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+The Project Gutenberg eBook, Ship-Bored, by Julian Street, Illustrated by
+May Wilson Preston
+
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+
+
+
+Title: Ship-Bored
+
+
+Author: Julian Street
+
+
+
+Release Date: February 11, 2008  [eBook #24580]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SHIP-BORED***
+
+
+E-text prepared by Chris Curnow, Joseph Cooper, Janet Blenkinship, and the
+Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team
+(https://www.pgdp.net)
+
+
+
+Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
+      file which includes the original illustrations.
+      See 24580-h.htm or 24580-h.zip:
+      (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/4/5/8/24580/24580-h/24580-h.htm)
+      or
+      (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/4/5/8/24580/24580-h.zip)
+
+
+
+
+
+SHIP-BORED
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+_By The Same Author_
+
+
+  THE NEED OF CHANGE.
+                      Cloth. 50 cents net
+
+  PARIS À LA CARTE.
+                      Cloth. 60 cents net
+
+  MY ENEMY--THE MOTOR.
+                      Cloth. 50 cents net
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+SHIP-BORED
+
+by
+
+JULIAN STREET
+
+Author of "The Need of Change," Etc.
+
+With Illustrations by May Wilson Preston
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: THE SPOTTER IS A "PERFECT DEAR," AND THAT IS HOW YOUR
+WIFE COMES TO LOSE TWELVE DRESSES AND A TWENTY-THOUSAND-DOLLAR NECKLACE
+AND HAVE HYSTERICS ON THE DOCK.
+
+(_See page 47_)]
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+New York
+John Lane Company
+MCMXIV
+
+Copyright, 1911
+by The Ridgway Company
+
+Copyright, 1912
+by John Lane Company
+
+
+
+
+  TO
+  BOOTH TARKINGTON
+
+  "_Loda il mare da terra._"
+
+
+
+
+LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
+
+
+  The spotter is "a perfect dear", and that
+  is how your wife comes to lose twelve
+  dresses and a twenty-thousand-dollar
+  necklace and have hysterics on the
+  dock      _Frontispiece_
+
+  Small wonder that you hand a dollar to
+  your sister and kiss the porter                                     14
+
+  I recognise the blonde divinity. Her eyes
+  are closed, her hat on one ear, and she is
+  wrapped like a mummy                                                18
+
+  How the ship rolls and lurches                                      22
+
+  Ah, confidences beside a life-boat on the
+  upper deck!                                                         26
+
+  Quite the nicest place on the whole ship is
+  the smoke-room
+
+  Your cap goes flying overboard. * * * Your
+  cigar is blown to shreds                                            38
+
+  There is a horrible fascination about a ship's
+  concert, something hypnotic that draws
+  you, very much against your word and
+  will                                                                44
+
+  "Ship-Bored" originally appeared in
+  _Everybody's Magazine_.
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE
+
+
+Whatever the effect of "Ship-Bored" upon others, its publication has
+exerted a very definite effect upon me, or rather upon the character of
+my daily mail. Instead of letters the postman now leaves little packages
+containing pills which, according to the senders, will prevent the
+casting of bread upon the waters.
+
+It is astonishing to learn how many sea-sick remedies there are.
+Looking at the bottles and the boxes piled, each morning by my breakfast
+plate, I sometimes wonder if there aren't as many remedies as sufferers.
+
+But suppose there are? Why do people send the medicines to me? Why do
+perfect strangers assume that, because I have taken up the task of
+muck-raking the Atlantic Ocean, I am in need of antidotes for _mal de
+mer_? Even suppose that I do suffer thus at sea? Is it anybody else's
+business--or luncheon?
+
+All great literary works are born of suffering. Stop the suffering and
+you stop the author. Yet people keep on sending pills to me--each pill
+an added insult if you choose to take it that way.
+
+But I don't take them that way. I don't take them at all. I try them on
+my friends. When a friend of mine is sailing I send him a few pills out
+of a recent bottle. If he reports that he was sea-sick I throw away the
+balance of the bottle. The same if he dies. That shows that the pills
+are too strong.
+
+I do not wish to take undue credit to myself for conducting these
+experiments. Since the pills are given to me, my researches cost me
+nothing--excepting an occasional friend whom (as he was sailing for
+Europe, anyway) I should not be able to see, even if he were alive.
+
+J. S.
+
+NEW YORK, _January, 1912_.
+
+
+
+
+SHIP-BORED
+
+  When the cabin port-holes are dark and green
+    Because of the seas outside;
+  When the ship goes _wop_ (with a wiggle between)
+  And the steward falls into the soup-tureen,
+    And the trunks begin to slide;
+  When Nursey lies on the floor in a heap,
+  And Mummy tells you to let her sleep,
+  And you aren't waked or washed or dressed,
+  Why, then you will know (if you haven't guessed)
+  You're "Fifty North and Forty West!"
+
+  --_Just-So Stories._
+
+
+"Now run, dear! That's the gangway! You take the baby, and I'll take the
+fitted bag! Yes, I have the sea-sick tablets; they're here in my pocket
+with the tickets and the letters of credit and the travellers' cheques
+and the baby's mittens and the trunk keys and the--Well, I don't care
+_who's_ here to see us off! People ought to know better! Now hurry up!
+There goes the whistle!"
+
+It is an awful quarter of an hour, that quarter of an hour before the
+liner sails; that worrying, waving, whooping, whistling quarter of an
+hour through which you stand on deck like a human centre-piece loaded
+with candy, fruit, and flowers, surrounded by a phantasmagoria of
+friendly faces, talking like a dancing-man and feeling like a dancing
+dervish. Small wonder that the deafening whistle-blast and cry of "All
+ashore!" smite sweetly on your ears. Small wonder that you hand a dollar
+to your sister and kiss the porter who has brought your steamer-rugs.
+
+Ah, blessed moment when the dock begins to move away with all those
+laughing, crying, waving, shouting people; when snub-nosed tugs begin to
+warp the ship into the stream; when the final howlings of the
+megaphonomaniacs sound dim. ("Bon voyage, Charlie!" "Take care of
+yourself, old man! Think of me in gay Par-ree!")
+
+[Illustration: SMALL WONDER THAT YOU HAND A DOLLAR TO YOUR SISTER AND
+KISS THE PORTER.]
+
+You lean, in a dazed way, upon the rail, turning on maudlin grins and
+waving your cap at no one in particular, until the crowd becomes a
+moving blur upon the dock-end. The liner's nose points down the river;
+gentle vibrations tell you she is under way; small craft dip flags and
+toot as they go by; the man-made mountain of Manhattan's office
+buildings drops astern; the statue of Liberty, the shores of Staten
+Island, the flat back of Sandy Hook run past as though wound on rollers;
+the pilot goes over the side with a bag of farewell letters; the white
+yacht which has followed down the bay blows a parting blast, dips her
+ensign, and swings in a wide circle toward New York; the pursuing tug
+comes up and puts a tardy passenger aboard. Then, suddenly, like a
+sleep-walking dragon that wakes up, the liner shakes herself; her
+propellers lash the sea to suds; a wedge-shaped wake spreads out behind
+her, and the voyage is on in earnest.
+
+Reno, Roosevelt, Trusts, Wall Street, High Buildings, High Tariff, High
+Cost of Living, Graft, Yellow Journals, Family Hotels, the Six Best
+Sellers, the Sixty Worst Writers, the Four Hundred, the Hundred Million,
+all the things which go to make home sweet, lie astern, enveloped in the
+haze at the horizon. You are on the sea at last!--the vast and tireless
+sea which has been the inspiration of painter, poet, and pirate; the
+cradle of Columbus, Nelson, Paul Jones, Dewey, Hobson, and Annette
+Kellerman!
+
+What is there like the sea? What is there like the free swing of a
+gallant ship breasting the Atlantic? Nothing! Let's sit down. No, I
+don't want to go and get my coat. I'm not so terribly cold yet, and my
+state-room smells of rubber and fresh paint. I like it better up here
+in the air, don't you? I'm very fond of the fresh air. I really adore
+it. No, it doesn't always give me a good colour. Not always. If I'm
+pale it is only because I sat up late last night at that farewell
+dinner. Perhaps I ate too much. Let's just stay here quietly in our
+deckchairs and watch the people.
+
+But, goodness! How they've changed! Where are all those pretty,
+fashionable women who were on deck before we sailed? Where, for
+instance, is the adorable blonde with the seal coat, orchids, low shoes,
+silk stockings, and cough?
+
+A certain cynical friend of mine would answer this inquiry by declaring
+that all the attractive women go ashore, having only come to see their
+homely relatives and friends depart. But I don't think so. I believe the
+pretty ones are here, though in seclusion or disguise.
+
+  Nothing of them that doth fade
+  But doth suffer a sea-change
+
+at the first touch of Neptune's hand. Only the professional mermaid can
+look well at sea. The other women either lie on deck in pale green rows
+and live throughout the voyage on sea biscuits and sherry, or, giving up
+completely, seek burrows in the ship and hibernate like animals awaiting
+spring. Yes, even now I think I recognise the blonde divinity. She's the
+third one from the end in that row of steamer-chairs in the wide part of
+the deck. Her orchids lie disconsolate upon her chest, her eyes are
+closed, her hair blows in straight, strawlike strings across her
+colourless face, her hat is on one ear, and she is wrapped like a mummy
+in an atrocious rug of pink and olive plaid.
+
+[Illustration: I RECOGNIZE THE BLONDE DIVINITY. HER EYES ARE CLOSED, HER
+HAT ON ONE EAR, AND SHE IS WRAPPED LIKE A MUMMY.]
+
+Of course there's always the exception: the rosy-cheeked, plaid-coated
+creature who walks the deck without a hat, and lets the ringlets blow
+about her face. Her hair curls with the dampness. Her colour heightens
+with the seas and winds. You might suspect her of a golden scaly tail
+and fins, excepting that you see her tiny, well-shod feet as they
+step out firmly on the deck. They never step alone. There are lots of
+other feet, and larger, that delight in stepping with them. The very
+wind that loves her wafts her friends--wafts them with tobacco-smoke, as
+like as not:
+
+"I beg your pardon, does this smoke trouble you?"
+
+  "Oh, no! Not in the least.
+  My brothers all smoke. I       {Cigar
+  adore the smell of a good      {Pipe
+  Keep right on, _please_."      {Cigarette
+
+"Thanks awfully. Perhaps you'd like to walk around to the other side and
+see the lightship?"
+
+"Oh, _thanks!_" She thanks him for the lightship as if it were a bunch
+of roses.
+
+And so they walk, and walk, and walk, and walk--she near the rail, he
+careering on beside her, hurdling over the foot-rests of the rows of
+steamer-chairs, and tripping now and then upon the feet extending from
+them. And sometimes she sits down and shows him magazines which he has
+seen before, and he leans over very far, and points to things, and she
+points, too, and his hand touches hers, and he begs pardon, and she
+excuses him, of course, and laughs--and little locks of hair have
+touched his cheek. And then they walk again, and then she feeds him
+chocolates (sent by some poor chap who had to stay behind) with her own
+rosy finger-tips, and then another light looms up ahead, all golden, and
+then--How short the voyage has seemed!
+
+Ah, feet that twinkle, cheeks that hold your roses when the world is
+tottering and green! Ah, youth! Ah, blowing curls! Ah, Delta Kappa
+Epsilon! Ah, Alpha and Omega! Ah, snapshots, shuffleboard, and sea! Ah,
+confidences beside a life-boat on the upper deck!... "And I was taken
+with you from the second that I saw you!"
+
+"And I with _you----_!"
+
+"_Were_ you--honestly----?"
+
+"Yes, dear----!"
+
+"_Dearest_----!"
+
+Of course we didn't overhear them; it was the third life-boat on the
+port side of the ship that overheard, as it has overheard so many other
+times on other voyages.
+
+As for ourselves, we were not even up there, but were sitting in the
+lounge, trying, as I recollect, to match passengers with names upon the
+sailing list, and failing very badly. The woman whom we picked for Mrs.
+H. Van Rensselaer Somebody (travelling with two maids, two valets, one
+Pomeranian, one husband, and no children) proves to be a Broadway
+showgirl; and the one we dubbed a duchess, the proprietor of a Fifth
+Avenue frock-foundry. Showgirls, milliners, and dressmakers are very
+often the "smart" people of the ship, and it must be regretfully
+admitted that duchesses too often fail to mark themselves by that
+arrogance and overdress which free-born American citizens have a right
+to expect of them.
+
+It always seems to me they ought to put the peers and persons of
+interest at the head of the passenger-list; but they do not. The first
+place on the list of every liner is reserved for Mr. Aaron, precisely as
+the last place is invariably held for Mr. Zwissler. But though the
+alphabetical roller irons out our names in rows, it does not iron out
+our tastes and personalities. We may still be quite as common or
+exclusive as we wish. Take, for instance, the H. Van Rensselaer
+Somebodys (of New York, Newport, and Paris). Low down on the list, they
+are, nevertheless, up high on the ship. They will remain throughout the
+voyage upon the topmost deck (cabins de luxe A, B, C, and D) in a state
+of exclusive and elegant sea-sickness. You will not see them.
+They have "absolutely nothing in common" with any of the other
+passengers--excepting _mal de mer_ and perchance a wife or husband
+ex-officio.
+
+[Illustration: HOW THE SHIP ROLLS AND LURCHES!]
+
+Of course we have an opera-singer on board--a lady with a figure like
+the profile of a disc record. No home on the rolling deep can be
+complete without one. You feel as if you really knew her personally,
+having heard her voice so often upon your coffee-mill at home. And of
+course we have an actor or an actress with us. A liner might as well
+attempt to go to sea without a rudder as without one.
