Nasby in Exile by David R Locke PDF
Preview Nasby in Exile by David R Locke
The Project Gutenberg EBook of Nasby in Exile, by David R. Locke This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license Title: Nasby in Exile or, Six Months of Travel in England, Ireland, Scotland, France, Germany, Switzerland and Belgium, with many things not of travel Author: David R. Locke Release Date: July 30, 2014 [EBook #46451] Language: English Character set encoding: UTF-8 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NASBY IN EXILE *** Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images available at The Internet Archive) Every attempt has been made to replicate the original as printed. No attempt has been made to correct or normalize the spelling of non-English words. Archaic spelllings (i.e. divers, ecstacy, graneries, asthetic, etc.) have been retained. Some typographical errors have been corrected; a list follows the text. In certain versions of this etext, in certain browsers, clicking on this symbol will bring up a larger version of the image. Illustrations. Contents. (etext transcriber's note) image not available image not available MONT ST. MICHAEL. NASBY IN EXILE: OR, SIX MONTHS OF TRAVEL IN England, Ireland, Scotland, France, Germany, Switzerland and Belgium, WITH MANY THINGS NOT OF TRAVEL. BY DAVID R. LOCKE, (Petroleum V. Nasby.) ——— PROFUSELY ILLUSTRATED. ——— TOLEDO AND BOSTON: Locke Publishing Company. 1882. COPYRIGHT, 1882, By DAVID R. LOCKE. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. BLADE PRINTING AND PAPER CO., Printers and Binders, TOLEDO, O. PREFACE. ON the afternoon of May 14, 1881, the good ship “City of Richmond,” steamed out of New York harbor with a varied assortment of passengers on board, all intent upon seeing Europe. Among these was the writer of the pages that follow. Six of the passengers having contracted a sort of liking for each other, made a tour of six months together, that is, together most of the time. This book is the record of their experiences, as they appeared originally in the columns of the Toledo Blade. It is not issued in compliance with any demand for it. I have no recollection that any one of the one hundred thousand regular subscribers to the Toledo Blade ever asked that the letters that appeared from week to week in its columns should be gathered into book form. The volume is a purely mercantile speculation, which may or may not be successful. The publishers held that the matter was of sufficient value to go between covers, and believing that they were good judges of such things, I edited the letters, and here they are. The ground we went over has been gone over by other writers a thousand times. We went where other tourists have gone, and what we saw others have seen. The only difference between this book and the thousands of others that have been printed describing the same scenes, is purely the difference in the eyes of the writers who saw them. I saw the countries I visited with a pair of American eyes, and judged of men and things from a purely American stand-point. I have not attempted to describe scenery, and buildings, and things of that nature, at all. That has been done by men and women more capable of such work than I am. Every library in America is full of books of that nature. But I was interested in the men and women of the countries I passed through, I was interested in their ways of living, their industries and their customs and habits, and I tried faithfully to put upon paper what I saw, as well as the observations and comments of the party that traveled and observed with me. I have a hope that the readers of these pages will lay the book down in quite as good condition, mentally and physically, as when they took it up, and that some information as to European life will result from its perusal. As I make no promises at the beginning I shall have no apologies to make at the ending. It is only justice to say that much of the descriptive matter is the work of Mr. Robinson Locke, who was with me every minute of the time, and the intelligent reader will be perfectly safe in ascribing the best of its pages to his pen. I can only hope that this work, as a book, will meet with the same measure of favor that the material did as newspaper sketches. D. R. L. Toledo, Ohio, June 29, 1882. ILLUSTRATIONS. No. Page 1.Frontispiece. 2.The Departure 18 3.“Shuffle Board” 22 4.The Betting Young Man from Chicago 24 5.“Dear, Sea-sickness is only a Feminine Weakness,” 27 6.Lemuel Tibbitts, from Oshkosh, Writes a Letter 29 7.Every Sin I Had Committed Came Before Me 33 8.Off for London 35 9.Public Buildings, London 36 10.The Indian Policy 39 11.The Emetic Policy 39 12.A London Street Scene 45 13.A London Steak 50 14.“And is the Them Shanghais?” 53 15.Sol. Carpenter and the Race 60 16.Leaving for the Derby 62 17.By the Roadside 64 18.English Negro Minstrelsy 66 19.The Roadside Repast 67 20.The Betting Ring 73 21.