Read Online The Other Side of the Night by Daniel Allen Butler - Free Book Online
Authors: Daniel Allen Butler
Tags: Bisac Code 1: TRA006010
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the ship being carefully shut off from the accommodations of their “betters,” the easier to make the liners appear to be showcases.
There was, of course, no need for the new Leyland ship to be a showpiece designed to attract passengers. As she was originally laid down, her owners had no intention that she should carry any passengers at all. It was only during the late stages of her construction that the upper bridge deck was lengthened, when nineteen staterooms were added by the line as an afterthought. These cabins were, of course, never intended to pay the ship’s way like a true passenger liner’s accommodations were designed to do; the additional money they brought to the Leyland Line would be regarded as a sort of corporate bonus.
And, curiously enough, the revenue created by these last-minute additions was not inconsiderable. While no glamour would ever accrue to Hull No. 159, there was a canny logic to the Leyland Line’s decision to add the cabins. Then as now there was a segment of the traveling public which was singularly unimpressed by ornate and opulent public lounges, smoking rooms, dining saloons, and such. Grand staircases, Turkish baths, swimming baths, squash courts, and gymnasiums held little appeal to these folk; what they did enjoy was the experience of being at sea, in comfortable surroundings, traveling at a leisurely pace without any of the attendant fuss and complications which were inseparable from the social life aboard one of the crack transatlantic liners. They included small families, wealthy widows, retired businessmen, a surprising number of Midwestern socialites, young men, and occasionally chaperoned young ladies from middle-class families who were seeking adventure—in short, people who wanted to cross the Atlantic in comfort but were unwilling (or unable) to pay a premium price for passage on one of the big passenger liners.
This meant that the handful of passenger accommodations were devoted to quiet, low-key luxury: by the standards of the North Atlantic trade they were rated as Second Class—which by no means meant that they were second-rate. First, the whole ship was equipped with electric lighting, still something of a novelty on smaller ships on the North Atlantic. The smoking room had paneling in the finest English oak, the furniture was upholstered in embossed leather, and the floor tiling was made out of hard rubber, again something of an innovation in 1901. The dining room was done in Hungarian ash and satinwood, with teak frames about the windows, and the chairs and chaise lounges were upholstered in maquette. All in all, it was a quiet, comfortable way to travel—and surprisingly affordable: passage from London to Boston was £10, and from Boston to London, $50.
Certified to carry a maximum of forty-seven passengers, the nineteen staterooms were located on the port side of the bridge deck, at the top of the superstructure, while the dining saloon, smoking room, and galley, as well as the officers’ and senior engineer’s quarters, were situated on the starboard side. Apart from a small wireless office just below the bridge, quarters for the cooks, and lockers for the galley stowage, the rest of the ship was given over to cargo: the new vessel was destined for the American cotton trade. Her complement of fifty-five included a captain, four officers, one wireless operator, and forty-nine assorted crewmen. The new ship’s name followed a Leyland Line tradition of naming their vessels as belonging to one of the forty-six United States. In this case, nine-inch-high brass letters under the ship’s counter stern and on both sides of the forecastle proclaimed her to be the Californian .
The decision to add the passenger accommodations during her construction, made as it was almost at the last minute, was not made by the Leyland Line’s board of directors. Instead it came from the line’s new owner. While the Californian was still on the ways, the Leyland Line was
There was, of course, no need for the new Leyland ship to be a showpiece designed to attract passengers. As she was originally laid down, her owners had no intention that she should carry any passengers at all. It was only during the late stages of her construction that the upper bridge deck was lengthened, when nineteen staterooms were added by the line as an afterthought. These cabins were, of course, never intended to pay the ship’s way like a true passenger liner’s accommodations were designed to do; the additional money they brought to the Leyland Line would be regarded as a sort of corporate bonus.
And, curiously enough, the revenue created by these last-minute additions was not inconsiderable. While no glamour would ever accrue to Hull No. 159, there was a canny logic to the Leyland Line’s decision to add the cabins. Then as now there was a segment of the traveling public which was singularly unimpressed by ornate and opulent public lounges, smoking rooms, dining saloons, and such. Grand staircases, Turkish baths, swimming baths, squash courts, and gymnasiums held little appeal to these folk; what they did enjoy was the experience of being at sea, in comfortable surroundings, traveling at a leisurely pace without any of the attendant fuss and complications which were inseparable from the social life aboard one of the crack transatlantic liners. They included small families, wealthy widows, retired businessmen, a surprising number of Midwestern socialites, young men, and occasionally chaperoned young ladies from middle-class families who were seeking adventure—in short, people who wanted to cross the Atlantic in comfort but were unwilling (or unable) to pay a premium price for passage on one of the big passenger liners.
This meant that the handful of passenger accommodations were devoted to quiet, low-key luxury: by the standards of the North Atlantic trade they were rated as Second Class—which by no means meant that they were second-rate. First, the whole ship was equipped with electric lighting, still something of a novelty on smaller ships on the North Atlantic. The smoking room had paneling in the finest English oak, the furniture was upholstered in embossed leather, and the floor tiling was made out of hard rubber, again something of an innovation in 1901. The dining room was done in Hungarian ash and satinwood, with teak frames about the windows, and the chairs and chaise lounges were upholstered in maquette. All in all, it was a quiet, comfortable way to travel—and surprisingly affordable: passage from London to Boston was £10, and from Boston to London, $50.
Certified to carry a maximum of forty-seven passengers, the nineteen staterooms were located on the port side of the bridge deck, at the top of the superstructure, while the dining saloon, smoking room, and galley, as well as the officers’ and senior engineer’s quarters, were situated on the starboard side. Apart from a small wireless office just below the bridge, quarters for the cooks, and lockers for the galley stowage, the rest of the ship was given over to cargo: the new vessel was destined for the American cotton trade. Her complement of fifty-five included a captain, four officers, one wireless operator, and forty-nine assorted crewmen. The new ship’s name followed a Leyland Line tradition of naming their vessels as belonging to one of the forty-six United States. In this case, nine-inch-high brass letters under the ship’s counter stern and on both sides of the forecastle proclaimed her to be the Californian .
The decision to add the passenger accommodations during her construction, made as it was almost at the last minute, was not made by the Leyland Line’s board of directors. Instead it came from the line’s new owner. While the Californian was still on the ways, the Leyland Line was
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