there is a little town in wyoming which, outwardly, is as arid as that waste of desert not so many hundreds of miles away from it. yet for a consideration one may obtain all the moonshine and gin one desires at another village near by. the lady prohibitionists, all members of the w. c. t. u., as they pass the erstwhile village drunkard (on their way to some sanctimonious meeting), remark what a wonderful thing the cleaning up of the town has been. poor devil! only a little while ago he was literally in the gutter. now, look at him, as he sits in the merry sunshine on the porch of the post-office, whittling his life away, where aforetime he drank it away. (they do not know that the poor devil is about the only person in the village—except themselves—who fails to obtain whiskey, though his reasons for the lack are hardly similar to theirs. he simply cannot afford the price.) it costs a few pennies to get to that neighboring wet village; and, after one is there, it costs a little more to procure the stuff he once drank with such avidity. but the flappers—oh, yes, they have them even in wyoming small towns!—and110 the boys who are their friends, can dash over in a ford and get all they want. concealed on the hip, they feel no lack of stimulation when the evening shadows fall. they do not get tight in public, as the town drunkard used to do—not at all. but they are up to all the tricks of sly drinking. if they were burglars, they would be called sneak-thieves. america has taught them a thing or two; and where the previous generation, at their age, never dreamed of taking a cocktail, they think of nothing else, and will get it at any price. this is true the country over. but the obviously enforced reformation of many a village souse is pointed to as perfect evidence that all is well. i suppose those virtuous w. c. t. u. ladies go to bed o’ nights and sleep serenely, happy in the consciousness that they have helped the race. and even as they slumber, hip-flasks are opened, corks are popping, and an enjoyable time is being had by all.
thus do reformers blind themselves to conditions as they are. the village drunkard, tottering to his grave, has been reformed—if he was worth reforming at all—while the arriving host of youth is dancing and singing and jazzing its way “down the primrose path to the everlasting bonfire.”
this is but another evidence of our national hypocrisy. and not content with making the land dry—which we haven’t done at all—we must go out and make the sea dry. our holier-than-thou attitude has caused us to lose our sense of humor, verily; for111 to dry up the ocean is going moses and the children of israel one better. moreover, the day of miracles is past.
it was in the early fall of 1922 that we suddenly discovered that our ships were a part of sacred american soil. international law had long since told us so, but somehow, in the confusion following the passage of mr. volstead’s vaudeville act, we had forgotten it. perhaps we were too busy, like the wyoming ladies, trying to make our citizens good on shore to get around to those sensible enough to leave the country for an ocean voyage. that is the american way.
at any rate, our boats continued, under mr. lasker, to be pleasant oases on the desert of the sea; and fortunate indeed were those who lived along the coast and could jump aboard if things became unbearable at home—which they hadn’t. yet it was good to know that there the ships lay in harbor, ready for each and all of us, stocked with pleasant and rare vintages. again the rich were in luck. if one’s pocketbook were fat enough, one could obtain anything one desired. god pity the poor workingman, but life was life, and there were plenty of luxuries which had always been denied the impoverished, but which the wealthy took as a part of the strange scheme of things, and oh, yes, it was awfully unfair, but that was that, and after all what was one to do about it, and it was too bad, and oh, dear, and oh, my, and goodness gracious and a lot112 of other stuff which i have overheard but mercifully forgotten.
it took us two and a half years to discover in one minute that uncle sam himself had been a bootlegger at sea. a long, long time to have had our own eyes sealed! but when attorney general daugherty finally issued his decision that american boats must be dry, all sorts of complications arose. we told foreign governments that their ships, too, must not enter our ports with liquor aboard. all the ocean, within the three-mile limit prescribed by international law, was to cease to be wet. it mattered not that italian sailors were supplied with red wine as part of their fare; they must throw it overboard before they came into our sanctified precincts. and even if foreign bars were sealed and padlocked and double-padlocked, they would be anathema to us. whether the liquor brought over on them was intended to be sold here, or merely kept on board for the return voyage, mattered not. we were going to put a stop to rum-running, and now, mr. foreigner, what are you going to do about it?
