112 THREE DAVS AND THREK NIGHTS ON BOARD A STEAMER. 



clared such a method of amusement to be vulgar and out of place. We cared 

 little for himself, and less for his opinion, and managed to amuse ourselves 

 thus pretty well until mid-day, when the gale having apparently abated, we 

 got up the anchor and again stood out to sea. During an hour or two the 

 wind had fallen, and as the vessel had nothing to contend with but the 

 swell, she was enabled to get on pretty well ; but a little after ten, it 

 again began to blow hard, and by four was a perfect hurricane. We 

 had seen few of the steerage passengers during the day, and we pro- 

 posed that a visit should be paid them — a call of ceremony merely. The 

 stomach was pleaded as an excuse, and we were left alone to go with 

 the captain, and see how they were faring. As we entered, down the 

 narrow stairs, the steam that ascended was of so rank and noxious a 

 nature that we had nearly stopped short in our intention. The steerage 

 floor was covered with men, women, and children, stretched at full 

 length, not in parallel lines, but " higgledy piggledy," for the greater 

 part sick and groaning, and a few of them vomiting. The seats round 

 about were covered with those who had been so fortunate as to procure 

 the elevation, from which the roll of the vessel was occasionally pitching 

 its possessor down upon his more humble bedfellow, while the table was 

 covered by an old man lying on his back and. snoring loudly, with his 

 two hands clutching firmly the two sides, to prevent his abdication. 



In one of the side rooms were three old women, drinking what they 

 called tea out of an old black pot — they had but one cup between them 

 — and it was in the form of a dirty, rusty-looking tin jug. Two or 

 three men were sitting on the seat, resting their head and arm upon 

 the table, and fast asleep. In the other room were a party of drunk 

 bacchanalians carousing away over their porter, and singing so loudly 

 that, had it not been for the storm, they might have been heard on 

 the quarter-deck ; while, looking further forward, we saw, amidst the 

 indistinct gloom of the lamp which hung above, a pair of bright eyes — 

 not sleeping, but wandering wildly around ; it was a young mother 

 suckling her infant child. What a scene for pity ! Young, beautiful, 

 poor-looking, and a mother, with a child at her breast, sitting in the 

 carousing-room of an Irish steam-boat steerage, in one of the wildest 

 nights that ever blew, with those around her who appeared more like 

 fiends than men. We appealed to the carousers, if it would not do 

 honour to an Irishman's heart to move to the other room, and rather 

 disturb the old beldames at their tea than the young mother with her 

 child, and the appeal had not to be repeated. She asked us, if we would 

 not consider it too much, that she would feel thankful for a glass of 

 porter ; that she had come on-board the boat imagining that one day 

 would suffice ; that her little stock of provisions was exhausted ; neither 

 did she feel inclined to eat, but, for the sake of her babe, she would 

 like a drink of porter. She said she had applied to the steward, but 

 found his price beyond her means. The steward was hailed, and the 

 porter produced. We joined her in the finishing of it, and were pleased 

 to see what an efi'ect it had in rendering what was purely a pretty and 

 interesting face yet more beautiful and interesting. We asked her, 

 what could induce her to place herself in such a situation. She said, 

 that about five years before that time she had been married to a worker 

 in one of the large bleaching-fields in the north of Ireland ; that they 



