Butler, William Francis, 1838-1910 / 2008-11-15 00:00:00
A long line of smoke hanging suspended between sky and sea marked
the unseen course of another steamship farther away to the south. A
hill-top, blue and lonely, rose above the rugged coast-line, the far-off
summit of some inland mountain; and as evening came down over the still
tranquil ocean and the vessel clove her outward way through
phosphorescent water, the lights along the iron coast grew fainter in
distance till there lay around only the unbroken circle of the sea.
ON BOARD.-A trip across the Atlantic is now-a-days a very ordinary
business; in fact, it is no longer a voyage-it is a run, you may almost
count its duration to within four hours; and as for fine weather, blue
skies, and calm seas, if they come, you may be thankful for them, but
don't expect them, and you won't add a sense of disappointment to one of
discomfort. Some experience of the Atlantic enables me to affirm that
north or south of 35 degrees north and south latitude there exists no such
thing as pleasant sailing.
But the usual run of weather, time, and tide outside the ship is not
more alike in its characteristics than the usual run of passenger one
meets inside. There is the man who has never been sea-sick in his life,
and there is the man who has never felt well upon board ship, but who,
nevertheless, both manage to consume about fifty meals of solid food in
ten days.
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