After passing out at the Golden Gate, all three of the steamers were
visible, each freighted with a rich cargo of human beings, and cleaving
for themselves a pathway through the blue waters. The “Uncle Sam” and
“Panama” were bound direct to Panama; the “Cortez” to San Juan.
The first night out on board a crowded steamer! Who that has experienced
it can _ever_ forget the confusion, the sea-sickness, the
dissatisfaction reigning among room-mates, the squalling of parrots, the
crying of babies, and all sorts of annoyances incident to the occasion?
For a person like myself, who was not sea-sick, and had no babies to
worry about, and had only to enact the part of a silent spectator, the
Babel-like confusion which reigned triumphant only served to divert my
mind from my own sad thoughts, and I began to study the characters of my
room-mates, through the science of physiognomy.
In our state-room, which opened upon the main deck, were three berths
and a sofa. My ticket called for the sofa, which was a nice, soft,
velvet one, and far preferable to a berth. My room-mates were an elderly
lady, and her married daughter, who had a babe eight months old. Then
there was an adopted daughter, about sixteen years of age, and a noisy
parrot. This elderly lady also had a son on board,--a great, over-grown
boy, who had taken a second-cabin passage, with the idea of lodging in
the room with his mother.
The back of the sofa could be lifted up, so as to form a sort of shelf
over the seat. This shelf, directly over the person who was lying upon
the sofa, would be decidedly disagreeable and uncomfortable. The mother
planned for that great boy to sleep upon this shelf, directly over me.
To this I, of course, objected, knowing that he had a berth provided for
him in the second cabin. Upon my objecting, the mother became determined
that he _should_ sleep there. I then appealed to the young man, asking
him if he thought it would be very agreeable to lodge in a little
state-room, with three ladies, a baby, and a parrot. He acknowledged it
would not, and refused to comply with his mother’s commands. Therefore,
I got rid of him; which by no means ingratiated me into favor with the
mother, who was very petulant indeed (owing to sea-sickness, I presume).
But, after she ascertained that I would not be imposed upon, (if I were
little,) she became quite affable, and lamented frequently that our
tickets did not call for one and the same room on the Atlantic side.
The married daughter was a very lady-like, genteel sort of a person,
totally dissimilar from her mother, and rather a victim to her (the
mother’s) dictatorial propensities. The adopted daughter was one of
those good-natured, immovable sort of persons, always pleasant, yet
doing about as she pleased, although receiving a severe reprimand every
five minutes in the day from the old lady. The baby was a little
darling, inheriting his mother’s gentle disposition. The parrot was not
a whit more quiet than its mistress. As soon as day began to break, he
would begin to scream, after this fashion: “Come to breakfast;” “Six
o’clock;” “Hot coffee;” “Mother! mother!” and such like expressions. If
it was amusing at first, it soon became very annoying. There was one
parrot on board so exceedingly profane and annoying, that its life was
several times threatened by the passengers who roomed in close proximity
to it. The woman to whom it belonged valued it above price. It could
speak the English and Spanish languages quite _fluently_. It used to sit
nights outside the woman’s room. One morning, she missed its usual
chatter, went upon deck, and it was nowhere to be found. Then what a
time! Every one was ignorant as to its whereabouts; but a close observer
might have detected a roguish twinkle lurking about the eyes of the mate
of the ship, as he sympathized with the lady in her bereavement.
Finally, the parrot was discovered, made fast to the mast-head of the
ship. It was so frightened, it did not resume its usual chatter that
day.
After we had been at sea a few days, the weather, which had been
agreeably cool, changed to oppressive heat. The air in those little
state-rooms was so confined and unhealthy, it behooved those who were
able, to rise early in the morning, and go upon deck to inhale the balmy
air. But, then, it was rather unpleasant to be hunted about as we were
by the sailors, who were washing down the decks. We would perch
ourselves upon something; and then, just as we were congratulating one
another upon securing a nice seat, swash would come the water in
torrents, compelling us to run for another seat, which would only afford
us a similar temporary lodgment. If we escaped without getting our feet
soaking wet, and our clothes somewhat draggled, we accounted ourselves
fortunate in the extreme. After the expiration of a week, how the new
faces began to appear! The decks began to get quite crowded. Some of
them looked as if they had not been enjoying themselves very well while
confined to their state-rooms. I had a great deal of sympathy for those
afflicted with that disagreeable nausea; yet I often received kind
wishes, to this effect: “How I do wish you could be sick, just for one
hour! You would not look so smiling, if you felt as badly as I do.” And
yet I was forced to smile, when looking at their wo-begone countenances.
