SS Corinthian: 1904 Voyage

Note: This is a sub-section of SS Corinthian

A description of a voyage on the RMS Corinthian from Glasgow to Canada

A TRIP ACROSS THE ‘HERRIN' POND

By James A. Smith, Sr.

(The following is a record of James' trip to Canada from Glasgow in April 1904. It was written on parchment paper in fine Spenserian script, 40 pages sewn together with linen thread, as a record for his wife, Mary, who made the trip one year later with their two sons.)

There is not an easier thing in this world than the making of a promise, and often times there is not a more difficult thing than the keeping of it. This is especially the case with keeping a diary during a voyage. Seasickness robs one for a time of much that is interesting; the rolling of the ship makes writing difficult and the continued interruptions and the social intercourse expected of one creates few opportunities for continuous writing. And, most of all, a general "not at home" feeling comes over one and makes the task a very reluctant one - one to be got over as soon as possible. If this diary is considered prosy, it is because of the sameness of everyday life on board a ship when at sea. A hint may be gathered here and there, however, which I believe might be useful to any who may wish to make the trip. But how to make a start, that is the difficulty. A journal of events as they happened day-by-day to my mind reads too much like a dictionary, which the Irishman described as "very good reading; but changed the subject too precious often." Something like this; "Saturday: we left the Clyde. Sunday: Weather stormy - we were sick. Tuesday: not much better."

However, to make a start of some kind; amid showers of hailstones, rain, Rice (with a capital R, as we had two newly-wed couples on board), good wishes, blessings, cheers, and alas! In too many cases, tears! the mooring ropes were cast off and guided fore and aft by two tiny tugs, for all the world like an elephant taken in tow by a couple of midgets, our steamer glided down the stream. (I ought to say "river".) Good old Clyde! Let me not slander your broad expanse of coffee-coloured liquid by the term "stream." When a Glasgow man thinks of thee, he instinctively draws his handkerchief and - blows his nose. However, our tiny little tugs blew and puffed and fussed about all the way to Greenock. When the tail of the bank was reached, they let go and saluting us with a hooter-too-toot of their steam whistles by way of good luck, they left us. Here our vessel was left to her own resources, and for want of something better to do, she dropped her anchor. A very interesting process that; dropping the anchor. The article in question weighs about 3 tons and I would not like to be in its vicinity when it is dropped. However, I notice I have not mentioned the name of the steamer, so I better introduce you. Well, here you are, Dear Reader -- the R.M. Steamer "CORINTHIAN" of Glasgow, bound to Montreal. This vessel is of very uncertain tonnage; it is not such an old ship that this detail (like a lady's age) should be wrapped up in the mists of antiquity. No, the tonnage seems to depend on the clerk in the Allan Line office who fills up your passage ticket. For instance, my passport described the "Corinthian" as being an 8,000-ton steamer; while Harry's (James' friend whose surname is assumed to be Scott) described her as of 7,000 tons and still another passenger's ticket had it as 6,800 tons. Well, a few thousand tons being neither here nor there with the Allan Line, and none of us weighed near that amount, that little detail did not bother us, the vessel being quite able to carry a few hundred like us without foundering. In fact, she had about 800 people on board - 29 first class, 247 second class, and 400 steerage, while her crew numbered about 140 men.

The "Corinthian” was represented to us as one of the best of the Allan Line Fleet. I hope I may never travel in a worse! That's ambiguous, isn't it? A kind of left-handed compliment, so to speak. One man, who spoke with an air of authority, told me she was the fastest. The fastest—Ye Saints! Let us smile! Like the sailor we've been to sea, d'yr see, and (like the sailor) we ought to know. But, on the point of speed, I will not anticipate. Let me describe the general arrangement of the ship. Her steerage, unlike most other steamers, is not in the fore part of the ship. It is, as one wag of a berth mate puts it, in the "blunt end o' the ship." In what we might call the "waist" of the ship are arranged the second-cabin bunks; about 70 altogether; each accommodating four persons. The rough sketch herewith may be taken as the typical arrangement of the lot. They are about 9 feet long by 8 feet broad and 9 feet high, lighted with both an electric lamp and a paraffin bracket one. A small case, not unlike a small bookcase, holds a decanter of water and 2 tumblers, a spare shelf for brushes, combs and a lower shelf for 2 soap trays. Soap, water and towels are supplied. A mirror is affixed to the wall. One need not leave one's bunk to do all the necessaries of one's toilet.

                     _______________________
                     |              |      |
                     |   Bunk       |  B   |
                     |______________|  u   |
                     | S |          |  n   |
                     | e |          |  k   |                      
                     | a |     _____|      |
                     | t |     |wash|      |
                     |___|     |stand______|                      

Of course, the foregoing sketch is but a plan for arrangement; and does not show the bunks one on top of the other. You should see us all tucked in for the night. You would smile! A sight that would greet your eyes--an adult incubator. The pegs of the partition are chock-a-block with jackets, waistcoats and caps; our unmentionables find a resting place on the floor; our "dickeys" and collars find a convenient peg beside them. The square faced "Henry Thomson" (or whatever your particular brand of brandy is) reposes peacefully in a corner ready for emergency--often in some cases for false alarms. Harry and I have two very sociable berth mates--one is Colin Fowler, a joiner from High Blantyre, and he and Harry chipped along from the first, as they both knew one another by sight--a kind of noddin' acquaintance. The other, a young Edinburgh butcher, named David Faulks, going out to farm near Winnipeg. The dining saloon, where we take our meals is at the extreme forward end of the second-cabin berths. It is a very commodious saloon and extends across the whole breadth of the ship. But while commodious, so far as space is concerned, it can only accommodate about 130 people dining at one time. As there are about 250 second-cabin passengers, the feeding of this multitude needs some planning. So the passengers are fed in two batches; first and second tables, they are called.

