Washington Irving wrote long ago that "the sea is all monotony," though he claimed leave to correct the expression, and if it were a monotony of fair winds and smooth water, and eighteen miles an hour, it would be very tolerable indeed. But surely there is no monotony in a sea voyage in an Atlantic liner! Look at the different phases of character exhibited on board day after day! Observe the ups and downs of its life; watch the microcosm of the crowded deck, where every chair holds its little Areopagus and pronounces judgment on the world around it.
There were brave men among us who resorted to ignoble artifices, and went by devious ways to their cabins to escape the masked batteries, and the spectacles and glasses en barbette of the long lines of cushioned bastions where the enemy were lying in vigilant scrutiny of every movement.
And then the Babel of tongues at times—the variety of topics one hears discussed. Hark to that trumpet tone! It is not Jeremiah warning the nations to flee from the wrath to come! No! it is merely a gallant officer of a scientific corps who is expounding to some admiring Americans a few articles of his faith, and proving that Mr. Gladstone is the "Man of Sin" specially intended for the destruction of the British army and Empire. And there, in a cozy nook by the wheel-house, an earnest Democrat is holding forth to his English auditors on the evils of democracy as illustrated by the conduct of the Republicans in the exercise of political power, the manipulation of ballot-boxes and public bullion; and a sturdy Briton near at hand is enlarging on the absolute necessity of restoring the worn-out lands of the Eastern States and Canada to fertility by the use of manures of which he is the manufacturer. Among the Americans there were not wanting signs and tokens that the traditions of a great war and the influence of party politics were as powerful as social distinctions, and their cliques were as marked as if each represented a different "set" in one of the old countries.
There is the unfailing anxiety about the weather—and there are remarks on its behaviour, past, present, and future, at every meal, and there must be incessant vigilance respecting the proceedings of the ship. The 9 o'clock observation is regarded with an interest which culminates at noon in the proceedings of the officers engaged in "catching the sun," and then comes the anxious waiting about of the passengers whilst the calculations are being worked out, till the run is announced and the result fixed over the companion. In some vessels a chart is laid out, on which the course of the ship is marked down daily. I have seen an expression of much comfort diffused over the countenances of suspicious voyagers by the inspection of the final remarks which show them "exactly where we are, you know." They are not quite aware of the tricks of the trade, and it is perhaps just as well. Then all operations aloft are attractive—taking in sail or shaking out a reef, or "taking a haul on the weather braces," which seems necessary when nothing else is to be done—and there is the wonderful problem to study of why it is that, no matter where you put yourself away on the deck of a ship, a "hand" comes to you at once to pull the particular rope you are sitting or standing on, or to otherwise civilly molest you! All these common interests bind passengers together. The smoking-room becomes conversational after a time, and "sets" are enlarged. The energies of life, however, are concentrated on but a few objects on board ship, and the general conversation and attitude of the passengers are largely regulated by the vehicle in which they are borne. And that was the course of life in the "Gallia." A flying-fish, a petrel, a porpoise, the glinting of a sail, the smoke of a steamer, became a subject for general conversation, if not an object of universal attraction; and when porpoises or flying-fish came close in shoals, and the "sails" were near, and the steamer's number, or better still, her name, could be read, why, there was quite enough of incident to carry one through the not very long intervals which divided the times for eating and drinking. I have not mentioned the gulls, because I think they are becoming decidedly demoralised and disreputable, and ought not to be noticed. Instead of getting their subsistence and living cleanly by honest labour, as decent gulls should do, they have become mere ocean scavengers, and follow the steamers to and fro across the Atlantic; some, I dare say, preferring the Cunard, others the Inman; and the White Star, Guion, &c., lines, probably having clientelles of their own. It is possible indeed that each vessel has its own habitués, just like a club or a hotel; but this is merely a theory. I am sorry to say that I have observed a tendency on the part of the solan geese to be led away to following these wakes, and if that goes on, the gulls will be driven to farming, for which, in ignorance of the ruinous nature of the occupation they are indeed showing an increasing predilection.
The 19th April was debited with a brilliant run—390 nautical miles in the 24 hours, equal to 16⅜ knots per hour!—and there was an exceeding clangour of tongues at meal-times, attributable, it would seem, to the "Gallia" having screwed her way through the ocean at such high speed. On such occasions as these the deck-frequenting passengers are in high spirits—they in some way unconsciously attribute to themselves a share in the performance. The Auditor drank his "Dry Monopole"—a good tap was discovered on board—with unusual relish; nor was he left to do so single-handed. Mr. Bridgeman developed a salad of great originality and power; the American Colonel, filled with thoughts too big for utterance, smiled on society at large.
