’t seen a March like this for fifteen years; that, usually, by this time it would be unbearable. We are darn lucky to have it so comfortable. “I’ll give it ten days more,” he told us, “then you’ll roast alive.”

At the hotel there was a wire from Bob saying that there was no need to worry nor return as John was all right, only the doctor thought it advisable to rest for a few days before starting to travel. This wire was a big relief for I was getting awfully worried about John. There was a note for Douglo from the Commissioner of the United Provinces. He corresponds to the Resident in the native states. He lives here at Agra and asked us to phone him as soon as we arrived so we did and he invited us over to tea in about an hour. We cleaned up a bit and then went over to his house. R. L. H. Clarke is his name. He has been out here in India thirty-two years. The house was delightfully cool, being about ten degrees cooler than outdoors. The rooms were very, very high with no windows near the ground, all the light coming in from openings near the ceiling. Besides, the walls were double, the inside ones being protected from the sun and as they were of stone they kept the rooms almost frigid.

Clarke is a funny fellow. I don’t know whether I like him or not. To talk to, he is fascinating and he told us more of the history of India in an hour than I could learn from reading half a dozen books on it. He is certainly a very well informed man, clever, and knows more interesting details about Indian life, customs and manner than anyone I have come in touch with during my whole visit in India. For over sixty minutes he did all the talking and I listened for each word. But I couldn’t get over the fact that he seemed conceited. And the slow way he had to talking and emphasizing every other word in a loud tone got my got.

He offered to take us to the Taj, which was certainly very kind of him, and as it was about five o’clock when we finished tea we decided to start at once. I wish I had the time to jot down all the stories he told us about Akbar and the other great Moguls, but it would take pages and pages, so instead I am going to write down here only a couple that I recall at present.

In the time of the Moguls, the king was the only man in the world of any importance. For instance, one says the Shah Jaham built the Taj. He probably didn’t have  a thing to do with it. It is believed that it was an Italian while a Frenchman did the inlay work. This belief is based on the fact that around the Taj are four minarets. Now, a minaret is the tower beside a mosque from which the priest calls Mohammedans to prayer. The Taj is not a mosque but a tomb. Therefore, minarets are out of place beside it. This leads one to believe that the architect was neither a Hindu nor a Mohammedan, for both of these people realize that minarets are out of place at a tomb and would never use them even for decorative purposes. Now a European wouldn’t be bothered by a religious connections or motives and would just a s soon as not employ the minarets to set off the Taj, as it were. Beside the, the inlay work is obviously French and Italian.

Of course, old Shah Jaham killed these two. Everyone still says the great emperor Shah Jaham built the Taj, No one dared dispute it. Even today if you talk to a great architect in Mysore who designed a certain building he would never say, “ was the architect,” but would reply, “”Oh, yes. The Maharaja built that temple.”

One day Akbar became angry at his brother-in-law so gave orders to have him thrown off the wall of the fort at Fatehpur Sikri. A few minutes later one the guards reported that the chap had only had both his legs broken, ribs smashed, etc., but that he was still alive; to which Akbar replied, “All right, throw him off again.” 

Another time Akbar was sitting with his two thousand wives on a high platform overlooking the lake near his palace. A boat crowded and overloaded with people celebrating a holiday was crossing the lake. About half way across the ship capsized and all the people were drowned. The ladies watching this show shouted with glee, clapped their hands and said “Splendid.” Akbar said, “Fine” and that he was glad they liked it; that tomorrow they should see it all over again from a closer place. So the following day all the harem ladies were seated in one boat while Akbar’s throne was put in a second ship. When both boats were in the middle of the lake, Akbar gave orders to upset the boat the women were in and they all drowned. This was justice, said Akbar, for they deserved it after laughing at the misfortune of the poor wretches who lost their lives yesterday.