In this connection let me tell a little incident which happened before we had left the Clyde, and which contains a little moral. Harry and I, on the ship's leaving the quay, had gone below and seen after our berths and, as you already know, the one allocated to me had been taken possession of by a family of the name of Cranston, who also occupied the one adjoining. Well, as the fourth party allocated to the berth Harry had got, had not turned up to claim it, I saved much trouble by renouncing my claim on my own and took the vacant one beside Harry, an arrangement that suited us both exceedingly. Well, we had introduced ourselves to our roommates, and to one or two kindred spirits located in surrounding berths, and had gone on deck to see the old familiar scenes, probably for the last time, when Dunbarton loomed in view. As it went out of our range of vision, we thought it about time we attended to the inner man; accordingly, we all went down to the dining saloon only to find that others had had those thoughts before us and had filled up the place--not a chair vacant. So we had just to cool our heels on deck again till the bell should again announce dinner. This did not take place for an hour afterwards. In we trooped, right glad to obey the joyful summons, and the first course, (kidney soup) had been dispatched when lo! The Board of Trade tug from Greenock called alongside. Our first entree (roast beef with potatoes and other trimmings) had been placed before us when the captain announced that all hands were required to muster on deck, so that we had to excuse the stewards for a quarter of an hour. We witnessed the muster on the foredeck from the dining saloon, and we saw them all drawn up in ranks, and filing past the B.o.T. Inspector at the salute, in batches of about seven. There were firemen, engineers, stewards, butchers, bakers and candlestick makers (some of them queer-looking toughs) and the idea of this muster was to insure that sufficient able-bodied men were on board to man the twenty lifeboats if any accident should take place. Let us hope their services will never be required in that capacity! However, to return to our "muttons" as the saying is (or roast beef, as it was in this case) when the stewards returned to their posts, the second helpings of the other entrees (roast mutton and fricassee of rabbit) were cold, so were the trimmings; the dessert was ditto, and the tea and coffee were likewise. The dinner on the whole was a frost--though there was abundance of it. They should have laid it all out on one plate and labelled it "cold meat." We resolved to be in plenty of time for tea; so we got ready and flocked into the saloon before the bell announced tea was ready. But it was no go; those who had got first seats came in and claimed their places. So we retired. Those who did not, the stewards refused to serve and they were compelled to give way. Well, the moral of this little story is; Make sure of you seat whenever you get on board, and I find from experience that the centre of the saloon is the best. When I sat beside Bob Phillips and his wife, and the vessel rolled, all our plates and dishes slid down to the other end of the table. Harry sat at another table--and we both got these new places at the first table through the others going off on the sick list. If one sits in the centre of the saloon, even while the ship rolls, the sensation you feel of being left in mid-air is not so marked. So get to a centre spot. It will save many a hurried departure from your meal.

Having now taken you through the dining saloon, we can go upstairs to the first cabin quarters, which are immediately over the saloon. They say the only difference between the first and second-class accommodation is in the price; everything being the same but a little fancier got up; a little more glitter. But my experience is that one could not wish to be more comfortable. The food is of the best and most appetizingly served. The plate is silver and butter dishes, sugar basins and milk jugs all being hall marked. By way of contrast, let me take you down to the steerage. It is on a lower deck than the second cabins and extends from the waist of the ship till near the stern. At the extreme stern is the "glory-hole" where the stewards have their sleeping quarters. No one is allowed there, so we can leave that sanctimonious place unexplored. The steerage passengers are accommodated in bunks, much about the same size as the second-cabin bunks, only they hold ten instead of four. They are arranged in a central section with two shelves and five bunks on each shelf, making ten in all and I believe it is immaterial how you get into them, feet first or head first! The tables they are dined at are temporary erections - long staging supported on trestles. There is one thing that is impressed on one and that is that the 30% difference between the two classes is not money thrown away. The majority of the steerage passengers were respectable people who could not get second cabin--too late in applying, but the food is very good.

Harry and I came across a chap, John Smith, from Motherwell and his wife and child who were going to Winnipeg. They tried to get 2nd cabin berths but were too late. He seemed to be very well pleased with this steerage quarters, so was his wife, after she got used to them. The women, of course, sleep on the other side of the steerage from the men. The splitting up of families was their only drawback.

We can now take a turn down and see the engine room. Harry and I were not 24 hours on board before we made the acquaintance of the Chief Engineer--a Mr. Martin. He knew our cousin John McAlister well; and we became great friends. Much of our spare time after eight or nine at night was spent in his comfortable room, when he would throw us out about 12 (not literally, but with a good straight hint to get away to our bunks). He took us down to see the engines one night going full steam ahead. We were along the bottom of the ship, in the tunnel as far as the stern, and we could hear the beats of the propeller in the water. Then we were in the stoke hole, seeing the stokers at work, and also in the coalhole. The engines were worth seeing; triple expansion type, of 3500 indicated horsepower. The propeller shaft is 18 inches thick, and along the tunnel lay a spare length of shaft 18 feet lashed to one side, and here and there were emergency coupling for splicing the shaft in case of a fracture. The pitch of the screw, Mr. Martin told me, is 20 feet per revolution, with a deduction of 15% for water resistance and slip. As the ship’s average pace was 68 revolutions of the engine per minute, here is a nice little arithmetical sum for you, what was the mileage per hour? 5,280 feet equals 1 mile. Don't forget the 15% deduction. There were two dynamos in the engine room; one, a small one, taking up the day load, and the other, very much larger, taking the night load. The ship is lit from stem to stern with electric lights, and with swinging paraffin lamps for emergency. All the tools, levers and bright parts of the engine room were shining as bright as nickel-plating and everything was in perfect order, somewhat after the manner of a fire-brigade station, lying ready to hand.

