On the Potsdam
Steamship Potsdam, July 14.
The daily life on shipboard might be considered monotonous if one were being paid for it, but under the present circumstances and surroundings the time goes rapidly. Everybody has noticed that the things he is obliged to do are dull and uninteresting. Any ordinary American would demand about $10 a day for fastening himself in a boat and remaining there for ten days. He would get tired of the society, sick of the meals and sore on his job. But call it “fun” and he pays $10 a day for the pleasure of the ride. The Potsdam is 560 feet long, sixty-two feet wide, and seven stories high,—four above the water-line and three below. On this trip its first-class accommodations are filled, about 260 people; but the second class is not crowded, and less than a hundred steerage passengers occupy that part of the ship which often carries 2,100 people. The steerage is crowded on the trip to America, filled with men and women whoare leaving home and fatherland in order to do better for themselves and their children. They go back in later years, for a visit, but they do not travel in the steerage. They carry little American flags and scatter thoughts of freedom and free men in the older lands.
This is a Dutch ship and the language of the officers and crew is Dutch. While a few of them speak some English and most of them know a little, the general effect is that of getting into an entirely foreign environment. The Dutch language is a peculiar blend. It seems to be partly derived from the German, partly from the English, and partly from the Choctaw. The pronunciation is difficult because it is unlike the German, the English or the Latin tongues. An ordinary word spelled out looks like a freight train of box cars with several cabooses. As one of my Dutch fellow-passengers said when he was instructing me how to pronounce the name of the capital of Holland, “Don’t try to say it; sneeze it.” A great deal of interest is added to the smallest bits of conversation by the doubt as to whether the Dutch speaker is telling youthat it is dinner-time or whether he has swallowed his store teeth.
Which reminds me of a little story Ben Nusbaum told me of the Dutchman who came into the Oxford café, sat up to the counter and in proper Dutch etiquette greeted the waiter with the salutation, “Wie gehts?” Turning toward the kitchen the waiter sang out, “wheat cakes!” “Nein! nein!” shouted the Dutchman. “Nine,” said the waiter, scornfully; “you’ll be dam lucky if you get three!”
The principal occupation on board a Dutch ship is eating, and the next most important is drinking. The eats begin with a hearty breakfast from 8 to 10 o’clock. At 11 o’clock, beef soup, sandwiches and crackers. At 12:30, an elaborate luncheon. At 4 o’clock, afternoon tea, with sandwiches and fancy cakes. At 7 o’clock, a great dinner. At 9 o’clock, coffee, sandwiches, etc. Any time between these meals you can get something to eat, anything from beef to buns, and the table in the smoking-room is always loaded with cheese, sausage, ham, cakes and all the little knick-knacksthat tempt you to take one as you go by. And yet there is surprise that some people are seasick.
You can get anything you want to drink except water, which is scarce, and apparently only used for scrubbing and bathing. Of course the steward will find you a little water, if you are from Kansas, but he thinks you are sick, wants to add a hot-water bag, and suggests that the ship doctor might help you some.
I have spoken before of the Dutch band. It is a good one, and loves to play. The first concert is at 10 in the morning. There is orchestra music during luncheon and dinner, and band concerts afternoon and evening. I like a German band, or a Dutch band, so long as it sticks to its proper répertoire. But there never was a German band that could play “My Old Kentucky Home” and “Swanee River,” and every German band persists in doing so in honor of the Americans. I suppose this desire to do something you can’t do is not confined to Dutch musicians. I know a man who can whistle like a bird, but he insists that he is a violinist, and plays second fiddle. I know a singer with a really great voice who persists in the theory that he can recite, which he can’t. Therefore he is a great bore, and nobody thinks he can even sing. Nearly all of us are afflicted some along this line, and the Dutch band on the Potsdam is merely accenting the characteristic in brass.
Today I saw a whale. Every time I am on the ocean I see a whale. At first nobody else could see it, but soon a large number could. There was a good deal of excitement, and the passengers divided into two factions, those who saw the whale and those who didn’t and who evidently thought we didn’t. The argument lasted nearly all the morning, and would be going on yet if a ship had not appeared in the distance, and our passengers divided promptly as to whether it was a Cunarder, a French liner, or a Norwegian tramp freighter. This discussion will take our valuable time all the afternoon. Friends will become enemies, and some of those who rallied around the whale story are almost glaring at each other over the nationality of that distant vessel. I amtrying to keep out of this debate, as I am something of a Hero because I saw the whale. I have already told of my nautical experience on Cow creek, so while I feel I would be considered an authority, it is better to let some of the other ambitious travelers get a reputation.