University of Virginia Library

2. CHAPTER II.
A FORWARD MOVEMENT.

As travellers like to give their own impressions of a journey,
though every inch of the way may have been described a
half a dozen times before, I add some of the notes made by
the way, hoping that they will amuse the reader, and convince
the skeptical that such a being as Nurse Perewinkle
does exist, that she really did go to Washington, and that
these Sketches are not romance.

New York Train—Seven P. M.—Spinning along to take
the boat at New London. Very comfortable; munch ginger-bread,
and Mrs. C.'s fine pear, which deserves honorable mention,
because my first loneliness was comforted by it, and pleasant
recollections of both kindly sender and bearer. Look
much at Dr. H.'s paper of directions—put my tickets in every
conceivable plae, that they may be get-at-able, and finish
by losing them entirely. Suffer agonies till a compassionate
neighbor pokes them out of a crack with his pen-knife. Put
them in the inmost corner of my purse, that in the deepest
recesses of my pocket, pile a collection of miscellaneous articles

atop, and pin up the whole. Just get composed, feeling
that I've done my best to keep them safely, when the Conductor
appears, and I'm forced to rout them all out again, exposing
my precautions, and getting into a flutter at keeping
the man waiting. Finally, fasten them on the seat before me,
and keep one eye steadily upon the yellow torments, till I forget
all about them, in chat with the gentleman who shares my
seat. Having heard complaints of the absurd way in which
American women become images of petrified propriety, if addressed
by strangers, when traveling alone, the inborn perversity
of my nature causes me to assume an entirely opposite
style of deportment; and, finding my companion hails
from Little Athens, is acquainted with several of my three
hundred and sixty-five cousins, and in every way a respectable
and respectful member of society, I put my bashfulness in
my pocket, and plunge into a long conversation on the war,
the weather, music, Carlyle, skating, genius, hoops, and the
immortality of the soul.

Ten, P. M.—Very sleepy. Nothing to be seen outside,
but darkness made visible; nothing inside but every variety
of bunch into which the human form can be twisted, rolled,
or “massed,” as Miss Prescott says of her jewels. Every
man's legs sprawl drowsily, every woman's head (but mine,)
nods, till it finally settles on somebody's shoulder, a new proof
of the truth of the overlasting oak and vine simile; children
fret; lovers whisper; old folks snore, and somebody privately
imbibes brandy, when the lamps go out. The penetrating
perfume rouses the multitude, causing some to start up, like
war horses at the smell of powder. When the lamps are relighted,
every one laughs, sniffs, and looks inquiringly at his
neighbor—every one but a stout gentleman, who, with well-gloved
hands folded upon his broad-cloth rotunuity, sleeps on

impressively. Had he been innocent, he would have waked
up; for, to slumber in that babe-like manner, with a car full
of giggling, staring, sniffing humanity, was simply preposterous.
Public suspicion was down upon him at once. I doubt
if the appearance of a flat black bottle with a label would
have settled the matter more effectually than did the over dignified
and profound repose of this short-sighted being. His
moral neck-cloth, virtuous boots, and pious attitude availed
him nothing, and it was well he kept his eyes shut, for
“Humbug!” twinkled at him from every window-pane, brass
nail and human eye around him.

Eleven, P. M.—In the boat “City of Boston,” escorted
thither by my car acquaintance, and deposited in the cabin.
Trying to look as if the greater portion of my life had been
passed on board boats, but painfully conscious that I don't
know the first thing; so sit bolt upright, and stare about me
till I hear one lady say to another—“We must secure our
berths at once;” whereupon I dart at one, and, while leisurely
taking off my cloak, wait to discover what the second move
may be. Several ladies draw the curtains that hang in a
semi-circle before each nest—instantly I whisk mine smartly
together, and then peep out to see what next. Gradually, on
hooks above the blue and yellow drapery, appear the coats
and bonnets of my neighbors, while their boots and shoes, in
every imaginable attitude, assert themselves below, as if their
owners had committed suicide in a body. A violent creaking,
scrambling, and fussing, causes the fact that people are
going regularly to bed to dawn upon my mind. Of course
they are! and so am I—but pause at the seventh pin, remembering
that, as I was born to be drowned, an eligible opportunity
now presents itself; and, having twice escaped a watery
grave, the third immersion will certainly extinguish my vital

spark. The boat is new, but if it ever intends to blow up,
spring a leak, catch afire, or be run into, it will do the deed
tonight, because I'm here to fulfill my destiny. With tragic
calmness I resign myself, replace my pins, lash my purse and
papers together, with my handkerchief, examine the saving
circumference of my hoop, and look about me for any means
of deliverance when the moist moment shall arrive; for I've
no intention of folding my hands and bubbling to death without
an energetic splashing first. Barrels, hen-coops, portable
settees, and life-preservers do not adorn the cabin, as they
should; and, roving wildly to and fro, my eye sees no ray of
hope till it falls upon a plump old lady, devoutly reading in
the cabin Bible, and a voluminous night-cap. I remember
that, at the swimming school, fat girls always floated best, and
in an instant my plan is laid. At the first alarm I firmly
attach myself to the plump lady, and cling to her through
fire and water; for I feel that my old enemy, the cramp, will
seize me by the foot, if I attempt to swim; and, though I can
hardly expect to reach Jersey City with myself and my baggage
in as good condition as I hoped, I might manage to get
picked up by holding to my fat friend; if not it will be a
comfort to feel that I've made an effort and shall die in good
society. Poor dear woman! how little she dreamed, as she
read and rocked, with her cap in a high state of starch, and her
feet comfortably cooking at the register, what fell designs
were hovering about her, and how intently a small but determined
eye watched her, till it suddenly closed.

