Another class is composed of clergymen and professional men taking a holiday, and generally speaking with every sign of great enjoyment; while two other classes are largely represented—viz., invalids in search of health, and young ne’er-do-wells sent to the Colonies under the mistaken idea of their being more likely to reform in a new country. The latter class is mainly composed of young fellows who have never been brought up to any trade or calling at home, and who, with their friends, seem to think that the Colonies are a sort of “Tom Tiddler’s ground,” where they can “pick up gold and silver.”
These youths are sent out by their friends as a last chance, under what is known as the “private convict system,” and I believe that a very small proportion of them ever take a position of respectability after landing in the Colonies. Nor is it to be wondered at, for on the principle of “birds of a feather,” etc., these young men get together on the outward voyage, and all their previous vices become much intensified by the association. On the other hand, many young men of good character, going out to the Colonies in search of employment, and showing by their conduct during the voyage that they are self-respecting, and consequently trustworthy, have secured good appointments from colonial merchants before leaving the ship.
Those who take the voyage on account of impaired health mainly consist of men suffering from overwork, and invalids more or less affected with pulmonary disease. In the case of the former a long voyage is the surest remedy; and for those in the earliest stage of consumption it is generally found to be efficacious; but it would be impossible to devise a more cruel fate for such as are thoroughly affected by that fell disease than to send them out on a long voyage. The conditions are all against them; the draught in the saloon is always great, and there is a total absence of those little comforts and delicacies which consumptive patients so greatly need, and the lack of which is so sorely felt. Doctors who have never made a voyage little think to what a miserable fate they are dooming their consumptive patients when they order them to take a sea voyage. In five cases out of six these patients are sent out too late, and the voyage only hastens their inevitable end, while, if they had only been sent in the earliest stages of the disease, they would almost certainly have been restored.
I started on my first Australian voyage on a lovely day in the late autumn. The sun was shining brilliantly, and as there was very little wind we fondly hoped we should cross the Bay of Biscay without having to go through the disagreeable experiences usually met with there; but our hopes were rudely dispelled when, after two days, having fairly got into the bay, we found a strong “nor’-wester” blowing, with heavy seas and torrents of rain.
Our ship was a duplicate of the ill-fated “London,” and the officers comforted us with the information that we were just on the spot where she had gone down a few years before.
The wind and waves had been increasing in force during the day; but at four o’clock, just as we were sitting down to dinner, a heavy sea burst ’tween decks with a great uproar, breaking through the doors leading from the main-deck to the saloon, swamping the nearest cabins, and completely scattering the dinner, dishes and all.
The stewards had a busy time of it for the next two hours in mopping and baling the water out, and in preparing another dinner. Many of us, however, preferred retiring to our berths, the weather in the meantime getting decidedly worse. Presently another sea was shipped, deluging our cabin, amongst others, and leaving us in perfect darkness; while the noise of the sailors tramping overhead, the smashing of crockery, and the falling of blocks and ropes, the shouts of the officers, and the continual roar of the storm, effectually banished sleep for the night. I gained, however, one valuable piece of information, for as a result of the storm I learned a certain cure for sea-sickness! I had been quite ill before the final burst, but the excitement from this cured me instantly.
During the night we travelled out of the storm into smoother water, and it was curious to note the effect of this improved state of affairs, and of the bright sunshine, in bringing fresh faces on deck.
The life of a steward on board one of these ships is not an enviable one. He has to be up at work at four o’clock, washing and scrubbing the saloon; to wait at table four times a day; to make the beds, and attend to the cabins; and to be generally useful amongst the passengers, rarely finishing before ten o’clock at night. Our steward was a very handy fellow. He informed me he had a brother in New Zealand in practice as a doctor, who wanted him to settle there, but he preferred “a life on the ocean wave.” He strongly recommended us to bathe frequently in salt water, saying it “was good for the spin-ial orgins!”