By degrees—short and cumulative—acquaintanceship was developing; familiarity took the place of reserve, and the game of "poker," inaugurated by some American experts, enlisted its votaries from expanding circles, and usurped large sections of the saloon tables, not only by night, but by day. It is a pity that it takes so long to bring out or up musical talent at sea, for it is often that sweet voices are heard warbling, deft fingers wake up the notes of the piano, and histrionic gifts are made manifest, in unexpected quarters, only a day or two before the end of the voyage; and just as society begins to enjoy them it is dispersed for ever as though it were an exploded shell! We had on board senators and judges, and men of eminence and women of culture, as we began to find out when we were about to lose them, and day after day jokes became more interchangeable and transferable, like the quaint conceits in "drinks," cocktails, and the like, which were sent round from table to table by the cognoscenti to their friends. One night there came to me, at dinner-time, a card with a drawing on it of a gentleman running at full speed from a suspicion of cavalry in the rear, and underneath were the words "Russell at Bull Run." There was just room enough on the card to enable me to draw in front of the figure so described a pair of legs and part of the body of another fugitive, and writing below the legs "The last man of the Federal army on that occasion," I returned it to my American friend, and the burst of laughter which ensued from the company at the table showed that the réplique had been appreciated.
And there was a domestic event, soon after our departure, which excited much interest. A poor woman, who was going out to join her husband in some distant digging, gave birth to a little girl. Somehow or other the Auditor became involved in the case, and got up a subscription for the benefit of the little stranger and its mother, which compelled him to make many journeys to the steerage, and to make many acquaintances among the ladies, for which he had a happy knack, in the interests of charity. A cynical officer of the ship somewhat damped our benevolence by hinting that "that sort of thing was always going on," and when he was pressed for information he said that intending emigrants in the rank of life to which the mother belonged, frequently deferred their journey to the last moment, when expecting such events, in anticipation of a subscription from the passengers as soon as their time had come. Ere we landed the child was baptized in due form—one of her names being "Gallia"—and a purse of sovereigns was presented to the grateful mother, who certainly deserved them for her maternal solicitude and punctuality in such an important transaction.
And there was a fair face on which we gazed every day with growing sadness and sympathy. No one knew anything of the story of the pensive, melancholy girl whose eyes were often suffused with tears, but we heard that the heavy but not unbenevolent-looking ecclesiastic in the garb of a Roman Catholic bishop with whom she was travelling was taking her to America in order to put her into a convent. It was a prospect which she certainly seemed to regard with grief and despair, if one might judge from the expression of her sorrowful countenance and mournful mien. We could pity, and that was all.
Smooth seas and favouring breezes prevailed for the greater part of our course. Early on the morning of the 25th April land was in sight, and Sandy Hook was visible right ahead before noon. After breakfast came that mundane solicitude about baggage, luggage, and the like, which betokens the end of the voyage. The stewards, always prompt, on board the "Gallia," were almost aggressively attentive as though to reproach us for going on shore from them so soon.
Outside Sandy Hook we took in a pilot, a grave bearded gentleman in a black frock coat, tall hat, and satin waistcoat, from one of the pretty pilot boats, the appearance of which in the distance was attended with a good deal of anxiety connected with a sum of money in the lottery, the ownership of which was determined by the figure on her mainsail. But the news the pilot brought us was startling, and engrossed every thought for the time. "Lord Beaconsfield is dead!" In an instant it was known all over the ship. Up to the time of the "Gallia" leaving Queenstown the bulletins had given ground for hope, indeed almost the assurance, that there was no great reason to fear a fatal termination to Lord Beaconsfield's illness, and one of us had received a letter from the best authority, expressing the belief that the critical period had been passed and that he might be expected to "pull through all right." The sad intelligence for a while overpowered all other interests. We had forgotten Europe for eight days, and now the voice which aroused us announced "Lord Beaconsfield is dead!" The various objects on the shores we were approaching or passing were for a time unnoticed. Among our little party were men of different phases of political feeling, but on one point they were all agreed—that England had lost a great minister, and the world one of the most brilliant and original statesmen of the age. Even amongst Americans, who might not be expected to have much sympathy for the loss of a statesmen of his Imperial stamp, much regret was expressed for Lord Beaconsfield's death. "I doubt, sir," said one of them, "if he could have done it in our country. I guess his novels would have prevented it, even if he could have got over being a Jew. We cannot run politics and literature together as you can—that's a fact. The writers who get places don't amount to much—ministers and consuls, and that sort of thing, abroad. To succeed they must take to the one line or the other."