Olivia in India | Page 2

does not make her
look plain, and that, you will admit, is a severe test; and what is more,
her nature is as healthy and sweet as her face. You will laugh and say it
is like me to know all about anyone in three days, but two sea-sick and
home-sick people shut up in a tiny cabin can exhibit quite a lot of traits,
pleasant and otherwise, in three days.
Well, we dressed, and reaching the saloon, sank into our seats only to
leave again hurriedly when a steward approached to know if we would
have porridge or kippered herring! I know you are never sea-sick,
unlovable creature that you are, so you won't sympathize with us as we
lay limp and wretched in our deck-chairs on the damp and draughty
deck. Even the fact that our deck-chairs were brand-new, and had our
names boldly painted in handsome black letters across the back, failed
to give us a thrill of pleasure. At last it became too utterly miserable to
be borne. The sight of the deck-steward bringing round cups of
half-cold beef-tea with grease spots floating on the top proved the last
straw, so, with a graceful, wavering flight like a woodcock, we
zigzagged to our bunks, where we have remained ever since.
I don't know where we are. I expect Ushant has slammed the door on us
long ago. Our little world is bounded by the four walls of the cabin. All
day we lie and listen to the swish of the waves as they tumble past, and
watch our dressing-gowns hanging on the door swing backwards and
forwards with the motion. At intervals the stewardess comes in, a nice
Scotswoman,--Corrie, she tells me, is her home-place,--and brings the
menu of breakfast--luncheon--dinner, and we turn away our heads and
say, "Nothing--nothing!" Our steward is a funny little man, very small
and thin, with pale yellow hair; he reminds me of a moulting canary,
and his voice cheeps and is rather canary-like too. He is really a very

kind little steward and trots about most diligently on our errands, and
tries to cheer us by tales of the people he has known who have died of
sea-sickness: "Strained their 'earts, Miss, that's wot they done!" It isn't
very cheerful lying here, looking out through the port-hole, now at the
sky, next at the sea, but what it would have been without G. I dare not
think. We have certainly helped each other through this time of trial. It
is a wonderful blessing, a companion in misfortune.
But where, you may ask, is the third occupant of the cabin? Would it
not have been fearful if she, too, had been stretched on a couch of
languishing? Happily she is a good sailor, though she doesn't look it.
She is a little woman with a pale green complexion and a lot of sleek
black hair, and somehow gives one the impression of having a great
many more teeth than is usual. Her name is Mrs. Murray, and she is
going to India to rejoin her husband, who rejoices in the name of Albert.
Sometimes I feel a little sorry for Albert, but perhaps, after all, he
deserves what he has got. She has very assertive manners. I think she
regards G. and me as two young women who want keeping in their
places, though I am sure we are humble enough now whatever we may
be in a state of rude health. Happily she has friends on board, so she
rarely comes to the cabin except to tidy up before meals, and afterwards
to tell us exactly everything she has eaten. She seems to have a good
appetite and to choose the things that sound nastiest when one is seedy.
No--I don't like Mrs. Murray much; but I dislike her hat-box more. It is
large and square and black, and it has no business in the cabin, it ought
to be in the baggage-room. Lying up here I am freed from its tyranny,
but on Saturday, when I was unpacking, it made my life a burden. It
blocks up the floor under my hooks, and when I hang things up I fall
over it backwards, when I sit on the floor, which I have to do every
time I pull out my trunk, it hits me savagely on the spine, and once,
when I tried balancing it on a small chest of drawers, it promptly fell
down on my head and I have still a large and painful bump as a
memento.
I wonder if you will be able to make this letter out? I am writing it a
little bit at a time, to keep myself from getting too dreadfully
down-hearted. G. and I have both very damp handkerchiefs under our