+
+Also, if we are to have full measure, there must be on board a
+playwright or a novelist, a scientific man, an absconder, a bishop, a
+transatlantic sharper; a group of nasal people "personally conducted" by
+a man with a sad, patient face; a lord, or at the very least, a baron
+and some counts. The other passengers are, for the most part, colourless
+and quiet people like ourselves.
+
+The men upon a liner are divided into two broad classes: the deck crowd
+and the smoke-room crowd. I can not tell you much about the former, as I
+see them only now and then at meals; but the smoke-room is always full
+of pleasant chaps. You see, the smoke-room on an English liner is made
+(like English law) for men only, and, being made for men, it is the most
+comfortable place upon the ship. It is my habit to make for the
+smoke-room as soon as I decently can (or even sooner), there to lie upon
+a leather couch, feet up, back propped against a cushion, and smoke, or
+doze, or read, or talk, or think about the endlessness of transatlantic
+trips. Only two things can drive me from the smoke-room: one is the
+smoke-room steward, who closes up at night; the other is my own sense of
+shipboard duty toward family or friends. Occasionally one has to go and
+see how they are faring.
+
+How the ship rolls and lurches the moment that one rises from the
+leather couch! How cold and damp and windy is the deck, how desolate the
+ladies' cabin when one comes from the snugness of the smoke-room! Upon a
+narrow seat just inside the cabin door, an indelicate old person lies,
+eyes closed and jaws agape. Across the room, a book turned downward in
+her lap, sits the forlorn object of your fond solicitude. Her eyes are
+gazing straight ahead, at nothing.
+
+"Ah, dear," you say, approaching with the best show of gaiety that you
+can muster, "here you are, eh? I thought I'd come and see if you wanted
+me."
+
+"Oh, no."
+
+"Did that canned pineapple disagree with you? I'm glad _I_ didn't touch
+it. Well, then, I'll run in and see them auction off the pool. You won't
+mind? By-by, dear."
+
+You think that you want air. Reeling to the wind swept deck, you cling
+unsteadily to an iron post at the fore part of the ship. Your cap goes
+flying overboard, carried, like an aeroplane, upon the gale; your cigar
+is blown to shreds; you feel the sting of cold salt spray upon your
+face; your eyeballs rock with the great bow of the ship, which rears
+itself in air, higher, higher, higher, then smashes down upon the sea,
+throwing green, hissing mountains off to either side, only to rear and
+smash again a million times.
+
+Yet some people say this is agreeable! this senseless movement of a
+ship, this utter waste of time and energy! But you know better. You let
+go of the post, bolt down the deck, dive into the smoke-room, and fling
+yourself again upon the leather couch. As you touch it, a magic calm
+o'erspreads the sea. Then all is well until your sense of duty pricks
+again.
+
+[Illustration: AH, CONFIDENCES BESIDE A LIFE-BOAT ON THE UPPER DECK!]
+
+That the smoke-room is iniquitous, I own--as iniquitous as a comfortable
+club, with nice dark wainscoting, leather chairs and couches, and
+little bells to touch when good cigars and other things are wanted. It
+is, therefore, quite the nicest place on the whole ship.
+
+My deck-walking friends will not subscribe to this, of course. They call
+my smoke-room views and habits anything but healthy, and urge me to come
+out upon the cold and slippery decks, and get the chilly "benefits" of
+being on the sea. Alas! there is but one benefit for me, and that is
+Europe. I detest the sea. I abhor it with an awful loathing. It offends
+alike my physical system and my sense of proportion. It is too
+sickeningly out of scale, too hideously large!
+
+Do not fancy that I object to water, as such. In glasses, in bath-tubs,
+under bridges, or trimmed with swans and water-lilies, water is all well
+enough. But to put so much of it in one place is a wasteful, vulgar
+show!
+
+You see that I am telling you the truth about the sea. I am not one to
+sit upon the shore and write you poetry (of the kind that is described
+as rollicking) about it. What occupation could be more despicable than
+that of making sea-songs to mislead the public?
+
+  The sea! The sea! The open sea!
+  The blue, the fresh, the ever free!
+  I never was on the dull, tame shore,
+  But I loved the great sea more and more.
+
+Do you grasp the ambiguity, the subtle trickery of that last line? What
+does it really mean? It means that Bryan W. Procter, who wrote it, had
+to be upon the shore to love the sea; that the more he was upon the
+shore the more he loved the sea and that the more he was upon the sea
+the more he loved the shore. In other words, he loathed the sea, as I
+do. And I am told he hardly left his native England for dread of the
+Channel trip.
+
+As for Coleridge, Cunningham, and Campbell, it is only too evident that
+they wrote sea-songs in vain celebration of their own initials. Byron
+and Wallace Irwin were probably bribed by the transatlantic steamship
+companies and the Navy Department.
+
+And not one of them is a realist. There have been two realists who have
+written poetry of the sea. One is Shakespeare, who wrote: "Now would I
+give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of barren ground." The other
+is James Montgomery Flagg, who in his "All in the Same Boat" exposes the
+sea down to its very depths. The sea treated him abominably. He
+retaliated by throwing a book. If the sea had any sense of shame it
+would dry up, and so would certain of the passengers upon it. The
+Cheerful One, for instance:
+
+  "He sees you are dozing, he knows you are ill;
+    But he _will_ sidle up, just to say,
+  As he crowds his gay person on half of your chair,
+    'Well, how's the boy feeling to-day?'"
+
+Don't ever fancy that the Cheerful One among the passengers inquires
+thus because he cares a whit. He only wishes to emphasise his own
+immunity from _mal de mer_, and blow the smoke of his disgusting pipe
+into your face. Neither his stomach nor his intellect is sensitive. He
+has a monologue on sea-sickness: it is all nonsense, imagination. It
+denotes weakness, not so much of the stomach as of the mentality, the
+will, the character. And besides, you don't call _this_ rough, do you?
+You ought to have crossed with him in the old _Nausia_ in 'eighty-nine.
+Fourteen days and the racks never off the table! Only two other
+passengers at meals, and--don't you feel it coming?--the captain said it
+was the--but you fill in the rest. Ah, if the _Nausia_ had only sunk
+with all on board!
+
+[Illustration: QUITE THE NICEST PLACE ON THE WHOLE SHIP IS THE
+SMOKE-ROOM.]
+
+When the voyage is smooth and the Cheerful One is denied the joy of
+making sea-sick folk feel sicker, he is disappointed but not idle, for
+he may still extort confessions from untravelled persons. You know
+him: the solid, red-faced man who dresses for dinner and sits at the
+head of the table eating fried things loud and long when it is rough. He
+wears travel as though it were the Order of the Garter, and tells you,
+between mouthfuls, about all the ships that sail the seas. "No, sir!
+Pardon _me!_ The table on this ship cannot compare with that of the old
+_Gorgic_. The _Potterdam's_ the only ship for table outside the
+Ritz-Carlton boats, though Captain Van der Plank's a personal friend of
+mine. He knows what eating _is_, sir! Still, I like the small boats--no
+elevators, gymnasiums, and swimming-pools for me. I like to know I'm at
+sea, sir." And all the time he's casting round for a victim who has
+never been across before.
+
+You see, there is something very ignominious in making a first
+transatlantic trip. No one should ever do it. Everybody should begin
+with the second or third trip. Yet I remember a little Kansas City
+lawyer I met on the _New Amsterdam_, who didn't seem to be ashamed of
+owning up. He was bald-headed and, despite the twinkling eyes behind his
+spectacles, solemn-looking. His bald head felt a draught from an open
+port-hole during dinner on the first night out, and it was when he asked
+the "waiter" to "close the window" that the "seasoned traveller" (as
+they love to call themselves) snapped up his cue. Turning in his seat
+and bringing his wide white shirt-front to bear full upon his victim, he
+raised a foghorn voice and asked the dreaded question:
+
+"Ever been abroad before?"
+
+We all squirmed with sympathy for the little man.
+
+"No," he replied, looking up with a mild, innocent expression.
+
+The shirt-front bulged; the watery blue eyes looked up and down the
+table for attention, then:
+
+"That so?" with a patronising air of feigned surprise. "_I've_ been
+over thirty-four times!"
+
+"Ever been in Omaha?" returned the lawyer blandly.
+
+"Why--no."
+
+"That so?" replied the lawyer, with fine mimetic quality. "_I_ go there
+every week!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Oh, Innocents, as you set out on your first trip abroad, don't let
+yourself be bullied by the boastful! Call the steward a waiter, call the
+port-hole a window, call the promenade deck the front porch, but call
+oh, call the transatlantic bully down! Be ready for him the instant he
+bawls that he's a member of the Travellers' Club. For the rest, be the
+ingenuous traveller, if you like. Be the man who has a mania for sitting
+at the captain's table, the man who goes abroad to get a lot of labels
+on his suit-case, the man who buys a set on Broadway (for two dollars)
+and sticks them on at home, the man who howls when bands play "Dixie,"
+the man who wears the Stars and Stripes upon his hat, the man who
+gambles with the racy-looking stranger underneath the warning smoke-room
+sign (and stops payment on the cheque by cable), be personally
+conducted, be anything you like; but if you ever get to patronising
+people who are sea-sick, if you ever get to being proud of having
+crossed the ocean oftener than little Kansas City lawyers, do this:
+
+Wait until the ship is settled for the night, go out on the dark deck,
+step over to the rail, and place the left hand lightly but firmly upon
+it. Then give an upward and outward jump, raising the feet and legs to
+the right, in such manner as to permit them to pass freely over the
+obstruction. When they are well over, remove the left hand from the
+rail. This is called vaulting. The water may be cold, but you won't mind
+it very long. And one word more: Don't gurgle; somebody might hear you
+and stupidly spoil all by crying out, "Man overboard!"
+
+If you decide to "end it all"--which, I believe, is the expression
+adopted by the best authorities--there is one humane suggestion I would
+make. End it before the ship's concert. There's absolutely no use in
+just living on and saying you won't go to the concert, for that is just
+what everybody else says, yet everybody always goes. There is a horrible
+fascination about a ship's concert, something hypnotic that draws you,
+very much against your word and will. I always think of it as a sort of
+awful antidote that is given to the passengers to counteract the poison
+of the steady boredom of the ship. It is an event in the voyage, just as
+the appendicitis operation is an event in life. And as the only people
+who enjoy the appendicitis operation are the doctors, the only people
+who go gaily to the concert are those who go there to perform.
+
+The chairman, for instance, enjoys it very much. He is a peer, a member
+of Parliament, or the United States consul at Shepherd's Bush, and he
+begins his speech by stating that the proceeds of the entertainment will
+be equally divided between the Seamen's Funds of New York and Liverpool,
+or somewhere else. It is then necessary to explain what seamen are. They
+are "these brave, watchful fellows who have our lives in their hands."
+At this, the chairman looks at the table stewards, who stand about the
+walls with their napkins and their middle-class grins; brave, watchful
+fellows trying to look as if they really held our lives and not our
+dinners in their hands.
+
+His duty to the Seamen's Funds accomplished, the chairman passes on to
+other things. Just what they are depends upon his nationality. If he be
+a British chairman, his speech will be composed of throaty sounds,
+coughs, clearings of the throat, and mumblings, through which the quick
+ear of the auditor may catch the following remarks:
+
+"As a matter of fact----"
+
+"Don't you know----"
+
+"I mean to say----"
+
+Now and then there comes a British chairman with a wide oratorical
+scope. In his case these additional expressions will occur:
+
+"After all, now----"
+
+"You Americans----"
+
+"Eh, what?"
+
+With the American chairman it is different. You understand his speech
+and only wish you didn't. After telling you that "it is a great
+pleasure," he continues through allusions to:
+
+"This international occasion----"
+
+"Our English cousins----"
+
+"Hands across the sea----"
+
+"Blood is thicker than water----"
+
+Then comes a humourous story about an Englishman, an American, and an
+Irishman, at which the English passengers laugh, having a tradition
+that "you Yankees are such droll chaps!" The chairman now switches
+quickly from the quasi-ridiculous to the pseudo-sublime, and works up to
+his big moment, which has for its climax the table-pounding statement
+that "the Anglo-Saxon race must and shall predominate!"
+
+This is violently applauded by everybody but a Frenchman, who writhes
+horribly and Fletcherises his handkerchief.
+
+[Illustration: YOUR CAP GOES FLYING OVERBOARD; YOUR CIGAR IS BLOWN TO
+SHREDS.]
+
+When the applause is over, the entertainment begins with the
+announcement that the Opera-Singer and the Polish Pianist are unable to
+appear, owing to indisposition--which really means an ingrowing
+disposition not to do so. They have, however, sent "liberal donations"
+to the Fund. We then find that "we are nevertheless so fortunate as to
+have with us to-night" a young actor. The Actor gives a serio-comic
+recitation. But his encore is his _pièce de résistance_. It proves to
+be a vivid verse about marine disaster, a form of selection obviously
+suited to the occasion. Where, except at a ship's concert, can one get
+the full value of such lines as
+
+  "We are lost!" the captain shouted,
+  As he staggered down the stair--
+
+By turning one's head only slightly, one can actually see the stair, all
+ready for the captain. Suppose we hit a derelict at this very moment! We
+might see the whole thing acted out!
+
+After this recitation some one tries to play on the piano. In the middle
+of the piece the ship gives an obliging lurch, but to no purpose; for,
+though the performer slips off the stool, striking with his hands
+something that sounds like the lost chord, and with his body two ladies
+who are waiting for their turn, he is picked up and put back on the
+stool to finish.