It is Clarke’s belief that Shah Jaham had the Taj built, not so much in memory of his wife, who died giving birth tot their thirteenth child, as to satisfy himself that he could build the most beautiful building in the world. You see, in the days of the moguls an emperor had to be very careful in order to avoid being killed or put in jail by his heir. The sons were always revolting and attempting to gain the throne. Shah Jaham himself revolted against his father and fled down to the Maharaja of Udaipur of whom he was a “blood brother.” One becomes the “blood brother” of another chap by exchanging hats and then, as long as the other one is alive in order to live up to his vow, he has to protect him from all danger. So Shah Jaham went o Udaipur. Now, it happens that this is and always has been one of the most beautiful places in India. There is a magnificent little lake tucked in the mountains and covered with little islands. Shah Jaham was hid away in a temple on one of these islands and night and day for three or four years he did nothing but gaze out on this beautiful natural scenery and the priceless temples of the Maharaja. Clarke believe that during this time he acquired the taste for artistic buildings and made up his mind to outdo anything that Udaipur had when he succeeded his father as emperor. Consequently – the Taj.

Briefly, the history of the Moguls is this: Barbar was the first of them to establish the empire about 1500. He was followed by Huamyun, his son. While Huamyun was fleeing north to escape his enemies, a son was born. This son, Akbar, was the greatest of the Moguls and considered one of the foremost men in all of history. It was Akbar who built the fort at Agra. HE saw the necessity of having a strong defense at the only fordable place along the Jumna river between the Himalaya Mountains and the center of India for there is no other place in the triangle of Agra, Calcutta and the Himalayas. In this triangle is the most fertile land of India – the Ganges valley. So Akbar it was who built the stupendous and impenetrable fort at Agra. Akbar was a great man and everyone feared him. He built a sort of country palace at Fatehpur Sikri, about twenty-five miles out of Agra, the capital of the Mogul Empire.

But Akbar did not have any heir so finally he and his wife walked barefooted to Fatehpur Sikri from Agra to pray for a son. On arriving at Fatehpur Sikri, they saw an old Mohammedan fakir who promised them a son – and later a son was born. They called him Jahangir which means World Ruler.

When Jahangir died, Shah Jaham succeeded him. That was in 1605. Shah Jaham had four sons and two daughters. The youngest son, Aurangzeb, was very ambitious. He rebelled several times. Daria, the oldest son, was sent out to defeat Aurangzeb. And defeat him he did – at first. Aurangzeb’s troops were in flight. Now, it seems that Daria’s general had a grievance against Daria for he had stolen his wife. Desiring revenge, he saw the opportunity of getting even with Daria so he said, “The battle is won, get down from your elephant.” The troops of Aurangzeb suddenly noticed the empty seat on the back of Daria’s elephant and supposed that Daria had been killed. This gave them new courage and they halted and charged once more, putting Daria’s troops to rout. Daria himself was killed.

One by one Aurangzeb killed of, by treachery and poisoning, each of his other brothers. Then he finally got his father, Shah Jaham, under lock and key and announced himself emperor. This was about 1657. In all his plotting he had been aided by one of his sisters who disliked Shah Jaham because he favored his other daughter. Aurangzeb was a strong and powerful ruler and he as emperor for about sixty or seventy years. But he was very short-sighted in one respect. He feared that one of his sons would try to make himself emperor so he saw that they became victims of all possible vices. He debauched them. And whenever any man in the empire showed the least bit of intelligence or courage he had them killed off. As a result, when Aurangzeb died there wasn’t a soul to succeed him and the great Mogul regime came to an end.

During his rule, Aurangzeb even killed his sister who had helped him get to the throne, while his own father died a prisoner in the Jasmin Tower in the old Agra fort. The peculiar part of this Mogul history is that for six successive generations each emperor was a very strong man and absolute master of the empire.

It is all a wonderful romance to me and I can’t help but feel that if put into the movies it would make one of the best pictures ever produced. The more one learns of Indian history, with its intrigues and plots, the more one is fascinated by it. There are heaps of other stories about the Moguls but I have already drifted rather far afield so will return to my diary once more.