Sleep got the better of fear to such an extent that my boots
appeared to gape, and my bonnet nodded on its peg, before I
gave in. Having piled my cloak, bag, rubbers, books and
umbrella on the lower shelf, I drowsily swarmed onto the
upper one, tumbling down a few times, and excoriating the

knobby portions of my frame in the act. A very brief nap
on the upper roost was enough to set me gasping as if a dozen
feather beds and the whole boat were laid over me. Out I
turned; and, after a series of convulsions, which caused my
neighbor to ask if I wanted the stewardess, I managed to get
my luggage up and myself down. But even in the lower
berth, my rest was not unbroken, for various articles kept
dropping off the little shelf at the bottom of the bed, and every
time I flew up, thinking my hour had come, I bumped
my head severely against the little shelf at the top, evidently
put there for that express purpose. At last, after listening to
the swash of the waves outside, wondering if the machinery
usually creaked in that way, and watching a knot-hole in the
side of my berth, sure that death would creep in there as
soon as I took my eye from it, I dropped asleep, and dreamed
of muffins.

Five, A. M.—On deck, trying to wake up and enjoy an
east wind and a morning fog, and a twilight sort of view of
something on the shore. Rapidly achieve my purpose, and
do enjoy every moment, as we go rushing through the Sound,
with steamboats passing up and down, lights dancing on the
shore, mist wreaths slowly furling off, and a pale pink sky
above us, as the sun comes up.

Seven, A. M.—In the cars, at Jersey City. Much fuss
with tickets, which one man scribbles over, another snips, and
a third “makes note on.” Partake of refreshment, in the
gloom of a very large and dirty depot. Think that my sandwiches
would be more relishing without so strong a flavor of
napkin, and my gingerbread more easy of consumption if it
had not been pulverized by being sat upon. People act as if
early travelling didn't agree with them. Children scream and
scamper; men smoke and growl; women shiver and fret; porswear;

great truck horses pace up and down with loads of
baggage; and every one seems to get into the wrong car, and
come tumbling out again. One man, with three children, a
dog, a bird-cage, and several bundles, puts himself and his
possessions into every possible place where a man, three children,
dog, bird-cage and bundles could be got, and is satisfied
with none of them. I follow their movements, with an interest
that is really exhausting, and, as they vanish, hope for
rest, but don't get it. A strong-minded woman, with a tumbler
in her hand, and no cloak or shawl on, comes rushing
through the car, talking loudly to a small porter, who lugs a
folding bed after her, and looks as if life were a burden to
him.

“You promised to have it ready. It is not ready. It must
be a car with a water jar, the windows must be shut, the fire
must be kept up, the blinds must be down. No, this won't
do. I shall go through the whole train, and suit myself, for
you promised to have it ready. It is not ready,” &c., all
through again, like a hand-organ. She haunted the cars, the
depot, the office and baggage-room, with her bed, her tumbler,
and her tongue, till the train started; and a sense of fervent
gratitude filled my soul, when I found that she and her unknown
invalid were not to share our car.

Philadelphia.—An old place, full of Dutch women, in
“bellus top” bonnets, selling vegetables, in long, open markets.
Every one seems to be scrubbing their white steps.
All the houses look like tidy jails, with their outside shutters.
Several have crape on the door-handles, and many have flags
flying from roof or balcony. Few men appear, and the
women seem to do the business, which, perhaps, accounts for
its being so well done. Pass fine buildings, but don't know
what they are. Would like to stop and see my native city;

for, having left it at the tender age of two, my recollections
are not vivid.

