The 'Perelle's' voyage across the strait was relatively smooth, with the cruise ship gently rising and falling with the swells, the motion gentle.
The next day, at dawn, the 'Perelle' had already approached the outer reaches of the Isles of Scilly, where the wind and waves had noticeably intensified, and the sea water appeared a nearly black-blue.
A British Royal Mail tender struggled through the waves to approach the starboard side of the 'Perelle'.
The crew shouted loudly, carefully transferring the waterproof mailbags tied with buoys using ropes and cargo nets.
Fifteen minutes later, the tender blew its whistle, disengaged, and disappeared between the wave crests and troughs.
This was the last stop before leaving the European continent, and the 'Perelle' adjusted its course, sailing resolutely into the vast and boundless Atlantic Ocean.
Upon entering the Atlantic, it was as if they had stepped into another world!
The captain had warned the first-class passengers at breakfast that the North Atlantic was in its 'autumn storm' season, and the voyage would not be so smooth.
Indeed, a day later, the temperature plummeted, and the icy sea breeze, carrying salty, damp mist, lashed their faces like knife cuts; the sky was also perpetually lead-grey, with visibility fluctuating.
Giant waves rose and fell like mountains, at times lifting the cruise ship high, and at others plunging it into deep valleys.
The deck became very dangerous, not only slippery, but also with waves constantly crashing over it; besides the sailors, hardly any passengers were seen.
Everyone was forced to confine their activities to the ship's interior cabins.
In the first-class salon, writers and journalists initially conversed animatedly all day, but as more people became seasick and the novelty wore off, the atmosphere gradually grew dull.
The journalists completed two rounds of exclusive interviews, exhausting the writers' expectations for their trip to America, their views on the French literary scene, and even their travel experiences, and then entered a period of fatigue.
Everyone began to play cards around the tables, or nap on the sofas; although their notebooks lay open on their laps, few bothered to write.
This monotonous life quickly bored several young people.
Lionel, Maupassant, and Huysmans decided to explore the ship, having nowhere else to go.
The 'Perelle' was a floating steel city, with a strict hierarchy.
It had 220 first-class berths, 260 second-class berths, and up to 1000 steerage (unified cabin) berths, in addition to 180 crew members.
First-class was located in the upper, mid-forward part of the hull, luxuriously decorated with mahogany paneling, brass fittings, velvet curtains, and even the corridors were carpeted thickly to isolate external noise as much as possible.
Second-class was located at the stern, with slightly inferior conditions, but still guaranteed each person a fixed berth and some living space.
Steerage (unified cabin), on the other hand, was located in the bow section below the waterline.
As winter approached, it was the low season for transatlantic travel, and there were few wealthy passengers heading to America, so first-class and second-class rarely filled up.
This time, however, due to the sensational effect of the French writers' delegation, not only were all booked first- and second-class berths sold out, but high-priced resales even appeared on the black market.
Lionel and the others naturally had no interest in exploring the first-class and second-class cabins; these passengers were precisely the kind of people they encountered daily.
They continuously descended the narrow companionways, further and further; the deeper they went, the stronger the mixed stench of body odor, mildew, and cheap tobacco became in the air.
When they finally reached the steerage compartment door, a hot wave of ammonia smell suddenly hit them like a tide.
Maupassant covered his mouth and nose, stumbled back a step, his face pale:
"God! How can this place be ten times smellier than my apartment!"
There was almost no natural light here, illumination came entirely from a single smoky, flickering kerosene lamp hanging on a central pillar.
The ceiling was low, less than two meters high, forcing them to stoop when passing under the thick steam pipes and beams.
The entire space had no partitions, and it was crammed densely with people.
The so-called berths simply didn't exist; passengers used their own blankets, bundles, or even hay to claim a spot on the cold, damp deck.
They were packed together like sardines, sitting or lying, their eyes mostly empty and numb, showing the fatigue of a long journey, and the blankness of resignation.
Children's cries, intermittent coughing, and hushed murmurs in different languages mixed together, creating a stifling and noisy environment.
The ammonia smell came from the direction of the stern, where there was a row of crude wooden-lidded barrels, which must have been the toilets.
As the ship swayed violently, filth occasionally seeped out from the gaps in the barrel lids, but even the passengers nearby showed no reaction, seemingly accustomed to it.
Huysmans' voice trembled:
"This is simply no place for humans. Look at these people's eyes... as if their souls have been sucked out."
Lionel silently watched it all.
He saw a mother tightly clutching her crying infant, her gaze vacant, no longer trying to stop the child from crying;
Saw an old man huddled in a corner, holding a travel bag as empty as his own body;
Saw a young man with a gaunt face, carefully stretching his legs and feet in the confined space;
...
This was entirely a different world from the salons and theater boxes of Paris!
They didn't stay long in steerage; the unbearable smell and suffocating atmosphere forced them to leave quickly.
Climbing back up the companionway, when they returned to the clean first-class corridor, all of them couldn't help but take deep breaths, as if they had just resurfaced from underwater.
Maupassant complained indignantly:
"I'd rather drink cheap beer all night at the 'Rose Inn' than go down there for another second.
I can't believe anyone could survive the entire voyage in such an environment!"
Huysmans also shook his head:
"Is this the price of civilization? Stuffing some people into the lower holds like cargo?"
Lionel did not join their complaints.
He turned around, looking calmly at his friends:
"Then why do so many people spend all their savings to cross the ocean to America?
As far as I know, steerage on voyages from Europe to America is always full;
While on return voyages, it's often more than half empty, used for cargo."
Maupassant and the others were momentarily speechless.
Paul Alexis opened his mouth, wanting to say something about "blindness," "stupidity," or "adventurous spirit," but ultimately said nothing.
Watching them speechless, Lionel sighed softly:
"Parisians are always accustomed to viewing America as a cultural and artistic desert, ridiculing their vulgarity.
But, gentlemen, these men and women in steerage, they have made their choice with their own feet; they are not venturing, they are fleeing.
Fleeing poverty, fleeing hunger, fleeing imprisonment, fleeing a hopeless future, fleeing to a place that can give them a meal, a piece of land to cultivate, an opportunity."
After a long while, Maupassant finally spoke:
"Is Europe really that bad? Are these people unable to live?"
Huysmans shook his head:
"Perhaps it hasn't reached the point where they can't live, but it is indeed very bad. I could see the data at the Ministry of Interior.
The Emperor's code has made France's arable land increasingly fragmented; the land each farmer can inherit can barely sustain his family.
Except for regions like Bordeaux and Provence, young people have almost all left the countryside in other areas."
Henri Céard also added:
"French people have no land to cultivate, and Germans lose half a ton for every ton they sow.
A few years ago, America completed its north-south railway lines, and wheat and corn began to be transported to Europe as if they were free.
The Russians and Austrians, on the other hand, wish they could drive out all opposition, either to prison or onto a boat..."
Everyone here was well-educated and had almost all worked in government departments, so they knew that what each other said was true.
For a moment, they all fell silent.
Léon Hennique came from a blacksmith family and knew a lot about this.
He sighed:
"Factories are increasing, handicraft guilds have largely disintegrated, and Bohemian glassmakers and Saxon textile workers have lost their jobs one after another.
If you go to a factory here, the wages are too low, and you have to work 14 hours a day; if you go to a factory in America, the wages are 2 dollars a day, three times that of home, and you only work 12 hours.
If it were you, what would you choose?"
Lionel looked at the gloomy weather outside the window:
"Americans passed a law in 1862 stating that anyone aged 21 or over, willing to cultivate land for 5 years, could receive 160 acres of land by paying a 10-dollar registration fee."
Maupassant was startled: "160 acres?"
Lionel nodded:
"Yes, 160 acres. A small farmer becomes a landowner overnight. If it were you, what would you choose?
America is still frantically building railways, needing 200,000 workers annually, also with a wage of 2 dollars a day.
Railway company agents in Hamburg and Liverpool pre-pay tickets to recruit people; they even go to China to buy laborers."
Maupassant's family background and bohemian lifestyle meant he didn't know much about current affairs.
This was the first time he had seen and heard these realities firsthand, and for a moment, he couldn't quite process it.
Lionel's tone became profound:
"Perhaps there is no Louvre there yet, no Comédie-Française, no literary salons.
But it has land, factories, mines, rapidly expanding railways, and more importantly, it has something Europe is gradually losing—
For ordinary people, a possibility to change their destiny, a tangible vitality.
Think about it, when the people of Europe, especially the young, begin to vote with their feet, what does that mean?
The Atlantic has no lid!"
Maupassant thought for a long time before finally giving his answer:
"It means that the 'desert' we ridicule is constantly drawing sustenance from Europe.
Sooner or later, not just these laborers, but even our skilled workers, engineers, and even artists and writers, will be attracted by that powerful pull.
By then, the center of world culture will no longer be on the banks of the Seine..."
These words were like a cold wind, sending a shiver through everyone except Lionel.
Maupassant looked at Lionel:
"Lion, so you're taking us to America not just to 'preach'?"
Lionel shrugged:
"Paris isn't the whole world, and neither is Europe. It's never wrong to go out and see more."
Just then, Alphonse Daudet also appeared in the aisle:
"Hey, where have you all been? Émile is looking for you; he has an interesting proposition!"
(End of Chapter)