Impressions of America During the Years 1833, 1834 and 1835. Volume 1 (of 2)Power, Tyrone
History
Impressions of America During the Years 1833, 1834 and 1835. Volume 1 (of 2)
Power, Tyrone
Canada -- Description and travel; United States -- Description and travel
Each of these state-rooms is furnished with a washhand stand, containing
a double service, a chest of drawers, with handles of cut glass, a shelf
or two for books, &c. and a brace of berths or bed-places of ample
dimensions, well appointed with mattress and linen, white as ever lassie
lifted off the sunny side of a brae, at whose foot brawled the burn to
which her labour owed its freshness.
Now, although each room is fitted up for two insides, you may
nevertheless conserve your individuality,--the which I recommend,--at
the cost of an additional half-fare, or, in all, about fifty-five pounds
sterling.
Being here installed, then, _solus_, you will be roused from your sound
night's sleep in the morning at eight bells, or eight o'clock A.M., by
the tinkling of a shrewish-sounding hand-bell, which says, as plainly as
ever the chimes of Bow hailed Whittington lord mayor of London, "Arise,
and shave, and make your toilet, and prepare to come forth; for the cow
is milking, and the kettle is screeching, and the hot rolls beginning to
get over-brown."
Upon this welcome summons, if you are not sea-sick, which Heaven forbid!
or insensible to the goods here by the gods provided for you, you will
bounce or creep out of your crib, according as the waves and your
agility may determine; and popping your head out of window, loudly bawl
"Thomas!" or plain "Tom!" or "Steward!" according to the terms of
friendship and familiarity on which you may stand with this dignitary,
who, by the way, has a vote on board worth canvassing for;--I say bawl
out, because, firstly, your mincing and Clarendon-like lisp of "Waiter!"
would not be heard by one used to listen to the rush of the tempest and
the shriek of the scourged Atlantic; also, for that your stirring call
may remind some wretched skulker of a circumstance which he is miserably
dozing out of remembrance, viz. that breakfast is under weigh. "Yes,
sir!" is the prompt response from the larboard corner of the cabin,
where the steward and his gang are installed with all their appointment
of glass and crockery ranged neatly within reach. Your next call will
be, "Bring me a bottle of Saratoga water"--a chalybeate, cool and brisk
on the palate as soda water, a commendable morning draught, and such a
trumpet to appetite!--well, having swallowed of this, your pint or so,
dress, mount the deck, and inquire "how she heads," and what she has
done during the long hours of night whilst you lay sleeping like a
sea-bird in your wave-borne nest.
You next take a look over the weather quarter, sweep the horizon
knowingly with your best eye, and after, walk forward towards the galley
or kitchen, pricking your ears at certain sputtering and hissing sounds,
the which, backed up by sundry savoury sniffs caught under the tack of
the main-sail, give you foretaste of broiled ham, spitch-cock, eggs,
frizzled bacon, and mutton cutlets.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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