AN OCEAN FLYER'S CREW
Work on an ocean steamship never ends, for no sooner does she reach her
moorings in New York, Liverpool or Hamburg than preparations begin for
the next voyage. Her decks are holystoned, sprinkled with sand and made
beautifully clean; the outside of her hull, from deck to water line, is
repainted and, if it be the end of a round trip or voyage, all the
exterior paint work receives a new coat, while her sanitary and plumbing
arrangements, her smokestacks, woodwork, spars and rigging are all
carefully examined and overhauled. All this is done by the sailors under
the direction of the boatswain, who reports each day to the officer on
duty and receives instruction as to the work to be performed.
Meanwhile an overhauling equally minute and thorough is going on in the
engineer's department, which includes not only the engines and boilers,
but also the electric-lighting plant of the ship. The work of this
department, however, is so arduous while at sea that officers and men
receive liberty for the entire time the ship remains in port, their
places being taken by a special shore force which remains aboard until
sailing day. One boiler is left untouched to supply power for the
engines that work the electric and refrigerating apparatus, the pumps
and the machinery used in shipping cargo, but all the others as soon as
they have cooled are entered, examined and, if need be, repaired. Each
tube, combustion chamber and furnace receives careful attention;
cylinders, pistons, crankpins and crossheads are gone over one by one,
while the engines are generally overhauled and all the arrangements of
the fireroom inspected. Nor is the steward's department less busy while
in port. All the bed and table linen used during the voyage, many
thousands of pieces, is collected and sent to the company's laundry,
after which all the staterooms are cleaned and put in order and the
fresh supply of linen made ready for the coming voyage.
During a steamship's stay in port the three chief divisions, sailing,
engineer's and steward's, are under the jurisdiction of shore officials
whose officers are on the deck. The sailing department is responsible to
the marine superintendent, the engineer's to the superintending engineer
and the steward's to the port steward. Thus the vessel while in port has
no direct communication with the company's office, the dock
superintendents acting as intermediaries. When stores are sent to the
ship they are addressed to the department for which they are intended.
The port steward controls the direct purchasing of provisions and is
supposed to buy in the cheapest and best market. The marine
superintendent and superintending engineer furnish the other materials
required. Should provisions be found unsatisfactory when received the
chief steward sends them back, and in such action is always upheld by
the port steward. The cargo is in charge of the sailing department and
is received and stowed under the direction of a boss stevedore selected
by the dock superintendent.
Even the fleetest ocean steamships carry considerable cargoes, and to
those unfamiliar with it the process of loading a vessel is a sight full
of interest. On the wharf assorted merchandise by the carload is being
lifted from vans and piled near the ship, and teams by the score are
adding their quota to the immense mass, while on the water side lighters
laden with more merchandise are either fastened to the vessel's side or
anchored close at hand waiting to hoist their contents aboard. Engines
are puffing, ropes are tugging and derricks lifting heavy freight of
every kind to the ship's deck, the orders of the stevedore and the
answers of his men mingling with the general din. Large vessels have
four or five holds and much skill is required to properly stow the cargo
in them, grain, from its compact and dead weight, being mostly reserved
for the center of the vessel, while cured provisions are packed as far
forward and aft as possible for their better preservation from the heat
of the ship's fires. In many vessels carrying passengers as well as
freight the heaviest weight is stowed in the lowest hold; this is to
steady the ship and is called in the argot of the stevedore "stiffening"
the ship. It requires about 1,500 tons to "stiffen" an ocean steamship
of the largest size, and when this is done the hold is battened down and
work begun on the next.
