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POLITE TRAVEL IN THE THIRTIES

FROM THE DIARY OF MRS. GEORGE TICKNOR

ON Monday, the twenty-fifth of May, we left Boston for New York, it being the first and most painful step in the serious and important undertaking of a sea voyage and an absence from home of an uncertain length. I will not try to perpetuate the preparatory scenes, such as the arrangement of our happy home, as if for a final separation from it, the calculations, preparations, and packing necessary, nor the still more terrible parting visits and adieus of the last week, for the weariness and sadness which they produced fixed them permanently in my memory, and I am sure descriptions of such things cannot amuse anyone.

It was a bright and mild spring afternoon, and the drive to Walpole was, in a degree, tranquillizing and refreshing, after the strong and painful excitement of our feelings during the last twenty-four hours. Mr. Ticknor and myself, Anna, within a few days of twelve years, little Lizzy, just two and a half, and Catherine Lecointe made the party, with our nephew, William Woodward, who accompanied us to New York, uniting the kind desire to be with us with the pleasure to be expected from such an excursion. Soon after we arrived at the little inn at Walpole, we were rejoiced by having Mr. Norton and Catherine join us, bringing with them not only the restoring influences of affection and intellect, but fruit, flowers, and kind messages. It was a trying evening, however, and I look back upon it, and upon the parting the next morning, as

upon a painful dream, the impression of which I cannot get rid of.

We reached Providence before twelve o'clock, and drove directly to the steamboat. There we waited the arrival of the coaches from Boston, looking anxiously for our friends, and soon had the happiness of greeting Eliza, Mr. Guild, and Elizabeth. It was a great blessing to be thus aided and cheered by this succession of kind friends, for our spirits were a good deal wearied and exhausted, and the voyage which was before us, and the preparations for it, made each of us a little anxious from different

causes.

I cannot bring myself to describe at any length the disagreeable and wearisome week which we passed in New York. The weather was very warm. Heat, dust, noise, and fatigue are the component parts of existence in that metropolis, and when one's only rest and refreshment are to be found in such bustling and dirty hotels as we were lodged in, the chance for contentment is very small. Friends were attentive and kind. Many residents in New York came to see us, and Mr. Savage, Mr. Ward, Mr. Gray, and Mr. and Mrs. Curson, who happened to be in the city, were with us daily. Our parlour was generally full, and the excitement and bustle were characteristic of the place. Mr. Ticknor was much occupied, and anxious; and I, in the anticipation of so new an experience as a sea life, felt fearful that I had not done all that was best and made

the most judicious preparations for the comfort of others. My health was very feeble and my nerves much worn, and I truly cannot remember any cheerful hours in that long-drawn agony of packing, heat, and company but when talking quietly with Eliza, or playing with our happy little Lizzy.

Everything promised favorably for our comfort in our sea home, and every preparation that thoughtful kindness or ingenious liberality could suggest was made for our pleasure and amusement, as well as comfort. We could learn nothing of our future companions but that there were several from Boston. The Captain had promised all possible arrangement for Lizzy's comfort, and our staterooms looked so spacious and accommodating that, forgetting seasickness, storms, and disagreeable companions, one might have anticipated a pleasant excursion.

On the next Monday, the first of June (being Anna's birthday), we left the hotel about ten o'clock, driving to a steamboat which was to carry us to the ship, the latter being anchored at a little distance in the harbour. Many friends had promised to meet us here, and I shall not soon forget the agitations and annoyances of the half hour before we left the wharf. The passengers were all on the deck of the boat, while a crowd of their friends and acquaintances and many idlers made a confusion which in the calmest state of mind is not agreeable. Many of our acquaintances greeted us, forcing us to talk when the heart was almost too full for utterance; and several like Chancellor Kent and Mr. Ward were there to give us a parting benediction, which was nearly the finishing blow to my laborious self-command. At last the boat moved from the wharf, still retaining a crowd upon the deck, for the thirty-two passengers of the good ship Europe, and their attending

friends, made a great show. Eliza, Mr. Guild, and Elizabeth, William Woodward, Dr. Julius, Mr. Gray, and Mr. Savage, with our trusty attendant, Charles Philbrook, were with us, and their considerate and affectionate kindness I can never forget.

Looking back upon the city, the thought of what I had left, of the probable length of time to elapse before we should return again, if ever, made my heart ache bitterly at the prospect of parting with the few who still remained with us. But, though agitated and anxious, I could not help feeling the extreme beauty of the day. The atmosphere was clear and bright as possible, the sky and water of the most pure and softened blue, while the city, as long as it remained in sight, was a fine object, and the beautiful, very beautiful form of the whole harbour attracted our strong admiration. We approached the ship rapidly, and observed that an-· other steamboat was, at the same time, conveying passengers to the London packet ship Westminster. The two vast receptacles looked like mere specks within the horizon, which was enlarging around us, and yet, what a world of feeling, agitation, expectation, and anxiety they were about to enclose.

