The Long Trail.

Free Lance, Volume XVIII, Issue 988, 11 June 1919, Page 5

The Long Trail.

(All Rights Reserved.

By M. COX-TAYLOR,

CHAPTER I. PAGO PAGO. HONOLULU, SAN FRANCISCO. THE voyage from Sydney to San ■ Francisco begins in a scenic sense with the exquisite isle of Pago Pago in the Navigator Islands group. This is aix days' steam from Port Jackson. It is, of course, the property of the U.S.A.. Therefore it is the first bit of American soil that usually meets the Australasian boot in mid-Pacific. But in April, Sydney was declared an infected port m consequence of the influenza epidemic. So the Sonoma passengers were not allowed to go ashore at this delectable isle. We reached it on a lovely afternoon the cool trade wind tempering the tropic sunshine. An opalescent sea -flashed with silky streaks ot white foam as the Oceanic liner pushed her sharp nose into the beautiful miniature harbour. Pago Pago is densely dressed in vivid green vegetation to the water's edge. In form it is a series of crumpled hills. Here and there native villages are suspected rather than seen. For the Hawaiian residence is as brown and unobtrusive as a cocoanut. Also, it melts into a blurred Futurist sketch, in the distance. On the waterfront ot Pago Pago are the American officials' bungalows No one need have one moment s doubt as to the country which protects" this gem of tropic beauty. Ine stars and stripes (extra large) float from the top of the Governor's handsome residence. This stands ft the harbour's entrance on a point .that looks like one of those gaily Panted drop scenes with which the J. C Williamson Company beguile a long wait. Smoke grey roofs and wide verandahs smothered "in creeping green tendrils shot with myriad colours of brilliant blossoms; shelter the spacious white walled houses. * * * * A small American gunboat with a crew that thirsted for news —and other refreshment —bobbed up and down m the translucent Tjay. Pago Pago is dry "When the Sonoma sidled into the'wharf, U.S. officials, turned out in immaculate white garments, were waiting on the wide inner reserve. ine arrival of the 'Frisco boat is a social event. But alas!—there was no intercourse with the steamer. This favoured spot has escaped the 'flu, and meant to take no risk. So the smartlv earbed Americans mournfully chanted ''We're dry all dry! The Lord only knows how damnation dry we are! * * * * Masked to the eyes, the ship's captain and one of the officers went down the gangway to the wharf. For the Pago Pago native is not so simole as he looks. Clothed in a loin cloth and a red hibiscus, he folded his armslarge brawny limbs that might have been modelled in bronze—and had gone on strike. His trouble was easily translated— "more pay." Our steamer had come from Sydney. Was not Sydney a place where the terrible flu stalked through the streets? Was it not true that he who ventured into the ship's hold to shift cargo might catch the fever and die ? Brown brother evidently consulted some inarticulate wharf labourers' union. So he sat down and waited . *** ■ * Then having his chocolate-tinted palm well oiled in the same old way. he put aside his fears, tied himself up in a white gauze mask —individually and collectively—and ran nimblv forward to shoulder huge cases as easily as Atlas humped the globe.. Being a light-hearted child, when his palm ceased to itch, he sang merry Samoaii melodies under his great loads, and looked as queer a figure as ever Gilbert and Sullivan flung into comic opera. From golden afternoon till a silver moon turned the waters of Pago Pago into a simmering silver shield, American officials and their wives lingered on the inner wharf. The women — white, brown or cream colour—wear no hats when they meet a mail boat. Walking through the perfectly kept little gardens on the esplanade, the American lady, a dainty figure in white or delicately tinted blue and pink muslin, carried a large Japanese umbrella to shade her carefully groomed head from the tropic sun. Just ahead, stalked the U.S. child, with a swank that left no doubt as to its nationality. In the picturesque group was the übiquitous native servant laden with all that flotsam of baggage which seemed part of the life at Pago Pago.

(Special Travel Representative of New Zealand Free Lance.)