An important feature in the loading of a steamship is her coal. It is
customary to take as high as 200 tons of a surplus over the actual needs
of the voyage, and the bunkers of the vessel are in charge of a special
gang of men. Some vessels load their coal over all, but a majority
receive it through openings at the sides. Large V-shaped pockets,
running direct to the bunkers, are let down on each side and around them
are built stagings on which a couple of men are stationed to dump the
coal from huge buckets hoisted by engines from lighters. On the wharf
side the coal is wheeled in barrows up a shelving gangway and turned
into the bunkers direct. To load a great vessel requires the services
for several days of 125 men, including a boss stevedore and a couple of
foremen and with all the appliances of steam and gearing to assist their
operations. The force is divided into half a dozen or more gangs, each
having its head, who is in communication with the boss stevedore. As the
work is intermittent the men are paid by the hour, and there is a keeper
who does nothing else but take down the time each one is employed.
Certain gangs of longshoremen stick to certain lines, and many of them
have worked nearly all their lives for the same company. When the
loading of a ship is completed a detailed inspection of cargo is made by
one of the officers, and for this reason the boss stevedore is always
careful to prevent slovenly methods on the part of his men, being aware
that in the end he will be the one held responsible for haste or error.
While the cargo is being received and loaded stores for the coming
voyage are also being taken aboard. The supplies for the physical
comfort and necessities of 1,500 persons on a ship can be measured only
by the ton, 30,000 pounds of beef, for instance, being often used on a
single voyage. About 150 tons of water are required for cooking and
drinking, an additional fifty tons being made daily on board by the
evaporators from sea water and used for cleaning purposes. When it comes
to food and drink the ingenuity of the port and ship's stewards is put
fairly to the test. A day or two before the ship leaves port the number
of passengers who will probably sail on it is figured up and the ship's
steward makes up and hands to the port steward a tabulated list of the
supplies needed for the trip, nearly 1,000 articles being named in the
requisition, which includes food and drink in every conceivable form.
The port steward sends his orders to the firms that supply the line and
arranges for the delivery of the goods at certain hours, care being
taken that they shall arrive when the pier is not blocked with wagons
unloading freight. The meats come at a certain hour, the groceries at
another and the spices and so on at another, everything being weighed on
scales at the pier and counted as it goes on board.
The variety of the food supplies required for one of these huge floating
hotels is bewildering. For example, no less than fifteen kinds of cheese
are used, while fish in fully a hundred grades and forms is stowed away.
In the list of fruits, fresh, dried and canned, there are at least 125
varieties, and the same is true of vegetables. The list of supplies,
moreover, must be scanned by the steward again and again, for it will
not do to overlook a single article that may be needed. Here is part of
what is required in the way of supplies when a ship like the Carmania is
crowded: 25,000 to 30,000 pounds of beef, 5,000 pounds of mutton, 2,600
pounds of veal, pork and corned beef; 8,000 pounds of sausage, tripe,
calves' head, calves' feet, sweetbreads and kidneys; 2,000 pounds of
fresh fish, 10,000 clams and oysters, 250 tins of preserved fruit, 200
tins of jam and marmalade, 100 large bottles of pickles and sauces, 500
pounds of coffee, 250 pounds of tea, 250 pounds of potted fish, 300
fresh lobsters, 3,000 pounds of moist sugar, 600 pounds of lump sugar,
500 quarts of ice cream, 3,000 pounds of butter of various grades, 16
tons of potatoes, 5 tons of other vegetables, 15,000 eggs, 1,000
chickens and ducks, and 2,000 birds of different kinds. Lard by the ton
is used and often as many as 140 barrels of flour are consumed.
The departure of an ocean liner from port is a critical moment for each
member of the ship's company. All leaves of absence expire twenty-four
hours before the time for sailing, and this precaution makes it certain
that every man shall be at his post. At 8 o'clock on the morning of
leaving the sea-watches are formally set. The lower fires in the
many-lunged furnaces have been started at 10 o'clock on the previous
night; six hours later the top fires are lighted, and at 6 A. M. the
operation of getting up steam begins, it being always necessary to have
a full pressure of steam at least one hour before sailing time. As the
moment of departure draws nearer, an air of suppressed excitement
pervades the waiting throng, but there is no confusion among those
charged with the ship's conduct and safety. Each officer is at his post,
and knows his duty. The chief officer is stationed on the forward deck
in full view of the captain on the bridge, where the latter with a wave
of his hand indicates just what he wants done. The senior and junior
second officers are on the after deck; the extra second with the captain
on the bridge, and the third and fourth officers at the forward and
after gangways.
