George Hoyt Allen

Summary

George Hoyt Allen A Yankee in the Far East

With a shuddering gasp at the enormity of my crime—or was it ghoulish glee at having sufficient evidence to have me drawn and quartered—I credit him with the latter sentiment—a human being who would keep two free-born American citizens standing in his presence—men whom he knew had been living steerage on his ship for nearly a week—with those chairs standing tantalizingly, invitingly empty—the wearer of all that gold braid, lolling luxuriously in an easy chair, filled with such viands as "New York" and I had seen coming through—I'll never believe that man would shudder at crime.
Source: Gutenberg

George Hoyt Allen A Yankee in the Far East

Here, then, is the final travel letter I shall write on this world-girdling tour.
It is a woeful ending for the "sparkling gems" of travel stuff which have gone before.
It will record the sad contrast between my start from my native land, gaily sailing out of the Golden Gate, a de luxe first-class passenger, and winding up my joy-ride around the world by coming through Hell Gate steerage, barely escaping being condemned as a criminal and executed on the high seas, chucked overboard and fed to the sharks.
The lights and shadows of this wicked world are something fierce.
Source: Gutenberg

George Hoyt Allen A Yankee in the Far East

And I went back to steerage, from choice now. I fear that I've always set too great a store on ease and luxury—asceticism has never appealed to me as a personal practice; but it would have taken a roll of money 267 to have hired me to shake steerage now. My better nature, or something, had triumphed, and my lot was cast with that down-trodden, forsaken, and hopeless crowd of steerage travelers. A revulsion of feeling for first-class on that ship had filled my soul. They couldn't have hired me to travel first-class now.
Source: Gutenberg

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