in Jamaica another fortnight, I should remain there permanently, and
gruesome memories haunted me of an undertaker's shop in Kingston,
which displayed a prominent sign, "Handsome black and gold funeral
goods" (note the euphemism!) "delivered in any part of the city within
two hours of telephone call." As I had no desire to make a more
intimate acquaintance with the "funeral goods," however handsome, I
insisted on being carried down to the mail-steamer, and was put to bed
in the liner. It was blowing very fresh, and we heard that there was a
heavy sea outside. As long as we lay alongside the jetty in the smooth
waters of the harbour, the distressing symptoms persisted at their
regular intervals, but no sooner had the ship cleared Port Royal and
begun to lift to the very heavy sea outside, than the sickness stopped
as though by magic. The _Port Kingston_, of the now defunct Imperial
Direct West India Mail Line, was really a champion pitcher, for she had
an immense beam for her length, and a great amount of top-hamper in the
way of deck-houses. As the violent motion continued, I was able to take
as much food as I wanted with impunity, and next day, the heavy seas
still tossing the _Port Kingston_ about like a cork, I was up and
about, perfectly well, free from fever and able, as Lady Nugent would
have said, "to eat like a cormorant." I noted, however, that the motion
of the ship seemed to produce on most of the passengers an exactly
opposite effect to what it did on myself.

The voyage from Jamaica, by that line, was rather a trying one, for in
the interest of the cargo of bananas, the Captain steered straight for
the Newfoundland Banks, so in five days the temperature dropped from
90 degrees to 40 degrees, and the unfortunate West Indian passengers
would cower and shiver in their thickest clothes over the radiators,
where the steam hissed and sizzled.