Meanwhile, as the minutes wax and wane, winches chatter noisily;
windlasses clink musically; capstans rattle with slacking cables; and
the shrill chanty songs of the docking gang working the warps, answer
the cheery "Yo-heave-oho" of the sailors on the deck. On the bridge with
the silent yet impatient captain lingers a representative of the
company. By and by, after the final instructions have been given, this
person departs, and as he goes over the side the captain, saluting him
with a wave of the hand, gives a quiet order to the first officer. The
wheel is shifted, the capstan reels noisily, and link by link the chain
comes home. At last, after a vicious tug or two on the cable, the ground
is broken, and, dripping with cleansing water from the hose, the anchor,
ring and stock, appears above the foam-streams rippling at the bow. When
the catfall is hooked, the ship swings easily around the jutting pier,
the engines increase their speed, the ensign dips in answer to salutes,
and a long blast from the whistle claims the right of the channel.
Slowly and carefully she picks her way through the shipping that crowds
the harbor, drops her pilot and heads for the open. The voyage has
begun.
With the dropping of the pilot, sea routine is promptly taken up, and
thereafter on the shoulders of the commander rests the preservation of
the ship and the safety of the passengers and crew. Every captain of an
Atlantic liner embodies in his person a shining example of the law of
the survival of the fittest, for there is no short cut to the bridge,
and none but a master seaman ever reaches it. The man who would be
captain cannot crawl through the cabin window. He must fight his way
over the bows, and struggle out of the ruck and smother of the
forecastle, by sturdy buffeting and hard knocks, by the persistent
edging of stout shoulders backed by a strong heart and an active brain.
There is probably not a commander of an ocean liner who has not been
around the world as a common sailor, a mate, and finally a master of a
ship. In fact, it would be difficult if not impossible to get the
command of a transatlantic ship without having first been the captain of
a large sailing vessel. Some of the companies like the Cunard, have a
rule requiring that a candidate for a captaincy shall have served as a
captain somewhere; and only a few years ago a sailor on one of the
largest steamships plying between New York and Liverpool, who had
climbed from the bottom to the high rank of first officer, left the
company with which he had made his progress solely that he might take a
place as captain on a smaller and less important vessel. If he succeeds
in his new berth--and his old employers will watch his course--it is
more than likely that he will be called back in a few years and have a
command given him.
It is the man who knows his business who makes his way to the bridge. No
matter how gruff or unpopular he may be, or what are any of his personal
peculiarities, if he understands his business and knows how to get
smoothly over the sea, he is pretty sure of promotion. A captain,
however, does not obtain on shipboard all the education which makes him
capable of commanding a Lucania or a Paris. There must be much study of
books as well. He must know something of the art of shipbuilding, of
engineering; he must be familiar with the science of meteorology; he
must be a master of the moods of the ocean, the currents and lanes as
discovery has set them forth; he must have the mathematics of navigation
completely under control, and he must have a general knowledge of the
politics and laws of the high seas. Most important of all, he must be a
man of courage and good judgment, for he must govern his crew more
wisely, shrewdly and sternly than a general controls his army, and be
prepared to withstand the attacks of nature's forces with as much skill
and alertness as the leader of an army must show against a surrounding
enemy. His responsibility never ends, not even when he is asleep.
Sometimes the dangers which beset him forbid any attempt at sleep, and
hour after hour the captain must stand upon his high bridge, exposed to
all manner of storms. Often does a commander come into port from a
perilous voyage, during which for two days and nights he has not left
his bridge, except four or five times, and then only for a few minutes
at a time.
