You asked me to tell you every little detail of life on board ship. You little know the task you set me; and right here I desire to put myself on record as begging the pardon of all writers on this subject for my unkind thoughts of them. I see now, after only five days on shipboard, why all descriptions are so unsatisfactory to those who have never experienced a voyage.
In the first place, the word "deck" is most inadequate. One naturally thinks that a deck is an open space on the top of a ship, similar to that of a river steamboat. The decks are in reality wide piazzas—when the sea is quiet. On them the passengers congregate—when all is well with them and with the elements. I say "up on deck," when it is only "out on the veranda." Flights of easy stairs connect the various floors. These stairs are dancing continually, but one soon gets used to it if one has his "sea legs," and usually arrives safely. This ship is similar to an oval house of several stories, with galleries or verandas running completely around each story, and any number of basements and sub-basements; but with these we have nothing to do.
As I crossed the gangplank I landed on the saloon deck and entered the only door on that side. I found myself in a small hallway, out of which opened the ladies' saloon and the writing-rooms, and from which the stairs descend to the floor where the dining-room and most of the berths are situated. My stateroom is on the top story, so I have only to step from our hallway on to the main deck.
I read the description which I have just written to the captain, and I wish you could have heard him shout. He begged me to permit his "tiger" to make a copy of it for him, and I did, but I was sorry the moment it left my hands, for I know it is most absurd, and it was intended for you only. Nevertheless, I'll venture the assertion that those who know will readily see the picture, and those who do not know will get a pretty good idea of how a ship looks.
MID-ATLANTIC:
Every one is out today, and as it is cold, the entire saloon deck is lined with a much-wrapped, many-rugged assembly, whose chairs are fastened to the house-side of the deck, while those who have their sea legs are marching to and fro in front of the line of chairs. The deck steward has the chairs placed for us each morning on the side free from the winds. Most of the time these past days I have been sitting in my chair looking at my feet, first with the sea and then with the sky, as a background.
OFF QUEENSTOWN:
Oh, blessed day! We saw land for a few moments, and I have your dear letters—two happy events. I ran away with my letters and have written answers to them which are for your eyes alone. That reminds me to say, that I think it would be better for me to write on one sheet of paper a wee bit of a letter to you, telling you a few of the many nice things I think of you, but which will interest no one but you. On another sheet I will tell of the places I see and the people I meet, and this you may send to the friends who are self-sacrificing enough to say they would like to read about this little journey of mine.
I found on this ship the usual number of wise—and otherwise—passengers, a few of whom are most interesting. Mr. and Mrs. P., of Philadelphia, who are well-known philanthropists; an Englishman, whose care and attention to an invalid wife and child forever clear his countrymen from the contumely of indifference to their families; Mrs. F. and her son; and a most charming Canadian gentleman, who has made the voyage a delight for us.
Ruth and I are seated at the right and left of the dear old captain. The table is served bountifully, and the viands are delicious. We really try not to ask too many questions, but I fancy our endeavors are a failure. Were I a captain of one of these ocean liners, I'd have something like the following hung in each stateroom, along with "How to put on this life-preserver when drowning."