# Recollections of Full Years/Chapter 3

The United States Army Transport Hancock had been assigned to the Commission for the trip from San Francisco to Manila and it was at noon on a pleasant day in mid-April—the seventeenth—that she pulled away from the crowded dock and headed straight for the Golden Gate and the long path across the Pacific that leads to the other side of the world. There were forty-five people in our party and, although most of us had met for the first time in San Francisco, we soon became well acquainted, as people do on shipboard, and proceeded at once to prove ourselves to be a most harmonious company.
The Hancock was the old Arizona, a one-time greyhound of the Atlantic, which the Government had purchased and remodelled for service as an army transport. A considerable fleet of such vessels plied the Pacific at that time, carrying large consignments of troops to and from the Philippines and, though there are not so many now, I still read with interest of the comings and goings of ships whose old, friendly sounding names became so familiar to us in the course of our residence in the East. The Grant, the Sherman, the Sheridan, the Thomas, and others, all named for great American generals, awaken memories of interesting days. The Hancock was later given up by the Army and turned over to the Navy on account of her heavy consumption of coal. She is now used as a recruiting ship at the Brooklyn Navy Yard.
We found her very comfortable. There were few people aboard besides the members of our party, and, as she was equipped to carry the officers and men of an entire regiment, we found ourselves commodiously- quartered. Moreover, the commissary of the transport service had received instruc​tions to give us excellent fare; this, I believe, through the thoughtful kindness of Mr. McKinley himself.
Mr. McKinley never failed to take a personal interest in the everyday welfare of all those in his administration who came under his own observation and we were made to feel this throughout our experience on the Philippine Commission, while he lived. On every appropriate occasion we were certain to receive from him some kindly compliment, a cablegram or other communication, and it made everybody who came within range of his influence anxious to serve him well and to make the work which was being done satisfactory and pleasing to him. I owe to our connection with President McKinley's administration some of my happiest recollections.
The men who made up the second Philippine Commission were Mr. Taft, General Luke E. Wright of Memphis, Tennessee; Judge Henry C. Ide of Vermont, Professor Dean C. Worcester of the University of Michigan, and Professor Bernard Moses of the University of California. A short introduction of my husband's colleagues and the members of their families who went with them to the Philippines will be necessary at this point, because I was destined to be constantly associated with them during four of the most interesting years of my life. Our co-operation, social and governmental, was based upon a common purpose, and our attachment to this purpose, as well as the bonds of friendship which united us, were greatly strengthened by the opposition we had to meet for some months after we reached Manila, not only from the Filipinos, but also from the military government which the Commission was sent out gradually to replace.
The men of the Commission, coming, as they did, from different parts of the United States, were widely contrasted, no less in associations than in their varied accents and family traditions.
​General Wright was, and is, one of the ablest lawyers in Tennessee, and enjoyed, at the time of his appointment on the Commission, the finest practice in Memphis. He is a Democrat; and old enough to have been lieutenant in the Civil War on the Confederate side. But perhaps his finest laurels for bravery and devotion to duty were won at the time when he exerted himself to save Memphis in the days when she was in the grip of a terrible epidemic of yellow fever. I don't know the exact year, but the epidemic was so out of control that all who could, left the city, while General Wright remained to organize such resistance as could be made to the spread of the dread disease.
Mrs. Wright was a daughter of the famous Admiral Semmes of the Confederate Navy and for some time after the war she traveled with her father in Mexico and abroad, thereby acquiring at an early age a very cosmopolitan outlook. Admiral Semmes was a great linguist and Mrs. Wright inherited his gift. She had learned to speak Spanish in her girlhood, so when she arrived in Manila she had only to renew her knowledge of the language. General and Mrs. Wright had with them their daughter Katrina, who was then about fourteen years old, but their two sons, one a naval officer, did not join them in the Philippines until later.
General Wright had, on the whole, the most delightful social qualities of anybody on the Commission. He had a keen sense of humor and could recount a great number of interesting personal experiences with a manner and wit which made him, always, a delightful companion. He was a devotee of pinochle and he instructed the entire party in the game until it was played from one end of the ship to the other. He was slow to anger, very deliberate and kindly in his judgments, and offered at times a decided contrast to his wife who was a little more hasty and not infre​quently founded judgments on what he would jocosely criticise as "a woman's reason."
