A Yankee in the Far East (Paperback)

This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1915. Excerpt: ... XXXIII THROUGH HELL GATE STEERAGE HERE, then, is the final travel letter I shall write on this world-girdling tour. It is a woeful ending for the "sparkling gems' of travel stuff which have gone before. It will record the sad contrast between my start from my native land, gaily sailing out of the Golden Gate, a de luxe first-class passenger, and winding up my joy-ride around the world by coming through Hell Gate steerage, barely escaping being condemned as a criminal and executed on the high seas, chucked overboard and fed to the sharks. The lights and shadows of this wicked world are something fierce. I am glad I made good my promise to try to write a little poetry before I came to this letter. I would surely never try to put it over in this one--it would be too great a strain. Coming through Hell Gate steerage--The next line might have to end with "peerage," and steerage and peerage don't mix worth a cent. My first errand upon arrival in London was to lay in a stock of dress shirts. 17 But I didn't need any dress shirts coming across the Atlantic. Indeed I didn't. What I needed was a good stout hickory shirt--a pair of overalls and double-bitted axe. I don't suppose a writer of travel stuff on a 'debonair trip around the world ever had so much trouble as I have had the last eight days. As I have already explained in letter XXVII, I held an order for a first-class passage ou any American or British ship I might choose from England to New York. With two dozen dress shirts, latest approved "Lunnon" style, safely cinched--I didn't propose to take any chances the balance of my trip, so I bought two dozen--I went to get that order changed for passage home. "Why," the man told me, "we can't book you first cabin on anything sailing for America for six weeks. We...