Читать книгу Over Here: Impressions of America by a British officer - Hector MacQuarrie - Страница 10

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Bethlehem, U. S. A., October 30, 1917.

After passing through several days of dense fog we at last arrived off the Statue of Liberty, and commenced to thread our way up the Hudson River.

What a wonderful approach New York has. I felt that anything merely "American" ought not to be so beautiful. It ought to have been flimsy and cheap looking. My mind rushed back to London and Tilbury Docks, where upon arrival one feels most depressed. For dear old London cannot impress a stranger when he first gets there.

The colouring of the great skyscrapers is so beautiful, sometimes white, sometimes rusty red, always gay and cheerful. Besides being marvellous products of engineering skill, they display architectural beauty. When man tries to vie with nature in matters of beauty, he generally comes off second best, but the high buildings when seen from the Hudson at dusk approach very closely to nature's own loveliness. Cheery little puffs of snowy white steam float around, and when the lights start to twinkle from every window one thinks of fairy land. In the dusk the buildings seem to form a great natural cliff, all jagged and decently untidy.

Finally, we were safely docked and the naval fellow and I were at a loss to know where to go, until we were met by an energetic looking man with a kindly face, called Captain H——. I have never been able to decide whether this chap is an American citizen, an officer in the Canadian army, a sea captain, or what.

This officer was a great help to us in getting through the customs. He expressed astonishment at the large amount of baggage possessed by the naval walla and myself. He remarked bitingly that he had travelled around the world with a "grip." We believed it. I dared not tell him about Jack. I was unable to land that gentleman until he had been appraised, so I said nothing about him. Finally we got into a taxi, an untidy looking conveyance, and commenced to drive through the streets of New York to our hotel. I noted that the people living near and around the docks had almost a Southern European appearance. There seemed to be numbers of fruit stands, and the windows in all the houses had shades of variegated colours, mostly maroon and grey.

We drove up Fifth Avenue and finally reached our hotel. I am not going to give you now my impressions of New York. I always think that it is an impertinence to write about a city when one has only dwelt in it a few days. I thought, however, that the road seemed a bit bumpy, and I must admit that I disliked the taxicab.

Arriving at the hotel we walked up some elegant steps and approached a place suggesting almost a throne, or a row of stalls in a cathedral. There was a counter in front, and behind it there stood several men, very clean looking and superior. With these our guide held converse. He spoke in a low and ingratiating voice, very humble. The chap behind the desk, a fellow with black curly hair and an anxious, competent expression, did not lower his voice, but looked disdainfully at him and finally agreed to let us have some rooms. The American hotel clerks, the "e" pronounced as in jerk, are veritable tyrants. Someone said that America having refused to have kings and dukes, had enthroned hotel clerks and head waiters in their places.

We had a charming luncheon. During the meal we listened to perfectly ripping music. Amidst the sound of the violins and other things the soft tones of a pipe-organ could be heard; the music was sweet and mellow and the players seemed to be hidden. As a matter of fact, they were in a gallery near the roof. Unlike in some London restaurants, one could hear oneself speak.

American food and its manner of being served differs from ours. I think it is much nicer. H—— ordered the meal, which we liked very much. We had clams, which are somewhat like the cockles one gets on the English coast, but are much larger. They are served daintily amidst a lot of mushy ice. One "eats" bread and butter throughout the meal instead of "playing" with it as we do.

After luncheon, we went down town to interview our respective superiors. I found my chief in the Mutual Building. He is a humourous Scotchman of the Lowland variety, with a kindly eye and a good deal of his Scotch accent left. I liked him at once, and we had a long chat about common friends in England. He put me in the hands of an Englishman whose duty it was to look after my reports, etc. This man seemed a keen sort of fellow. Unfortunately, he decided at once that I belonged to the effete aristocracy—why I don't know—and with his keen manner let me know it. He was the sort of man who makes a fellow feel himself to be entirely useless and unnecessary. I felt depressed after leaving him. As a matter of fact, I have been told that he has done a large amount of work for us and is a splendid chap.

