SEA-SICK.—UGH!
IN January, 1865, I concluded to visit the New England—otherwise called
the “Yankee” or “Eastern”—States; and thought I would at once strike for
Boston, Massachusetts, which is called the “Hub of the Universe,” and
make that city my head-quarters during my stay in the “land of steady
habits:” that means the six New England States: Maine, New Hampshire,
Vermont, Massachusetts, Rhode Island, and Connecticut. The habits of the
people of all the rest of the United States are very _un_steady.
I fancied that a “sea voyage” must be a delightful thing, according to
all that poets and novelists had said about the “deep blue sea,” the
“ocean wave,” the “rolling deep,” and the like; so, I determined to go
by sea. I took passage aboard a large propeller one squally day, and
away we went, amid the ice and snow, down the Delaware river, down the
bay, and out upon the bosom of the “mighty deep.” Yes, and it is “mighty
deep,” as Davie Crockett would have said—a “mighty sight” deeper than is
really necessary, merely for the encouragement of navigation and the
cultivation of whales and sharks!
I had heard of such a thing as “sea-sickness,” but I believed it was
half imagination, and that any brave heart could bear up against it. In
a word, I resolved not to get “sea-sick” myself. The mate of the vessel
told me that it was “more than likely” I _would_ feel a little
“squeamish” when we should get out where it was “rough”—that was, if I
had never been to sea before. I didn’t believe it, though.
We started on Saturday morning, and it took us all day to get “outside.”
During that time I ate three hearty meals on board the propeller, for
traveling on the water lent me an appetite. It was only _lent_, for I
returned it.
Well, about dark that evening, we got out where it was “rough.” The
vessel began to roll, pitch, and plunge, and I heard the sea roaring,
the waves splashing over the deck, a few loose articles on board
rattling and tumbling about; and I began to wonder if everything about
the vessel was secure. I sat on a sofa in the cabin, and presently, I
began to feel—well, I felt, in a word, that a “voyage” was, like all
other enjoyments, not quite what one anticipates; but still, well
enough. Then, immediately, I felt a little—just a little—“worse.” I
didn’t like the way the cabin was throwing itself around: it made my
head feel queer. I thought that if the vessel would just stop rolling
for half-a-minute, I would feel all right again. It didn’t stop, though,
and I rapidly began to feel all wrong. In a word, I grew dizzy.
Dizzy? O, no! That’s no fair expression. I rather felt as though I was a
large cask filled a little too full of mixed white lead, putty, or
something heavy that way, and that the head was forced down upon it with
considerable pressure—especially about the stomach, where I fancied one
of the hoops of the imaginary cask might be located, and about the
“brow,” where the upper hoop might be, did I experience this
indescribable heaviness. I imagined the heavy cask (myself, John Smith,)
to be rolling and tumbling about loose, and the white lead or putty
straining to get out. I couldn’t stand that thought. The mate came into
the cabin, asked me if I wasn’t sick, remarked that I looked “deathly
pale,” and advised me to “turn in” as quickly as “the law would allow
me.”
“Where?” I asked, as I rapidly grew sicker. “O, dear! Where’ll I sleep?”
“Here!” he said, hastily opening a stateroom door very near me. “Get in
there. I’ll help you. Take the lower bunk. You will be the only
passenger in this room.” In fact, there were but few passengers aboard.
As I attempted to rise, the ship gave a playful lurch, laid over on her
side, then quickly tossed herself upon the other side, and if the mate
had not caught me, I should have plunged clear across the cabin and
tumbled back again, far more quickly than a man could have walked it. My
crutch and cane escaped me, however, striking an opposite stateroom door
in less than a second, and throwing themselves savagely about over the
cabin floor.
“Never mind them just now,” said the mate. “I’ll help you in.” And he
helped me in.
“There’s a bucket hanging to the side of the berth,” said he. “If you
should feel a little sick——”
Ugh! Human nature couldn’t stand it any longer. I tumbled recklessly
into the berth, and—O, wasn’t I sick! Even now, after the lapse of
several years, I shudder to think of it! Supper, dinner, breakfast—all
eaten in vain! Bauh-gosh-gslish-shesh! O, lordy! The ship was tossing
about like a man intoxicated, and I, worse still, was tossing about like
a man sick drunk; I heard the wind howling, for it was blowing hard, the
waves dashing overhead, the ship creaking and groaning; and I groaned,
and prayed for land or death! Then I regretted that I had ever been
born. I also reproached the fates for having sent me to sea in such
stormy weather, and solemnly vowed—and I kept that vow for nearly a
year—that, in case I ever reached land, (which I now thought rather
unlikely), I would never, never, never venture out upon the broad ocean
again! O, O, O, O, Ugh! Gushshshsh!
