Part 2

The test of the dividend-books of the Bank of England, to which Mr. Porter next brought his calculations, varies essentially from that afforded by the progress of savings’ banks; inasmuch as it excludes all evidence of actual saving or accumulation, while it offers a strictly comparative view of such saving as between different classes of the community. The accounts furnished to Parliament by the Bank of the number of persons entitled to dividends upon portions of the public debt, divide the fund-holders into ten classes, according to the amount of which they are so entitled. Mr. Porter contrasted the numbers in each class as they stood on the 5th of April and 5th of July of the years 1831 and 1848, respectively. He then went on to show, that there has been a very large addition between 1831 and 1848 to the number of persons receiving under five pounds at each payment of dividends, and a small increase upon the number receiving between five pounds and ten pounds, while, with the exception of the largest holders—those whose dividends exceed two thousand pounds at each payment, and of whom there has been an increase of five—every other class has experienced a considerable decrease in its numbers. There has been a diminution of more than Eight per cent. in the numbers receiving between three hundred pounds and five hundred pounds; of Twelve and a half per cent. of those receiving between five hundred pounds and one thousand pounds; and of more than Twenty per cent. among holders of stock yielding dividends between one thousand pounds and two thousand pounds; this would seem conclusively to prove that, at least as respects this mode of disposing of accumulations, there is not any reason to believe that the already rich are acquiring greater wealth at the expense of the rest of the community.

All evidence proves, then, that the great accession of wealth which has been accumulated in this country during the past thirty years, has been most distributed amongst the middle classes. The natural effect of a change from agricultural to manufacturing industry—a change which has come over this country during the roll of a single century—is to increase the wealth of the manufacturing and trading elements of the community, in proportion as these are called into activity. The “great fortunes” of the old time were nobles and land-holders; the millionaires of to-day are merchants, bankers, and mill-owners. Forty years ago a rich retail tradesman was a rarity; his dealings with the wholesale trade were chiefly carried on by means of bills at long dates, in which large sums were included for risk and interest; charges which decreased his profits, and increased the price of all articles to the consumer. Now the more frequent rule amongst retailers is prompt payment, discounts in their own favour, and affluence. In our “nation of shopkeepers,” it is industry which has prospered and had its reward.

Turning from the British Association to the Poor-Law Board—from Mr. Porter to Mr. Baines—we shall see that in the scramble for wealth, pauperism itself has benefited; that, in fact, the highest grades in the scale of society have benefited as little as the very lowest. It is true that in the progress of accumulation by manufactures, the necessity of bringing large masses of operatives into confined _foci_, and of providing work for them at all times and seasons, has caused temporary spasms of poverty, that have occasionally almost defied relief; but despite the rapid increase of the population, the ranks of what may be called permanent pauperism have not been augmented. Consequently the increased wealth of the country has descended even to the lowest ranks of the people. In the year 1813, when the population of England and Wales was only ten millions, the sum expended for the relief of the poor amounted to six millions and a half sterling. From the return of the Poor-Law Board, now before us, it appears that during the year which ended on Lady Day, 1849, and with a population in England and Wales of one-third more—or nearly fifteen millions—the exactions for poors’-rates amounted to no more than five millions, seven hundred and ninety-two thousand, nine hundred and sixty-three pounds—three-quarters of a million less than was drawn for the pauperism of 1813. The poor have ceased to regard the rich, as a class, as their natural enemies. We hear no more, now, of a “grinding oligarchy.”

Besides the decrease of poor rates, other taxes have diminished. Let the three grumblers with whom we started be pleased to remember that, no longer ago than 1815, when war had done its worst on the lives and fortunes of our fathers, they were taxed at the enormous rate of five pounds four shillings and ten pence a head to each individual of the population, from the centegenarian to the latest born baby; while we, in this day and generation of “ruin,” pay per head, only fifty shillings and eleven-pence, or scarcely one-half.

It is the strength and safeguard of the English nation, that its most prominent elements are industry and commerce; for, tending as they do, to the general dissemination, as well as to the general accumulation of wealth, they effect a fusion of interests—a union of classes, and a dependence of each upon the others—which is true national power. At the moment at which we write, we learn from local sources of information, the accuracy of which we have never had occasion to question, that skilled labour of nearly every kind is in demand in the manufacturing districts; and that all sorts of capable “hands” can have work. Everything indicates improvement. If, indeed, our friends the Croakers will only look their phantom “Ruin” boldly in the face, his gaunt form will soon assume the smiling semblance of Prosperity.