Clarke drove us over to the Taj in his motor about five o’clock. I shall never, if I can help it, use the superlative again except in reference to the Taj. It is a gem! It is priceless! It is the most gorgeous, magnificent, beautiful, divine, awe-inspiring, fascinating and perfect ting I have ever seen or hope to see! To describe it would be futile and would only detract from its beauty. The Taj is one thing I never will attempt to describe. Even the best writers in the world couldn’t do it justice. I saw at least a hundred different pictures of the Taj Mahal from all angels and sides but all the photographs were rotten. You have no conception of its enormous size until you see it. Then, too, there is something about it – the greatest part of it – that you miss when looking at a picture. You don’t feel the cold shivers run up and down your back.

We stayed at the Taj from five o’clock until 7:30, going all through it, around it and viewing it from every angle. We saw it by daylight, sunset and moonlight, for it was full moon. Inside the Taj below the floor, is the tomb of Shah Jaham and is wife. Directly overhead is a false tomb, and over the false tomb is the big dome. The idea of this is that it is impossible with this from of construction for anyone to walk over the head of the Emperor. Inside the Taj is beautiful inlay work and carved ivory, for as you know, the Taj is made entirely of ivory. When inside the guard shouted some Indian song and you should have heard the echo. Two minutes later you could hear a ringing. I’m sure there isn’t another echo like it in the world for not only does it last long but it has the tone of a bell. Oh, the whole thing is absolutely perfect!

Clarke told us another amusing story. The Chicago Tribune, he said, wrote to the English government and said that it was their intention to build a building out of a stone from every famous construction in the word, and wanted to know if they could have a stone a foot square from the Taj. This letter was sent to Clarke who thought it was the craziest American Idea he ever heard. The British government told him, of course, not to take a stone out of the Taj but to send some bit of marble. Clarke said that at the time they were repairing the roof of one of the two mosques next to the Taj so he cut a bit of marble out of it and shipped it off to the Chicago Tribune. He says he thinks he deserves a life subscription to the paper!

We left the Taj about 7:30, after taking numerous pictures and drove to Clarke’s house where he gave us a pass to the fort and a letter of introduction to the superintendent there.

We had dinner at the hotel at 8:30 P. M. A wire from Bob said that John wasn’t able to travel yet and that they intended stopping in Calcutta several days longer. This news alarmed me, so I sent Bob a wire about returning to Calcutta.

After dinner Douglo and I took a short walk in the moonlight before going to bed. 

Agra   

Monday, March 29^th, 1926.

Douglo and Ed were up this morning before I was, so I found them eating when I came down. As soon as breakfast was over we hired a carriage and drove over to the Agra fort where we met the superintendent the Commissioner had given us a letter to. We at once started a tour of the fort which is a gigantic affair having a circumference of two and a half miles. The walls are sixty or more feet high and twelve or fifteen feet wide, and the whole thing gives one the impression of being perfectly impenetrable. At the present, only 130 soldiers are stationed there, although the fort is large enough to accommodate 10,000 people. At first, it was used entirely as a place of defense and then gradually the Mogul Kings built their palaces within its walls.

Our guide, the superintendent, was excellent and told us all the interesting little details about the various palaces. I was particularly pleased to see the Jasmin tower where Aurangzeb confined his father. We saw the very place where Shah Jaham died on a little balcony overlooking the river with the Taj gleaming white across the water about a mile away. Shah Jaham was allowed to come out on this little balcony for an hour a day to see his Taj. I took a picture of the Taj from it.

There were many other things of interest in the Taj, such as the Pearl Mosque which is known all over the world. It hasn’t been used by the Mohammedans since the mutiny, for during the revolt it was used as a hospital. It is a perfect gem. There is an imitation of it in the Delhi fort. We saw one of the five or six wells, which is some 200 feet deep. The quarters for the harem, and for the emperor’s family were, alive, well worth seeing. There was too much to describe in detail.

The sergeant told us, by all means, to steer clear of the city of Agra. That is, the native quarter, for they are having a fearful epidemic of the Bubonic plague. The commissioner warned us of it yesterday. Last night we could see fires all along the river bank where the Hindus were burning the plague victims before throwing them in the river.

When we got back to the hotel I went over to a shop run by a chap named Chutton Lal. Clarke recommended him. There I saw some beautiful things. It is sort of a curio shop with all kinds of Kashmir shawls, etc. I picked out a number of things. At the end of an hour and half I as still looking at new things and as it was time for lunch I told the fellow I would drop in and see him later.