There was a time when the captain was a prominent social figure on all
ocean steamships, but this is no longer the case. He may be seen at his
table in the saloon, when the weather is fine, or may be met on deck
occasionally when he is looking over the ship, but at other times he is
generally out of sight, except when he may appear on the bridge. The
chief officer is seen most of all by the passengers. His principal duty
is to look after the daily work of the crew, and he is about the deck
constantly when not inspecting various parts of the ship. He takes an
observation on the bridge with the other officers every day at twenty
minutes before noon, but with that exception is seldom seen there. The
other officers are in sight only when one looks up at the bridge.
Indeed, on some of the newer ships they sleep and mess in quarters of
their own on the shade deck, and, thus are rarely if ever brought in
contact with the passengers.
[Illustration: THE CAPTAIN OF AN OCEAN LINER]
On all the largest steamships there are besides a captain and chief
officer, three second officers, one third and one fourth officer. The
second officers are known as senior second, junior second and extra
second, and each, like the chief officer, is a duly qualified master,
capable of taking the ship around the world if need be. The general duty
of the second officer is the navigation of the ship under the captain's
directions. Each of these officers stands a four hours' watch on the
bridge, and each during his tour of duty has, as the captain's
representative, direct charge of the ship. The third and fourth officers
stand a watch of six hours, alternating with each other, and, there are,
therefore, always a second and third or fourth officer on watch at the
same time. Although in rough weather it is work that tests the strength
and tries the nerves of the strongest man, no officer can leave the
bridge while on watch, and should he violate this rule, he would be
dismissed at once. In addition to his watch the third officer has charge
of all the flags and signals by night and day, and he also keeps the
compass book, while the fourth officer, besides his work on the bridge,
has charge of the condition of the boats.
Observations are taken every two hours, as on an ocean greyhound,
rushing over the course between America and Europe at the rate of twenty
miles an hour, it is of the first importance that the ship's position
should be known at all times. Fog may come down at any moment, and
observations not to be obtainable for several hours. The positions of
more than one hundred stars are known, and by observing any of these the
ship's whereabouts can be ascertained in a few minutes. Of course, the
"road" becomes more or less familiar to a man who crosses the ocean
along the same route year after year, yet this familiarity never breeds
contempt or carelessness, for no man knows all the influences that
affect the currents of the ocean, and while you will find the current in
a given place the same forty times in succession, on the forty-first
trip it may be entirely changed. Now and then a big storm that has ended
four or five hours before a liner passes a certain point may give the
surface current a strong set in one direction, and there is no means of
telling when these influences may have been at work save by taking the
ship's position at frequent intervals.
The ship's crew stand watch and watch, and in each watch there are three
quartermasters who have charge of the wheel. Steering in the old days
before the introduction of steam gear, was an arduous and too often
perilous duty, but to-day, even in the roughest weather, a lad of twelve
can easily manage the wheel, which is merely the purchasing end of a
mechanical system that opens and shuts the valve governing the steam
admitted to the steering cylinders. First-class ships number from twelve
to fifteen men in each watch. A certain number of these must be able
seamen, and none are allowed many idle moments. In the middle watches
the decks are scrubbed; in the morning watches the paint work is
overhauled and cleaned; and finally, when the weather permits, the brass
work is polished until it is made as radiant as the midday sun. This
scrubbing, burnishing and cleansing runs through every department, and
in no perfunctory way, for each day the ship is inspected thoroughly,
and upon the result hangs the possible promotion of the subordinates.