+
+When he has done so, his rescuers spring blithely forward, one playing
+the accompaniment very badly while the other renders "Araby." "Araby" is
+always sung at a ship's concert. Likewise a young Englishman invariably
+sings "The Powder Monkey."
+
+The English have peculiar views on singing. Mere matters of voice and
+ear make not the slightest difference to them. It is like going to war,
+or playing on the flute: one can't refuse, I mean to say, if one is
+asked. Eh, what? The only man in England who has a right to say he
+cannot sing is one who is literally dumb, and as he cannot say it, it is
+never said. And so, you see, Britannia Rules the Wave, and all that sort
+of thing.
+
+At the end of the concert, "God Save the King" strikes up, and everybody
+rises and lifts such voice as he has in song, the American passengers
+labouring under a conviction that the words begin "My country, 'tis of
+thee," until the Britons drown them out.
+
+But we have our turn, for "The Star-Spangled Banner" is played
+immediately after. The words of this excellent song (as Mr. Rupert
+Hughes has pointed out) begin with something of this sort:
+
+  Oh say, can you see by the dawn's early light
+  How the la ta-ta ta, and the ta-ta ta tum-tum.
+
+So we proceed until we reach the spirited "ba-a-an-ner ye-et wa-ave,"
+and the shrieking climax of "the la-and--of--the--free-e-e-e!" The
+object of the game is not to let the British find out that we don't know
+the words.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+On German ships, particularly those in the Mediterranean service, the
+gay occasion of the voyage will be the Captain's Dinner, a function
+which doubtless draws its name from the fact that the captain is
+invariably absent from the table. But if the captain doesn't come,
+everybody else does, and there is more dress than usual, and there are
+lights inside the ices. After dinner, the deck is illuminated with
+coloured electric bulbs, the band plays, and the people "trip the light
+fantastic toe," as country papers put it. On German liners it's not
+always light, but it is frequently fantastic.
+
+There are two great events that occur on this occasion. Some young men
+from the section which is the backbone of our country--if not it's
+fashion centre--appear on deck in dinner-coats and derby hats. They have
+read somewhere a fashion note stating that "the derby or bowler hat is
+the one headpiece _de rigueur_ with the Tuxedo or dinner suit," and they
+mean to be _comme il faut_ upon their trip abroad, or "bust." The other
+great event is the ship's belle in her pink chiffon. It makes you almost
+wish you were a dancing-man, to see her. But there are dancing-men
+enough--among them the ship's doctor. He leads her in the mazes of the
+waltz and, while dancing, is given an anæsthetic, in shape of a
+languishing glance or two. Before he comes to, his partner has performed
+a minor operation on him--the amputation of a button.
+
+You overhear her on the tender, as you leave the ship next day: "Oh,
+yes, I love the sea. You can let yourself go and be sure of getting out
+of everything in a week!" Perhaps you see her in Paris, with new
+escorts. Perhaps she is on the same boat when you go home again. And if
+she's not, there's some one else just like her. And also there is some
+one just like each of the other passengers with whom you left New York.
+
+But for all that, there are differences between the voyage east and the
+voyage west. Letters of credit have shrunk, wardrobes have increased,
+and the handiwork of the European bill-poster may be seen on trunks and
+bags as that of his American confrère is seen at home on ash-barrels
+and fences. And there's more to talk about when you are going west:
+Paris dressmakers, European hotels, and the American custom-house. If
+you talk with Europeans, it is always nice to give them fresh
+impressions as to what's the matter with their country and with them.
+
+So the gray, dismal voyage passes. At last there comes the morning when
+you wake to see the sunshine streaming through your port-hole; when,
+though your clothing and the flowered cretonne curtains of your berth
+are swinging freely back and forth in time with creaking sounds which
+chase each other through the bounding ship, you do not care, because
+your heart is glowing with an unaccustomed happiness.
+
+"Fane brate day, sir," says the steward, in a cheery voice, as he brings
+in your hotwater can.
+
+[Illustration: THERE IS A HORRIBLE FASCINATION ABOUT A SHIP'S CONCERT,
+SOMETHING HYPNOTIC THAT DRAWS YOU, VERY MUCH AGAINST YOUR WORD AND
+WILL.]
+
+"A little rougher, isn't it?" you return, as if you hoped it was.
+
+"A bit _fresher_, perhaps, sir," he corrects. "She did put 'er foot in a
+few 'oles lahst night. See the land, sir?"
+
+Ah, that's why you're so gay!
+
+"Land! Where?"
+
+You leap from your berth to the port-hole in one bound.
+
+A schooner and a coastwise steamer are in sight, gulls are swinging in
+long circles with the ship, and far away on the horizon lies a haze
+which is America.
+
+You dress with care and hurry to the deck. You bow and give a gay "good
+morning!" to some people you've not spoken to before. You even have a
+word for the man who always walks with a pedometer, and the one who is
+coming back from Germany after having put a noiseless soup-spoon on the
+market. The deck is all abloom with pretty girls in pretty hats and
+pretty suits.
+
+Even the ship is making ready for the shore. Hatches are off, busy
+donkey-engines are hustling mail-bags up from dark recesses within,
+stewards are smiling as they rush about with trunks and rolls of rugs.
+
+"I'm Boots, sir. Don't forget Boots, sir."
+
+Ah, no, good Boots! Thrice welcome, Boots! And here's thy toll, already
+set aside, like all the other tips, in envelopes.
+
+Land ho!
+
+The world is blithe and gay--except for one depressing thought. The
+nearer you get to the New York custom-house, the heavier becomes the
+load of luggage on your mind. Dresses, hats, wraps, lingerie, so gaily
+bought in Paris, lie withering like Dead Sea fruit in the forlorn cold
+storage of furiously labelled wardrobe trunks.
+
+"_Must_ I declare that Paris motor-coat? It never fitted, and it's
+fairly worn to shreds!"
+
+"Yes, dear, everything. And sh-h! There are spotters on the ships, you
+know."
+
+The United States custom-house spotter ought to look like a detective,
+but he doesn't. Instead of playing Foxy Quiller, he plays bridge, and
+probably with you. He adores the ladies--the dear ladies, God bless 'em!
+For it is the ladies whom the spotter mostly spots: the pretty ladies
+with big state-rooms and big trunks and big hats; the pretty ladies with
+the little maids and little evening gowns and little pearls. The spotter
+has to be the sort of man these ladies like, or else the Government will
+change his spots. In short, he is a perfect dear! So when, at bridge, he
+makes the coy confession that he is taking French silk stockings over to
+his sister and wonders if he'll "have trouble on the pier," your wife
+tells him just what she is doing. ("One can't mistake a gentleman!") She
+tells him that she's going into her state-room to sew some New York
+labels into Paris gowns and hats--and that is how she comes to lose
+twelve dresses and a twenty-thousand-dollar necklace, and have
+hysterics on the dock, and how she never sends that dinner invitation to
+him at the club in Forty-fourth Street.
+
+
+
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+<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Ship-Bored, by Julian Street</title>
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+<body>
+<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook, Ship-Bored, by Julian Street, Illustrated by
+May Wilson Preston</h1>
+<pre>
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at <a href = "http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre>
+<p>Title: Ship-Bored</p>
+<p>Author: Julian Street</p>
+<p>Release Date: February 11, 2008  [eBook #24580]</p>
+<p>Language: English</p>
+<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p>
+<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SHIP-BORED***</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<h3>E-text prepared by Chris Curnow, Joseph Cooper, Janet Blenkinship,<br />
+    and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br />
+    (http://www.pgdp.net)</h3>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr class="full" />
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 366px;">
+<img src="images/icover.jpg" width="366" height="600" alt="" title="book cover" />
+</div>
+
+<h1><br /><br />SHIP-BORED<br /><br /></h1>
+
+
+
+
+<div class="centerbox bbox">
+<h2><i>By The Same Author</i></h2>
+
+
+<p>
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">THE NEED OF CHANGE.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 11em;">Cloth. 50 cents net</span><br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">PARIS &Agrave; LA CARTE.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 11em;">Cloth. 60 cents net</span><br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">MY ENEMY&mdash;THE MOTOR.</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 11em;">Cloth. 50 cents net</span><br />
+</p></div>
+
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+<h2><a name="SHIP-BORED" id="SHIP-BORED"></a>SHIP-BORED</h2>
+
+
+
+  <h4><i>By</i></h4>
+  <h3>JULIAN STREET</h3>
+
+  <h4>AUTHOR OF "THE NEED OF CHANGE," ETC.</h4>
+
+  <h3><i>With Illustrations by</i></h3>
+  <h3>MAY WILSON PRESTON</h3>
+
+  <div class="figcenter" style="width: 356px;">
+<img src="images/i005.jpg" width="356" height="400" alt="" title="title page decoration" />
+</div>
+
+  <p class="center">NEW YORK<br />
+  JOHN LANE COMPANY<br />
+  MCMXIV<br /><br />
+
+
+
+  Copyright, 1911<br />
+  By The Ridgway Company<br /><br />
+
+  Copyright, 1912<br />
+  By John Lane Company</p>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+<h3><br />
+TO<br />
+BOOTH TARKINGTON<br /><br />
+</h3>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+<p class="center">"<i>Loda il mare da terra.</i>"</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 445px;">
+
+<a name="frontis" id="frontis"></a>
+<img src="images/i004.jpg" width="445" height="600" alt="THE SPOTTER IS A &quot;PERFECT DEAR,&quot;" title="" />
+<span class="caption">THE SPOTTER IS A &quot;PERFECT DEAR,&quot; AND THAT IS HOW YOUR
+WIFE COMES TO LOSE TWELVE DRESSES AND A TWENTY-THOUSAND-DOLLAR NECKLACE
+AND HAVE HYSTERICS ON THE DOCK.<br />(<i>See page <a href='#Page_47'><b>47</b></a></i>)</span>
+</div>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+<h2><a name="LIST_OF_ILLUSTRATIONS" id="LIST_OF_ILLUSTRATIONS"></a>LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</h2>
+
+
+
+<div class='centered'>
+<table border="0" cellpadding="4" width="60%" cellspacing="0" summary="LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS">
+<tr>
+<td align="left" valign="top">The spotter is "a perfect dear", and that
+  is how your wife comes to lose twelve
+  dresses and a twenty-thousand-dollar
+  necklace and have hysterics on the
+  dock</td>
+<td align="right" valign="top"><a href='#frontis'><b><i>Frontispiece</i></b></a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td align="left" valign="top">Small wonder that you hand a dollar to
+  your sister and kiss the porter</td>
+<td align="right" valign="top"><a href='#Page_14'><b>14</b></a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td align="left" valign="top">I recognise the blonde divinity. Her eyes
+  are closed, her hat on one ear, and she is
+  wrapped like a mummy</td>
+<td align="right" valign="top"><a href='#Page_18'><b>18</b></a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td align="left" valign="top">How the ship rolls and lurches</td>
+<td align="right" valign="top"><a href='#Page_22'><b>22</b></a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td align="left" valign="top">Ah, confidences beside a life-boat on the
+  upper deck!</td>
+<td align="right" valign="top"><a href='#Page_26'><b>26</b></a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td align="left" valign="top">Quite the nicest place on the whole ship is
+  the smoke-room</td>
+<td align="right" valign="top"><a href='#Page_30'><b>30</b></a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td align="left" valign="top">Your cap goes flying overboard. * * * Your
+  cigar is blown to shreds</td>
+<td align="right" valign="top"><a href='#Page_38'><b>38</b></a></td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr>
+<td align="left" valign="top">There is a horrible fascination about a ship's
+  concert, something hypnotic that draws
+  you, very much against your word and
+  will</td>
+<td align="right" valign="top"><a href='#Page_44'><b>44</b></a></td>
+</tr>
+
+
+</table></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">
+"Ship-Bored" originally appeared in
+<i>Everybody's Magazine</i>.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="PREFACE" id="PREFACE"></a>PREFACE</h2>
+
+
+<p>Whatever the effect of "Ship-Bored" upon others, its publication has
+exerted a very definite effect upon me, or rather upon the character of
+my daily mail. Instead of letters the postman now leaves little packages
+containing pills which, according to the senders, will prevent the
+casting of bread upon the waters.</p>
+
+<p>It is astonishing to learn how many sea-sick remedies there are.
