“Heaving the hook” (as the sailors say) one cloudy morning, as the mist hung o’er the rice fields, the cruiser steamed for an anchorage of a few days in the waters of Manila Bay. Lord, what a relief! We had
been coaling ship from colliers, and living on “salt-horse,” hard-tack, and beans for nearly four months; and this was not the worst of all, for we had had no mail from home (anywhere in the good old United States was home), and mail in these foreign ports was mighty precious. Even the poor fellow who seemed homeless and friendless would listen with tears in his eyes, while his shipmate read him passages written by some one in the home land.
Arriving in Manila Bay the ship cast anchor off Cavite, innumerable sacks of mail were soon brought aboard, and as the master-at-arms yelled out, “Mail O, mail O, on the starboard side of the gun-deck!” a scrimmage ensued, such as would make the army and navy foot-ball contest look like a game of quoits at a country fair. This day it required two assistants to the master-at-arms in handling the bulk of letters, papers, and periodicals that had accumulated during our absence from civilization, the distribution of which reminded me of the post-office scene from an old sketch at Carncross and Dixey’s Philadelphia “play-house.”
Such queries as the following could be heard on the deck: “How many letters did you get, Jack?” “Oh, I haven’t counted them, but here’s a good one: ‘Dear Jack, how is it you never speak of your roommate? Is he tall or short? Where does he come from and what is his name?’ Now, wouldn’t that shatter your shingles?” “Say, fellows, did you hear what ‘Jack o’ the Dust’s’ sweetheart wrote? She wants to know if the Philippines are anywhere near Germany. He is going to write and tell her they are a little south of Germany and China.” “Hello, ‘Sinbad,’ I don’t see you reading any mail,” is jokingly aimed at a husky “tar,” whose derisive reply is, “No, nor you don’t see me answering advertisements either.” For genuine humor, the arrival of mail aboard a “man-of-war” in a foreign port is one droll dramatic comedy.
Three weeks later found the flag-ship gracing the bay of Nagasaki, where Baron Kaneko and party of envoys boarded the cruiser, as guests of Admiral Rodgers, for a trip through the Inland Sea.
The first port the vessel steamed for was
Mitsugahamo, whose land-locked harbor was entered toward evening, the blazing sheen of the setting sun tingeing a deep sapphirine sky, reflecting from the mirror-like bay to the craggy cliffs whose contour shone in amethystine beauty. As the sun sank behind the cliffs, the iron clang of clattering chains was heard lowering the anchors. This American ship had been the first foreign vessel to enter the channel of this sacred port of the pristine Shoguns.
The people of this island, in their more than semi-nudeness, courtesied to the ground on meeting the Americans, offering their broad sun-shades during the day, and providing sandals for the visitor who on entering their pretty bamboo homes is required to remove his shoes.
Morality in Japan has been decried as being lax; the assertion in my estimation is a libel, when attended with more weight than should be given other countries. From my personal observation of countries, the customs and manners of their people, the records of divorce courts, mutual separations, desertions, and the “red-light” signals
to the underworld of the large cities, I would place the Japanese fourth, and in so doing begin the line of comparison within the confines of the Atlantic and Pacific coasts.