For supper you have toast and cold meats, with Welsh rarebits and other things, such as dreams are made of, and the strong-hearted Englishman generally washes it down with a bottle of ale to give him a good digestion. Some of the companies give an additional meal called tea, which runs closely into the supper; so close is the connection that you can go from the one to the other without leaving the table. In fact, the meals are so numerous that they are crowded against each other, and you are hardly through with one and settled into your chair on deck before you are summoned for the next. But if even these are not sufficient for the keen appetite and hearty digestion you have acquired at sea, you can get something to eat between times by application to the steward. Verily, there is little danger of starvation on a voyage by trans-Atlantic steamer.
On the French line the arrangement differs somewhat from the English. At seven in the morning, tea or coffee is given, with bread and butter and a bowl of soup. From half past nine to eleven breakfast is served, and consists of preliminary appetizers, such as radishes, anchovies, cold ham, and other trifles, followed by steaks, chops, eggs in every form, fish, chicken, and similar solids. Then comes a selection of cheeses and fresh and dry fruits, and the meal ends with a cup of black coffee. Dinner is at half past four, and resembles the continental table d'hote; it is served in courses, and is sufficiently comprehensive to cover the demands of any appetite not altogether unreasonable. Wine, either white or red, is included for both breakfast and dinner, and the passenger may drink as freely of it as he likes. Tea is served at eight in the evening, and there is a light lunch of cold meats at one o'clock. The writer has fared admirably on one of the ships of the French line, and on a subsequent voyage by the same steamer, he fared badly; on the whole, he believes the system a good one, and acceptable to the majority of the passengers.
The gastronomic service of the German steamers combines certain features of the French and English lines, and the hours for meals correspond very nearly to those of the latter. The cooking is Teutonic, and the bill of fare includes a liberal allowance of the toothsome sausage and the savory sour-kraut. There is less waste on the French and German steamers than on the English ones; and it has been remarked that the sea gulls understand the matter very clearly, and will always follow an English ship in preference to one of the others, for the reason that the chance of picking up a delicate morsel that has been tossed overboard is much greater.
Seats at table are assigned by the chief steward or taken by the passengers when they go on board. A card with the name of the individual is placed at the desired seat; the novice might suppose that this would be sufficient to retain the place, but it is not so by any means. Other passengers, who desire the same places, will remove the cards and substitute their own, and sometimes they display great "cheek" in the transaction. It is best to have the chief steward approve your selection at the time you make it, and then you will have an appeal in case of the removal of your card. The captain's table is the post of honor, and the location of the greatest dignity, but if you are not specially invited by the commander to a place there, and have no acquaintance with him, it is best not to seek it. Sometimes the purser's table is a pleasant one, and sometimes the reverse; and the same may be said of the doctor's table. Purser and doctor are proverbially good fellows, with very few exceptions, and wherever you may be seated, your fortune in eating depends more on the table steward than on any one of the officers. When you have once occupied a seat at dinner you retain it through the voyage unless you change with the approval of the steward. A seat in the middle of the saloon is preferred by some to one near the side, but there is really very little difference in the places, so far as the motion of the ship is concerned. Most of the best steamers have adopted the revolving seat, so that you may come to or leave your place without disturbing any one, which is not the case with the old-fashioned bench. Where the benches remain, the passenger should make an effort to secure an end seat, especially if he is liable to sea-sickness and may suddenly discover some day that he doesn't want any more dinner.
If the chief steward assists you to secure a desirable seat, he will expect a pecuniary compliment for the service; on most ships it is well to be on the right side of him, but on some it makes no difference. The first time you go forward beyond a certain line one of the sailors will chalk your boot, or draw a chalk-mark around you. This is a time-honored custom of extracting a shilling from the novice, and the money so obtained is invested in liquid refreshments for the crew. There is only a single chalking for each passenger on the voyage; after he has paid the penalty once he may go forward as much as he pleases without danger of molestation.
The days will run on with more or less monotony, according to circumstances. You will be interested in trivial matters; a sail that is a mere speck on the horizon will awaken a lively discussion, and the appearance of a shark, or a school of porpoises, is sure to draw at least half the passengers to the side of the ship to watch the movements of the inhabitants of the sea. The birds will be a source of amusement, and when a wearied land bird, driven far out to sea by the wind, and with strength nearly exhausted, lights on the rigging, the excitement rises to almost fever heat. What he is, and whence he came, are momentous questions, and if he can be caught and tamed, as sometimes happens, he becomes a popular pet throughout the ship. Some years ago, while a steamer was on her way to New York, a crow came on board a hundred miles or so from the Irish coast. He was caught by the sailors, and soon became perfectly tame and fearless. He liked his new home so well that he did not try to leave it when the ship returned to Ireland; he continued to cross and re-cross for several months, till he was accidentally killed on the dock in New York, where the ship was lying.
Land is in sight, and we will prepare for shore. The old clothing is packed away for deposit in the store-room of the company till our return, and the steamer chair is folded, tied, and tagged. We don our good garments and may cause a sensation to those who have seen us only in the habiliments of the sea, but as every one else will do likewise, the sensation is doubtful. We are ready for the tender that takes us to terra firma, where the formalities of the custom-house await us.
As we leave the ship that has brought us safely over the ocean, it will be no discredit to our manhood if we say good-bye to her, and wish her many prosperous voyages. A feeling akin to affection is not unfrequently developed by the traveler for the ship that has carried him, and ever after he will take a personal interest in her fortunes. A passenger on one of the transatlantic steamers once gave vent to his sentiments in some doggerel verses, of which the following was the concluding one:—
"Old steamer, good-bye, there's some brine in my eye;
I can't say where'll be our next meeting,