+Looking at the bottles and the boxes piled, each morning by my breakfast
+plate, I sometimes wonder if there aren't as many remedies as sufferers.</p>
+
+<p>But suppose there are? Why do people send the medicines to me? Why do
+perfect strangers assume that, because I have taken up the task of
+muck-raking the Atlantic Ocean, I am in need of antidotes for <i>mal de
+mer</i>? Even suppose that I do<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> suffer thus at sea? Is it anybody else's
+business&mdash;or luncheon?</p>
+
+<p>All great literary works are born of suffering. Stop the suffering and
+you stop the author. Yet people keep on sending pills to me&mdash;each pill
+an added insult if you choose to take it that way.</p>
+
+<p>But I don't take them that way. I don't take them at all. I try them on
+my friends. When a friend of mine is sailing I send him a few pills out
+of a recent bottle. If he reports that he was sea-sick I throw away the
+balance of the bottle. The same if he dies. That shows that the pills
+are too strong.</p>
+
+<p>I do not wish to take undue credit to myself for conducting these
+experiments. Since the pills are given to me, my researches cost me
+nothing&mdash;excepting an occasional friend whom (as he was sailing for
+Europe, anyway) I should not be able to see, even if he were alive.</p>
+
+<p class="author">J. S.</p>
+
+<p><span class="smcap"  style="margin-left: 2em;">New York</span>, <i>January, 1912</i>.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span><br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<p><br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>SHIP-BORED</h2>
+
+<p>
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">When the cabin port-holes are dark and green</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Because of the seas outside;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">When the ship goes <i>wop</i> (with a wiggle between)</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And the steward falls into the soup-tureen,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 4em;">And the trunks begin to slide;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">When Nursey lies on the floor in a heap,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And Mummy tells you to let her sleep,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And you aren't waked or washed or dressed,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Why, then you will know (if you haven't guessed)</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 3em;">You're "Fifty North and Forty West!"</span><br />
+<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 11em;">&mdash;<i>Just-So Stories.</i></span><br />
+</p>
+
+
+<p>"Now run, dear! That's the gangway! You take the baby, and I'll take the
+fitted bag! Yes, I have the sea-sick tablets; they're here in my pocket
+with the tickets and the letters of credit and the travellers' cheques
+and the baby's mittens and the trunk keys and the&mdash;Well, I don't care
+<i>who's</i> here to see us off! People ought to know better! Now hurry up!
+There goes the whistle!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>It is an awful quarter of an hour, that quarter of an hour before the
+liner sails; that worrying, waving, whooping, whistling quarter of an
+hour through which you stand on deck like a human centre-piece loaded
+with candy, fruit, and flowers, surrounded by a phantasmagoria of
+friendly faces, talking like a dancing-man and feeling like a dancing
+dervish. Small wonder that the deafening whistle-blast and cry of "All
+ashore!" smite sweetly on your ears. Small wonder that you hand a dollar
+to your sister and kiss the porter who has brought your steamer-rugs.</p>
+
+<p>Ah, blessed moment when the dock begins to move away with all those
+laughing, crying, waving, shouting people; when snub-nosed tugs begin to
+warp the ship into the stream; when the final howlings of the
+megaphonomaniacs sound dim. ("Bon voyage, Charlie!" "Take care of
+yourself, old man! Think of me in gay Par-ree!")</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 537px;">
+<img src="images/i017.jpg" width="537" height="600" alt="SMALL WONDER THAT YOU HAND A DOLLAR TO YOUR SISTER AND
+KISS THE PORTER." title="" />
+<span class="caption">SMALL WONDER THAT YOU HAND A DOLLAR TO YOUR SISTER AND
+KISS THE PORTER.</span>
+</div>
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>You lean, in a dazed way, upon the rail, turning on maudlin grins and
+waving your cap at no one in particular, until the crowd becomes a
+moving blur upon the dock-end. The liner's nose points down the river;
+gentle vibrations tell you she is under way; small craft dip flags and
+toot as they go by; the man-made mountain of Manhattan's office
+buildings drops astern; the statue of Liberty, the shores of Staten
+Island, the flat back of Sandy Hook run past as though wound on rollers;
+the pilot goes over the side with a bag of farewell letters; the white
+yacht which has followed down the bay blows a parting blast, dips her
+ensign, and swings in a wide circle toward New York; the pursuing tug
+comes up and puts a tardy passenger aboard. Then, suddenly, like a
+sleep-walking dragon that wakes up, the liner shakes herself; her
+propellers lash the sea to suds; a wedge-shaped wake spreads out behind
+her, and the voyage is on in earnest.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Reno, Roosevelt, Trusts, Wall Street, High Buildings, High Tariff, High
+Cost of Living, Graft, Yellow Journals, Family Hotels, the Six Best
+Sellers, the Sixty Worst Writers, the Four Hundred, the Hundred Million,
+all the things which go to make home sweet, lie astern, enveloped in the
+haze at the horizon. You are on the sea at last!&mdash;the vast and tireless
+sea which has been the inspiration of painter, poet, and pirate; the
+cradle of Columbus, Nelson, Paul Jones, Dewey, Hobson, and Annette
+Kellerman!</p>
+
+<p>What is there like the sea? What is there like the free swing of a
+gallant ship breasting the Atlantic? Nothing! Let's sit down. No, I
+don't want to go and get my coat. I'm not so terribly cold yet, and my
+state-room smells of rubber and fresh paint. I like it better up here
+in the air, don't you? I'm very fond of the fresh air. I really adore
+it. No, it doesn't always give me a good<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> colour. Not always. If I'm
+pale it is only because I sat up late last night at that farewell
+dinner. Perhaps I ate too much. Let's just stay here quietly in our
+deckchairs and watch the people.</p>
+
+<p>But, goodness! How they've changed! Where are all those pretty,
+fashionable women who were on deck before we sailed? Where, for
+instance, is the adorable blonde with the seal coat, orchids, low shoes,
+silk stockings, and cough?</p>
+
+<p>A certain cynical friend of mine would answer this inquiry by declaring
+that all the attractive women go ashore, having only come to see their
+homely relatives and friends depart. But I don't think so. I believe the
+pretty ones are here, though in seclusion or disguise.</p>
+
+<p>
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nothing of them that doth fade</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But doth suffer a sea-change</span><br />
+</p>
+
+<p>at the first touch of Neptune's hand. Only the professional mermaid can
+look well at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> sea. The other women either lie on deck in pale green rows
+and live throughout the voyage on sea biscuits and sherry, or, giving up
+completely, seek burrows in the ship and hibernate like animals awaiting
+spring. Yes, even now I think I recognise the blonde divinity. She's the
+third one from the end in that row of steamer-chairs in the wide part of
+the deck. Her orchids lie disconsolate upon her chest, her eyes are
+closed, her hair blows in straight, strawlike strings across her
+colourless face, her hat is on one ear, and she is wrapped like a mummy
+in an atrocious rug of pink and olive plaid.</p>
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;">
+<img src="images/i023.jpg" width="600" height="564" alt="I RECOGNIZE THE BLONDE DIVINITY." title="" />
+<span class="caption">I RECOGNIZE THE BLONDE DIVINITY. HER EYES ARE CLOSED, HER
+HAT ON ONE EAR, AND SHE IS WRAPPED LIKE A MUMMY.</span>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>Of course there's always the exception: the rosy-cheeked, plaid-coated
+creature who walks the deck without a hat, and lets the ringlets blow
+about her face. Her hair curls with the dampness. Her colour heightens
+with the seas and winds. You might suspect her of a golden scaly tail
+and fins, excepting that you see her tiny, well-shod<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> feet as they
+step out firmly on the deck. They never step alone. There are lots of
+other feet, and larger, that delight in stepping with them. The very
+wind that loves her wafts her friends&mdash;wafts them with tobacco-smoke, as
+like as not:</p>
+
+<p>"I beg your pardon, does this smoke trouble you?"</p>
+
+
+
+<table border="0" style="margin-left: 0em;" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="0" summary="">
+
+<tr>
+<td>&nbsp;</td><td rowspan="3" style="font-size: 4em;" align="right">}</td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr><td align="left">"Oh, no! Not in the least.<br />My brothers all smoke.<br />I adore the smell of a good</td><td>Cigar,<br /> Pipe,<br /> Cigarette.</td>
+</tr>
+
+<tr><td>Keep right on, <i>please</i>."</td></tr>
+
+</table>
+
+
+<p>"Thanks awfully. Perhaps you'd like to walk around to the other side and
+see the lightship?"</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, <i>thanks!</i>" She thanks him for the lightship as if it were a bunch
+of roses.</p>
+
+<p>And so they walk, and walk, and walk, and walk&mdash;she near the rail, he
+careering on beside her, hurdling over the foot-rests of the rows of
+steamer-chairs, and tripping now and then upon the feet extending from<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span>
+them. And sometimes she sits down and shows him magazines which he has
+seen before, and he leans over very far, and points to things, and she
+points, too, and his hand touches hers, and he begs pardon, and she
+excuses him, of course, and laughs&mdash;and little locks of hair have
+touched his cheek. And then they walk again, and then she feeds him
+chocolates (sent by some poor chap who had to stay behind) with her own
+rosy finger-tips, and then another light looms up ahead, all golden, and
+then&mdash;How short the voyage has seemed!</p>
+
+<p>Ah, feet that twinkle, cheeks that hold your roses when the world is
+tottering and green! Ah, youth! Ah, blowing curls! Ah, Delta Kappa
+Epsilon! Ah, Alpha and Omega! Ah, snapshots, shuffleboard, and sea! Ah,
+confidences beside a life-boat on the upper deck!... "And I was taken
+with you from the second that I saw you!"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"And I with <i>you&mdash;&mdash;</i>!"</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Were</i> you&mdash;honestly&mdash;&mdash;?"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, dear&mdash;&mdash;!"</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Dearest</i>&mdash;&mdash;!"</p>
+
+<p>Of course we didn't overhear them; it was the third life-boat on the
+port side of the ship that overheard, as it has overheard so many other
+times on other voyages.</p>
+
+<p>As for ourselves, we were not even up there, but were sitting in the
+lounge, trying, as I recollect, to match passengers with names upon the
+sailing list, and failing very badly. The woman whom we picked for Mrs.
+H. Van Rensselaer Somebody (travelling with two maids, two valets, one
+Pomeranian, one husband, and no children) proves to be a Broadway
+showgirl; and the one we dubbed a duchess, the proprietor of a Fifth
+Avenue frock-foundry. Showgirls, milliners, and dressmakers are very
+often the "smart" people of the ship, and it must be regretfully
+admitted that duchesses too<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> often fail to mark themselves by that
+arrogance and overdress which free-born American citizens have a right
+to expect of them.</p>
+
+<p>It always seems to me they ought to put the peers and persons of
+interest at the head of the passenger-list; but they do not. The first
+place on the list of every liner is reserved for Mr. Aaron, precisely as
+the last place is invariably held for Mr. Zwissler. But though the
+alphabetical roller irons out our names in rows, it does not iron out
+our tastes and personalities. We may still be quite as common or
+exclusive as we wish. Take, for instance, the H. Van Rensselaer
+Somebodys (of New York, Newport, and Paris). Low down on the list, they
+are, nevertheless, up high on the ship. They will remain throughout the
+voyage upon the topmost deck (cabins de luxe A, B, C, and D) in a state
+of exclusive and elegant sea-sickness. You will not see them. They have
+"absolutely nothing in common" with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> any of the other
+passengers&mdash;excepting <i>mal de mer</i> and perchance a wife or husband
+ex-officio.</p>
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 377px;">
+<img src="images/i029.jpg" width="377" height="600" alt="HOW THE SHIP ROLLS AND LURCHES!" title="" />
+<span class="caption">HOW THE SHIP ROLLS AND LURCHES!</span>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>Of course we have an opera-singer on board&mdash;a lady with a figure like
+the profile of a disc record. No home on the rolling deep can be
+complete without one. You feel as if you really knew her personally,
+having heard her voice so often upon your coffee-mill at home. And of
+course we have an actor or an actress with us. A liner might as well
+attempt to go to sea without a rudder as without one.</p>
+
+<p>Also, if we are to have full measure, there must be on board a
+playwright or a novelist, a scientific man, an absconder, a bishop, a
+transatlantic sharper; a group of nasal people "personally conducted" by
+a man with a sad, patient face; a lord, or at the very least, a baron
+and some counts. The other passengers are, for the most part, colourless
+and quiet people like ourselves.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The men upon a liner are divided into two broad classes: the deck crowd
+and the smoke-room crowd. I can not tell you much about the former, as I
+see them only now and then at meals; but the smoke-room is always full
+of pleasant chaps. You see, the smoke-room on an English liner is made
+(like English law) for men only, and, being made for men, it is the most
+comfortable place upon the ship. It is my habit to make for the
+smoke-room as soon as I decently can (or even sooner), there to lie upon
+a leather couch, feet up, back propped against a cushion, and smoke, or
+doze, or read, or talk, or think about the endlessness of transatlantic
+trips. Only two things can drive me from the smoke-room: one is the
+smoke-room steward, who closes up at night; the other is my own sense of
+shipboard duty toward family or friends. Occasionally one has to go and
+see how they are faring.</p>
+
+<p>How the ship rolls and lurches the mo<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span>ment that one rises from the
+leather couch! How cold and damp and windy is the deck, how desolate the
+ladies' cabin when one comes from the snugness of the smoke-room! Upon a
+narrow seat just inside the cabin door, an indelicate old person lies,
+eyes closed and jaws agape. Across the room, a book turned downward in
+her lap, sits the forlorn object of your fond solicitude. Her eyes are
+gazing straight ahead, at nothing.</p>
+
+<p>"Ah, dear," you say, approaching with the best show of gaiety that you
+can muster, "here you are, eh? I thought I'd come and see if you wanted
+me."</p>
+
+<p>"Oh, no."</p>
+
+<p>"Did that canned pineapple disagree with you? I'm glad <i>I</i> didn't touch
+it. Well, then, I'll run in and see them auction off the pool. You won't
+mind? By-by, dear."</p>
+
+<p>You think that you want air. Reeling to the wind swept deck, you cling
+unsteadily<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> to an iron post at the fore part of the ship. Your cap goes
+flying overboard, carried, like an aeroplane, upon the gale; your cigar
+is blown to shreds; you feel the sting of cold salt spray upon your
+face; your eyeballs rock with the great bow of the ship, which rears
+itself in air, higher, higher, higher, then smashes down upon the sea,
+throwing green, hissing mountains off to either side, only to rear and
+smash again a million times.</p>
+
+<p>Yet some people say this is agreeable! this senseless movement of a
+ship, this utter waste of time and energy! But you know better. You let
+go of the post, bolt down the deck, dive into the smoke-room, and fling
+yourself again upon the leather couch. As you touch it, a magic calm
+o'erspreads the sea. Then all is well until your sense of duty pricks
+again.</p>
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 389px;">
+<img src="images/i035.jpg" width="389" height="600" alt="AH, CONFIDENCES BESIDE A LIFE-BOAT ON THE UPPER DECK!" title="" />
+<span class="caption">AH, CONFIDENCES BESIDE A LIFE-BOAT ON THE UPPER DECK!</span>
+</div>
+
+<p>That the smoke-room is iniquitous, I own&mdash;as iniquitous as a comfortable
+club, with nice dark wainscoting, leather chairs and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> couches, and
+little bells to touch when good cigars and other things are wanted. It
+is, therefore, quite the nicest place on the whole ship.</p>
+
+<p>My deck-walking friends will not subscribe to this, of course. They call
+my smoke-room views and habits anything but healthy, and urge me to come
+out upon the cold and slippery decks, and get the chilly "benefits" of
+being on the sea. Alas! there is but one benefit for me, and that is
+Europe. I detest the sea. I abhor it with an awful loathing. It offends
+alike my physical system and my sense of proportion. It is too
+sickeningly out of scale, too hideously large!</p>
+
+<p>Do not fancy that I object to water, as such. In glasses, in bath-tubs,
+under bridges, or trimmed with swans and water-lilies, water is all well
+enough. But to put so much of it in one place is a wasteful, vulgar
+show!</p>
+
+<p>You see that I am telling you the truth<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> about the sea. I am not one to
+sit upon the shore and write you poetry (of the kind that is described
+as rollicking) about it. What occupation could be more despicable than
+that of making sea-songs to mislead the public?</p>
+
+<p>
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The sea! The sea! The open sea!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The blue, the fresh, the ever free!</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I never was on the dull, tame shore,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But I loved the great sea more and more.</span><br />
+</p>
+
+<p>Do you grasp the ambiguity, the subtle trickery of that last line? What
+does it really mean? It means that Bryan W. Procter, who wrote it, had
+to be upon the shore to love the sea; that the more he was upon the
+shore the more he loved the sea and that the more he was upon the sea
+the more he loved the shore. In other words, he loathed the sea, as I
+do. And I am told he hardly left his native England for dread of the
+Channel trip.</p>
+
+<p>As for Coleridge, Cunningham, and Campbell, it is only too evident that
+they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> wrote sea-songs in vain celebration of their own initials. Byron
+and Wallace Irwin were probably bribed by the transatlantic steamship
+companies and the Navy Department.</p>
+
+<p>And not one of them is a realist. There have been two realists who have
+written poetry of the sea. One is Shakespeare, who wrote: "Now would I
+give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of barren ground." The other
+is James Montgomery Flagg, who in his "All in the Same Boat" exposes the
+sea down to its very depths. The sea treated him abominably. He
+retaliated by throwing a book. If the sea had any sense of shame it
+would dry up, and so would certain of the passengers upon it. The
+Cheerful One, for instance:</p>
+
+<p>
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"He sees you are dozing, he knows you are ill;</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But he <i>will</i> sidle up, just to say,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As he crowds his gay person on half of your chair,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">'Well, how's the boy feeling to-day?'"</span><br />
+</p>
+
+<p>Don't ever fancy that the Cheerful One among the passengers inquires
+thus because<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> he cares a whit. He only wishes to emphasise his own
+immunity from <i>mal de mer</i>, and blow the smoke of his disgusting pipe
+into your face. Neither his stomach nor his intellect is sensitive. He
+has a monologue on sea-sickness: it is all nonsense, imagination. It
+denotes weakness, not so much of the stomach as of the mentality, the
+will, the character. And besides, you don't call <i>this</i> rough, do you?