After lunch an old Indian fakir turned up and wanted to show us some tricks. He was certainly very clever and to save my life, I couldn’t see how he did them he offered to teach us tricks at the rate of two rupees apiece so I spent about an hour learning how to do five. I purchased a little equipment so when I get home I will give you all a real Indian magic show.

We had tea about four o’clock and along about five hired a carriage and drove out to the Taj. IT was as perfect as yesterday. It is amazing when one thinks that the Taj is about 300 years old, for it looks as though it might have been finished yesterday. It took 20,000 men twenty years to build it. The cost of the labor alone was over 5,000,000£. As our guide said, “There are three things in the world that are never a disappointment when you see them; The Taj, Niagra Falls, and Mount Everest.”

I took pictures of the Taj from all sides and even climbed one of the minarets to get a view of it from above. Ed, for exercise, went up and down all four of the minarets. We hung around the Taj till long after sunset before going back to the hotel. I stopped in at Chutton Lal’s on the way and bought a few Indian tings. We had dinner at the hotel and then took a moonlight walk before turning in. Tomorrow we are to go to Fatehpur Sikri with Clarke.

Agra, Fatehpur, Sikri, Jaipur                            

Tuesday, March 30^th, 1926.

The Commissioner was on hand at eight o’clock this morning and after a cup of tea and two soft boiled eggs, one of which I ate out of the shell while driving along in the car, we motored out to Fatehpur Sikri, Akbar’s country palace and the place where he and his wife walked to see a Mohammedan fakir in order to get a child, for at the time there was no heir to the throne. Of course, we had only gone a few miles before there was a blowout and the fool driver took ages to repair it. In the meantime, we walked along the road thinking of Akbar and his wife.

About twenty-five miles from Agra we reached the famous palace. The most impressive part of the whole palace is the entrance gate which is stupendous. The entire constructions are of red sandstone from a nearby quarry. You see, when Akbar first went there with his wife there was nothing but a little mud village but he was so delighted with having a son that he determined to build Fatehpur Sikri in sort of commemoration of the old fakir.

Before we went into the palaces we saw two men jump off the walls of the fort, eighty feet high, into and old well twenty-five feet deep. It was quite a sight. I tried to get a picture of one in mid-air. The interior of the palace is enormous. There is a sort of stone courtyard at one end of which is a mosque, while at the other end is a beautiful, carved ivory building containing the tomb of the old fakir who is now called Saint — somebody. The ivory in the walls is carved into regular lace patterns. If you make a wish while tying a little piece of string between pieces of the ivory window it is supposed to come true. We all decided to try it out. IF your wish comes true you must come back and untie the string. I put mine, which is a red one, two places from the very top on the hand side.

We made a regular tour of the palaces, Clarke pointing out all the interesting spots. I must say it is all very well preserved and would make an ideal setting for some movie. Akbar slept at night in a little square surrounded by water with four very narrow walls leading to his bed. In this way he protected himself from a surprise attack. We also visited the harem quarters. Akbar, it seems, had four main vies and about two thousand others. After seeing most of the palaces we all sat down in the shade of the walls and Clarke gave us a wonderful talk on the Hindus, the Mohammedans, and the future of India. I have not much time so I’m just going to make a few notes here that I will enlarge on some time in the future.

Although there are only 50,000,000 Mohammedans to 300,000,000 Hindus, the former ruled India for centuries prior to the coming of the English but the caste system of the Hindus has never broken down. The Brahmans who are at the top of the caste system have to bathe every time they see a low caste man and some of the castes are so low that they are called “unspeakables.” Such is the leather man, for the cows and bullocks are supposed to be sacred. You see, according to the Hindus, if a man is a carpenter then his son will also be a carpenter. The whole scheme is one of inherited crafts. The Hindus are, therefore, very much opposed to any tendency that will break down their caste system. Coupled with this is their belief about the dead. They believe in the transmigration of the soul, and that one is born again the minute he dies. Consequently, they have not the least bif of feat of death. So their ideas never change regarding the caste system. They are the most persevering people in regard to their beliefs. To die for them is nothing because they will be born again at once to carry on their doctrines. Time means nothing to them so long as they succeed in the end.