Later he confided to H——, and H—— confided to us, that a man who could bring a well bred and valuable Airedale across the Atlantic in war time could not possibly do any work. This was damning to start with, but it is easily understood. That type of man, possessing terrific will power allied to well developed efficiency who has reached a good position, naturally regards with a certain amount of contempt the fellow who is placed upon equality with him, and who has not had similar struggles. However, he was very kind to me, and endeavoured to hide his feelings, with little success, alas!

I spent four or five days in New York. I went to several shows, amongst others the Winter Garden and Ziegfeld's Follies; they were very interesting. The scenery at the latter was distinctly original. I do not know very much about art, but I am certain that what I saw would come under the heading of the Futurist School. There was a great deal that was thoroughly amusing and interesting. Americans seem to have a sense of fun rather than a sense of humour. Shakespeare is caricatured a great deal. I thought that much of the dancing, and the performance of the chorus generally, bordered on the risqué. There seems, also, to be a type of comédienne who comes forward and talks to the people in a diverting way. She is sometimes about forty years old, makes no attempt to look beautiful, but just says deliciously funny things. She is often seen and heard in America. I have also seen the same type at La Cigale in Montmartre.

It is just a little difficult at first to get the same sort of tobacco here that one gets in England. The second day after my arrival in New York, I went into a tobacconist shop to buy a pipe and some tobacco. I spent about six dollars, and handed the man behind the counter a twenty dollar bill. Obviously, I was a little unused to American money, but I naturally expected to get back fourteen dollars. The man gave me four one dollar bills, then about six smaller bills with twenty-five written on them, and prepared to bow me out. I looked at the change and saw that the poor fellow had given me too much. Deciding to be honest I returned to him and said, "You have given me wrong change." He looked unconcerned, and going to the cash register subtracted ten more one dollar bills. I was still more astonished and once more examined my change. Then I understood that the small bills were coupons, and the clever gentleman, realizing that I was a stranger and a little worried, had endeavored to make money. Honesty in this case proved the best policy.

I enjoyed these days. I met but few American people. I was very much overcome with admiration for New York, and I told this to an American friend. He seemed pleased, but commenced to point out certain drawbacks. He said that the high buildings were rather awkward things, and that people walking about on the pavement below were sometimes nearly blown off their feet during a gale. They formed cañons. He said that the lighting problem presented difficulties, too, and that he thought the health of the people might suffer a little if their days were spent in artificial light. Still he unwillingly admitted that he loved New York.

The stores where soft drinks are sold are very charming. The drinks are wonderful and varied, and one sees what appear to be women of quality perched up on stools drinking what look to be the most delicious drinks. I should like to test them, and I will some day when I find out their names.

One day I was walking down Fifth Avenue, it was very hot, so I entered what appeared to be a "sweet" shop. Buxom, handsome young women were behind the long counter, so I approached one and humbly asked for a "lemon squash." "Wotsat?" she barked, and looked annoyed. "A lemon squash," I repeated. She seemed to think that I was insulting her, and her friends gathered around. Finally I said: "Give me anything you like as long as it is cool." "Got yer check?" she replied. I begged her pardon. Looking furious, she indicated a small desk behind which another young lady sat, and I went over and confided in her. She smiled and explained that I really wanted a lemonade or a lemon phosphate. I denied any desire for a lemon phosphate. Are not phosphates used for agricultural purposes? This young lady was awfully decent and said, "How do you like York?" but before I could reply she said, "York! It's the finest place in the world." I said I liked it very much indeed, but of course there were other places, and what sayeth the text, "One star differeth from another star in glory." All was going well until "Peanut," a tall animated straw I had known on the ship rushed in laughing like a jackass. He seemed to regard New York as something too funny for words, and giggled like an idiot.

Now I am sure that these young ladies must be very nice, gentle, tame creatures to people who know them, but they frighten me. I desire only to please, but the more pleasantly I behave to them the more I seem to insult them. Some day I am going to enter one of these stores and bark out my order and see what happens.

I have now been in Bethlehem about two weeks. P——, a sapper subaltern, conducted me down to the great steel town. With Jack and all my luggage we left New York at nine o'clock.

