12th June.—At six o’clock in the morning the steamer gave a long whistle, announcing that the moment for starting had come. I dressed rapidly, and hurried on deck. The ship was all alive and full of the bustle of departure. Good-byes were said in haste, people clung, wept and kissed. The gangway is lifted up, and we begin slowly to move away. I watched the harbour of Havre grow smaller and smaller, until it faded away in the horizon. Swinging in a deck-chair I began to examine our travelling companions in whose company we are going to live for ten days. More than half the first-class passengers on our ship were Americans coming home; a great many seemed to know each other. I studied the passenger list, and saw that there were two Russians among them: an artillery Colonel, who is sent on business to America, and an old man, aged eighty-one, going to America to take part in a Volapuk Congress. We were taking a great number of emigrants for America. They thronged the foredeck, and crouched on the deck with their heads supported on bundles. Women stood in groups with children in their arms, or clinging to their hands and skirts. Things didn’t go well with the emigrants in their old country. They crossed the ocean in search of luck and fortune on the other side of the water, but what was the life to which they were going forth on the steamer, taking them to an unknown fate in an unknown land?
In the afternoon we passed Trouville and towards evening we perceived the Isle of Wight with its two lighthouses pointing on the horizon. The coast soon melted away in the distance. It was our last good-bye to dear old Europe—and en route for the New World!
13th June.—I awoke in tears, having dreamt that I was saying good-bye to the nearest and dearest that I had left in Russia. I am miserable and home-sick, which is even more than being sea-sick. I lay flat on my back staring at the ceiling in blank despair. If I had wings I should have flown back to St. Petersburg!
The routine of steamer-life was eating, sleeping, resting in deck-chairs and promenading on the deck. We are fed on board like cattle destined for the slaughter-house. In the morning from nine to ten, breakfast, consisting of broth, tea, coffee or chocolate, and porridge—the first course at every breakfast; at one o’clock lunch, at six dinner, and at nine tea. A waiter runs through the corridors, ringing a huge bell before each repast. We had a separate table reserved for us. The waiters on board, rigid and dignified, have the manners of a secretary of an embassy; the waiter who serves at our table looks less Olympian.
The barometer stood high all the time, nevertheless the ocean tosses us pitilessly. Our steamer was rising and falling upon the long Atlantic waves, and now came my first real experience of ocean travelling. I was obliged to leave the table during dinner.
14th June.—Dr. Pokrovski made me go on deck this morning for a little fresh air, and installed me comfortably in my deck chair, tucking me up in my rug. When I came to look at my chair I saw that it had, painted across the top my name in full. The temperature has lowered considerably; white foam covers the surface of the ocean. There is nothing in sight but a sail or two in the far distance. Suddenly we heard the shriek of a siren and soon perceived a ship coming towards us; it was a transatlantic vessel homeward bound. Lucky beggar!
15th June.—We had unfavourable winds and stood anchored the whole night, beaten by a boisterous sea. My head rolled on the pillow, and I had to hold fast to the edge of my berth not to be thrown out. Of course sleep was out of the question.
The deck to-day offers a lamentable spectacle. Sea-sickness, which had spared the greater part of the passengers, took its revenge now; nearly everybody was ill.
16th June.—The morning is grey and foggy. The siren had been croaking at regular intervals all day. It is Sunday to-day. On the upper-deck the emigrants sang prayers, after which the first-class passengers tossed coins to their offspring. Down poured a shower of small silver and copper, and little boys and girls scrambled to pick it up.
In the afternoon the rolling of the ship increased, the wind blowing steadily across the Atlantic, raised majestic swells. Our steamer pitched and rolled like a walnut. The passengers stumbled and slipped from their chairs and sprawled on all fours without any dignity. I passed the greater part of the day in our cabin, and climbed on deck just before dinner to call Sergy. We executed a pas-de-deux in our common effort to meet; my feet suddenly went back, while my body was travelling forward. I got my feet together at last, and clung to the rail not to be swept overboard.