Judge Ide was born and bred a Vermonter and had many of the rugged characteristics of the Green Mountain State, not the least among which is a certain indefinable, but peculiarly New England caution. In addition to a large and active law practice in both New Hampshire and Vermont, he had banking connections through which he had gained a better knowledge of business and finance than is possessed by the average lawyer. Moreover, a long term as Chief Justice of Samoa had given him diplomatic experience and a knowledge of the Polynesian races which were to serve him well in his work in the Philippines. As Chief Justice he exercised diplomatic and consular as well as judicial functions, and his position brought him in close relations with the English and German officials of the joint protectorate of the Samoan islands and in constant social contact with the naval officers of many countries whose ships very frequently called at Apia. He was a widower with two young daughters.
These daughters, Anne and Marjorie, or "the two Ide girls" as they were then popularly known, displayed no sign of Puritan ancestry or upbringing. They were just remarkably beautiful and altogether charming and delightful. A large part of their girlhood had been spent in Samoa; they were the product of an intermittent, but very picturesque education, and there was ingrained in them some of that happy-go-lucky attitude toward life, and that freedom from useless convention which the Occidental is not unlikely to acquire in the Orient.
These girls had, in Samoa, been great friends of Robert Louis Stevenson. Anne, the elder, was the especial favourite of the beauty-loving invalid and he willed to her his birthday, as can be learned from his Samoan letters. She was born near Christmas time and had never known what it was ​to have her birthday celebrated, a great deprivation in childhood. But she now celebrates as her own the birthday of Robert Louis Stevenson and it is, I believe, her most cherished possession.
Marjorie, whose career, ever since our first trip together, I have followed with the greatest affection and interest, had even more of the care-free attitude than Anne. She used to convulse us with cruelly funny accounts of her adventures with admirers, of whom there were many, and with descriptions of some of the strange acquaintances she made during her travels with her father.
Among the passengers on the Hancock was Dr. Kneedler, an army surgeon, with his wife and two little girls. These little girls were exceedingly bright and inquisitive. Young ladies and gentlemen had particular and irresistible attractions for them and the Ide young ladies kept them very much occupied. The Ide young ladies didn't encourage their attentions and this fact engendered their hostility. They therefore referred to the Misses Ide as "them there Ides." With their delightful sense of humour the Ides, of course, rejoiced in the designation and in all the thirteen years since then they have never met Mr. Taft or me without presenting themselves as "them there Ides."
The Misses Ide were destined to be the unrivalled belles of Manila society for six years and then to move on to broader social spheres. Anne was married to Mr. Bourke Cochran shortly after her father left the Philippines, but Marjorie continued to be her father's companion for several years, going with him to Madrid when he was appointed Minister to Spain and presiding over the American Legation there until she married Mr. Shane Leslie and went to London to live.
General Wright, Judge Ide and Mr. Taft were the lawyers on the Commission and it was felt that their familiarity with law and governmental matters greatly enhanced the ​strength and preparedness of the Commission for the work they had to do.
Mr. Worcester was an assistant professor at the University of Michigan. He too was a Vermonter, with quite as much fortiter in re, but with somewhat less of the suaviter in modo than Judge Ide inherently had, or had acquired in his Samoan experience.
Mr. Worcester was the only member of the party who had ever been to the Philippines before. I think he had been there twice with scientific expeditions before the Battle of Manila Bay bad thrust the guardianship of the Filipinos upon our country, and in the course of his trips, with his fluency in Spanish as it is spoken in the Philippines, he had acquired a very intimate knowledge of the people and their customs, as well as of the flora and fauna of the islands. He had written a book on the Philippines which came out at a most fortunate time, just when Dewey's victory had turned the eyes of the country upon that never-before-thought-of corner of the world. This book led to his appointment on the first Commission and his useful, loyal, courageous and effective labours with that body led Mr. McKinley to appoint him on the second.
He is a large, forceful man with rather abrupt manners and very decided opinions and perhaps no greater contrast could be imagined than exists between him and Mrs. Worcester, who, in outward seeming, is the frailest kind of little woman, with a sweet face and engagingly gentle manners which suggest timidity. Mrs. Worcester has proved herself to possess the frailty of flexible steel. At that time we were quite concerned about her, I remember, thinking she would not be able to endure the Philippine climate even for a short period. But she has lived there from that day to this. She has been with her husband through many experiences from which the strongest woman would shrink, toiling with him over hundreds of miles of mountain and jungle trail on his ​frequent expeditions into the countries of the wild tribes and, meeting every difficulty without comment. She is in excellent health and is a living refutation of the familiar exaggerations as to the effect of the climate. They had with them two little white haired children, one of them quite delicate, who have grown up in the Philippines strong and healthy and have received most of their education in the schools established there under American government.
