CUNARD ROYAL MAIL STEAMSHIP _Etruria_,
MID-OCEAN, _June 12_.
Well, was not this starting for Europe in a hurry? I left Boston
Saturday, June 9th, at five A.M., only deciding the day previous to go.
A number of letters and telegrams, from New York, urging me to join a
delightful party who were to make the journey, proved to be too much of
a temptation to accept the change I so much needed, to resist. For
several previous seasons I have seen friends off, honestly glad to have
them enjoy so much, but after awhile enthusiasm in the pleasures of
others, who enjoy much and leave you behind to be glad for them, grows
dull, like champagne long uncorked, not much sparkle to it, ‘for all
work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.’ A hurried packing; good-by
letters; messenger boys running here and there; a turning of the keys;
and I am off. To my maid, to the elevator boy, to the expressman and the
coachman, I excitedly said, ‘I am going to Europe,’ but their faces did
not light up with delight as I expected they would; and I thought--How
unappreciative we all are, after all, of other people’s enthusiasm. The
train was a slow one, but the only one that could possibly get me to New
York in time to take the steamer. Some trouble with the machinery of the
engine detained us, and I spent the time, while the cars were stopped,
praying to be resigned, if I had got to be disappointed, as, for a
while, matters looked as if it would be impossible for me to reach my
friends on the hour for the ship to sail. But prayers and the work of an
ingenious Yankee mechanic carried us through. It was after 3 P.M. when
we rolled into the Grand Central Depot. I rushed into the nearest cab
like one mad--urged, coaxed, and fee’d my driver, who quickly
comprehended the situation and ran his horses to the best of their
speed, and did get me to the Cunard Wharf about ten minutes before the
Etruria moved; but it was in truth a ‘John Gilpin ride.’ My friends were
on the lookout with anxious eyes, and, when they caught a sight of me,
greeted my appearance with shouts of delight. After the excitement was
over, we settled down into an ‘all right’ atmosphere and looked about.
The sights that met my eyes I shall never forget. The huge ship with the
bright-colored flags flying, the hundreds of people crowded on her,
hundreds more on the wharf, throwing kisses, waving handkerchiefs and
adieus, everybody loaded with flowers, many laughing and more crying.
‘God bless you. Take care of yourselves. Write soon and often,’ were the
oft-repeated words we heard. The planks are drawn, the band struck up
‘The Girl I left behind me,’ and off we steamed down the beautiful
harbor of New York, fast leaving the shores of America in the distance.
I thought of all the loved friends we were sailing away from, in the
body but not in spirit, and asked our dear ‘Father in Heaven’ to take
care of us all. I was tired, so dined early, settled things a little in
our state-room, and retired. I went immediately to sleep, without a
care, like a weary, confiding child on its mother’s breast, and did not
once awaken until nine the next morning--Sunday. My rest was perfect,
thus ‘rocked in the cradle of the deep,’ while the waves sung to me
their sweet lullaby. I arose feeling thoroughly refreshed--rubbed my
eyes well to be convinced that I was not dreaming, and that in reality I
was far out at sea. We have a fine state-room; two wide berths and a
sofa; and only F. and I its occupants; plenty of room for our things,
and two looking-glasses; so we shall be sure to keep amiable on this
trip. The Etruria is a beautiful and an immense steamer. Four hundred
persons make up the crew and she takes fifty engineers. We have a music
room, a library, a large saloon, reception rooms, dining room, etc.,
all finely and conveniently furnished and spacious. We have six hundred
passengers on board, all first class, and a fairly good-looking crowd
notwithstanding there are but few from Boston. We take no second class
passengers or emigrants. So far the weather has been charming. We settle
ourselves in our steamer chairs in the most deliciously idle and
comfortable positions, E. tucks his numerous nice wraps about us, for
the air is keen but most wholesomely pure and sweet, and we give
ourselves up both body and mind to perfect rest and repose, such as no
condition on land can bring. I even find myself wishing that the steamer
would not speed on quite so rapidly. I am afraid we shall sight land too
soon. On shipboard, the slightest incident becomes to all a matter of
great interest. A ship in the distance, or a whale’s back, will cause as
much excitement as Barnum’s circus in a country town. We have seen two
steamers far away, many sea-gulls and Mother Cary’s chickens, and a
school of porpoises followed us a long distance, creating much
amusement. We have two dukes on board, a real lord and a lady, but they
look very like the rest of us mortals, and seem to do quite as much
stretching, yawning, walking, and eating. We have met here several old
friends, and have made some new ones. Everybody seems inclined to be
agreeable and social. I cannot imagine how any one could ever think a
sea voyage dull. I get so interested in all about me, that their
interests and purposes become my own. A bright little Cuban miss
confided to me that she was going to travel for a year, because her rich
father had taken to himself a new companion younger than herself, and
she could not stay at home and see the young girl in her mother’s place.
