Across the Atlantic.—The Aller.—Small Sleeping Rooms.—A Singular Kitchen.—Last Farewell.—Seasickness.—Children on the Ship.—Four Little Boys.—Fog Horn.—The Lookout.—Icebergs.—A Little Sailor Boy.—Porpoises and Sea Gulls.—Taking on the Pilot.—Lights on the Other Shore.—Landing.
s a usual thing, boys and girls—and even older people—delight to hear about the ocean and the vessels which float upon it, and now I shall tell you what I know about the ocean and a voyage across it.
August is said to be one of the best summer months for ocean travel, because there are not so many hard storms during that month. There is very little use in paying attention to that saying, for the sea is just as liable to be rough and stormy one month as another. You know storms come up on land when we least expect them, and continue longer than we think they will? Well, just so it is on the ocean; so there is a possibility of having bad weather, go any month you will.
For a starting point you may choose one of four harbors,—Boston, Baltimore, Philadelphia or New York. The largest steamers, however, sail from New York, and it was from there that we took our departure the first day of August, 1891, at one o'clock P.M. The day was beautiful, just as clear as any August day you ever saw; so the hearts of the passengers were glad, for sunshine and mild weather were indications of a pleasant voyage, we thought. Pleasant weather on land, however, did not mean pleasant weather out at sea, as we found out later on.
The name of our steamer was the Aller. It is not one of the very largest ships, but it did seem immense to us. We were quite anxious to have a good look at our new home, so we went aboard long before sailing time, and before the rest of the passengers gathered together. In wandering around we saw narrow passageways and many very small rooms. In our houses at home we should have called them good sized closets, but in a steamship they were sleeping rooms, and plenty large enough—if only two persons occupied them. But it is a surprise to know that sometimes three and four persons must room together when there is a crowd. I am glad to say there was plenty of room on the Aller, and we were the only occupants of our stateroom.
In each of the rooms there was a sofa covered with plush, a wash-stand and basin, and two beds. The beds were built against one side of the little room, one above the other, and the person who occupied the upper berth found it necessary to climb up a stepladder every time he retired. Every piece of furniture was fastened securely; there seemed to be no danger of their moving from place to place when the sea grew wild and the vessel tumbled about. Each room had a window in it almost as large as a dinner plate, and just as round. The glass was set in a heavy brass frame, and a large screw was used to fasten the window. Not a drop of water could enter, no matter how high the waves rolled or how hard the water dashed against them. These windows are called portholes, and the little rooms are always known as staterooms. When a berth was spoken of we all knew it meant the bed. You see by this that the most familiar things had a different name on board a ship.
The floors of halls and staterooms were nicely carpeted, and we wondered how they could be kept looking so well. There was a beautifully furnished sitting room with carpet of velvet; heavy damask curtains, sofas of fine plush, and fine oil paintings decorated the sides and ceiling, painted there by a master hand. The comfort of the passengers seemed to have been studied well, for we saw there a beautiful piano and a library of , all of which could be used by passengers when they felt so disposed.
The dining room and kitchen we found in the center of the ship, and the kitchen in particular interested us very much, for we had often wondered how the cooking utensils were kept in place when the sea became very rough. The mystery was easily solved, for on looking around we saw many racks which held the pots, pans and kettles firmly in place. Not very far from the kitchen was the pantry. There we saw plenty of glassware, and many dishes of different sizes, all nicely arranged in racks and fitting so tight that there seemed to be no chance for one of them to move from right to left.
But the time for sailing was nearer than we had any idea it was, and further investigation seemed out of the question; but before parting from our friends we decided that our floating home was neat and clean, and truly not an unpleasant place to spend the next ten days in.
Passengers were arriving fast by this time, and trunk after trunk was placed in the hold of the ship by diligent ship hands. We watched the people as they came aboard one by one. Some faces were looking happy, and others again showed marks of sadness. I wondered why there was such a difference, but concluded that the sad-faced people realized what a three thousand mile journey by water meant, and felt that they might nevermore behold the faces of loved ones again. If such should have been their thoughts, is it any wonder they looked sad?