THE PASSENGERS: Having exhausted the places where we were at liberty to look into, we may now devote a word or two about the fellow voyagers. As before stated, we had about 250 of them in the second cabin. There was a Hail-fellow-well-met kind of free manner among all the men on board that was distinctly refreshing to our social experiences on land. "A fellow feeling makes us wondrous kind." "We were all in the same boat,” literally and figuratively. So perhaps that accounted for our readiness to amuse and be amused. We had plenty of time in front of us and as we would be thrown much together, everyone was most agreeable. The first day was a general introduction day. We all had copies of the List of Saloon Passengers, to which we constantly referred. Harry and I were amused at our berth mate, Colin Fowler. He was sitting "dazed-like" on a seat in the bunk, when we went down to fix up our baggage. (The excitement of leaving the old country had been too much for him). "Hello!" he says, "are you coming into this bunk alang wi' me?" "Yes," we answered. "Well, ma name's Colin Fowler, frae High Blantyre. Wha' are you?" We gave him the necessary information and he declared he was proud to greet us, seeing Harry was "frae Hamilton, near him." At night we had a few more voyagers in our berth, squatting on the bunk, on the washstand, on the seat and on the floor; and the talk became general. One, a long tall chap, was telling me he was going to Winnipeg; he was in the boot and shoe line in Glasgow. "Is your name Taylor?" I asked him. He replied in the affirmative. "Then" said I, "you will be a cousin of John Dewar's." He then told me old Mr. Dewar was on the quay and had come in from Chryston especially to introduce us to each other, but he couldn't see me in the crush. We shook on the strength of knowing John Dewar, and we were together very often during the voyage.

A Plumber named Wm. Barris, going out to his brother in Toronto, often came in to our bunk for a smoke and a crack, when it was too dark to be on deck. He is going to introduce Harry into good Scotch lodgings in Toronto, as his brother knows a lot of Scotch people there. Then there is a whole bunkful of Edinburgh chaps in the berth on the other side of the passage from ours. They were, with the one in our berth, all going in company to Winnipeg. The senior, one Arthur Booth, turned out to be a splendid chess player. I don't know the others' second names, only knowing them as Jock, Tom and Will. The family of Cranstons occupied my old bunk and the one next to it. He was an engineer from a paper mill in Dundee and was going out to Winnipeg for his health--being a martyr to rheumatism. His family was all left in school.

On the Saturday we left the Clyde, they were turned out of the bunk, which I had been allocated to, as there were two other claimants. I was offered mine back again but being comfortably settled beside Harry in a nice warm berth, built against the engine room, the heat from which warmed it up, I declined with thanks. Some of the Cranston family were berthed--one here--another there--among the other bunks. Then there was Bob Phillips and his wife and his boy and girl. I saw them as I boarded. Mrs. Phillips is a quiet, refined woman and the two children are not unlike our own two. The boy, aged nine, is a sober dour little chap like our James; while Bella, aged six, has any amount of fun in her. She was a great favourite on board, and was in danger of being spoilt. As her father and mother were pretty well tied to their cabins for the first week, she was left to runabout the ship as she liked and I looked after her at mealtimes. Then there was a young man about my own age, a civil engineer, who had been too late in applying for a first cabin berth, and had to go second. Harry got acquainted with him at table and brought him round to our berth. On learning I could play chess, he immediately got to work to test our skill and not a day passed but we had a game.

Then Mr. A. Booth came out as an opponent--a strong opponent, and we had some very good games. There was a big family of Scotts, and with the exception of Marions, they all bore the same name as Harry's friends. I didn't see much of them, as they seemed to spend the most of their time in their own bunk. There was an old retired farmer from Canada onboard--his name was Paterson. He had gone to Scotland to settle down, but didn't like it half so well as Canada and was accordingly going back. Then there was a missionary chap named Waldie, a kind of cheeky chap, who wore leggings except on Sunday. Another missionary was on board, with his wife. He was a MacAlister. He had been 7 years in Canada and had come home to marry and take another college degree. He was a very sociable fellow, though at first he seemed a bit standoffish. We had also a minister on board--the Rev. Mr. Cunningham of Toronto, who had been travelling with his wife for her health. He was confined most of the time to his cabin as I only saw him about half a dozen times. I came across a namesake of mine--a baby 6 months old. A Mr. Hugh Smith (a book manufacturer in Glasgow) was going out to Edmonton in Alberta with his wife, 2 boys and this infant. They sat along with the Phillips at a side table in the dining saloon. I occupied the end seat next to Mrs. Smith--a nice pleasant woman not unlike my sister in Australia (as I remember her). Two or three times I got the baby to hold, if it was stormy and she could not hold her dishes on the table and feed herself at the same time. I was generally done first with the courses and in waiting on the succeeding ones; I generally lifted him off her knee and gave her a chance, while Mr. Hugh Smith had the two boys to look after. If I went on enumerating them all I am afraid I would have nothing left of this book to give any incidents by the way. So if there should be any more passengers' names connected with any incident hereinafter related, I would introduce them.