The last member of the Commission was Professor Bernard Moses of the political and historical department of the University of California. He was a man of profound learning, a Connecticut Yankee, combining a very excellent knowledge of business with his unusual qualifications as an historian, economist and student of politics. He was especially familiar with all Spanish-American countries, had travelled extensively in the South American republics and had written a learned book on the constitution of Colombia. My husband always says that he thinks Mr. McKinley exercised the wisest discretion in the selection of all the members of this Commission since they possessed, among them, qualifications for every line of work in practical government and original research.
Mrs. Moses, a graduate from the University of California, was a very attractive woman. She had a gift for vivid description and for seeing the funny side of every situation. Her book, "Unofficial Letters of an Official's Wife," gives an interesting and accurate picture of social life in the early days of military rule, which are known in Manila history as "the days of the Empire" and of that period when American civil government was in the process of organisation. Her wit sometimes had a suggestion of the caustic in it, but she never failed to contribute her quota to the day's amusement.
There were many other interesting members of the party, including Mr. Arthur Fergusson, the Spanish secretary, and Mrs. Fergusson, Mr. Frank A. Branagan, the disbursing ​officer, and Mrs. Branagan, and several private secretaries with their families.
The voyage from San Francisco to Honolulu was quite perfect. As we sailed toward the tropics the weather gradually grew warmer and the sheltered decks became the most attractive part of the ship. The promenade deck of the Hancock reaches from bow to stern. I believe there is a regular term to describe such ship construction,—“decked over all” is it? but to me it was just a very long deck which served unusually well for exercise. The Commission held regular business sessions in a cabin which had been fitted up for the purpose, but when work was over they would start on a long march around and around the deck, covering many miles each day. My husband was especially industrious and walked one man after another “off his feet” until, finally, he was obliged to finish his long tramp alone. He set himself the task of so many miles a day, so many times around the deck being a mile, and to keep count of laps requires some concentration. His quiet persistence in this kind of exercise was calculated to make the lazy onlooker intensely nervous, and when I had done my modest little turn I was always glad to indulge in a sort of counter-concentration at a whist table, or at General Wright's ever constant pinochle.
Altogether the days passed very pleasantly and we were a very merry and friendly party by the time we reached Honolulu.
At Honolulu I got my first glimpse of real tropics, and I was enchanted. It was a glorious sensation for me that April morning when I saw these mid-Pacific islands, for the first time, rise before me out of a white-capped sea; clear-cut in an atmosphere which seems never to be blurred by mist.
American energy, ambition and initiative have wrought great material changes in the islands and these, which were even then important, were brought to our admiring attention ​later on. I shall always think of Hawaii,—of the island of Oahu, rather,—as it appeared to me then when our ship steamed past Diamond Head, skirted the high breakers of Waikiki and made its way up through the bright waters of the bay into the harbour of Honolulu. Honolulu is a little, modern city lying, all in sight, against the green of a narrow, gently-sloping, peak-encircled valley.
The Punchbowl, a spent and emptied volcano, outlined in perfect form against the higher hills behind it, plainly tells the story of the spectacular construction of the islands and makes it almost possible to visualise their sudden rise from the sea. They are not very old, according to scientific measurements of time, but they are old enough, at any rate, to have clothed themselves in the most brilliant luxuriance, which is the first thing to impress the traveller as his ship sails into the harbour.
The brilliance from the ship's deck is the brilliance of every imaginable shade of green, massed against the towering, pointed hills and picked into contrasts of high-light and shadow by a sun and atmosphere peculiar to the tropics. Once ashore, the green foliage becomes the background for a wealth of blooming flowers, flowers everywhere, of unnumbered different varieties, with the flaming hibiscus in every garden, striking the high note of colour. Until we left Honolulu laden with “leis”—long festoons of flower petals which are thrown upon the shoulders of departing friends and visitors—there were always flowers.