“D——n the Swindling Scoundrel” 74 22.Egyptian Room, British Museum 76 23.A Bold Briton Trying the American Custom 79 24.A London Gin Drinking Woman 80 25.The Poor Man is Sick 81 26.“That Nigger is Mine” 82 27.St. Thomas Hospital 92 28.Interior of a Variety Hall 95 29.The Magic Purse 98 30.The Man who was Music Proof 100 31.Madame Tussaud 102 32.Wax Figures of Americans 103 33.“Digging Corpses is all Wrong” 105 34.Improved Process of Burke and Hare 106 35.Isle of Wight 107 36.The London Lawyer 110 37.The Old English Way of Procuring a Loan 118 38.“Beware of Fraudulent Imitations” 120 39.The Old Temple Bar 122 40.The Sidewalk Shoe Store 125 41.“Sheap Clodink” 127 42.“Dake Dot Ring” 133 43.A Lane in Camberwell 135 44.The Tower of London 136 45.The Jewel Tower 140 46.Sir Magnus’ Men 142 47.Horse Armory 144 48.St. John’s Chapel 145 49.St. Thomas’ Tower 146 50.General View of the Tower 147 51.The Bloody Tower 148 52.Drowning of Clarence in a Butt of Wine 149 53.The Byward Tower from the East 150 54.The Beauchamp Tower 151 55.The Overworked Headsman 152 56.The Persuasive Rack 153 57.The Byward Tower from the West 154 58.The Middle Tower 155 59.The Beef Eater 156 60.The Flint Tower 157 61.The Traitor’s Gate 158 62.What Shall We Do with Sir Thomas? 159 63.The Easiest Way 160 64.The Suits Come Home 163 65.The Candle Episode 168 66.The Little Bill 169 67.Getting Ready to Leave a Hotel 169 68.The Last Straw 170 69.The Cabman Tipped 170 70.The Universal Demand 171 71.The Lord Mayor’s Show 173 72.A Second Hand Debauch 175 73.The Anniversary Ceremonies 178 74.In the Harbor 179 75.Isle of Wight 182 76.The Unfinished Entries in the Diary 184 77.Westminster Abbey 186 78.Exterior of the Abbey 187 79.Entrance to the Abbey 188 80.The Poet’s Corner 191 81.Henry VII.’s Chapel 193 82.Chapel of Edward 197 83.Effigy Room 200 84.The Abbey in Queen Anne’s Time 201 85.“If She Ever Miscalculates She’s Gone,” 204 86.The Death of the Trainer 206 87.The Gorgeous Funeral Procession 207 88.Monument to the Trainer 208 89.The Side Show Zulu 210 90.The Lost Finger 212 91.On the Thames 218 92.Sandwiches at New Haven 222 93.Off Dieppe—Four A. M. 224 94.“Have You Tobacco or Spirits?” 225 95.Fisher Folk—Dieppe 227 96.Fisher Women—Dieppe 228 97.Fisher Boy and Child 229 98.The Boys of Rouen 232 99.Rouen 233 100.The Professor Stood Before it 234 101.Cathedral of Notre Dame 235 102.House of Joan d’Arc 235 103.Harbor of Rouen 236 104.St. Ouen—Rouen 238 105.The Showman in Paris 240 106.Bloss’ Great Moral Spectacle 241 107.Tower of St. Pierre 242 108.Old Houses—Rouen 242 109.The Professor’s Spectacles 245 110.Old Paris 246 111.Liberty, Fraternity, Equality 247 112.New Paris 248 113.The Louvre 250 114.A Boulevard Cafe 252 115.A Costume by Worth 253 116.A Magazine on the Boulevard 254 117.Mr. Thompson’s Art Purchases 256 118.The American Party Outside a Cafe 259 119.The Avenue de L’Opera 261 120.Cafe Concerts 262 121.The Faro Bankeress 266 122.French Soldiers 267 123.Parisian Bread Carriers 269 124.Queer—to Frenchmen 271 125.The Porte St. Martin 272 126.A Very Polite Frenchman 275 127.“Merci, Monsieur!” 277 128.Paris Underground 279 129.Interior of the Paris Bourse 280 130.The Arc du Carrousel 282 131.“How Long Must I Endure This?” 285 132.Tail Piece 286 133.The Mother of the Gamin as She Was 288 134.The Mother of the Gamin in the Sere and Yellow Leaf289 135.The Aged Stump Gatherer 290 136.A Talk with a Gamin 294 137.The Mabille at Night 305 138.A Mabille Divinity 306 139.Professionals in a Quadrille 309 140.A Male Dancer 310 141.The Grisette 311 142.Meeting of Tibbitts and the Professor 314 143.The Cafe Swell 316 144.Tail Piece 318 145.Beauvais Cathedral 319 146.Struggle for the Kingship 322 147.Of the Commune 326 148.Tibbitts and Faro Bankeress 330 149.Tail Piece 331 150.Palais Royal 333 151.Vision of the Commune 335 152.Mother and Bonne 337 153.The Youthful Bonne 338 154.The Aged Bonne 338 155.“Who Put that Ribbon in your Cap?” 345 156.Corrective Used by Mr. Tibbitts 348 157.The Coco Seller 349 158.In Any of the Parks 358 159.The No-Legged Beggar Woman 360 160.How the French Sport Kills Game 362 161.Fishing in the Seine 363 162.Inside a Paris Omnibus 364 163.The Showman Shown the Door 365 164.The Tell Catastrophe 368 165.Zoological Room 369 166.Cork Harbor 370 167.Queenstown 371 168.Irish Woman and Daughter 375 169.A County Cork Cabin 377 170.Interior of Better Class Cabin 378 171.Royal Irish Constabulary 379 172.Interior of Cabin 380 173.A Quiver Full 381 174.Street in an Irish Village 384 175.Blarney Castle 385 176.Free Speech in Ireland 387 177.In a Bog Village 389 178.“Drop the Child!” 