+You ought to have crossed with him in the old <i>Nausia</i> in 'eighty-nine.
+Fourteen days and the racks never off the table! Only two other
+passengers at meals, and&mdash;don't you feel it coming?&mdash;the captain said it
+was the&mdash;but you fill in the rest. Ah, if the <i>Nausia</i> had only sunk
+with all on board!</p>
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;">
+<img src="images/i041.jpg" width="600" height="590" alt="QUITE THE NICEST PLACE ON THE WHOLE SHIP IS THE
+SMOKE-ROOM." title="" />
+<span class="caption">QUITE THE NICEST PLACE ON THE WHOLE SHIP IS THE
+SMOKE-ROOM.</span>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>When the voyage is smooth and the Cheerful One is denied the joy of
+making sea-sick folk feel sicker, he is disappointed but not idle, for
+he may still extort confessions from untravelled persons. You know<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span>
+him: the solid, red-faced man who dresses for dinner and sits at the
+head of the table eating fried things loud and long when it is rough. He
+wears travel as though it were the Order of the Garter, and tells you,
+between mouthfuls, about all the ships that sail the seas. "No, sir!
+Pardon <i>me!</i> The table on this ship cannot compare with that of the old
+<i>Gorgic</i>. The <i>Potterdam's</i> the only ship for table outside the
+Ritz-Carlton boats, though Captain Van der Plank's a personal friend of
+mine. He knows what eating <i>is</i>, sir! Still, I like the small boats&mdash;no
+elevators, gymnasiums, and swimming-pools for me. I like to know I'm at
+sea, sir." And all the time he's casting round for a victim who has
+never been across before.</p>
+
+<p>You see, there is something very ignominious in making a first
+transatlantic trip. No one should ever do it. Everybody should begin
+with the second or third trip. Yet I remember a little Kansas City
+lawyer<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> I met on the <i>New Amsterdam</i>, who didn't seem to be ashamed of
+owning up. He was bald-headed and, despite the twinkling eyes behind his
+spectacles, solemn-looking. His bald head felt a draught from an open
+port-hole during dinner on the first night out, and it was when he asked
+the "waiter" to "close the window" that the "seasoned traveller" (as
+they love to call themselves) snapped up his cue. Turning in his seat
+and bringing his wide white shirt-front to bear full upon his victim, he
+raised a foghorn voice and asked the dreaded question:</p>
+
+<p>"Ever been abroad before?"</p>
+
+<p>We all squirmed with sympathy for the little man.</p>
+
+<p>"No," he replied, looking up with a mild, innocent expression.</p>
+
+<p>The shirt-front bulged; the watery blue eyes looked up and down the
+table for attention, then:</p>
+
+<p>"That so?" with a patronising air of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> feigned surprise. "<i>I've</i> been
+over thirty-four times!"</p>
+
+<p>"Ever been in Omaha?" returned the lawyer blandly.</p>
+
+<p>"Why&mdash;no."</p>
+
+<p>"That so?" replied the lawyer, with fine mimetic quality. "<i>I</i> go there
+every week!"</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>Oh, Innocents, as you set out on your first trip abroad, don't let
+yourself be bullied by the boastful! Call the steward a waiter, call the
+port-hole a window, call the promenade deck the front porch, but call
+oh, call the transatlantic bully down! Be ready for him the instant he
+bawls that he's a member of the Travellers' Club. For the rest, be the
+ingenuous traveller, if you like. Be the man who has a mania for sitting
+at the captain's table, the man who goes abroad to get a lot of labels
+on his suit-case, the man who buys a set on Broadway (for two dollars)
+and sticks them on at home, the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> man who howls when bands play "Dixie,"
+the man who wears the Stars and Stripes upon his hat, the man who
+gambles with the racy-looking stranger underneath the warning smoke-room
+sign (and stops payment on the cheque by cable), be personally
+conducted, be anything you like; but if you ever get to patronising
+people who are sea-sick, if you ever get to being proud of having
+crossed the ocean oftener than little Kansas City lawyers, do this:</p>
+
+<p>Wait until the ship is settled for the night, go out on the dark deck,
+step over to the rail, and place the left hand lightly but firmly upon
+it. Then give an upward and outward jump, raising the feet and legs to
+the right, in such manner as to permit them to pass freely over the
+obstruction. When they are well over, remove the left hand from the
+rail. This is called vaulting. The water may be cold, but you won't mind
+it very long. And one word more: Don't gurgle; somebody<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> might hear you
+and stupidly spoil all by crying out, "Man overboard!"</p>
+
+<p>If you decide to "end it all"&mdash;which, I believe, is the expression
+adopted by the best authorities&mdash;there is one humane suggestion I would
+make. End it before the ship's concert. There's absolutely no use in
+just living on and saying you won't go to the concert, for that is just
+what everybody else says, yet everybody always goes. There is a horrible
+fascination about a ship's concert, something hypnotic that draws you,
+very much against your word and will. I always think of it as a sort of
+awful antidote that is given to the passengers to counteract the poison
+of the steady boredom of the ship. It is an event in the voyage, just as
+the appendicitis operation is an event in life. And as the only people
+who enjoy the appendicitis operation are the doctors, the only people
+who go gaily to the concert are those who go there to perform.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The chairman, for instance, enjoys it very much. He is a peer, a member
+of Parliament, or the United States consul at Shepherd's Bush, and he
+begins his speech by stating that the proceeds of the entertainment will
+be equally divided between the Seamen's Funds of New York and Liverpool,
+or somewhere else. It is then necessary to explain what seamen are. They
+are "these brave, watchful fellows who have our lives in their hands."
+At this, the chairman looks at the table stewards, who stand about the
+walls with their napkins and their middle-class grins; brave, watchful
+fellows trying to look as if they really held our lives and not our
+dinners in their hands.</p>
+
+<p>His duty to the Seamen's Funds accomplished, the chairman passes on to
+other things. Just what they are depends upon his nationality. If he be
+a British chairman, his speech will be composed of throaty sounds,
+coughs, clearings of the throat, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> mumblings, through which the quick
+ear of the auditor may catch the following remarks:</p>
+
+<p>"As a matter of fact&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Don't you know&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"I mean to say&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Now and then there comes a British chairman with a wide oratorical
+scope. In his case these additional expressions will occur:</p>
+
+<p>"After all, now&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"You Americans&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Eh, what?"</p>
+
+<p>With the American chairman it is different. You understand his speech
+and only wish you didn't. After telling you that "it is a great
+pleasure," he continues through allusions to:</p>
+
+<p>"This international occasion&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Our English cousins&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Hands across the sea&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>"Blood is thicker than water&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<p>Then comes a humourous story about an Englishman, an American, and an
+Irishman,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> at which the English passengers laugh, having a tradition
+that "you Yankees are such droll chaps!" The chairman now switches
+quickly from the quasi-ridiculous to the pseudo-sublime, and works up to
+his big moment, which has for its climax the table-pounding statement
+that "the Anglo-Saxon race must and shall predominate!"</p>
+
+<p>This is violently applauded by everybody but a Frenchman, who writhes
+horribly and Fletcherises his handkerchief.</p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 375px;">
+<img src="images/i051.jpg" width="375" height="600" alt="YOUR CAP GOES FLYING OVERBOARD; YOUR CIGAR IS BLOWN TO
+SHREDS." title="" />
+<span class="caption">YOUR CAP GOES FLYING OVERBOARD; YOUR CIGAR IS BLOWN TO
+SHREDS.</span>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>When the applause is over, the entertainment begins with the
+announcement that the Opera-Singer and the Polish Pianist are unable to
+appear, owing to indisposition&mdash;which really means an ingrowing
+disposition not to do so. They have, however, sent "liberal donations"
+to the Fund. We then find that "we are nevertheless so fortunate as to
+have with us to-night" a young actor. The Actor gives a serio-comic
+recitation. But his encore is his <i>pi&egrave;ce de r&eacute;sistance</i>. It<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> proves to
+be a vivid verse about marine disaster, a form of selection obviously
+suited to the occasion. Where, except at a ship's concert, can one get
+the full value of such lines as</p>
+
+<p>
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"We are lost!" the captain shouted,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As he staggered down the stair&mdash;</span><br />
+</p>
+
+<p>By turning one's head only slightly, one can actually see the stair, all
+ready for the captain. Suppose we hit a derelict at this very moment! We
+might see the whole thing acted out!</p>
+
+<p>After this recitation some one tries to play on the piano. In the middle
+of the piece the ship gives an obliging lurch, but to no purpose; for,
+though the performer slips off the stool, striking with his hands
+something that sounds like the lost chord, and with his body two ladies
+who are waiting for their turn, he is picked up and put back on the
+stool to finish.</p>
+
+<p>When he has done so, his rescuers spring<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> blithely forward, one playing
+the accompaniment very badly while the other renders "Araby." "Araby" is
+always sung at a ship's concert. Likewise a young Englishman invariably
+sings "The Powder Monkey."</p>
+
+<p>The English have peculiar views on singing. Mere matters of voice and
+ear make not the slightest difference to them. It is like going to war,
+or playing on the flute: one can't refuse, I mean to say, if one is
+asked. Eh, what? The only man in England who has a right to say he
+cannot sing is one who is literally dumb, and as he cannot say it, it is
+never said. And so, you see, Britannia Rules the Wave, and all that sort
+of thing.</p>
+
+<p>At the end of the concert, "God Save the King" strikes up, and everybody
+rises and lifts such voice as he has in song, the American passengers
+labouring under a conviction that the words begin "My country, 'tis of
+thee," until the Britons drown them out.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>But we have our turn, for "The Star-Spangled Banner" is played
+immediately after. The words of this excellent song (as Mr. Rupert
+Hughes has pointed out) begin with something of this sort:</p>
+
+<p>
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh say, can you see by the dawn's early light</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How the la ta-ta ta, and the ta-ta ta tum-tum.</span><br />
+</p>
+
+<p>So we proceed until we reach the spirited "ba-a-an-ner ye-et wa-ave,"
+and the shrieking climax of "the la-and&mdash;of&mdash;the&mdash;free-e-e-e!" The
+object of the game is not to let the British find out that we don't know
+the words.</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<p>On German ships, particularly those in the Mediterranean service, the
+gay occasion of the voyage will be the Captain's Dinner, a function
+which doubtless draws its name from the fact that the captain is
+invariably absent from the table. But if the captain doesn't come,
+everybody else does, and there<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> is more dress than usual, and there are
+lights inside the ices. After dinner, the deck is illuminated with
+coloured electric bulbs, the band plays, and the people "trip the light
+fantastic toe," as country papers put it. On German liners it's not
+always light, but it is frequently fantastic.</p>
+
+<p>There are two great events that occur on this occasion. Some young men
+from the section which is the backbone of our country&mdash;if not it's
+fashion centre&mdash;appear on deck in dinner-coats and derby hats. They have
+read somewhere a fashion note stating that "the derby or bowler hat is
+the one headpiece <i>de rigueur</i> with the Tuxedo or dinner suit," and they
+mean to be <i>comme il faut</i> upon their trip abroad, or "bust." The other
