Occasionally, during the following month, I dropped in at 117 Wall Street
to inquire how the repairing and refurnishing of the vessel was coming on,
how additions to the passenger list were averaging, how many people the
committee were decreeing not "select" every day and banishing in sorrow
and tribulation. I was glad to know that we were to have a little printing
press on board and issue a daily newspaper of our own. I was glad to learn
that our piano, our parlor organ, and our melodeon were to be the best
instruments of the kind that could be had in the market. I was proud to
observe that among our excursionists were three ministers of the gospel,
eight doctors, sixteen or eighteen ladies, several military and naval
chieftains with sounding titles, an ample crop of "Professors" of various
kinds, and a gentleman who had "COMMISSIONER OF THE UNITED STATES OF
AMERICA TO EUROPE, ASIA, AND AFRICA" thundering after his name in one
awful blast! I had carefully prepared myself to take rather a back seat in
that ship because of the uncommonly select material that would alone be
permitted to pass through the camel's eye of that committee on
credentials; I had schooled myself to expect an imposing array of military
and naval heroes and to have to set that back seat still further back in
consequence of it maybe; but I state frankly that I was all unprepared for
I fell under that titular avalanche a torn and blighted thing. I said that
if that potentate must go over in our ship, why, I supposed he must—but
that to my thinking, when the United States considered it necessary to
send a dignitary of that tonnage across the ocean, it would be in better
taste, and safer, to take him apart and cart him over in sections in
Ah, if I had only known then that he was only a common mortal, and that
his mission had nothing more overpowering about it than the collecting of
seeds and uncommon yams and extraordinary cabbages and peculiar bullfrogs
for that poor, useless, innocent, mildewed old fossil the Smithsonian
Institute, I would have felt so much relieved.
During that memorable month I basked in the happiness of being for once in
my life drifting with the tide of a great popular movement. Everybody was
going to Europe—I, too, was going to Europe. Everybody was going to
the famous Paris Exposition—I, too, was going to the Paris
Exposition. The steamship lines were carrying Americans out of the various
ports of the country at the rate of four or five thousand a week in the
aggregate. If I met a dozen individuals during that month who were not
going to Europe shortly, I have no distinct remembrance of it now. I
walked about the city a good deal with a young Mr. Blucher, who was booked
for the excursion. He was confiding, good-natured, unsophisticated,
companionable; but he was not a man to set the river on fire. He had the
most extraordinary notions about this European exodus and came at last to
consider the whole nation as packing up for emigration to France. We
stepped into a store on Broadway one day, where he bought a handkerchief,
and when the man could not make change, Mr. B. said:
"Never mind, I'll hand it to you in Paris."
"But I am not going to Paris."
"How is—what did I understand you to say?"
"I said I am not going to Paris."
"Not going to Paris! Not g—— well, then, where in the nation
are you going to?"
"Nowhere at all."
"Not anywhere whatsoever?—not any place on earth but this?"
"Not any place at all but just this—stay here all summer."
My comrade took his purchase and walked out of the store without a word—walked
out with an injured look upon his countenance. Up the street apiece he
broke silence and said impressively: "It was a lie—that is my
opinion of it!"
In the fullness of time the ship was ready to receive her passengers. I
was introduced to the young gentleman who was to be my roommate, and found
him to be intelligent, cheerful of spirit, unselfish, full of generous
impulses, patient, considerate, and wonderfully good-natured. Not any
passenger that sailed in the Quaker City will withhold his endorsement of
what I have just said. We selected a stateroom forward of the wheel, on
the starboard side, "below decks." It had two berths in it, a dismal
dead-light, a sink with a washbowl in it, and a long, sumptuously
cushioned locker, which was to do service as a sofa—partly—and
partly as a hiding place for our things. Notwithstanding all this
furniture, there was still room to turn around in, but not to swing a cat
in, at least with entire security to the cat. However, the room was large,
for a ship's stateroom, and was in every way satisfactory.
The vessel was appointed to sail on a certain Saturday early in June.
