John Skinner Prout (1805-1876) was an artist who came to Australia in the 1840s. He described his voyage out to Australia in an article in The Illustrated London News, with sketches of life on board ship. Emigrants to the Swan River Colony would have had a similar experience.
The original article is now difficult to get hold of so I have copied the text and images and included them here. The original layout was different, but the content is the same.
EMIGRATION.—A VOYAGE TO AUSTRALIA.
Hark old Ocean’s tongue of thunder,
Hoarsely calling, bids you speed
To the shores he held asunder
Only for these times of need.
Now, upon his friendly surges,
Ever, ever roaring, come
All the sons of hope he urges
To a new, richer home!
[MARTIN F. TUPPER]
The tide of Emigration has unquestionably set in towards Australia, notwithstanding the gold of California may lead to a temporary diversion in favour of that country. We are persuaded, therefore, that the accompanying pictures will possess considerable interest at the present moment, over and above their artistic merit, which is of no common order. They, however, combine the actualities of experience with pictorial ability in a remarkable degree. The draughtsman of these scenes from life on board an Emigrant ship bound to Australia is Mr. T. Skinner Prout, who has visited that country, and profited by some years, exploration of its natural beauties, as fit scenes for his clever pencil. Upon his voyage, he drew the arkite episodes which an emigrant ship constantly presents even to the common place observer. In these Sketches, then, we have no artistic invention; they are pictures of what the draughtsman saw daily, and here presents to us with truly vivid effect. These pictures are, indeed, illustrations of the artist’s own diary, which must, therefore, be the best accompaniment to them.
“Time was, when a voyage to the Antipodes was considered a very serious undertaking; when even experienced, hardy, and weather beaten seamen, bound to those distant regions, took their last look of dear old England with anxious hearts and ideas of difficulties and dangers to be encountered, which were then considered to be inseparable from so long a voyage; and long indeed it once was, as we find by the following paragraph from ‘Collins’s New South Wales.’ The Colonel, speaking of the arrival of the first fleet at Port Jackson, New South Wale , says:— ‘Thus, under the blessing of God, was happily completed, in eight months and one week, a voyage, which, before it was undertaken, the mind hardly dared venture to contemplate, and on which it was impossible reflect, without some apprehension to its termination.’ In the present day, however, voyage to Australia is so well understood by navigators, and, generally speaking, known to be so safe, that it has become divested of its once attendant horrors; and the four months’ sojourn on the ocean (the average time occupied in the voyage), to most persons, passes pleasantly enough. ‘Tis true there are inconveniences to be experienced; and, from the circumstances of persons of different habits and feelings being thrown and kept together, little disagreements will occasionally occur: these are amusing enough, and serve to vary the usual monotony of sea life. I here more particularly allude to passenger-ships: in emigrant vessels there is no lack of variety; the necessary duties to be attended to for the preservation of order and cleanliness among the emigrants afford them some daily occupation, and render them more alive to those little recreations, which are frequently indulged in, and in fact encouraged by the officers the ship. But, as a more detailed description of the manner in which the time on board Is passed may be Interesting. I think I cannot gradually do better than refer to parts of a journal kept on my voyage out, and which at the same time will serve to explain the accompanying Engravings, from drawings made from sketches taken during the passage.”
“Four bells. On deck. Weather thick and hazy. Wind W.N.W., and steady; ship going about seven knots. Off Madeira: distant twenty miles. Mist gradually disperses, and the beautiful island is clearly discernable, capped by the last clouds of the morning. – Six bells. A general turn-out from below. Breakfast over. Emigrants on deck disperse themselves in various little groups. The schoolmaster has summoned his little class, and seated reverentially on some spars, the prescribed educational course is in full progress. A contemplative shepherd takes a solitary seat on the keel of the reversed long-boat amid-ships, while several anxious souls looking after creature comforts surround the cook’s galley. Not a few are lounging over the ship’s side, prying with curious eyes into the secrets of the ‘deep, deep sea.’ ‘Portuguese men-of-war,’ as Jack contemptuously calls a beautiful mollusk, common to these latitudes, pass by in hundreds, presenting to the wind their gossamer-like sails, tinted with the most beautiful pink and lilac. Flying-fish have ceased to be the ‘lions:’ they were on first acquaintance. They rise in shoals from the water in all directions, and after a short hurried flight, drop with an extended splash into their element again.
