Louise B. Robinson
A Bundle of Letters from over the Sea
Published by Good Press, 2019
EAN 4064066183042
Table of Contents
A BUNDLE OF LETTERS FROM OVER THE SEA.
PREFACE.
In presenting my little book to the public, I feel that I should apologize for so doing, instead of introducing it; for at the time my letters were written I had no idea of publishing them. Since my return, however, several friends who had read them have assured me that they greatly enjoyed them, and felt that others would do so, also, had they the opportunity. The letters have, at least, the merit of being fresh and honest impressions of the places described, as they were written on the spots. Remembering how eagerly I have always read letters of travel, I sincerely hope that mine may prove a source of pleasure to some—to those who have been over the same ground, and to many who have the pleasure in anticipation. I am aware that the route I describe is a well-worn thoroughfare, but every eye has its own perspective, and different views of the same pictures assist the sight-seer in comprehending the whole. Therefore, I here beg the charity of all into whose hands this little book may fall.
L. B. R.
Hotel Oxford, Boston, December 20, 1889.
LETTER I.
Cunard Royal Mail Steamship Etruria, Mid-Ocean, June 12.
Well, was not this starting for Europe in a hurry? I left Boston Saturday, June 9th, at five A.M., only deciding the day previous to go. A number of letters and telegrams, from New York, urging me to join a delightful party who were to make the journey, proved to be too much of a temptation to accept the change I so much needed, to resist. For several previous seasons I have seen friends off, honestly glad to have them enjoy so much, but after awhile enthusiasm in the pleasures of others, who enjoy much and leave you behind to be glad for them, grows dull, like champagne long uncorked, not much sparkle to it, ‘for all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.’ A hurried packing; good-by letters; messenger boys running here and there; a turning of the keys; and I am off. To my maid, to the elevator boy, to the expressman and the coachman, I excitedly said, ‘I am going to Europe,’ but their faces did not light up with delight as I expected they would; and I thought—How unappreciative we all are, after all, of other people’s enthusiasm. The train was a slow one, but the only one that could possibly get me to New York in time to take the steamer. Some trouble with the machinery of the engine detained us, and I spent the time, while the cars were stopped, praying to be resigned, if I had got to be disappointed, as, for a while, matters looked as if it would be impossible for me to reach my friends on the hour for the ship to sail. But prayers and the work of an ingenious Yankee mechanic carried us through. It was after 3 P.M. when we rolled into the Grand Central Depot. I rushed into the nearest cab like one mad—urged, coaxed, and fee’d my driver, who quickly comprehended the situation and ran his horses to the best of their speed, and did get me to the Cunard Wharf about ten minutes before the Etruria moved; but it was in truth a ‘John Gilpin ride.’ My friends were on the lookout with anxious eyes, and, when they caught a sight of me, greeted my appearance with shouts of delight. After the excitement was over, we settled down into an ‘all right’ atmosphere and looked about. The sights that met my eyes I shall never forget. The huge ship with the bright-colored flags flying, the hundreds of people crowded on her, hundreds more on the wharf, throwing kisses, waving handkerchiefs and adieus, everybody loaded with flowers, many laughing and more crying. ‘God bless you. Take care of yourselves. Write soon and often,’ were the oft-repeated words we heard. The planks are drawn, the band struck up ‘The Girl I left behind me,’ and off we steamed down the beautiful harbor of New York, fast leaving the shores of America in the distance. I thought of all the loved friends we were sailing away from, in the body but not in spirit, and asked our dear ‘Father in Heaven’ to take care of us all. I was tired, so dined early, settled things a little in our state-room, and retired. I went immediately to sleep, without a care, like a weary, confiding child on its mother’s breast, and did not once awaken until nine the next morning—Sunday. My rest was perfect, thus ‘rocked in the cradle of the deep,’ while the waves sung to me their sweet lullaby. I arose feeling thoroughly refreshed—rubbed my eyes well to be convinced that I was not dreaming, and that in reality I was far out at sea. We have a fine state-room; two wide berths and a sofa; and only F. and I its occupants; plenty of room for our things, and two looking-glasses; so we shall be sure to keep amiable on this trip. The Etruria is a beautiful and an immense steamer. Four hundred persons make up the crew and she takes fifty engineers. We have a music room, a library, a large saloon, reception rooms, dining room, etc., all finely and conveniently furnished and spacious. We have six hundred passengers on board, all first class, and a fairly good-looking crowd