AN EMIGRANT AFLOAT.

I knew very little of the sea when I determined to emigrate. Like most emigrants, I thought beforehand more of the dangers than of the disagreeables of this voyage; but found, when actually at sea, that its disagreeables seemed more formidable than its dangers. I shall describe the voyage, in order that those who follow me may know precisely what it is that they have to encounter, satisfied as I am, that nothing will tend more to conduce to the comforts of the emigrant at sea, than his being able to take a full and accurate measure of its disagreeable as well as its agreeable accompaniments, before stepping on board.

It was late in the afternoon of a bright May day, when the Seagull, 480 tons register, and bound for Quebec, spread her wings to the wind, after having been towed out of the harbour of Greenock. A gentle breeze carried her smoothly by the point of Gourock, the Holy Loch, Dunoon, and other places familiar to the tourist on the noble Frith of Clyde. We were off the neat little town of Largs, when the shadows of evening thickened around us. I was one of more than a hundred steerage passengers, most of whom soon afterwards went below for the night, many with heavy hearts, thinking that they had seen the last glimpses of their native land.

I remained long enough on deck to perceive the approach of a marked change in the weather. We were still landlocked, when the wind veered round to the west, directly ahead of us. It increased so rapidly in violence, that by the time we were off Brodick, in the Island of Arran, it was blowing more than half a gale. As we tacked to and fro to gain the open sea, the vessel laboured heavily, and I soon felt sufficiently squeamish to descend and seek refuge in my berth. Here a scene awaited me for which I was but little prepared. With very few exceptions, all below were far advanced in sea-sickness. Some were groaning in their berths; others were lying upon the floor, in a semi-torpid state; and others, again, were retching incessantly. What a contrast was the Seagull then, to the neat, tempting picture she presented when lying quietly in dock, and when, as I paced her white, dry, warm, sunny decks, visions filled my mind of the pleasant days at sea before me, when, reclining on the cordage, beneath the shelter of the bulwarks, I could read the live-long day, whilst the stout ship sped merrily on her voyage. Delightful anticipations! Let no one be extravagant in forming them, unless he has a preference for disappointment. My faith in the romance of the sea was greatly shaken by my first night’s experiences on board, and it soon received a fatal blow from the commotion which was being gradually engendered within my own frame, and which, at length, resulted in a catastrophe. I could not sleep, for as the gale increased, so did the noises within and without. I could hear the heavy wind whistling mournfully through the damp, tight-drawn cordage, and the waves breaking in successive showers on the deck overhead. It made my flesh creep, too, to hear the water trickling by my very ear, as it rushed along outside the two-inch plank which (pleasing thought) was all that separated me from destruction. As the storm gained upon us, the ship laboured more and more heavily, until, at length, with each lurch which she made, everything moveable in the steerage rolled about from side to side on the floor. Pots and pans, trunks, boxes, and pieces of crockery kept up a most noisy dance for the entire night, their respective owners being so ill as to be utterly indifferent to the fate of their property. In the midst of the horrid din, I could distinguish the distressing groan of the strong man prostrated by sea-sickness, the long-drawn sigh and scarcely audible complaint of the woman, and the sickly wail of the neglected child; and, that nothing might be wanting to heighten the horrors of the scene, we were all this time in perfect darkness, every light on board having been extinguished for hours.

Morning was far advanced as I fell into a fitful and feverish sleep. On awaking, I found all as still as before leaving port. My fellow-passengers were all on deck; and I hurried up after them to ascertain the cause of the change. It was soon explained. The gale had, at length, become so violent, that the ship had put back for shelter, and was now lying quietly at anchor in the beautiful bay of Rothesay.

But what a change had, in the meantime, taken place in the appearance of my fellow-passengers. The buoyant air of yesterday had disappeared; and those who were then in ruddy health, now looked pale and woebegone. Such was the effect of our night’s prostration.

For my own part, I began to feel that I had already had enough of the sea, and heartily wished myself safe ashore on the banks of the St. Lawrence. I had formerly experienced a sort of enthusiasm in listening to such songs, as “The sea, the sea, the open sea!” “A life on the ocean wave!” &c., &c. But had anyone on board now struck up either of them, I should assuredly have set him down for a maniac. We remained for two days in Rothesay Bay, waiting for a change of wind, during which time we recruited our spirits—and water, a fresh stock of which we shipped. It was not, therefore, without some of the lightness of heart, which had characterised our first start, that, on the morning of the third day, we made way again for the New World. But it seemed as if we were never to get rid of the coast, for we were overtaken by a dead calm off Ailsa, causing delay for ten days more sweltering under a hot sun, within half a mile of that lonely and stupendous rock. On the evening of the second day a gentle breeze from the northeast carried us out of the Channel, and next morning found us with all sail set, speeding westward, with the Irish coast on our lee.

