Some few French people are there already, preparing to be ill--(Inever shall forget a dreadful sight I once had in the little dark, dirty, six-foot cabin of a Dover steamer.Four gaunt Frenchmen, but for their pantaloons, in the costume of Adam in Paradise, solemnly anointing themselves with some charm against sea-sickness!)--a few Frenchmen are there, but these, for the most part, and with a proper philosophy, go to the fore-cabin of the ship, and you see them on the fore-deck (is that the name for that part of the vessel which is in the region of the bowsprit?)lowering in huge cloaks and caps; snuffy, wretched, pale, and wet;and not jabbering now, as their wont is on shore.I never could fancy the Mounseers formidable at sea.
There are, of course, many Jews on board.Who ever travelled by steamboat, coach, diligence, eilwagen, vetturino, mule-back, or sledge, without meeting some of the wandering race?
By the time these remarks have been made the steward is on the deck again, and dinner is ready: and about two hours after dinner comes tea; and then there is brandy-and-water, which he eagerly presses as a preventive against what may happen; and about this time you pass the Foreland, the wind blowing pretty fresh; and the groups on deck disappear, and your wife, giving you an alarmed look, descends, with her little ones, to the ladies' cabin, and you see the steward and his boys issuing from their den under the paddle-box, with each a heap of round tin vases, like those which are called, I believe, in America, expectoratoons, only these are larger.
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The wind blows, the water looks greener and more beautiful than ever--ridge by ridge of long white rock passes away."That's Ramsgit," says the man at the helm; and, presently, "That there's Deal--it's dreadful fallen off since the war;" and "That's Dover, round that there pint, only you can't see it." And, in the meantime, the sun has plumped his hot face into the water, and the moon has shown hers as soon as ever his back is turned, and Mrs.--(the wife in general,) has brought up her children and self from the horrid cabin, in which she says it is impossible to breathe;and the poor little wretches are, by the officious stewardess and smart steward (expectoratoonifer), accommodated with a heap of blankets, pillows, and mattresses, in the midst of which they crawl, as best they may, and from the heaving heap of which are, during the rest of the voyage, heard occasional faint cries, and sounds of puking woe!
Dear, dear Maria! Is this the woman who, anon, braved the jeers and brutal wrath of swindling hackney-coachmen; who repelled the insolence of haggling porters, with a scorn that brought down their demands at least eighteenpence? Is this the woman at whose voice servants tremble; at the sound of whose steps the nursery, ay, and mayhap the parlor, is in order? Look at her now, prostrate, prostrate--no strength has she to speak, scarce power to push to her youngest one--her suffering, struggling Rosa,--to push to her the--the instrumentoon!
In the midst of all these throes and agonies, at which all the passengers, who have their own woes (you yourself--for how can you help THEM?--you are on your back on a bench, and if you move all is up with you,) are looking on indifferent--one man there is who has been watching you with the utmost care, and bestowing on your helpless family the tenderness that a father denies them.He is a foreigner, and you have been conversing with him, in the course of the morning, in French--which, he says, you speak remarkably well, like a native in fact, and then in English (which, after all, you find is more convenient).What can express your gratitude to this gentleman for all his goodness towards your family and yourself--you talk to him, he has served under the Emperor, and is, for all that, sensible, modest, and well-informed.He speaks, indeed, of his countrymen almost with contempt, and readily admits the superiority of a Briton, on the seas and elsewhere.One loves to meet with such genuine liberality in a foreigner, and respects the man who can sacrifice vanity to truth.This distinguished foreigner has travelled much; he asks whither you are going?--where you stop? if you have a great quantity of luggage on board?--and laughs when he hears of the twenty-seven packages, and hopes you have some friend at the custom-house, who can spare you the monstrous trouble of unpacking that which has taken you weeks to put up.Nine, ten, eleven, the distinguished foreigner is ever at your side; you find him now, perhaps, (with characteristic ingratitude,) something of a bore, but, at least, he has been most tender to the children and their mamma.At last a Boulogne light comes in sight, (you see it over the bows of the vessel, when, having bobbed violently upwards, it sinks swiftly down,) Boulogne harbor is in sight, and the foreigner says,--The distinguished foreigner says, says he--"Sare, eef you af no 'otel, I sall recommend you, milor, to ze 'Otel Betfort, in ze Quay, sare, close to the bathing-machines and custom-ha-oose.Good bets and fine garten, sare; table-d'hote, sare, a cinq heures;breakfast, sare, in French or English style;--I am the commissionaire, sare, and vill see to your loggish."...Curse the fellow, for an impudent, swindling, sneaking French humbug!--Your tone instantly changes, and you tell him to go about his business: but at twelve o'clock at night, when the voyage is over, and the custom-house business done, knowing not whither to go, with a wife and fourteen exhausted children, scarce able to stand, and longing for bed, you find yourself, somehow, in the Hotel Bedford (and you can't be better), and smiling chambermaids carry off your children to snug beds; while smart waiters produce for your honor--a cold fowl, say, and a salad, and a bottle of Bordeaux and Seltzer-water.
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