391 179.Nature’s Looking Glass 393 180.Irishman of the Stage and Novel 394 181.The Evicted Irishman 395 182.To Market and Back 396 183.The Real Irish Girl 397 184.A Small but Well-to-do Farmer 398 185.Sketches in Galway 402 186.Affixing Notice of Eviction 406 187.Eviction 407 188.The Eviction we Saw 408 189.Evicted 409 190.Farming in County Mayo 410 191.My Lord’s Agent 413 192.Kind of a Girl My Lord Wants 414 193.The Woman who Paid the Poor Rate 416 194.Conemara Women 418 195.At Work in the Bog 420 196.Duke Leinster’s Tenants 422 197.Tenant Farmer 424 198.In a Discontented District 426 199.Protecting a Gentleman Farmer 427 200.Filling the Ditch 429 201.Ready for Emigration 431 202.Old but Tolerably Cheerful 433 203.After a Wholesale Eviction 435 204.The “Faymale Painther” 436 205.Old and Not Cheerful 438 206.The Proper End of Royalty 441 207.Meath Lads at Crossakeel 443 208.A Mayo Farmer 445 209.Mayo Peasantry 447 210.Inhabitants of a Bog Village 449 211.Dublin 452 212.They Glared Ferociously 456 213.Bog Village 459 214.Interior French Car 462 215.They were Lively Children 464 216.Geneva 466 217.“Your Hotel is a Swindle, Sir” 474 218.Group of Swiss Girls 480 219.The Sweat of Other Men’s Brows 481 220.The Alpine Guide 485 221.A Non-Professional Lady Tourist 487 222.Young Man with Inopportune Remarks 493 223.“Would You Oblige Me?” 495 224.“See Me Unmask this Jew” 497 225.Swiss Timber Village 501 226.The Slender Bridge 503 227.A Bit of Climbing 504 228.Where the Maiden Leaped From 511 229.The Chamois 513 230.Taking the Cattle to the Mountains 513 231.Outside the Chalet 515 232.Inside the Chalet 516 233.An Alpine Homestead 519 234.“I Should Wake Them Cheerily” 520 235.On the Road to Chamonix 525 236.The Presumed Chamois Hunter 530 237.The Fate of Two Englishmen 532 238.A Frequent Accident 533 239.The Mer De Glace 534 240.A Slip Toward the Edge 535 241.Crevasses 536 242.The Moraine 537 243.The Dilemma 538 244.Rocks Polished by Old Glaciers 539 245.The Path to the Village 548 246.Mt. Blanc and Valley of Chamonix 550 247.The Conscientious Barber 555 248.The Jungfrau 557 249.Wood Carving 559 250.Home of the Carver 560 251.Female Costumes 562 252.Our Party at the Giessbach 565 253.Peasants of East Switzerland 567 254.Near Brienz 568 255.Lion of Lucerne 570 256.End of Pontius Pilate 573 257.Lucerne Rigi-Rail 575 258.Ditto from Kanzell 576 259.Old Way of Ascending Rigi 578 260.Night Ascent of Rigi 579 261.Railway up the Rigi 581 262.Rigi Railway 582 263.Railway up the Mountain 583 264.Tell’s Chapel 584 265.Tibbitts in Concert Hall 589 266.Entrance Strasburg Cathedral 593 267.Pig Market, Strasburg 596 268.The Great Hall 606 269.Tibbitts Making Plain the Point 608 270.Front of the Kursale 612 271.The Swimming Bath 614 272.The Donkey Enjoyed It 616 273.The Lichtenthal 617 274.Promenade in Baden-Baden 618 275.Charcoal Burners, Black Forest 619 276.Heidelberg Castle 623 277.Heidelberg Tun 626 278.Tibbitts and the Students 629 279.Rhine Steamer 630 280.Mannheim 631 281.Tibbitts in the Cloak Room 633 282.Mayence 639 283.Erchenheim Tower 640 284.Roemer 640 285.Luther’s Home 640 286.Street on the Roemerberg 642 287.The Jews’ Street 644 288.“Der Hind Leg of a Helty Mule” 649 289.Cologne Cathedral 651 290.Death of Bishop Hatto 655 291.Legend of the Cathedral 668 CONTENTS. Page CHAPTER I. The Departure—How the Passengers Amused Themselves—Sea-sickness—Tibbitts, of Oshkosh—The Storm 17-35 CHAPTER II. London—The Englishman—A Few Statistics—The Climate—A Red-coated Romance 18-57 CHAPTER III. The Derby Races—Departure for the Derby—Sights and Scenes—Shows and Beggars—Betting 58-76 CHAPTER IV. What the Londoners Quench their Thirst with—The Kind of Liquor—Tobacco—Early Closing 77-90 CHAPTER V. How London is Amused—The London Theaters—An English Idea of a Good Time—Punch and Judy 91-100 CHAPTER VI. Madame Tussaud—American Worthies 101-107 CHAPTER VII. The London Lawyer—The Solicitor’s Bill 108-112 CHAPTER VIII. English Capital—London Quacks—The London Advertiser 113-122 CHAPTER IX. Petticoat Lane—The Home of Second-Hand—The Clothing Dealer—Diamonds—The Confiding Israelite 123-134 CHAPTER X. The Tower—The Royal Jewels—The Horse Armory—Interesting Relics—The Beef-Eaters 137-160 CHAPTER XI. Two English Nuisances—A Badly Dressed People—An English Hotel—The English Landlord 161-172 CHAPTER XII. Portsmouth—Nelson’s Ship—In the Harbor—Tibbitts’ Diary 174-185 CHAPTER XIII. Westminster Abbey—Seeing the Abbey—Warren Hastings—Epitaphs—Religious Service—A Little History 187-202 CHAPTER XIV. The American Showman—The Trainer’s Widow—Foggerty the Zulu 203-212 CHAPTER XV. Richmond—The Star and Garter—Down the River 213-219 CHAPTER XVI. From London to Paris—The Custom House—Normandy—The Cathedral—On the Way to Paris 221-242 CHAPTER XVII. A Scattering View of Paris—Drinking in Paris—Wine and Whisky—The National Fête 243-267 CHAPTER XVIII. Something About Parisians—French Cleanliness—The Polite French—The Disgust of Tibbitts 268-286 CHAPTER XIX. Parisian Gamin—Interview with a Gamin—A Contented Being 287-299 CHAPTER XX. How Paris Amuses Itself—The Grand Opera—The Wicked Mabille—Gardens other than the Mabille—Tibbitts and the Professor 300-318 CHAPTER XXI. The Louvre—Art in the Louvre—The Commune 320-331 CHAPTER XXII. The Palais-Royal—A Tale of the Commune—The Wisdom of Therese—The Two Lovers 332-345 CHAPTER XXIII. French Drinking—The Water of Paris—The Mild Swash 