Observing the state of confusion in which everything was on board this first-class passenger ship—being an old traveller—as soon as the ladies were placed in shelter from the rain, which was coming down in a most pitiless manner, I returned to the deck to look after my luggage, when I found that the chief officer had ordered the small steamer to return to the shore with the luggage of all those passengers who had succeeded in reaching the deck of the “Ireland,” contrary to his wishes. This officer, who was promised a command in the W.S.L. Line of Steamers on his return to England, took upon himself to mark the passengers who had so offended him, and during the passage he had to be admonished by the commander for his marked rudeness to some of the ladies, as well as the gentlemen who had acted contrary to his wishes on the occasion referred to. On an application being made to the commander, the small steamer was ordered alongside, and we recovered our luggage.
Returning to the saloon, we found considerable commotion among the lady passengers, as it was discovered that the “ladies’ saloon” had been appropriated for the use of a family.
To my inquiry for my cabin or state-room, the head steward replied, “You’re a government passenger, sir—you must go below; your cabin is the aftermost one but one, on the starboard side of the lower deck. That’s the way, sir! down that ladder.” With considerable difficulty I descended a ladder which received many a blessing from the passengers during the voyage. Arrived at the bottom of the shaft (for I can liken the descent only to that into a coal mine), I found myself in a dark, dismal locality, always afterwards denominated the “lower regions.” Here were squalling babies, fighting stewards, swearing sailors, and discontented everybodies.
On asking if there was any one there to point out the cabins, a voice answered from a distance, “Why the d—l do you not come with that water? I will not get a bit of dinner this night;” while another one exclaimed, “I’ll break your head if you do not hurry and bring me a light?” Even the children in this dismal place appeared to be bent on doing harm, and were engaged in combat with each other, or struggling with their weary and discontented nurses.
After making good use of my lungs, a queer-looking, red-headed, one-eyed individual, in shirt sleeves, made his appearance, carrying in his hand a tin spittoon, on the rim of which was the miserable remains of a purser’s dip, by the flickering light of which I was examined from head to foot. Cautiously approaching, the stranger welcomed me on board, and requested me to make myself “quite at home.”
To my inquiry, “Who are you?” he replied:—“It’s all right, sir; you’ll know me before long. On shore they call me ‘Mr. Jenkins,’ but on board this thing I am called the ‘bed-room steward.’ However, here we are for the voyage, sir, and we must make the best of it.”
I asked “Mr. Jenkins” to show me my cabin, when he inquired what my name was. Having satisfied my interrogator on this point, he exclaimed:—
“Oh, you’re a government; come this way, sir.”
To my inquiry what he meant by calling me a “government,” Mr. Jenkins replied, “You’ll see directly, sir!”