+great event is the ship's belle in her pink chiffon. It makes you almost
+wish you were a dancing-man, to see her. But there are dancing-men
+enough&mdash;among them the ship's doctor. He leads her in the mazes of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> the
+waltz and, while dancing, is given an an&aelig;sthetic, in shape of a
+languishing glance or two. Before he comes to, his partner has performed
+a minor operation on him&mdash;the amputation of a button.</p>
+
+<p>You overhear her on the tender, as you leave the ship next day: "Oh,
+yes, I love the sea. You can let yourself go and be sure of getting out
+of everything in a week!" Perhaps you see her in Paris, with new
+escorts. Perhaps she is on the same boat when you go home again. And if
+she's not, there's some one else just like her. And also there is some
+one just like each of the other passengers with whom you left New York.</p>
+
+<p>But for all that, there are differences between the voyage east and the
+voyage west. Letters of credit have shrunk, wardrobes have increased,
+and the handiwork of the European bill-poster may be seen on trunks and
+bags as that of his American confr&egrave;re is seen at home on ash-barrels
+and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> fences. And there's more to talk about when you are going west:
+Paris dressmakers, European hotels, and the American custom-house. If
+you talk with Europeans, it is always nice to give them fresh
+impressions as to what's the matter with their country and with them.</p>
+
+<p>So the gray, dismal voyage passes. At last there comes the morning when
+you wake to see the sunshine streaming through your port-hole; when,
+though your clothing and the flowered cretonne curtains of your berth
+are swinging freely back and forth in time with creaking sounds which
+chase each other through the bounding ship, you do not care, because
+your heart is glowing with an unaccustomed happiness.</p>
+
+<p>"Fane brate day, sir," says the steward, in a cheery voice, as he brings
+in your hotwater can.</p>
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;">
+<img src="images/i059.jpg" width="600" height="390" alt="THERE IS A HORRIBLE FASCINATION ABOUT A SHIP&#39;S CONCERT" title="" />
+<span class="caption">THERE IS A HORRIBLE FASCINATION ABOUT A SHIP&#39;S CONCERT SOMETHING HYPNOTIC THAT DRAWS YOU, VERY MUCH AGAINST YOUR WORD AND
+WILL.</span>
+</div>
+
+
+<p>"A little rougher, isn't it?" you return, as if you hoped it was.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"A bit <i>fresher</i>, perhaps, sir," he corrects. "She did put 'er foot in a
+few 'oles lahst night. See the land, sir?"</p>
+
+<p>Ah, that's why you're so gay!</p>
+
+<p>"Land! Where?"</p>
+
+<p>You leap from your berth to the port-hole in one bound.</p>
+
+<p>A schooner and a coastwise steamer are in sight, gulls are swinging in
+long circles with the ship, and far away on the horizon lies a haze
+which is America.</p>
+
+<p>You dress with care and hurry to the deck. You bow and give a gay "good
+morning!" to some people you've not spoken to before. You even have a
+word for the man who always walks with a pedometer, and the one who is
+coming back from Germany after having put a noiseless soup-spoon on the
+market. The deck is all abloom with pretty girls in pretty hats and
+pretty suits.</p>
+
+<p>Even the ship is making ready for the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> shore. Hatches are off, busy
+donkey-engines are hustling mail-bags up from dark recesses within,
+stewards are smiling as they rush about with trunks and rolls of rugs.</p>
+
+<p>"I'm Boots, sir. Don't forget Boots, sir."</p>
+
+<p>Ah, no, good Boots! Thrice welcome, Boots! And here's thy toll, already
+set aside, like all the other tips, in envelopes.</p>
+
+<p>Land ho!</p>
+
+<p>The world is blithe and gay&mdash;except for one depressing thought. The
+nearer you get to the New York custom-house, the heavier becomes the
+load of luggage on your mind. Dresses, hats, wraps, lingerie, so gaily
+bought in Paris, lie withering like Dead Sea fruit in the forlorn cold
+storage of furiously labelled wardrobe trunks.</p>
+
+<p>"<i>Must</i> I declare that Paris motor-coat? It never fitted, and it's
+fairly worn to shreds!"</p>
+
+<p>"Yes, dear, everything. And sh-h! There are spotters on the ships, you
+know."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The United States custom-house spotter ought to look like a detective,
+but he doesn't. Instead of playing Foxy Quiller, he plays bridge, and
+probably with you. He adores the ladies&mdash;the dear ladies, God bless 'em!
+For it is the ladies whom the spotter mostly spots: the pretty ladies
+with big state-rooms and big trunks and big hats; the pretty ladies with
+the little maids and little evening gowns and little pearls. The spotter
+has to be the sort of man these ladies like, or else the Government will
+change his spots. In short, he is a perfect dear! So when, at bridge, he
+makes the coy confession that he is taking French silk stockings over to
+his sister and wonders if he'll "have trouble on the pier," your wife
+tells him just what she is doing. ("One can't mistake a gentleman!") She
+tells him that she's going into her state-room to sew some New York
+labels into Paris gowns and hats&mdash;and that is how she comes to lose
+twelve dresses and a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> twenty-thousand-dollar necklace, and have
+hysterics on the dock, and how she never sends that dinner invitation to
+him at the club in Forty-fourth Street.</p>
+
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 234px;">
+<img src="images/i064.jpg" width="234" height="400" alt="" title="endpiece" />
+</div>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr class="full" />
+<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SHIP-BORED***</p>
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+</body>
+</html>
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@@ -0,0 +1,1187 @@
+The Project Gutenberg eBook, Ship-Bored, by Julian Street, Illustrated by
+May Wilson Preston
+
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
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+
+
+
+
+Title: Ship-Bored
+
+
+Author: Julian Street
+
+
+
+Release Date: February 11, 2008  [eBook #24580]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SHIP-BORED***
+
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+E-text prepared by Chris Curnow, Joseph Cooper, Janet Blenkinship, and the
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+
+
+SHIP-BORED
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+_By The Same Author_
+
+
+  THE NEED OF CHANGE.
+                      Cloth. 50 cents net
+
+  PARIS A LA CARTE.
+                      Cloth. 60 cents net
+
+  MY ENEMY--THE MOTOR.
+                      Cloth. 50 cents net
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+SHIP-BORED
+
+by
+
+JULIAN STREET
+
+Author of "The Need of Change," Etc.
+
+With Illustrations by May Wilson Preston
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: THE SPOTTER IS A "PERFECT DEAR," AND THAT IS HOW YOUR
+WIFE COMES TO LOSE TWELVE DRESSES AND A TWENTY-THOUSAND-DOLLAR NECKLACE
+AND HAVE HYSTERICS ON THE DOCK.
+
+(_See page 47_)]
+
+
+
+[Illustration]
+
+New York
+John Lane Company
+MCMXIV
+
+Copyright, 1911
+by The Ridgway Company
+
+Copyright, 1912
+by John Lane Company
+
+
+
+
+  TO
+  BOOTH TARKINGTON
+
+  "_Loda il mare da terra._"
+
+
+
+
+LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
+
+
+  The spotter is "a perfect dear", and that
+  is how your wife comes to lose twelve
+  dresses and a twenty-thousand-dollar
+  necklace and have hysterics on the
+  dock      _Frontispiece_
+
+  Small wonder that you hand a dollar to
+  your sister and kiss the porter                                     14
+
+  I recognise the blonde divinity. Her eyes
+  are closed, her hat on one ear, and she is
+  wrapped like a mummy                                                18
+
+  How the ship rolls and lurches                                      22
+
+  Ah, confidences beside a life-boat on the
+  upper deck!                                                         26
+
+  Quite the nicest place on the whole ship is
+  the smoke-room
+
+  Your cap goes flying overboard. * * * Your
+  cigar is blown to shreds                                            38
+
+  There is a horrible fascination about a ship's
+  concert, something hypnotic that draws
+  you, very much against your word and
+  will                                                                44
+
+  "Ship-Bored" originally appeared in
+  _Everybody's Magazine_.
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE
+
+
+Whatever the effect of "Ship-Bored" upon others, its publication has
+exerted a very definite effect upon me, or rather upon the character of
+my daily mail. Instead of letters the postman now leaves little packages
+containing pills which, according to the senders, will prevent the
+casting of bread upon the waters.
+
+It is astonishing to learn how many sea-sick remedies there are.
+Looking at the bottles and the boxes piled, each morning by my breakfast
+plate, I sometimes wonder if there aren't as many remedies as sufferers.
+
+But suppose there are? Why do people send the medicines to me? Why do
+perfect strangers assume that, because I have taken up the task of
+muck-raking the Atlantic Ocean, I am in need of antidotes for _mal de
+mer_? Even suppose that I do suffer thus at sea? Is it anybody else's
+business--or luncheon?
+
+All great literary works are born of suffering. Stop the suffering and
+you stop the author. Yet people keep on sending pills to me--each pill
+an added insult if you choose to take it that way.
+
+But I don't take them that way. I don't take them at all. I try them on
+my friends. When a friend of mine is sailing I send him a few pills out
+of a recent bottle. If he reports that he was sea-sick I throw away the
+balance of the bottle. The same if he dies. That shows that the pills
+are too strong.
+
+I do not wish to take undue credit to myself for conducting these
+experiments. Since the pills are given to me, my researches cost me
+nothing--excepting an occasional friend whom (as he was sailing for
+Europe, anyway) I should not be able to see, even if he were alive.
+
+J. S.
+
+NEW YORK, _January, 1912_.
+
+
+
+
+SHIP-BORED
+
+  When the cabin port-holes are dark and green
+    Because of the seas outside;
+  When the ship goes _wop_ (with a wiggle between)
+  And the steward falls into the soup-tureen,
+    And the trunks begin to slide;
+  When Nursey lies on the floor in a heap,
+  And Mummy tells you to let her sleep,
+  And you aren't waked or washed or dressed,
+  Why, then you will know (if you haven't guessed)
+  You're "Fifty North and Forty West!"
+
+  --_Just-So Stories._
+
+
+"Now run, dear! That's the gangway! You take the baby, and I'll take the
+fitted bag! Yes, I have the sea-sick tablets; they're here in my pocket
+with the tickets and the letters of credit and the travellers' cheques
+and the baby's mittens and the trunk keys and the--Well, I don't care
+_who's_ here to see us off! People ought to know better! Now hurry up!
+There goes the whistle!"
+
+It is an awful quarter of an hour, that quarter of an hour before the
+liner sails; that worrying, waving, whooping, whistling quarter of an
+hour through which you stand on deck like a human centre-piece loaded
+with candy, fruit, and flowers, surrounded by a phantasmagoria of
+friendly faces, talking like a dancing-man and feeling like a dancing
+dervish. Small wonder that the deafening whistle-blast and cry of "All
+ashore!" smite sweetly on your ears. Small wonder that you hand a dollar
+to your sister and kiss the porter who has brought your steamer-rugs.
+
+Ah, blessed moment when the dock begins to move away with all those
+laughing, crying, waving, shouting people; when snub-nosed tugs begin to
+warp the ship into the stream; when the final howlings of the
+megaphonomaniacs sound dim. ("Bon voyage, Charlie!" "Take care of
+yourself, old man! Think of me in gay Par-ree!")
+
+[Illustration: SMALL WONDER THAT YOU HAND A DOLLAR TO YOUR SISTER AND
+KISS THE PORTER.]
+
+You lean, in a dazed way, upon the rail, turning on maudlin grins and
+waving your cap at no one in particular, until the crowd becomes a
+moving blur upon the dock-end. The liner's nose points down the river;
+gentle vibrations tell you she is under way; small craft dip flags and
+toot as they go by; the man-made mountain of Manhattan's office
+buildings drops astern; the statue of Liberty, the shores of Staten
+Island, the flat back of Sandy Hook run past as though wound on rollers;
+the pilot goes over the side with a bag of farewell letters; the white
+yacht which has followed down the bay blows a parting blast, dips her
+ensign, and swings in a wide circle toward New York; the pursuing tug
+comes up and puts a tardy passenger aboard. Then, suddenly, like a
+sleep-walking dragon that wakes up, the liner shakes herself; her
+propellers lash the sea to suds; a wedge-shaped wake spreads out behind
+her, and the voyage is on in earnest.