As you know, Buddhism started in India and yet today there isn’t a single Buddhist in the whole of India. Why? Because the teachings of Buddha were contrary to the caste system. Like Mohammedanism and Christianity, every one is on an equal basis before God. When Buddhism was first introduced it spread like fire. All the lower caste people adopted it. The Hindu priests saw that if Buddhism was allowed to exist in India it meant the breaking down of the caste system. Therefore, they opposed it and fought it. In the end, they beat it. They wiped Buddhism out of India though it took them 1800 years to do it. It took time but time is nothing to them if they succeed in the end. It might have taken them 5000 years to defeat Buddhism, but they would finally have accomplished their purpose.

Now just what has all this got to do with the future of India? Both Mohammedanism and Christianity are opposed to the Hindu caste system. The Hindus have decided that both religions will have to be wiped out as Buddhism was. If the Hindus and Mohammedans could combine and defeat the English then Christianity would be beaten and in time the Hindus say, “We would rule the Mohammedans for we are in proportion of six to one.” That this is their plan and that they will work for it for thousands of years is certain.

At the end of the war the English attempted to introduce a sort of home rule. All the people were allowed to elect an assembly. The result was that no Mohammedan was elected to represent the 50,000,000 of them in India. Therefore, the plan was altered. The 50,000,000 Mohammedans were permitted to elect one-third the assembly. The result is the same. They are outvoted every time by the Hindus. All this has caused a great deal of agitation and friction between these two religious groups. Consequently, the one faction is always insulting the other and riots are the result. What the ultimate future is, no one can say, but in my opinion the whole problem is one of the most interesting in the world. No one can say whether the Mohammedans will unite with the Hindus to oust the English or whether a civil war will break out. At present the English are the peacemakers. If they abandoned India the whole place would flare up in no time. As Clarke says, ‘Number don’t count. It is quality.” Two hundred thousand British in India rule 300,000,000 Hindus and 50,000,000 Mohammedans.

We motored back to Agra about twelve o’clock arriving just in time for lunch which we had at the Commissioner’s house. On the way in, Clarke told us many amusing stories, one of which I thought particularly good and worth recording. It was told to Clarke by the Viceroy, Lord Reading.

One day the American Ambassador called Reading up on the telephone at this office in Parliament. At the time, Reading was Attorney-General. The American Ambassador said that he had received a letter from a very distinguished man from the United Sates – a Mr. Edison inventor of the victrola, etc., and that Mr. Edison, wanted to meet the Attorney-General of England, So Reading said, “Right-o” that he would invite Mr. Edison to tea. Then the Ambassador explained that Mr. Edison said he wanted to meet the Attorney-General in his office in the Parliament building. Reading said that it suited him just as well, etc. When the day for this interview with the distinguished American drew near, Reading invited Balfour, Lloyd George and one or two other well know English gentlemen to tea in his office as he thought that Mr. Edison would enjoy meeting them and that it would be a nice ting to do. Well, the hour of the appointment arrived and the American Ambassador came around to Reading’s office with Mr. Edison. Reading said he saw that it was quite a formal affair so stepped forward as the door opened. The American Ambassador entered and said, “This is Mr. Edison,” etc. Reading shook hands and before he had time to speak Edison said, “How do you do, Mr. Reading. I am a very busy man and I suppose you are a very busy man too. I have now met the Attorney-General of England in is office in the House of Parliament. Goodbye.” And out he walked.

Well, we had lunch at Clarke’s house and about three o’clock returned to the hotel and packed. We had tea at four o’clock, after which I bated and changed my clothes for dinner. The Commissioner came over to dinner at eight o’clock, after which he told us a great story about his life in India. It certainly would be a hair raiser if produced in moving pictures. About 9:30 he motored us down to the Agra for station where we caught the train for Jaipur. We are due there at 4:30 A. M. and as the train goes on we have to get out at that awful hour.