And with the flowers and the foliage and the tall palm trees and the warm tropic sunlight, there is music, the music of the native which greets one in welcome at the dock and contributes constantly to the spirit of festivity until the departing ship gets too far from shore to catch the strains of the farewell song “Aloha” whose closing words: “Until we meet, until we meet again,” linger long in the mind of the grateful recipient of Hawaiian hospitality. ​The first thing we were to learn when our ship came up into the harbour was that the bubonic plague had been epidemic in Honolulu for a long time. It was our first encounter with this terror of the East. There had been seventy-one cases in all, and sixty-one deaths. Six Europeans had contracted the disease and of these four had died. When we dropped anchor we were at once boarded by the local health officer, Dr. Carmichael of the Marine Hospital Service, who was accompanied by United States Minister Sewell and Consul General Hayward. They wanted us to land, of course, and we were very anxious to do so, but as the quarantine was not yet raised they could not answer for the attitude of the Japanese health officers when we got to Yokohama. Our going ashore might result in a long detention in quarantine for ourselves and, aside from the discomfort of this, we could not afford the delay. There was no particular danger for us personally, since no new cases had been reported for twenty-four days, but it was all a question of being able to land later in Japan. It was really too much of a disappointment; there was not a dissenting voice on that score, and Honolulu kept getting more and more attractive as the possibility dawned on us that we might not see it at all. But it was arranged. We sent for the Japanese vice-Consul and explained matters to him and he finally agreed to hold himself responsible for our breaking the quarantine, in so far as it concerned Japan, if we would keep our ship out in the stream instead of tying up at the dock, and permit no member of the crew to go ashore during our stay. This we readily agreed to do and made our plans accordingly. We, too, were to live on board the Hancock, but there were any number of harbour launches put at our disposal.
We were received by the Americans in Honolulu with the utmost cordiality and immediately found ourselves sharing the exhilarating suspense with which the people were then ​awaiting the passage of the bill in Congress which was to make the Hawaiian Islands a part of the United States. The first thing the Commission did was to call on President Dole, of the provisional republican government, and with him they met the Ministers of the Treasury and the Interior, Mr. Damon and Mr. Young. Indeed, we met all the people who had the affairs of the islands in hand and were most delightfully entertained by them. We found them of one mind, just anxiously waiting to be annexed to the United States. The men, who realised the importance of our mission to the Philippines, were eager to foregather with the Commission and discuss with them, long and earnestly, this broad American venture and its possible effect upon the future prosperity of the Hawaiian Islands, but in so far as I was concerned, nothing in the way of state problems was allowed to intrude itself upon their purely social hospitality. There were dinners and luncheons and teas and receptions, and, in the intervals, sight-seeing.
There are a number of entertaining things to do in Honolulu and while I do not wish to make this, in any way, a book of travel, I must record my impressions of the world as they came to me.
The Hawaiian Islands have a background of romantic history which makes the museums, the public buildings and even the cemeteries of the capital extremely interesting. Besides all of which there are some wonderful views which every one must see.
The trip to Nuuani Pali is the first thing to be undertaken in Honolulu, perhaps because it is the greatest thing on the island of Oahu. We didn't know what the Pali was,—had no idea. It was just the place to go, so we went,—the very first day. We drove up the valley over a perfect road which wound in and out past beautiful, palm-shaded country homes, and along the bank of a noisy, crystal-clear little mountain stream, until we came to a point which looked to ​me like the "jumping off place." And it is; the "jumping off place" is the Pali. The road turns sharp around the solid rock wall of the cliff and winds its way on down into the valley on the other side, but it is a distinct surprise to find that it doesn't end right there. The Pali is the Pass of the Winds; the meeting place of all the young hurricanes of the Pacific. They say the winds in the Pali are never still. We were flattened out against the wall of the cliff, our hats were torn from our heads and we had to hold onto our coats for dear life, but before us lay one of the grandest spectacles in the whole world. Coral-tinted, purple, rose and bright-blue sea; beetling, pointed, terrible cliffs, and a broad, green plain running down to a surf-washed ribbon of beach; a panorama as wide as the compass of vision. I have been back since then thinking that, on first sight, I might have overestimated the grandeur of the Pali. But I didn't. It is one of the world's great views. And it has its touch of savage history too. It was up these hills and over the cliffs of the Pail that King Kamehameha drove to certain death the offending hordes in arms against his sovereignty. There was no escape for them. Once in this pass they had either to go over the precipice or back against the spears of the enemy. This being history, and not myth, it adds much to the thrill of the spectacle.
After a visit to the indescribable "aquarium of the painted fishes"—painted, I suppose, by the bright sun-rays in the coral shallows of the tropic seas—we went, as guests of Mr. Carter, a prominent member of the American colony, who afterward became governor of the islands, out to Waikiki Beach for surf-bathing,—or, surf-riding, as it is more aptly called.