There were two or three female cabin passengers very sick with fever;
and, oh, how they suffered, confined in a close state-room, with a
raging fever consuming their very vitals!
One of the greatest sufferers was a lady who had been brought on board
on a bed. She was dying of consumption. She was sick at home, and her
physician had recommended a voyage to California. Thinking she might
receive some benefit from a residence in that salubrious climate, her
husband had taken her there. She had not remained there long, before she
felt convinced that she must die. Then she begged--oh, how
earnestly!--to be taken home to see her darling babes once more. If she
could be spared to clasp their little forms in one fond embrace, she
could die happy. Her doom was sealed. Every day the hectic spot deepened
upon that ethereal face; the racking cough increased in hollowness of
sound; the fluctuating pulse grew fainter. She was fast hastening to
“that bourne from whence no traveller returns.”
The morning sun rose fair, but it shone upon a death-stamped
countenance--upon loving lips forever silent--upon the cold hand which
gave no returning pressure. She had passed away, with the names of her
darlings upon her lips.
As the sun was sinking into the western waters, the steamer’s course was
stayed. The body of the devoted wife and loving mother was borne upon
deck, covered by the American flag. Near by stood the bereaved husband,
whose heart seemed wrung with the keenest sorrow. The stillness of death
reigned on board that crowded steamer. In calm, serene accents, a
minister of Christ breathed forth an earnest, heart-felt prayer; and the
remains were launched into the bosom of the restless ocean. A splash,
and all was over. The waves which had parted to receive that form of
clay continued their ceaseless motion, and, by their ceaseless music,
seemed to be chanting a requiem over the mother’s grave, far, far down,
among the coral dells and pearly caves of old ocean’s unfathomed depths!
If the spirits of departed friends are conversant with our spirits, if
they are indeed ministering angels to those whom they loved while in the
flesh, the midnight slumbers of those motherless babes that night were
blessed and sanctified by the seraphic presence of the beatified mother.
In their infant dreams, it is the knowledge of her presence which causes
those radiant smiles to flit across their fair, innocent faces.
Dear children! Many a tear of sympathy was dropped at the thought of
their uncertain future, as the revolving wheels of the steamer carried
us farther and farther from their mother’s grave, which they could never
look upon!
In a little while, all was gayety and mirth, bustle and confusion,
singing and dancing, on board that floating structure. This being my
first voyage after the eventful fiery one, my feelings were constantly
agitated, thinking it possible a recurrence of those former scenes might
be enacted. There were some on board who were acquainted with the
history of my voyage out to California; and they had repeated the story
to their friends, until it had gained quite an extensive circulation
among the ship’s company.
One night, while seated in the door of my state-room, I was very much
amused at the remarks passed between two of the sailors, who were laying
down hose upon the deck, as was the usual custom, as a precaution
against fire. Says one, “Dick, what are you laying that extra hose for?”
“Why,” said he, “didn’t you know there is a woman on board who never
went to sea but what the ship she was on board of burnt before reaching
her destination?”--“There isn’t, though.”--“Yes, there is; and I haven’t
the least idea the Uncle Sam will ever reach Panama.”--“Have you seen
her? How does she look?”--“I don’t exactly know which one it is; but
they say she looks just like any other woman.” Thus the conversation
continued for some time, to my great amusement. But the spell was
broken; the startling cry of “Fire!” was not heard; and no event of
importance occurred, by which the nerves of the most sensitive could be
shocked.
We had two more burials at sea before reaching Panama. They were two
firemen, who dropped dead while at their posts of duty, during the
excessively hot weather.