THE EMIGRANTS’ KITCHEN
I have made some mention of the “galley,” or great stove for the
steerage passengers, which was planted over the main hatches.
During the outward-bound passage, there were so few occupants of the
steerage, that they had abundant room to do their cooking at this
galley. But it was otherwise now; for we had four or five hundred in
the steerage; and all their cooking was to be done by one fire; a
pretty large one, to be sure, but, nevertheless, small enough,
considering the number to be accommodated, and the fact that the fire
was only to be kindled at certain hours.
For the emigrants in these ships are under a sort of martial-law; and
in all their affairs are regulated by the despotic ordinances of the
captain. And though it is evident, that to a certain extent this is
necessary, and even indispensable; yet, as at sea no appeal lies beyond
the captain, he too often makes unscrupulous use of his power. And as
for going to law with him at the end of the voyage, you might as well
go to law with the Czar of Russia.
At making the fire, the emigrants take turns; as it is often very
disagreeable work, owing to the pitching of the ship, and the heaving
of the spray over the uncovered “galley.” Whenever I had the morning
watch, from four to eight, I was sure to see some poor fellow crawling
up from below about daybreak, and go to groping over the deck after
bits of rope-yarn, or tarred canvas, for kindling-stuff. And no sooner
would the fire be fairly made, than up came the old women, and men, and
children; each armed with an iron pot or saucepan; and invariably a
great tumult ensued, as to whose turn to cook came next; sometimes the
more quarrelsome would fight, and upset each other’s pots and pans.
Once, an English lad came up with a little coffee-pot, which he managed
to crowd in between two pans. This done, he went below. Soon after a
great strapping Irishman, in knee-breeches and bare calves, made his
appearance; and eying the row of things on the fire, asked whose
coffee-pot that was; upon being told, he removed it, and put his own in
its place; saying something about that individual place belonging to
him; and with that, he turned aside.
Not long after, the boy came along again; and seeing his pot removed,
made a violent exclamation, and replaced it; which the Irishman no
sooner perceived, than he rushed at him, with his fists doubled. The
boy snatched up the boiling coffee, and spirted its contents all about
the fellow’s bare legs; which incontinently began to dance involuntary
hornpipes and fandangoes, as a preliminary to giving chase to the boy,
who by this time, however, had decamped.
Many similar scenes occurred every day; nor did a single day pass, but
scores of the poor people got no chance whatever to do their cooking.
This was bad enough; but it was a still more miserable thing, to see
these poor emigrants wrangling and fighting together for the want of
the most ordinary accommodations. But thus it is, that the very
hardships to which such beings are subjected, instead of uniting them,
only tends, by imbittering their tempers, to set them against each
other; and thus they themselves drive the strongest rivet into the
chain, by which their social superiors hold them subject.
It was with a most reluctant hand, that every evening in the second
dog-watch, at the mate’s command, I would march up to the fire, and
giving notice to the assembled crowd, that the time was come to
extinguish it, would dash it out with my bucket of salt water; though
many, who had long waited for a chance to cook, had now to go away
disappointed.
The staple food of the Irish emigrants was oatmeal and water, boiled
into what is sometimes called _mush;_ by the Dutch is known as
_supaan;_ by sailors _burgoo;_ by the New Englanders _hasty-pudding;_
in which hasty-pudding, by the way, the poet Barlow found the materials
for a sort of epic.
Some of the steerage passengers, however, were provided with
sea-biscuit, and other perennial food, that was eatable all the year
round, fire or no fire.
There were several, moreover, who seemed better to do in the world than
the rest; who were well furnished with hams, cheese, Bologna sausages,
Dutch herrings, alewives, and other delicacies adapted to the
contingencies of a voyager in the steerage.
There was a little old Englishman on board, who had been a grocer
ashore, whose greasy trunks seemed all pantries; and he was constantly
using himself for a cupboard, by transferring their contents into his
own interior. He was a little light of head, I always thought. He
particularly doated on his long strings of sausages; and would
sometimes take them out, and play with them, wreathing them round him,
like an Indian juggler with charmed snakes. What with this diversion,
and eating his cheese, and helping himself from an inexhaustible junk
bottle, and smoking his pipe, and meditating, this crack-pated grocer
made time jog along with him at a tolerably easy pace.
But by far the most considerable man in the steerage, in point of
pecuniary circumstances at least, was a slender little pale-faced
English tailor, who it seemed had engaged a passage for himself and
wife in some imaginary section of the ship, called the _second cabin,_
which was feigned to combine the comforts of the first cabin with the
cheapness of the steerage. But it turned out that this second cabin was
comprised in the after part of the steerage itself, with nothing
intervening but a name. So to his no small disgust, he found himself
herding with the rabble; and his complaints to the captain were
unheeded.
This luckless tailor was tormented the whole voyage by his wife, who
was young and handsome; just such a beauty as farmers’-boys fall in
love with; she had bright eyes, and red cheeks, and looked plump and
happy.
She was a sad coquette; and did not turn away, as she was bound to do,
from the dandy glances of the cabin bucks, who ogled her through their
double-barreled opera glasses. This enraged the tailor past telling; he
would remonstrate with his wife, and scold her; and lay his matrimonial
commands upon her, to go below instantly, out of sight. But the lady
was not to be tyrannized over; and so she told him. Meantime, the bucks
would be still framing her in their lenses, mightily enjoying the fun.
The last resources of the poor tailor would be, to start up, and make a
dash at the rogues, with clenched fists; but upon getting as far as the
mainmast, the mate would accost him from over the rope that divided
them, and beg leave to communicate the fact, that he could come no
further. This unfortunate tailor was also a fiddler; and when fairly
baited into desperation, would rush for his instrument, and try to get
rid of his wrath by playing the most savage, remorseless airs he could
think of.
While thus employed, perhaps his wife would accost him—
“Billy, my dear;” and lay her soft hand on his shoulder.
But Billy, he only fiddled harder.
“Billy, my love!”
The bow went faster and faster.
“Come, now, Billy, my dear little fellow, let’s make it all up;” and
she bent over his knees, looking bewitchingly up at him, with her
irresistible eyes.
Down went fiddle and bow; and the couple would sit together for an hour
or two, as pleasant and affectionate as possible.
But the next day, the chances were, that the old feud would be renewed,
which was certain to be the case at the first glimpse of an opera-glass
from the cabin.