Overland through Asia; Pictures of Siberian, Chinese, and Tartar | Page 7

civilized world, but I don't know anything about Irkutsk.
Never heard of the place before."
I bowed myself out of the establishment, with a fresh conviction of the
unknown character of the country whither I was bound. I obtained a
letter of credit at the opposition shop, but without a guarantee of its
availability in Northern Asia.
In a foggy atmosphere on the morning of March 21, 1866, I rode
through muddy streets to the dock of the Pacific Mail Steamship
Company. There was a large party to see us off, the passengers having
about three times their number of friends. There were tears, kisses,
embraces, choking sighs, which ne'er might be repeated; blessings and
benedictions among the serious many, and gleeful words of farewell

among the hilarious few. One party of half a dozen became merry over
too much champagne, and when the steward's bell sounded its warning,
there was confusion on the subject of identity. One stout gentleman
who protested that he would go to sea, was led ashore much against his
will.
After leaving the dock, I found my cabin room-mate a gaunt,
sallow-visaged person, who seemed perfectly at home on a steamer. On
my mentioning the subject of sea-sickness, he eyed me curiously and
then ventured an opinion.
"I see," said he, "you are of bilious temperament and will be very ill.
As for myself, I have been a dozen times over the route and am rarely
affected by the ship's motion."
Then he gave me some kind advice touching my conduct when I should
feel the symptoms of approaching mal du mer. I thanked him and
sought the deck. An hour after we passed Sandy Hook, my new
acquaintance succumbed to the evils that afflict landsmen who go down
to the sea in ships. Without any qualm of stomach or conscience, I
returned the advice he had proffered me. I did not suffer a moment
from the marine malady during that voyage, or any subsequent one.[A]
[Footnote A: A few years ago a friend gave me a prescription which he
said would prevent sea-sickness. I present it here as he wrote it.
"The night before going to sea, I take a blue pill (5 to 10 grains) in
order to carry the bile from the liver into the stomach. When I rise on
the following morning, a dose of citrate of magnesia or some kindred
substance finishes my preparation. I take my breakfast and all other
meals afterward as if nothing had happened."
I have used this prescription in my own case with success, and have
known it to benefit others.]
The voyage from New York to San Francisco has been so often 'done'
and is so well watered, that I shall not describe it in detail. Most of the
passengers on the steamer were old Californians and assisted in

endeavoring to make the time pass pleasantly. There was plenty of
whist-playing, story telling, reading, singing, flirtation, and a very large
amount of sleeping. So far as I knew, nobody quarreled or manifested
any disposition to be riotous. There was one passenger, a heavy, burly
Englishman, whose sole occupation was in drinking "arf and arf." He
took it on rising, then another drink before breakfast, then another
between Iris steak and his buttered roll, and so on every half hour until
midnight, when he swallowed a double dose and went to bed. He had a
large quantity in care of the baggage master, and every day or two he
would get up a few dozen pint bottles of pale ale and an equal quantity
of porter. He emptied a bottle of each into a pitcher and swallowed the
whole as easily as an ordinary man would take down a dose of
peppermint. The empty bottles were thrown overboard, and the captain
said that if this man were a frequent passenger there would be danger of
a reef of bottles in the ocean all the way from New York to Aspinwall.
I never saw his equal for swallowing malt liquors. To quote from
Shakspeare, with a slight alteration:
"He was a man, take him for half and half, I ne'er shall look upon his
like again."
[Illustration: ASPINWALL TO PANAMA.]
We had six hours at Aspinwall, a city that could be done in fifteen
minutes, but were allowed no time on shore at Panama. It was late at
night when we left the latter port. The waters were beautifully
phosphorescent, and when disturbed by our motion they flashed and
glittered like a river of stars. Looking over the stern one could half
imagine our track a path of fire, and the bay, ruffled by a gentle breeze,
a waving sheet of light. The Pacific did not belie its name. More than
half the way to San Francisco we