Whenever you find her, the average U.S.A. "Mam" is a good housewife. She considers the larder even amongst the lotus blossoms. Beautifully dressed young women stopped here and there to sharply bargain with a coloured sister over a basket of fish or fruit-. Then the black-eyed retainer took the goods and the retinue marched on. A native band, clad in flaming scarlet turbans, very short skirts, with white jerseys (hurriedly pulled over their heads by way of dressing up for the mail boat) played delightful Samoan and European airs —till we floated away on a moonlit sea. ■Jr * Honolulu had the pneumonia scourge though it only talks about it if you j:>ress> the question. We. had a long day ashore, a day of steaming tropic heat as it happened. The colour blend is going to keep the U.S. Government busv later oxi. Parts of the town are so Japanese thatj but for the European buildings, certain locations are like samples from Nippon. Japanese women in native dress carried their infant offspring up and down the side walks. The youngsters, with their inscrutable almond eyea and faces so like those of little wooden dolls that they might have been bought in the nearest top shops, are quaintly interesting. Even the older children—so long as they don't wear American store clothes—are picturesque enough. But young Nippon's dad is gradually pushing the gentle Hawaiian off his native sod —in a business sense—and the black haired lady in the kimono is pushing the population statistics! in a whole-hearted fashion that will give Uncle Sam a new vision of Honolulu in twenty years. ■» * * ■» Away from the town, one drives over miles of well-kept roads, through grove-like gardens, amidst the beautiful homes in which the American residents surround themselves with almost every luxury the American heart desires. Strange mixture of sentiment and business, with an exotic love of beauty and an amazing genius for making dollars, the Honolulu-American has achieved, possibly, the ideal tropic home. The finest mansions are built in the generous early colonial style, with a spacious porch framed in graceful white pillars; the white walls frequently show green shutters that match the green roof. As the good American likes space, he covers a lot of ground -before he begins to build his garage. Every other white man in the island drives an: automobile of some species. The affluent American merchant must own a small herd of "machines" for his garage is "some" size. But in the gardens that fling their green velvet lawns amidst tall groves of palms, in the perfume of heavily scented tropic flowers, and in the gorgeous trees, aflame scarlet blossoms, lies the crowning glory of a Honolulu home. * * * * San Francisco, often described by its residents as the American Paris, is disappointing to new arrivals. It is so often foggy on the bay that the first impression as one steams through the famous Golden Gate is blurred by mist. Yet there are graceful headlands in soft silhouette on the distant shores, and a businesslike paddle-wheel steamer (a craft seldom seen in Australasian waters of late years) draws attention to a bleak pile of huge white buildings on a small island. -.This is branded in large letters "Disciplinary Barracks." The paddle wheels are hushed as the ferry boat, which i& presumably assisting the discipline, pulls up alongside the island. But San Francisco bay is 50 mlies long and ten miles wide and the overseas vovager who sees its waters for the first time is more concerned in mustering in front of the quarantine doctor who comes aboard at Golden Gate. Having satisfied this earnest searcher for persons with temperatures,, the next excitement is also nrovided by the U.S.A. authorities. This is the "passport parade. Slowlv the steamer glides up towards the dock. And so slowl-r that those whose names begin with the final letter of the alphabet (the-<- are taken in alphabetical order) begin to despair of ever getting ashore. The passport official looks into the domestic and business habits of every passenger . * * * * When Uncle Sam takes off his specs, wipes the '"Frisco" fog off them, and carefully scrutinises each individual's claim to go ashore, he is so thorough that it seems impossible to evade his eagle eye. He certainly does his best in troubled times to keep his sharp beak on agitators. If they slip in, believe me they don't get many chances

to make mischief before the U.S. Secret Service has them under observation. There are some things that irritate Australasians and British visitors when they first- arrive in California. But one thing is pre-eminent, even now when the signing of Peace is in sight. That is the magnificent efficiency with which the United States has handled each side issue connected with its share in the war. * * * # Everywhere in the city of San Francisco at the end of April, floated, 100 ft or more above the main streets, great banners inscribed, "The Victory Loan." At every corner were special Victory Loan Kiosks where American worsen waited to collect subscriptions—small or great—from passers-by. The art of advertisement, in which the U.S. citizen has no rival, was< used in tlie most alluring posters to coax the pedestrian to contribute still another dollar to this War Loan. Perhaps the most effective was that of a U.S. artisan fumbling in his pockets for coin with the words—"Sure; we're going to finish the job !" * * * # * The Sammies are returning in big batches from the front. 'Frisco has this week been welcoming home, with remarkable enthusiasm, five regiments* that served in France. The Star Spangled Banner is saluted by the man in the street when it waves over a battalion of these radiant young warriors. And few sights are more touching than a keen-faced 'Frisco citizen solemnly lifting his hat as he sees it pass. He is not given to sentiment, except in these sudden and unexpected moments when love of country lifts him above the dollar line. * * * * And in this passion for everything that concerns his native land, the Californian must be hard to beat. Even the surging, tumultuous traffic of his favourite city— : San Francisco—is good in his eyes. He is proud of that endless procession of "machines" —cars of every species under the sun—which proclaim the wealth of the community. A New Zealand traffic official or Syd-

ney policeman would be dumb with departmental fury at the speed of these rushing, tooting menaces to life and limb. Not so the 'Friscan. He knowsthe corners where it is wiser to cross. These are indicated by broad white lines, humorously described as "safety zones." * * * * Strangers are wary of moving off the kerb m any crowded city centrewithout the moral arid physical support of the U.S. Policeman on traffic duty. Obviously it is his duty to keep down the death roll. To do'him justice, he is most affable and obliigng. about it. He pilots groups of nervous folks over the chaos. Tell him yon, are a lone stranger and he will personally conduct you right across thebroadest thoroughfare, and he will deprecate the fervent thanks you offer. * * * «■ In San Francisco the visitor is, atfirst impressed by the number of "jardinieres" in every hotel. They stand at the lift entrance, they are dotted about the lounge, they decorate everybedroom. But the hoarse gurgle in. the throat of the citizen who hurriedly approaches these ornaments —a sound : . that soon becomes familiar to Australasians in an American city—discloses their use. They are spittoons*. And they work overtime as receptacles forthat eternal expectoration which relieves the U.S. citizen of his superfluous phlegm.