CHAPTER XXVI.

After passing out at the Golden Gate, all three of the steamers were visible, each freighted with a rich cargo of human beings, and cleaving for themselves a pathway through the blue waters. The “Uncle Sam” and “Panama” were bound direct to Panama; the “Cortez” to San Juan.

The first night out on board a crowded steamer! Who that has experienced it can _ever_ forget the confusion, the sea-sickness, the dissatisfaction reigning among room-mates, the squalling of parrots, the crying of babies, and all sorts of annoyances incident to the occasion?

For a person like myself, who was not sea-sick, and had no babies to worry about, and had only to enact the part of a silent spectator, the Babel-like confusion which reigned triumphant only served to divert my mind from my own sad thoughts, and I began to study the characters of my room-mates, through the science of physiognomy.

In our state-room, which opened upon the main deck, were three berths and a sofa. My ticket called for the sofa, which was a nice, soft, velvet one, and far preferable to a berth. My room-mates were an elderly lady, and her married daughter, who had a babe eight months old. Then there was an adopted daughter, about sixteen years of age, and a noisy parrot. This elderly lady also had a son on board,--a great, over-grown boy, who had taken a second-cabin passage, with the idea of lodging in the room with his mother.

The back of the sofa could be lifted up, so as to form a sort of shelf over the seat. This shelf, directly over the person who was lying upon the sofa, would be decidedly disagreeable and uncomfortable. The mother planned for that great boy to sleep upon this shelf, directly over me. To this I, of course, objected, knowing that he had a berth provided for him in the second cabin. Upon my objecting, the mother became determined that he _should_ sleep there. I then appealed to the young man, asking him if he thought it would be very agreeable to lodge in a little state-room, with three ladies, a baby, and a parrot. He acknowledged it would not, and refused to comply with his mother’s commands. Therefore, I got rid of him; which by no means ingratiated me into favor with the mother, who was very petulant indeed (owing to sea-sickness, I presume). But, after she ascertained that I would not be imposed upon, (if I were little,) she became quite affable, and lamented frequently that our tickets did not call for one and the same room on the Atlantic side.

The married daughter was a very lady-like, genteel sort of a person, totally dissimilar from her mother, and rather a victim to her (the mother’s) dictatorial propensities. The adopted daughter was one of those good-natured, immovable sort of persons, always pleasant, yet doing about as she pleased, although receiving a severe reprimand every five minutes in the day from the old lady. The baby was a little darling, inheriting his mother’s gentle disposition. The parrot was not a whit more quiet than its mistress. As soon as day began to break, he would begin to scream, after this fashion: “Come to breakfast;” “Six o’clock;” “Hot coffee;” “Mother! mother!” and such like expressions. If it was amusing at first, it soon became very annoying. There was one parrot on board so exceedingly profane and annoying, that its life was several times threatened by the passengers who roomed in close proximity to it. The woman to whom it belonged valued it above price. It could speak the English and Spanish languages quite _fluently_. It used to sit nights outside the woman’s room. One morning, she missed its usual chatter, went upon deck, and it was nowhere to be found. Then what a time! Every one was ignorant as to its whereabouts; but a close observer might have detected a roguish twinkle lurking about the eyes of the mate of the ship, as he sympathized with the lady in her bereavement. Finally, the parrot was discovered, made fast to the mast-head of the ship. It was so frightened, it did not resume its usual chatter that day.

After we had been at sea a few days, the weather, which had been agreeably cool, changed to oppressive heat. The air in those little state-rooms was so confined and unhealthy, it behooved those who were able, to rise early in the morning, and go upon deck to inhale the balmy air. But, then, it was rather unpleasant to be hunted about as we were by the sailors, who were washing down the decks. We would perch ourselves upon something; and then, just as we were congratulating one another upon securing a nice seat, swash would come the water in torrents, compelling us to run for another seat, which would only afford us a similar temporary lodgment. If we escaped without getting our feet soaking wet, and our clothes somewhat draggled, we accounted ourselves fortunate in the extreme. After the expiration of a week, how the new faces began to appear! The decks began to get quite crowded. Some of them looked as if they had not been enjoying themselves very well while confined to their state-rooms. I had a great deal of sympathy for those afflicted with that disagreeable nausea; yet I often received kind wishes, to this effect: “How I do wish you could be sick, just for one hour! You would not look so smiling, if you felt as badly as I do.” And yet I was forced to smile, when looking at their wo-begone countenances.