INCIDENTS ON THE VOYAGE: This has been an eventful voyage, as you shall see. I am writing this particular paragraph while the ship is jammed in ice about 160 miles North of Cape Race. We cannot move forward; nor can we go backward. There is nothing for it but to wait till the wind changes. But to begin at the beginning, the first incident was the little bit of chin-wagging over the cold dinner and second sitting at supper. Peace was restored when the second batch got an extra good supper and plenty of time to it. I had written a letter while the ship was steaming past Arran, in order to be ready should we call at Moville. I had managed to get some postcards posted for our crowd before the big tug left us at Greenock and would have liked to send fuller assurances of our comfort. However, we did not call there. Sunday morning saw us up at 6 o'clock and Ireland was receding away in the distance. By ten we were out of sight of land. After breakfast, a card was affixed to the entrance to the saloon announcing divine service from 9:45 to 10:45 by the Rev. Mr. Cunningham. We were on deck, Harry and I, chatting to the chief engineer, who had come out for a breath of fresh air, when Mr. Waldie went down to the steerage and began to preach. The weather became very rough by this time and his congregation thinned down very rapidly. The service in the saloon was postponed, as the minister was indisposed. The vessel was having some fun with us--playing at pitches and toss. It did the pitching; we did the tossing--away our breakfasts. Harry and I were bothered with queer sensations, so we hung aloof from anyone we saw feeding the fishes. I fought against the squeamishness till dinnertime. I went in for dinner and was just on the last course. I cannot say I enjoyed the meal. I had a feeling of being lifted up in the air and then a feeling of the ship going away from under me. A young lad named Benzie going out to Michigan sat facing me. He was waiting for his last course when he opened his mouth and deposited all the previous courses back on the table and bolted. I could stand much, but this was too much and I bolted after him and in private yielded myself up to internal emotion. Harry got through his dinner and managed to hold on to it. Being in a different part of the saloon, he did not see the incident, so therefore had not the same provocation as I had for sending my meal adrift. I lay down in my bunk and had a nap till tea time (five o'clock). I felt better, rose and went in to tea. What a falling off there was. Every second chair was vacant. When the tea was placed before me, I merely looked at it, gulped it down and bolted off. I waited for nothing else - I climbed back into my bunk again. Harry came in shortly after, still wrestling with his "sensations." He brought me a sea biscuit, which I munched till suppertime (9 pm). I rose to go in and try my luck again when lo! I found Harry had given in to his feelings. He retired to say his prayers. I went in to get something to eat and got cold meat and tea and toast. I went up on deck but was afraid to smoke. I took in some gruel to Harry but he couldn't look at it. A night's rest did us both good. On the Monday, we passed what is called the "Devil's Hole," the stormiest bit of the Atlantic. Whew! How the wind did blow! We were in the teeth of the gale and the ship did plunge and toss--the propeller was out of the water every other wave and our progress was slow. At times the vessel rolled as the seas came broadside on. Every now and again we had scenes in the dining room. My soup plate rolled down the table and emptied itself among the bread; while every one held on to the nearest dishes to save a smash. Another time the pickle bottle did a somersault into Mrs. Smith’s dessert, while I had to hold her in her chair, as she had the baby in her arms and could not balance herself in time.

The same confusion prevailed at the long table, but in a lesser degree--one would get his dinner into his lap occasionally. Once this "Devil's Hole" was past, the seas moderated. This place is so called because no bottom has ever been found in it. They have sounded it to 5 miles; and at that depth, mercury, our heaviest metal, floats. (He meant lead, mercury is a liquid.) Until a heavier substance has been found, the depth of the "Devil's Hole" will remain a mystery. The wind remained fairly strong and blew from the west a factor, which kept us very much back. All the other days passed very much alike, and one by one the passengers came back to the table. Mrs. Phillips was a week on the voyage before she could venture out to her meals; little Jim Phillips was also very bad. I had to run for the doctor for him, as he became very numb and had taken cramps. We were near Newfoundland before he was on his feet.

There was a birth took place in the steerage. The excitement of the voyage had hastened the event and the little arrival did not live. The second Sunday at sea was our first blink of calm weather, though the sea was scarcely as smooth as a millpond-a trifle choppy. Mr. and Mrs. Cranston made their first appearance on deck, so did Mrs. Phillips, after a great amount of persuasion. She could not face the sea--tried to look at anything but at the water. After breakfast, a service was held in the saloon, the Rev. Mr. Cunningham officiating. I was too late for it. The Chief Engineer and I were lying basking in the sun and listening to Mr. Waldie's (of "Leggings" as we called him) efforts in the steerage. It was a unique sight; about 200 people round him--some standing, some squatting and other perched on the deckhouses. By the time it was over, I heard of Mr. Cunningham’s officiating in the saloon but it was "Sculling” by the time I got there. Harry was disappointed. He had promised to write a description of the service at sea for someone; and like me, he was too late. On the Monday Mr. Cranston was taken ill with rheumatism and Harry volunteered to rub him, which he did night and morning. By this time, we had been approaching the Newfoundland coast, though some 300 or 400 miles south of Cape Race. The captain had taken us very much south of the usual prescribed course, in order to avoid ice in the Atlantic and if possible, the fog banks off the Newfoundland coast. Well, we got landed in a fog on Monday and the speed was at once reduced to "dead slow," the horn was kept going; so dense did it become that you couldn't see a yard past the boat. Yet the sky above was perfectly clear. It seemed to lie on the water, and would be about 20 feet high. Mr. Martin told me it was the water of the Gulf Stream coming up and meeting the cold air from the Arctic, a vapoury steam was given off till once the temperature of both were equal.

On Tuesday, Mr. Cranston got worse and they had to get the doctor for him. Another passenger--an old man named Hood, about 78 years of age, and who was travelling with his wife and daughter to Vancouver, slipped and fell on the deck. He was a very heavy man, had been tall in his prime, but was now much bent. He had borne the voyage remarkably well, though everyone seemed surprised at it. However, he had slipped and got a nasty fall. A concert was got up for Monday; but owing to the fog and the captain having retired to rest early, it was postponed till Tuesday night. I send you the programme for which a charge of six pence was made. I was fourth on the list, playing "Whistling Rufus" and I had an Autoharp accompaniment from a Mr. Rathien, a young farmer going out to manage a farm in Manitoba. It took immensely; but we had not time for encores for which we were gratified, as we had only rehearsed the one time. About nine o'clock, I left the concert to go up on deck for a smoke, when I happened to pass Mr. Hood's berth. The doctor had ordered his removal to the hospital. Four stewards were having a hard job getting him into sheet to carry him aft, and I had to render a hand, till more stewards could be got. It took eight of them to get him along the deck to the ship's hospital, which is immediately behind the ship's wheelhouse at the stern. Coming down from the engineer's berth, where I was having a smoke about half-an-hour later, I learned that old Mr. Hood had taken an apoplectic fit and had expired. The concert was immediately stopped.

