The company was not a large one, and there was abundant room and abundant food for everybody. The captain was at the head of the table, and the purser at the foot, and between them were the various passengers in the seats which had been reserved for them by the steward. The passengers included an American consul on his way to his post in China, and an American missionary, bound for the same country. There were several merchants, interested in commercial matters between the United States and the Far East; two clerks, going out to appointments in China; two sea-captains, going to take command of ships; a doctor and a mining engineer in the service of the Japanese government; half a dozen "globe-trotters," or tourists; and a very mysterious and nondescript individual, whom we shall know more about as we proceed. The consul and the missionary were accompanied by their families. Their wives and daughters were the only ladies among the passengers, and, according to the usual custom on board steamers, they were seated next to the captain in the places of highest honor. Doctor Bronson and his young companions were seated near the purser, whom they found very amiable, and they had on the opposite side of the table the two sea-captains already mentioned.
Everybody appeared to realize that the voyage was to be a long one, and the sooner the party became acquainted, the better. By the end of dinner they had made excellent progress, and formed several likes and dislikes that increased as time went on. In the evening the passengers sat about the cabin or strolled on deck, continuing to grow in acquaintance, and before the ship had been twenty-four hours at sea it was hard to realize that the company had been assembled so recently. Brotherly friendships as well as brotherly hatreds grew with the rapidity of a beanstalk, and, happily, the friendships were greatly in the majority.
THE ENGINEER AT HIS POST.
Life on a steamship at sea has many peculiarities. The ship is a world in itself, and its boundaries are narrow. You see the same faces day after day, and on a great ocean like the Pacific there is little to attract the attention outside of the vessel that carries you. You have sea and sky to look upon to-day as you looked upon them yesterday, and will look on them to-morrow. The sky may be clear or cloudy; fogs may envelop you; storms may arise, or a calm may spread over the waters; the great ship goes steadily on and on. The pulsations of the engine seem like those of the human heart; and when you wake at night, your first endeavor, as you collect your thoughts, is to listen for that ceaseless throbbing. One falls into a monotonous way of life, and the days run on one after another, till you find it difficult to distinguish them apart. The hours for meals are the principal hours of the day, and with many persons the table is the place of greatest importance. They wander from deck to saloon, and from saloon to deck again, and hardly has the table been cleared after one meal, before they are thinking what they will have for the next. The managers of our great ocean lines have noted this peculiarity of human nature; some of them give no less than five meals a day, and if a passenger should wish to eat something between times, he could be accommodated.
Our young friends were too much absorbed with the novelty of their situation to allow the time to hang heavy on their hands. Everything was new and strange to them, but, of course, it was far otherwise with Doctor Bronson. They had many questions to ask, and he was never weary of answering, as he saw they were endeavoring to remember what they heard, and were not interrogating him from idle curiosity.
"What is the reason they don't strike the hours here as they do on land?" Frank inquired, as they reached the deck after dinner.
The Doctor explained that at sea the time is divided into watches, or periods, of four hours each. The bell strikes once for each half-hour, until four hours, or eight bells, are reached, and then they begin again. One o'clock is designated as "two bells," half-past one is "three bells," and four o'clock is "eight bells." Eight o'clock, noon, and midnight are also signalled by eight strokes on the bell, and after a little while a traveller accustoms himself to the new mode of keeping time.
Fred remembered that when they left San Francisco at noon, the bell struck eight times, instead of twelve, as he thought it should have struck. The Doctor's explanation made it clear to him.