‘But the day was clear, and it was easy to give the bergs a wide berth. Every one’s spirits rose. There was nothing but enjoyment of the beautiful scene, admiration at the strange sights before us. The sun at length sank; but a few icebergs loomed in the distance, and I had an idea that we had almost come to the end of the ice-tract. We had delightful music in the saloon, and all appeared cheerfulness and peace. Even when my attention was directed to strange dark objects on the ocean, which I could see through the round saloon window, no thought of danger came into my mind.
‘At the invitation of another lady I went on deck, where I was able better to watch the strange scene before me. Out of the ice-tract, indeed! Why, we were in the very midst of thousands upon thousands of masses of floating ice, through which the vessel very, very cautiously as it were felt her way, sometimes stopping altogether. Strange to say, even when I heard the keel grate over ice, it was very, very slowly that I received the impression of danger. The night was exquisitely lovely, the stars shining gloriously. I could hardly have supposed that any star would have cast such a reflection on the smoothest water as Mars threw on the still ocean.
‘The brightness of the starlight, the quietness of the water, greatly added to our chance of safety. One felt that a watchful and skilful captain was cautiously piloting us, avoiding the larger masses of ice, though our vessel passed right over some of the little ones. I watched the tiny globes of phosphoric light which sometimes gleamed on the water, and the dark objects which I knew to be pieces of floating ice. There was pleasure in watching them; for though reason at last convinced one that danger there must be under the circumstances, a touch of fear, or rather sense of danger, rather enhances enjoyment.
‘I was tired, but lingered on deck, till a lady came up to me, and suggested that we had better go below, as she believed that lights were put out at eleven, and if we did not go we might have to retire to bed in the dark. Down I descended to my cabin in the lower part of the vessel. Some of the passengers on deck had been considering the possibility, on so fair a night, and with Newfoundland near,—for we had sighted the light on shore,—of our being saved by the boats, even should the vessel be lost. But we remembered that there were more than 600 persons on board. The Captain would do well, if he could manage to place half the number in the boats. It was clear that all could not expect to be saved.
‘When I went to my cabin, I was not disposed at once to go to rest. I knelt on my sofa, so as to be able to look out from my port-hole on the ocean and its numerous floating fragments of ice, seen in the starlight. Not only was the sense of sight exercised, but that of hearing. Nine times I thought that I heard the keel grate against the ice. I may possibly be mistaken in the number of times; but the noise was distinct, and its nature not to be mistaken. At a short distance—it did not look a hundred yards—the clear, smooth sea appeared to be skirted by a tall hedge. It was not land, for occasionally I saw a light gleam through it. I asked a seaman afterwards what it was,—it was, as I suspected, a bank of fog between us and the coast of Newfoundland.
‘I watched till my cabin-light went out, and I was left in darkness, save that my port-hole looked like a pale moon in the dark cabin. I turned into my berth, but not at once to sleep. I lay thinking, reflecting on the possibility of feeling the vessel going down, down,—and reflecting on what an easy death drowning would be. Still, I did not really expect to be drowned.
‘The vessel stopped dead still,—I listened for the sound of pumping, or of preparing boats. I heard one—to me—strange noise, I can hardly describe it, between a blast and a bellow. I thought that it must be a signal, and I was not wrong; for I hear this morning that it was the fog-whistle from the shore. It seemed to me that it was useless for me to rise; if there were any use in my returning to the deck, dear Louis would call me. He would be sure to think of my life before his own.
‘After a while I went fast asleep, and did not awake till the bright, clear morning, when there could no longer be the shadow of danger. I rose, dressed, and went on deck. The sea was beautifully smooth, blue, and clear from ice, except a few bergs in the distance. I had a happy, thankful heart.
‘One lady had remained on deck till past three. She told me of a field of ice, and great masses of ice, through and beside which we had passed; and she had seen the Northern Lights, which I am sorry to have missed. The Captain never slept till the drift-ice was passed. He was at breakfast, however, this morning, and I doubt not felt very thankful. I believe that he has had three anxious, wakeful nights; but the change in the weather must have been a very great help to him. We had had such miserable dull weather, and such heavy rolling seas. Last night all was so clear; and I saw the stars, I think, for the first time since our starting. Please pass this letter on; for I cannot write over the same thing to all dear ones.’