bring on attacks of seasickness. The Augusta Victoria, the steamship on which Nellie Bly crossed the Atlantic Ocean ( Illustration Credit 5.1 ) Bly’s first attack had occurred within minutes of the ship’s setting sail, and her physical discomfort had been made far worse by the fear that she might be sick for the seventy days of her journey to be spent on the water. It was a reasonable enough concern: she had, after all, never been on a long sea voyage and so had not developed her sea legs, the tolerance to a boat’s rocking motion that seemed to build up over time, like a violinist’s callus, inuring one to future discomfort. Moreover, it was widely known that women suffered more than men from seasickness, a misery that, like the pains of labor, could never be adequately communicated to those who had not experienced it. The sufferer was liable to feel at once freezing and feverish, unable to sit up without a sickening nausea; even the softest and most innocuous sounds—a creak of a floorboard, the lapping of the waves—reverberated inside the head as loudly and unnervingly as the yowl of an alleycat. The wretchedness of the condition was perhaps best conveyed by the old saying that those suffering from seasickness believe they will die on the first day, are sure they will on the second, and hope they will on the third. After her first voyage to Europe, Harriet Beecher Stowe had written, “I wonder that people who wanted to break the souls of heroes and martyrs never thought of sending them to sea and keeping them a little seasick.” Worse still, one could not be sure how long an attack would last, nor that any of the proffered remedies would actually lessen its agonies, for even after millennia of human travel on the water, little was known about the malady’s prevention or cure. Those afflicted were variously instructed to lie down and to stand up, to rest and to exercise, to seek out darkness and light. They were advised to drink champagne, port, brandy, rum, or salt water (the latter treatment, it was admitted, “makes the drinker very miserable for a few minutes”); to eat chicken, oysters, celery, marmalade, hot West Indian pickles, or to eat nothing at all. In his Practical Treatise on Sea-Sickness (1880), Dr. George M. Beard suggested chloral hydrate—more popularly known as knockout drops—though he cautioned that it was “not recommended for daily or long-continued use.”