What Was It Really Like to Cross the Atlantic in Steerage?

Every family history that begins in Canada has, somewhere behind it, an ocean crossing. For most immigrants arriving between the mid-1800s and the early twentieth century, that crossing meant steerage class, the cheapest, lowest, and most crowded accommodation a ship had to offer.

The term "steerage" originally referred to the lower-cost passenger accommodation on ships and likely derives from its location near the steering gear on early vessels, deep in the hull, where the ride was roughest and the air was worst. Passengers were typically packed into large communal berths, often with little separation between families, single travelers, and strangers. Bedding was minimal. Bathrooms were shared and frequently inadequate for the number of people aboard. Fresh air came from a handful of hatches that were often sealed shut in rough weather, trapping the smell of seasickness, unwashed bodies, and cooking below deck for days at a time.

Meals in steerage were basic and monotonous, usually a rotation of salted meat, hardtack biscuits, potatoes, and tea or coffee, occasionally supplemented by whatever passengers had packed for themselves. Some shipping lines improved conditions considerably by the early 1900s, adding better ventilation and marginally more private berths, but for most of the great immigration era, a steerage crossing was an ordeal to be endured rather than a journey to be enjoyed.

Crossings could take anywhere from one to several weeks depending on the era, the route, and the weather. Disease spread easily in such close quarters, outbreaks of typhus, cholera, and other outbreaks could occur, and it wasn't unusual for a ship's passenger list to include a death or two by the time it reached port.

And yet millions made the crossing anyway, because whatever waited on the other side, a homestead, a job, a relative already settled, or simply distance from whatever they'd left behind, seemed worth the discomfort of the passage.

If you have a ship's manifest for an ancestor, it's worth pausing on more than just the name and date. The ship itself, the class of travel, and the length of the voyage all say something about the journey your family made to get here, one that, for most of them, started in the very bottom of the ship.