In the course of our story we have treated with less consideration the aspect of luxury which, to some minds, is at once the most obvious and most striking feature of a steamship, whether yacht, liner, or excursion steamer. But since we set forth not to write a treatise on marine furniture and upholstery, but to show, step by step, how the modern steamship has come to be what she is, it was essential that we should have kept strictly to the main points of our task. Nevertheless, we should have fallen short of our duty had we omitted to give some idea of the care which is paid to make the ship take on the dual personality of hotel and ferry. It is inevitable that the ship in any age, whether of sail, steam or petrol, should be influenced by the forces at work ashore. Caligula’s galleys (of which a detailed description was given in the author’s “Sailing Ships: The Story of Their Development from the Earliest Times to the Present Day”) were not in discord with the debasing influences at work on shore, and after due allowance has been made, it cannot be regarded as a healthy sign that modern tastes have to be catered for with such luxuriance, and that steamship companies even go so far as to advertise their graceful, stalwart ships as hotels. Not that one would wish to revert to the hardships and utter discomforts which had to be endured by the transatlantic passengers less than a hundred years ago, when the ship, after contending against waves and wind, at last came staggering into port to the intense relief of everyone concerned. Pitching and rolling, washed fore and aft, swept from one gunwale to the other, a hell afloat for the timid and sea-sick, and a source of the gravest anxiety to her officers, she was too small to be equal to her task, too barely furnished to make life other than just tolerable.

Cooped up in bad weather below, where ventilation was sadly lacking; crowded with men, women and children going out to the New World to try their fortunes; with hard, scanty sleeping accommodation that was not even human in its comfort; gangways crowded with mean luggage, and no proper commissariat department; no refrigerating machinery, no preserved foods, but a medley of animals on deck to be killed and consumed as required—if they were not washed overboard by the unkindly Atlantic seas—it was no wonder that when at last the dragged-out agony was ended the passengers stepped ashore with firm resolutions never more to entrust themselves to the uncertain vagaries of the sea and its ships.

When Charles Dickens crossed in January of 1842, not then was the experience one of delight or anything approaching thereto. The ship on which he travelled to America was the Cunard Britannia, bound for Halifax and Boston with the mails. Of the other features of this early steamship we have already spoken, but some of the impressions which Dickens has left us regarding the comfort, or the want of it, on board this ship are worthy of attention by those who find cause for complaint even in the perfectly appointed travelling Atlantic “hotels” of to-day. Something of the appearance of his state-room may be seen by looking at the illustration facing this page, which is here inserted by the courtesy of the Cunard Company. “That this state-room had been specially engaged for ‘Charles Dickens Esquire and Lady,’” he remarks in his “American Notes,” “was rendered sufficiently clear even to my scared intellect by a very small manuscript announcing the fact, which was pinned on a very flat quilt, covering a very thin mattress, spread like a surgical plaster on a most inaccessible shelf.” He speaks of his cabin as an “utterly impracticable, thoroughly hopeless, and profoundly preposterous box.” What he thought of the Britannia’s saloon is depicted for us in no sparing terms. “Before descending into the bowels of the ship,” he adds, “we had passed from the deck into a long, narrow apartment, not unlike a gigantic hearse with windows in the sides; having at the upper end a melancholy stove, at which three or four chilly stewards were warming their hands; while on either side, extending down its whole dreary length, was a long, long table, over each of which a rack, fixed to the low roof, and stuck full of drinking-glasses and cruet-stands, hinted dismally at rolling seas and heavy weather.” What he would have thought of the saloon and the state-rooms on the Mauretania, with their glaring contrast to the accommodation on the lively little Britannia, we need not stop to imagine. The fare in those days from Liverpool to Boston was thirty-eight guineas. Nowadays, for one-half that sum life on an Atlantic liner can be pleasant and luxurious.