+
+Reno, Roosevelt, Trusts, Wall Street, High Buildings, High Tariff, High
+Cost of Living, Graft, Yellow Journals, Family Hotels, the Six Best
+Sellers, the Sixty Worst Writers, the Four Hundred, the Hundred Million,
+all the things which go to make home sweet, lie astern, enveloped in the
+haze at the horizon. You are on the sea at last!--the vast and tireless
+sea which has been the inspiration of painter, poet, and pirate; the
+cradle of Columbus, Nelson, Paul Jones, Dewey, Hobson, and Annette
+Kellerman!
+
+What is there like the sea? What is there like the free swing of a
+gallant ship breasting the Atlantic? Nothing! Let's sit down. No, I
+don't want to go and get my coat. I'm not so terribly cold yet, and my
+state-room smells of rubber and fresh paint. I like it better up here
+in the air, don't you? I'm very fond of the fresh air. I really adore
+it. No, it doesn't always give me a good colour. Not always. If I'm
+pale it is only because I sat up late last night at that farewell
+dinner. Perhaps I ate too much. Let's just stay here quietly in our
+deckchairs and watch the people.
+
+But, goodness! How they've changed! Where are all those pretty,
+fashionable women who were on deck before we sailed? Where, for
+instance, is the adorable blonde with the seal coat, orchids, low shoes,
+silk stockings, and cough?
+
+A certain cynical friend of mine would answer this inquiry by declaring
+that all the attractive women go ashore, having only come to see their
+homely relatives and friends depart. But I don't think so. I believe the
+pretty ones are here, though in seclusion or disguise.
+
+  Nothing of them that doth fade
+  But doth suffer a sea-change
+
+at the first touch of Neptune's hand. Only the professional mermaid can
+look well at sea. The other women either lie on deck in pale green rows
+and live throughout the voyage on sea biscuits and sherry, or, giving up
+completely, seek burrows in the ship and hibernate like animals awaiting
+spring. Yes, even now I think I recognise the blonde divinity. She's the
+third one from the end in that row of steamer-chairs in the wide part of
+the deck. Her orchids lie disconsolate upon her chest, her eyes are
+closed, her hair blows in straight, strawlike strings across her
+colourless face, her hat is on one ear, and she is wrapped like a mummy
+in an atrocious rug of pink and olive plaid.
+
+[Illustration: I RECOGNIZE THE BLONDE DIVINITY. HER EYES ARE CLOSED, HER
+HAT ON ONE EAR, AND SHE IS WRAPPED LIKE A MUMMY.]
+
+Of course there's always the exception: the rosy-cheeked, plaid-coated
+creature who walks the deck without a hat, and lets the ringlets blow
+about her face. Her hair curls with the dampness. Her colour heightens
+with the seas and winds. You might suspect her of a golden scaly tail
+and fins, excepting that you see her tiny, well-shod feet as they
+step out firmly on the deck. They never step alone. There are lots of
+other feet, and larger, that delight in stepping with them. The very
+wind that loves her wafts her friends--wafts them with tobacco-smoke, as
+like as not:
+
+"I beg your pardon, does this smoke trouble you?"
+
+  "Oh, no! Not in the least.
+  My brothers all smoke. I       {Cigar
+  adore the smell of a good      {Pipe
+  Keep right on, _please_."      {Cigarette
+
+"Thanks awfully. Perhaps you'd like to walk around to the other side and
+see the lightship?"
+
+"Oh, _thanks!_" She thanks him for the lightship as if it were a bunch
+of roses.
+
+And so they walk, and walk, and walk, and walk--she near the rail, he
+careering on beside her, hurdling over the foot-rests of the rows of
+steamer-chairs, and tripping now and then upon the feet extending from
+them. And sometimes she sits down and shows him magazines which he has
+seen before, and he leans over very far, and points to things, and she
+points, too, and his hand touches hers, and he begs pardon, and she
+excuses him, of course, and laughs--and little locks of hair have
+touched his cheek. And then they walk again, and then she feeds him
+chocolates (sent by some poor chap who had to stay behind) with her own
+rosy finger-tips, and then another light looms up ahead, all golden, and
+then--How short the voyage has seemed!
+
+Ah, feet that twinkle, cheeks that hold your roses when the world is
+tottering and green! Ah, youth! Ah, blowing curls! Ah, Delta Kappa
+Epsilon! Ah, Alpha and Omega! Ah, snapshots, shuffleboard, and sea! Ah,
+confidences beside a life-boat on the upper deck!... "And I was taken
+with you from the second that I saw you!"
+
+"And I with _you----_!"
+
+"_Were_ you--honestly----?"
+
+"Yes, dear----!"
+
+"_Dearest_----!"
+
+Of course we didn't overhear them; it was the third life-boat on the
+port side of the ship that overheard, as it has overheard so many other
+times on other voyages.
+
+As for ourselves, we were not even up there, but were sitting in the
+lounge, trying, as I recollect, to match passengers with names upon the
+sailing list, and failing very badly. The woman whom we picked for Mrs.
+H. Van Rensselaer Somebody (travelling with two maids, two valets, one
+Pomeranian, one husband, and no children) proves to be a Broadway
+showgirl; and the one we dubbed a duchess, the proprietor of a Fifth
+Avenue frock-foundry. Showgirls, milliners, and dressmakers are very
+often the "smart" people of the ship, and it must be regretfully
+admitted that duchesses too often fail to mark themselves by that
+arrogance and overdress which free-born American citizens have a right
+to expect of them.
+
+It always seems to me they ought to put the peers and persons of
+interest at the head of the passenger-list; but they do not. The first
+place on the list of every liner is reserved for Mr. Aaron, precisely as
+the last place is invariably held for Mr. Zwissler. But though the
+alphabetical roller irons out our names in rows, it does not iron out
+our tastes and personalities. We may still be quite as common or
+exclusive as we wish. Take, for instance, the H. Van Rensselaer
+Somebodys (of New York, Newport, and Paris). Low down on the list, they
+are, nevertheless, up high on the ship. They will remain throughout the
+voyage upon the topmost deck (cabins de luxe A, B, C, and D) in a state
+of exclusive and elegant sea-sickness. You will not see them.
+They have "absolutely nothing in common" with any of the other
+passengers--excepting _mal de mer_ and perchance a wife or husband
+ex-officio.
+
+[Illustration: HOW THE SHIP ROLLS AND LURCHES!]
+
+Of course we have an opera-singer on board--a lady with a figure like
+the profile of a disc record. No home on the rolling deep can be
+complete without one. You feel as if you really knew her personally,
+having heard her voice so often upon your coffee-mill at home. And of
+course we have an actor or an actress with us. A liner might as well
+attempt to go to sea without a rudder as without one.
+
+Also, if we are to have full measure, there must be on board a
+playwright or a novelist, a scientific man, an absconder, a bishop, a
+transatlantic sharper; a group of nasal people "personally conducted" by
+a man with a sad, patient face; a lord, or at the very least, a baron
+and some counts. The other passengers are, for the most part, colourless
+and quiet people like ourselves.
+
+The men upon a liner are divided into two broad classes: the deck crowd
+and the smoke-room crowd. I can not tell you much about the former, as I
+see them only now and then at meals; but the smoke-room is always full
+of pleasant chaps. You see, the smoke-room on an English liner is made
+(like English law) for men only, and, being made for men, it is the most
+comfortable place upon the ship. It is my habit to make for the
+smoke-room as soon as I decently can (or even sooner), there to lie upon
+a leather couch, feet up, back propped against a cushion, and smoke, or
+doze, or read, or talk, or think about the endlessness of transatlantic
+trips. Only two things can drive me from the smoke-room: one is the
+smoke-room steward, who closes up at night; the other is my own sense of
+shipboard duty toward family or friends. Occasionally one has to go and
+see how they are faring.
+
+How the ship rolls and lurches the moment that one rises from the
+leather couch! How cold and damp and windy is the deck, how desolate the
+ladies' cabin when one comes from the snugness of the smoke-room! Upon a
+narrow seat just inside the cabin door, an indelicate old person lies,
+eyes closed and jaws agape. Across the room, a book turned downward in
+her lap, sits the forlorn object of your fond solicitude. Her eyes are
+gazing straight ahead, at nothing.
+
+"Ah, dear," you say, approaching with the best show of gaiety that you
+can muster, "here you are, eh? I thought I'd come and see if you wanted
+me."
+
+"Oh, no."
+
+"Did that canned pineapple disagree with you? I'm glad _I_ didn't touch
+it. Well, then, I'll run in and see them auction off the pool. You won't
+mind? By-by, dear."
+
+You think that you want air. Reeling to the wind swept deck, you cling
+unsteadily to an iron post at the fore part of the ship. Your cap goes
+flying overboard, carried, like an aeroplane, upon the gale; your cigar
+is blown to shreds; you feel the sting of cold salt spray upon your
+face; your eyeballs rock with the great bow of the ship, which rears
+itself in air, higher, higher, higher, then smashes down upon the sea,
+throwing green, hissing mountains off to either side, only to rear and
+smash again a million times.
+
+Yet some people say this is agreeable! this senseless movement of a
+ship, this utter waste of time and energy! But you know better. You let
+go of the post, bolt down the deck, dive into the smoke-room, and fling
+yourself again upon the leather couch. As you touch it, a magic calm
+o'erspreads the sea. Then all is well until your sense of duty pricks
+again.
+
+[Illustration: AH, CONFIDENCES BESIDE A LIFE-BOAT ON THE UPPER DECK!]
+
+That the smoke-room is iniquitous, I own--as iniquitous as a comfortable
+club, with nice dark wainscoting, leather chairs and couches, and
+little bells to touch when good cigars and other things are wanted. It
+is, therefore, quite the nicest place on the whole ship.
+
+My deck-walking friends will not subscribe to this, of course. They call
+my smoke-room views and habits anything but healthy, and urge me to come
+out upon the cold and slippery decks, and get the chilly "benefits" of
+being on the sea. Alas! there is but one benefit for me, and that is
+Europe. I detest the sea. I abhor it with an awful loathing. It offends
+alike my physical system and my sense of proportion. It is too
+sickeningly out of scale, too hideously large!
+
+Do not fancy that I object to water, as such. In glasses, in bath-tubs,
+under bridges, or trimmed with swans and water-lilies, water is all well
+enough. But to put so much of it in one place is a wasteful, vulgar
+show!
+
+You see that I am telling you the truth about the sea. I am not one to
+sit upon the shore and write you poetry (of the kind that is described
+as rollicking) about it. What occupation could be more despicable than
+that of making sea-songs to mislead the public?
+
+  The sea! The sea! The open sea!
+  The blue, the fresh, the ever free!
+  I never was on the dull, tame shore,
+  But I loved the great sea more and more.
+
+Do you grasp the ambiguity, the subtle trickery of that last line? What
+does it really mean? It means that Bryan W. Procter, who wrote it, had
+to be upon the shore to love the sea; that the more he was upon the
+shore the more he loved the sea and that the more he was upon the sea
+the more he loved the shore. In other words, he loathed the sea, as I
+do. And I am told he hardly left his native England for dread of the
+Channel trip.
+
+As for Coleridge, Cunningham, and Campbell, it is only too evident that
+they wrote sea-songs in vain celebration of their own initials. Byron
+and Wallace Irwin were probably bribed by the transatlantic steamship
+companies and the Navy Department.
+
+And not one of them is a realist. There have been two realists who have
+written poetry of the sea. One is Shakespeare, who wrote: "Now would I
+give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of barren ground." The other
+is James Montgomery Flagg, who in his "All in the Same Boat" exposes the
+sea down to its very depths. The sea treated him abominably. He
+retaliated by throwing a book. If the sea had any sense of shame it
+would dry up, and so would certain of the passengers upon it. The
+Cheerful One, for instance:
+
+  "He sees you are dozing, he knows you are ill;
+    But he _will_ sidle up, just to say,
+  As he crowds his gay person on half of your chair,
+    'Well, how's the boy feeling to-day?'"
+
+Don't ever fancy that the Cheerful One among the passengers inquires
+thus because he cares a whit. He only wishes to emphasise his own
+immunity from _mal de mer_, and blow the smoke of his disgusting pipe
+into your face. Neither his stomach nor his intellect is sensitive. He
+has a monologue on sea-sickness: it is all nonsense, imagination. It
+denotes weakness, not so much of the stomach as of the mentality, the
+will, the character. And besides, you don't call _this_ rough, do you?
+You ought to have crossed with him in the old _Nausia_ in 'eighty-nine.
+Fourteen days and the racks never off the table! Only two other
+passengers at meals, and--don't you feel it coming?--the captain said it
+was the--but you fill in the rest. Ah, if the _Nausia_ had only sunk
+with all on board!
+
+[Illustration: QUITE THE NICEST PLACE ON THE WHOLE SHIP IS THE
+SMOKE-ROOM.]
+
+When the voyage is smooth and the Cheerful One is denied the joy of
+making sea-sick folk feel sicker, he is disappointed but not idle, for
+he may still extort confessions from untravelled persons. You know
+him: the solid, red-faced man who dresses for dinner and sits at the
+head of the table eating fried things loud and long when it is rough. He
+wears travel as though it were the Order of the Garter, and tells you,
+between mouthfuls, about all the ships that sail the seas. "No, sir!
+Pardon _me!_ The table on this ship cannot compare with that of the old
+_Gorgic_. The _Potterdam's_ the only ship for table outside the
+Ritz-Carlton boats, though Captain Van der Plank's a personal friend of
+mine. He knows what eating _is_, sir! Still, I like the small boats--no
+elevators, gymnasiums, and swimming-pools for me. I like to know I'm at
+sea, sir." And all the time he's casting round for a victim who has
+never been across before.
