Let
me warn you, if you ever go to sea, to omit all preparations for
amusement on shipboard. Don't leave so much as the unlocking of a
trunk to be done after sailing. In the few precious minutes when the
ship stands still, before she weighs her anchor, set your house, that
is to say your stateroom, as much in order as if you were going to be
hanged; place everything in the most convenient position to be seized
without trouble at a moment's notice; for be sure that in half an hour
after sailing, an infinite desperation will seize you, in which the
grasshopper will be a burden. If anything is in your trunk, it might
almost as well be in the sea, for any practical probability of your
getting to it.
Our voyage out was called "a good run." It was voted unanimously to be
"an extraordinary good passage," "a pleasant voyage;" yet the ship
rocked the whole time from side to side with a steady, dizzy,
continuous motion, like a great cradle. I had a new sympathy for
babies, poor little things, who are rocked hours at a time without so
much as a "by your leave" in the case. No wonder there are so many
stupid people in the world!
We arrived on Sunday morning: the custom-house officers, very
gentlemanly men, came on board; our luggage was all set out, and
passed through a rapid examination, which in many cases amounted only
to opening the trunk and shutting it, and all was over.
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