We were a very mixed company in the steerage. Some had been farmers, and were going out to try their hands at agriculture in the wilds of Canada. Others had been servants, predial and domestic, and were on their way in search of better fortunes in the New World, although they had not yet made up their minds as to the precise manner in which they were to woo the fickle dame. We had a brace of wives on board who were proceeding to join their husbands in Canada, who had prudently preceded their families, and prepared for their advent, by constructing a home for them in the woods. There was an old man with a slender capital, who was emigrating at an advanced period of life, that he might make a better provision for his grandson, a lusty youth of about seventeen, of whom he seemed doatingly fond. We had also amongst us a large family from Edinburgh, of that class of people who have “seen better days,” who were hurrying across the Atlantic in the hope of at least catching a glimpse of them again. Besides the father and mother, there were several sons and two daughters, the eldest son having duly qualified himself for the honour of writing W. S. after his name—a nominal appendage which he would find of far less value to him than a good axe in the woods. We had a clergyman, too, of the poorer class, in worldly circumstances, who had been accredited as a missionary to the Canadian wilds. I must not overlook four or five infants, the precise ownership of which I never thoroughly traced, they were so tumbled about from one to another; and which generally of nights favoured us with prolonged choruses of the most enlivening description.

Thus mixed and assorted, the first few days passed off agreeably enough to such as were proof against a relapse of sea-sickness. When it was not blowing too strong, the deck was a pleasant place for exercise, which is necessary to comfort, as it is generally cold and disagreeable at sea, except when calm, and then one is annoyed, whilst being broiled, at the thought of making no progress. The chief occupation on board, seemed to be that of cooking and eating. The cooking apparatus for the steerage was on deck; each family, and each individual who had no family, was continually cooking for themselves. As the accommodation for cooking was not very ample for upwards of a hundred passengers, there was scarcely an hour of the day between sunrise and sunset, that was not witness to the progress of some culinary operations—men, women, and children were constantly appearing and disappearing at the hatchways with pots, saucepans, kettles, and other utensils; and it was not long ere some began to fear, having made but little account of the voracity of appetite engendered by convalescence after sea-sickness, that their stock of provisions would prove rather scanty for the voyage.

Perhaps the greatest privation to which the poor steerage passenger is subjected, is in connection with the water which he uses for drinking and in some of his cooking processes. As the voyage may be protracted beyond reasonable calculation, an extra supply of fresh water is or should be laid in to meet such an emergency. To preserve this extra stock from becoming impure, different devices are resorted to,—such as impregnating it with lime, large quantities of which are thrown into each cask. Were this the case only with the extra stock, the comfort of the passenger might, for a time at least, be unimpaired in this respect; but the misfortune is, that all the water for steerage consumption, immediate and contingent, is treated in the same way; so that the emigrant is scarcely out of harbour, when he finds the water of which he makes use not only extremely unpalatable to drink, but in such a state as to spoil every decoction into which it enters. Fancy a cup of tea without cream, but with sugar and coarse lime, in about equal proportions, to flavour it. The most unquestionable sloe leaves might, under such circumstances, pass for young hyson, and the worst of chicory for the best of coffee. This sorely discomfited the more elderly of the females on board, whose cup of life was poisoned by very thin mortar.

On the fifth day out, after gaining the open sea, we were overtaken by a tremendous gale, which did us considerable damage. I was standing near the forecastle, when a heavy block dropped from aloft with terrific force at my feet. I had scarcely recovered from my fright, when crash after crash over head, making me run under the jolly boat in terror. For a moment afterwards all was still, and then arose a tremendous uproar on board, officers giving all sorts of directions at once, and sailors running about, and jumping over each other to obey them. When I ventured to peep out from my place of safety, a sad spectacle of wreck and ruin presented itself to me. On our lee, masts, ropes, spars, and sails were floating alongside on the uneasy waters. Our fore-top-mast had given way, and in falling overboard, had dragged the maintop-gallant mast and the greater part of our bowsprit along with it. Sails and rigging went of course with the wreck, which was provoking, as the wind was a-beam and so far favourable. We soon hauled the wreck on board, however, and in the course of two or three days, with the aid of the carpenter, the dismantled ship was re-rigged in a very creditable manner.