as this is written, england has already protested against such drastic and high-handed action. one of the british ships has been seized, and a test case is to be made of her seizure. we, who held aloof so long from all sorts of entangling alliances; we who preached the doctrine of staying at home and minding our own business, suddenly find ourselves113 rushing in where angels fear to tread; and, losing our humor, we may likewise lose our friends.
the powerful anti-saloon league is responsible for our foolhardiness. we will ruin american shipping, we will commit maritime harikari; but it is all right, since, having slipped our heads into the noose of the fanatics, what difference does it make how soon or how slowly we strangle to death?
of course there will be all sorts of confusion, all kinds of delays in the courts—for naturally other nations will make test cases, and it will be many months—perhaps years—before america knows how she stands with europeans and how europeans stand with her. it is one thing to manage our own citizens—quite another to guide the conduct of our neighbors.
it is curious how ships and shipping enter into our governmental affairs again—how history repeats itself. deny it though we will, we got into the world war only after our shipping had been interfered with. we accepted german insults and taunts; but the moment our business interests were at stake, we took up our guns and rushed to save the allies and make the world safe for democracy. a utilitarian reason for saving our own necks—that is all that it was; and we cannot close our eyes to our spiritual shortcomings.
now we have the effrontery to interfere with the ships and shipping of foreign countries. let us see what will happen to us. remember that there is no114 war going on, to fill people with emotion and ecstasy. this is to be a cold, steel-like remedying of troubles. why should our laws be respected, and those of other nations treated with contempt? who are we to say that a latin sailor should not consume a glass of red wine with his rations?
no one can tell what the supreme court will do; but it is rather obvious that if america has closed up the saloons on shore she should close them up on sea. if, walking a street in one of our cities, you are under the protection of the stars and stripes, you are also under that protection pacing the deck of an american liner. prohibition must follow the flag.
but some of the american lines are talking of changing the flag under which they have been sailing! here’s a howdy-do, here’s a pretty mess. it is unthinkable that a liner should alter her citizenship, just to carry a bit of beer. yet that is what those staid old ladies are contemplating. to what dreadful deportment are we driven, with mr. volstead ruling us!
if our ships have to go dry, we will cut off the large freight business in the west indies, since much rum is exported from these islands. there can be no transportation of wine to countries like france, spain and italy; and, with such loss in revenue, how can our boats ply to and fro? at this writing, hundreds of passengers have cancelled their sailings on american vessels, incensed at the attorney general’s ruling.
115 the new york world, which has been a consistent and fearless enemy of prohibition, has published many fine editorials on the subject of a dry sea; but none states the case better than this:
“despite mr. lasker’s protest that it will ruin the american merchant marine, the opinion of attorney general daugherty regarding the sale of liquor on vessels flying the flag of the united states is fairly certain to be upheld by the courts. there is plenty of law and precedent behind it. but every phase of law and precedent that supports the opinion as it touches american shipping runs counter to the opinion as applied to liners under alien flags.
“ships chartered in the united states, according to mr. daugherty, are subject to the laws of the united states, are, in fact, american territory; but ships chartered in foreign countries are not foreign territory. as soon as they enter american waters all vessels subject themselves to american law, which means, of course, the volstead act. how this comes about is not clearly explained. it would naturally be supposed that if an american ship were american territory a british ship would be british territory, and so on. mr. daugherty cannot have it both ways. on one point or the other he must change his mind or have it changed for him.