The distance diminishes fast, the boat seems flying, and as I see my future prison nearer and nearer, I rack my brain to collect any forgotten message, or any kind word still omitted, so that, when the boat was fastened to the ship, and sailors and servants were ascending and descending, with much bustle and activity, I seemed to have lost sensation and perception. The anxiety about Lizzy's transportation from one to the other vessel roused me, and I was thankful when I saw both her and Anna safe. Then came the parting from Eliza and Elizabeth, and then I was led away, I knew not where.

I found myself leaning against something in the center of the deck, and with no pause for words, hardly for breath, Savage, Gray, William Woodward, Dr. Julius, who all accompanied us on board, took leave of us. What a horrid moment it was! All the passengers were leaning over the side of the vessel, and I joined them and had another glimpse of our friends as the steamboat rapidly disappeared.

The sails of our beautiful ship were all set, there was no noise or bustle, but we separated from the anchorage and the steamboat, and commenced our long and trackless path with a gentle dignity and the magnificent ease of a noble bird. But I could not fix my thoughts upon what was around me. I longed to be alone and went below to the cabin, which was quite deserted, and arranged some beautiful flowers which Eliza's kind thoughtfulness had provided for me. I found solitude not the best strengthener, however, and returned to the deck, where the passengers were watching the progress of the Westminster, which started at the same moment with the Europe, with the greatest interest.

We soon outstripped her, as well as a heavy Dutch ship-of-war, and long before night we had left them quite out of sight. Before that time, too, we were all feeling pretty wretched; and of the next ten days I have only some horrid dreamy recollections of my own sufferings and the sounds of those of others, of anxiety for Anna, who was wretchedly sick and did not know how to manage herself well, and of cruel efforts to go upon deck, when extreme faintness overpowered me and the multitude of strangers was most annoying. The Captain was always kind, attentive, and cheerful, and had such a great quietness of manner in the management of his ship and sailors that the whole seemed governed almost

without means. I have a few memoranda written at the time, which perhaps speak with more animation.

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At Sea, June 13th, 1835. We have finished the twelfth day on board the good ship Europe, Captain Marshall; and I am still wondering and questioning whether it is really I, whether it is possible that my imaginings, and castles in the air, are absolutely brought to reality. That I, who have lived and moved all my life in the same little circle of friends, pleasures, and duties, should suddenly have my horizon so extended and such a variety and instruction opened to me. It brings new responsibilities with it, and I trust I shall not neglect them. I thought to have found myself braced to new industry and energy by the pure sea air; but on the contrary, the constant presence of strangers in so confined a space, the sights and sounds so new to me, and the lassitude after sickness, quite dissipate my attention, and I lounge away the hours; now and then reading or sewing a little; trying to amuse poor Anna, who can hardly be persuaded to leave her berth; or talking to some of the passengers equally désœuvré with myself.

The first nine days I was fully occupied by seasickness, but since then have been entirely free from it. Mr. Ticknor still suffers occasionally and Anna feels wretchedly all the time, unable to eat, and desiring nothing but to be left in her berth and supplied with amusing books. Fortunately Catherine is always well enough to keep about and to do all that is necessary, otherwise I don't know how we should get along, for the stewardess, who is a little above her place, is often sick, and always entirely occupied in serving Miss Perit. Lizzy is as bright and well as possible, happy and contented in all weather and all places, and

contributing constantly to our pleasure and amusement.

The first six days, while I was in my berth, the weather was delightful, the wind fair, and our progress so rapid that the Captain said on the eighth day that he had never been so far on his course before in the same number of days. On the eleventh we had made half the voyage, but ever since the eighth we have had northwest and southeast winds, which have tried the spirits and stomachs of all.

Yesterday, twelfth, the scene on deck was quite striking to a fresh water hand. The wind was north. We sailed 'on the wind,' as the phrase goes, which caused the vessel to careen a good deal. The breeze was very strong; it was 'a little dusty,' as the gentlemen say, which I should translate 'very stormy'; the clouds were dark and heavy, seeming to enclose us nearer and closer; it rained occasionally, so as to keep the deck and sails of a dark hue, which seemed caught from the solemn colouring of the sky and water. The vessel, with but little canvas spread, was driven rapidly through the dark waves, the wind roared loudly through the rigging and, with the dashing of the angry waters, seemed to command silence from all other created things. It was very solemn. Once I stood alone at the door of the companionway watching this new and awful exhibition of power and omnipresence. The noble vessel laid so much upon one side that the waves seemed rushing directly under my feet; no one was on deck but a few dripping sailors, and they slid about the slippery deck without noise, governed by the spirit of the blast. The ship, sometimes sweeping over the top of the waves, sometimes descending into what seemed a moving cavern, stooped and rose so gracefully and majestically as to fill me with wonder and admiration.

