If I were writing a book of travels I should perhaps be tempted to tell you of all our little adventures in crossing the Atlantic. We had many small troubles which at the time we thought large ones; but why should I record such every-day occurrences? There was a time when we would have given "a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of barren ground—long heath, brown furze, anything." We had quite enough of the rough to remind even the best of us that, when rolled and tossed in "the roaring forties," "we're all poor creeters"—and again, we had enough of the delightfully smooth to satisfy us that perhaps we are not such "poor creeters" after all. We reached New York only ten hours after the usual time.
One little story may be worth telling. On the fifth day out, when the westerly gale had partly subsided, but while the weather was still muggy and cold, I had been sitting on a rickety chair next to what seemed to be a bundle of rugs. When I got up, a gust of wind tilted the chair rather roughly against the bundle, and I then observed that it began to move. I immediately turned to apologize to this living and moving bundle. A pair of bright blue eyes peeped out, and a pleasant voice explained to me that my unmannerly chair had been no inconvenience at all. The bright eyes and pleasant voice were, as I soon found, the property of a charming young lady, with whom I had a long chat, and we soon became very good friends. Stress of weather had kept her a prisoner below, and this was her first appearance in the upper regions. I, as you know, am only an old "buffer," but my friend and travelling companion M. is a bright young spark, with a heart like a tinder-box, and when he came round and I had introduced him, he was at once smitten with the charms which had gradually unfolded themselves from the rugs. Soon afterwards my friend M. introduced (though I think with somewhat jealous misgivings) another young acquaintance; and this fine fellow at once fell a victim to the fascinations which had already fluttered M.'s susceptible heart.
It was amusing enough to such an old fellow as I to watch the antics of these young people. We supped together, and we paraded the deck. When we reached New York, our hotels being within a stone's throw of each other, we frequently met.
M., whose chivalry at least equalled his infatuation, suppressed his own ardour in favour of his friend's. They went to the theatre together, they supped at Delmonico's, and in two days the young and happy couple were engaged to be married. I don't think I shall betray any special confidence when I add that the young lady was on her way with her brother to her native home at the Antipodes, and that the successful smitten one was a wealthy ranchero of the Far West. When the happy secret was confided to me I gave them my paternal blessing and we all separated—he hastening off to his hunting grounds to sell his immense stock of cattle and sheep, and then to meet his young fiancée and her brother at San Francisco, thence to proceed together to Australia to settle affairs with "papa."
This little episode, probably not an uncommon one on board ship, though quite new to me, I will call "The Romance of a Rickety Old Chair."
The heat was so oppressive when we arrived at New York, that we were well pleased to accept the kind invitation of a friend to spend a night at his pleasant residence on the Sound.
Here it was that I first heard, and was gradually lulled to sleep by the incessant singing of little green katydids in the surrounding trees. What a curious monody their combined song makes! It varies the note, as it seemed to me, to something like this:—
Katy-did, Katy-did, Katy-didn't,
Katy-did, Katy-didn't, Katy-did,
Katy-didn't, Katy-did, Katy-didn't.