O, how I wished the ship would stop rolling for just a moment! But it
wouldn’t stop at all. It rolled, and plunged, and tossed, and tumbled,
and pitched; and I got sicker, and sicker, and sicker, till I imagined
myself at “death’s door,” with my hand on the bell-handle.
To gain a slight conception as to how I felt, fancy how a boy would
feel, if, when sick on his first cigar, he were not allowed to throw it
away, but forced to retain it in his mouth and smoke away! Thus it is
with one who is sea-sick. The motion of the vessel causes it, and when a
fellow grows dizzy, and feels _wretched_ about the bottom of the vest,
he can’t throw that motion away, like a cigar. It has made him sick, it
makes him sicker, and don’t even stop when he gets “deathly sick.” To
treat a patient scientifically, physicians remove the _cause_ of his
illness; but in this case, the cause—that is, the motion of the
vessel—cannot be removed, and there is nothing left for the unhappy
patient but to get “used to it.”
The only thing I remember of that fearful night, except pure, unbroken,
unalloyed misery, is that I asked the captain, as he passed through the
cabin, if it was actually storming. He carelessly replied:
“O, it’s only blowing a fresh little nor’-wester;” and passed on.
A fresh little nor’-wester! I groaned in agony, and rolled about in my
berth, thinking that if that was only a fresh little nor’-wester, what a
fearful thing a _stale big_ nor’-wester would be!
Next morning at daylight the steward came to my berth and asked me if I
could “eat something?” Eat! Whew? Ugh! The very thought came near
bringing on a relapse. “No, no, no!” I shuddered; and buried my face in
my bunk.
About ten o’clock he passed through the cabin, and I asked him if we
were “out of sight o’ land?”
“Out o’ sight?” he returned. “Yes, and have been for ten hours!”
I felt somewhat better—in fact, a good deal better than during the
terrible night just passed—and I determined to make my way to the deck
to view a scene that had never before blessed my eyes. The wind had
abated, but the waves ran high, and the vessel was still rolling
considerably. Feeling light-headed and queer, I got out of my berth,
grasping something all the time to keep from being spilled out into the
cabin, got my crutch, left my state-room, and began to move toward the
companion-way. By hugging the wall, grasping state-room door-knobs, and
the like, I reached the foot of the staircase without falling, and
looking up—the hatch being open—I saw the blue sky staggering about
overhead. Holding firmly to a polished brass railing, I ascended to the
deck and took a seat on the companion-hatch.
Before me and all around me was the long wished-for sight. Our ship, the
dark-green sea, the sun, the clear blue sky and a few wild sea-birds
flitting about, were all that the eye could find to rest on. The sea and
sky met on all sides, forming a grand and mighty circle around us. I
remember remarking to myself, in my enthusiasm, that to see such a sight
as this, was “worth risking a fellow’s life!”
To do “old ocean” justice, I must say that there is nothing in the world
more delightful than to be at sea a little while in mild weather; but
when a gale is blowing, as I have since seen it, the ship going to
pieces every hour, and the waves foaming, and snarling, and gnashing
their teeth, as it were, in their impatience to get you and strangle
you; then you naturally wish there wasn’t such a thing as a sea in the
world; or that your lot had been cast in the “new world,” where “there
was no more sea.” (Revelations xxi. 1.)
On Monday we came in sight of Cape Cod, and I thought we should never
get round it. Those who have noticed Cape Cod on the map have no doubt
observed that it is shaped like a human foot; and we went gliding along
near its sole, traveling from heel to toe. For hours, I was every moment
expecting to go “round the point,” which I imagined I could see all the
time a little way ahead: but it kept receding all the while, like an
_ignis fatuus_, till I began to fancy that the foot belonged to some
great giant, who was bending his knee, and drawing it back stealthily,
in order to straighten it out again and give us a kick.