In order to get to Bethlehem it is necessary to cross the river to Jersey City. We got on board the ferry boat at West Twenty-third Street, and after a ten minutes' ride in the large, capacious boat we reached Jersey City. The trip was very interesting. Arriving at Jersey City, we had a good deal of trouble with Jack, but finally got him safely stowed away in a baggage van, and succeeded in finding our chairs in the Pullman. This was my first experience of American trains. The thing I was most conscious of was the terrific heat. The windows were open but gauze screens made to keep the dust out succeeded only in keeping most of the fresh air from entering. I do not like these American trains. One may not smoke in the coach, but anyone desiring to do so must retreat to the end part of the carriage and take a seat in a rather small compartment. The thing that one is chiefly conscious of on entering this compartment is the presence of several spittoons. We lunched on the train, and here I may say that the food arrangements on the American trains are excellent. One may order almost anything, and the service is very good. It is impossible to order anything stronger than lemonade, ginger ale, root beer, and the like; however, one can get ices and cool things generally and, of course, "Bevo," which looks, smells, and tastes like beer, but it "hab not the authority," as the coloured porter said.

After a little over two hours' journey we reached Bethlehem. One's first impressions of the town are extremely depressing. Upon alighting from the train one sees old bits of paper lying about, banana skins, peanut shells, dirt, dust, everything unpleasant and incidentally a very untidy looking station building. The whole appearance around the place is suggestive not merely of newness, but worn-out newness. I felt that life in Bethlehem, judging by the look of the station, would be extremely depressing.

We arrived at the Inn, while our luggage came on in a wagon. I decided to stay for a time at the Eagle Hotel. I registered and asked for a room "with." That means that I wanted a private bathroom. The clerk on this occasion was a good-looking boy of about nineteen, assisted by a tall very pretty dark young lady.

After getting settled in the room I then thought of Jack, and a negro boy offered to take him and lock him up in the garage behind the hotel. This was done and as P—— and I walked away from the hotel we could hear fierce barking and yelping.

At the Steel Office, I met one or two of the Steel Company officials and members of the British Inspection Staff. We walked about throughout the plant and P—— introduced me to quite a number of the men. Later on I shall tell a deal about this great Steel Company, so I will not go into detailed descriptions now.

These first days were strange and ought to have been interesting, and they were in many ways. Bethlehem is a strange sort of town. It seems to be divided by a wide, shallow stream called the Lehigh. On one side the place is almost suggestive of the East, or Southern Europe. There seem to be many cheerful electric signs about, and the streets are mostly in the form of avenues.

I think that I will not describe towns and places, but rather tell of the people I meet and the impressions I glean of their characteristics. Of course, when I give you an impression it will be a purely local one. In the same way that it is impossible for a stranger in England to judge us from the writings of Arnold Bennett when he places all his characters in the five towns, so what I say about Bethlehem will merely tell a little about the people living in a small town, and a town that has suddenly grown from importance as a religious centre to the insignificance of a great steel city, for it must be the products of this city that will interest the people at large. Now I have lived before in similar cities in our country, and I know that the attendants upon great steel furnaces are not at all insignificant, but possess all the interesting qualities that man is heir to.

I had a scene with the hotel keeper upon my first return from the steel plant. He hated my dog and told me that the dog and I together made an impossible combination for his house, and that I might stay if I insisted, but not with the dog.

There was nowhere else to go so I decided that Jack would have to leave me. I hated it, but finally came to the conclusion that for a person seriously inclined to serve his country in America, a dog approached being a nuisance. The petty official American people don't seem to treat a dog with a great amount of respect.

Fortunately, a friend—one of the steel officials—offered to look after him. Jack will guard the steel official's house and will have a happy home; so that is all right.

Opposite the Eagle Hotel is a large square sort of building with a low tower. From the base of the tower rise about eight pillars which support the belfry above, thus forming an open platform.

