American Notes for General Circulation

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by Dickens, Chales


  ding, ding!' the very bell is in a hurry. 'Now for the shore -

  who's for the shore?' - 'These gentlemen, I am sorry to say.' They

  are away, and never said, Good b'ye. Ah now they wave it from the

  little boat. 'Good b'ye! Good b'ye!' Three cheers from them;

  three more from us; three more from them: and they are gone.

  To and fro, to and fro, to and fro again a hundred times! This

  waiting for the latest mail-bags is worse than all. If we could

  have gone off in the midst of that last burst, we should have

  started triumphantly: but to lie here, two hours and more in the

  damp fog, neither staying at home nor going abroad, is letting one

  gradually down into the very depths of dulness and low spirits. A

  speck in the mist, at last! That's something. It is the boat we

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  wait for! That's more to the purpose. The captain appears on the

  paddle-box with his speaking trumpet; the officers take their

  stations; all hands are on the alert; the flagging hopes of the

  passengers revive; the cooks pause in their savoury work, and look

  out with faces full of interest. The boat comes alongside; the

  bags are dragged in anyhow, and flung down for the moment anywhere.

  Three cheers more: and as the first one rings upon our ears, the

  vessel throbs like a strong giant that has just received the breath

  of life; the two great wheels turn fiercely round for the first

  time; and the noble ship, with wind and tide astern, breaks proudly

  through the lashed and roaming water.

  CHAPTER II - THE PASSAGE OUT

  WE all dined together that day; and a rather formidable party we

  were: no fewer than eighty-six strong. The vessel being pretty

  deep in the water, with all her coals on board and so many

  passengers, and the weather being calm and quiet, there was but

  little motion; so that before the dinner was half over, even those

  passengers who were most distrustful of themselves plucked up

  amazingly; and those who in the morning had returned to the

  universal question, 'Are you a good sailor?' a very decided

  negative, now either parried the inquiry with the evasive reply,

  'Oh! I suppose I'm no worse than anybody else;' or, reckless of all

  moral obligations, answered boldly 'Yes:' and with some irritation

  too, as though they would add, 'I should like to know what you see

  in ME, sir, particularly, to justify suspicion!'

  Notwithstanding this high tone of courage and confidence, I could

  not but observe that very few remained long over their wine; and

  that everybody had an unusual love of the open air; and that the

  favourite and most coveted seats were invariably those nearest to

  the door. The tea-table, too, was by no means as well attended as

  the dinner-table; and there was less whist-playing than might have

  been expected. Still, with the exception of one lady, who had

  retired with some precipitation at dinner-time, immediately after

  being assisted to the finest cut of a very yellow boiled leg of

  mutton with very green capers, there were no invalids as yet; and

  walking, and smoking, and drinking of brandy-and-water (but always

  in the open air), went on with unabated spirit, until eleven

  o'clock or thereabouts, when 'turning in' - no sailor of seven

  hours' experience talks of going to bed - became the order of the

  night. The perpetual tramp of boot-heels on the decks gave place

  to a heavy silence, and the whole human freight was stowed away

  below, excepting a very few stragglers, like myself, who were

  probably, like me, afraid to go there.

  To one unaccustomed to such scenes, this is a very striking time on

  shipboard. Afterwards, and when its novelty had long worn off, it

  never ceased to have a peculiar interest and charm for me. The

  gloom through which the great black mass holds its direct and

  certain course; the rushing water, plainly heard, but dimly seen;

  the broad, white, glistening track, that follows in the vessel's

  wake; the men on the look-out forward, who would be scarcely

  visible against the dark sky, but for their blotting out some score

  of glistening stars; the helmsman at the wheel, with the

  illuminated card before him, shining, a speck of light amidst the

  darkness, like something sentient and of Divine intelligence; the

  melancholy sighing of the wind through block, and rope, and chain;

  the gleaming forth of light from every crevice, nook, and tiny

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  piece of glass about the decks, as though the ship were filled with

  fire in hiding, ready to burst through any outlet, wild with its

  resistless power of death and ruin. At first, too, and even when

  the hour, and all the objects it exalts, have come to be familiar,

  it is difficult, alone and thoughtful, to hold them to their proper

  shapes and forms. They change with the wandering fancy; assume the

  semblance of things left far away; put on the well-remembered

  aspect of favourite places dearly loved; and even people them with

  shadows. Streets, houses, rooms; figures so like their usual

  occupants, that they have startled me by their reality, which far

  exceeded, as it seemed to me, all power of mine to conjure up the

  absent; have, many and many a time, at such an hour, grown suddenly

  out of objects with whose real look, and use, and purpose, I was as

  well acquainted as with my own two hands.

