Читать книгу Journal of a Residence in America - Fanny Kemble - Страница 5

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Another break in my journal, and here I am on board the Pacific, bound for America, having left home and all the world behind.—Well!

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We reached the quay just as the ship was being pulled, and pushed, and levered to the entrance of the dock;—the quays were lined with people; among them were several known faces—Mr. ——, Mr. ——. M—— came on board to take my letters, and bid me good-by.

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I had a bunch of carnations in my hand, which I had snatched from our drawing-room chimney;—English flowers! dear English flowers! they will be withered long before I again see land; but I will keep them until I once more stand upon the soil on which they grew.

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The sky had become clouded, and the wind blew cold.

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Came down and put our narrow room to rights.

Worked at my Bible-cover till dinner-time. We dined at half-past three.—The table was excellent—cold dinner, because it was the first day—but every thing was good; and champagne, and dessert, and every luxury imaginable, rendered it as little like a ship-dinner as might be. The man who sat by me was an American; very good-natured, and talkative. Our passengers are all men, with the exception of three; a nice pretty-looking girl, who is going out with her brother; a fat old woman, and a fat young one. I cried almost the whole of dinner-time.

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After dinner the ladies adjourned to their own cabin, and the gentlemen began to debate about regulating the meal hours. They adopted the debating society tone, called my poor dear father to the chair, and presently I heard, oh horror! (what I had not thought to hear again for six weeks) the clapping of hands. They sent him in to consult us about the dinner-hour: and we having decided four o'clock, the debate continued with considerable merriment. Presently my father, Colonel——, and Mr. ——, came into our cabin:—the former read us Washington Irving's speech at the New-York dinner. Some of it is very beautiful; all of it is in good feeling—it made me cry. Oh my home, my land, England, glorious little England! from which this bragging big baby was born, how my heart yearns towards your earth! I sat working till the gentlemen left us, and then wrote journal.

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I am weary and sad, and will try to go and sleep.—It rains: I cannot see the moon.