Such, then, were a few of the sights and speculations afforded, in the days when journeys were calculated by months, by the great world without, as a means of beguiling the time when wind and weather permitted one to stay on deck.
Scarcely less remarkable were the diversions of the little world within; the shifts to which we were put in our unflagging endeavours to relieve the monotony of “life below stairs;” but I must leave these to another chapter, in which I hope to reach the end of my voyage.
CHAPTER II.
STILL UNDER CANVAS.
“O’er the glad waters of the dark blue sea,
Our thoughts as boundless, and our souls as free,
Far as the breeze can bear, the billows foam,
Survey our empire, and behold our home!”
Byron, Corsair.
Some portion of the time, however, was necessarily spent below. Dancing was the favourite pursuit with the majority, but was only practicable when the wind was light and the sea calm.
Although Terpsichore was my least beloved of the Nine, one had but little choice when the promenade deck was cleared, and the pale light of the moon supplemented by all the lanterns that could be spared.