“He is of an average height and features, with the exception of a protruding chin, which gives to the mouth a horrible grin; an eyeglass of course; luxuriant hair and whiskers, redolent of macassar. He apes the gait of a military man; wears a frock coat terribly inclined to the third and fourth letters of the alphabet; a waistcoat of the most approved and fashionable cut; trowsers of the loudest plaid style about two to the pair, with very ragged bottoms and straps, the latter article proving a very useful adjunct when the supply of socks falls short; a shirt with miniature cartoons after Raphael or a correct likeness of the last murderer and the last ballet dancer printed upon it; a necktie of the _striking stripe_ pattern, to make him smart. His whole appearance is indicative of a worn-out Stultz. His hands are covered with a variety of rings, from the enamelled and delicately wrought diamond to the massive and substantial signet bearing his crest. An immense watch chain (bearing a striking resemblance to the ship’s cable) with an abundance of charms attached completes the _tout ensemble_ of the outer man. His wardrobe is somewhat limited—but this he accounts for by—‘D—n those agents, the rascals have put my trunks marked “wanted on the voyage” in the hold, and left out those “not wanted,” isn’t it annoying? Could you lend me a few shirts until they’re got at?’ He is decidedly great at the borrowing dodge. Of course his cigars, tobacco and all the little comforts for the journey are in his trunks in the hold. But the way he solicits a loan of the required articles is irresistible. His natural grace (or impudence, we don’t know which) defies refusal. But at last even that—as all things good or bad will—palls and borrowing becomes a more difficult art. Friends shirk him, acquaintances avoid him, and long before the end of the journey ‘the Gent Afloat’ is known and scouted as a penniless, reckless adventurer void alike of honour or honesty.”
This account of an adventurer of the fifties came out of the _Lightning Gazette_, a paper published weekly aboard the ship.
Realising the importance of keeping such a mixed collection of passengers amused Messrs. James Baines put a printing press aboard each of their ships and thus the issue of the shipboard newspaper was something always to be eagerly looked forward to on Saturdays. In many an English and Australian home there are no doubt still to be found treasured, stained and tattered, copies of these ships’ newspapers. I have myself handled volumes of the _Lightning Gazette_, the _Eagle Herald_, the _Royal Charter Times_ and coming down to more modern days, the _Loch Torridon Journal_ and other Loch Line papers.