At an early hour, one morning, I was awakened by an extraordinary noise. At first it reminded me of a salvation army band being played, not very well. As I awoke the music seemed familiar and my mind at once jumped back to New Zealand days when I belonged to a Bach Society in which we found great difficulty in singing anything but the chorales, owing to the smallness of our numbers. I got up and going to the window saw a number of men standing on the platform blowing trombones with some earnestness. They played several of Bach's chorales and then ceased. The general effect was pleasing.

After breakfast I asked the landlord what the building opposite was, and he said it was the Moravian church. He told me that the Moravians had been in Bethlehem for a long time, and agreed that they were a sect of sorts. I had often heard of strange sects generating in America like the Mennonites and Christian Scientists; the Moravians must be a similar sect.

I am feeling a little lonely here. I never meet any of my countrymen. I suppose that they are very busy with their families, and B——, who has been showing me much attention, is away at the Pocono Mountains with some friends. I heard to-day that most of the people were returning from summer resorts quite soon, so perhaps they may prove interesting. I have met quite a number of the steel men. L—— has very kindly allowed me to have a desk in his office. He seems a decent sort of chap. I feel, however, that I may be in his way, but he does not seem to mind, so I suppose it is all right.

On Friday morning last, while I was dressing I heard a band approaching and completing my toilet I stepped out on to the balcony and saw an extraordinary sight. First of all appeared two men riding horses with untidy manes, but wearing an important aspect. Following them came a band playing a stately march, but cheerful. Then came a wonderful procession of gentlemen wearing spotlessly white breeches, white blazers edged with purple, straw hats with a purple band and parasols made of purple and white cloth. Each quarter of the umbrella was either white or purple. They marched in open formation keeping perfect time. The whole effect was extremely decorative. There were several hundred of them. I have heard since that they are the Elks, a sort of secret society, and they were having a demonstration at Reading.

The tradesmen, and indeed all the people in Bethlehem, love to process. (I realize the vulgarity of the verb "process," but I have got to use it.) Each Elk looked thoroughly happy and contented. I suppose the climate of this place is telling on the people. It would be difficult to imagine our tradesmen and business men doing a similar thing. I believe the idea is to keep up enthusiasm. American men realize the tremendous value of enthusiasm and they seek to exploit it. They know, too, how we humans all love to dress up, and so they do dress up. The people looking on love to see it all, and no one laughs. I don't quite know what the Elks exist for, but I suppose they form a mutual benefit society of sorts. I was thrilled with the performance, and hoped that similar processions would pass often.

My work at the office, and throughout the shops keeps me very busy. It is all very new and I feel in a strange world. However, everywhere I go I am met with the most wonderful kindness imaginable.

The people seem very interested in the war. It is difficult to get a true viewpoint of their attitude here. I was not deceived when a fat looking mature man said with a hoarse laugh that the United States definition of neutrality was that "They didn't give a hang who licked the Kaiser first." Another American observed bitterly, "As long as Uncle Sam hasn't got to do it." So far as I can see, the more careless people are perfectly content to carry on and are not very interested except to regard the war as a rather stale thrill. People of this type regard a decent murder or a fire in the same way.

The more thoughtful are not quite sure. They have studied history and want to stick to Washington's advice in regard to entangling alliances. They feel that we will be able to lick the Boche all right, and they are with us in the struggle. The entirely careless and futile persons take different attitudes each day. They sometimes "root" for us, especially France, whom they regard as very much America's friend. At other times they take a depressed view, and think that the Boche will win the war. They sometimes wax rude and make that peculiarly insulting statement about the British fighting until the last Frenchman dies.

I have not met many women here, but the few I have met seem to regard us as fools to fight over nothing. Nevertheless, they sympathize with our sufferings, as women will. I met one lady last night who seemed to think that America would be drawn into the war owing to French and British intrigue, and she expressed thanks to a good Providence who had made her son's eyes a little wrong so that she would not lose him. She thinks that he will not be able to do much shooting. They are all very nice to me, and everywhere I go it seems impossible for the people to show too much kindness. I am astonished at the beauty of the houses here. They are all tastefully furnished and one misses the display of wealth. The houses don't seem to be divided into rooms quite like English houses. Portiéres often divide apartment from apartment, and upon festive occasions the whole bottom floor can be turned into one large room. The effect is pleasing, but one perhaps misses a certain snugness, and it must be difficult for the servants not to hear everything that goes on. Perhaps the American people think it is a good idea to let their servants hear the truth, knowing that they will find out most things in any case.

