In 1856 her homeward bound passengers consisted of:—

Saloon—Adults 31; children 3;Total34
’Tween decks—Married adults male 10
„ „ female 10
Single „ male 114
„ „ female 1
children 6
infants 4
crew 77
Total all told 256

All Europe sailed from Liverpool to the Australian goldfields, so that all nationalities were to be found in a Black Baller’s foc’s’le.

I find the following account in the Lightning Gazette, the newspaper published on board, of 1855:—“Here in the steerage we find there are many nations, including Jews, Germans and French; the largest number, however, being English with a few Irish and Scots. Here are all ages and not all, but many, trades and occupations. Here are some more or less successful diggers, who had returned to their native land to gratify a feeling of love and affection; or it may be vanity; and who are now returning to settle in the land of promise.”

The homeward bound passengers were just as mixed if only half as numerous—thus the Gazette when homeward bound in 1856:—

The passengers generally are a very mixed community, English and French, American and German, Italian and Pole, young and old, merry and sad, the open-hearted and the reserved, the enterprising merchant and the adventurous gold digger, artizan and mechanic, soldier and sailor, prosperous husbands returning to escort their wives and families to the Colony, and the disappointed man, cheered alone by the magic influence of once again beholding home.

And under the heading of “The Gent Afloat,” I find a very amusing description of the adventurer of the times aboard ship, and though it is rather long, it is such a vivid little study of a type of character, only too common in the snobbish mid-Victorian era, that I cannot resist giving it in full.

The Gent Afloat.

“This class of individual is to be found in great abundance in every clipper ship community. He is easily known, more easily detected. He is a man of vast importance when first he steps aboard; makes no advances; keeps aloof; is evidently selecting, with great caution, those with whom he dare associate without compromising his connections. After a little time, however, he—with a condescending grace, which cannot be too highly extolled—relaxes slightly his vigorous demeanour, and smiles upon the very young men of known good family (of course), occasionally honours them with his arm and promenades the deck for half an hour—is very careful during the peregrination to recount his latest adventures at home—the parting dinners Captain Allalie and Colonel Gammon would insist on giving him; the ballet dancer, who forsook an Earl for his advances and embraces; the prima donna who would insist on rehearsing her role before him as she entertained so high an opinion of his musical criticism and abilities. The borough he might have gone in for at the last election, with the Duke of Sarum’s interest, but that his own family objected on the score of difference in political opinions, and the positive certainty that in a few years his great talents and eloquence must command the most independent seat in the House.

“He is of an average height and features, with the exception of a protruding chin, which gives to the mouth a horrible grin; an eyeglass of course; luxuriant hair and whiskers, redolent of macassar. He apes the gait of a military man; wears a frock coat terribly inclined to the third and fourth letters of the alphabet; a waistcoat of the most approved and fashionable cut; trowsers of the loudest plaid style about two to the pair, with very ragged bottoms and straps, the latter article proving a very useful adjunct when the supply of socks falls short; a shirt with miniature cartoons after Raphael or a correct likeness of the last murderer and the last ballet dancer printed upon it; a necktie of the striking stripe pattern, to make him smart. His whole appearance is indicative of a worn-out Stultz. His hands are covered with a variety of rings, from the enamelled and delicately wrought diamond to the massive and substantial signet bearing his crest. An immense watch chain (bearing a striking resemblance to the ship’s cable) with an abundance of charms attached completes the tout ensemble of the outer man. His wardrobe is somewhat limited—but this he accounts for by—‘D—n those agents, the rascals have put my trunks marked “wanted on the voyage” in the hold, and left out those “not wanted,” isn’t it annoying? Could you lend me a few shirts until they’re got at?’ He is decidedly great at the borrowing dodge. Of course his cigars, tobacco and all the little comforts for the journey are in his trunks in the hold. But the way he solicits a loan of the required articles is irresistible. His natural grace (or impudence, we don’t know which) defies refusal. But at last even that—as all things good or bad will—palls and borrowing becomes a more difficult art. Friends shirk him, acquaintances avoid him, and long before the end of the journey ‘the Gent Afloat’ is known and scouted as a penniless, reckless adventurer void alike of honour or honesty.”