346-351 CHAPTER XXIV. Parisian Living—The Market Woman—Parisian Washing—Female Shop-keepers—The Career of Sam 352-369 CHAPTER XXV. Ireland—Cork—The Jaunting Car—Another Cabin 370-383 CHAPTER XXVI. Bantry—How My Lord Bantry Lives—The Real and the Ideal—Several Delusions—The Conversion of an Irish Lady 384-401 CHAPTER XXVII. An Irish Mass Meeting—An Eviction—Boycotting—One Landlord who was Killed—How he was killed—Patsey’s Dead 403-518 CHAPTER XXVIII. Some Little History—The Question of Lease—A Foiled Landlord—Bantry Village—The Boatman and Nancy 419-438 CHAPTER XXIX. England, Ireland, Scotland—Land Troubles in England—The Royal Family—The Palace and the Workhouse—Women’s Work 439-460 CHAPTER XXX. Paris to Geneva—A Night on the Rail—Geneva—Affecting Anecdote—Piracy on Lake Erie—The Irate Guest—Too Much Music 461-477 CHAPTER XXXI. Switzerland—The Rhone—A Geneva Bakery—Swiss Roads—Female Climbers—Ascent of Mont Blanc—A Useful Man at Last 478-491 CHAPTER XXXII. Chillon—Tibbitts and the Jew—On the Lake 492-501 CHAPTER XXXIII. From Geneva over the Alps—Mountain Climbing—Legend of the Gorge—Martigny—A Swiss Cottage—Alpine Ascents 502-517 CHAPTER XXXIV. Over the Alps—Tibbitts’ Idea—Dangers of Ascending Mt. Blanc 518-529 CHAPTER XXXV. Going up the Mountain—The Mer de Glace—The Gorge—Something About Glaciers 530-545 CHAPTER XXXVI. In Switzerland—Tibbitts’ Letter—Berne and Bears—Barbers 546-555 CHAPTER XXXVII. Lake Thun and Beyond—Interlaken—Wood Carving—Geissbach 556-568 CHAPTER XXXVIII. Lucerne and the Rigi—Up the Rigi—A Mountain Railway—The Rigi Kulm—Tell’s Chapel 569-587 CHAPTER XXXIX. Zurich and Strasburg—Beer and Music—The Cathedral—The Wonderful Clock 588-604 CHAPTER XL. Baden-Baden—A Few Legends—Up the Mountain—To old Schloss 605-621 CHAPTER XLI. Heidelberg—The Great Cask—The Students 622-630 CHAPTER XLII. Mannheim—Opera—A Treatise on Treating 631-639 CHAPTER XLIII. Frankfort-on-the-Maine—Red Tape—Jews’ Street—Lovely Gardens 640-651 CHAPTER XLIV. Down the Rhine—Bingen—Mouse Tower—Tibbitts’ Romance 652-663 CHAPTER XLV. Cologne—The Cathedral—Eleven Thousand Virgins—Home 664-672 TO Charles A. B. Shepard, The “Poetical Bookseller,” This book is dedicated (without permission) as a Tribute to a most Reliable Friend, WHO WERE ON BOARD. a Thorough Business Man, and One whose steady devotion to everything right and proper, and whose hatred for everything mean and disreputable, was never questioned by any one who knew him. NASBY IN EXILE. CHAPTER I. THE DEPARTURE, VOYAGE, AND LANDING. “CAST OFF!” There was a bustle, a movement of fifty men, a rush of people to the gangways; hurried good-bys were said; another rush, assisted by the fifty men, the enormous gangways were lifted, there was a throb of steam, a mighty jar of machinery, a tremor along the line of the vast body of wood and iron, and the good ship “City of Richmond” was out at sea. image not available THE DEPARTURE. I am not going to inflict upon the reader a description of the harbor of New York, or anything of the kind. The whole world knows that it is the finest in the world, and every American would believe it so, whether it is so or not. Suffice it to say that the ship got out of the harbor safely, and before nightfall was upon the broad Atlantic, out of the way of telegraph and mail facilities, and one hundred and fifty-six saloon passengers—men, women, and children—found themselves beyond the reach of daily papers, though they had everything else that pertains to civilization and luxury. A voyage at sea is not what it was when first I sailed from—but no, I have never been abroad before, and have not, therefore, the privilege of lying about travel. That will come in time, and doubtless I shall use it as others do. But I was going to say that sailing is not what it was, as I understand it to have been. The ship of to-day is nothing more or less than a floating hotel, with some few of the conveniences omitted, and a great many conveniences that hotels on shore have not. You have your luxurious barber-shop, you have a gorgeous bar, you have hot and cold water in your room, and a table as good as the best in New York. You eat, drink, and sleep just as well, if not better, than on shore. The sailor is no more what he used to be than the ship is. I have seen any number of sailors, and know all about them. The tight young fellow in blue jacket and shiny tarpaulin, and equally shiny belt, and white trousers, the latter enormously wide at the bottom, which trousers he was always hitching up with a very peculiar movement of the body, standing first upon one leg and then upon the other; the sailor who could fight three pirates at once and kill them all, finishing the last one by disabling his starboard eye with a chew of tobacco thrown with terrible precision; who, if an English sailor, was always a match for three Frenchmen, if an American a match for three Englishmen, and no matter of what nationality, was always ready to d—n the eyes of the man he did not like, and protect