03.03. The Ocean Voyage
Chapter 3 The Ship’s Departure.
-- The Weather -- Seasickness-- Prominent People On Board -- The Man Dr. Talmage Baptized in the Jordan -- The Escaped Nun -- Service at Sea -- Fassnett Rock -- Coast of Ireland. From time immemorial it seems to have been the custom for an individual, in departing on a long sea voyage, either to burst out into spontaneous poesy, or, next best, to indulge in liberal quotations from the poets about the sea. Byron is most frequently called upon to assist the young navigator in relieving the soul of its pent-up emotions; while the great poet himself, on leaving England, cries out in rhyme: "’Tis done! and shiv’ring in the gale, The bark unfurls her snowy sail!" Can any one tell me what the poets mean by "’tis done"? They all use the expression, and use it often. But whether it heads a sonnet or poem of majestic length, the reader is always left to wonder and guess at the condition hidden back of this most indefinite phrase.
"’Tis done!" I cried last Wednesday evening of July second. But my "’tis done!" was no mystery, but meant that I had paid down sixty dollars for the privilege of sleeping in a box six feet long and something over a foot wide for ten days, while crossing the Atlantic Ocean. At half-past four of the afternoon above mentioned, the steamer Bothnia, of the Cunard Line, with three hundred passengers in the saloon, fifty in the second cabin, and one hundred in the steerage, swept out to sea. The scene at parting was striking in every respect; the smoking monster moved uneasily at her moorings, as if chafing and anxious to encounter the ocean’s waves. There were final business transactions, the last freight rushed in, the late passenger, the chattering throng, the cries of cabmen, and the shouts of sailors. Above all, there were the farewells; some full of laughter and merriment, while others were tearful, and still others were of such a nature that I felt my own eyes filling through sympathy. The pier was crowded with friends of the travelers, and spectators of the departure; and as the steamer swung off and away into the midstream of North River, with prow pointing to the bay, the pier became a snow-bank of waving handkerchiefs, answered instantly by a long line of white from the side of the vessel. And so they waved until distance blurred and then blotted them from the sight. Down we dropped into the bay, crowded with shipping; past Governor’s Island, with its circular fort; past Jersey Heights, crowded with stately residences; past Forts Hamilton and Lafayette, with their frowning batteries; down and out into the wide sea. Standing at the stern of the vessel, with my Bible resting on the taffrail, I read portions of God’s Word, and saw America fade from the view.
Contrary to all expectations, we encountered rough weather the first day out. For two days we had, as the sailors called it, a heavy sea. One wave, dashing up on deck, washed the ladies right and left, while another, under a lurch of the ship, poured a torrent through the port-hole of my stateroom and deluged things generally. A heavy fog off the banks of Newfoundland encircled us -- now expanding, and now contracting -- as if undecided what to do with us. The fog-whistle sounded dolefully every thirty seconds; the rain dripped, or fell heavily; the smoke drooped out of the great chimney, and hung down like a wet banner, and then would break off in pieces, and be swallowed up and lost sight of in the encircling fog. In the midst of this Neptune came aboard and swayed his scepter over the great majority of the passengers. This is only another way of saying we were seasick. Think of three hundred people all sick at the stomach at the same time! Happy the man who has a friend to hold his head! But friends are few at such a moment. Each man mourns to himself apart. As the song of "Bingen on the Rhine" says: "There was lack of woman’s nursing, There was dearth of woman’s tears." The women at such a time as this have all they can do to nurse themselves. On account of the heavy sea, and many crossing the ocean for the first time, not a state-room but had its moaning inmate. I listened to the interjection "Oh!" intoned and accented in diversities of expression most remarkable. It sounded around me like the moans and cries of a battle-plain. Merchant, professor, preacher, clerk, artist, and mechanic were all on a common level now. Deep called unto deep.
