AS SPECIAL CORRESPONDENT TO IRELAND
by Margaret Dixon McDougall
A TOUR THROUGH IRELAND
OFF - EXPERIENCES IN A PULLMAN CAR - HOARDING THE "ONTARIO" - THE CAPTAIN -
THE SEA AND SEA-SICKNESS - IMAGININGS IN THE STORM - LANDING AT
On January 27th I bade good-bye to my friends and set my face resolutely
towards the land whither I had desired to return. Knowing that sickness
and unrest were before me, I formed an almost cast-iron resolution, as
Samantha would say, to have one good night's rest on that Pulman car
before setting out on the raging seas. Alas! a person would persist in
floating about, coming occasionally to fumble in my belongings in the
upper berth. Prepared to get nervous. Before it came to that, I sat up
and enquired if the individual had lost anything, when he disappeared.
Lay down and passed another resolution. Some who were sitting up began
to smoke, and the fumes of tobacco floated in behind the curtains, clung
there and filled all the space and murdered sleep. Watched the heavy
dark shelf above, stared at the cool white snow outside, wished that all
smokers were exiled to Virginia or Cuba, or that they were compelled to
breathe up their own smoke, until the morning broke cold and foggy.
Emerged from behind the curtains, and blessed the man who invented cold
water. Too much disturbed by the last night's dose of second-hand smoke
for breakfast at Island Pond.