There is nothing that such a motion can be compared to. The sails were soon double reefed, and I began to imagine it a serious gale. I could not get my fears confirmed, however, and so kept them to myself. Mr. Ticknor and Anna were in their berths quite sick, while I was perfectly well, and so interested and excited that Mr. Perit joked me upon my enjoying a gale so much, as if it were no good sign for the quiet of my home. The wind continued strong through the evening, and at ten o'clock, when I went up to look about me once more, the scene was truly solemn and striking.

There was no one to be seen but the helmsman, and he, wrapped in his seaman's coat, was sternly and silently attending to his great responsibility. The moon was full, but her power, through the thick clouds, was only sufficient to show the form of the ship, and the heavy and tumultuous motion of the black waves. The whole vessel, deck, masts, and rigging, was entirely black, too, and seemed riding in the midst of a vast boiling caldron. The solitude of the place and hour, the entire silence except the strong voice of the blast, and the darkness, impressed and awed me painfully, I was chilled, and glad to go below to the comfort of lights and friendly faces. At twelve, the wind subsided, and today we have a bright sun, though a strong head wind. This produces much trouble about me, but I am brave and well. It is droll to see our little Lizzy struggling against the motion of the ship. Yesterday, when it careened so terribly that the cabin floor must have seemed to her like a very steep hill, she managed herself in the most adroit manner and rarely fell or got hurt.

June 15th. Yesterday, though it was rather rough, was a cheerful day. The air was bracing and invigorating,

the sun was bright, and in the afternoon we were all on deck. Mr. Leigh, an Englishman, brought out his flute, and it put dancing into young ladies' heads, and though some had been lying on the sofa all the morning, it was soon commenced. I was dragged in to fill a space, but found it quite too difficult an art to jump at the right moment, when the ship was pitching and rolling at such a rate. It made a frolic, however, and that is a good thing on shipboard. We are rather fortunate in our companions; that is, amongst thirty-two people there are only three or four whom one wishes decidedly to avoid.

There is a queer medley, for there are four Englishmen, three of them miners in South America, two Spaniards, one Frenchman, one Scotchman, two Irish, one German; seven Americans are from Boston, three from Philadelphia, two from Mobile, and one from Charleston, South Carolina. It would not perhaps be quite right to sketch them as they appear in this trying life, this half sort of palace of truth. Some, however, are pleasant enough, and all harmless.

Mr. Ames, a Mobile cotton merchant, a hypochondriac, tall and awkward enough, is kind and affectionate to his young daughter of sixteen, and does what he can with his stores of cake, lemons, sardines, etc., to please the ladies and add to their luxuries. Mr. Perit and his daughter, from Philadelphia, are rather more accustomed to the forms of good society, but do not contribute much to the general pleasure. Miss Perit is tall, and rather graceful; is an imitator of Mrs. Butler, a would-be wit, is a monstrous talker and has many Philadelphia characteristics. The Englishmen, fresh from the Columbian mines, Mr. Leigh, Mr. Powles, and Mr. Wallis, are part cockney, part schoolboy, but they have done their part for our amusement,

showing us some South American dresses, saddles, etc. Mr. Stephenson, an Englishman settled in Carthagena, S. A., says little, but uses his sharp black eyes actively and scrutinizingly; he enjoys the mirth and jokes about him good-naturedly, and is very civil to the ladies.

Then, there is Lord Powerscourt from Ireland, not yet twenty-one, quite handsome and animated, perfectly unaffected, accommodating himself easily to people and things, and willing to be quite social. We have many good games of ball together, and one Sunday afternoon he joined a party of us who were singing Psalm tunes in our cabin. I like him quite well, though I do not discover that he is much cultivated, or that he has anything strongly marked about him.

Mr. Miller, of South Carolina, is gentlemanly and equable, ready to talk to the ladies and to laugh and joke, but there is not much that interests about him. Lopez, a Spanish gentleman, and Raminey, a Spaniard of less refinement, are desirous to please, but have but little English and less knowledge how to succeed. They are great smokers, and the other day Mr. Lopez presented me with a slow match to light cigars, arranged, as in Spain, with ribbons. The ladies are Mrs. Taylor and her sister, Miss Newman, from Hanover St., Boston, Miss Perit, of Philadelphia, and Miss Ames of Mobile. Little can be said of them, and that little will never be missed. Mr. Taylor annoys us much by sitting in our cabin incessantly. But I have not mentioned good little Mrs. Marshall, the Captain's wife, whose amiability and quiet good sense make her quite a pleasant companion. Then there is a herd of men whom I know nothing of but their names and looks, though one of them, a Mr. Hagan, a rich Irishman from New Orleans, is so gentlemanly that if he

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