Clarke has certainly been a very kind chap and I take back what I said about him after my first meeting with him. He hasn’t the charm of the Resident at Bangalore, nor the tact of most of the British officials in India but he certainly was kind to us, told us some interesting stories and made out visit to Agra much pleasanter than it would otherwise have been.

Jaipur                           

Wednesday, March 31^st, 1926.

It seemed as though I had hardly closed my eyes before John wakened me with the news that we would be in Jaipur in half an hour. Never have I seen such dust! I almost choked to death dressing. On arriving at the station, we were met by about fifty natives saying respectively: “The Jaipur Hotel is rotten;” “If you go deeper into the matter, you will see that the Kaiserine Hotel is much the best;” “The New Hotel is the only hotel with electric lights;” “The Jaipur Hotel is the nicest for Europeans;” “The Maharaja built it;” etc. We were much to sleepy to be bothered. We got into a carriage and drove to the Jaipur Hotel, where we had wire for rooms/ As it was very clean and quite comfortable, we decided to say.

About nine o’clock I came to life again, and after breakfast we hired a carriage and drove to the Residency. The resident was out of town, and his aid-de-camp said he wouldn’t be aback until about tea time. We decided to do a little sightseeing in the meantime, so drove around to the Ram Newas Garden, where Albert Hall, a museum, is located. On the way to the museum we passed a peacock I’ve never seen such a beautiful bird: his feathers were all spead out over his head in a fan shape. There seem to be thousands of peacocks in Jaipur, wild, of course. Albert Hall contains some interesting things, but on the whole I nothing exceptional. There is also a zoological collection in the Garden, but like the museum it is only fair.

On leaving the park we drove through the main streets of Jaipur. In one respect Jaipur is absolutely unique. It is entirely a native city, and is supposed to be about the only place left in the whole of India where one can see India as it was in the past. It is ancient India. There are only a few carriages, and practically no motors to speak of. Electric lights are also very rare. It is old-fashioned —  yes  — but it is typically India.

The streets of Jaipur are very wide, and are crowded with cows, bullocks, goats, dogs and thousands of dirty, naked children. In Jaipur most of the merchants have no shops; there ware are just spilled out on the street. In back of the mass of goods one can see the pink walls of stucco houses. Pink is decidedly the predominant color for all of the houses are painted the same shade. Instead of large windows, there are tiny harem ones covered with carved lattice work, so the women can see out without being seen. Then, too, the clothes are worth mentioning. They consist mostly of shawls and skirts, but the colors are as vivid as one can imagine. Brilliant red, green, yellow, purple are blue are combined, yet there is no clashing. They all seem to blend together here in India. I fell in love with Jaipur at once. It certainly is worth seeing.

In the background a wall of hills surrounds the city. Located along the top of one of the nearer hills is an enormous old fort named Napargarh (Tiger Fort), some three or four hundred years old. On the way back to the hotel we passed the Hawa Mahal – Palace of the Wind – quite a famous edifice.

We had lunch at the hotel and then Ed and Douglo slept while I worked on my diary. About 4:30 we were just leaving the hotel in a carriage when a car drove up. The chauffeur had a card with Douglo’s name on it. Obviously, it was sent for us so we dismissed the carriage and motored over to the Residency. Then we discovered that the automobile did not belong to the Resident but to the state. Evidently, the Viceregal Lodge notified the Jaipur State that we were coming so they put the car at our disposal. The Resident invited us to dine with him tomorrow night and outlined the sights we ought to see in Jaipur. As it was too late today to do much we motored around the parks and through the city, stopping at the Maharaja’s stables.

The present Maharaja is only fifteen years old and is away from Jaipur at present. I forgot to mention that one of the Ministers who is looking after the state until the Maharaja is of age met us and gave us a state guide to show us around. The minister himself is going to accompany us through the Maharaja’s palace tomorrow morning.

We arrived at the hotel about seven o’clock and had dinner shortly after wards. Then Ed and I went out of a long walk which, as it turned out, was very important for we cleared up a lot of things that had been very mixed up. It was a magnificent moonlight night.