prepossessing females and oppressed children even at the risk of being hung at the yard-arm by a court-martial—this kind of a sailor is gone, and I fear forever. I know I have given a proper description of him, for I have seen hundreds of them—at the theater. In his stead is an unpoetic being, clad in all sorts of unpoetic clothing, and no two of them alike. There is a faint effort at uniformity in their caps, which have sometimes the name of their ship on them, but even that not always. In fair weather he is in appearance very like a hod carrier, and in foul weather a New York drayman. He doesn’t d—n anybody’s eyes, and he doesn’t sing out HOW THE PASSENGERS AMUSED THEMSELVES. “Belay there,” or “Avast, you lubber,” or indulge in any other nautical expressions. He uses just about the language that people on shore do, and is as dull and uninteresting a person as one would wish not to meet. The traditional jack tar, of whom the Dibden of the last century sang, only remains in “Pinafore” opera, and can only be seen when the nautical pieces of the thirty years ago are revived. If such sailors ever existed, off the stage, they are as extinct a race as the icthyosaurus. Steam has knocked the poetry out of navigation, as it has out of everything else—that is, that kind of poetry. It will doubtless have a poetry of its own, when its gets older, but it is too new yet. There is no holystoning the decks. On the contrary the decks are washed with hose, and scrubbed afterward by a patent appliance, which has nothing of the old time about it. The lifting is done by steam, and in fact every blessed thing about the ship is done by machinery. There is neither a ship nor a sailor any more. There are floating hotels, and help. The last remaining show for a ship is the masts and sails they all have, and they seem to be more for ornament than use. The company on board was, on the whole, monotonous. Ocean travel is either monotonous or dangerous. Its principal advantage over land travel is, the track is not dusty. We had on our passenger list precisely the usual people, and none others. There were three Jews of different types: the strong, robust, eagle-nosed and eagle-eyed German Jew, resident of New York, going abroad on business; the keen French Jew, returning from a successful foray on New York jewelers, and the Southern Jew, who, having made a fortune in cotton, attached no value to anything else. I like the Jews, and ten days with them did not lessen my liking. They know something for certain; they do things, and they do well what they do. There was a Chicago operator in mining stocks, going abroad to place the “Great Mastodon” in London. There was the smooth-chinned, side-whiskered minister, or “priest,” as he delighted in calling himself, of the Church of England, going home, and a fiery Welsh Baptist who had been laboring in the States for many years. On Sunday evening the Chicago man and a Texan engaged the English minister in a discussion on the evidences of Christianity. It was a furious controversy, and an amusing one. The Welsh Baptist was a more zealous Christian than the Church of England man, and he did by far the best part of the argument; but the priest, by look at least, resented his interference. Being a Baptist, he was entirely irregular, and did not hold up his end of the argument regularly. The priest regarded the evangelist as a regular soldier might a guerilla serving the same side. The discussion embraced every point that religionists affirm and infidels deny, commencing with the creation and coming down to the present day, with long excursions into the future. A terrible disaster was the result. The next morning the priest met the infidel on deck, and extended his hand humbly: “My dear sir,” said he, “I have been thinking over the matter we discussed last night. I am convinced that you are right, and that—” “What!” exclaimed the infidel. “My dear sir, I was looking for you. Your forcible and convincing statements satisfy me that there is truth in the Christian religion, and—” Neither said more. The priest had converted the infidel to Christianity, and the infidel had converted the priest to infidelity. So far as the result upon the religion of the world was concerned, it was a stand-off. The days were devoted to all sorts of occupations. There were young men spooning young women, and young women who made a business of flirtation, or what was akin to it. One young lady who could be seen at any time in the day, in a most bewitching attitude, reclining on a steamer chair, picturesque in all sorts of wraps, held a brief conversation with her mother, who had hooked a widower the second day out. The mother was skillful at looking young, and compelled her child, therefore, to be juvenile and shy of young men. “Helen, you were flirting with that Chicago young man, this morning!” “Flirting! Mamma! It’s too mean! You won’t let me flirt. I havn’t enjoyed myself a minute since we sailed. I wish you would let me