All was hurry and confusion; the large bell rang, and "All ashore" was called out. Hurriedly friends bade each other good-bye, and those who were not to go with us made haste to leave the ship. The gang plank was removed, the ropes were untied, and slowly the ship Aller moved from the wharf. People who stood there waved handkerchiefs, and we watched them with our field glass until they seemed like mere specks in the distance. We were floating seaward, sure enough; and as the ship moved farther and farther from shore we continued standing on deck, wishing to see all we could of the land, for we knew many days would pass by when nothing but sky and water would be seen. In a very short time we were far from the noise and confusion, and not a strip of land was in sight; then, with tearful eyes, we left the deck and retired to our stateroom below. Our mind turned toward the sea and its dangers; visions of shipwrecks and collisions flitted back and forth before us; but trying hard to be brave, we cast such thoughts from our mind, consoling ourselves with the thought that millions of people had crossed the Atlantic safely, and perhaps we might be so blessed. Then, when we looked around and beheld the steamer with its immense engines and manned by such strong, hearty seamen, we could not help but feel that all would go well with us. So, after breathing a prayer for protection, we settled down to make the best of things, knowing the Lord to be our protector and feeling sure he would watch over and care for us.
The sea was not very rough and sailing was delightful. The ship rolled a little, but the passengers concluded the voyage would be a pleasant one. Ship acquaintances were soon made, our sitting places at table decided upon, and everything seemed to be in good running order, and we were as well fixed as it was possible to be while in the floating home.
After getting out to sea, one must get used to the rolling motion of the ship, and for many it means to get sick. Now, possibly, you have heard of people getting seasick. Well, I know all about it myself, and can tell you that it is a very disagreeable ailment. No one ever dies of seasickness, physicians say; so it is more distressing than dangerous. Many people, however, cross and recross the Atlantic without having unpleasant feelings in that direction; but, on the other hand, very many are unable to appear at meals regularly. You are not out at sea long until one by one passengers disappear. Some are missed but a day, while others do not put in an appearance during the journey. These last named never do get used to the uneasy, restless sea, and must therefore remain in their berths during the entire trip. Little boys and girls get very sick too, sometimes, but as a rule they are not as apt to get seasick as older people. While I know all about the malady, six days was the longest period of my affliction, and that occurred when in a hard storm a few years ago.
A sea voyage has a tendency to make one feel sad. You realize how great the force of water is and what a mere speck a human being is; each dash of the waves against the ship's sides brings you face to face with the fact that in a twinkling—if the Lord willed—the ship and all on board could be swept from the face of the water and their burial place be the bottom of the ocean. Some passengers bury their sad feelings in the wine cup and at the card table, while others go to the Lord in prayer. Which of these two ways do you consider to be the better one? The Lord does not like a drunkard, and you know drunkards cannot enter the kingdom of heaven. I hope you may all learn to love the Lord in youth, and may you never be known to drink strong beverages, or be found playing cards and gambling. Remember that all those who play cards and drink strong drink in youth usually continue it when they become men and women; for bad habits formed in youth are hard to overcome even in old age.
A great many children of all ages cross the Atlantic yearly with their parents, and some of them are very, very young, even tiny little babies with great long dresses. These little ones, however, are never seen on deck, as a short time on deck would doubtless chill them completely and cause a spell of colic to follow shortly after.
The children who are old enough to run around have a delightful time playing on deck, and the nurse who cares for them has a hard time to keep them from getting hurt. The ship gives such heavy lurches that many times grown people find it a difficult matter to keep upon their feet.
Boys and girls as a rule enjoy a sea voyage immensely if they keep well, and not any of the passengers seemed more happy than they. When they were tumbled over by a lurch of the ship, it seemed like great fun, and jumping up they ran away laughing harder than ever.
There were four little boys belonging to two different families on board the Aller, and those little fellows attracted the attention of the passengers greatly. Two brothers were good, and two were naughty. The last named knew how to act ugly and be rude and boisterous; they quarreled with each other, and even spoke unkindly to their mamma, and, for that matter, to everybody else. It was plain that those boys had been spoiled at home, and that being the case nothing better need be expected of them when away from home. The people on board that steamer pronounced them both little nuisances, and wished they were at home; for how could they think of spending ten days in company with such children? But there was no help for it; so we all endured the trial. Their papa was one of the men who drank and gambled, and the mamma did not seem strong enough to manage such tough little fellows alone. The other two were quiet, innocent little boys, and when spoken to were sure to reply in a gentlemanly manner. Those who had charge of the two last named children were seen to pay a great deal of attention to them; and will you be surprised when I tell you that even the passengers took pleasure in talking to those good little boys?