A little after noon on that distinguished Saturday I reached the ship and
went on board. All was bustle and confusion. [I have seen that remark
before somewhere.] The pier was crowded with carriages and men; passengers
were arriving and hurrying on board; the vessel's decks were encumbered
with trunks and valises; groups of excursionists, arrayed in unattractive
traveling costumes, were moping about in a drizzling rain and looking as
droopy and woebegone as so many molting chickens. The gallant flag was up,
but it was under the spell, too, and hung limp and disheartened by the
mast. Altogether, it was the bluest, bluest spectacle! It was a pleasure
excursion—there was no gainsaying that, because the program said so—it
was so nominated in the bond—but it surely hadn't the general aspect
Finally, above the banging, and rumbling, and shouting, and hissing of
steam rang the order to "cast off!"—a sudden rush to the gangways—a
scampering ashore of visitors-a revolution of the wheels, and we were off—the
pic-nic was begun! Two very mild cheers went up from the dripping crowd on
the pier; we answered them gently from the slippery decks; the flag made
an effort to wave, and failed; the "battery of guns" spake not—the
ammunition was out.
We steamed down to the foot of the harbor and came to anchor. It was still
raining. And not only raining, but storming. "Outside" we could see,
ourselves, that there was a tremendous sea on. We must lie still, in the
calm harbor, till the storm should abate. Our passengers hailed from
fifteen states; only a few of them had ever been to sea before; manifestly
it would not do to pit them against a full-blown tempest until they had
got their sea-legs on. Toward evening the two steam tugs that had
accompanied us with a rollicking champagne-party of young New Yorkers on
board who wished to bid farewell to one of our number in due and ancient
form departed, and we were alone on the deep. On deep five fathoms, and
anchored fast to the bottom. And out in the solemn rain, at that. This was
pleasuring with a vengeance.
It was an appropriate relief when the gong sounded for prayer meeting. The
first Saturday night of any other pleasure excursion might have been
devoted to whist and dancing; but I submit it to the unprejudiced mind if
it would have been in good taste for us to engage in such frivolities,
considering what we had gone through and the frame of mind we were in. We
would have shone at a wake, but not at anything more festive.
However, there is always a cheering influence about the sea; and in my
berth that night, rocked by the measured swell of the waves and lulled by
the murmur of the distant surf, I soon passed tranquilly out of all
consciousness of the dreary experiences of the day and damaging
premonitions of the future.
All day Sunday at anchor. The storm had gone down a great deal, but the
sea had not. It was still piling its frothy hills high in air "outside,"
as we could plainly see with the glasses. We could not properly begin a
pleasure excursion on Sunday; we could not offer untried stomachs to so
pitiless a sea as that. We must lie still till Monday. And we did. But we
had repetitions of church and prayer-meetings; and so, of course, we were
just as eligibly situated as we could have been any where.
I was up early that Sabbath morning and was early to breakfast. I felt a
perfectly natural desire to have a good, long, unprejudiced look at the
passengers at a time when they should be free from self-consciousness—which
is at breakfast, when such a moment occurs in the lives of human beings at
I was greatly surprised to see so many elderly people—I might almost
say, so many venerable people. A glance at the long lines of heads was apt
to make one think it was all gray. But it was not. There was a tolerably
fair sprinkling of young folks, and another fair sprinkling of gentlemen
and ladies who were non-committal as to age, being neither actually old or
The next morning we weighed anchor and went to sea. It was a great
happiness to get away after this dragging, dispiriting delay. I thought
there never was such gladness in the air before, such brightness in the
sun, such beauty in the sea. I was satisfied with the picnic then and with
all its belongings. All my malicious instincts were dead within me; and as
America faded out of sight, I think a spirit of charity rose up in their
place that was as boundless, for the time being, as the broad ocean that
was heaving its billows about us. I wished to express my feelings—I
wished to lift up my voice and sing; but I did not know anything to sing,
and so I was obliged to give up the idea. It was no loss to the ship,
It was breezy and pleasant, but the sea was still very rough. One could
not promenade without risking his neck; at one moment the bowsprit was
taking a deadly aim at the sun in midheaven, and at the next it was trying
to harpoon a shark in the bottom of the ocean. What a weird sensation it
is to feel the stem of a ship sinking swiftly from under you and see the
bow climbing high away among the clouds! One's safest course that day was
to clasp a railing and hang on; walking was too precarious a pastime.
