The Log of the Empire State | Page 4

brilliant pink soil, but we could not stop talking

about it. Some of us noted the beauty of a little plant, which at home
we carefully water and cherish in some tiny pot, only to learn that on
the Island it grows in such abundance that it is considered nearly as
great a pest as the Mediterranean fly - so it would seem that beauty in
the vegetable kingdom does not always mean desirability, any more
than it does in the human family.
Many of us had been taken over the sugar-cane plantations, seen the
young plants pushing through the paper (put over them to keep out the
weeds), gone through the refineries, seeing the cane stalks ground in
the huge rollers and had been allowed to taste the sickeningly sweet
molasses. Along the roads were Hawaiian huts with octopi drying on
the porches, beside the reclining figures of the strong providers of the
family, resting up, no doubt, from the task of catching and killing the
octopi by hitting the squid's heads.
Some of the party waxed eloquent about the wonderful leprosy cures,
recently accomplished in the Islands, through the discoveries of the
chemist Dr. Dean, who took the chalmoogra oil used in India over a
thousand years ago as a cure (but according to tradition, the sufferers
considered the cure worse than the disease) and made it possible to
take.
Some of us stopped to investigate the powerful wireless station with the
instruments capable of receiving messages at a distance of 5000 miles.
Still others told of the island at the Pearl Harbor Naval station being
purchased for ten thousand dollars and then being sold to our
government for 400,000 dollars.
Many had not only received the leis, but a new native name as well, for,
as you know, it is the Hawaiian way of labeling everyone with some
name that to the Islander expresses their predominant characteristic.
We were gazing at the magnificent sunset, when someone who seemed
to have inside information, repeated the old adage, "A red sky at night
is the sailor's delight, but if followed by a red sky in the morning, it's
the sailor's warning." We had all found the tranquil waters of the
Pacific so refreshing after the rush and excitement of Honolulu
sightseeing, and did not know that the worst storm the Empire State
had experienced was before us.
Most of us rolled out of bed the next morning, and the only reason
some of us did not fall to the floor was because the bureaus stopped us

half way, with many a resounding thud. Many of the party did not
attempt to get up or out of the staterooms. Will we ever forget the
dining tables equipped with metal railings, divided into sections to hold
in the dishes? Even then, the eggs and cream rolled over the cloth or
into our unreceptive laps, and the way the waiters moistened the cloth
in the spots where they set the water glasses in an attempt to make them
stay put. But they would not any more than our tummies would "stay
put."
We then appreciated the necessity of the railings all over the ship,
especially when we commenced to hit each side of the passage way in
trying to step forward. Edward C. Wagner was jestingly remarking to
Louis Glass that if he should fall, there would be broken "Glass." It was
but a short while afterward when an unexpected lurch of the ship threw
him to the deck, breaking his glasses.
We all remember that the deck chairs had an unpleasant way of sliding
until they hit the opposite wall, bouncing out the sea-sick occupants.
Even in getting out of the chairs (tied to the railings) many of us fell.
The upper deck looked like the ward of an emergency hospital. Mrs. A.
F. Morrison had fallen, breaking a bone in her wrist, Mrs. E.
Dinkelspiel had her head injured, Louis Glass had a bandage over his
cut face, and scarcely anyone escaped without black and blue marks.
To see one of our capitalists being led weakly by a strong attendant,
while grasping his mal de mer tin firmly, was a sight unnoticed, in the
tumult of rushing waves. Of course, all portholes were closed, two of
the crew narrowly escaped being washed overboard. Their spotless
uniform of white had long since been discarded for rain coats and high
boots. Some of us slept out on deck rather than negotiate the
treacherous stairs to the uncertain joys of a stateroom in which the
trunks had to be lashed to the walls to avoid painful contact (you see,
many of us had the vivid recollection of the crashes that woke us). In
most cases the dainty bureau scarfs upon which reposed the Cologne
bottle,