Letters from the Old World/Number 1

January 18th, 1862
DEAR FRIEND: This is Saturday, the fourth day from port; but ‘till now I have been unable to leave my state room, or take my pen, and yet the weather has been, in general, delightful - though Wednesday, the day of our departure, was stormy and unpleasant. We started for Jersey City about 11 ½ o’clock; and there had to wait over an hour for the arrival of the tug, which was to convey us, with our luggage, on board the steamer Asia, which lay out in the stream, her outlines just visible through the dense fog, which enveloped everything. On board the tug, things looked very dismal, and uninviting─the rain fell in torrents, drenching the decks of the little vessel, and driving all the passengers to cabin, or cuddy below. I for one could not stand this, but sought the upper deck regardless of the rain; fortunately the ship was at no great distance, and we soon reached her side─the gang plank was lowered, and we ascended to her deck. There was only time for hurried glance around, and we were obliged to go below to make room for luggage. An hour after, the trunks securely stowed away in our state room, and our minds reduced to their usual state of calmness, we again sought the deck, under the shelter of an umbrella brought in anticipation of bad weather. The fog thickened, and the progress of the ship though the water was slow and tedious. Under the shelter of the smoke stack, we watched the pilot, as he stood near the bow giving his orders in a loud clear voice, which were repeated, in the same tone, by several seamen between him and the helmsman. We passed near to forts Hamilton and Lafayette but could have no good view of these works, renowned as the defenses of New York harbor. The shores of Staten and Long Island were also very indistinct. In fact the fog and rain together, made such a mist before us, that the Captain said it would be doubtful if we should get over the bar that night; but all doubt on the subject was cleared up by all the fog, which itself cleared up, and kindly allowed us to proceed on our way. The Gedney channel, us all New Yorkers know, is the bug-bear of Sea Captains, but our ship passed through it in perfect safety; and the shores of Sandy Hook, loomed up dimly to our sight. Another hours, and our ship before a fair wind, and under a cloudy sky, was on her way over the broad ocean. The pilot leaves us, the captain takes command, the shores recede from view, sky and ocean alone surround us; and I, in common with most of my fellow passengers, … our berths under very peculiar circumstances. The winds and waves have raised within us a commotion similar to the rolling without: that is to say, we are getting sea sick.

I have been lying in my berth in a state of quiescence, since Wednesday eve, and here it is Friday night-quiescence did I say?─far from it-no-I am not ashamed to acknowledge that I am subject to like frailties with my fellow mortals, I was sea sick. It is impossible to describe the feeling of sea sickness, so I will not attempt it. Every one knows that the malady is a subject of ridicule, and not of commiseration.

Monday Afternoon
─Forty-eight hours have I been in my berth, literally weather-bound, for we have had a regular snow storm. On Saturday evening About 7:30 the wind which had along been from the west, suddenly reared around to the north east, bringing with her violent storm of snow and sleet during the night the girl increased in being full and our faces we made it comparatively slow progress nearly all the passengers have been woefully sick and are only now recovering the sea is rough and the ships movement unpleasant it’s about few of those who are in nature bilious, and therefore suffer greatly from the motion of the waves, have ventured in the cabin. They are preparing dinner. Can I take any? I fear not; already the odor, pleasant, enough to the hungry soul, is becoming disagreeable, and visions of a hopeless siege in my state room again come before me. Seven bells have just struck; a half hour more, and we will have the principal meal of the day ─ the four o’clock dinner.

Same day, evening
─I have omitted thus far to speak of my fellow passengers; not because they are not noticeable, but from sheer lack of purpose in what I am writing─and how one can write, when the ship is rolling “like a hump-back whale in shoal water,” as the sailors say. We have but few on board-only twenty-nine first-class; and about half a dozen in the second cabin;─mostly commercial travelers I should say; and this class constitutes the average of the voyagers at this season of the year; several going abroad for their health; several on a visit; and only two or three, as far as I can discover, simply for pleasure. Among the latter, I had numbered myself; but since I have started, I have had cause to consider whether this was really a pleasure trip or not. What with the monotony of the life below; the monotony of the life on deck; and the awful monotony of the motion everywhere, it does not quite come up to my idea of pleasure.─One of my fellow travelers, the Doctor from Greenfield, Mass., calls my attention to a joke which he has heard somewhere, about travelers for pleasure at sea, finding out before the voyage was over, that they were wretched fools.

