I neither could nor would suffer unduly from the calumnies and lies, but I confess that the kind appreciation and praises accorded me by the superior minds afforded me infinite joy. XXXII EXPERIENCES AND REFLECTIONS ON BOARD SHIP FROM HÂVRE TO NEW YORK The ship which was to take me away to other hopes, other sensations, and other successes was named _L’Amérique_. It was the unlucky boat, the boat that was haunted by the gnome. All kinds of misfortunes, accidents, and storms had been its lot. It had been blockaded for months with its keel out of water. Its stern had been staved in by an Iceland boat, and it had foundered on the shores of Newfoundland, I believe, and been set afloat again. Another time fire had broken out on it right in the Hâvre roadstead, but no great damage was done. The poor boat had had a celebrated adventure which had made it ridiculous. In 1876 or 1877 a new pumping system was adopted, and although this system had been in use by the English for a long time, it was quite unknown aboard French boats. The captain very wisely decided to have these pumps worked by his crew, so that in case of any danger the men should be ready to manipulate them easily. The experiment had been going on for a few minutes when one of the men came to inform the captain that the hold of the ship was filling with water, and no one could discover the cause of it. “Go on pumping!” shouted the captain. “Hurry up! Pump away!” The pumps were worked frantically, and the result was that the hold filled entirely, and the captain was obliged to abandon the ship after seeing the passengers safely off in the boats. An English whaler met the ship two days after, tried the pumps, which worked admirably, but in the contrary way to that indicated by the French captain. This slight error cost the Compagnie Transatlantique £48,000 salvage money, and when they wanted to run the ship again and passengers refused to go by it, they offered my _impresario_, Mr. Abbey, excellent terms. He accepted them, and very intelligent he was, for, in spite of all prognostications, nothing further happened to the boat. I had hitherto travelled very little, and I was wild with delight. On October 15, 1880, at six o’clock in the morning, I entered my cabin. It was a large one, and was hung with light red repp embroidered with my initials. What a profusion of the letters S. B.! Then there was a large brass bedstead brightly polished, and flowers were everywhere. Adjoining mine was a very comfortable cabin for _mon petit Dame_, and leading out of that was one for my maid and her husband. All the other persons in my service were at the other end of the ship. The sky was misty, the sea grey, with no horizon. I was on my way over there, beyond that mist which seemed to unite the sky and the water in a mysterious rampart.