As steamships became bigger, the conditions of travel became gradually more tolerable, but it was not until the influence of the first White Star Oceanic that a revolution was made in these matters. Quite apart from the superior qualities of her hull and engines she was more thoughtfully arranged with a view to making the passenger’s life at least as comfortable as was then thought possible. Some of these improvements we have already noted in the course of our story, but it is worth remembering that in the amelioration of the passenger’s lot the White Star Line have not been in the rear. Among other items, they have to their credit the honour of having originated on board ship the placing of the saloon and passenger accommodation amidships, instead of right aft; installing electric bells, providing separate chairs in the saloon, instead of using the old-fashioned, uncomfortable high-backed forms, which were thought good enough for the ocean voyager; installing self-acting water-tight doors, supplying third-class passengers with bedding, eating and drinking utensils—for in olden days the emigrant had to provide not merely his own supply of food for the voyage, but everything he required of all sorts excepting water. It was the White Star Line which was the first to supply an elaborate system of Turkish baths for first-class passengers. But it was the Oceanic which was the turning-point in steamship comfort. All else that has since followed has been not a little influenced by this ship. For us to go through a detailed list of the wonderful comforts which are obtainable on board the modern passenger steamship would convey the impression of reading through an advertisement catalogue. Already the reader is in possession of some knowledge of the really wonderful equipment which is to be found on the modern ocean-going steamship. Nothing has been omitted that could well have been added. Nowadays, in spite of the extravagant waste of space which such a proceeding involves, many of the best steamships are fitted with single-berthed state-rooms, so that to be thrust into acquaintanceship with a perfect stranger is no longer essential for the whole voyage. Dickens’s “preposterous box” has grown into an exceedingly comfortable apartment, and the millionaire may hire for the voyage the regal suite with bedrooms and dining-rooms, its fire-places, mirrors, sconces, bedsteads and the rest, as perfect as in the most extravagant metropolitan hotels in New York or London. With the ship’s smoke rooms, veranda cafés, libraries, lounges, writing rooms, orchestras, telephones from the state-rooms, lifts from one deck to the others, a newspaper printed ready for him each morning as he comes down to breakfast with the latest American and European news transmitted to the ship over-night by wireless telegraphy; with gymnasia to keep him fit and well during the voyage, with Turkish baths, a high-class cuisine, the opportunity of dining either à la carte or table d’hôte without extra charge, whilst all the time the good ship is breaking records each voyage to get him back to mother earth as quickly as ever can be—what else is there left to the ingenuity of man to devise for the increased comfort of the much-pampered and still-grumbling passenger?

The illustration facing page 300 shows the veranda café just alluded to, which is placed high up in the sky on the Lusitania. Since it faces aft, no inconvenience can be felt through the speed at which the vessel is rushing through the air. But who that stood on the deck of the Clermont or the Charlotte Dundas could ever have imagined that this spacious café should form just one small section of a steamship? It is the Germans who have to some extent set the pace within recent years in steamship luxury. Anxious for the patronage of the wealthy American who was accustomed to the luxurious comforts of the best hotels, the German-American lines began to lead the way in showing that the steamship could be made as glorious within as any shore building, notwithstanding the restrictions necessarily laid upon an object that is subjected to the buffetings of wind and wave. Low ceilings gave way to high; simplicity was conquered by ornate decoration, and this in no vulgar but an exceedingly artistic manner. Stereotyped arrangements of saloons and cabins gave way to something more in accordance with the requirements of good taste and elaborate comfort. A free use of applied art by the highest craftsmen in paintings, carvings and so on; magnificence in place of more or less ample comfort—these have been the principles which have actuated the Teutonic internal steamship arrangements ever since the ’nineties. The Kaiser Wilhelm der Grosse came as a sensation in this respect, and in regard to her decorations alone was the handsomest vessel in the world. The rise of German prosperity, and, therefore, the appearance of what economists demonstrate to be the immediate sequel—an instant desire to expend money in all sorts of self-indulgence—has been followed by a readiness on the part of the steamship companies to put forth the greatest material comfort that is practicable on board ship. German decorative art was in a peculiarly happy position to be able to supply all that was necessary to make a steel tank resemble a palace. Conventional dolphins and anchors were ousted by mosaics and exquisite woodwork, and a new sphere for what was original, but yet suitable, in art was opened. On such ships as the George Washington and the Berlin it is possible to regard a standard of applied art which cannot be easily equalled, still less surpassed by anything of the kind ashore. It was the German ships which were the first to break away from the convention of the long tables which divided up the saloon, and to introduce a number of round tables more in accordance with the interior of a modern restaurant. And what has been found to be best in this respect in the German ships has not been long in being copied in the rival national lines.