While writing this I wonder how many of you are like these little ones I am writing about. Well, I hope you are all like the good children, for I cannot bear to think of one of you as being rude and unkind. Do you want to be loved by those around you? Then be kind, loving, thoughtful children. You must not speak cross to mamma and papa; no, no; nor to grandpapa and grandma either. Don't say, "I won't," when asked to do a little favor, but rather run quickly, saying, "I will do anything you ask of me."
Did you ever think of how the Lord keeps a strict account of all we do and say? Well, he does, and it is written in a and then some day that will be opened, and all the ugly things we have said and done will be read out. Just think how it will sound. Children, let us remember that the better we behave ourselves, the fewer will be the evil deeds recorded; and then let us remember, too, that the Lord loves dutiful children.
Have you ever heard of "fog at sea"? Well, sometimes it becomes very dense and you can scarcely see the full length of the ship. Seamen dread fog more than storms. It is then that the captain's face lengthens and his seat at table is vacant. There is great danger of collisions, for ships get nearer each other then, because they cannot see ahead. There is greater danger in going in and out of port when fog is dense, and many times have we read of steamers running into each other just as they were getting near to the stopping place. Such an occurrence usually means a great loss of life, for there is seldom time enough to save the unfortunate ones. The speed of a vessel should always be slackened when it is in a fog; but I am sorry to say that many of the captains are careless, as much so as engineers on our trains; they rush along anxious to make quick time, and if possible to gain port before ships of another line do. Many times they do gain port first, but it is the port of death; and we are made to think that the loss of life is a high price to pay for quick time.
We have been in fog a great many times. Once we were enveloped in it five days and five nights. All steamers sound the fog horn, and every few minutes during that time the disagreeable sound was heard. They gave it as a warning to other vessels, that they might keep away from them, thereby avoiding collisions.
There are always men on the lookout for danger. In a box way up in the rigging of the ship two men stand watching day and night, no difference how bad the weather is. Several men take their turn in watching, thus giving each one an opportunity to rest. If at any time there seems to be a suspicious object in their line of travel, the man calls out in loud tones, "Danger ahead." Sometimes the object seen proves to be a wreck, and if a signal of danger is seen, all haste is made to go to the rescue of those on board, and many lives are saved in that way. The box in which those men stand is called the "lookout box," and from it is called the hour of day. I remember so well of hearing them call the midnight hour time and again. It was called thus, "Twelve o'clock"; and then, "All is well." O what a satisfaction it always was to know that all was well; then after that call I was sure to fall into a sweet sleep, only to awaken at the dawn of another day.
Have you ever heard of an iceberg? Well, they are great mountains of floating ice which come down from Greenland, Spitzbergen, and other polar lands. Sometimes they appear right in a ship's course, and are not always seen by the naked eye. They float along for miles and miles under water, making it rather uncertain how close a ship is getting to them. Many icebergs, however, tower high above the water, and an account has been given of one seen a few years ago which was two and one-half miles long, two and one-fifth miles wide, and one hundred and fifty-three feet high. It is said that many million tons of ice were in that iceberg. When such an obstacle is seen there is cause for alarm, and well may the men on the lookout call, "Danger ahead!"
When the weather was favorable we sat on deck every day; and while sitting there we noticed a sailor go to the railing of the steamer with a canvas pail. We wondered what he intended doing, and so watched. He first fastened a long rope to the pail, then threw it overboard, and after it had floated about in the water a while he drew it toward him, lifting the pail over the railing brimful of water and immediately after thrusting a thermometer into it. We knew by that time that the sailor was testing the temperature of the water. He examined very closely how many degrees cold it was, then reported the result to the captain. When the water is many degrees colder than common it is quite possible that an iceberg is not far distant, so the ship's course is changed and possibly a wreck avoided. There seems to be no end of reasons why a man should be stationed to watch for danger day and night. If a lookout man could tell us the number of times he was the means of saving people from perishing by being the first to see the signal of distress, no doubt we should be surprised. Ships meet with accidents of different kinds. Sometimes we read of them burning up, and before help can reach them all on board are lost. How sad that seems. Think of the heartache of friends at home when the time for their return is at hand and they do not come.
The sailor's life is a hard one, and yet it is said he is not happy when off duty long at a time. Have you ever heard him called the "jolly sailor boy"? I have wondered why people speak of them as being jolly. To me they are a sad-faced set of men, and out at sea I never saw one of them smile; sometimes I wondered whether they knew how to. Perhaps all their smiling is engaged in when on land, where they get beer and strong drink.
