We were heartily weary of trade-winds which came from the east and kept steadily in our quarter, and we clamored for a change, knowing that all things come to those that wait. And the change did come. At about 9 P. M. the wind changed and a “norther” struck us. And we quickly realized that it was a change, all except Doctor Senn. He may have noticed a difference. It was one of those things nobody could divine.
Discretion was the only part of valor for us and we arrayed ourselves on the side of Doctor Brower, who was a born leader. We got to bed as quickly as possible without thinking of consequences, or of preparing either our souls or our staterooms. The ship began to pitch as well as roll, and a sort of “still life” pandemonium kept us awake all night. The steamer screw was out of water half of the time and shook us, and the motion of the boat knocked us about in our bunks until we felt beaten up like raw eggs. The electric light was put out as usual at midnight and we were left to our imaginations. Doors and port-hole windows began to slam with startling thuds, chairs tumbled over and bumped back and forth, bottles rolled and clinked around the stateroom floors, while heavy things all over the ship fell and crashed. The sailors did such noisy work that we could not listen to it and sleep. The night was long and dreary.
Finally at daybreak the machinery suddenly stopped working, allowing the ship to drift before the wind, but the sailors made more noise than ever, replacing broken bolts and tying the shaky rudder on with ropes. I knew that the boat was drifting and said, “Let her drift. Let her go down. Let us have peace.” I thought that I might as well die in bed as to get up and die with my boots on. I might as well lie there comfortably and die from taking too much water as to get up and drink California sherry, and have my head cracked against the bunks and washstand beforehand, or against the walls of the narrow passageways. I might as well be a good-looking corpse as a mutilated one. I was less helpless in bed than out of it. In bed I could die with majesty, the majesty of calmness. Besides, it was rainy and cold outside, and although my bed was a hard rolling-place, I dreaded the difficult dressing, the dreary standing about all day in the cold, the holding on, and, above all, the dizziness and distress that belonged to keeping the head up. So I remained in bed and took my chances.
The slamming, hammering, clinking and shaking of the screw all stopped at last, which gave a certain kind of relief and enabled me to hear what was going on in the corridors and adjoining staterooms. Apparently some of the others were trying to get up and out into the rain and cold. I suppose that, like eating, the habit of getting up in the morning had grown on them and that they could not rest until they had done it. The first thing I heard was a feminine voice saying:
“How bad the air is in here!—If I could only get up on deck!—Doctor Senn, are you anywhere? If you are, will you please bring me some iced sherry?—If I only had something on my stomach it wouldn’t make me feel so sick. I’m so faint. I wish I had an egg-nog.”
Soon afterward I heard Doctor Newman call out in a sonorous, unnecessarily cheerful voice at the other end of the hallway.
“Why, good morning, Doctor! How do you feel this morning?”
A man’s voice answered:
“First rate, thank you. Did you rest well?”
“Slept like a top. Only woke up once when I rolled out of bed upon an overturned stool and struck my head. Let’s go and have our coffee.”