  My own two hands, and feet likewise, being very cold, however, on

  this particular occasion, I crept below at midnight. It was not

  exactly comfortable below. It was decidedly close; and it was

  impossible to be unconscious of the presence of that extraordinary

  compound of strange smells, which is to be found nowhere but on

  board ship, and which is such a subtle perfume that it seems to

  enter at every pore of the skin, and whisper of the hold. Two

  passengers' wives (one of them my own) lay already in silent

  agonies on the sofa; and one lady's maid (MY lady's) was a mere

  bundle on the floor, execrating her destiny, and pounding her curlpapers

  among the stray boxes. Everything sloped the wrong way:

  which in itself was an aggravation scarcely to be borne. I had

  left the door open, a moment before, in the bosom of a gentle

  declivity, and, when I turned to shut it, it was on the summit of a

  lofty eminence. Now every plank and timber creaked, as if the ship

  were made of wicker-work; and now crackled, like an enormous fire

  of the driest possible twigs. There was nothing for it but bed; so

  I went to bed.

  It was pretty much the same for the next two days, with a tolerably

  fair wind and dry weather. I read in bed (but to this hour I don't

  know what) a good deal; and reeled on deck a little; drank cold

  brandy-and-water with an unspeakable disgust, and ate hard biscuit

  perseveringly: not ill, but going to be.

  It is the third morning. I am awakened out of my sleep by a dismal

  shriek from my wife, who demands to know whether there's any

  danger. I
rouse myself, and look out of bed. The water-jug is

  plunging and leaping like a lively dolphin; all the smaller

  articles are afloat, except my shoes, which are stranded on a

  carpet-bag, high and dry, like a couple of coal-barges. Suddenly I

  see them spring into the air, and behold the looking-glass, which

  is nailed to the wall, sticking fast upon the ceiling. At the same

  time the door entirely disappears, and a new one is opened in the

  floor. Then I begin to comprehend that the state-room is standing

  on its head.

  Before it is possible to make any arrangement at all compatible

  with this novel state of things, the ship rights. Before one can

  say 'Thank Heaven!' she wrongs again. Before one can cry she IS

  wrong, she seems to have started forward, and to be a creature

  actually running of its own accord, with broken knees and failing

  legs, through every variety of hole and pitfall, and stumbling

  constantly. Before one can so much as wonder, she takes a high

  leap into the air. Before she has well done that, she takes a deep

  dive into the water. Before she has gained the surface, she throws

  a summerset. The instant she is on her legs, she rushes backward.

  And so she goes on staggering, heaving, wrestling, leaping, diving,

  jumping, pitching, throbbing, rolling, and rocking: and going

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  through all these movements, sometimes by turns, and sometimes

  altogether: until one feels disposed to roar for mercy.

  A steward passes. 'Steward!' 'Sir?' 'What IS the matter? what DO

  you call this?' 'Rather a heavy sea on, sir, and a head-wind.'

  A head-wind! Imagine a human face upon the vessel's prow, with

  fifteen thousand Samsons in one bent upon driving her back, and

  hitting her exactly between the eyes whenever she attempts to

  advance an inch. Imagine the ship herself, with every pulse and

  artery of her huge body swollen and bursting under this

  maltreatment, sworn to go on or die. Imagine the wind howling, the

  sea roaring, the rain beating: all in furious array against her.

  Picture the sky both dark and wild, and the clouds, in fearful

  sympathy with the waves, making another ocean in the air. Add to

  all this, the clattering on deck and down below; the tread of

  hurried feet; the loud hoarse shouts of seamen; the gurgling in and

  out of water through the scuppers; with, every now and then, the

  striking of a heavy sea upon the planks above, with the deep, dead,

  heavy sound of thunder heard within a vault; - and there is the

  head-wind of that January morning.

  I say nothing of what may be called the domestic noises of the

  ship: such as the breaking of glass and crockery, the tumbling

  down of stewards, the gambols, overhead, of loose casks and truant

  dozens of bottled porter, and the very remarkable and far from

  exhilarating sounds raised in their various state-rooms by the

  seventy passengers who were too ill to get up to breakfast. I say

  nothing of them: for although I lay listening to this concert for

  three or four days, I don't think I heard it for more than a

  quarter of a minute, at the expiration of which term, I lay down

  again, excessively sea-sick.