“The sun is now fast approaching the meridian, and some little bustle is observed on the quarter-deck. The captain, two of the mates, the doctor, and a tiny midshipman, have all adjusted their several sextants and quadrants, and are making a steady examination of the horizon immediately to the south. Gradually a long string of passengers ascend from the cabin, and curious middleclass emigrants gather in the rear of the astronomical party, who are, in fact, engaged in taking the sun’s altitude, to determine our present latitude. After some minutes, the instruments are lowered within a few seconds of each other; and the Captain, solemnly addressing his first mate, says, ‘Mr. Jones, make it noon.’ Ay, ay, sir. Forrard there; strike eight bells.’ This important business settled, conversation then becomes general, and turns upon what southing the ship has made in the course of the last 24 hours. For the next hour, many and anxious too are the enquiries at the cook’s galley; whilst the ship’s company gather round huge tub, with like devotion, narrowly inspecting, in the first place, the steward’s integrity as regards mixing the grog; and, in the next, disposing of their allowances, each in his own way—some making short work of it upon the spot; others, in cans or bottles, carrying it away to reserve for future enjoyment.—Two bells. Dinner is now announced, and the hatchways fore and aft are pouring out a stream of hungry mortals. It is pea-soup day, and the cook, almost lost in the dense and savoury atmosphere of steam which rises from the coppers, is ministering to the creature wants of the attendant crowd, who, with hook-pot or pannikin in hand, are patiently waiting their turn. According to the rules and arrangements of the ship, the emigrants are divided into lots, or messes, of six or eight persons in each; and, except in the varying nature of the provisions, the incidents of the daily dinner on board partake very much of the same character. Sometimes, however, the forecastle (or fox’cle, as it is always called), an elevated platform in the bows of the vessel, is chosen for a select dinner-party, who, in the fresh, open air, enjoy their meal in a true pic-nic style. Tobacco is now the order of the day—the silent indulging in a pipe, the talkative enjoying a cigar whilst all are happy. What cares, in fact, can arise upon the bosom of the wide expanse of ocean? The griefs we brought with us are forgotten, whilst all vexations have been left behind. Sleep, too, comes almost naturally to minds so situated. Thought becomes a burden where there is so little to excite it in providing for the wants of the body; therefore it is that, the pipe finished, the afternoon’s nap is a retreat to which emigrants on the passage out generally retire until near tea-time, or near six bells, when the cook is again at his post —the cry of ‘Tea-water!’ penetrates the depths below, and soon, in noisy response, clattering hook-pans, pannikins, and pans are again rushing up the hatchways, and crowding around the galley.
“On board the good ship the Hope, after tea, two religious services were performed, at least, the Catholics selecting one of their party, who always read prayers; whilst to the rest of the emigrants the surgeon, as usual in such vessels, read the service of the day as set forth in the Book of Common Prayer. Eight bells struck, and another transition of thought varied the proceedings of the day. Forward are preparations being made for a dance, and a musical Jack is soon found, who, seated on coil of rope, or perched on a spar, in a very short time is plying most vigorously the fun-inspiring fiddle. In the confined space of a ship’s deck polkas and quadrilles are out of the question, though at first much affectedly fastidious disinclination is expressed against the reel and jig. But it is not long before these last reign triumphant, and delicate forms and choice spirits foot the monotonous but merry-going measure with as much enjoyment as if they moved in a minuet before hundreds of observant eyes. Now, for one moment turn our eyes from the mirth-stirred bustling scene on deck, and scan the wide solitude of the surrounding ocean lit by a splendid moon, not a sail in sight save the white swelling canvas over our head, bending bravely before a spanking breeze that is steadily urging us on in our trackless way.
“The fineness of the night tempts all from below, when the deck becomes crowded, though all appear to enjoy themselves to the full: on the poop children are gambolling, whilst those in converse sweet, or on gossip most intent, keep a continued promenade on the deck. Descending below, there a little group surrounds some learned friend, who has industriously worked the ship’s course for the last day, and is now giving a detailed report to his companions, who all busily examine the amateur’s well-thumbed chart, as if they knew a great deal about it. A little beyond, perhaps, the boatswain, from his cabin door, spins one of his long, marvellous yarns to his credulous openmouthed neighbour on the opposite side. Further on, again, is the emigrants’ quarters, the interior of which can be seen through an opening in the bulkhead. Good wives are now displaying their matronly qualities, but in most cases vainly endeavouring to calm the Baby-lonish confusion of tongues and screaming squall that, for at least one hour, prevails in the family compartment of the ship. To add to the quiet enjoyment of compelled, but resigned spectators, sundry night-capped heads of disturbed damsels, retired for the night, appear from their berths, but produce little effect by their complaining, whilst the unblanketed lower extremities of others, more calm and philosophic, may be also seen projecting from the narrow confines of their beds. But hark! Four bells is striking; ‘Lights out!’ is heard in various quarters; and in a few minutes, save the measured tread of the watch on deck, the rustling sails, and rippling waters on the vessel’s way, not a sound is heard.”
[From The Illustrated London News, 20th January 1849, pp. 40-41
Leave a Reply
Your email is safe with us.