“but even though the enforcement law did not apply to european vessels within the three-mile limit, it is difficult to discover in what way they would violate it by carrying a sealed supply of liquor.116 possession of liquor, as defined by the courts, must include a change of ownership. it is not legal for a manufacturer to ship liquor to a consumer through the united states, but it is legal for an owner of bonded liquor to remove it from one place to another within this country. alien ships traversing american waters with sealed liquor aboard would be guilty of nothing which american citizens are not allowed on land by judicial decision.”
well, if the bars are closed forever on american ships, it will but add to the present discontent; and again there will be an expression of our national hypocrisy. it does not take much vision to see what will inevitably happen. for just as people drink now on land when they feel so inclined, they will drink upon the ocean; and every steward on every american liner will become a bootlegger, whispering into the ears of passengers something like this:
“say, i have some fine old scotch—the real thing—only twelve dollars a bottle. want some? i’ll see that it’s brought to your state-room. oh, no; there’s not a particle of danger. everybody’s doing it.”
and thus will the comedy go on; thus will the playing of the farce be extended beyond the three-mile limit, and within it, too; and once more we will appear before the world in our cap and bells. no arrests will be made. things will simply drift along; and by and by, even though the eighteenth amendment remains in the constitution, and the117 volstead act continues to be a part of our laws, both may be forgotten, just as some of the old statutes of the puritans, still upon the massachusetts records, have been allowed to float into a limbo of dreams.
the quandary which a ship finds herself in, sailing from great britain to the united states, is laughable. john bull demands, under his democratic laws, made for freemen, that a certain amount of brandy be a part of every cargo; whilst uncle sam, a tyrant now—refuses to permit even a single jug of ale to enter the sacred three-mile limit. between scylla and charibdis the hardy mariner finds himself. on what reefs of the mind a captain plunges as, dazedly trying to obey both laws, he reads first one ruling and then the other. if he follows john, he is out with sam; if he sticks to sam, he is the laughing-stock of john.
this might be the sad song of any sea-captain these days:
tweedledum and tweedledee,
battledore and shuttlecock!
alack! alas! no more at sea
is one allowed his rolling-stock!
but the end is not yet. of course there will be concessions, many wise shakings of the head, a profound slumber over tangled legal documents, and then—perhaps—an awakening to the fact that after all a holier-than-thou attitude scarcely pays in these times of human frailty. we may realize, with118 our native intelligence, that we have made a foolish, a terrible, a hideous mistake. worse than being hated by other nations is being laughed at by other nations. can america stand up against the mirth of europe over our pig-headedness and smug sanctimoniousness? if laughter has killed politicians, can it not kill nations? if ridicule can end a career, can it not end national nonsense?
but somehow, despite heavy mandates and injunctions on the part of the drys, something tells me that the ocean is going to remain indubitably, irremediably, habitually, irritatingly and everlastingly wet.
no one seems to know just where we are destined, as a nation, to take our way. we fuss and fume and fret. in the race of life, we put endless obstructions along the track, and leap the hurdles clumsily, falling now and then, picking ourselves up, falling again and otherwise behaving rather ridiculously. what it all means no one seems to know. instead of letting well enough alone, we seem obsessed with the idea of interfering incessantly with goodly folk. suppression is in the air. the skies are clear, but we put clouds in them—clouds that rise from the earth because they are of our making. the dust of the world shuts out the clean prospect ahead of us. we run about in circles, when, so simply, we could march on a straight line. we are very, very stupid; and though we know it now, we are afraid to admit it to ourselves.
again our hypocrisy. unable to respect ourselves119 and our own institutions, how can we ask other peoples to do so?
in their eagerness to make the ocean round about the united states dry, prohibition officials even suggested to the government that the bahama islands be purchased from great britain. in this heavenly haven, it was pointed out, rum-runners foregathered; perhaps england would help us to make such conditions impossible in the future, and would be willing to let the islands come to us, in part payment of the old war debt. but our own territory in that direction—porto rico and the virgin islands—are still far from dry. with the problem of these localities still unsettled, it would seem to be a piece of folly to lay hands on the bahamas, in the hope of “cleaning them up.”
yet why stop, in our fanatic zeal, at the bahamas? why not reach out and get the canary islands—indeed, everything everywhere. we who preached aloofness until we were blue in the face, seem suddenly bent upon interfering with all countries, no matter how remote they may be. when men were actually, not potentially, in danger of death and destruction, we would not lift a finger to aid them in europe; but now, with a mock holiness that ill comports with our attitude of a few years ago, we are for saving a handful of drunkards from a terrible end.
and the pity of it is that we do not see how funny we are!
