sadly, "and shall I ever get back?"
Intense heat, bitter cold, terrible storms, shipwrecks, fevers, all such agreeable topics had been drummed into me until I felt much as I imagine one would feel if shut in a cave of midnight darkness and told that all sorts of horrors were waiting to gobble one up.
The morning was beautiful and the bay never looked lovelier. The ship glided out smoothly and quietly, and the people on deck looked for their chairs and rugs and got into comfortable positions, as if determined to enjoy themselves while they could, for they did not know what moment someone would be enjoying themselves at their expense.
When the pilot went off everybody rushed to the side of the ship to see him go down the little rope ladder. I watched him closely, but he climbed down and into the row boat, that was waiting to carry him to the pilot boat, without giving one glance back to us. It was an old story to him, but I could not help wondering if the ship should go down, whether there
Nellie Bly is one of those female authors we should know better than we do. She pioneered journalism as a career for women and in so doing changed journalism--she had to be more sensationalist to get work. Thus her award winning expose of an insane asylum and this book-- a stunt to prove that Vern was right and that a woman could get around the world faster than Phinneas Fogg.