fiercely screwed through time and space,
day and night, fair weather and foul, can
roll. Did she ever take a roll before, like
that last? Did she ever take a roll before,
like this worse one that is coming now?
Here is the partition at my ear, down in the
deep on the lee side. Are we ever coming
up again together? I think not; the partition
and I are so long about it that I really
do believe we have overdone it this time.
Heavens, what a scoop! What a deep
scoop, what a hollow scoop, what a long
scoop! Will it ever end, and can we bear
the heavy mass of water we have taken on
board, and which has let loose all the table
furniture in the officers' mess, and has
beaten open the door of the little passage
between the purser and me, and is swashing
about, even there, and even here? The
purser snores reassuringly, and the ship's
bells striking, I hear the cheerful "All's
well!" of the watch musically given back
the length of the deck as the lately diving
partition, now high in air, tries (unsoftened
by what we have gone through together)
to force me out of bed and berth.

"All's well!" Comforting to know,
though surely all might be better. Put
aside the rolling, and the rush of water,
and think of darting through such darkness
with such velocity. Think of any
other similar object coming in the opposite
direction! Whether there may be an attraction
in two such moving bodies out at
sea, which may help accident to bring them
into collision? Thoughts too arise (the Voice
never silent all the while, but marvellously
suggestive) of the gulf below; of the strange
unfruitful mountain ranges and deep valleys
over which we are passing; of monstrous
fish, midway; of the ship's suddenly altering
her course on her own account, and with
a wild plunge settling down, and making
that voyage, with a crew of dead discoverers.
Now, too, one recalls an almost universal tendency
on the part of passengers to stumble,
at some time or other in the day, on the
topic of a certain large steamer making this
same run, which was lost at sea and never
heard of more. Everybody has seemed under
a spell, compelling approach to the threshold
of the grim subject, stoppage, discomfiture,
and pretence of never having been near it.
The boatswain's whistle sounds! A change
in the wind, hoarse orders issuing, and the
watch very busy. Sails come crashing home
overhead, ropes (that seem all knot) ditto;
every man engaged appears to have twenty
feet, with twenty times the average amount
of stamping power in each. Gradually the
noise slackens, the hoarse cries die away,
the boatswain's whistle softens into the
soothing and contented notes, which rather
reluctantly admit that the job is done for
the time, and the Voice sets in again. Thus
come unintelligible dreams of up hill and
down hill, and swinging and swaying,
until consciousness revives of atmospherical
Windsor soap and bilge water, and the
Voice announces that the giant has come
for the Water Cure again.

Such were my fanciful reminiscences as
I lay, part of that day, in the Bay, of New
York O! Also, as we passed clear of the
Narrows and got out to sea; also, in many
an idle hour at sea in sunny weather. At
length the observations and computations
showed that we should make the coast of
Ireland to-night. So I stood watch on
deck all night to-night, to see how we made
the coast of Ireland.

Very dark, and the sea most brilliantly
phosphorescent. Great way on the ship, and
double look-out kept. Vigilant captain on
the bridge, vigilant first officer looking over
the port side, vigilant second officer standing
by the quarter- master at the compass,
vigilant third officer posted at the stern-rail
with a lantern. No passengers on the quiet
decks, but expectation everywhere nevertheless.
The two men at the wheel, very
steady, very serious, and very prompt to
answer orders. An order issued sharply
now and then, and echoed back; otherwise
the night drags slowly, silently, and
with no change. All of a sudden, at the
blank hour of two in the morning, a vague
movement of relief from a long strain expresses
itself in all hands; the third officer's
lantern twinkles, and he fires a rocket, and
another rocket. A sullen solitary light is
pointed out to me in the black sky yonder.
A change is expected in the Light, but none
takes place. " Give them two more rockets,
Mr. Vigilant." Two more, and a blue light
burnt. All eyes watch the light again. At
last a little toy sky-rocket is flashed up
from it, and even as that small streak in
the darkness dies away, we are telegraphed
to Queenstown, Liverpool, and London, and
back again under the Ocean to America.

Then, up come the half-dozen passengers
who are going ashore at Queenstown, and
up comes the Mail- Agent in charge of the
bags, and up come the men who are to
carry the bags into the Mail Tender that
will come off for them out of the harbour.
Lamps and lanterns gleam here and there
about the decks, and impeding bulks are
knocked away with handspikes, and the