People began to find the sea "an unpleasant fact." I
heard no more Byronic quotations about its "glad waters," or comments on
the "splendid run" - these were changed into anxious questions as to when
we should reach Liverpool? and, if we were in danger? People querulously
complained of the ale, hitherto their delight; abused the meat; thought
the mulligatawny "horrid stuff;" and wondered how they could ever have
thought plum-puddings fit for anything but pigs. Mysterious disappearances
were very common; diligent peripatetics were seen extended on sofas, or
feebly promenading under shelter of the bulwarks; while persons who prided
themselves on their dignity sustained ignominious falls, or clung to
railings in a state of tottering decrepitude, in an attempted progress
down the saloon. Though we had four ledges on the tables, cruets, bottles
of claret, and pickles became locomotive, and jumped upon people's laps;
almost everything higher than a plate was upset - pickles, wine, ale, and
oil forming a most odoriferous mixture; but these occurrences became too
common to be considered amusing. Two days before reaching England the gale
died away, and we sighted Cape Clear at eight o'clock on the evening of
the eleventh day out. A cold chill came off from the land, we were
enveloped in a damp fog, and the inclemency of the air reminded us of what
we had nearly forgotten, namely, that we were close upon Christmas.
The greater part of Sunday we were steaming along in calm water, within
sight of the coast of Ireland, and extensive preparations were being made
for going ashore - some people of sanguine dispositions had even decided
what they would order for dinner at the Adelphi. Morning service was
very fully attended, and it was interesting to hear the voices of people
of so many different creeds and countries joining in that divinely-taught
prayer which proclaims the universal brotherhood of the human race,
knowing that in a few hours those who then met in adoration would be
separated, to meet no more till summoned by the sound of the last trumpet.
Those who expected to spend Sunday night on shore were disappointed. A
gale came suddenly on us about four o'clock, sails were hastily taken in,
orders were hurriedly given and executed, and the stewards were in
despair, when a heavy lurch of the ship threw most of the things off the
table before dinner, mingling cutlery, pickles, and broken glass and
china, in one chaotic heap on the floor. As darkness came on, the gale
rose higher, the moon was obscured, the rack in heavy masses was driving
across the stormy sky, and scuds of sleet and spray made the few venturous
persons on deck cower under the nearest shelter to cogitate the lines -
"Nights like these,
When the rough winds wake western seas,
Brook not of glee."
I might dwell upon the fury of that night - upon the awful blasts which
seemed about to sweep the seas of every human work - upon our unanswered
signals - upon the length of time while we were
"Drifting, drifting, drifting,
On the shifting
Currents of the restless main" -
upon the difficulty of getting the pilot on board - and the heavy seas
through which our storm-tossed bark entered the calmer waters of the
Mersey: but I must hasten on.
Night after night had the French and English passengers joined in drinking
with enthusiasm the toast "La prise de Sebastopol" - night after night
had the national pride of the representatives of the allied nations
increased, till we almost thought in our ignorant arrogance that at the
first thunder of our guns the defences of Sebastopol would fall, as did
those of Jericho at the sound of the trumpets of Joshua. Consequently,
when the pilot came on board with the newspaper, most of the gentlemen
crowded to the gangway, prepared to give three cheers for the fall of
Sebastopol!
The pilot brought the news of victory - but it was of the barren victory of
Inkermann. A gloom fell over the souls of many, as they read of our
serried ranks mown down by the Russian fire, of heroic valour and heroic
death. The saloon was crowded with eager auditors as the bloody tidings
were made audible above the roar of winds and waters. I could scarcely
realise the gloomy fact that many of those whom I had seen sail forth in
hope and pride only ten months before were now sleeping under the cold
clay of the Crimea. Three cheers for the victors of Inkermann, and three
for our allies, were then heartily given, though many doubted whether the
heroic and successful resistance of our troops deserved the name of
victory.
Soon after midnight we anchored in the Mersey, but could not land till
morning, and were compelled frequently to steam up to our anchors, in
consequence of the fury of the gale. I felt some regret at leaving the
good old steamship America, which had borne us so safely across the
"vexed Atlantic," although she rolls terribly, and is, in her admirable
captain's own words, "an old tub, but slow and sure." She has since
undergone extensive repairs, and I hope that the numerous passengers who
made many voyages in her in the shape of rats have been permanently
dislodged.
Those were sacred feelings with which I landed upon the shores of England.
Although there appeared little of confidence in the present, and much of
apprehension for the future, I loved her better when a shadow was upon her
than in the palmy days of her peace and prosperity.
