Then the thought came upon me as I listened to the tremendous din around, that we should never see land again; and a dreadful feeling of despair seemed to take possession of my spirit, for standing there helpless and inactive was so oppressive at such a time. If I could have been busy, and toiled hard, it would have been different; for then the feeling that I was of some service would have cheered me on, while the thought of standing still and drowning, without an effort to save life, was fearful.
And now it was the second night, and the piercing gale blowing harder than ever. Three men lost, and the rest worn-out, anxious, and numbed with the cold. I could not stay below, for the scene was awful, and at last gladly crawled on deck at the risk of being swept overboard. There were two poor fellows lashed to the wheel, and every few minutes I could see the captain there, evidently whispering words of encouragement, and truly they were needed at such a time. All around, the waves seemed to be rising about us as if to overwhelm the ship and bear her down, and in spite of every care upon the captain’s part, now and then down came a huge volume of water upon the deck, over which it seemed to curl, and then rushed along, sweeping everything before it. Two boats had gone, and a great piece of the bulwark been swept away as though of cardboard; and yet, in spite of all, the captain appeared to be as cool and quiet as if we were in a calm.
Once only did he seem moved, and that was when one of the sailors came up from below and whispered to him, but he was himself again in an instant; the hatches were already secured with tarpaulins over them, but I soon understood the new danger; for the pumps were rigged, and turn and turn, sailors and passengers, we worked at them to lighten the ship of the water, which was creeping snakelike in at many a strained seam.
But few of us knew, as the gale slowly abated, how narrow an escape we had had, but the shrunken crew, and the torn bulwarks showed but too plainly how sharp had been the tussle; and yet before long all seemed forgotten, and we were gently parting the waters with a light breeze astern bearing us homeward.
Young people form very romantic notions as to the wonders to be seen in travelling; and all such castle-builders must be sadly disappointed in the incidents and sights presented by a long sea voyage. The deep blue sea is certainly beautiful, and it is interesting to watch the fish playing below the ship’s keel, far down in the clear water; the sunrise and sunset, too, are very glorious, when ship and rigging seem to be turned to gold, and the sea, far as the eye can reach, one mass of glorious molten metal, gently heaving, or here and there broken by a ripple. But day after day the same monotony: no change; nothing but sea and sky, far as the eye could reach, and in the deep silence of the mighty ocean there is something awe-imposing and oppressive to the spirit. I had seen it in its wildest mood, and when the waves lightly danced and sparkled; and now, one day, when the voyage was about half over, came a calm, with the sun beating down day by day with a fervent heat that rendered the iron-work of the ship too hot to be touched, while the pitch grew soft in every seam. The sea just gently heaved, but there was not the slightest breath of air to fan our cheeks, and sailors and captain walked impatiently about waiting for the coming breeze, which should take us farther upon our way.
We were about four hundred miles, I suppose, from the nearest land, and for days the only thing that had taken our attention was the occasional ripple made by a shoal of fish, or the slow, sailing, gliding flight of a huge albatross, seeming in its sluggish way to float up and down in the air, as though upon a series of inclined planes.
I was standing one afternoon beneath the awning, talking to the captain, when one of the men aloft announced a boat on the lee bow.
“What is she?” said the captain.
“Boat or canoe, sir,” said the man.
“Any one in her?” said the captain.