Scarcely had the “Great Eastern” tacked and presented her stern to the waves, than the pitching gave way to perfect steadiness; breakfast was served, and the greater part of the passengers, reassured by the ship’s stillness, came into the dining-rooms, and took their repast without fear of another shock. Not a plate fell off the table, and not a glass emptied its contents on to the cloth, although the racks had not even been put up. But three quarters of an hour later the furniture was set in motion again, and the crockery clattered together on the pantry shelves, for the “Great Eastern” had resumed her westerly course, which for the time had been interrupted.
I went on deck again with Dr. Pitferge, who seeing the man belonging to the dolls said to him,—
“Your little people have been put to a severe test, sir; those poor babies will never prattle in the United States.”
“Pshaw!” replied the enterprising Parisian, “the stock was insured, and my secret has not perished with it.”
It was evident my countryman was not a man to be easily disheartened, he bowed to us with a pleasant smile, and we continued our way to the stern, where a steersman told us that the rudder-chains had been jammed in the interval between the two swoops.
“If that accident had happened when we were turning,” said Pitferge to me, “I cannot say what would have become of us, for the sea would have rushed in, in overwhelming torrents; the steam pumps have already begun to reduce the water, but there is more coming yet.”
“And what of the unfortunate sailor?” asked I of the Doctor.
“He is severely wounded on his head, poor fellow! he is a young married fisherman, the father of two children, and this is his first voyage. The Doctor seems to think there is hope of his recovery, and that is what makes me fear for him, but we shall soon see for ourselves. A report was spread that several men had been washed overboard, but happily there was no foundation for it.”
“We have resumed our course at last,” said I.
“Yes,” replied the Doctor, “the westerly course, against wind and tide, there is no doubt about that,” added he, catching hold of a kevel to prevent himself from rolling on the deck. “Do you know what I should do with the ‘Great Eastern’ if she belonged to me? No. Well, I would make a pleasure-boat of her, and charge 10,000 francs a head; there would only be millionnaires on board, and people who were not pressed for time. I would take a month or six weeks going from England to America; the ship never against the waves, and the wind always ahead or astern; there should be no rolling, no pitching, and I would pay a 100F. in any case of sea-sickness.”