Next morning we passed Cape Race, where we signaled our arrival. It was the first land we had seen since we saw Ireland receding in the distance. We were right pleased to see it. Our ship seemed to put on a spurt, and by two in the afternoon we were nearing the entrance to the Gulf of St. Lawrence, 100 miles beyond Cape Race. Here we were blocked by ice. As far as the eye could see were immense fields of ice, as high as the rail of the ship. We sailed round and round, the first mate perched in the crosstrees; telescope in hand, looking for an opening. In a short time, we lay to, a point being reached where the ice was shallow, and were surprised to see a steamer about two miles up, under full steam. We signalled her with flags from the mast, and she replied that she had followed the opening but had got jammed, the ice closing behind her. She was a Donaldson steamer, the "Salicia," and had been there two days. She left Glasgow two days before us. A consultation was held on the bridge between the captain and the officers and immediately after our steamer was put about and sent full speed ahead by the way we had come. We were just in time, as the opening we had come through three or four hours before, and which was then about a mile wide was fast closing and another hour would have caught us in. It was like sailing down the Clyde just about Renfrew with the banks and the whole country around covered with snow; white, dazzling snow-covered ice. At times we could spit on it as we passed it, now fast, now slow, according to the closeness of the icy banks or the openness. We got out at last and our course was set for Halifax.

Much speculation was rife among the passengers, as visions of a 30 hour ride in a spar-seated car (known as a Colinist car) loomed before their minds. However, nothing was said that day. Mr. Paterson, the old retired farmer, who seemed to know the lie of the land seemed to suspect what the captain meant; namely, to land us all at Halifax, and from whispered conversations one with another, a public demonstration was proclaimed. Accordingly, after breakfast, the next morning, a general meeting of the second-class passengers was held and Mr. MacAlister, the missionary, was appointed to the chair. I happened to be writing the letter I sent you from Halifax in a corner, and I was immediately proposed and seconded to act as secretary for the meeting. So I had to give up my own correspondence and come into the pow-wow and take notes. I need not weary you with the arguments for and against taking any action, as we had no official intimation that we were to be dumped down in Halifax; but this much we knew: that it was a violation of the Merchant Shipping Act to land a passenger at any port other than the one on his contract ticket without his consent. Mr. Paterson and Mr. MacAlister (who had seven years’ previous experience in Canada) both described the hardships of a 30 or 40 hour journey on a second-class car, especially to those with families and as our steamboat ticket also implied first-class railway travelling, now would be the time to show our dissatisfaction.

I have the memoranda of that meeting beside me now as I write, and there were some comical motions and amendments; it makes me smile as I think on that solemn meeting. The Home Rule Bill never had half the serious consideration as that "Grievance" of the passengers. However, a deputation was appointed to wait upon the caption, and ask him (1) What were his intentions regarding the passengers on his arrival at Halifax; (2) What class of railway accommodations would be provided for those of the 2nd cabin; would they be dumped in the same train with the steerage passengers; (3) What about dues on excess luggage already booked to Montreal: 4) What provision would be made for the feeding of passengers, especially as many had booked all their money to Montreal on deposit, and had little or no ready money. The deputation which consisted of Mr. MacAlister, Mr. Paterson and a Mr. Hamilton (a joiner with about 10 of a family, and as many tons of luggage) and myself as secretary to report the captain’s answers--went up on the bridge deck and were received very courteously by the captain. He answered all our questions by the reply, that only the safety of the passengers while at sea was under his control, but immediately on arrival at any port where there was an agent of his company, his responsibility ceased.

He expected to reach Halifax that night (Thursday, April 28, 1904) by about nine or ten o'clock; and the agent would have to wire to Montreal or cable to Glasgow for instructions; but at all events he would be aboard first thing in the morning. He would not like to say anything further than this. He then told us that the Donaldson Liner, which we had seen 2 miles ahead of us jammed in the ice, had signalled him that the ice was over 18 feet thick and could not be split without risk to the ship; and it was out of consideration for the 800 souls on board that he turned back to Halifax. Had he only cargo, like the Donaldson steamer, he would have put his steamer into the ice and tried to break through. He would give the deputation an opportunity of seeing the agent in the morning. This answer I duly reported to another meeting held in the saloon before dinner, so the deputation were thanked for their services, and further instructed to wait upon the agent. After dinner that day, we had a unique experience—a funeral at sea. The old gentleman, Mr. Hood, who had died on the night of the concert (don't run away with the idea that the concert did it!)--was to be buried at sea. At first the wife and daughter had entertained ideas of having him buried at Halifax; but some one had represented to them the costliness of this proceeding, and the probability of the ship's being ordered back to Montreal at once. So they consented. Everyone was present, with the probable exception of the man at the wheel, and the engineer at the engine. A huge board, see-sawed on a trestle, projected about six feet over the rail near the stern and on this the body was laid sewn up in canvas, and weighted with heavyweights. A Union Jack covered it from sight. Then the burial service was read by the Rev. Mr. Cunningham and at a certain portion (I was not near enough to catch the words), the board was tilted, and the body slipped from underneath the Union Jack into the water. The boat was temporarily stopped. Many saw it splash into the water, but those near saw nothing, as those who tilted the board, held the flag so that its sliding along the plank could not be traced. Five minutes after, all was though it had never been. There is abundant food for reflection here. Except to those related to him, the man's existence was forgotten in about an hour. More immediate concerns claimed attention. I know it certainly gave me some thought--this seeming indifference; but when I brought all my philosophy to bear on it, I could not but look on it as a natural thing. If we all stood still in the last sad offices of those departed, we would be ever thus. Many of the games were resumed that were dropped on the Tuesday before dark. I have never yet said a word as to the amusements on board, so I may introduce it here.

