Essays of Travel | Page 7

hours to improve acquaintance in the open air; but towards
nightfall the wind freshened, the rain began to fall, and the sea rose so
high that it was difficult to keep ones footing on the deck. I have
spoken of our concerts. We were indeed a musical ship's company, and
cheered our way into exile with the fiddle, the accordion, and the songs
of all nations. Good, bad, or indifferent--Scottish, English, Irish,
Russian, German or Norse,-- the songs were received with generous

applause. Once or twice, a recitation, very spiritedly rendered in a
powerful Scottish accent, varied the proceedings; and once we sought
in vain to dance a quadrille, eight men of us together, to the music of
the violin. The performers were all humorous, frisky fellows, who
loved to cut capers in private life; but as soon as they were arranged for
the dance, they conducted themselves like so many mutes at a funeral. I
have never seen decorum pushed so far; and as this was not expected,
the quadrille was soon whistled down, and the dancers departed under a
cloud. Eight Frenchmen, even eight Englishmen from another rank of
society, would have dared to make some fun for themselves and the
spectators; but the working man, when sober, takes an extreme and
even melancholy view of personal deportment. A fifth-form schoolboy
is not more careful of dignity. He dares not be comical; his fun must
escape from him unprepared, and above all, it must be unaccompanied
by any physical demonstration. I like his society under most
circumstances, but let me never again join with him in public gambols.
But the impulse to sing was strong, and triumphed over modesty and
even the inclemencies of sea and sky. On this rough Saturday night, we
got together by the main deck-house, in a place sheltered from the wind
and rain. Some clinging to a ladder which led to the hurricane deck, and
the rest knitting arms or taking hands, we made a ring to support the
women in the violent lurching of the ship; and when we were thus
disposed, sang to our hearts' content. Some of the songs were
appropriate to the scene; others strikingly the reverse. Bastard doggrel
of the music-hall, such as, 'Around her splendid form, I weaved the
magic circle,' sounded bald, bleak, and pitifully silly. 'We don't want to
fight, but, by Jingo, if we do,' was in some measure saved by the vigour
and unanimity with which the chorus was thrown forth into the night. I
observed a Platt-Deutsch mason, entirely innocent of English, adding
heartily to the general effect. And perhaps the German mason is but a
fair example of the sincerity with which the song was rendered; for
nearly all with whom I conversed upon the subject were bitterly
opposed to war, and attributed their own misfortunes, and frequently
their own taste for whisky, to the campaigns in Zululand and
Afghanistan.
Every now and again, however, some song that touched the pathos of
our situation was given forth; and you could hear by the voices that

took up the burden how the sentiment came home to each, 'The
Anchor's Weighed' was true for us. We were indeed 'Rocked on the
bosom of the stormy deep.' How many of us could say with the singer,
'I'm lonely to-night, love, without you,' or, 'Go, some one, and tell them
from me, to write me a letter from home'! And when was there a more
appropriate moment for 'Auld Lang Syne' than now, when the land, the
friends, and the affections of that mingled but beloved time were fading
and fleeing behind us in the vessel's wake? It pointed forward to the
hour when these labours should be overpast, to the return voyage, and
to many a meeting in the sanded inn, when those who had parted in the
spring of youth should again drink a cup of kindness in their age. Had
not Burns contemplated emigration, I scarce believe he would have
found that note.
All Sunday the weather remained wild and cloudy; many were
prostrated by sickness; only five sat down to tea in the second cabin,
and two of these departed abruptly ere the meal was at an end. The
Sabbath was observed strictly by the majority of the emigrants. I heard
an old woman express her surprise that 'the ship didna gae doon,' as she
saw some one pass her with a chess- board on the holy day. Some sang
Scottish psalms. Many went to service, and in true Scottish fashion
came back ill pleased with their divine. 'I didna think he was an
experienced preacher,' said one girl to me.
Is was a bleak, uncomfortable day; but at night, by six bells, although
the wind had not yet moderated, the clouds were