Once in every twenty-four hours the captain receives a written report
from the first officer, the chief engineer and the chief steward, and at
eleven o'clock in the forenoon of each day, accompanied by the doctor,
he inspects all parts of the ship. Let us follow him, if he is gracious
enough to give permission, in this daily visit to the underground realm
ruled over by the chief engineer and steward. In the fleetest of the
liners the engineer force numbers nearly two hundred men, divided, as a
rule, into three crews, with a double allowance of officers for duty. An
engineer keeps watch in each fire-room, and two are stationed on each
engine-room platform. Watches depend upon the weather. In most cases,
the force, officers and men, serve four out of twelve hours, but in
foggy or stormy weather officers stand at the throttles with peremptory
orders to do no other work. In relieving each other great care is taken;
those going on the platforms feeling the warmth of the bearings,
examining the condition of the pins and shafting, testing the valves,
locating the position of the throttle, counting the revolutions, and by
every technical trial satisfying themselves before assuming charge that
all is right.
Distressing at all times is the lot of the poor fellows who man the
stoke hole. On the F├╝rst Bismarck, for instance, there are twenty-four
furnaces, manned by thirty-six brawny and half-naked stokers. Suddenly
from somewhere in the darkness comes three shrill calls upon a whistle,
and instantly each furnace door flies open, and out dart hungry tongues
of fire. With averted heads and steaming bodies, four stokers begin to
shovel furiously, while two others thrust their slice-bars through each
door and into the mass of fire and flame. Burying their lances deep in
the coals, they throw their weights full upon the ends as levers, and
lift the whole bank of fire several inches. Then they draw out the
lances, leaving a black hole through the fire into which the draft is
sucked with an increasing roar. Three times they thrust and withdraw the
lances, pausing after each charge to plunge their heads in buckets of
water, and take deep draughts from bottles of red wine. But this cooling
respite lasts only a moment at best, for their taskmasters watch and
drive them, and each furnace must do its stint. It is fair, however, to
say that everything that can be done to lessen the hardships of the
stoke-hole has been done by the steamship companies. The best quality of
food is given the stokers, and they are allowed double rations of wine
and kummel four times a day, practically all they care to drink.
The chief engineer of an ocean steamship is fairly well paid, and he
deserves to be, for fidelity and merit lead to the engine-room as they
do to the bridge, and mastery of the former presupposes long years of
exacting service in subordinate positions. Indeed, many of these
officers have given their best years to one employ, and, like the hardy
McAndrews sung by Kipling, deserve much of it in every way. Some of the
old chiefs are the greatest travelers in the world, so far as miles may
count. One of whom I was told has traversed in the service of one
company more than 900,000 shore miles, a distance four times that
between the earth and the moon; and still higher is the record of
another, who completed before his retirement 154 round trips, making in
distance over 1,000,000 statute miles.
The captain in his daily tour scrutinizes every nook and corner of the
engineer's department, and not less scrupulous is his inspection of the
domain in which the chief steward holds sway. There is good reason for
this, since, as far as the comfort of the passengers is concerned, the
chief steward is the most important person on board a liner, having
charge of the staterooms, dining-room, storerooms and kitchen. Like the
engine-room the ship's kitchen, located amidships, is an unknown world
to most of the passengers. There are, as a matter of fact, three
kitchens, besides a serving-room. The soups, fish, meats and vegetables
are prepared and cooked in one room and the bread and pastry in another,
while the steerage has a kitchen to itself in which all the cooking is
done by steam. Space being valuable, all these rooms are small, and
meals for 500 or 1,000 people are cooked in an apartment no larger than
the kitchen in a low-priced flat, or the pantry in a country house. This
makes it necessary to keep everything in its place, and it amazes one to
see how compactly the ship's supplies can be arranged. Nothing is left
down on shelves or in drawers which may be hung on hooks, and even the
platters and serving dishes are made to hang, there being a loophole at
one end for this purpose.
Moreover, what the ship's kitchen loses in size is made up in the number
of storerooms. Far aft is the main storeroom, which, with its bins
reaching from floor to ceiling, and its racks overhead, looks like a
wholesale grocery store.