AMUSEMENTS: One need not find the time dull, if one is at all sociable. Given good weather (a dry atmosphere) the rough seas don't trouble one much after the sea-sick period is over, and you get your "sea-legs"--a variety of extremities I never realised before till now. If ever you saw a man standing on a see-saw plank, about the centre, and adapting his body to the changing angles--one leg now long and the other short, and vice-versa, all the while keeping his body erect, then you have a good definition of sea-legs. It is not the ability to walk in "slippery places" that makes the land-legs into sea legs, but this ability to preserve the law of gravity in endless changes of surface. However if dry weather, all varieties of games were indulged in. When you got tired of one, you moved on to another. The most popular was a species of curling game called "Shuffle-board." We picked sides and had a "skip" same as in curling. Each side had 3 wooden discs, 6 inches in diameter and an inch thick. These we propelled along the deck by a pole shaped not unlike a crutch, from a base on to a diagram chalked on the deck. Whatever square you landed into with your discs, which each player played turn about with one from the opposite side, counted in the general score. The game was 200 exact. I have seen 20 playing on each side, and if you landed on "10 off," what a cheer from the opposite side, as that meant 10 off your side's scoring. Talk about the "roaring game." I often thought they could hear us in Montreal. If your opponent landed his "10 on," the skill came in cannoning him off and lying in his place. Then he tried to do the same to you with his next shot and so on. No disc counted that lay on the division lines; and I have seen the missionary called on to arbitrate between the two sides about a disc touching; and he would solemnly get on his knees and examine with his glasses the disputed chalk line and the disc, and then give his decision. As often as not he acted as marker.

Then there was the quoiting stick. A board, about a foot square, with a central post a foot high, was placed on the deck. On this post you had to throw quoits made of stiff rope. You took sides, and for each one you tossed on the central post you counted one. Some got so expert that they could put on the whole nine, hard running. For wet weather, there were bows and arrows for the lower deck, whist parties in the saloon, draughtboards and dominoes. Harry invented a new game. He got a handful of washers from the engineer and a good lump of dough from the baker, and started a miniature quoiting green. He considered "chess" too slow. But I got the hold of two others--the Civil Engineer (Norman De Covey Walker) and a businessman from Edinburgh (another Booth), who enjoyed the game. Booth was an expert chess player, though as Walker would say, "a deuced slow one." One game would last us from breakfast time till dinnertime. At night when it became dark, there was the saloon and the piano, draughts and dominoes, or cards; or paper, pens and ink. I have heard some fearful singing going on there.

One lady, a Mrs. McKay, had a "ton" of music with her. She gave them about a cwt. every night. The saloon lost its charm, and we started "Scotch Concerts" in our berth. We got out the concertina, and hunted up the Autoharp player, and our bunks were nearly wrecked. Its wooden walls were nearly burst with the crowd squeezed into it. They squatted on the floor on the washstand, on the top of the beds, and in the passage outside--the door of the berth was folded back-–and we started. I began at page 1 of “Songs of Scotland" and the lusty yells could be heard all over the ship. From "Scots Wha' Hae" right down to "Auld Lang Syne." The saloon got empty and the passage to our bunk got full. Even the engineer came down to see what all the noise was about. You talk about the male voice choir, and every fresh comer took up the din. I have heard the choir of 500 voices up in Gleniffer Braes; but this impromptu choir could beat them easily--for noise. One thing that struck me as peculiar--that the most of the town-bred chaps, while better singers than their country brethren--were not so well up in the words of the auld Scotch songs. The country chaps could fairly give verse upon verse of "Craigerlea," "Comin' through the Rye," "Hey, Johnnie Cope," etc., etc. Some one climbed up on the topmost deck and closed the ventilator, and with the heat of the engine room, the sweat ran down the singers' faces and latterly broke up the concert, after two hours of hullabaloo! Next time we had a concert, we put a man on guard at the top beside the ventilator but he filled up his time by singing down it; it was like a foghorn. So we promoted him down; and put one who couldn't sing on guard.

It was at one of those impromptu concerts that I met Ed Shields, whom Mr. Seaton spoke of. He was sitting on top of my bunk, with another six screaming away, then the boards creaked and I got them shunted off in time or the whole section would have broken down. I had to get a joiner in the crowd to hunt up his hammer, and fix it up again, or it would have come down on Harry's nose through the night, if the ship rolled much. I daresay there will be many of the boys on their ways to Winnipeg, who will not forget these impromptu concerts.

You will then see we are kept lively all the time; no end of sport. One other night we had a concert when along came an interruption; it was a piper named Ironsides, in full Highland costume, and his pipes in full blast. Well, we thought we made a noise; but by Jove, he took the bun. Nobody could hear himself speak; and it ended by his being carried back to the clear space in front of the dining saloon; and he played reels and quadrilles and highland flings till about 12, when an exasperated Christian named Duncan came out and called all the dancers names; they were seeking the Devil, instead of turning their thoughts upwards. They all gathered round his door and sang: "Will ye no come back again?" After he had gone inside and bolted it. Harry and I did not see this bit of sport as we had been up in the engineer's room spinning yarns.