alone to do as I please.” The poor child envied her mother, and with good reason, for within ten minutes she was under the wing, or arm, of the widower, looking not a minute over thirty-five. There were old maids who found themselves objects of attention for the first time for years; there were widows who grew sentimental looking at the changing waters, especially at night when the moon and stars were out; there were married men whose wives were many leagues away, determined to have a good time once more, flirting with all sorts and conditions of women, and there were all sorts and conditions of women flirting hungrily with all sorts and conditions of men. There were speculators driving bargains with each other just the same as on land— in brief, the ship was a little world by itself, and just about the same as any other world. In the smoking room the great and muscular American game of draw poker was played incessantly, from early in the morning, till late in the night. A portion of the passengers, including the English dominie, played a game called “shuffle-board.” Squares were marked upon the deck, which were numbered from one to seven. Then some distance from the squares a line was drawn, and what you had to do was to take an implement shaped like a crutch, and shove discs of wood at the squares. We all played it, sooner or later, for on ship-board one will get, in time, to playing pin alone in his room. The beauty about shuffle-board is, one player is as good as another, if not better, for there isn’t the slightest skill to be displayed in it. Indeed, the best playing is always done at first, when the player shoots entirely at random. There is a chance that he will strike a square, then; but when one gets to calculating distances, and looking knowingly, and attempting some particular square, the chances are even that the disc goes overboard. However, it is a good and useful game. The young ladies look well handling the clumsy cues, and the attitudes they are compelled to take are graceful. Then as the vessel lurches they fall naturally in your arms. By the way, it is a curious fact and one worthy of record, that I did not see a young lady fall into the arms of another young lady during the entire voyage. We had on board, as a matter of course, the betting young man from Chicago. No steamer ever sailed that did not have this young fellow aboard, and there is enough of them to last the Atlantic for a great many years. He knew everything that everybody thinks they know, but do not, and his delight was to propound a query, and then when you had answered it, to very coolly and exasperatingly remark:— “Bet yer bottle of wine you’re wrong.” image not available “SHUFFLE BOARD.” THE YOUNG MAN FROM CHICAGO. The matter would be so simple and one of so common repute that immediately you accepted the wager only to find that in some minute particular, you were wrong, and that the knowing youth had won. For instance:— “Thompson, do you know how many States there are in the Union?” Now any citizen of the United States who votes, and is eligible to the Presidency, ought to know how many States there are in his beloved country without thinking, but how many are there who can say, off-hand? And so poor Thompson answered:— “What a question! Of course I know.” “Bet ye bottle ye don’t!” “Done. There are—” And then Thompson would find himself figuring the very important problem as to whether Colorado had been admitted, and Nevada, and Oregon, and he would decide that one had and the other hadn’t, and finally state the number, with great certainty that it was wrong. The Chicago man’s crowning bet occurred the last day out. The smoking room was tolerably full, as were the occupants, and everybody was bored, as everybody is on the last day. The Chicago man had been silent for an hour, when suddenly he broke out: “Gentlemen—” “Oh, no more bets,” was the exclamation of the entire party. “Give us a rest.” “I don’t want to bet, but I can show you something curious.” “Well?” “I say it and mean it. I can drink a glass of water without it’s going down my throat.” “And get it into your stomach?” “Certainly.” There was a silence of considerably more than a minute. Every man in the room had been victimized by this gatherer up of inconsidered trifles, and there was a general disposition to get the better of him in some way if possible. Here was the opportunity. How could a man get a glass of water into his stomach without its going down his throat? Impossible! And so the usual bottle of wine was wagered, and the Chicago man proceeded to accomplish the supposed impossible feat. It was very easily done. All he did was to stand upon his head on the seat that runs around the room and swallow a glass of water. It went to his stomach, but it did not go down his throat. It went up his throat. And so his last triumph was greater than all his previous ones, for every man in the room had been eager to accept his wager. From that time out had he offered