We have six school-girls on board with their chaperone, and a jolly good
time they are having. School-girls are the same everywhere. A bride and
groom sit at table near us, trying to act as if they had been always
married, but are really continually revealing their new condition. Ah!
‘the old, old story,’ but ever new. A gentleman from the West, who had
been cabled to ‘hurry over--wife sick,’ walks the deck with a face that
tells of the sad heart he carries. How we all sympathize with him, and
yet are so helpless in comforting him! We had a fine concert in the
grand saloon last evening, for ‘sweet charity;’ and many of the ladies
honored the occasion by changing their travelling dresses for evening
costumes. Mlle. Zelie de Lussan sang two pieces most charmingly, and on
encore gave us ‘Coming thro’ the Rye’ and ‘Dors mon ange.’ She is a
great favorite with all on board, and no wonder, for she endeavors in
her sweet way to add to the happiness of all. She was enthusiastically
applauded. We had some fine instrumental music on both violin and piano,
and ‘Tony’ Pastor was irresistible in his manner of rendering several
comic selections, and very kind to repeat them in acknowledgment of
hearty applause. Our young ladies passed around the hats, into which
coin was quickly deposited to the amount of over three hundred dollars.
Rev. Dr. H., of New York, made a few remarks. He is a forcible,
impressive speaker and with a physique equal to our own Trinity Rector.
He also has exhibited a commendable spirit in helping make the time pass
agreeably for all with whom he has come in contact. Editor P. is also
amongst us, leaving his ‘New York World’ behind for a time, but not
under a bushel. Our table and the service are excellent: and what
gormandizers we are to be sure! Hungry as sharks every meal,
notwithstanding the hourly extras of bouillon and crackers on deck, and
the daily treats from our own boxes of fruit, wine, and bon-bons. If any
one should now ask me ‘What is the chief end of man?’ I should honestly
answer, To eat of all, at least, on board our ship. Poor E. looks upon
his chest of medicines for sea-sickness as a lost investment; stocks way
down--not even a shadow of an excuse yet for opening it. Miss C., the
noted beauty, is on board, but her fair face is closely enveloped in
veils, that the sun and wind may not be too familiar. One loses much not
to take the whole of this blessed, invigorating air, and look out
unhampered on the exquisite sky and cloud effects above us, and the
artistic blending of blues and greens on the waves beneath.
_Liverpool, England, June 17, 1888._--We first saw land yesterday
morning, very early. It was a perfect morning, clear and warm, and when
we emerged from our state-room and made our way on deck, we found the
greater portion of our comrades ahead of us, with their glasses in hand,
peering toward the rocky coast of not far away ‘Old Ireland.’ It is a
rough, rugged shore, with here and there a lighthouse, built as if to
last for ages, on rocks, strong and high, and all colored white with
some black trimmings. Occasionally an old castle is seen. The fields of
flax, colored with all the shades of green, are very beautiful, and add
much to vary the scene.
We have had, as one of our daily companions crossing over, an Irish
gentleman of much intelligence and culture. He is a large land-holder,
and has a fine home not very far from Dublin; has been travelling some
in America, but mostly in the Western States. I have gained much
information from him of his country and its people. He was amazed at the
extent of our own land, but with all his intelligence could not
comprehend everything connected with our divisions of country clearly,
and said to me--‘Boston, that city is very near Massachusetts, is it
not?’ He admired American ladies, and thought ‘Mrs. Cleveland should
reign in Washington longer.’ His brogue was fascinating, and he talked
much of the Pot-o-mac River.
In speaking of the poor of his country, I did not hesitate to ask him
how he and gentlemen of his kind could endure having the poor so
oppressed by the rich landlords; that to me it seemed most cruel. With a
sympathetic sigh he replied, ‘If you will visit me, I will show to you
more than I can tell you.’
Our big steamer stopped, for the first time, for the passengers who were
booked for the ‘Green Isle’ to get on to the little tug which came
puffing down from Queenstown, and we said good-by to many of our
fellow-voyagers reluctantly. A large mail was thrown on board also for
Ireland, carrying undoubtedly happiness and help into many homes.
On again we started, and reached Liverpool at one o’clock A.M. We
certainly had a perfect trip over, and the Etruria and her watchful,
careful commander, Captain Cook, will have ever a grateful place in my
memory. Blessed be the gift of memory! The one thing that holds
precious treasures that cannot be taken from us; from which we can at
all times summon the delights and joys of the past, without money and
without price.
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