Author answered musician, and one another in a way not usual. Clergyman responded to layman in cries of nature that proved the homogeneity of the race. In the midst of it all a lady in the saloon, sitting at the piano, commenced singing "Annie Laurie." Her fine, rich voice filled the cabin, shaming many a prostrate man, touching the hearts of members with thoughts of home, and impressing every listener with the fact that there was one plucky person on the ship whom wind, and wave, and seasickness could not force down. Was I seasick? you ask. Please don’t mention it, but for two days I lay in my berth scarcely able to lift my head in silent misery. "What is seasickness?" I asked the ship surgeon whom I called in, and he told me that it was mainly a brain affection; that the condition and action of the stomach arose from sympathy with the nerve and brain. Be it so! In addition to the pain it creates, it intensifies greatly two of the senses. One the sight which takes note of the fact that the state-room, with its iron-plated ceiling, and seven by eight size, is like a burial vault, and that the berth only needs a glass cover to become a coffin. Next, the smelling power becomes acute, critical, discriminating, and analytical. It is well known that ships have a smell; but, being of a complex nature, it has puzzled many. I herewith had the public the analysis, which I worked out while lying sick in my narrow berth: Bilge water..........................10 Rats.................................05 Musty, wet carpets...................25 Odor of old oil cloth................10 Dining-room smell....................30 Kitchen odor.........................15 An Indescribable smell that defied all analysis.............05 Total...............................100 We have a number of notable people on board. Mrs. Barr, the novelist; Mrs. Lockwood, the superintendent of the Peace Department of the W. C. T. U.; Harry Paulton, the author of something, I forget what; Edith O’Gorman, the escaped nun; the man whom Dr. Talmage baptized in the River Jordan; and an ex-Governor of Wisconsin. In spite of their greatness, they live and move around like the rest of us. It would do the reader’s heart good to see the ex-Governor of the great State of Wisconsin reach across the table with his gubernatorial hand and help himself. The baptismal protege of Dr. Talmage is a queer genius. He told me, in conversation yesterday, that the baptism took place in an accidental way; that he always wanted to go under the River Jordan, and happening to meet Dr. Talmage (whom, I suppose, always wanted to put somebody under the Jordan), the submerging naturally and inevitably took place. The young man has achieved fame at the expense, not of blood or brain, but of a little water. Again and again he was pointed out on the ship, and will be till the end of his life, as the man whom Dr. Talmage baptized in the River Jordan. The voyage over the Atlantic becomes unspeakably monotonous. The passengers resort to various expedients to kill the time. There were no glittering icebergs and spouting whales to be seen. Evidently they had been engaged by other tourists for the season in other parts of the world. So the passengers helped in various ways to annihilate the eleven days of the sea-trip. Mrs.
Lockwood lectured twice; the escaped nun gave a private address to the ladies in regard to the convent life. In the midst of her speech she was rudely interrupted by a Catholic priest, who, thrusting in his head through a window, called the lady speaker a liar. On one of the evenings the ladies improvised a concert. Most of the gentlemen turned the upper deck-cabin into a regular pool-room, in which the speed of the vessel was made the fluctuating stock. Gambling has certainly taken hold of the nation. Into none of these places did I go; but, stretched in my steamer-chair, read all the day, or studied the ways and phases of the ocean. I was especially interested in the storm-petrel -- a little bird with the size and movement of the swallow, that followed us across the ocean. I asked a sailor where they rested when they got tired, and he replied, "On the waves."
"But may not a fish take them under if they do that?" I asked.
"Oh!" replied the sailor, "they takes their chances."
Next morning I saw them resting on the waves. As their little forms were lifted up and down by the great rolling swell of the Atlantic, I thought what a grand cradle these birds have; and another thought, sweeter and better, was: He that feedeth the sparrow on the land, cares for, feeds, and protects these little birds far out upon the boundless sea. What a sermon those petrels preached to me that day! On Sabbath morning I attended my first religious service at sea. An Episcopal clergyman officiated. The hymn, "Lead, Kindly Light," sung very delightfully by a large improvised choir, went with word and strain directly to the heart. A sunset in mid-ocean is hung up as a picture of unfading beauty in my mind. The broad crimson disc was slowly sinking in the travel, when suddenly a line of golden fire ran along the edge of a long purple cloud that just seeped above the horizon.
"Beyond the sunset’s radiant glow, there is a brighter world, I know." In spite of the changing colors of the sea, of occasional sails, and a few schools of porpoises, the days were long and the trip tedious. So when, on the morning of the tenth day, we sighted Fassnett Rock, the heart fairly leaped with joy. Fassnett Rock is fifty yards in diameter, conical in shape, and surmounted by a lighthouse. It was on this rock that the City of Rome struck a few weeks ago. Nevertheless, that same rock was to me like a lump of sugar broken off from the bed of Continental European sweetness, and placed there at the south end of Ireland to sweeten the waters there, and give a saccharine dash to the thoughts and emotions of land-sick men and women. From this point we ran up the eastern coast of Ireland toward Liverpool, at a distance of three to six miles from the shore. Most agreeably was I disappointed in regard to the appearance of Erin. The island held me with an ever-changing, but never-failing charm. For miles I beheld such a scene as this old, rocky shores, with precipitous or sloping hills coming down to the water’s edge; a long line of white surf foaming along the shore and leaping up high in other places, as if to scale the rocks; flocks of white-winged seas gulls wheeling about with restless cries; yonder a ruined monastery, and farther still, and perched on a high cliff, the ruin of an old castle. Further up the coast the hills, covered with green, came with gentler and more beautiful slopes to the sea-margin.
I could see through a glass that every square yard of their surface was under cultivation. A number of the hill-sides, from a variety of crops, and through the division of the fields into regular squares, had the appearance of a great natural checker-board. But whether at foot of cliff, or base of hilly field, the white surf beat all along the strand. One line in the "Exile of Erin" well describes it; "In dreams I revisit thy sun-beaten shore."
Many thoughts arose as I gazed upon this down trodden country; and, by and by, among the thoughts came welling up the recollection of three Irish songs; beautiful and pathetic are they all.
Two especially lingered with me -- the "Exile of Erin" and "The Irish Emigrant’s Lament." On Sabbath morning, at nine o’ clock, our ship, after eleven days on the trip, made fast at the docks in Liverpool; and in a little while after my foot pressed the shore of the Old World.
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