to wager that he would swallow his own head he would have got no takers. It is astonishing how short remembrance is, and how the knowledge of one decade is swallowed up in the increasing volume of the next. Every one of the catches employed by this young man to keep himself in wine and cigars were well known ten years ago, but totally unknown now except by the few who use them. The water going up the throat instead of down was published years ago in a small volume called “Hocus Pocus,” and it sold by the million, but nobody knows of it to-day. I once asked a sharper who had lived thirty years by the practice of one simple trick, how it happened that the whole world did not know his little game? image not available THE BETTING YOUNG MAN FROM CHICAGO. SEA-SICKNESS. THE SHARP-NOSED MAN. “There are new crops of fools coming on every year,” was his answer. He was right. The stock will never run out. There were one hundred and fifty-six saloon passengers on board, but with the exception of those mentioned, a distressing monotony prevailed among them. Never was so good a set of people ever gathered together. They were fearfully good—too good by half. True goodness is all very well in the abstract, but there is nothing picturesque about it. It is slightly tame. Your brigand, with short green jacket and yellow breeches, with blue or green garters, and a tall hat with a feather in it, is a much more striking being than a Quaker woman. The wicked is always the startling, and, therefore, taking to the eye. On our ship the people were all good. There wasn’t a pickpocket, a card sharper, or anything of the sort to vary the monotony of life. It was a dead level of goodness, a sort of quiet mill-pond of morality, that to the lover of excitement was distressing in the extreme. The card parties were conducted decorously, and the religious services in the grand saloon were attended by nearly every passenger, and what is more they all seemed to enjoy it. Possibly it was because religious services were a novelty to the most of them. The second day out was a very rough one. The wind freshened—I think that is the proper phrase—and a tremendously heavy sea was on. The “City of Richmond” is a very staunch ship, and behaves herself commendably in bad weather, but there is no ship that can resist the power of the enormous waves of the North Atlantic. Consequently she tossed like a cork, and, consequently, there was an amount of suffering for two days that was amusing to everybody but the sufferers. Sea-sickness is probably the most distressing of all the maladies that do not kill. The sickness from first to last is a taste of death. The resultant vomiting is of a nature totally different from any other variety of vomiting known. The victim does not vomit—he throws up. There is a wild legend that one man in a severe fit of sea-sickness threw up his boots, but it is not credible. It is entirely safe to say, however, that one throws up everything but original sin, and he gives that a tolerable trial. It was amusing to see those who had done the voyage before, and who had been through sea-sickness, smile upon those who were in the throes of agony. The look of superiority they took on, as much as to say, “when you have been through it as I have, you won’t have it any more.” And then to see these same fellows turn deadly pale, and leave their seats, and rush to their rooms and disappear from mortal view a day or so, was refreshing to those who were having their first experience. The beauty of sea-sickness is that you may have it every voyage, which is fortunate, as having a tendency to restrain pride and keep down assumption of superiority; for when one has to suffer, one loves to see everybody else suffer. One man aboard did not think it possible that he could be sick, and he was rather indignant that his wife should be. She, poor thing, was in the agonies of death, and he insisted, as he held her head, that she ought not to be sick, that her giving way to it was a weakness purely feminine, and he went on wondering why a woman could not— He quit talking very quickly. The strong man who was not a woman, turned pale, the regular paleness that denotes the coming of the malady, and dropping the head he had been holding so patronizingly with no more compunction than as though it had been his pet dog’s, rushed to the side of the vessel, and there paid his tribute to Neptune. The suffering wife, sick as she was, could not resist the temptation to wreak a trifle of feminine vengeance upon him. “Dear,” said she, between the heaves that were rending her in several twains, “Sea-sickness is only a feminine weakness. Oh—ugh—ugh—how I wish I were a strong man!” There is one good thing about sea-sickness, and only one: the sufferer cannot possibly have any other disease at the same time. One may have bronchitis and dyspepsia at once, but sea-sickness monopolizes the whole body. It is so all-pervading; it is such a giant of illness that there is room for