Shawl-strappists

     "On the first day of February we three will sail from Boston for Messina, in the little fruit-ship 'Wasp.' We shall probably be a month going, unless we cross in a gale as I did, splitting sails every night, and standing on our heads most of the way,' said Amanda, folding up her maps with an air of calm decision.     

"Hurrah! what fun!" cried Matilda, waving a half-finished dressing-case over her head.

But Lavinia, with one sepulchral groan, fell flat upon her bed, and lay there, dumb with the horrors of such a voyage.

 
In Louisa May Alcott's little-read Shawl-Straps, three sisters embark on a Grand Tour in 1870 (they arrive in Rome just in time for the Risorgimento and the great flood of the Tiber).  They land, after all, in Brittany, and decide to jettison their impedimenta: 

"Are these trunks a burden, a vexation of spirit, a curse?" demanded Amanda, tapping one with her carefully cherished finger-tips.

"They are! they are!" groaned the others, regarding the monsters with abhorrence.
 "Then let us get rid of them, and set out with no luggage but a few necessaries in a shawl-strap."

"We will! we will!" returned the chorus. 
In short, they have just invented backpacking round Europe.


 Shawl-straps of the largest, strongest sort were next procured, and the three bundles made up with much discussion and merriment. Into Amanda's went a volume of Shakspeare of great size and weight, but as indispensable as a tooth-brush to its owner; toilette-articles tied up in a handkerchief, a few necessary garments, and much paper,—for Amanda was inspired with poetic fire at unexpected moments, also had five hundred bosom friends, in answering whose epistolary gushings much stationery was consumed. A pistol, a massive crust of bread, and an oval box containing all the dainty appliances for the culture, preservation, and ornamentation of the finger-nails, made up her store. Matilda's bundle consisted of sketch-books, a trifle of haberdashery, a curling-stick that was always tumbling out at inopportune moments, yards of blue ribbon, and a camp-stool strapped outside in company with a Japanese umbrella, a gift from the stout doctor, destined to be cursed in many languages by the unhappy beings into whose backs, eyes, and stomachs it was poked before its wanderings ended. Lavinia confined herself to a choice collection of bottles and pill-boxes, fur boots, a grey cloud, and several French novels,—the solace of wakeful nights. A scarlet army blanket, with U. S. in big black letters on it, enveloped her travelling medicine-chest, and lent a cheerful air to the sombre spinster, whose black attire and hoarse voice made the sobriquet of Raven most appropriate.
 With these imposing bundles in one hand, little pouches slung over the shoulder, plain travelling-suits, subdued hats, and resolute but benign countenances, our three errant damsels set forth one bright June day, to wander through France at their own sweet will. ... No lord and master, in the shape of brother, spouse, or courier, ordered their outgoings and incomings; but liberty the most entire was theirs, and they enjoyed it heartily.
  Still playing at Pilgrim's Progress...

Nine