Satan finds work for idle hands to do, and the captain is aware of that fact, so he manages to keep all hands busy when on a voyage, except during their hours of rest. You see if everybody is busy working or studying there is no time to plan naughty things, and Satan will soon find there ]is no chance for him. You would be surprised to know how many boys are learning to be sailors. Some of them on the Aller seemed not over twelve years of age. Their work is not of the hardest kind, still it is much harder than many of you are used to doing. It matters not how cold or rainy the weather, the little sailor boys, as well as the big sailors, must be on hand when duty demands them. It was no uncommon sight to see the little fellows out in stormy weather, and their hands almost stiff with cold. There was one boy who seemed to be on deck the greater part of the time. He was always armed with a broom, and he used it too; every little piece of paper, and every bit of dirt received his immediate attention, and with a steady sweep of the broom he sent them out to sea. These boys never talked with the passengers, but were polite when spoken to. No idling is allowed on shipboard, so the little fellows were busy and always on the move. Perhaps they would have enjoyed a good romp as well as any of you; but that was out of the question.
Sitting on deck is one of the pastimes of an ocean voyage. If a passenger seemed at all inclined to stay in the stateroom day after day when he was well and the weather was fine, you soon heard some one say, "Better stay on deck." The air of a stateroom is not fresh and bracing, and after having been on deck a few hours one has a dislike to stay in closer quarters. There are deck chairs to sit upon. Any person paying one dollar extra has the privilege of using one during the voyage. Sea air is usually a damp, cold air which makes it necessary to have heavy wraps and a good thick steamer rug to throw over the knees, that you may keep comfortable.
The first four or five days of an ocean voyage pass very slowly, for you remember there is nothing to be seen but sky and water. There was a strong desire on the part of the people to see a ship, and if some one should call out, "Oh, there's a sail!" all eyes were turned toward the dark object in the distance, and with the help of a field glass the outline of a vessel could be plainly seen. By and by it was in full view, and the children were heard to say, "Let me see too." You would be surprised to know for how long a time that ship is the subject of conversation. They wonder what her name is and to what port she is bound; whether she is a passenger steamer or carries freight alone. Passengers on a steamer are easily entertained, and no object is passed by unseen, for the most of them are on the watch.
By this time you can imagine us to be pretty well out at sea, and now the sight of a vessel is no uncommon occurrence. A sailing vessel, with her sails all filled with wind, was a beautiful sight, and scarcely a day passed without seeing one or more of them. Many, many years ago steamships were unknown, and a voyage across the Atlantic was not accomplished in as short a period of time as in these days. You know that when a vessel depends upon wind to move it along there is danger of its progress being hindered, for sometimes the wind is from the contrary direction.
Each day brought with it something new which amused the passengers. One day we found ourselves standing at the railing of the ship watching porpoises as they rushed along in the water below. Porpoises are of a sociable turn, and are seen swimming in schools close by the vessel's side. Their color is a dark gray, or almost black, and the under side of them approaches a pure white; their length when full grown is five feet or more. There was a time when the meat of porpoises was eaten and considered good; but now they are rarely if ever eaten; the blubber or fat alone is used for the oil which it contains. They are great fellows to spring up out of the water, and it is then that their full length and color are seen. That action greatly amused the children, and they called out, "O, look at the fish; just look at them!" And then the merry peals of laughter sounded throughout the ship. We never knew how long a time the porpoises traveled with us, for standing became tiresome, and one by one we turned away, leaving them without an admirer.
Sea gulls began flying about the ship by this time, and the indications were that land was not very far distant. How pleased we were to see them, and when land was mentioned our hearts swelled with joy. The gull is a web-footed sea fowl with long, narrow wings and straight beak, hooked at the tip. Occasionally you see some that are gray in color, but the most of them are all white. They feed upon fish, yet very willingly do they eat the scraps which the cooks throw to them.
Did you ever go fishing? Well, I'm very sure you had more trouble to catch fish than those gulls had. They would not be bothered with hook and line, and neither would you if it were possible for you to catch fish as they do. While flying above the water a sharp lookout is kept for fish below, and when one is seen they dart down upon it; and the next instant it is theirs. You would be surprised to see with what ease and grace they ride upon the waves, seemingly resting as comfortably as we who were upon the ship sitting in steamer chairs. We imagined they were tired, and that sitting on a wave was their method of resting, and a sort of pastime for them.