nothing else when it takes possession of a human body. During General Butler’s occupancy of New Orleans a fiery Rebel Frenchman was inveighing against him in set terms. “But you must admit,” said a loyal Northerner, “that during General Butler’s administration your city was free from yellow fever.” “Ze yellow fevair and General Butlair in one season? Have ze great God no maircy, zen?” A kind Providence couldn’t possibly saddle sea-sickness with any other ailment. TIBBITTS, OF OSHKOSH. image not available “DEAR—, SEA-SICKNESS IS ONLY—A FEMININE WEAKNESS.” Was there ever a ship or a rail car, or any other place where danger is possible, that there was not present the man with a sharp nose, slightly red at the tip, whose chief delight seems to be to point out the possibilities of all sorts of disaster, and to do it in the most friendly way? I remember once going down the Hoosac Tunnel before it was finished. I went down, not because I wanted to, (indeed I would have given a farm, if I had had one, to have avoided it,) but it was the thing to do there, and must be done. So with about the feeling that accompanied John Rogers to the stake, I stepped, with others, upon the platform, and down we went. It was a most terrible descent. A hole in the ground eighteen hundred feet deep, and a platform, suspended by a single rope! In my eyes that rope was not larger or stronger than pack-thread. “Is this safe?” I asked of the sharp-nosed man. “Wa’all, yes, I s’pose so. It does break sometimes—did last month and killed eight men. I guess we are all right, though the rope’s tollable old and yest’dy they histed out a very heavy ingine and biler, which may hev strained it. Long ways to fall—if she does break!” Cheerful suggestion for people who were fifteen hundred feet from the bottom and couldn’t possibly get off. Another time on the Shore Line between Boston and New York, there was an old lady who had never been upon a railroad train before, and who was exceedingly nervous. Behind her sat the sharp-nosed man of that train, who answered all her questions. “Ya’as, railroad travelin’ is dangerous. Y’see they git keerless. Only a year ago, they left a draw opened, and a train run into it, and mor’n a hundred passengers wuz drownded.” “Merciful heavens!” ejaculated the old lady, in an agony of horror. “We don’t go over that bridge.” “Yes we do, and we’re putty nigh to it now. And the men are jest ez keerless now ez they wuz then. They git keerless. I never travel over this road ef I kin help it.” Then he went on and told her of every accident that he could remember, especially those that had occurred upon that road. And the old lady, with her blood frozen by the horrible recitals, sat during the entire trip with her hands grasping tightly the arms of her seat, expecting momentarily to be hurled from the track and torn limb from limb, or to be plunged into the wild waters of the Sound. We had the sharp-nosed man with us. His delight was to take timid girls, or nervous women, and explain if the slightest thing should get wrong with the machinery how we should be at the mercy of the waves. For instance, if we should lose our propeller what would happen? Or if any one of the boilers should explode, filling the ship with hot steam, scalding the passengers, or if the main shaft should break, in such a sea as we were then having, or if we should run upon an iceberg, or collide with some floating hulk? “They say all these ships are built with water-tight compartments. Sho! Stave in one part of the ship and it must go down. What happened to the ‘City of Boston?’ Never heard of. ‘City of Paris?’ Lost half her passengers. But we must take our chances if we will travel.” And this to a lot of people who had never been at sea before, with an ugly wind blowing and a tremendous sea on. Imagine the frame of mind he left his auditors in, and he made it his business, day after day, to regale the very timid ones with harrowing histories of shipwrecks and disasters at sea till their blood would run cold. Some night this old raven will be lost overboard, but there will be others just like him to take his place. Nature duplicates her monstrosities as well as her good things. Among the passengers was a young man from Oshkosh, Wisconsin, named Tibbitts. He was an excellent young man, of his kind, and he very soon acquired the reputation, which he deserved, of being the very best poker player on the ship. He was uneasy till a game was organized in the morning, and he growled ferociously when the lights were turned down at twelve at night. He was impatient with slow players, because, as he said, all the time they wasted was so much loss to him. He could drink more Scotch whisky than any one on the ship, and he was the pet of the entire crew, for his hand was always in his pocket. He ruined the rest of the passengers by his reckless liberality. His father was a rich Wisconsin farmer, and this was his first experience in travel.
The list of books you might like