Tuesday Morning
─The wind is again favorable, and we are making 11 ½ knots an hour─the sea is calm, after a rough night. We have left the banks of Newfoundland to the west, and are not ploughing our way over that portion of the North Atlantic known as the telegraphic plateau. I have just left the upper deck, to the East there are signs of a snow-squall; but the wind continues favorable, and the air seems to be growing warmer. I am only just beginning to appreciate a sea life. Last evening was spent playing whist and backgammon; but this wou;d have been impossible, had it been rough. This is the sixth day out. I observe the fare is getting rather stale, particularly such edibles as fish and chickens. We have plenty of ice however, and will no doubt keep off starvation, till next Monday, when we hope to be in Liverpool.

Wednesday, 22d
─Blew quite hard all night.─About 7 ½ the steward woke me up with the announcement of a steamer in sight, a short distance ahead. I was on deck as quickly as possible; but the fog lay on the ocean, had not yet lifted, and the steamer was invisible; but at length we saw her slowly moving through the waves, against the westerly wind, some 1000 ft. on our left. Our ensign was dipped, and the compliment returned by the stranger as we came opposite. The wind was very fresh at the time; the sea was rough; and the snow and sleet falling directly in our faces; so that the view was not very pleasant, nor the decks at all comfortable. The vessel is supposed to be the City of Washington, of the Philadelphia line, bound for New York. She had evidently experienced very heavy weather. The wind which since yesterday afternoon has been favorable to us, was adverse to her. To-day the last sick man we have on board appeared on deck. He is a second class passenger. Poor fellow! he has left his berth but once since we left New York; and now, has great difficulty to keep well. He is in striking contrast with some I have observed, who seem to think of nothing but eating; and on board ship there is plenty of time to indulge the appetite. We have five meals a day, breakfast at 9 o’clock, lunch as 12, dinner at 4, tea at 7, and supper at 9; or any time up to 11. I have heard several of the gourmands, order “welsh rabbit” and poached eggs, at 10 ½ o’clock; and that too after partaking of a dinner enough for two men, these were Frenchmen. In one thing I have been agreeably disappointed. On board an English ship, I presumed that America, and American affairs, would be the topic of general, if invidious argument; but I have found it the reverse. I have not heard as much against our country, or in fact about her in any way, since I have been on board, as I have heard in one hour, while taking a dinner at Delmonico’s. Perhaps, the reason of this is, that there are not very many Englishman with us.

Same day, evening
─As I finished the last line above, I heard quite a commotion on deck; and on going up to see what it meant, saw another steamer, far off in the north east; buffeting the winds and waves. The captain thinks it is one of the Bremen steamers, but we are too far off to be certain.

Thursday evening, 23d.
─This morning I was up and on deck quite early; the wind is blowing fresh with occasional showers. Looking towards the southeast I saw the terror of ancient navigators, the “sea dog,” which is nothing more or less than a rainbow. The sailors all prophesized a storm; and in this case the prediction was fulfilled, for as I write the ship is pitching and tossing under a regular northeaster. About ten o’clock the wind veered round to the north, and thence to the northeast and soon it creased to quite a gale.

Saturday
─We woke up this morning to the tune of a glorious southwester, and the songs of the seamen, unfurling the sails to take the benefit of it. The air was soft and balmy as a summer morning and the ship was going at the rate of thirteen knots an hour. We almost felt as if the smoky air from the peat bogs of Ireland was fanning our cheeks, and had the wind been in the right direction we should undoubtedly have smelled the smoke of the fires. The prospect of a safe and pleasant termination of our voyage is now good. Sometime during the night we expect to be in sight of land, or perhaps not until Sunday morning. All are in preparation for it; we look upon our trip as nearly over.

Sunday Morning
─The mail agent is busy making up his bags for the steamer which we expect to meet at Queenstown this day at noon, so my first letter must close before the voyage is entirely over; but I hasten to finish it, at the last moment, to let you know the Asia, and all on board are safe, for a time at least. The shores of Green Ireland are glimmering blue and misty in the distant north, and we are but two hours sail from the port of Cork, otherwise known as Queenstown. L.X.