Читать книгу Five Years Under the Southern Cross: Experiences and Impressions - Frederic C. Spurr - Страница 5

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To the Australian shores there pass, in ever-increasing numbers, steamers of every size and of every nationality. They go from America, from India, from Japan, from China, from France, and from Britain. The world has discovered Australia to be a fine continent for business. Year by year the tonnage of steamers grows. It is a far cry from the little cockle-boat of 300 tons which touched at Sydney Harbour a century ago to the new majestic liners of 13,000 tons which now ply between Tilbury and Sydney. The limitations of the Suez Canal seem to have determined the size of the largest steamers outward bound by that route. Via the Cape, there are no such restrictions; hence the White Star Company has been able to place its steamer, the Ceramic, a vessel of 18,000 tons, on the Australian trade, and the limit is not yet reached. There is no reason why steamers equal to the Atlantic greyhounds should not yet ply between Britain and Melbourne. The twin difficulties would be, obviously, fuel and food. The shorter journeys between England and Canada, England and the States, or England and the Mediterranean, offer no difficulty in the way of coal or provisions. But what of a voyage of six or seven weeks? The present arrangements are marvellous enough. Passengers pass from port to port without anxiety. Their table is always well spread. There is enough and to spare. Even at the end of a long voyage English sole and salmon appear on the menu for dinner. How is it all accomplished? The ease of working means that behind all there is a perfect organisation, which for the average passenger, however, remains enveloped in mystery. The varied menus at table indicate the existence of an immense reserve somewhere in the ship. I determine, if possible, to fathom the secret of a ship’s working. The man who knows everything is the purser, but previous experience makes me shy of pursers—at least, some of them. I remember the uniform, the haughty manners, the snobbishness, the air of condescension, the impression that a god had descended to earth and taken to the career of a purser. Is our purser of this type? I wonder! I approach him, and find him to be a splendid fellow—dignified, kind, courteous, and ready to do all in his power to satisfy my request. He places in my hands a book of romance. In point of fact, it is a book of quantities and prices, of descriptions and instructions; page after page deals with edibles of all kinds. To the purser all this is business; to me it is romance and miracle, for it represents the arrangements made to feed a little world, cut off from the rest of men, and launched upon the immense waters of the ocean.

These pages of dry figures, matter-of-fact as they are, simple as they are, represent years of experience and experiment. There is no likelihood of passengers ever starving; a generous margin is allowed, over and above actual needs, for eventualities. Nor is there likelihood of monotony in menus. The variety of provisions is astounding. These pages, dealing with the commissariat of the ship, contain a list of thirty-eight different kinds of soup, nearly 100 varieties of fish, entrées and sauces galore. The fundamentals of eating and drinking bulk more largely, of course, than anything else. Thus this ship started on its voyage with 1,400 lbs. of biscuits, 76 barrels and 216 bags of flour, 5,000 lbs. of butter, 10,000 eggs, 1,500 lbs. of coffee, and 10,000 lbs. of beef. Sugar is the heaviest item of all, being 12,000 lbs. Then follow hundreds of bottles of preserved fruit, poultry and game of all kinds, dried fruits of every description, jams, jellies, and marmalade to repletion, tinned meats and fish, raisins, currants, salt, milk, bacon, and vegetables of all kinds. Nothing seems missing. The list is prodigious. Not a taste is left unprovided for. At every port fresh provisions are taken in. The purser has a list of tradesmen at every place of call. He knows exactly what can be obtained, where it can be obtained, when, and at what price. His book informs him that it is not advisable to procure certain things at certain places. There are regular providers who undertake to furnish the ship with provisions. Woe to any of these men if they play tricks with the company; if for once only they supply inferior food their names are forthwith struck off the list, and no amount of pleading will succeed in having them replaced there. It is the unpardonable sin to supply stuff of inferior quality. I noted a line in the instructions which means much: “The company pay full price (for articles), and they expect none but the best quality.”

So this is how the purchasing and storing are done. Everything is reduced to an exact science. There is no experimenting, no guessing. The steamers leave the home ports ready for all demands likely to be made upon them.

The next question is that of storage. How is all the fresh food—meat, vegetables, poultry, fish, etc.—kept? Even a child to-day would reply in a word—“cold storage.” But this means much more than it seems to mean. Cold storage is a fine art, and a still finer art is that of thawing. It would appear to be a perfectly simple thing to remove a piece of meat or some poultry from the cold chamber and roast it for the table. But it is far from simple. Unless the thawing is properly done, the joint is ruined. Hence, elaborate instructions are issued both for freezing and for thawing fresh foods. It is really wonderful, when one comes to think of it, that food can be preserved from corruption by the application of cold; but the cold must be scientifically applied. In the refrigerating chamber the temperature is kept from 20 degrees to 25 degrees—“It snows there.” Stewards who enter the chamber for business purposes are compelled to dress in special garments, so as to avoid a sudden chill, with its possible fatal consequences. The air in the cold chamber is changed three times a week. And so it is all a miracle of atmosphere, regulated at will.

The practical work of preparing meals for passengers is very fascinating. The kitchens are models of cleanliness. No slovenliness is permitted. Most of the food is untouched by hand. Dough is mixed by a machine. Bread and cakes are cut by a patent knife. Potatoes are peeled by a huge “peeler,” which removes only the minimum of skin. There are enormous roasters and steam cookers, which perform their work with absolute precision. The kitchen of a great liner is a place of wonder, and the scullery is only second to it. Here labour is saved at every turn. Knives are cleaned in a new and expeditious manner; plates are washed by steam and dried in a whirling machine turned by electricity at a terrific rate of speed. Science operates everywhere. There is no chance for germs to develop. Every man has his place and his duty. Galley fires must be lighted at 4 A.M.; cooks must be on duty at a certain fixed hour. Stewards have their duties clearly defined. Nothing is left to chance. The discipline of the ship is perfect.

But while we examine this fascinating department of ship life, we become aware of an increasing throb in the engines. The boat is rolling heavily. The sea is behaving badly; and we are seized with a desire to go below and see life in the nethermost regions of the boat. It has been represented to us as a kind of inferno, in which men work naked. In company with the “chief” we descend to the engine-room. Here four powerful engines turn the steel shafts, which in turn move the propellers. At last we arrive at the ultimate expression of force in this wonderful ship. All is now left behind, save the thick steel shafts which run horizontally through the stern of the vessel. Silently and swiftly they move round, forcing the propellers outside to displace the waters of the ocean, and so urge forward the steamer. It is a weird experience to descend to the very bottom of the steamer, into its uttermost corner, where the boat is narrowest, and to watch the steel shafts ever turn round. The mighty vessel above us depends in reality upon these shafts. If they broke, and could not be replaced, the steamer would lie upon the bosom of the water a helpless mass of iron and steel. One frail plate of steel between us and destruction! The idea is chilling.

I dreaded the furnaces—the satanic stokehole, where men suffer in the presence of broiling heat. But when we pass into this region of the ship, where is the inferno? To my utter astonishment, the stokehole is cooler than the engine-room. A pleasant draught of cool air plays around the stokers, who are not naked nor perspiring. Despite roaring fires and enormous boilers, the room is pleasantly cool. Thus another illusion has disappeared. The old order of things has changed. Science has rendered service more humane. The terrors of life are one by one departing.