Trunks were piled up in great heaps ready to be lowered into the hold;
portmanteaux, satchels, and hand-bags, with tags tied to them, were
placed in a row waiting to be claimed by the passengers, or taken down
into the state-rooms. To all this bustle and confusion George Morris
paid no heed. He was thinking deeply, and his thoughts did not seem to
be very pleasant. There was nobody to see him off, and he had evidently
very little interest in either those who were going or those who were
staying behind. Other passengers who had no friends to bid them farewell
appeared to take a lively interest in watching the hurry and scurry, and
in picking out the voyagers from those who came merely to say good-bye.

At last the rapid ringing of a bell warned all lingerers that the time
for the final parting had come. There were final hand-shakings, many
embraces, and not a few tears, while men in uniform with stentorian
voices cried, "All ashore." The second clanging of the bell, and the
preparations for pulling up the gang-planks hurried the laggards to
the pier. After the third ringing the gang-plank was hauled away, the
inevitable last man sprang to the wharf, the equally inevitable last
passenger, who had just dashed up in a cab, flung his valises to the
steward, was helped on board the ship, and then began the low pulsating
stroke, like the beating of a heart, that would not cease until the
vessel had sighted land on the other side. George Morris's eyes were
fixed on the water, yet apparently he was not looking at it, for when
it began to spin away from the sides of the ship he took no notice, but
still gazed at the mass of seething foam that the steamer threw off from
her as she moved through the bay. It was evident that the sights of
New York harbour were very familiar to the young man, for he paid no
attention to them, and the vessel was beyond Sandy Hook before he
changed his position. It is doubtful if he would have changed it then,
had not a steward touched him on the elbow, and said--