By some happy fortune I was not seasick.—That was a thing to be
proud of. I had not always escaped before. If there is one thing in the
world that will make a man peculiarly and insufferably self-conceited, it
is to have his stomach behave itself, the first day it sea, when nearly
all his comrades are seasick. Soon a venerable fossil, shawled to the chin
and bandaged like a mummy, appeared at the door of the after deck-house,
and the next lurch of the ship shot him into my arms. I said:
"Good-morning, Sir. It is a fine day."
He put his hand on his stomach and said, "Oh, my!" and then staggered away
and fell over the coop of a skylight.
Presently another old gentleman was projected from the same door with
great violence. I said:
"Calm yourself, Sir—There is no hurry. It is a fine day, Sir."
He, also, put his hand on his stomach and said "Oh, my!" and reeled away.
In a little while another veteran was discharged abruptly from the same
door, clawing at the air for a saving support. I said:
"Good morning, Sir. It is a fine day for pleasuring. You were about to say—"
I thought so. I anticipated him, anyhow. I stayed there and was bombarded
with old gentlemen for an hour, perhaps; and all I got out of any of them
was "Oh, my!"
I went away then in a thoughtful mood. I said, this is a good pleasure
excursion. I like it. The passengers are not garrulous, but still they are
sociable. I like those old people, but somehow they all seem to have the
"Oh, my" rather bad.
I knew what was the matter with them. They were seasick. And I was glad of
it. We all like to see people seasick when we are not, ourselves. Playing
whist by the cabin lamps when it is storming outside is pleasant; walking
the quarterdeck in the moonlight is pleasant; smoking in the breezy
foretop is pleasant when one is not afraid to go up there; but these are
all feeble and commonplace compared with the joy of seeing people
suffering the miseries of seasickness.
I picked up a good deal of information during the afternoon. At one time I
was climbing up the quarterdeck when the vessel's stem was in the sky; I
was smoking a cigar and feeling passably comfortable. Somebody ejaculated:
"Come, now, that won't answer. Read the sign up there—NO SMOKING
ABAFT THE WHEEL!"
It was Captain Duncan, chief of the expedition. I went forward, of course.
I saw a long spyglass lying on a desk in one of the upper-deck state-rooms
back of the pilot-house and reached after it—there was a ship in the
"Ah, ah—hands off! Come out of that!"
I came out of that. I said to a deck-sweep—but in a low voice:
"Who is that overgrown pirate with the whiskers and the discordant voice?"
I loitered about awhile, and then, for want of something better to do,
fell to carving a railing with my knife. Somebody said, in an insinuating,
"Now, say—my friend—don't you know any better than to be
whittling the ship all to pieces that way? You ought to know better than
I went back and found the deck sweep.
"Who is that smooth-faced, animated outrage yonder in the fine clothes?"
"That's Captain L****, the owner of the ship—he's one of the main
In the course of time I brought up on the starboard side of the
pilot-house and found a sextant lying on a bench. Now, I said, they "take
the sun" through this thing; I should think I might see that vessel
through it. I had hardly got it to my eye when someone touched me on the
shoulder and said deprecatingly:
"I'll have to get you to give that to me, Sir. If there's anything you'd
like to know about taking the sun, I'd as soon tell you as not—but I
don't like to trust anybody with that instrument. If you want any figuring
done—Aye, aye, sir!"
He was gone to answer a call from the other side. I sought the deck-sweep.
"Who is that spider-legged gorilla yonder with the sanctimonious
"It's Captain Jones, sir—the chief mate."
"Well. This goes clear away ahead of anything I ever heard of before. Do
you—now I ask you as a man and a brother—do you think I could
venture to throw a rock here in any given direction without hitting a
captain of this ship?"
"Well, sir, I don't know—I think likely you'd fetch the captain of
the watch may be, because he's a-standing right yonder in the way."
I went below—meditating and a little downhearted. I thought, if five
cooks can spoil a broth, what may not five captains do with a pleasure