Surf-riding at Waikiki Beach is a great game. In the first place the surf there doesn't look as if any human being would dare venture into it; but when you see a beautiful, slim, brown native, naked save for short swimming trunks, come ​gliding down a high white breaker, poised like a Mercury, erect on a single narrow plank—it looks delightfully exhilarating. It took me some time to make up my mind, but after sufficient persuasion I finally decided to risk my life with the others. Dressed in bathing suits, we were taken out beyond the line of breakers in long canoes with outriggers and, with a native at prow and stern armed with broad paddles to guide the craft, we rode in on the crest of the waves, Even this modified version of the natives' foolhardy performance is dangerous enough. There is every likelihood of an upset and not any of us could be said to swim expertly, so there was great excitement when one member of the party after another was plunged, out of depth, into the foaming and seething water. Two members of our party, indeed, had a narrow escape, though we didn't know it at the time. General Wright and Judge Ide were capsized in a particularly vicious breaker and Judge Ide at once began to make frantic efforts to attract attention and secure aid, but in the confusion his signs of distress were taken for indications of vast enjoyment and he would have been left to drown if he hadn’t been washed ashore by the force of the surf. General Wright, though much the better swimmer, had no less difficulty, and they were both quite white and shaken when they crawled up on the beach.
We stayed four days in this "Paradise of the Pacific," during which we made many interesting trips, were introduced to many strange Hawaiian customs and were regaled with many feasts, not always, I may say, particularly appetizing. I have had in my time, for politeness' sake, to eat various queer messes in all sorts of odd corners of the earth, but to me "poi" will always be "poi"—in a class by itself. It is the true Hawaiian dish and is offered to guests by the natives in the same spirit of compliment with which we offer to "break bread" with our friends. It is the custom for Americans residing in Honolulu to introduce visitors to this dish, ​and the native viands which go with it, in entertainments which are called "poi dinners," and we were treated to as many of these as our time would permit. "Poi" bears an unpleasant outward resemblance to cockroach paste and, try as I would, I was never able to cultivate a taste for it. But foreigners do learn to like it, for I found Americans in Honolulu eating it with the greatest relish and dipping it up with their fingers in true Hawaiian style.
On our last evening in Honolulu, after a morning of sightseeing, a luncheon, an hour in the buffeting surf, and a large tea-party, we were given a particularly elaborate "poi dinner" where we all sat on the floor and at which all the guests appeared in native costume with "leis" around their necks and in their hair. The Minister of Foreign Affairs, Mr. Mott Smith, sent the Hawaiian Band, whose leader came out from old Emperor William to King Kalakaua, and they serenaded us with most wonderful Hawaiian music, interspersed, for their own pride's sake, with well rendered selections from the finest operas. The girls came to flaming bright "Mother-Hubbard" dresses, crowned and covered with "leis," to dance for us the curious folk-lore dances of the old-time. It was a delightful whirl of music and lights and colour—added to fish and pot and a cramped position—but I was tired enough not to be sorry when the time came for the singing of "Aloha Oc" and our departure for the ship which lay out in the harbour ready to up-anchor at daybreak and start on its way to Japan.
On the evening of the tenth of May we reached the estuary near the head of which is Yokohama and further on is Tokio. For at least two hours we steamed past a low-lying shore line before we came in sight of the sweep of steep cliff to the southward which forms the great outer harbour.
NIKKO. AN ANCIENT CRYPTOMERIA AVENUE AND A GLIMPSE OF THE FAMOUS TEMPLES
As we steamed up close to the breakwater in the grey light of late evening we could see nothing but the dark outlines of many ships and a long row of substantial looking buildings, under high arc lights, stretching along a wide, water-front street which I was afterward to know as The Bund.
We wanted to go ashore, but it was not possible. We had to lie outside the breakwater and wait for the doctors to come aboard. "Wait for the doctors to come aboard;" how familiar that proceeding becomes to the traveller among the ports of the East, and especially, of Japan. You arrive at Yokohama and are examined there; you go just around the bend of the coast line and arrive at Kobe and you are examined there; you go on through the Inland Sea to Nagasaki and again you are examined. Wherever you arrive in this land of much caution you must "wait for the doctors to come aboard."
But our doctors didn't keep us waiting long. About eight o'clock half a dozen of them, important little men with much gold-lace, came smiling up the gangway. We worried, rather, about a plague we had braved,—and we did hope none of our crew would develop symptoms,—but, having faith in the Japanese Vice-Consul in Honolulu, we hoped for special leniency. We were not disappointed. They examined the ship's company with great care, but our examination was a mere formality, a sort of apologetic enumeration as a matter of fact, and after giving us a clean bill of health the doctors bowed themselves most courteously away. But we had a narrow escape. Charlie's nurse developed a suspicious sore throat the very next afternoon and gave us many days ​of anxiety for the baby and the other children. And, as I shall make plain further on, our anxiety was not without cause.
