Reminiscences of Travel in Australia, America, and Egypt. Sir Richard Tangye

      It is commonly supposed by landsmen that the perils of ocean travelling are much greater than those encountered upon land. For my own part, I believe that, once on the open sea, there is no pleasanter or safer mode of locomotion than is to be found in a well-appointed sailing ship or steamer. I certainly was in much greater danger of being drowned while travelling on the railway between Bristol and Plymouth upon one occasion than I have ever known myself to be while on board ship. The autumn had been exceedingly wet, and the low-lying districts in Somersetshire had become flooded, causing the railway to be completely submerged for a distance of about three miles. The water reached to the floors of the railway carriages, while the locomotive in its progress made a great wave in front of the train. The wheels of the locomotive were 8ft. 10in. in height, and the fire-box was 6ft. above the ground. Boats accompanied the train on either side during its passage through the water. Certainly I have never felt in so much danger in the 60,000 miles of ocean travelling which I have had since then. Not that there are no dangers to be met with on the water, as I found to my alarm before I had fairly commenced my last voyage.

      Our vessel lay three miles off the Hoe, at Plymouth, and we had engaged a large sailing boat to take us on board. When we had got half way to the ship, and had lost the shelter of the land, a fierce squall struck the sail and turned the boat over on its side, throwing us into a confused heap on its bottom. The boatman tried to lower the sail, but having tied it in a fast knot he could not do so, and had no means of cutting the rope. The rain came down pitilessly all the time, and the waves dashed over us, drenching us to the skin, darkness coming on in the meantime. For a few moments we almost gave ourselves up as lost, but fortunately the violence of the wind lessened, the boat righted itself, and we got alongside our ship, but were unable in the darkness and the rush of the water and the noise of the wind and rain to make ourselves heard. My companion and I had to climb up the rope-ladder attached to the ship, and to scramble over its side as best we could, in the confusion altogether forgetting to take leave of our friends who were in the boat below, and who were lost to sight the instant we got on to the deck.

      On entering the saloon the contrast was very great. The big ship riding at anchor was as steady as the land we had just left. The saloon was brilliantly lighted; and the passengers who had joined the ship at Gravesend were sitting round the table engaged in various occupations; some were reading or writing, while others were playing at whist, or were engaged in conversation. Being new arrivals, there was considerable curiosity to see which cabin we should call our own.

      To a man taking his first voyage the phrase “cabin’d, cribb’d, confin’d” is at once understood as he surveys the cabin, a portion of which is to be his home for a month or two. The first feeling is that it will be impossible to bestow all his belongings in the limited space at his disposal, but before he has been long on board things settle down into their places, and he almost begins to wonder what he shall do with all the room.

      The first night on board ship is generally one of great confusion. The passengers seem to be in everybody’s way; but immediately after leaving port the baggage is stowed away, the purser allots the seats at table, and everything goes on with the greatest regularity.

      The passengers on board one of the great Australian ships form a perfect epitome of the great world ashore. The line of division is sharply drawn between the various sets or cliques. Many never condescend to notice numbers of their fellow-passengers during the whole voyage; but for the most part fraternisation becomes general after the first fortnight has passed.

      A three months’ voyage often enables a man to form a juster appreciation of the character of his fellow-passengers than many years’ residence in the same neighbourhood would do on shore; hence it often happens that life-friendships of the warmest kind are formed on board ship. On steamers bound for the Colonies representatives of almost every class are to be found. Judges returning to their duties after a holiday all too short; colonial statesmen with sufficient time on their hands to allow of their formulating a policy to meet every conceivable combination among their parliamentary opponents; and squatters and merchants returning to the Colonies to look after their property or their business. These men are generally very much preoccupied, and their only anxiety appears to be to get as speedily as possible to their destination.

      Another class is composed of clergymen and professional men taking a holiday, and generally speaking with every sign of great enjoyment; while two other classes are largely represented—viz., invalids in search of health, and young ne’er-do-wells sent to the Colonies under the mistaken idea of their being more likely to reform in a new country. The latter class is mainly composed of young fellows who have never been brought up to any trade or calling at home,

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