I Was a Totally Different Person Back in 1910

Dearest friends back in the relative civility of the city,

I have survived the long trip through the Panama Canal during the height of malaria season.

Several people in our party succumbed including a Mrs. Humpert Vulvane-Clitford. She in fact died as we sailed through the locks. Most unfortunate because she had a lovely basso profundo voice, and we are so short of men to sing four-part harmony on our trip.

Our captain, the most impressive Admiral Abel Pex, decided the entire ship had wasted too much time soaking in the sun in the Gulf of Mexico beforehand. So Mrs. Vulvane-Clitford – even though it was said she was very wealthy and a widow no less – was given a burial at sea. Admiral Pex didn’t really know the lady, so it was a short eulogy - he gave her a shove off the side of the boat with a quick, “There the old broad goes.” The rest of us covered our mouths (from the malaria) and hummed “Nearer My God to Thee” as loud as we could through our linen hankies, and that was the sum entire of the service.

Our own reverend back home could learn something from the brevity, if I do say so myself, and I plan to tell him the whole tale directly when I get back from the Galapagos and my mission of turning the dirty, smelly natives into God-fearing Christians.

Anyway, a “burial at sea” may be in fact a bit of romance, as we were actually in one of the center locks of the Panama Canal itself when we dumped poor old dead Mrs. V.-Clitford’s corpse. Some of the locals on the shore hauling our boat through the locks yelled something at us and pointed to the body most severely and emphatically. Well, thank the Lord in Heaven I don’t understand a lick of Spanish or Portuguese or Wop or whatever those oily dark people were speaking, for I’m sure it was not proper for a lady to hear. As it was most definitely coarse, Admiral Pecks chose the reasonable reaction of ignoring their yells and rude gestures and continuing on.

As I believe I told you in my postcard from the Cayman Island (you did get it, didn’t you? – No matter, it was rather cheap anyway) I bought some lovely inexpensive trinkets from the locals who were all to dumb to know that I was underpaying them. Of course, you’re expected to be sharp and Jewish with these people or they will simply walk all over you.

I found some small native statues of some heathen gods. They are made out of a nasty tar-like substance and smell worse than I imagine old Mrs. Clitford does about now. Also, I was told these naked statues are terribly bad luck, but thank God I don’t believe in any of that voodoo nonsense. I plan to tie bright ribbons around them and give them to my friends as Christmas ornaments this next year.

Only I do believe that each of these god statues are distinctly male as they all have a rather prodigious protrusion from their lower stomach. Oh, and they have the longest tongues. How very intriguing things can be when you finally take a close look at them instead of merely slipping them in your purse while no one is looking.

Also, I found some lovely strange pipes and some very odd smelling green tobacco. I, in fact, bought five pounds of the tobacco, which I was going to present to Father. However, the admiral has shown me how the smoke the pipe (he is terribly handsome and roguish) and now he and I have taken to a couple pipe-fulls before every meal. I know, it is so manly and unattractive, but since I will not be around civilized people, I shall do uncivilized things while I can enjoy it.

The tobacco has the strange effect of making you hungry, so we’ve been fairly gorging ourselves at the ship’s modest banquet. The Admiral takes the helm after lunch and another pipe-full, and he has admitted to me that his new habit helps him to relax at the stressful helm of our ship.

Well, since it so strongly affects one’s appetite such, I certainly cannot now give any to Daddy, who is already as the English say “a few hundred stones to the heavy side.” I have committed myself to smoking the rest in the three remaining weeks of my trip. As there are four pounds left, and the Admiral and I do go through it quickly, this should not be hard. (Perhaps, I should cut the Admiral off and save it for myself. But certainly then, he will completely quit playing “kiss the little clam” with me - oh, it's a charming little game the Admiral has invented that I do love so much. I’ll have to show you how to play it when I get back to civilization. And I'll even volunteer to be "the clam.")

Well, there is not much else to report. I simply can’t wait to start converting the unwashed masses to our more decent, genteel ways of life. By blunt force, if I have to! As you’ll most readily agree, more and more of these dirty half-apes would be much better off if they were more like me. Or at least if they acted as if they were more like me. For who on this earth, dear friends, can ever quite live up to my distinct classiness and civility?

Signed,
Ms. Stephanie Jerome, in all her finest