In reading over my own and my husband's letters, written on that trip to various members of the family, I find that Charlie was very much in evidence at all times. I suppose he was spoiled because, certainly, everybody took a hand in his misguidance, but the spoiling process at least kept him in high good humour, unless it happened to take the form of secret indulgence in prohibited sweets; then I had to meet the consequences. I find my husband writing to his brother Charles: "Charlie continues to be as full of spirits and as determined to have his own way as ever. We call him 'the tornado'; he creates such a sensation when he lands in the midst of the children on board the ship. He is very badly in need of discipline and I long for the time to come when he will be better able to appreciate it. Maria has become quite as much a slave to him as Nellie and you may tell his Aunt Annie that I am still the only hope the boy has of moral training." This sounds so much like the average father that I thought I ought to quote it.
When Bessie, Charlie's nurse, was taken away form him and quarantined we got for him a Japanese "amah" who filled him at first with indignation, not unmixed with fear. But she was so patient, and followed him around so much like a faithful watchdog, that he grew to be exceedingly fond of her and straightway proceeded to exchange his small English vocabulary, for, to him, more useful Japanese words.
The first thing to claim our attention in Yokohama Harbour was the American cruiser Newark, the Admiral's flagship of the Asiatic fleet, with Admiral Kempff aboard. As soon as we came inside the breakwater she fired a salute of seventeen guns, and we wondered what it was all about, until suddenly we remembered that the Commissioners had the rank of ministers plenipotentiary and decided that it was ​meant for us. It was the first time in my husband's life that he had ever been saluted. In his later career he reached a point where he would have been almost willing to assume a disguise in order to escape the thunder of the twenty-one guns that roared at him whenever he approached a naval vessel of any kind, but I think he was rather elated by this first tribute to his official standing.
We found later that an old friend, Captain McCalla, was in command of the Newark. We had known Captain McCalla in Washington when my husband was Solicitor General. He had been court-martialed and suspended from the Navy for a year for striking an unruly and insubordinate sailor and at his request Mr. Taft read the record of the court-martial. Mr. Choate had been his counsel, but the case was given a great deal of unpleasant publicity. He displayed such bravery at the Battle of Guantanamo, in Cuba, that the files had had lost were restored to him. He also rendered distinguished service in the Philippines, taking over the surrender of one of Aguinaldo's generals at Caygayan; and later on, in China, he was in the van of the allied troops that relieved Peking and was severely wounded. Being a man of broad intelligence and great enterprise he appreciated the importance of the Philippine Commission and lost no time in extending to them all the courtesies at his command.
Shortly after we landed and got ourselves comfortably settled at the Grand Hotel, an ensign from the Newark came to ask when the Commission would receive the Admiral. The hour was set for this formality and when it had been duly disposed of, Captain McCalla called on us unofficially, with much news for our hungry ears from the big world that we had known nothing about for eleven long days. That was before the wireless era when going to sea was really going to sea, and seldom has the world known a more exciting year than 1900. Grim talk about the terrible Boxer insurrection was on every tongue and Captain McCalla told us that the ​Newark was lying in readiness to proceed to China at an instant's notice. The British were just then pressing the Boers northward in South Africa, and our own troubles in the Philippines were by no means over. We had nearly seventy thousand troops in the field, and we heard of decisive engagements between the division under General Young and some religious fanatic insurrectos in northern Luzon. We found ourselves feeling very much in touch with big events.
The Commission went out to the Newark to return the Admiral's call and when they got back to the hotel they were full of valuable information and advice about sightseeing in Japan, housekeeping in the Orient and other important things. Among other bits of news they had to tell their wives was that we would all probably be received at the Japanese Court,—which was quite exciting.
My experience is that the most formal branch of the government service is the naval branch. The state department may be as formal, but I doubt it. The ceremony on board naval vessels is constant, and the severity of the penalties for any failure to follow the regulations impresses itself upon every naval officer. Therefore, every naval officer must have diplomatic training and must be alert in finding out and in carrying out the duties of polite intercourse which prevail in every country.
ENTRANCE TO THE IMPERIAL PALACE GARDENS IN TOKYO
The Commission had only a week in Japan and, although their purpose in stopping had been to coal ship and get some clothing suitable for the tropic heat they were going into, they naturally were anxious to see something of the country during their stay, so the days were filled with expeditions around Yokohama and Tokyo and to points of interest nearby. My sister Maria and I did not accompany them on many of these trips because we were planning to remain in Japan for the summer and wanted to view its attractions at our leisure.
The trip to Nikko was made memorable by Mr. Taft’s most triumphal progress. On account of his unusual proportions he had already been an object of tremendous interest to the Japanese.
