All the usual provisions for comfort made by seagoing experts we had attended to.  Impermeable rugs and fleecy shawls, head-gear to defy the rudest northeasters, sea-chairs of ample dimensions, which we took care to place in as sheltered situations as we could find,—­all these were a matter of course.  Everybody stays on deck as much as possible, and lies wrapped up and spread out at full length on his or her sea-chair, so that the deck looks as if it had a row of mummies on exhibition.  Nothing is more comfortable, nothing, I should say, more indispensable, than a hot-water bag,—­or rather, two hot-water bags; for they will burst sometimes, as I found out, and a passenger who has become intimate with one of these warm bosom friends feels its loss almost as if it were human.

Passengers carry all sorts of luxuries on board, in the firm faith that they shall be able to profit by them all.  Friends send them various indigestibles.  To many all these well-meant preparations soon become a mockery, almost an insult.  It is a clear case of Sic(k) vos non vobis.  The tougher neighbor is the gainer by these acts of kindness; the generosity of a sea-sick sufferer in giving away the delicacies which seemed so desirable on starting is not ranked very high on the books of the recording angel.  With us three things were best:  grapes, oranges, and especially oysters, of which we had provided a half barrel in the shell.  The “butcher” of the ship opened them fresh for us every day, and they were more acceptable than anything else.

Among our ship’s company were a number of family relatives and acquaintances.  We formed a natural group at one of the tables, where we met in more or less complete numbers.  I myself never missed; my companion, rarely.  Others were sometimes absent, and sometimes came to time when they were in a very doubtful state, looking as if they were saying to themselves, with Lear,—­

  “Down, thou climbing sorrow,
  Thy element’s below.”

As for the intellectual condition of the passengers, I should say that faces were prevailingly vacuous, their owners half hypnotized, as it seemed, by the monotonous throb and tremor of the great sea-monster on whose back we were riding.  I myself had few thoughts, fancies, emotions.  One thing above all struck me as never before,—­the terrible solitude of the ocean.

  “So lonely ’twas that God himself
  Scarce seemed there to be.”

Whole days passed without our seeing a single sail.  The creatures of the deep which gather around sailing vessels are perhaps frightened off by the noise and stir of the steamship.  At any rate, we saw nothing more than a few porpoises, so far as I remember.