+
+You see, there is something very ignominious in making a first
+transatlantic trip. No one should ever do it. Everybody should begin
+with the second or third trip. Yet I remember a little Kansas City
+lawyer I met on the _New Amsterdam_, who didn't seem to be ashamed of
+owning up. He was bald-headed and, despite the twinkling eyes behind his
+spectacles, solemn-looking. His bald head felt a draught from an open
+port-hole during dinner on the first night out, and it was when he asked
+the "waiter" to "close the window" that the "seasoned traveller" (as
+they love to call themselves) snapped up his cue. Turning in his seat
+and bringing his wide white shirt-front to bear full upon his victim, he
+raised a foghorn voice and asked the dreaded question:
+
+"Ever been abroad before?"
+
+We all squirmed with sympathy for the little man.
+
+"No," he replied, looking up with a mild, innocent expression.
+
+The shirt-front bulged; the watery blue eyes looked up and down the
+table for attention, then:
+
+"That so?" with a patronising air of feigned surprise. "_I've_ been
+over thirty-four times!"
+
+"Ever been in Omaha?" returned the lawyer blandly.
+
+"Why--no."
+
+"That so?" replied the lawyer, with fine mimetic quality. "_I_ go there
+every week!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Oh, Innocents, as you set out on your first trip abroad, don't let
+yourself be bullied by the boastful! Call the steward a waiter, call the
+port-hole a window, call the promenade deck the front porch, but call
+oh, call the transatlantic bully down! Be ready for him the instant he
+bawls that he's a member of the Travellers' Club. For the rest, be the
+ingenuous traveller, if you like. Be the man who has a mania for sitting
+at the captain's table, the man who goes abroad to get a lot of labels
+on his suit-case, the man who buys a set on Broadway (for two dollars)
+and sticks them on at home, the man who howls when bands play "Dixie,"
+the man who wears the Stars and Stripes upon his hat, the man who
+gambles with the racy-looking stranger underneath the warning smoke-room
+sign (and stops payment on the cheque by cable), be personally
+conducted, be anything you like; but if you ever get to patronising
+people who are sea-sick, if you ever get to being proud of having
+crossed the ocean oftener than little Kansas City lawyers, do this:
+
+Wait until the ship is settled for the night, go out on the dark deck,
+step over to the rail, and place the left hand lightly but firmly upon
+it. Then give an upward and outward jump, raising the feet and legs to
+the right, in such manner as to permit them to pass freely over the
+obstruction. When they are well over, remove the left hand from the
+rail. This is called vaulting. The water may be cold, but you won't mind
+it very long. And one word more: Don't gurgle; somebody might hear you
+and stupidly spoil all by crying out, "Man overboard!"
+
+If you decide to "end it all"--which, I believe, is the expression
+adopted by the best authorities--there is one humane suggestion I would
+make. End it before the ship's concert. There's absolutely no use in
+just living on and saying you won't go to the concert, for that is just
+what everybody else says, yet everybody always goes. There is a horrible
+fascination about a ship's concert, something hypnotic that draws you,
+very much against your word and will. I always think of it as a sort of
+awful antidote that is given to the passengers to counteract the poison
+of the steady boredom of the ship. It is an event in the voyage, just as
+the appendicitis operation is an event in life. And as the only people
+who enjoy the appendicitis operation are the doctors, the only people
+who go gaily to the concert are those who go there to perform.
+
+The chairman, for instance, enjoys it very much. He is a peer, a member
+of Parliament, or the United States consul at Shepherd's Bush, and he
+begins his speech by stating that the proceeds of the entertainment will
+be equally divided between the Seamen's Funds of New York and Liverpool,
+or somewhere else. It is then necessary to explain what seamen are. They
+are "these brave, watchful fellows who have our lives in their hands."
+At this, the chairman looks at the table stewards, who stand about the
+walls with their napkins and their middle-class grins; brave, watchful
+fellows trying to look as if they really held our lives and not our
+dinners in their hands.
+
+His duty to the Seamen's Funds accomplished, the chairman passes on to
+other things. Just what they are depends upon his nationality. If he be
+a British chairman, his speech will be composed of throaty sounds,
+coughs, clearings of the throat, and mumblings, through which the quick
+ear of the auditor may catch the following remarks:
+
+"As a matter of fact----"
+
+"Don't you know----"
+
+"I mean to say----"
+
+Now and then there comes a British chairman with a wide oratorical
+scope. In his case these additional expressions will occur:
+
+"After all, now----"
+
+"You Americans----"
+
+"Eh, what?"
+
+With the American chairman it is different. You understand his speech
+and only wish you didn't. After telling you that "it is a great
+pleasure," he continues through allusions to:
+
+"This international occasion----"
+
+"Our English cousins----"
+
+"Hands across the sea----"
+
+"Blood is thicker than water----"
+
+Then comes a humourous story about an Englishman, an American, and an
+Irishman, at which the English passengers laugh, having a tradition
+that "you Yankees are such droll chaps!" The chairman now switches
+quickly from the quasi-ridiculous to the pseudo-sublime, and works up to
+his big moment, which has for its climax the table-pounding statement
+that "the Anglo-Saxon race must and shall predominate!"
+
+This is violently applauded by everybody but a Frenchman, who writhes
+horribly and Fletcherises his handkerchief.
+
+[Illustration: YOUR CAP GOES FLYING OVERBOARD; YOUR CIGAR IS BLOWN TO
+SHREDS.]
+
+When the applause is over, the entertainment begins with the
+announcement that the Opera-Singer and the Polish Pianist are unable to
+appear, owing to indisposition--which really means an ingrowing
+disposition not to do so. They have, however, sent "liberal donations"
+to the Fund. We then find that "we are nevertheless so fortunate as to
+have with us to-night" a young actor. The Actor gives a serio-comic
+recitation. But his encore is his _piece de resistance_. It proves to
+be a vivid verse about marine disaster, a form of selection obviously
+suited to the occasion. Where, except at a ship's concert, can one get
+the full value of such lines as
+
+  "We are lost!" the captain shouted,
+  As he staggered down the stair--
+
+By turning one's head only slightly, one can actually see the stair, all
+ready for the captain. Suppose we hit a derelict at this very moment! We
+might see the whole thing acted out!
+
+After this recitation some one tries to play on the piano. In the middle
+of the piece the ship gives an obliging lurch, but to no purpose; for,
+though the performer slips off the stool, striking with his hands
+something that sounds like the lost chord, and with his body two ladies
+who are waiting for their turn, he is picked up and put back on the
+stool to finish.
+
+When he has done so, his rescuers spring blithely forward, one playing
+the accompaniment very badly while the other renders "Araby." "Araby" is
+always sung at a ship's concert. Likewise a young Englishman invariably
+sings "The Powder Monkey."
+
+The English have peculiar views on singing. Mere matters of voice and
+ear make not the slightest difference to them. It is like going to war,
+or playing on the flute: one can't refuse, I mean to say, if one is
+asked. Eh, what? The only man in England who has a right to say he
+cannot sing is one who is literally dumb, and as he cannot say it, it is
+never said. And so, you see, Britannia Rules the Wave, and all that sort
+of thing.
+
+At the end of the concert, "God Save the King" strikes up, and everybody
+rises and lifts such voice as he has in song, the American passengers
+labouring under a conviction that the words begin "My country, 'tis of
+thee," until the Britons drown them out.
+
+But we have our turn, for "The Star-Spangled Banner" is played
+immediately after. The words of this excellent song (as Mr. Rupert
+Hughes has pointed out) begin with something of this sort:
+
+  Oh say, can you see by the dawn's early light
+  How the la ta-ta ta, and the ta-ta ta tum-tum.
+
+So we proceed until we reach the spirited "ba-a-an-ner ye-et wa-ave,"
+and the shrieking climax of "the la-and--of--the--free-e-e-e!" The
+object of the game is not to let the British find out that we don't know
+the words.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+On German ships, particularly those in the Mediterranean service, the
+gay occasion of the voyage will be the Captain's Dinner, a function
+which doubtless draws its name from the fact that the captain is
+invariably absent from the table. But if the captain doesn't come,
+everybody else does, and there is more dress than usual, and there are
+lights inside the ices. After dinner, the deck is illuminated with
+coloured electric bulbs, the band plays, and the people "trip the light
+fantastic toe," as country papers put it. On German liners it's not
+always light, but it is frequently fantastic.
+
+There are two great events that occur on this occasion. Some young men
+from the section which is the backbone of our country--if not it's
+fashion centre--appear on deck in dinner-coats and derby hats. They have
+read somewhere a fashion note stating that "the derby or bowler hat is
+the one headpiece _de rigueur_ with the Tuxedo or dinner suit," and they
+mean to be _comme il faut_ upon their trip abroad, or "bust." The other
+great event is the ship's belle in her pink chiffon. It makes you almost
+wish you were a dancing-man, to see her. But there are dancing-men
+enough--among them the ship's doctor. He leads her in the mazes of the
+waltz and, while dancing, is given an anaesthetic, in shape of a
+languishing glance or two. Before he comes to, his partner has performed
+a minor operation on him--the amputation of a button.
+
+You overhear her on the tender, as you leave the ship next day: "Oh,
+yes, I love the sea. You can let yourself go and be sure of getting out
+of everything in a week!" Perhaps you see her in Paris, with new
+escorts. Perhaps she is on the same boat when you go home again. And if
+she's not, there's some one else just like her. And also there is some
+one just like each of the other passengers with whom you left New York.
+
+But for all that, there are differences between the voyage east and the
+voyage west. Letters of credit have shrunk, wardrobes have increased,
+and the handiwork of the European bill-poster may be seen on trunks and
+bags as that of his American confrere is seen at home on ash-barrels
+and fences. And there's more to talk about when you are going west:
+Paris dressmakers, European hotels, and the American custom-house. If
+you talk with Europeans, it is always nice to give them fresh
+impressions as to what's the matter with their country and with them.
+
+So the gray, dismal voyage passes. At last there comes the morning when
+you wake to see the sunshine streaming through your port-hole; when,
+though your clothing and the flowered cretonne curtains of your berth
+are swinging freely back and forth in time with creaking sounds which
+chase each other through the bounding ship, you do not care, because
+your heart is glowing with an unaccustomed happiness.
+
+"Fane brate day, sir," says the steward, in a cheery voice, as he brings
+in your hotwater can.
+
+[Illustration: THERE IS A HORRIBLE FASCINATION ABOUT A SHIP'S CONCERT,
+SOMETHING HYPNOTIC THAT DRAWS YOU, VERY MUCH AGAINST YOUR WORD AND
+WILL.]
+
+"A little rougher, isn't it?" you return, as if you hoped it was.
+
+"A bit _fresher_, perhaps, sir," he corrects. "She did put 'er foot in a
+few 'oles lahst night. See the land, sir?"
+
+Ah, that's why you're so gay!
+
+"Land! Where?"
+
+You leap from your berth to the port-hole in one bound.
+
+A schooner and a coastwise steamer are in sight, gulls are swinging in
+long circles with the ship, and far away on the horizon lies a haze
+which is America.
+
+You dress with care and hurry to the deck. You bow and give a gay "good
+morning!" to some people you've not spoken to before. You even have a
+word for the man who always walks with a pedometer, and the one who is
+coming back from Germany after having put a noiseless soup-spoon on the
+market. The deck is all abloom with pretty girls in pretty hats and
+pretty suits.
+
+Even the ship is making ready for the shore. Hatches are off, busy
+donkey-engines are hustling mail-bags up from dark recesses within,
+stewards are smiling as they rush about with trunks and rolls of rugs.
+
+"I'm Boots, sir. Don't forget Boots, sir."
+
+Ah, no, good Boots! Thrice welcome, Boots! And here's thy toll, already
+set aside, like all the other tips, in envelopes.
+
+Land ho!
+
+The world is blithe and gay--except for one depressing thought. The
+nearer you get to the New York custom-house, the heavier becomes the
+load of luggage on your mind. Dresses, hats, wraps, lingerie, so gaily
+bought in Paris, lie withering like Dead Sea fruit in the forlorn cold
+storage of furiously labelled wardrobe trunks.
+
+"_Must_ I declare that Paris motor-coat? It never fitted, and it's
+fairly worn to shreds!"
+
+"Yes, dear, everything. And sh-h! There are spotters on the ships, you
+know."
+
+The United States custom-house spotter ought to look like a detective,
+but he doesn't. Instead of playing Foxy Quiller, he plays bridge, and
+probably with you. He adores the ladies--the dear ladies, God bless 'em!
+For it is the ladies whom the spotter mostly spots: the pretty ladies
+with big state-rooms and big trunks and big hats; the pretty ladies with
+the little maids and little evening gowns and little pearls. The spotter
+has to be the sort of man these ladies like, or else the Government will
+change his spots. In short, he is a perfect dear! So when, at bridge, he
+makes the coy confession that he is taking French silk stockings over to
+his sister and wonders if he'll "have trouble on the pier," your wife
+tells him just what she is doing. ("One can't mistake a gentleman!") She
+tells him that she's going into her state-room to sew some New York
+labels into Paris gowns and hats--and that is how she comes to lose
+twelve dresses and a twenty-thousand-dollar necklace, and have
+hysterics on the dock, and how she never sends that dinner invitation to
+him at the club in Forty-fourth Street.
+
+
+
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+This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements,
+metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be
+in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES.
+
+Procedures for determining public domain status are described in
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+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for
+eBook #24580 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/24580)