Close at hand is the wine locker, a long place, lined with narrow
shelves, which have an upward tilt and are crowded with all sorts and
kinds of bottled liquors. Down deeper, most often where the stern rolls
in from the counter, is a big compartment, where are stored barrels of
flour, potatoes, vinegar and beer, which when needed are hoisted up
under the direction of the storekeeper. Pretty well forward is the
refrigerating plant, a zinc-lined chamber, where the choicest sides of
beef, joints of mutton, chickens and turkeys are kept frozen. All the
liners, it may be noted in passing, carry a butcher, whose duty it is to
cut the steaks and chops, and to see that no good material goes to waste
through unskillful hacking.
Adjoining the kitchen is the serving-room or pantry, frescoed with
silver coffee-pots and cream-mugs and lined with shelves filled with
crockery, while the hook-dotted ceiling glitters with an hundred other
pieces of silverware which swing and scintillate with every motion of
the ship. The shelves are really wooden pockets, faced with strips of
wood, which keep the dishes from rolling out, and stowed away there are
cups and plates by the hundred. Along the side of the room is a big hot
press, having on its top all manner of indentations for the trenchers,
saucepans and soup pots which are sent in from the kitchen laden with
food at mealtime. This is flanked by a line of glistening tea and coffee
urns, while in a convenient corner is a roomy icebox for the cold meats
and butter.
To the kitchen and the pantry the storeroom is always sending tribute,
and they send it to the glass-doored dining-room which, with its long
tables, its dazzling white cloths, and its glittering array of silver
and glass, looks at night like an enchanted realm. Seats at table are
assigned by the steward or the purser, who gives out the seats to those
who ask for them first. Each seat is numbered and the passenger receives
a billet with his seat number on it when he goes to his first meal on
board. Formerly there was a struggle for seats at the captain's table,
but now the wise and wary ones rally about the purser and the doctor,
for the commander's duties seldom permit him to go below save at
dinnertime. Still, wherever his place at table may be fixed, the cabin
passenger finds that no opportunity is neglected to serve his comfort
and lighten the tedium of the voyage. On the German lines a band
accompanies every vessel, and plays through the long first-cabin dinner,
and again on deck in the evening. All German and American holidays are
observed on these boats, and when Christmas comes to the travelers at
sea, they find themselves in the midst of a Fatherland festival, the
chief feature of which is a brightly adorned and illuminated tree. Nor
are the steerage passengers forgotten on these occasions, amusements,
and a special feast being provided for them.
On the boats of the Compagnie Generale Transatlantique French festivals
and American holidays are celebrated by concerts, balls, dinner parties
and extra luxuries at the regular meals. Entertainment is provided for
the steerage passengers and a special menu is furnished for the festal
days. On such occasions, too, the ships are gayly decorated with bunting
from stem to stern. The "captain's dinner" is another pleasant feature
of the voyage on a French liner. This takes place just before the end of
the voyage and is regarded as a token of good will between the
passengers and the ship's company. Champagne is furnished without extra
charge at this dinner and toasts and speechmaking follow. On a British
liner on Sunday morning the captain, in full uniform, supported by his
officers, reads the Church of England service, to which all are invited,
while American and British holidays are observed in a fitting manner,
the ship being always "dressed" for the occasion. The boats of the
British lines have also a concert for the exploitation of the talent on
board and a parting dinner given an evening or two before arrival in
port.
Meantime how do the steerage folk get on when voyaging over the western
ocean? Here there is another and different story to tell. In a ship like
the Britannic of the White Star line, picture to yourself a barn-like
apartment some seventy feet long and thirty feet wide, but tapering
almost to a point at the forward end. It is dimly lighted and badly
ventilated by means of a shaft, through which the mainmast enters, and
by portholes which are too near the water ever to be opened except in
harbor and are well nigh submerged when the vessel lies over or rolls.
