where they can “pick up gold and silver.”
These youths are sent out by their friends as a last chance, under what is known as the “private convict system,” and I believe that a very small proportion of them ever take a position of respectability after landing in the Colonies. Nor is it to be wondered at, for on the principle of “birds of a feather,” etc., these young men get together on the outward voyage, and all their previous vices become much intensified by the association. On the other hand, many young men of good character, going out to the Colonies in search of employment, and showing by their conduct during the voyage that they are self-respecting, and consequently trustworthy, have secured good appointments from colonial merchants before leaving the ship.
Those who take the voyage on account of impaired health mainly consist of men suffering from overwork, and invalids more or less affected with pulmonary disease. In the case of the former a long voyage is the surest remedy; and for those in the earliest stage of consumption it is generally found to be efficacious; but it would be impossible to devise a more cruel fate for such as are thoroughly affected by that fell disease than to send them out on a long voyage. The conditions are all against them; the draught in the saloon is always great, and there is a total absence of those little comforts and delicacies which consumptive patients so greatly need, and the lack of which is so sorely felt. Doctors who have never made a voyage little think to what a miserable fate they are dooming their consumptive patients when they order them to take a sea voyage. In five cases out of six these patients are sent out too late, and the voyage only hastens their inevitable end, while, if they had only been sent in the earliest stages of the disease, they would almost certainly have been restored.
I started on my first Australian voyage on a lovely day in the late autumn. The sun was shining brilliantly, and as there was very little wind we fondly hoped we should cross the Bay of Biscay without having to go through the disagreeable experiences usually met with there; but our hopes were rudely dispelled when, after two days, having fairly got into the bay, we found a strong “nor’-wester” blowing, with heavy seas and torrents of rain.
Our ship was a duplicate of the ill-fated “London,” and the officers comforted us with the information that we were just on the spot where she had gone down a few years before.
The wind and waves had been increasing in force during the day; but at four o’clock, just as we were sitting down to dinner, a heavy sea burst ’tween decks with a great uproar, breaking through the doors leading from the main-deck to the saloon, swamping the nearest cabins, and completely scattering the dinner, dishes and all.
The stewards had a busy time of it for the next two hours in mopping and baling the water out, and in preparing another dinner. Many of us, however, preferred retiring to our berths, the weather in the meantime getting decidedly worse. Presently another sea was shipped, deluging our cabin, amongst others, and leaving us in perfect darkness; while the noise of the sailors tramping overhead, the smashing of crockery, and the falling of blocks and ropes, the shouts of the officers, and the continual roar of the storm, effectually banished sleep for the night. I gained, however, one valuable piece of information, for as a result of the storm I learned a certain cure for sea-sickness! I had been quite ill before the final burst, but the excitement from this cured me instantly.
During the night we travelled out of the storm into smoother water, and it was curious to note the effect of this improved state of affairs, and of the bright sunshine, in bringing fresh faces on deck.
The life of a steward on board one of these ships is not an enviable one. He has to be up at work at four o’clock, washing and scrubbing the saloon; to wait at table four times a day; to make the beds, and attend to the cabins; and to be generally useful amongst the passengers, rarely finishing before ten o’clock at night. Our steward was a very handy fellow. He informed me he had a brother in New Zealand in practice as a doctor, who wanted him to settle there, but he preferred “a life on the ocean wave.” He strongly recommended us to bathe frequently in salt water, saying it “was good for the spin-ial orgins!”
Eight days after leaving Plymouth we passed the Canary Islands, steaming between Teneriffe and Gomera. The weather was delightful, and we had a fine view of the famous Peak, which rises apparently straight out of the sea to a height of 12,000 feet. These islands form a province of Spain, and are volcanic in their origin. The last eruption was in 1824. The vegetable productions of the islands are very varied. Palms and tropical plants grow near the sea; higher up cereals are grown; above, laurels; and still higher, pines and the white broom. The islands also produce oranges, lemons, dates, sugar-cane, cotton, and silk.
Soon after passing the Canaries the Tropics are entered; and some of us begin to feel, for the first time, what heat really is. Awnings are fixed, and preparations are made for various kinds of amusements, amongst which the most popular are quoits, a run with the hounds, jumping in sacks by moonlight, racing in sacks, etc.
The game of quoits is much in favour with those who can play it, but it is a most selfish affair, for half-a-dozen men monopolise the whole of one side of the deck—and that the best or upper side—and, beginning at ten in the morning, continue till the dinner hour.
These are the day amusements. In the evenings there are concerts, recitations, and occasionally theatrical performances. Some passengers are of a studious turn, and divide their time between reading, writing, and walking, while others—notably young men from the Colonies—recline at ease during the day and become lively at night, often perambulating the decks with heavy heels till the small hours of the morning, to the great discomfort of those sleeping below.
Our second-class fellow-passengers commenced the concert season by giving a very amusing entertainment in their saloon. The first piece on the programme was an “overture by the band”—the band being represented by a single concertina. The chairman, a jolly-looking old tar, tried three pieces, and broke down in amidst roars of laughter and calls for the chorus. An “ancient buffer” sang “My Pretty Jane,” and a few other sentimental things, with looks of fond affection. Then came a solo by “Bones,” and another sailor gave a song which recounted his many ailments. He said he had had “brownchitis,” “scarlatina,” “concertina,” and “tightness in the chest.” Then a melancholy youth ground out something about his love for a “Little brown jug,” calling frequently for a chorus, the whole ending with “God save the Queen.”
We had other concerts during the voyage, and it was noticeable that the peculiarity which is said to attend amateur performances on land was not absent with us, for our concerts were usually productive of anything but harmony—at any rate amongst the singers. Those who were first invited to sing usually had colds, and those who were free from colds often declined because they were not invited first. Even the singing of hymns at the evening service was more than once made the occasion of heated discussion.
Another mode of occupying leisure hours on board ship as soon as the passengers have fairly settled down for the voyage is to start a newspaper. A few of the passengers meet and choose an editor, and the general public are invited to send contributions to him. At the outset promises of help are very abundant, but, as a matter of fact, the work has to be done by a very few persons. The paper appears weekly, in manuscript, and is usually read aloud by the editor after dinner on the day of issue.
Sometimes it is agreed to have the paper printed on reaching the Colony, and when that is determined upon one or two individuals undertake the duty of passing it through the press, and of forwarding it to the various subscribers. As a rule the same persons rarely undertake the duty twice, for it is a very arduous and oft-times thankless task.
Some
