The chambermaid's cabin was filled with the perpetual odor of hot soap-
suds, soiled laundry, and the broader smell of steam and the boat's
machinery. The little place trembled night and day, for the steamer's
engines were just beneath them, and immediately behind them thundered
the great stern-wheel of the packet. A single square window in the end
of the chambermaid's cabin looked out on the wheel, but at all times,
except when the wind was blowing from just the right quarter, this
window was deluged with a veritable Niagara of water. The continual
shake of the cabin, the creak of the rudder-beam working to and fro, the
watery thunder of the wheel, and the solemn rumble of the engines made
conversation impossible until the travelers grew accustomed to the
noises. Still, Cissie found it pleasant. She liked to sit and look out
into the main saloon, with its interminable gilded scrolls extending
away up the long cabin, a suave perspective. She liked to watch the
white passengers dine--the white napery, the bouquets, the endless
tables all filled with diners; some swathed in napkins from chin to
waistband, others less completely protected.
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