For the first time in my travels I had to be content with third-class steamship accommodation. I knew the South Sea Islands trip would shrivel my pocketbook, and would not have been disappointed had I not enough money to buy even a third-class ticket to South Africa. We took a chance on the South Sea Islands trip—and won. "Steerage," in big red type, was stamped on the steamship ticket that carried me from Melbourne to South Africa, but all passengers were on an equality, as there was but one grade of accommodation—third.
Supper was the first meal on board, but no tea or coffee was served. The absence of these "luxuries" was explained later, passengers being informed that tea or coffee was provided only once daily—at breakfast time. At the first morning meal a hubbub took place among mothers with babes. Something was wrong with the milk, and when that matter had also been explained we learned that sea water—salt water—had been used, instead of fresh water, to dilute the condensed milk.
The cabins contained from two to ten berths, and as almost every one prefers privacy a few dollars more were paid for a two-berth cabin, as little sleep could be anticipated were interests pooled with nine snoring mates. The two-berth cabin had no margin to boast of, as, in order for one to get a handkerchief from his hip pocket, it was necessary to vacate it and seek arm-turning space in the hallway. I had a good cabin mate, and we soon came to an understanding as to what time each of us would visit our quarters. Two could sleep in the cabin, but there was not room enough for two to turn in it. The pillow—we would not be so rash as to say the slip covered a chunk of cement; it may have been tan bark. The door had no lock, neither was there a button to ring up the steward.
The ship stopped at Hobart, took on 30,000 cases of apples, and headed for Albany, West Australia. The tea merchants in the Tasmania capital did a good business for the time being, as passengers who, before starting, knew nothing of the rules of the ship concerning tea and coffee allowances laid in here a good supply, together with preserves, crackers, Chinese napkins and other necessities the ship did not furnish.
Ninety dollars for eight weeks' travel is surely giving passengers a cheap journey. The vessel sailed from Sydney the first week in June, reaching her destination, London, England, about the first of August, after a voyage of 14,000 miles. Three hundred persons had booked passage on the liner, and of that number there was not one foreign-speaking passenger aboard. This will seem strange when it is borne in mind that the most cosmopolitan place in the world is a passenger steamship. Seven preachers were included, which, sea tradition says, generally augurs for bad weather; but, as there are exceptions to almost every rule, we had smooth sailing after clearing the Bight and Cape Leeuwin. The "animal" classification of the cargo included birds—canaries, magpies, parrots and cockatoos; also a joey, as a young kangaroo is called. This animal was bought at Albany by an American, the tariff on the joey to London being $10. The freight charge for a canary was 60 cents, and rates for larger birds were from 75 cents to $1.25.
Fruit—generally confined to apples or oranges—was served at supper. The apples often seemed nearly as hard as billiard balls and as tasteless as frozen turnips. A prosperous Irishman, of a ripe age, who had gone to Australia in early days, when six months' time was required to make the voyage, was, with his aged wife, returning to the Emerald Isle. One evening, when we had oranges for supper, after he had bitten into one, the Celt was observed going through a series of facial contortions, with shoulder movements—something after the fashion of an agitated Frenchman. "Are the oranges sweet to-night, Mr. O'Gorman?" he was asked. "Sweet?" whipped back the old Roman, as water dripped from the tear-ducts of his eyes and fire snapped from the corners—"Sweet? They're so sharup they'd cut your t'roat!"
Cake was served Sunday afternoons, and milk, sugar and hot water were at the pleasure of passengers, but they had to furnish their own tea or coffee. The tea and teapot, for instance, would be given to the table steward, and he would make the tea and serve it at mealtime. A piano added greatly to the entertainment of the passengers, as concerts were held twice a week. Besides, various athletic sports were indulged in.
The preachers took turns officiating at Sunday services. As there were seven of them—the voyage embracing as many Sabbaths—each one had an opportunity to keep in practice. One of their number, a Scotch Presbyterian, was on his way from Australia to his native country for a "holiday." Except at mealtime, he could generally be found sitting in a corner of the smoking saloon burning up black cigars, as he was a confirmed smoker; he was also a devotee of, and an expert at, the game of checkers, or draughts, as that amusement is termed in British territory. While no one on the ship had a chance to beat him, during the course of a game he would buoy, from time to time, the hope entertained by a presumptuous rival of lowering the parson's colors with clerical flattery—pretending that his opponent had nearly caught him napping on certain moves and that the skill of the player was worthy any foeman's steel. An Irish Presbyterian also was among the clergymen, and he sometimes sat at a table for hours with another passenger, in tomb-like stillness—playing a game of chess. Chess players, as a rule, have a poor opinion of checkers—calling it a child's game. The Irish dominie was asked if much skill was required to play checkers. "No," was the reply. "Any one can learn that game in a week." A short time later, when the Scotch preacher was engaged at checkers, and won, as usual, he congratulated his opponent on the splendid game he had played. "There's a great deal of superfluous talk about checkers—one would think that only persons of superior intellect could play that game," remarked a passenger to the Scotchman. A sneer came over the preacher's face. "I've been playing draughts for 30 years and don't know the game yet," he tartly answered. "Why," returned the passenger, "a man on this ship said there was nothing to it—that any one could learn the game in a week." "Who's the man that said he could learn the game of draughts in a week!" he exclaimed, in eloquent tones. "Who's the man! Point him out!" He lost control of a strong cigar, and every one laughed but the padre.
Durban was reached 26 days after leaving Melbourne, and here I found myself left with only $2 of the $750 with which I started for the Antipodes. (Reference to the last paragraph of Leg Two and the Itinerary printed at the end of the book will explain conditions.)