Nikko is nearly a day’s ride from Tokyo, up in the hills to the north, and when you get there you find that the railway station is a long way from the hotel and that much of the distance is a steep incline. The only kind of conveyance available is a jinricksha, and when my husband climbed into one of these little perambulators the unfortunate coolie to whom it belonged begun to utter strange sounds. He rolled his eyes and gesticulated frantically until he prevailed upon a second man to help him m propelling his unaccustomed burden. But even then his excitement did not abate. As they approached the first rise in the road some of the villagers along the way, attracted, no doubt, by the coclie’s weird cries, came out to stare and, as usual, re​mained to laugh. The little 'ricksha man began chattering and grimacing at all of them and kept it up until he had enlisted the services of at least halt the population of the village to help him in attaining the crest of the hill.
Two days before the Hancock was to start on her way toward Manila the great event of our visit to Japan transpired. We had our audience with the Emperor and Empress.
The first thing the ladies all asked, of course, was, "What shall we wear?" It was a most important question. I supposed we should have to wear evening gowns and was congratulating myself that I had a very nice new one that would do beautifully. But only on the afternoon before the day appointed, it was decreed that we should appear in high-necked frocks with trains. That was more difficult,—especially the trains. I didn't own an afternoon frock that I considered good enough. I was going to the tropics and had got a supply of thin white muslins and linens, but I had nothing that would do for a cold May day in Japan. Mrs. Wright, Mrs. Worcester and Mrs. Moses were as greatly concerned as I, but we finally managed. I solved the problem by having a Chinese dressmaker in Yokohama make me, overnight, a lace guimpe which I wore with my perfectly acceptable evening gown.
Judge Ide had been particularly interested in the audience and in the fact that the ladies would also be received and he was very much chagrined when he found that "the ladies" meant only the wives of the Commissioners and that he could not take with him his two beautiful daughters. He quite lost interest in the whole proceeding, and we didn't blame him in the least.
The Palace in Tokyo is not a "Forbidden City" literally, as the old palace in Peking used to be, but it looks from the outside just as "forbidden," or more so. It is surrounded by a wide, deep moat which is crossed at intervals by curved ​and gracefully balustraded bridges. On the other side of the moat is a high stone wall. There is nothing of the palace to be seen except a few low, tiled roofs which peep out from the midst of many trees. The Imperial gardens are vastly more impressive than the palaces,—there are several within the walled enclosure,—and I would have wanted to linger and really look at things if I had not been so keenly interested in the experience which awaited us. Our carriage hurried on over the beautiful drives, through the most entrancing little artificial landscapes, past lakes full of little rock islands on which were perched tiny pavilions with uptilted roofs and the most beautiful polished wood and snow-white paper windows. It was all most fascinating and much too wonderful to be merely glanced at, but it was only a few moments before we approached a low, grey building and drew up before the door. It didn't look at all like a palace, but it seemed that we had arrived.
We were ushered into a large reception room which was neither Japanese nor European, but a curious mixture of both. The walls were of gold leaf and were decorated with beautiful Japanese paintings in exquisitely soft colourings, but the furniture was mostly of the heavy foreign type. It was unexpected to say the least and I thought what a pity it was that the Japanese had not met the European invasion in their own original and picturesquely beautiful style, instead of trying to conform to western customs, or rather, to engraft western customs upon their own unique orientalism. But so it is. They either like our ugly heaviness, or think they confer a polite compliment on us by adopting it.
We were not kept waiting long. We were separated from the men of our party and were led into another room, much like the first, where the Empress awaited us attended by three or four ladies of her court. We curtseyed very low, not without difficulty on the part of most of us in spite of much practice, and after receiving a gracious smile and bow ​from Her Majesty, we were able to stand erect and observe her at our leisure. Both she and her ladies-in-waiting were dressed in European costume which made them look much smaller than they would have looked in their own beautiful kimonos. Her Majesty's face was sweet and almost timid looking, and her voice was peculiarly gentle. Our conversation, carried on through an interpreter, was commonplace in the extreme, but her manner was pleasant and cordial. I was tremendously interested because I had been reading Japanese history and was duly impressed with the hoary antiquity of this court of the Son of Heaven. The Empress addressed a few remarks to each of us, after which we curtseyed again and retired. That was all.