We had scarcely yet put to rights, when a vessel made up to us bound westward like ourselves. What a sight to the lonely wanderers on the ocean is a ship at sea!—it seems like a herald coming to you from the world, from which you are seemingly cut off for ever. It is a sight which must be seen to be appreciated. She was labouring heavily on our lee, and every now and then her whole keel became visible to us. To this, one of the passengers very innocently directed attention, much to the horror of the second mate, who smartly rebuked the offender; it being, he said, not only indelicate, but perilous to own having seen the keel of any ship under canvas. We all, of course, admitted the reasonableness of this caution, and strictly observed it.

The ship was no sooner repaired, than the wind, which had abated a little, seemed to redouble its fury. We were now in the midst of a terrible storm, and great was the commotion in the steerage. Some moaned in pain—others screamed occasionally in terror—whilst one old lady was constantly inquiring in a most piteous voice, if there was not one good man on board, for whose sake the rest might be saved. On making the inquiry of a rough, but good-natured tar, he rebuked her scepticism, and referred her to the minister. We had two sailors on board, named Peter. One was an ordinary looking mortal, from whom the other was distinguished by the appellation of Peter the Leerer, a name having reference to the extraordinary facial phenomena which he exhibited. On the point of his nose was an enormous wart, the counterpart of which had taken possession of his chin. He had likewise one, but of smaller dimensions, on either cheek, only wanting one on his forehead, to complete the diagram; a want, which, for most of the voyage, was providentially made up by a large pimple, which underlay his bump of benevolence. Add to this an enormous quantity of wiry red hair, and a portentous squint, and you may form some conception of the goblin in question. He was the terror of all the children on board, and came regularly into the steerage in the morning, begging a “toothful” from the passengers. We never saw his tooth, but it must have been very large, as what he meant by the term was a glass of raw spirits, to the strength of which he was stoically indifferent, so that it was above proof. It appeared that he now thought that the time had come for making some sort of return for sundry gifts of this nature. He appeared amongst us, as the storm was at its height, and confidentially informed us that, unless some of the “canvas” were immediately taken down, the ship “had not another hour’s life in her.” To describe the confusion and dismay occasioned by this announcement is impossible. Nobody questioned Peter’s judgment, who stood looking at us as if he thought that one good turn deserved another. But every one was too much frightened to think of rewarding him for his kindness. Some ran at once upon deck to take immediate advantage of the boats—the women all screamed together—and we had a pretty tolerable taste of the horrors to be witnessed on the eve of a shipwreck. The hubbub at length ended in the appointment of a deputation to wait upon the captain, and solicit him to shorten sail. The deputation went upon its mission, but soon afterwards returned from the cabin to their constituents with the report that they had been politely requested by the functionary in question to mind their own business. The storm, however, gradually abated, and things and persons resumed their ordinary aspect.

Great was the anxiety evinced every time the log was thrown, to ascertain our rate of sailing, and at noon of each day, to know our daily run, and our precise locality on the terraqueous globe. It is difficult for an emigrant to reconcile himself to less than eight or nine knots an hour. He may put up with seven, or even six, provided the ship is in her direct course, but he regards everything below that as a justifiable ground of murmuring and complaint. Sometimes it is the ship that is wrong, and sometimes the captain, sometimes the rigging, and at other times, all is wrong together. But to do the emigrant justice, if he is in the surly mood when he is making but little progress, he makes amends for his ill-humour when the vessel is making a good run. We, one day, made but about twenty miles, and I apprehended a mutiny. On another we made two hundred, and nothing could exceed the hilarity and good-humour of those on board. At one time, the Seagull was the merest tub, a disgrace to her owners, and to the mercantile navy of the kingdom. At another, she was one of the best vessels afloat; the captain one of the best sailors on the sea; and the crew the cleverest set of fellows in the world. But all this time it was the same ship, the same captain, and the same crew. The diversity of opinion was the result of extraneous circumstances which caused us at different times to take different points of view. If the weather was favourable, and we made good way, the ship, captain, and crew, got all the honour and glory; if it was adverse and our progress was retarded, the ship, captain, and crew, had to bear all our sinister glances and ill humours. One morning, after we had been about ten days out, our minds were all made up that we were pretty near the banks of Newfoundland, when a fellow-passenger, evidently not very deeply versed in human nature, had the hardihood to inform us that he had, but the day before, seen the mate’s log book, from which it appeared that we were as yet but five hundred miles to the westward of the Irish coast. I can scarcely understand to this day, how it was that he escaped being thrown overboard.