The White Star Adriatic, whose saloon is shown opposite page 300, in addition to her many elements of floating luxury, has a number of other features which are notable for any steamship. Besides her lifts, she has a large Turkish bath establishment and a salt-water bath big enough to swim in. Like some of the German ships, she has also a gymnasium under the direction of a competent instructor, where one can enjoy saddle exercise, or practise rowing mechanically. There are also electric light baths and an orchestra of skilled musicians. But even these un-shippy features are not confined to the big steamers, and the illustrations opposite page 302 show respectively the gymnasium and the dining-saloon of the steam yacht Liberty, one of the most modern and luxurious yachts, which is owned by Mr. Pulitzer, the well-known American millionaire newspaper proprietor.

But if the luxury of human desires is catered for on shipboard, so also is personal life. Infectious disease has to be provided against, especially in the case of ships carrying emigrants. Dispensaries and hospitals are carried, with their proper equipment, and it is not so long since the world was thrilled by the announcement that on one of the swiftest mail liners a case of appendicitis manifested itself, and had to be attended to without delay. When the moment arrived the engines of the great ship were stopped in mid-Atlantic while, with great courage and admirable nerve, the surgeon performed successfully the delicate operation on the unfortunate man.

So also, in a manner entirely different, is the safety of the passengers provided for, and to an extent that is not excelled even by the fine railway systems on land. With two or three thousand souls on board, all of whom could be sent into eternity in a few minutes, besides large quantities of cargo and precious mails, it is no wonder that not a thing is omitted that could conduce to the most efficient preservation of life and matter. From the safety valves of the engines to the elaborate apparatus on the navigating bridge, the word “safeguard” is spelled out in every single detail. Some of the more important essentials we have already spoken about, but there are others that we must not omit to mention, which find a place in the up-to-date steamship. Besides the duplicate steering gear, the elaborate system of water-tight doors, water-tight double-bottoms, powerful pumping engines, the life-boats, life-buoys, and life-belts—the first of these being placed as high as possible, so that, in case of emergency, they are as far above the water as can be—there is a fire alarm installation which leads to the bridge-house, and a highly efficient fire-extinguishing apparatus. With the introduction of electric light in place of oil lamps no doubt the dangers of fire have been minimised; but the hold and the bunkers must needs be kept well ventilated. On the German liners and on the Fall River Line steamboats electric thermostats are distributed over the principal parts of the ship and connected with an electric fire-alarm system extending to every part of the crew’s quarters, which enable the extinguishing apparatus to be set working at once. Gas generated from chemicals which together possess great extinguishing virtues, is introduced into burning hold or bunker by means of an engine, so that one of the deadliest enemies of a ship at sea is not merely capable of control, but even of extinction.

Having regard to the speed at which steamships are now compelled to traverse the oceans, it is essential that all the recognised facilities for accurate navigation are taken advantage of in the modern liner. To prevent any possibility of mistake the engine-room telegraph is provided with a means of replying, so that the commander is able to tell whether the order has been understood. Further still, an apparatus informs him whether the order has been correctly carried out, and in the event of any of these complicated mechanisms breaking down, the speaking tube is still available. Speed indicators to register the number of revolutions made by the screws, mechanical logs, and deep-sea sounding machines, Morse signalling lamps, powerful sirens (especially useful in fog when in the vicinity of other shipping and the coast), are all now employed to give to the ship a safe and speedy passage, and to relieve the anxieties of the over-burdened modern captain.

