There is great system on a big ship. Everything is done just so and no other way. I have had a hard time locating the “stewards.” I never realized what a steward was before. We have a bedroom steward, who looks after the stateroom, a bath steward who runs the bathroom, a deck steward in charge of the deck, an assistant deck steward, a library steward, a smoking-room steward, a table steward, and a few more whose titles I can’t remember. One steward never gets on another’s line of duty. If you want a deck chair you must see the deck steward, if you want a blanket you must see the saloon steward, and so on. If I fall overboard I hope the proper steward will be around, for the system is so fine that I fear the other stewards would refuse to act until the proper steward could be called. Each steward will be expecting a tip when the voyage is ended, and if he weren’t a “steward,” he probably could not get it so easily.
Sunday we had religious service in the saloon. (Not the kind of a saloon that Mrs. Nation holds service in.) It was the Church of England service, but out of respect to the American passengers the reader ran in President Roosevelt’s name in the prayer for the royal family. It was a quiet, beautiful day and the amount of the collection was small. I was told by an officer that when Sunday is a stormy day and the boat acts as if it might tip over most any time, the passengers contribute much more liberally to the offering than they do when the day is fair. Some people go to church on board ship who never see the inside of a church on land. I suppose they learn from the sailors the advantage of casting an anchor out to the windward.
We will see land in a few hours, the southwest coast of Ireland. A few hours later we will land at Queenstown. It will be mighty good to get one’s feet on ground that doesn’t move just when you don’t expect it to. We will find out what has happened in the world, for we haven’t had any news for a week. They are betting on whether or not the Jap and Russian fleets have met during our absence from the earth. Like a great many good things, the best part of an ocean voyage is the end. I have enjoyed the trip very much, but if I get a chance to walk back to America I will be mighty glad to take it.
IRELAND.
FIRST DAY IN IRELAND.
Cork, Ireland, June 3.
The first vivid impression made upon me in Ireland was the morning after we landed. We had come ashore late at night at Queenstown, and except for the Irish names and Irish brogue there was nothing to indicate but that we were going through an American custom-house into an American hotel. But when we went to breakfast up came the waiter attired in full dress and extra long-tailed coat with a red vest. I had always supposed the pictures of an English or Irish waiter in such livery at breakfast was a joke. It is not a joke. It is a most serious and proper attire, and I suppose an Irish waiter in a first-class hotel would as soon appear to serve breakfast without any pants as without the long swallowtail coat. And when I saw that, I knew I was far away from home.