Alexander Young Hotel, I was determined on getting ashore, if it necessitated going down over the anchor-chains, as we did in the navy when shore leave was not forthcoming, which, however, would not be necessary in this case, as our ship was moored to the dock.
On the strength of being a non-commissioned officer, I thought that perhaps a diplomatic hand played judiciously might have some weight with the colonel.
Investing myself in a fresh-laundried suit of war-clothes, with carefully wound puttees, I approached without dismay headquarters, and with the determination, if rebuffed, to await complacently the first opportunity for smuggling myself ashore, when presently I heard my name being called out near the gangway. Hastening in this direction, I found a Hawaiian messenger with a note for me. Hastily tearing open the envelope, the missive read as follows: “My dear Mr. A——, We are friends of your cousin May; call up 091 Aloho Lane immediately.” Had I received my mail from Young’s Hotel, I would have understood
the message thoroughly; but, alas! it was Greek,—not too Greek, however. Detaining the messenger, I sought the advice of the regimental sergeant major, who informed me that it would be absolutely futile to apply for shore leave, as a number of applications had been disapproved. Feeling chagrined over my inability to comply with the request in the message, I resorted, after considerable thought, to the miserable subterfuge of denying my presence on board. Seeking the assistance of Sergeant Allen, I dictated the following: “This message was opened inadvertently; Mr. A——has been detained in Japan; will be through on a liner next month. (Signed) Allen.”
The boy departed (after I had tipped him on keeping his counsel), leaving me meditating on how I was to get ashore.
My experience in the navy was helping me wonderfully, when something occurred demanding immediate action, an unforeseen exigency in the shape of another messenger. This time it was the first mate of the transport Thomas, Mr. Worth, who, to add to my chain of humiliating circumstances, informed
me that three ladies were awaiting me on the promenade deck, two of them Hawaiians, the third an American. They had missed the messenger (thanks for his carelessness!). “For heaven’s sake!” I exclaimed; “I am not on board, mate! I am in Japan.” “Oh, they are wise; they have been talking to an officer, and he has sent an orderly to find you; so come on up; they look good to me and they are anxious to see you.” (Oh, if I only had that messenger, what I’d do to him!) “Tell them I will be there in a moment,” I exclaimed, as I went below for some letters a member of the crew had consented to mail.
In a few moments I had scaled the ladder to the promenade deck, where I met the jolliest trio of femininity it has been my pleasure to commune with. They told me what great friends they were of my cousin, of her writing them of my departure from the Philippines, of the explanatory letter awaiting me at Young’s Hotel, and all about the big touring-car awaiting us at the pier, et cetera. Two of these ladies were perfect types of Hawaiian beauty, Vassar
graduates, and members of the obsolete nobility, the other a typical American girl, a tourist, and daughter of a retired naval officer.
I was aware that my cousin had spent the previous winter in Honolulu, and understood, from the message, that she had written her friends of my home-coming via the Hawaiian Islands on the transport Thomas, so that an apology for my failure to comply with the request in the message could hardly be avoided. So it became imperative that I disclose the facts in connection with the deprivation of our shore leave,—how we overstayed our liberty in Japan, and the denial of my presence on board the transport. Being jolly good fellows, these ladies considered this predicament a great joke, as they had visited Japan, and I presume knew the irresistible fascinations of the “Flowery Kingdom.” But that was neither here nor there: they had come on board to take me ashore, and ashore I must go.