left Quebec on the 17th of September, 1835,
having on board Lord Aylmer, ex-governor
of Canada, with his family and suite.
Captain Rous, her commander, instead of going
round south of Newfoundland, took the
northern route, through the Straits of Belle-
isle, for reasons satisfactory to his judgment.
During a dense Newfoundland fog, the ship
ran upon some rocks on the night of the
21st. Again and again did Captain Rous
try to get her off, again and again did the
waves baffle him, until—after sending
overboard a hundred tons of water and several
heavy guns and shot, to lighten the ship—
he deemed it necessary to wait till
daybreak. They were on a rocky bit of the
Labrador coast, and all could have landed.
Ought they to land? On the one hand,
they had food for four months, with
economy; they could make some sort of
dwellings with tarpaulins, and a few huts
which cod-fishers and curers were
accustomed to use in the summer months; and
they could use dwarf pine trees for fuel.
On the other hand, it was a frightful thing
to land three hundred persons, some of
them ladies of gentle nurture, on a
desolate and rocky spot, with no inhabitants,
and no fishing vessels likely to pass that
way until six months of a rigorous winter
had passed. They decided to dare the ocean
rather than the land, and having at last got
clear of the rocks, started again on the
24th. But the rudder snapped short off
on the third day afterwards, and floated
away; while the ship was at the same time
letting in two feet of water per day. The
carpenters made a new rudder by the evening
of the 28th; it would not work; so it was
cut adrift, and the ship was steered by sail
only. Tossed about, driven hither and
thither, failing in getting aid from other
ships, and lightened by throwing overboard
one gun after another, the poor Pique
struggled on. On the 1st of October, a
little aid was received from the Suffrein, of
St. Malo, in dragging the Pique round to
place her prow in the homeward direction.
For four days and nights some progress
was made, during which time the carpenters
were busily engaged upon another
rudder; but they were again unlucky: this
third rudder snapped and disappeared.
The ship was shaky, the chronometers
were shaky, and Captain Rous feared, from
the calculations of his dead reckoning,
that he was dangerously near the rocks off
the Scilly Islands. To the great joy of all,
land was descried on the 11th, and the
Pique safely anchored at St. Helen's on the
12th, after voyaging fifteen hundred miles
without a rudder. Not a soul of the three
hundred was lost.

The sad story of the Diamond shows
that, even on the much-frequented route
from Liverpool to New York, the sail alone
is but an uncertain reliance in case of
mishap. This vessel, commanded by
Captain Trale, left the great English port on
the 7th of November, 1836, with an ample
supply of food and water for a voyage
across the Atlantic to New York, thence
down the American seaboard to Charleston,
and finally back to Liverpool. But
on Christmas Eve, when well on towards
the place of her destination, the Diamond
encountered a storm which carried away
all the three top-masts, and these in falling
snapped off the main and fore-yards.
So severe was the shock, that the timbers
were in many places loosened, the cargo
shifted about, the water casks started, the
provision casks were stove in, and the
vessel shipped much water. The wind
was then favourable for a week; but on
New Year's Day it turned dead against
them, and the Diamond was drifting about
during the whole of January. So early
as the first week in December, Captain
Trale had foreseen the probability of a
tediously-prolonged voyage, and had
warned all on board to be prudent, and
careful of the provisions. The occurrence
of the disaster on Christmas Eve led to a
reduction of the chief cabin rations to a
level with those of the steerage passengers.
There were a hundred and eighty
passengers, and a crew that raised the number
of souls to considerably more than two
hundred, in a ship under-provisioned; for
nearly all the passengers were to land at
New York, and the calculation as to food
had been based on the supposition that
there would be few persons beside the crew
on the coasting voyage to Charleston, and
the home voyage to Liverpool. The crew
were placed on very short allowance, till
they reached port. But the steerage
passengers were distressingly placed. The
Diamond was one among many vessels
in which, at that time, the emigrants had
to rely pretty much on their own
resources for food. When these resources
were getting low, all scraps of food were
eagerly treasured up; potato peelings and
cabbage stumps were prizes; flour was
sold by the shilling, the crown, and at last
by the half sovereign, per pint, to some
of the passengers who had money to spare.
Matters went at length so far that a pound
sterling was offered and refused for a
roasted potato! No wonder that, after a