On the canal bank there now appeared the organiser of the excursion, who was an upholsterer. The passengers rushed at him, drew him on board, and loaded him with reproaches. He defended himself and tried to land again, but in vain. A court martial was held; they resolved to continue their journey, but detained the upholsterer as a hostage. The steamer went on through the canal, but as it was passing through a lock, the man-swung himself up on the dam and disappeared amid a hail of curses.
The journey was continued and by midday they were in the Gotha canal. Dinner was laid on the poop. John and his companions ensconced themselves in the lifeboat which hung there and ate a simple meal out of the sculptor's box. The sculptor, who had slept on a bale do mu in the luggage-hold, was in a good humour and knew all the passengers' characters and names.
The dinner-table was now crowded. It was presided over by a master chimney-sweep with his family. Then there came pawnbrokers, public-house keepers, cabmen, butchers, waiters, with their families, a number of young shop boys and some girls. John suffered when he saw stewed perch and strawberries together with claret and sherry, for he had been so spoilt by luxury that simple food made him poorly. This was the "upper class" among the passengers. The master chimney-sweep played the grand gentleman, he made a grimace at the claret and scolded the waitress who said that the restaurant-keeper was responsible. The porter from the Record Office affected the learned man, and as an official seemed to look down on the "Philistines."
While the sherry circulated, speeches were made. The lower class from the fore-deck hung on the gunwales and hand-rails and listened. The pariahs in the lifeboat were ignored. People knew that they were there, but did not see them. They may very likely have wished the "white cap" away, for there were two eyes under its peak, which saw that they were no better than himself. John felt that. He had just emerged from this class to which he belonged by birth, but he had no food and was nothing. He felt his inferiority and his superiority; and their superiority. They had worked; therefore they ate. Yes, but he had worked as much as they, though not in the same way. He had derived honour from his work, while they took the good eating and dispensed with the honour. One could not have both.
The people sat there satisfied and happy, drank their coffee and liqueurs, and occupied the whole poop. They now became bold and made remarks over those in the lifeboat, who could only suffer in silence, because the others were in the majority and the upper class, for they were consumers.
John felt himself in an element which was not his. There was an atmosphere of hostility about him, and he felt depressed. There were no police on board to help him, no arbitration to appeal to, and if there were a quarrel, all would condemn him. There only needed a sharp retort on his part, and he would be struck. "The deuce!" he thought, "it would be better to obey officers and officials; they would never be such tyrants as these democrats." Later on, at Albert's advice, he sought to approach them, but they were inaccessible.
Further on during the voyage between Venersborg and Göteborg the explosion came. John and his companions' hunger increased so much that one day they determined to go down to the dining-saloon and eat some bread and butter. It was so full of people eating and drinking that they could hardly find room. John's pupil, according to the custom of his class, kept his hat on. The master chimney-sweep noticed this. "Hullo!" he said, "is the ceiling too high for you?"
The boy seemed not to understand him.
"Take your hat off, boy!" he shouted again.
The hat remained as it was. A shop assistant knocked it off. The boy picked up the hat, and put it again on his head. Then the storm burst. They all rushed on him like one man and knocked the hat off. Then they went for John, "And such a young devil has a tutor who cannot teach boys to know their proper place! We know well enough who you are." Then they rained abuse on his parents. John tried to inform them that in the social circles to which the boy belonged, it was the custom to keep one's hat on in public places, and that he had not intended any expression of contempt by it. But his explanation was ill-received. What did he mean by "those circles"? What nonsense he talked! Did he want to teach them manners? And so on.