There are plenty of women (I beg pardon, ladies!) on board. A good few of them going out to join their husbands and a good few going out to get married (3 of them, I have heard). I don't know their names. The ladies mostly hang about the foot of the companion stair where their reserved cabins are, and you can't get along the passage to the dining room for them all standing "claivering." We have to go round the other side of the ship, rather than risk tramping on their corns getting past them. I have heard the chief steward asking them not to gather in the passages, but to stand inside their doorways; but I think he has given up attempting to enforce the rules. The children, too, have plenty of scope. They play in a large clear space in front of the saloon with an overhead light. There are about 3 dozen of all ages running about from little William Munro, age 2, to boys about 8. We needn't be afraid to cross the ocean with bairns. As Harry said, he saw some babies, but he didn't know whom they belonged to as he saw them with different nurses every time he passed along to the saloon. Little Bella Phillips was as often up on deck sitting beside us as she was beside her mother. Mrs. Phillips was pretty sick the most part of the first week and I think they were glad when I came along and took her out of the way, as she was a restless wee "craitur." It is quite a common thing to see a youngster sitting dining at some other part of the saloon away from its own people, encouraged by some other passenger. I don't know how they do when the ladies are sick, but there are a number of stewardesses on board, who are constantly coming and going to the pantry for tid-bits, gruel, toast and tea. This brings me to the feeding arrangements of which I have not yet spoken. I give you a transcription of the menu cards of two different dates, which will illustrate better than I can describe the variety and luxuriousness of some of the dishes. The cooking is simply splendid. I got in with the chief chef one morning about 4 am when I was up watching the sunrise. It seems it is the custom if the passengers are pleased with the purvey, to "testimonial" to that effect. That's a new word! It does not mean to put round the hat, but simply to adhibit your esteemed signature to a document that we all highly commended the variety and excellence, attention, etc., etc., etc. The night we landed in Halifax, I borrowed a sheet of foolscap from the missionary and lauded the efforts of the chief cook up to the skies--very nearly overdid it with fancy adjectives--and got about 150 signatures to it. Since then I have been the recipient of special favours. If I am up too early for breakfast, I only need to drop into the galley and get a tid-bit--a piece of plum pudding or a warm roll or whatever the bakers have in the oven.

About those menus, here they are: they can speak for themselves. Here is one for the 18th of April:

• Breakfast: Porridge with milk or golden syrup, Grilled beefsteak with fried onions, Potato chips, Grilled liver and bacon, White and brown rolls, Tea, Toast, Jam, Marmalade, Coffee.
• Dinner: Julienne soup, Roast mutton and onion sauce, Corned beef and cabbage, Haricot ox tail, Vegetable, Boiled potatoes, Fricassee of rabbit, Rolls, Jam pudding, Rice pudding, Apple tart, Lemon biscuits, Biscuits, Dunlop cheese, Tea, Fruits, Nuts, Coffee, Cakes.
• Tea: Finan Haddock, Cold roast beef, Veal cutlets and tomato sauce, Mashed Potatoes, Teacakes, Beetroot, Toast, Jam, and Marmalade.
• Supper: Cold meats, Biscuits and cheese, Gruel, Tea, Coffee, Bread, Butter.

Here is another one I got hold of:

• Breakfast: Porridge with milk or golden syrup, Long fish and egg sauce, Grilled beefsteak with onions, Vegetable stew, Sausages and mashed potatoes, Hot toast, Brown and white rolls, Jam, Marmalade, Coffee.
• Dinner: Potato soup, Giblet soup, Boiled cod and parsley sauce, Fricassee of fowl, Roast ribs of beef and suet pudding, Boiled leg of mutton and caper sauce, Marrowfat peas and mashed carrots, Boiled potatoes and vegetables, Ginger pudding, Cranberry tart, Short bread, Biscuits, Cheshire cheese, Tea, Fruit, Nuts, Coffee.
• Tea: Fried fresh fish, Cold meats, Bowling hash, Boiled eggs, Lemon buns, Beetroot, Toast, Jam, Marmalade, Fancy bread.
• Supper: Gruel, Bologna Sausages, Biscuits and cheese, Tea, Coffee.

These menus therefore illustrate much better than yards of description of our feeding arrangements. I never was good at describing a feast anyway; long before dinner I could not tell what I had for breakfast. But one thing, you can have any number of helpings - there is no restriction. One develops an appetite at sea. I told Harry today at dinner, I would need to "taper off" as a sudden change from the sumptuous fare on the steamer to the ordinary Montreal boarding-house diet would make me feel half starved; and he agreed with me. So much for the "tummy." The hours for these are: Breakfast 8 AM, Dinner 12 Noon, Tea 4:40 PM, Supper 8:30 PM.