One of the great events of a sea voyage is the taking on of a pilot, and that occurs when a few days out from land. The pilot who brings a vessel across the Atlantic does not take it into the harbor, unless, as is sometimes the case, a pilot cannot be picked up because of the density of the fog. In that event the one who steers the ship across the ocean must take it into port; but he would rather not do so, for navigation is both difficult and dangerous the nearer one gets to land. The new pilot is taken aboard to superintend the steering of the vessel into port, and during the time he has charge of it the whole responsibility of getting her into port safely rests upon him. He knows where to locate the bad places, and makes a business of trying to escape them. Passengers watch faithfully for the appearance of the pilot boat, and a great deal of time is consumed in that way.
The pilot boat is small, and has one white sail; on the sail is painted a number in black. For instance, number nine, or number thirteen is to be seen plainly. The passengers sometimes thought the pilot boat was slow in putting in an appearance. They were over-anxious, you see; but in due time the little boat was seen away off in the distance bobbing up and down with the waves; sometimes it was lost sight of entirely; only for a little time, however, for the next wave brought it in full view, and a chorus of voices called out, "There she is, almost here." How small it seemed compared with the Aller, and the waves tossed it about as though it were a mere feather. At times they almost overwhelmed it; but the sturdy seamen had strong nerve, and they handled the little craft as though the task was a light one, still steering in the direction of the great Atlantic steamer. Can you imagine the boat coming nearer and nearer the Aller? I can; and in my mind I see the seamen throw the rope overboard to them; they catch it, are drawn closer and closer to the side of the great ship where the long rope ladder hangs. O how anxious we feel! What if he should make a misstep? And we turned away from the railing where the crowd stood watching. It took the man but a little while to climb to the top of the ladder, and before we were aware of it he was standing on deck. We looked at him with surprise, and he bade us the time of day.
No sooner was the new pilot on deck than we found ourselves steaming away. Just how soon he commenced work we do not know; but we settled down quietly, feeling satisfied that if all was well with us only a few days would pass before our feet would tread upon dry land again.
The sad faces took on a more cheerful look now, and peal after peal of laughter was heard. The piano was opened and lively music played; singing was engaged in, and indeed it seemed as though a new set of people had come forth. It was plainly to be seen that no one dreaded to reach land. The sea was rough, and the sky overcast with heavy clouds; but that was nothing new, for the whole ten days it was rainy, and the sun shone but little to cheer us on our way.
There was a band of music on board the steamer which played several times each day. Sometimes they played on deck, and always while we were eating dinner. Not everybody enjoyed their music, but since it was the custom to have band music they had to submit.
Sunday mornings we were always awakened by music which seemed in the distance; and the old familiar hymn of "Nearer, My God, to Thee," came to us seemingly from the far away. The sound of it never failed to bring tears to my eyes, for home loomed up before me, and I beheld loved ones gathered together for worship, singing songs of praise and thanksgiving. But the music passed away, and Sunday was spent just like all other days. Southampton, England, was reached, and there we unld some of our cargo. A great many passengers left and a few came aboard to go on to Bremen with us. Their journey seemed like a short one compared to the voyage which was just ending for the most of the passengers.
Between ten and eleven o'clock one night land was sighted, and many lights could be plainly seen along the shore, although it was said they were twenty-five or thirty miles away. We stood on deck an hour or more watching those beacon lights, and the tears of joy flowed down our cheeks. While we looked at them the beautiful hymn of P. P. Bliss, "Let the Lower Lights be Burning," came to our mind, and quietly we sang it; and I thought of this passage of Scripture, "Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven." And that night I realized what it meant for Christians to have their lamps trimmed and burning. We could not remain on deck longer, for the air was damp and chilly, so we retired to our stateroom feeling sure that on the morrow, if the Lord willed, our feet would again press mother earth.
The next day was disagreeable indeed, but when the time to go ashore was announced no one murmured. America seemed far, far away now, and instead of traveling under the stars and stripes of our mother country henceforth flags of other nations were to fly above us. Willingly did we journey to those foreign lands, so we made the best of the situation, deciding to see and learn all we could. There was a satisfaction in knowing that the Lord in whom we trusted would go with us in whatsoever land we journeyed.
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