Our husbands were received in a similar manner by the Emperor, though His Majesty granted a separate interview to each of them. Mr. Taft entered first with the Minister of the Household in charge of the ceremony. He bowed when he entered the door, bowed again half way up the long room, and yet again when he arrived before the Emperor. The others, also bowing, followed close behind but remained just outside of the audience chamber while my husband's audience was in progress. Mr. Nagasaki, who acted as interpreter, said that His Majesty was very much pleased to see the Commission in Japan. Mr. Taft expressed his appreciation of the audience. The Emperor asked if he had ever been in Japan before. He said he had not. The Emperor asked when he was going to leave Japan. He replied, "In two days, Your Majesty." After which this, his first audience with the Mikado, was at an end and he left the chamber while the rest of the Commissioners, each in his turn, went through the same ceremony.
After our husbands had been received by the Empress also, they rejoined us and we were conducted through some other rooms in the palace which interested us greatly. They all showed a curious mingling of Japanese and European ob​jects of art and nobody could see them without deciding that, in that particular setting at least, the Japanese objects were far the more beautiful.
The Japanese Court is much inclined to imitate things European and the results are sometimes astonishing. Years later, when my husband was in Japan without me, the Empress presented him with a tapestry for me which had been copied from a Gobelin piece. It represented the meeting of Columbus and Isabella, and, it shows the most exquisite workmanship, but the faces have a curiously Oriental cast.
There is a story in connection with this tapestry which I think I must tell. My husband was Secretary of War when it was presented to me; and I say me with emphasis, because thereby hangs the story. He brought it home and displayed it with great pride and satisfaction, but it was so enormous and, from my standpoint, so useless, that I rather protested and wondered why, as long as he was getting such a gorgeous present he couldn't have managed in some way to make its size correspond with my circumstances.
"Oh, well," said he, "never mind. I'm going to present it to the Smithsonian Institute anyway, because you know, my dear, it is against the Constitution for an official in the United States government to accept any kind of favours from foreign courts."
This was not the first time in my life that I had met the Constitution face to face, but theretofore I had been able to accept its decrees with what I had hoped was patriotic resignation. But now that tapestry suddenly became to me a most desirable thing. It had been sent to me by the Empress of Japan and I wanted to enjoy the mere possession of it,― at least for awhile. So, as my husband would say, I took the question up with him. I tried to convince him that I was not an official of the United States government and that he, as an official, had nothing whatever to do with my present from the Empress of Japan. He stood firmly by the Con​stitution, as usual, and eventually I had to submit the question for arbitration to President Roosevelt, who agreed with me that I was a private citizen and had a perfect right to accept the gift. I afterward hung it in one of the big wall spaces in the state dining-room of the White House and had the pleasure of watching many a guest vainly endeavouring to locate its origin and figure out its meaning.
We concluded our first audience at the court of Japan by signing our names in the Imperial album, after which we went to the American Legation to a beautiful luncheon which the Minister had arranged in our honour. Our Minister in Tokyo then it was some years before the Legation was raised to an Embassy—was Mr. Buck of Georgia, a most affable and agreeable gentleman. He had invited a number of his diplomatic collegues to meet us and, among others, we met for the first time Baron and Baroness Rosen, of the Russian Legation, who were afterward with us in Washington.
I sat on the right of the Minister and next to Baron Sanomiya, the Court Chamberlain, who had conducted our audience. I was greatly interested in Baron Sanomiya's wife. She was an Englishwoman at least twice his size.
©Harris X Ewing
THE STATE DINING-ROOM OF THE WHITE HOUSE, SHOWING TAPESTRY PRESENTED TO MRS. TAFT BY THE EMPRESS OF JAPAN
Baron Tajiri wanted to be appointed Minister of Finance when Yamagata retired, but he was put, instead, at the head of the Board of Audits, a life position. Marchioness, now Princess Oyama, wife of the Field Marshal, told my husband this on the occasion of his second visit to Japan, and said that the disappointment had made Tajiri very much of a recluse. Jn any case, Mr. Taft has never seen him again, although he has tried to seek him out and has made inquiry about him every time he has been in Japan.
We were very much interested in our Legation at Tokyo. It was the first one we had ever seen that the American goverment owned. The house was not what it ought to have been, but it was surrounded by spacious and beautifully kept grounds and was so much better than the nothing that we have in other countries that we liked to dwell upon it as an honourable exception to the disgraceful and miserly policy pursued by Congress in dealing with our representatives to foreign capitals.
Mrs. Wright, with her daughter Katrina, had decided to remain with us in Yokohama for the summer, so we took a cottage together on The Bluff, a high foreign residence sec​tion of the city, and prepared to make ourselves most comfortable.
Two days later the Commissioners and the rest of the party went aboard the Hancock and we waved them goodbye from a harbour launch as they steamed away toward Manila.