rewd Natives Take a Toll 

 s Zoo Ship Reaches Barbados 



Even the Cab Drivers Prove 

 Tourist-Wise in West Indian Port 



Bearing gifts for South Amer- 

 ican zoos, Dr. William M. Mann, 

 j director of the National Zoologi- 

 ; cat Park, is en route to points* in 

 Brazil, Argentina and Uruguay 

 to collect birds, reptiles and ani- 

 mals. Among those on board his 

 ship is William H. Shippen, jr., 

 feature writer of The Star staff, 

 who here presents the Jljth of 

 a series of articles Wt 

 Mann's expedition. 



W. H. Shippen, Jr. 



By WILLIAM H. SHIPPEN, Jr., 



Star Staff Correspondent. 



8. S. URUGUAY.— When the 

 anchor splashed down off Barbados 

 today — rive days out of New York — 

 the good boat "Joe Louis Monaeh" 

 hove alongside 

 with Capt. 

 "George Roose- 

 velt Washing - if: 

 ton" in com- 

 mand. 



At least, he | 

 appeared to be i| 

 in command. 

 He was wearing 1 

 the only high || 

 hat on board (if 

 little else) and 

 kept giving or- 

 ders in a loud 

 voice. It pres- 

 ently began to 

 appear, however, 

 that the crew (which consisted of 

 Mrs. George R. Washington at the 

 oars) had independent ideas about 

 navigation. 



To say that the Washingtons re- 

 ceived a cordial welcome at the 

 gangway would be overstating the 

 case. The captain, however, man- 

 aged to leap nimbly by the ship's 

 officer when a wave tossed his craft 

 in reach of the landing stage. He 

 sprinted up the ladder and made his 

 way to the promenade deck, some 

 60 feet above water. 



He announced that he, George 

 Roosevelt Washington, was about to 

 dive overboard. A few coins rattled 

 at his bare feet. Then a prosperous- 

 looking passenger threw him a half 

 dollar, and demanded: 



"What did you say your middle 

 name was, boy?" 



"Captain, suh, I'm just plain 

 George Washington to you!" 



They Know Their Tourists. 



With that, George dived over- 

 board in his opera hat. His black 

 body made a perfect arc, striking 

 clean, with scarcely a splash. The 

 diver went all the way under our 

 ship, which draws some 3a feet. 

 Meanwhile, Mrs. Washington re- 

 trieved her husband's hat and 

 dived for the coins that applauded 

 his feat. 



The Joe Louis Monach was only 

 one of a swarm of homemade row- 

 boats manned by George Washing- 

 tons. There was the "Mae West," 

 the "Georgia Peach," the "Queen | 

 Mary," etc. Many passengers were , 

 weary of the old coin-diving , stunt, 

 but the swimmers revived their 

 jaded interest with a running fire 

 of repartee. 



"I'm a British subject," called ( 

 a lady passenger, "why should I toss I 

 coins to a lot of George Washing- I 

 tons?" 



"Me lydy, me lydy," shouted a 

 colored boy, "Ah'm not George Wash- | 

 ington— really now. Ah only use the ! 

 nyme for Amelican tourists. Me! 

 proper nyme is Nelson— Lawd I 

 Nelson!" j 



When the low coast of Barbados j 

 came over the horizon this morn- I 

 fng it seemed monotonous until 

 details began to emerge— windmills 

 (like those of Holland or Spain) 

 whirling in the trade wind, tall 

 palm trunks with feather duster 

 tops, and, finally, a thriving harbor 

 for scores of sailing and auxiliary j 

 craft. 



Illusions of the Past.* 



Our anchorage was almost a mile 1 

 off shore. Inland a British freighter j 

 was taking on a cargo of sugar 

 from lighters. Natives of Barbados ! 

 on our ship expressed the opinion ! 

 that the port could have a channel 

 and dock for steamships except 

 that "several influential people own 

 the lighters, you know." 



We went ashore in a launch. It 

 was a bright day, and the channels 

 of the water front were choked with 

 sailing craft— traders from the 

 Caribbean, Trinidad and South j 

 America, discharging fruit and all j 

 manner of merchandise, and load- 

 ing sugar, rum, molasses. 



The scene might have been a 

 throw-back' on the Golden Age of 

 the Spanish Main. There were 

 two, three and four masted schoon- 

 ers, fishing boats of many types, 

 and a great hum of activity on the 

 wharves. The illusion of Barbados 

 as it was a century ago was created 

 by the fact that steamships anchor 

 off shore and pleasure craft avoid 

 the busy commercial water front. 



In narrow, water front streets were 

 ship chandler shops ancient enough 

 to have outfitted many a buc- 

 caneer. One saw such signs as 

 '--Sailor's Knives," "Turn-buckles," 

 "Rigging," "Water Casks," etc. 



The port of the island of Barba- 

 dos is called Bridg, British West In- 

 dies. It has its Trafalgar Square, 

 its statue of Nelson, its Government 



House. The streets and sidewalks, 

 like those of most West Indian 

 ports, are incredibly narrow to bear 

 such dense traffic. Everybody walks 

 on the shady side of the street. 

 One soon leans it's hot, very not, 

 in the sun — and quite cool in the 

 shade, where the trade wind sends 

 a breeze into the narrowest street. 



Colored women stalked along 

 bearing burdens on their heads. The 

 burden might be a bucket of water 

 or this week's wash, but the digni- 

 fied bearing of the women was the 

 only sign they were aware of their 

 loads. They turned their heads 

 freely to laugh, shout and gossip in 

 their strange patois. 



One type of woman vender car- 

 ries a whole dispensary on her head. 

 She sells a non-alcoholic drink 

 brewed from the bitter bark of some 

 tropical tree . . . two or three drinks 

 for a penny. She produces a cup, 

 turns the spigot and fills the cup 

 from a stream which descends over 

 her forehead. I saw one do this 

 while gossiping with a party across 

 the street. 



Meal of Flying Fish. 



We had a swim at the Aquatic 

 Club, where the water is clear 

 enough to show the fish in their 

 marine gardens 20 feet or so below 

 the surface, and lunch at the "Ice 

 House" — or so it was known to old- 

 timers. The place recently has been 

 modernized, but thick walls remain 

 from the day when the island's only 

 ice was imported on ships and stored 

 away from the tropical sun. 



We sat on a breezy balcony and 

 ate flying fish newly fried. Having 

 seen these fish swimming over the 

 waves ahead of our ship, I sup- 

 posed a dish of them would be a 

 light meal. They proved rather 

 substantial, however. I was more 

 than half asleep before I could get 

 back on the ship. 



Incidentally, the taxi driver who 

 brought us back to the wharf was 

 named "Cleveland." 



"What's your full name, boy?" we 

 asked. 



"My name, suh, is Cleveland . . . 

 Grover Cleveland Ohio." 



Maybe he was just kidding us for 

 an extra tip. 



In any event, he got it. 



