Читать книгу An Australian Ramble; Or, A Summer in Australia онлайн

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I have said I send this from the Orizaba, one of the finest, if not the finest steamer of the Orient Line. Then there are the P. and O., who do not carry third-class passengers, and French and German steamers in abundance, to say nothing of other firms, who are always sending out steamers and sailing-vessels as well. As regards the latter, the firm of Devitt and Moore, of Fenchurch Street, deserve special mention, as they are the oldest people in the trade. Tourists who have the time to spare say there is nothing like a sailing-vessel for an Australian trip, and of the ships that sail in that direction, from all I hear, there are none that can equal the Sobraon (Captain Elmslie), and the Macquarie, in the Sydney trade (Captain Goddard, late of the Paramatta). All the fleet of this firm, however, bear a high character, and passengers, whether as regards accommodation or the commissariat, have no occasion to complain. The special objects of the managers of the Orient Company are to increase the facilities for the interchange of communication, and to promote the speed, safety, and, it may be added, pleasure of the passage. They are under contract with the Governments of New South Wales and South Australia to convey the mails fortnightly between England and Australia by way of Suez, and also run occasional steamers by the Cape of Good Hope. Since the Line was opened in 1877, upwards of 150,000 passengers have been carried to and fro, with all but total immunity from accident to life or limb. It cannot be doubted that the facilities thus afforded have added alike to the welfare and happiness of both the old world and the new. At home we are supplied with Australian produce, and Australia is a good customer in the English market. The service is performed by some eleven first-class steamers, varying from 3,000 to 7,000 tons. An old stager gave me the hint to choose one of the smaller vessels, on the plea that I should have better attendance on board. However, I prefer to follow the crowd, and have secured my berth on board the Orizaba, named after one of the highest mountains, somewhere, they tell me, in South America. Already she has carried the largest number of passengers ever taken by one vessel to Australia. She was built and engined by the Barrow Shipbuilding Company, the builders of the far-famed City of Rome. In the saloon there are chairs for 130 first-class passengers. The ship’s company numbers 200. There are second-class and third-class passengers on board. Apparently there is little danger of starvation, as the provision-chambers of the ship are sufficient to supply fresh provisions for 1,000 persons from England to Australia. The promenade deck is grand; and as to the saloons and drawing-rooms, they are fitted up in palatial style, and the electric light by night makes the interior look like fairyland. I ought to be happy with all the provision made for comfort on board. But who can say what may happen when I am in the Bay of Biscay, or even after I have set foot on terra firma? Strange things are constantly occurring. The other day I heard of a good man in Essex, in one of its small towns, who, as duty required, went to his favourite chapel on the Sunday morning; on his return to his Sunday dinner he was rather astonished to find that in his temporary absence his wife and daughters had packed up and started to join the Mormons on the other side of the Atlantic. It is to be hoped that no such calamity may happen to me. As to myself, there is little danger of my doing anything rash, for ‘he that hath wife and children hath given hostages to fortune,’ as the great Lord Bacon told the world long ago.