RHODE ISLAND

I scarcely anticipated, dear Mother, when we were in view of Long Island, what was going to happen to us. Upon going on deck I noticed that the wind, which had been blowing from the east since early morning, was veering to the west. An hour later it became gutsy and contrary; and we had to start to tack, that is to say, zigzag without advancing. In the mature (matinee?) the west wind became settled, as the sailors say. In other words the weather took on an appearance of stability which promised to last several days. Now we had some sick people on board and our provisions were giving out. Even the wood and the flour were beginning to dwindle in a disquieting way. All the passengers therefore got together and asked that, with the aid of the west wind, we gain the little town of Newport, which is situated 60 leagues to the north of New York. The captain consented ...

Sketch of Newport by Gustave de Beaumont Click on picture for larger image

At eight o'clock in the evening we dropped anchor in the outer harbor of Newport. A fishing dory soon came to reconnoitre us. We were so happy to find ourselves at land that all the young people and the captain himself immediately embarked in the dory, and a half hour afterwards we arrived, not without wetting our seats a little, at the wharf of Newport. Never, I guess, were people so glad to be alive.

We jumped ashore and each of us made more than a dozen awkward gambols before we got ourselves solidly on our feet. In this way we went to an inn where the captain treated us to supper. What I for one liked best about this meal was something that has no merit in your eyes, water. Ours hadn't been drinkable for several days. (I must tell you a propos of that, that the captain, an excellent man and a good sailor, had horribly mismanaged the provisioning, and that nothing was less comfortable than our ship) To come back to our story, we supped then a estomac renverse (my companions at least), after which we recollected our galanterie francaise and, having bought a great number of fresh provisions, we re-embarked and came to the vessel at midnight. No one had gone to bed. The provisions which we brought were carried in triumph down to the ladies' saloon, and we sat down to supper again. I ask you to believe that when I say we supped, I only speak for myself of the intellectual part of dining. ...

... We went to visit the town, which seemed to us very attractive. It's true we weren't difficult. It's a collection of small houses, the size of chicken coops, but distinguished by a cleanness that is a pleasure to see and that we have no conception of in France. Beyond that, the inhabitants differ but little superficially from the French. They wear the same clothes, and their physiognomies are so varied that it would be hard to say from what races they have derived their features. I think it must be thus in all the United States.

After having for three hours savored the pleasures of being on land, we embarked on a tremendous steamship, which, coming down from Providence, was making for New York. It is impossible to picture to oneself the interior of this immense machine. Let it suffice you to know that it contains three great saloons, two for men, one for women, where four, five and often eight hundred people eat and sleep comfortably. You can judge of its speed, since in spite of contrary sea and wind we covered in 18 hours the 60 leagues which separated us from New York.

All this coast of America is low and little picturesque. In this country, covered by impenetrable forests two centuries ago, one has trouble finding a tree. Yet land was on either hand; for we were passing between Long Island and the shores of Connecticut. At sunrise we approached New York, entering its harbor, consequently, from the back. I don't know whether the rather unattractive aspect of the country we had already seen, and our 35 days at sea, subjected us to an illusion; but what's certain is that we uttered cries of admiration on glimpsing the environs of the city.

Picture to yourself an attractively varied shoreline, the slopes covered by lawns and trees in bloom right down to the water, and more than all that, an unbelievable multitude of country houses, big as boxes of candy, but showing careful workmanship, -- add to this if you can -- a sea covered with snails, and you will have the entrance to New York form the Sound. I have been so struck by how convenient these little houses must be, and by the attractive air they gave the countryside, that I shall try to have the sketch or the plan of one or two of the prettiest. Emily might perhaps profit by them for Nacqueville. I already know they are not expensive. We have nothing like them in France. ...