The steam was up, and, although thick clouds were seen banking up in the south west, the scud flying fast to the north east over our heads, the sea-birds, with their alarming cries, flying inland, and the mercury in the barometer falling rapidly, Captain Bully said these indications were “all nonsense,” and that we would have fine weather; besides, if the mails were detained any longer, W.S.L. would be fined; and that therefore we must go to sea, after which he had nothing to do with us. Accordingly, at 6 P.M., we passed from the snug little harbour of Dartmouth into the English Channel, to breast a gale of whose approach even the ducks and geese on board the ship were sensible.
As soon as we got into the Channel, we found it was blowing fresh, with a heavy cross sea from the south west. The engines were weak, and, although the screw propeller made a great deal of noise, it did very little work.
In two hours’ time all the passengers were obliged to retire to their state-rooms, with the exception of a few old tars, myself being numbered among the latter.
As the night advanced the wind grew louder, the sea more boisterous, and the straining and creaking of the ship, together with those mysterious noises which are heard in a new vessel, increased.
In the “lower regions” we were entirely in darkness, and it appeared impossible to procure a light in the state-rooms.
In the middle of this melancholy state of affairs, a fearful crash was heard in the saloon, which conveyed the impression to those below that something serious had happened. The report was immediately circulated in the “lower regions” that the marble mantel-piece had been carried away, killing three of the gentlemen in the saloon. When the accident occurred, I happened to be in the saloon, and was fortunate in saving one gentleman from seriously injuring himself. The fact was that the seats or benches running along the saloon-tables were secured to the deck by large screws, which, being made of inferior metal, or imperfectly cast, snapped off during one of the heavy rolls of the vessel; the consequence was that all those persons seated on the bench which gave way were precipitated with some considerable violence against the side cabins, suffering more or less injury. The second officer and two of the passengers were a good deal hurt, the officer being carried to his cabin.
As I sat at the end of the table, near the marble mantel-piece, until the real circumstances of the case were known, it was supposed by many that I was one of those injured, and, on descending to the “lower regions,” I found my wife, who is a great sufferer at sea, almost dead with terror. For, it appears, she heard those outside of her cabin say that three of the gentlemen were killed. This accident had such an effect upon her nervous system, that she did not recover from it for the whole voyage.
On asking Mr. Jenkins the cause of his portion of the ship being in darkness, he replied that “the candles sent on board were too large for the lamps in the state-rooms, and that it was impossible for one man to cut them down fast enough.”
Jenkins had no one to help him, his ordinary assistants having to yield to the “mal de mer,” and he was at his wit’s end what to do to keep the place lighted. Fertile in invention, on this occasion a most amusing idea came to his aid. In the earlier part of the day he had come across some dozens of tin spittoons, which had been sent on board the vessel, by a mistake, for some other articles of more importance. Jenkins bethought him of these useless implements, and having tried one of the offending candles, he found that it would just fit into the spittoon, and he at once decided upon saving himself the trouble of reducing the candles by placing them in the spittoons. Accordingly, on a bed-room candle-stick being asked for, Jenkins handed one of these spittoons, with a candle in it, accompanied by a polite bow and a bland smile, as if he was supplying the latest fashion of safety-lamp. It was afterwards suggested to Jenkins, by a lady, that if the candles were held in hot water they might be evenly reduced to any diameter; while, at the same time, there would be a considerable saving of the material, which Jenkins might turn into money on getting into harbour. The hint was taken, and the passengers were not compelled to use a spittoon for a bed-cabin candle-stick.
There was little sleep in the “Ireland” that night, what with the noise below, the rolling and pitching of the ship, the screams of the affrighted children, the rushing of feet upon deck, the noise of the steam, and the screw-propeller—all occasionally hushed in the howling of the tempest. Still the “Ireland” had to breast the sea, and it would be no common gale that would induce her determined commander to put back.