The voyage out to South Africa is an exceedingly pleasant one. The passengers invariably settle down soon after leaving Madeira into a sort of happy family party, and all kinds of games and sports peculiar to ship-board are entered into with zest.
To a certain degree, of course, this is true of all ocean voyages. Going out to America on the Mauretania, for instance, we played all the usual ships’ games, and I recollect that I won everything, with the exception of the pillow fight. Indeed, as regards the blindfold games, such as, for example, “Chalking the Pig’s Eye,” I was bound to win; for a reason I shall explain later. But then, of course, I never claimed the prize for these, but always let it go to the second best, or put it up for competition over again.
But the Atlantic passage is too short, and often, alas! too stormy to lend itself readily to a set programme of games. The P. & O. and the Orient liners make, it is true, longer voyages in quieter seas. But the trip is broken into chapters, as it were, by a succession of stopping-places—Gibraltar, Malta, Port Said, and so forth—at which passengers arrive and depart, destroying the continuity of the excursion and usually rendering futile any attempt at organised recreation.
The moment, however, a Union or a Castle liner lifts anchor at Madeira, her passengers know that there lies before them a clear fourteen days’ run, and—they make the most of it. Spasmodic attempts may, indeed, have been made by some few athletic enthusiasts to get up a scratch match at cricket or golf ere the ship was well clear of the English Channel, but these are more often than not foredoomed to failure. It is the fashion of old South African voyagers to protest that the pleasures of a Cape trip do not really commence until Madeira is left behind, and there is a certain amount of truth in this. The crossing of the Bay is usually provocative of more or less seasickness, and, as a natural consequence, both saloons and decks are practically deserted. Besides, the passengers do not usually begin to really know one another in the three days and a half which are occupied in the run to this island.
All this is changed with the disappearance, on the northern horizon, of the white roofs of Funchal. It is felt by all that the real business of the voyage has begun, and the “sports season” is promptly inaugurated by, we will say, a “cock-fight.” A ring twelve feet or thereabouts in diameter is chalked out upon the deck, and the “birds” fight with their bare feet, their arms having been previously “trussed” with stout broomsticks, the relinquishing of which entails instant and final disqualification.
After several rounds have been brought to a conclusion, either “Swinging the Monkey” or “Chalking the Pig’s Eye” is likely enough to be started. In the first-named game, a man is slung, by a rope attached to his feet, to a boom overhead, with his hands resting on the deck and partly supporting his body. In his right hand is a piece of chalk, and his object is to make with it a line on deck which shall reach further than that drawn by any of his competitors. Considerable skill and judgment are called into play, as, should he prove too venturesome at the wrong time, the rolling of the ship is apt to cause him to lose his balance, and come swinging ignominiously against the bulwarks. “Chalking the Pig’s Eye” can be played by both ladies and gentlemen. A pig, minus an eye, is chalked out upon the deck, and the competitors, after being blindfolded and turned round three times, try to fit in the missing optic. The result is usually ludicrous enough.
Marine cricket is played on a cocoanut-matting pitch with a ball of twisted rope-yarn. Nets are stretched along the side of the ship nearest the ocean, and the stumps fit into a specially made block of wood weighted with lead. Owing to the lurching of the vessel, both bowling and batting are apt to be extremely erratic; indeed, nowhere save on shipboard is the proverbial “glorious uncertainty” of the game so clearly apparent. Three matches are usually brought off during a trip—Passengers v. Officers, Married v. Single, and Ladies v. Gentlemen. Golf is a comparatively modern addition to the list of sea games, but is rapidly growing in favour. The “balls” are flat discs of wood, four or five inches in diameter, and a fairly heavy walking-stick takes the place of a club. The “holes” are in some ships represented by spots of chalk, which have to be covered by the discs; and in others by circles about half as large again as the disc, into which they have to be played. Hitting is entirely superseded by pushing, whether for a long drive or a short one. The great thing is not to allow the wind to get underneath your “ball,” as it will then almost assuredly rise on its edge and roll away, either into the sea or among the unexplored tangle of ropes “for’ard.” Board-ship golf, it may be remarked, naturally produces its own distinctive and peculiar terminology. A “ball,” for instance, is said to be “scuppered,” “coal bunkered,” and so on.
A fancy-dress ball caused a lot of fun, but this was changed to something very like consternation when, right in the middle of it, one of the stokers, nude to the waist, a swab over his arm, and grimed all over with oil and coal-dust, came blundering up on to the upper deck right into the midst of the dancers.
The general opinion was that the intruder was drunk, and there was a wild stampede to get out of his way, the many delicately attired ladies especially fairly racing for safety.
A couple of the ship’s officers came hurrying up, and roughly ordered him below, and as he showed no disposition to go, they made as if to compel him; whereupon he cried out exultingly: