Crossing the Atlantic
René Gasnier. “American Cities: Notes from an Aeronaut of the Gordon Bennett Group in the United States (October, November, December 1907)”
"Crossing the Atlantic"
Travel between Paris and New York has become extremely simple and fast. Ocean liners, which are becoming larger and more comfortable every year, are designed to look and feel like hotels. Even passengers who feel at home on the open water easily forget that they are at sea.
Unfortunately, France does not have ports capable of accommodating very large ships. A considerable amount of money is currently being spent on renovating the port in Le Havre. When the work is completed, we will undoubtedly have beautiful quays and stone jetties, but we will still not have any docks capable of accommodating ships longer than 200 meters, while our neighbours’ ships will probably be 300 meters long.
Our best liner, La Provence, takes more than six days to make the crossing from Le Havre to New York. This is much slower than British ships, which is why foreign routes are often preferred. Furthermore, Le Havre is not the closest port to New York, and it would be to our advantage to have a port at the tip of Brittany, such as Brest or Douarnenez, where ships could enter at any tide. The crossing would then be shortened by about ten hours, giving us an advantage and allowing us to compete with other nations.
On French liners, however, it is worth noting one area of superiority: the friendliness of the staff on board and the care with which they treat passengers. This contrasts with the Germanic approach, as everything on German ships runs like a military barracks. Of course, our reputation for good cuisine remains constant on our ships. Every effort has also been made to entertain passengers: an excellent orchestra, a daily newspaper, which, thanks to wireless telegraphy, reports on important events happening on land. In this regard, it is quite the experience to put on the telephone headset and hear words in Morse code sent by ships passing in the distance without seeing them. One feels protected by invisible helpers who would rush to our aid at the first sign of danger.
The French have placed their beloved Parisian café terrace, planted with small green trees, at the rear of the upper deck, which gives the impression of being in a casino with a beautiful view of the sea. On the Kronprinzessin-Cœcilia, the Germans have set up a restaurant. Ritz rented out the floating palace, just as he rents out his hotel in Paris, and installed his cooks, maître d’hôtel, and gypsies. In a few years’ time, we can expect to see a variety of shops along the promenade decks, where we’ll be able to stroll and do our shopping. The Lusitania, nearly 500 meters long, could already provide such luxuries. The cost to build and maintain these floating cities is so high, however, that it may prevent them from becoming any larger.
Our shipping companies’ main profit does not come from first-class passengers, who are treated with utmost consideration and require comfortable cabins with all the distractions of contemporary life. It is the emigrants who bring in the most money. Numbering 700 to 800 per ship, they are relegated to the depths from where they are never seen to emerge. They are transported for 180 francs from Modane to New York via Le Havre. Most of them are Italian nationals. The striking contrast between rich and poor passengers, separated only by the thickness of a ship’s deck, is enough to inspire sombre reflection in moralists and philanthropists.
On the one hand, occupying most of the ship, are the salons, cabins, apartments (rented for up to 8,000 francs) and vast promenade decks. All this for a hundred passengers surrounded by numerous servants waiting to attend to their every need. On the other hand, 800 unfortunate souls are crammed together waiting to arrive, their hearts filled with anxiety of the unknown. They are piled into dormitories with three tiers of beds where fathers, mothers, and children huddle together. […] Because of the contrast provided by the immediate proximity of the wealthy passengers however, the misery of the emigrants on modern ships seems more terrible than it really is. Emigration has been well regulated. Only emigrants who are in good health and in possession of a certain amount of money are admitted, and the price of passage is minimal compared to wages in the United States.
In short, emigrants can find work in America as easily as workers in France can find work in other cities. Italians generally return to their country after a certain time and are a source of wealth.
While our giant ships fear neither sea nor wind, they still face another dangerous uncertainty: fog, so common in Atlantic waters. What precautions are taken? The captain does not leave his post for days on end, with four men constantly assisting him; two men keep watch in the foremast and two more at the bow. The siren wails mournfully every two minutes. In the evening, when one leaves the brightly lit salons and suddenly finds oneself on the bridge overlooking the entire ship, it takes on colossal proportions in the wet darkness. It is quite moving to see all the anxious, attentive men, eyes fixed on the invisible horizon, overcoming the constant fear of other ghostly masses and the possibility of an unknown ship suddenly appearing and destroying their floating city in an instant.
Wireless telegraphy is our best defense against the threat posed by fog. It is as indispensable to navigation and as useful as the compass; it can indicate the sector of the compass coordinates and the origin of the sounds sent by a ship or lighthouse. Any danger of collision then dissipates, and fog becomes the last enemy to conquer.