To resume our narrative, the ship arrived at Halifax, as the captain had predicated, at 10 o'clock pm on Thursday, and went into Quarantine all night. Given a clear certificate of health by the port doctor, she went into berth 2. Steerage passengers only were allowed to land about 10 am. By 2 o'clock they were clear; after dinner we were allowed to go. We had had the interview with the agent on board. He assured the deputation that he could not guarantee the first-class trains, nor could he take on himself the feeding the train passengers till Montreal was reached; he would wire Montreal for instruction. He would confer with us at the railway depot, which adjoined the wharf. So another meeting of the passengers was held after dinner. Great excitement prevailed. I moved that only the deputation go ashore and, after a look at the train and a talk with the agent, report to the meeting, which meantime should sit tight in the saloon, urging that if we all went off the ship and did not like the cars, they would draw the gangways and refuse to let us on board again. This was agreed to unanimously. The deputation went off in search of the agent. We couldn't find him high or low. He must have hid somewhere. We went in search of the purser; he too had done a bunk. So we returned to the steamer and behold all our baggage was dumped on the quay and everybody was ashore. I have put in "tough" days in my time but that day in Halifax! It is indescribable! I managed to get hold of my hand luggage and took my turn in passing the customs with it. They merely asked what you had in it; then they chalked it with their initials. Phillips had so many he wanted aboard the train that I had to lend him a hand while his wife looked after the youngsters. Then we had to pass the doctor in Indian file. I got into the procession about 3:15--at 5:00 I was past the doctor; then we had to get railway tickets to Montreal on production of a card handed us by the purser that morning. Another hour we waited in Indian file till our part of the procession arrived at the emigrant office, where they asked our name and trade, and jotted it down in their government ledger, mixing us up with charming inconsistency. Phillips was next to me in the procession. I am down as an iron-turner, while he is stated as a compositor. That detail didn't bother me, and the next window was the booking office. I got my blue slip for Montreal (something like you get going to Roghesay by train and steamboat), and then I had another look at the train. I went back to the quay to see after my luggage. Mrs. Cranston had 14 cases for Winnipeg and Mr. Cranston couldn't put his foot below him. She was demented. Then I saw Harry. He had got his, and had it chalked by the customs. He started off to look for mine. At last I saw my tool box peeping out from below a couple of packing cases, which another passenger was heaping up. I got them shifted and my toolbox was just about breaking into pieces. Not far off Harry got my box underneath a dozen more. How we scattered the pile! Then we had to hump them down to the customs officers. One of them looked at them and chalked them. Mrs. Cranston came up and told me one more case was still to get found, and we all got in the hunt. So many cases were alike, and they all seemed to be with the names down. We unearthed it at last and brought it to her. If ever I saw a woman grateful, it was she--she was about half-demented before we came on the scene, and now her mind was calmer.

By this time it was after seven and I went to look for something to eat. A restaurant beside the emigration office was sold out--our steamer had not been expected. The decent part of town was a mile off, and the roads were full of--well, Halifax mud! You only need to see it as we saw it that wet Saturday and have an idea what kind of mud it was. It took you over the ankles. However, I went back to my boxes. And now they had to be "baggage checked"--that is to say, you got hold of a man out of the baggage room with labels for your destination. You get one-half the label, the other half is tied to your box. I saw half-a-dozen of these fellows--but each had about 20 passengers hanging onto his coat tails pulling him this way and that. "Here you are: 3 for Winnipeg!" "Here, 2 for Toronto!" and so on: each excited individual anxious to pull him in the direction of his trunks. I had to laugh, in spite of my disgust, as I expected to see the man's clothes torn off. But he seemed used to it, and seemed willing to go 100 different roads at once. I got my eye on the agent, while I was watching this comedy. I immediately buttonholed him about the company's intentions. He said passengers could go by train at their own option, but the company could give them no better trains than those we saw. They were put off the boat by a misunderstanding. The boat was going right up to Montreal; the Gulf was now clear of ice. I immediately got a barrow, and wheeled my luggage back to the gangway. On the way I met Harry and told him what the agent had said. Onto the barrow went Harry's baggage--checks and all, and we fairly sprinted up the shed. The news got round, and off came baggage checks and barrows were in big demand. I held on to the barrow, and coming to the Phillips, offered to wheel their goods on, but Mrs. Phillips had enough sailing for a lifetime--30 hours in a coal wagon would be a treat after what she had come through. I urged it for the sake of the youngsters. Phillips decided no, as the Indian file business would have to be gone through all over again in Montreal. But I hadn't time to argue. To Mrs. Cranston I offered my services too, with Harry as a helper. She couldn't make up her mind; where was her husband? He had taken refuge in the train out of the hurly-burly, and wild horses wouldn't draw him out. However, he was contented--that was the main thing. So I parted with the barrow. Then we attempted to ford the black mud to get into town; but it was no use. I went to the steamer to get something to eat. I chaffed McL., the purser, about his sliding out the road when the deputation was hunting for him. He merely laughed and told me he had been away posting our letters (I had given him mine in the morning, and the postcards). Then he deliberately winked his eye.

Only 70 passengers came on again. (Out of 700!) The rest were resigned to their horseboxes. We went up and saw them off. But they didn't go far--the train drew out to a siding and, tell it in Goth, DID NOT LEAVE TILL TWO O'CLOCK NEXT DAY! Fancy sitting roosting on a tramcar seat from 9 on Friday night to 2 o'clock at Saturday afternoon, and not a mile made on a trip of 500 or 600 miles! I wonder if they swore! If they did the recording angel would shut his ears as they had provocation.

Our ship was moving off the quay on Saturday morning when down came a lot of young chaps we had seen off in the train. They were too late; but we could hear the state of affairs (as stated above)--their train was not to leave Halifax till 2 o'clock as some saloon cars were on the way to Halifax to take the 1st cabin passengers and it was to be hitched on to their train. I wonder when they reached Montreal...........

THE END

It is presumed that the foregoing document was to be James' wife's guide to the "new country" and what she would have to put up with on the voyage over. The story is told that James trekked all the way across Canada to Vancouver. When he was to meet his wife and sons in Montreal, he agreed and was paid to escort a prisoner back with him. It is said that he vowed he would never do that again. His wife, Mary, and their two sons, James, Jr., age 6, David, age 4, and a favorite cousin, Miss Lizzie Scott, came to Montreal in 1905. Lizzie went right back to Scotland. Mary met a woman on board the steamer who was on her way to Toronto to be married to a Mr. Smith. Mary decided she would also settle in Toronto. The two Mesdames Smith lived next door to each other on Garnet Avenue for years.

A copy of this Journal was donated by James’ granddaughter, Patricia Smith, to THE SCOTTISH GENEALOGY SOCIETY and was published in their quarterly THE SCOTTISH GENEALOGIST in June 1995.

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