On the other side of the river and around the steel plant the people seem definitely foreign, and it is quite easy to imagine oneself in a Southern European town. The shops have Greek, Russian, Italian, Hungarian, and German signs over their doors. It is unnecessary to look into the store in order to find out what is being sold. One need only look into the ditch running beside the pavement. Masses of rotting orange and banana skins will show a fruit store. Much straw and old pieces of cardboard with lengths of pink tape will indicate a draper's. Tufts of hair and burnt out matches will show where the barber shop is.

The people all spit about the streets in this part of the town. I suppose the streets are cleaned sometimes, but never very well. At any rate, the whole mass is mixed up together in the mud and slush which accumulates, and when this dries it is blown into the air and any citizen passing breathes it. The roads in this part of the town are full of shell craters and one is bumped to pieces as one motors along. I have been told that this cannot well be helped.

The steel plant has caused a terrific influx of people and it is impossible to house them all. A doctor chap tells me that in many large rooming houses a bed has always at least two occupants during the twenty-four hours. When the man goes off to work in the morning, the fellow who has been working on night shift takes his place. I believe that soon the two parts of this town are going to join and that then they will form a city which will be able to borrow enough money to keep the place in first class order. The people are not poor and indeed there are sometimes quite thrilling murders, I have heard, for the ignorant foreigners keep all their money in a chest under their beds or hidden in some way. I hear that this was caused by clever German propaganda. The Boche envoys went about and suggested to the people that if the United States entered the war they would soon be strafed by the fatherland, and that in any case, the Government would pinch all of their money.

Opposite the steel works office there are two photographic studios. All the people photographed are of Southern European blood. One sees happy brides, merry babies, and last, but not least, many corpses surrounded by sad but interested relatives. When one of these foreigners dies things change for him at once. He is placed in a beautiful coffin, lined with the most comfortable looking fluffy figured satin. His head rests on a great big cushion. The side of the coffin, called here a casket, is hinged and falls down, thus forming a couch, on which the dead person rests. Before the funeral, all the friends, and whoever can get there in time, group themselves around the corpse and are photographed. If the coffin is not a very convenient type, it is raised, and one sees the corpse, dressed in his best clothes, with a watch chain across his waistcoat, surrounded by all his friends who, I am sure, are looking their best. Sometimes a sweet wee baby can be seen in the picture, lying in its expensive coffin, while the father and mother and the other children stand near. It is a funny idea and a little horrible, I think. These gruesome photographs are exposed in the front window. It is a curious thing that the more ignorant amongst us seem to enjoy a good funeral.

I expect, that within a couple of years, this town will be a beautiful city with parks and good roads. The climate is certainly good and the hills around are fine. The steel company now dominates the place, business has taken charge of the people here, but the natural beauty of this spot can never be changed. Let me quote from the writings of a man who arrived here many years ago. He was very much impressed with the beauty of the hills:

"The high hills around Bethlehem in the month of October present a scene of gorgeous beauty almost beyond description. The foliage of the trees contains all the tints of the rainbow, but is even more beautiful, if that is possible, because the colours are more diffused. Some trees, the pine, the hemlock, and the laurel still retain their vivid green; the sycamore its sombre brown; the maple, the beauty of the wood and valley, is parti coloured; its leaves, green at first, soon turn into a brilliant red and yellow; the sturdy oak is clothed in purple, the gum is dressed in brilliant red; the sumac bushes are covered with leaves of brightest crimson; the beech with those of a delicate pale yellow almost white; the chestnut a buff; while the noble hickory hangs with golden pendants; the dogwood has its deep rich red leaves and clusters of berries of a brighter red."

In spite of the great steel plant, Bethlehem still nests in a very lovely valley, and during the autumn the hills are just as gorgeously beautiful as when John Hill Martin, the writer of the above, visited the town.