In an Unknown Prison Land: An account of Convicts and Colonists in New Caledonia with Jottings out and Home

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It was on the fifth night out from Southampton that the threatening shadow of the American Custom House began to fall over the company in the saloon. One could see ladies talking nervously together. The subject was the one most dear to the female heart; but the pleasure of talking about “things” was mingledーat least in the hearts of the uninitiatedーwith an uneasiness which, in not a few cases, amounted to actual fear; for that evening certain forms had been distributed by the purser, and these forms contained questions calculated to search out the inmost secret of every dress-basket and Saratoga trunk on board. By the time you had filled in the blanks, if you had done it honestlyーas, of course, no one except myself didーyou had not only given a detailed list of your wardrobe, but you had enumerated in a separate schedule every article that you had bought new in Europe. You were graciously permitted to possess one hundred dollars’, or, say, twenty pounds’ worth of personal effects. If you had more than that you were treated as a commercial traveller importing dry goods, and had to pay duty in case you sold them again, and thus came into competition with the infant industries of Uncle Sam. At the foot of the schedule was a solemn declaration that you had given your wardrobe away to the last pocket-handkerchief, and the next day you had to repeat this declaration verbally to an urbane official, who was polite enough to look as though he believed you. When it came to the actual examination in the wharf-shed, I found myself wondering where Uncle Sam’s practical commonsense came in. You had to take a paper, given to you on board in exchange for your declaration, to a desk at which sat a single clerk. As there were about four hundred first- and second-class passengers, this took some little time, and provoked considerable language. When you had at length struggled to the desk the clerk gave you a ticket, beckoned to a gentleman in uniform, handed him your paper, and remarked: “Here, George, see to this.” In my case George seemed to have a pressing engagement somewhere else, for he went off and I never set eyes on him again. My modest effects, a steamer trunk, a Gladstone-bag, and a camera-case, lay frankly open to the gaze of all men in cold neglect, while small mountains of trunks were opened, their contents tickled superficially by the lenient fingers of the examiners, closed again, and carted off. A couple of hours later, when I had interviewed every official in the shed on the subject of the missing George, and made a general nuisance of myself, I was requested to take my things out and not worryーor words to that effect. Outside I met a fellow-voyager, who informed me that he and his wife had taken thirteen trunks full of dutiable stuff through without paying a cent of dutyーat least not to the Exchequer of the United States Customs. He had been through before and knew his man. It may have cost him ten dollars, but Uncle Sam would have wanted three or four hundred; wherefore it is a good thing to know your man when you land at New York with a wife and a two years’ wardrobe. From this it will be seen that there was none of that turning out of trunks and shameless, heartless exhibition of things that should only be seen in shop windows before they are bought, which one heard so much about a few years ago. That is practically stopped now, and it was stopped by the officials themselves.画面が切り替わりますので、しばらくお待ち下さい。
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