At your convenience you obey this gentle hint; securing at the same time a ticket for breakfast, now becoming a very important consideration, assailed by a good natural appetite, sharpened in the shrewd air of a clear, cold morning. At last, ring goes the bell; and the deck, already thinned of the more anxious, or more provident, of the party, becomes, at that magic tinkle, a desert.
On descending the stair, you perceive two long ranges of table thickly bestrewn with dishes containing beefsteak, ham, fish, chicken, game, omelettes,—together with hot rolls, cakes, and bread of every other form and denomination, with tea and coffee, borne about as called for; the whole arranged with an attention to neatness and propriety quite surprising when you consider the place, and the difficulties which are inseparable from having to cater and cook for such a multitude.
If you are not of an active habit, or if you object to remain stewing in the cabin for a time waiting on the event, you observe at a glance that, ample as the tables appear, every seat is occupied. Here is no reservation of places—possession is your only admitted right, and, were the President himself too late, he must sit out, or be admitted of the party on courtesy: of this, however, let me add, it never was my chance to perceive any lack. One of the black waiters, recognising you for a frequent passenger, is touched by your appealing glance, motions you to follow him, advancing at the same time a stool with an insinuating air between two goodhumoured-looking men, with "Please, make a little room for this gentleman."
A niche is readily conceded; and, casting an eye right, left, or straightforward, you can hardly fail to find something to your liking. The board is soon clear of the "Rapids,"—a large family in most such places; and now you acquire ample space to prove your prowess in.
Having breakfasted, you once more mount the upper deck and breathe the pure air of heaven, unpolluted by that unpleasant gas which escapes from the iron coal burnt in the cabin stoves. Such at least was my constant habit: the natives, I observed, although accustomed to a climate whose vicissitudes are extreme, never appear voluntarily to face the cold, but for the most part, abide below, congregated in concentric circles, of which a red-hot stove, filled with that to me deadly abomination, anthracite coal, forms the centre.
Wrapping well up, I found, even in the severest season, no difficulty in facing the open air, and have more than once paced the upper deck for a passage of three or four hours without having my territory invaded, or at most only for a few minutes by some adventurous spirit, who invariably dived down after a shiver or two.
Here then, between your meals, you may promenade upon a noble deck fifty feet long, smoking your cigar, and eyeing the flitting forest or meadow, amidst dreamy reveries of William Penn's description of the populous tribes of the Delaware, and that first simple treaty which consigned to the unwarlike strangers a country and a home, a treaty which was a deed of disinheritance to the posterity of the donors, and of destruction to their nation, of whom, in their own land, their name has long been the sole memorial left.
In travelling, as I did much and alone, this was always the current set of my day-dreaming. I never could draw on fancy to the exclusion of the Red-man; but, on the contrary, constantly detected myself re-peopling every wood with the wild forms of the aborigines, and in each distant skiff that darted over the broad stream picturing the fragile canoe, and its plumed and painted occupant.
The town of Wilmington, the chief place of the little State of Delaware, shows very attractively from the river, with which it communicates by a navigable creek, and, together with the neighbouring springs of the Brandywine, is in high repute for the beauty of its scenery as well as for its general salubrity.
Arrived at Newcastle, an ancient but not very populous city,—which nevertheless possessed an interest in my eyes, from the circumstance of my having chosen to write about it long before I ever dreamed of seeing it,—you quit the steamer, and, seating yourself in one of the long line of railway cars awaiting you, are whisked over the intervening neck to French-town,—by courtesy so called, since the town is yet to be,—a distance of sixteen miles in about fifty minutes; and are there reshipped on the Elk river, down which you rush, at the usual rapid rate, amidst scenery that is really charming.