There were two or three female cabin passengers very sick with fever; and, oh, how they suffered, confined in a close state-room, with a raging fever consuming their very vitals!

One of the greatest sufferers was a lady who had been brought on board on a bed. She was dying of consumption. She was sick at home, and her physician had recommended a voyage to California. Thinking she might receive some benefit from a residence in that salubrious climate, her husband had taken her there. She had not remained there long, before she felt convinced that she must die. Then she begged--oh, how earnestly!--to be taken home to see her darling babes once more. If she could be spared to clasp their little forms in one fond embrace, she could die happy. Her doom was sealed. Every day the hectic spot deepened upon that ethereal face; the racking cough increased in hollowness of sound; the fluctuating pulse grew fainter. She was fast hastening to “that bourne from whence no traveller returns.”

The morning sun rose fair, but it shone upon a death-stamped countenance--upon loving lips forever silent--upon the cold hand which gave no returning pressure. She had passed away, with the names of her darlings upon her lips.

As the sun was sinking into the western waters, the steamer’s course was stayed. The body of the devoted wife and loving mother was borne upon deck, covered by the American flag. Near by stood the bereaved husband, whose heart seemed wrung with the keenest sorrow. The stillness of death reigned on board that crowded steamer. In calm, serene accents, a minister of Christ breathed forth an earnest, heart-felt prayer; and the remains were launched into the bosom of the restless ocean. A splash, and all was over. The waves which had parted to receive that form of clay continued their ceaseless motion, and, by their ceaseless music, seemed to be chanting a requiem over the mother’s grave, far, far down, among the coral dells and pearly caves of old ocean’s unfathomed depths!

If the spirits of departed friends are conversant with our spirits, if they are indeed ministering angels to those whom they loved while in the flesh, the midnight slumbers of those motherless babes that night were blessed and sanctified by the seraphic presence of the beatified mother. In their infant dreams, it is the knowledge of her presence which causes those radiant smiles to flit across their fair, innocent faces.

Dear children! Many a tear of sympathy was dropped at the thought of their uncertain future, as the revolving wheels of the steamer carried us farther and farther from their mother’s grave, which they could never look upon!

In a little while, all was gayety and mirth, bustle and confusion, singing and dancing, on board that floating structure. This being my first voyage after the eventful fiery one, my feelings were constantly agitated, thinking it possible a recurrence of those former scenes might be enacted. There were some on board who were acquainted with the history of my voyage out to California; and they had repeated the story to their friends, until it had gained quite an extensive circulation among the ship’s company.

One night, while seated in the door of my state-room, I was very much amused at the remarks passed between two of the sailors, who were laying down hose upon the deck, as was the usual custom, as a precaution against fire. Says one, “Dick, what are you laying that extra hose for?” “Why,” said he, “didn’t you know there is a woman on board who never went to sea but what the ship she was on board of burnt before reaching her destination?”--“There isn’t, though.”--“Yes, there is; and I haven’t the least idea the Uncle Sam will ever reach Panama.”--“Have you seen her? How does she look?”--“I don’t exactly know which one it is; but they say she looks just like any other woman.” Thus the conversation continued for some time, to my great amusement. But the spell was broken; the startling cry of “Fire!” was not heard; and no event of importance occurred, by which the nerves of the most sensitive could be shocked.

We had two more burials at sea before reaching Panama. They were two firemen, who dropped dead while at their posts of duty, during the excessively hot weather.