Baltimore.—A big, dirty, shippy, shiftless place, full of
goats, geese, colored people, and coal, at least the part of it I
see. Pass near the spot where the riot took place, and feel as
if I should enjoy throwing a stone at somebody, hard. Find
a guard at the ferry, the depot, and here and there, along the
road. A camp whitens one hill-side, and a cavalry training
school, or whatever it should be called, is a very interesting
sight, with quantities of horses and riders galloping, marching,
leaping, and skirmishing, over all manner of break-neck
places. A party of English people get in—the men, with
sandy hair and red whiskers, all trimmed alike, to a hair;
rough grey coats, very rosy, clean faces, and a fine, full way
of speaking, which is particularly agreeable, after our slipshod
American gabble. The two ladies wear funny velvet
fur-trimmed hoods; are done up, like compact bundles, in tar
tan shawls; and look as if bent on seeing everything thoroughly.
The devotion of one elderly John Bull to his red-nosed
spouse was really beautiful to behold. She was plain and
cross, and fussy and stupid, but J. B., Esq., read no papers
when she was awake, turned no cold shoulder when she wished
to sleep, and cheerfully said, “Yes, me dear,” to every wish
or want the wife of his bosom expressed. I quite warmed to
the excellent man, and asked a question or two, as the only
means of expressing my good will. He answered very civilly,
but evidently hadn't been used to being addressed by
strange women in public conveyances; and Mrs. B. fixed her
green eyes upon me, as if she thought me a forward huzzy, or
whatever is good English for a presuming young women. The
pair left their friends before we reached Washington; and the
last I saw of them was a vision of a large plaid lady, stalking

grimly away, on the arm of a rosy, stout gentleman, loaded
with rugs, bags, and books, but still devoted, still smiling, and
waving a hearty “Fare ye well! We'll meet ye at Willard's
on Chusday.”

Soon after their departure we had an accident; for no long
journey in America would be complete without one. A coupling
iron broke; and, after leaving the last car behind us, we
waited for it to come up, which it did, with a crash that
knocked every one forward on their faces, and caused several
old ladies to screech dismally. Hats flew off, bonnets were
flattened, the stove skipped, the lamps fell down, the water
jar turned a somersault, and the wheel just over which I sat
received some damage. Of course, it became necessary for
all the men to get out, and stand about in everybody's way,
while repairs were made; and for the women to wrestle their
heads out of the windows, asking ninety-nine foolish questions
to one sensible one. A few wise females seized this favorable
moment to better their seats, well knowing that few men can
face the wooden stare with which they regard the former possessors
of the places they have invaded.

The country through which we passed did not seem so very
unlike that which I had left, except that it was more level and
less wintry. In summer time the wide fields would have
shown me new sights, and the way-side hedges blossomed with
new flowers; now, everything was sere and sodden, and a general
air of shiftlessness prevailed, which would have caused a
New England farmer much disgust, and a strong desire to
“buckle to,” and “right up” things. Dreary little houses,
with chimneys built outside, with clay and rough sticks piled
crosswise, as we used to build cob towers, stood in barren
looking fields, with cow, pig, or mule lounging about the door.
We often passed colored people, looking as if they had come

out of a picture book, or off the stage, but not at all the sort
of people I'd been accustomed to see at the North.

Way-side encampments made the fields and lanes gay with
blue coats and the glitter of buttons. Military washes flapped
and fluttered on the fences; pots were steaming in the open
air; all sorts of tableaux seen through the openings of tents,
and everywhere the boys threw up their caps and cut capers as
we passed.

Washington.—It was dark when we arrived; and, but for
the presence of another friendly gentleman, I should have
yielded myself a helpless prey to the first overpowering hack-man,
who insisted that I wanted to go just where I didn't. Putting
me into the conveyance I belonged in, my escort added
to the obligation by pointing out the objects of interest which
we passed in our long drive. Though I'd often been told that
Washington was a spacious place, its visible magnitude quite
took my breath away, and of course I quoted Randolph's
expression, “a city of magnificent distances,” as I suppose
every one does when they see it. The Capitol was so like the
pictures that hang opposite the staring Father of his Country,
in boarding-houses and hotels, that it did not impress me,
except to recall the time when I was sure that Cinderella went
to housekeeping in just such a place, after she had married the
inflammable Prince; though, even at that early period, I had
my doubts as to the wisdom of a match whose foundation was
of glass.

The White House was lighted up, and carriages were rolling
in and out of the great gate. I stared hard at the famous
East Room, and would have liked a peep through the crack of
the door. My old gentleman was indefatigable in his attentions,
and I said “Splendid!” to everything he pointed out,
though I suspect I often admired the wrong place, and

missed the right. Pennsylvania Avenue, with its bustle,
lights, music, and military, made me feel as if I'd crossed the
water and landed somewhere in Carnival time. Coming to
less noticeable parts of the city, my companion fell silent, and
I meditated upon the perfection which Art had attained in
America—having just passed a bronze statue of some hero,
who looked like a black Methodist minister, in a cocked hat,
above the waist, and a tipsy squire below; while his horse stood
like an opera dancer, on one leg, in a high, but somewhat remarkable
wind, which blew his mane one way and his massive
tail the other.

“Hurly-burly House, ma'am!” called a voice, startling me
from my reverie, as we stopped before a great pile of buildings,
with a flag flying before it, sentinels at the door, and a
very trying quantity of men lounging about. My heart beat
rather faster than usual, and it suddenly struck me that I was
very far from home; but I descended with dignity, wondering
whether I should be stopped for want of a countersign, and
forced to pass the night in the street. Marching boldly up the
steps, I found that no form was necessary, for the men fell
back, the guard touched their caps, a boy opened the door,
and, as it closed behind me, I felt that I was fairly started,
and Nurse Periwinkle's Mission was begun.