  Not sea-sick, be it understood, in the ordinary acceptation of the

  term: I wish I had been: but in a form which I have never seen or

  heard described, though I have no doubt it is very common. I lay

  there, all the day long, quite coolly and contentedly; with no

  sense of weariness, with no desire to get up, or get better, or

  take the air; with no curiosity, or care, or regret, of any sort or

  degree, saving that I think I can remember, in this universal

  indifference, having a kind of lazy joy - of fiendish delight, if

  anything so lethargic can be dignified with the title - in the fact

  of my wife being too ill to talk to me. If I may be allowed to

  illustrate my state of mind by such an example, I should say that I

  was exactly in the condition of the elder Mr. Willet, after the

  incursion of the rioters into his bar at Chigwell. Nothing would

  have surprised me. If, in the momentary illumination of any ray of

  intelligence that may have come upon me in the way of thoughts of

  Home, a goblin postman, with a scarlet coat and bell, had come into

  that little kennel before me, broad awake in broad day, and,

  apologising for being damp through walking in the sea, had handed

  me a letter directed to myself, in familiar characters, I am

  certain I should not have felt one atom of astonishment: I should

  have been perfectly satisfied. If Neptune himself had walked in,

  with a toasted shark on his trident, I should have looked upon the

  event as one of the very commonest everyday occurrences.

  Once - once - I found myself on deck. I don't know how I got

  there, or what possessed me to go there, but there I was; and

  completely dressed too, with a huge pea-coat on, and a pair of

  boots such as no weak man in his senses could ever have got into.

  I found myself standing, when a gleam of consciousness came upon

  me, holding on to something. I don't know what. I think it was

  the boatswain: or it may have been the pump: or possibly the cow.

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  I can't say how long I had been there; whether a day or a minute.

  I recollect trying to think about something (about anything in the

  whole wide world, I was not particular) without the smallest

  effect. I could not even make out which was the sea, and which the

  sky, for the horizon seemed drunk, and was flying wildly about in

  all directions. Even in that incapable state, however, I

  recognised the lazy gentleman standing before me: nautically clad

  in a suit of shaggy blue, with an oilskin hat. But I was too

  imbecile, although I knew it to be he, to separate him from his

  dress; and tried to call him, I remember, PILOT. After another

  interval of total unconsciousness, I found he had gone, and

  recognised another figure in its place. It seemed to wave and

  fluctuate before me as though I saw it reflected in an unsteady

  looking-glass; but I knew it for the captain; and such was the

  cheerful influence of his face, that I tried to smile: yes, even

  then I tried to smile. I saw by his gestures that he addressed me;

  but it was a long time before I could make out that he remonstrated

  against my standing up to my knees in water - as I was; of course I

  don't know why. I tried to thank him, but couldn't. I could only

  point to my boots - or wherever I supposed my boots to be - and say

  in a plaintive voice, 'Cork soles:' at the same time endeavouring,

  I am told, to sit down in the pool. Finding that I was quite

  insensible, and for the time a maniac, he humanely conducted me

  below.

  There I remained until I got better: suffering, whenever I was

  recommended to eat anything, an amount of anguish only second to

  that which is said to be endured by the apparently drowned, in the

  process of restoration to life. One gentleman on board h
ad a

  letter of introduction to me from a mutual friend in London. He

  sent it below with his card, on the morning of the head-wind; and I

  was long troubled with the idea that he might be up, and well, and

  a hundred times a day expecting me to call upon him in the saloon.

  I imagined him one of those cast-iron images - I will not call them

  men - who ask, with red faces, and lusty voices, what sea-sickness

  means, and whether it really is as bad as it is represented to be.

  This was very torturing indeed; and I don't think I ever felt such

  perfect gratification and gratitude of heart, as I did when I heard

  from the ship's doctor that he had been obliged to put a large

  mustard poultice on this very gentleman's stomach. I date my

  recovery from the receipt of that intelligence.

  It was materially assisted though, I have no doubt, by a heavy gale

  of wind, which came slowly up at sunset, when we were about ten

  days out, and raged with gradually increasing fury until morning,

  saving that it lulled for an hour a little before midnight. There

  was something in the unnatural repose of that hour, and in the

  after gathering of the storm, so inconceivably awful and

  tremendous, that its bursting into full violence was almost a

  relief.

  The labouring of the ship in the troubled sea on this night I shall

  never forget. 'Will it ever be worse than this?' was a question I

  had often heard asked, when everything was sliding and bumping

  about, and when it certainly did seem difficult to comprehend the

  possibility of anything afloat being more disturbed, without

  toppling over and going down. But what the agitation of a steamvessel

  is, on a bad winter's night in the wild Atlantic, it is

  impossible for the most vivid imagination to conceive. To say that

  she is flung down on her side in the waves, with her masts dipping

  into them, and that, springing up again, she rolls over on the

  other side, until a heavy sea strikes her with the noise of a

  hundred great guns, and hurls her back - that she stops, and

  staggers, and shivers, as though stunned, and then, with a violent

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  Dickens, Charles - American Notes for General Circulation

  throbbing at her heart, darts onward like a monster goaded into

  madness, to be beaten down, and battered, and crushed, and leaped

  on by the angry sea - that thunder, lightning, hail, and rain, and

 

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