But in two respects especially has electricity within the last few years shown itself to be of the greatest service to the ship at sea. Taking them in the reverse order of their chronology, there is first of all the system of submarine signalling so recently installed. This takes advantage of the fact that water is a conductor of sound, and with a speed more than four times quicker than air. In the case of fog overtaking a steamer approaching land, or the vicinity of a channel marked by buoys or lightships, it is possible to obtain warning by sound when sight is denied, and this at a distance of four or five miles. The submarine bell is attached to buoy or lightship, whilst the receiving apparatus is attached to the interior of the ship’s hull at the bows. From there the signals are conveyed to the chart-house by means of telephones. One receiver is placed on each bow inside the plating of the ship between the keel and the water-line, so that the bell may be located on either side. A very interesting instance of the utility of submarine signalling was afforded recently in the case of the Kaiser Wilhelm II., which, owing to a dense fog, was anchored off Cherbourg. Her tender was awaiting her just outside the harbour, and sounded her submarine bell to indicate the direction to be steered in order that the big liner might make port. At a distance of no less than fifteen miles away the Kaiser Wilhelm II. picked up the signals by her receivers, and was enabled to find her way into the French harbour by this means alone.

Still more wonderful is the invention of wireless telegraphy, which has come to the ship as the greatest blessing and boon within recent years. With the general principles of its working the reader is, no doubt, already familiar, and the present volume need not enlarge upon them, but the accompanying illustration will be found interesting as showing the Marconi room with a telegraphist at work on a Cunarder. For a distance of 2,000 miles from Liverpool wireless connection can be maintained between the ship and the shore, whilst passing liners many miles apart are enabled to communicate with each other to their mutual benefit and safety. Whilst these pages are being printed a transatlantic wireless service has been instituted between Europe and America, and it is indisputable that the next naval war will be considerably influenced by the employment of wireless gear on board battleships, cruisers, scouts, and the bigger mosquito craft. Of the invaluable aid which already the wireless system has been to the steamship in peace we could give countless instances had we the space; but the following will suffice to show its utility within the last two or three years. On May 28th, 1907, the German liner Kaiser Wilhelm der Grosse, whilst on her voyage was enveloped in a dense fog and passed, without sighting, close to another steamer sailing in the same direction. The German ship, however, heard the other’s sirens, and knowing that the Cunard Caronia was on the same track, and might run some chance of collision with the unseen vessel, the German captain sent a wireless message to the Caronia, and two hours and a half later received a reply from the latter which showed that the third steamer was on the Cunarder’s course, and might have been a danger to her.

A clear case of the avoidance of costly salvage was afforded in April, 1910, when the Allan liner Carthaginian, which had left Liverpool a week earlier for St. John’s, Newfoundland, was disabled at sea owing to the breaking of a piston-rod. She was able by means of her “wireless” to inform the same owners’ Hesperian of her mishap, and the latter received the news when a hundred miles west of Malin Head, County Donegal. The Hesperian thereupon went to her sister’s assistance, and took the ship, with her 800 emigrants on board, in tow for the Clyde. Still more interesting is the thrilling rescue which was obtained from the sinking liner Kentucky by the Alamo, which took place in February, 1909. The following statement, taken from a daily newspaper of the time, needs no embellishing, and the simple facts speak once more for the triumphant victory which the new telegraphy has obtained over some of the terrors with which the sea is inevitably associated:—

“A full statement obtained to-day from Mr. W. F. Maginnis, the operator in the Kentucky, who sent the wireless message received by the Alamo, is a most dramatic narrative. The wireless telegraphic apparatus was installed in the Kentucky just before her departure on a 14,000-mile cruise round Cape Horn, and to it forty-five men owe their lives.

“Early on Friday morning, during a heavy storm, the engineer informed Mr. Maginnis that the ship was doomed. An hour later Mr. Maginnis got into wireless communication with the Alamo, then about ninety miles away, but not until noon was it possible for the captain to get an exact observation of his position.

“‘Half an hour before that,’ says Mr. Maginnis, ‘the electrician came to me and said that the water was creeping up and that the dynamo power would soon be lost. All hands were then directed to abandon all other work and devote themselves to keeping the water away from the dynamo. The turbine engine and dynamo were wrapped in canvas and power was thus preserved until the vital message was despatched.’

“When the Alamo at 3.30 p.m. reached the Kentucky, the deck of the sinking vessel was almost awash. The crew, despite the high seas, were rescued by the boats without mishap, and when they had clambered on board the Alamo they immediately gave three cheers for Mr. Maginnis.

“The Kentucky was insured for £14,000. Her seams opened wide during the storm.”