Lined along the three sides of this rude triangle are large skeleton
frames, each upholding two tiers of coffin-like bunks, one above the
other, the beds being placed side to side in rows of eight and end to
end two deep. Thus each of these structures holds thirty-two bunks,
whose sides and bottoms are of rough boards. A narrow passageway runs
across ship between the pens, of which there are seven in all, making a
total of 224 souls who are crowded into these sordid quarters. Picture
this to yourself and you have before you the men's cabin of the
steerage of the Britannic. The room being lighted at night by gasoline
lamps, smoking is forbidden, while all relaxation must be taken on that
small portion of the lower deck beyond which no steerage passenger is
allowed to roam, for there is no means of amusement or recreation in the
cabin.
Still there is a brighter side to the picture. All the companies provide
ample and wholesome fare for their steerage passengers. No captain ever
fails to include in his daily tour a personal and painstaking inspection
of this department and he is always approachable in the event of
complaints arising on the part of the humblest and poorest traveler. It
is related of one old-time commander, Captain John Mirehouse, that in
order to assure himself of the proper quality and preparation of the
steerage food he invariably had his lunch served from the steerage
galley at the dinner hour; and he used to declare that his lunches were
as wholesome and palatable as he could desire. Nor is it to be supposed
that steerage passengers are all immigrants, for, odd as it may seem,
there are many world wanderers who cross and recross in the steerage,
who travel over great parts of the world and who in their class are as
independent as the men and women lodged in the first cabin. Besides
these curious characters there are Scottish carpenters and other
mechanics who come to America for a few months at a time to take
advantage of higher wages and who return as they came when the Christmas
holidays draw nigh. Often a liner leaving New York in the early days of
December carries more than I,000 passengers in the steerage.
Whether you travel in the cabin or the steerage, the closing days of a
voyage are always sure to be the shortest and the pleasantest ones. The
routine of marine life ceases to be a burden, and with the disappearance
of the last lingering cases of sea sickness life on the fleet greyhound
of the waters becomes a source of joy. Newly found friends and glimpses
of passing vessels cheer and break the solitude, while the tonic of the
sea air courses like an elixir in the blood. Young couples flirt
demurely in shady corners of the deck, whence issue now and again sudden
bursts of rippling laughter; nor is there lack of jollity in the smoking
room, whence eddy the flotsam and jetsam of the ship and cards rule the
hour from early forenoon until the lights are turned out at night. If it
be summer and the passage a westward one you may count, as a rule, upon
skirting the Grand Banks without mishap and upon rounding the Georges in
the same lucky manner. Then, after long and eager waiting, comes the
happy hour when there is a cry of "Sail, ho," and a few minutes later a
yawl emerges from the gathering darkness and a bluff, black-garbed pilot
climbs to the ship's deck, bringing news from the outer world and the
glad assurance that land and home are just beyond the horizon line.
Soon comes the welcome cry, "There she is, Fire Island light, right over
the starboard bow." The watcher in the lighthouse telegraphs the
steamer's arrival to the quarantine station and the ship news office,
and long before noon the vessel reaches quarantine. Here the health
officer boards her, and if it is found that she has no case of
contagious disease on board she is permitted to proceed to her dock,
which she reaches in about one hour and a half, including the time of
examination. Meanwhile she has been met down the bay by a revenue cutter
having a squad of customs officers on board and declarations have been
made and signed by the cabin passengers as to the contents of their
trunks, which are searched as soon as the vessel arrives at her dock.
Here, also, an officer of the Immigration Bureau takes charge of the
steerage passengers and has folk and baggage conveyed to the Barge
Office for the examination which will impel their return to the place
from which they came or end in the granting of permission for them to
enter the land of mystery and promise.
Within the hour in which the liner reaches her moorings on the New York
or Jersey shore the last passenger has taken his departure, shore leave
has been granted to the majority of the ship's company and waiting hands
have promptly taken in hand the task of making ready for the leviathan's
next ocean pilgrimage, since, as I said at the outset, one voyage is no
sooner ended than preparations for another are begun.